#I’ve never been at a place of deeper healing and love that I get to find myself after all of these years

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter six: twelve days of christmas

Summary: Flashback, spending your winter break with Mattheo Riddle.

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warning: smut, 18+ minors dni, fluff. Smut is just short and not detailed given the format of this chapter so lower your expectations haha.

Author's note: If you read this as part two of chapter three and discard the rest, Mattheo will continue to be your boyfriend. No heartbreak.

I wanted to try writing in a different format where I can showcase how your relationship with Mattheo developed over the course of winter break in just one chapter. It was fun writing this!

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I just wish I could forget when it was magic.

Day 1: Brand new day

“Good morning sunshine,” Mattheo says in a sleepy voice. I blink, why is there a boy beside me in bed?  Memories of last night return - of broken bones, healing spells, and snarky comments. “How do you feel?” I ask, noting the absence of yesterday’s cuts and scrapes. “Never been better,” he smiles, rising from bed. “To thank you, my kind savior, I must take you out for tea and biscuits. Or hot chocolate, if you prefer.” I narrow my eyes in distrust, “why are you being nice to me?” “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” he explains, “on account of all the bleeding. But today is a new day. Let’s start over?”

Day 2: Stargazing

“Riddle, you’ll be the death of me! You can’t just apparate me everywhere!” “I wanted to show you the view from the roof,” he says, laying down the blanket he brought along.  I look around and gasp at the panoramic view of moonlit castles and bodies of water, flames flickering in the winter air. “It gets even better,” he smiles at my amazement, “look up.” I lay down beside him and marvel at the twinkling stars. He leans in, “if you stare long enough, you could pretend you’re floating among the stars.” I look at him then and at his quiet smile. He has no idea his eyes reflect the same beauty he tries to impress me with. 

Day 3: Chocolate vices

“Do you want one?” He asks, offering me a cigarette. “No thanks, I actually like my lungs.” He snickers, “hey, it helps me relax.” “It’s okay, I’m not judging you.” “So no vices at all?” He asks, “alcohol, drugs, whatever?” “Nope, I don’t like feeling out of control. But does chocolate count? I have a notoriously sweet tooth.”

Day 4: Snow bombs

“Take this!” I say, hurling a ball of snow at Mattheo. It catches him square at his shoulder. “Oh you’re going to regret that,” he says, picking up a pile of snow. I run away but he manages to catch my leg. I duck behind a statue, gathering the next snowball. 

Day 5: A quiet day

“This is all your fault,” he says, sniffling into the tissue. I sneeze in response. “We’ve already taken the potion, we’ll be fine by tomorrow.” I snuggle deeper into the blanket, fighting the fever chill in my bones. Mattheo tucks me in his arms. “Come here, we’ll keep each other warm.”

Day 6: Pillow thoughts

“Why do I keep waking in bed with you?” Mattheo asks. “Then stop sleeping beside me,” I wave him off, sleep clouding my mind. I don’t want to, he thinks.

Day 7: Cold hands, warm hearts

“Merry Christmas!” I beam brightly at Mattheo, placing a neatly wrapped present in his hand. “Um, it’s not yet Christmas?” He states, turning the package over in his hands. “Open it!” I urge. “It’s tradition with my mum to give presents early back when she was around. So you have more time to enjoy them.” “Um, thank you.” He tears the package open and wraps the emerald green scarf around him. “Nice and warm, did you make this?” I nod, “with magic!” I wave my wand around. “Do you like it?” He’s quiet for a few moments. “Yes! It’s just…it’s the first time I’ve received a Christmas present. The dark lord doesn’t really do Christmas, it’s why I’m here at winter break.” he waves his hands awkwardly. “We can make it a yearly tradition?” “I’d like that,” he smiles.

Day 8: For the love of eggs

She swore she would never fall in love. Not after seeing what it did to others. Love is all consuming, it takes everything and leaves you hollow when it’s gone. But sitting across him, eating eggs for breakfast, she didn’t think it would be so bad.

Day 9: Frigid hazards

He watched her skate across the pond, hair flying in the wind. She once said he would be the death of her. He thinks it’s the opposite.

Day 10: A flower blooms in winter

“Can I kiss you?” I ask Mattheo. His face lights up. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Day 11: Maybe it’s worth the risk

“Will you be my girlfriend?” “I thought you’d never ask.”

Day 12: Never have I ever before

“Mattheo, please,” I beg. “Please what, baby? Use your words,” he commands. “I need to feel you.” I gasp. “Breathe, angel. It’s okay, you can take it.” I nod, gripping the sheets and feel myself adjust to him. “Good girl, you’re doing so well.” He laces his fingers through mine and kisses my lips, moving into me again. “We’ll start slow, we’ve got all night.”

Christmas Day: On thin ice

“Matty, I’m scared.” “What’s wrong, love?” His brow furrows. “I want this, I want you. But so many things can go wrong,” I say, waving my hands around. “Don’t worry,” he says, brushing my hair from my face. “I won’t hurt you.” “Promise?” “Promise.”

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A/N: We're just three chapters away from the canon ending, then there will be a bonus alt ending. Stay tuned!

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221 @s0urw00lf

[maciouxes]

still there.

pairings: gn!reader x zombie!simon riley

warnings: mentions of disease, infections, gore, violence, alcohol and the occasional cigarette.

genre: angst, hurt/no comfort, go be happy elsewhere.

this is my first fic and by the time it’s posted, i’ve probably proofread it a million times, but feel free to correct my English as it’s not my first language and i’m not very confident.

It was the 360th day after the outbreak. Or was it the 361st? You couldn’t remember anymore. What was the point in counting the days after the most miserable, dreadful tragedy had struck and taken away the one you loved the most? You smoked one of your last cigarettes from the stock—helped take the edge off things, you told yourself. But did it ever? No.

Not when you were sat on a chair in front of the door that led down to the basement. The basement in which you still kept Simon—or whatever was left of him.

Simon. Simon Riley. Your Simon. Your Si. Your husband. The man you promised to outlive the world with.

“We are going to kick the world’s arse together, love.” Simon would whisper in your ear as he spooned you in bed. You would pretend not to hear him so he would keep talking—he was never much of a talker. But he liked to whisper sweet nothings when he thought you couldn’t hear him.

You stared at the wedding band on your finger, worn and still stuck on your phalange, though it was quite clearly too tight for you. How would you get it resized anyway? You took another drag. You heard a creak, the clankings of the chain and a grumpy grumble downstairs. Simon.

He was a veteran. After a severe injury during a torture session, which Simon never recovered from, he was honorably discharged. It took him years to even bring it up. Years to heal from it enough to open up to you about how much it hurt. To let you hold him through a nightmare about that night, his arm turning limp in your lap as if his tendon had been cut all over again, as if his arm was mangled again, his forehead, his scalp and the back of his neck and his back in general all drenched in a cold sweat. He wasn’t crying, but he was clearly disturbed, his whole body unresponsive as he leaned paralyzed against you, eyes wide as he stared into nothing with a haunted expression on his face. You just held him until he snapped out of it. Startling him out of it, as gentle as you were with it by poking him, would only make him gasp like he had come up from the ground of the ocean after a long swim; he wouldn’t speak; only shut down and go back to sleep with his back turned to you. And he wouldn’t speak to you the next morning.

Simon was infected early on into the outbreak. And you could never leave the house without him. You could never leave him. Never. You promised—you swore.

“Don’t go, please, God—not you too, please, please—” Simon scrambled out of bed as you got up from the mattress. He had a nightmare, he wasn’t entirely himself. Simon would never act this way. No; he had too much decorum. He was too reserved. Too afraid to let himself be known on a deeper level than simple pleasantries. “I need you—I, I need you. Don’t leave me. Please.” He pleaded, nearly falling off the bed as he grabbed at whatever body part of yours he could reach first to pull you back towards him. His eyes were so full of tears you didn’t even think he could see straight. He wobbled in place, unstable, dizzy. But you couldn’t leave him.

“I won’t. I promise, Simon. I just need to refill your water bottle. Do you want to come with?”

He was sick that night. Coughing like a madman, sweating, unable to breathe. He was scared. Tossing and turning in bed. As the days went by, he became less and less agitated. The fevers got higher, rendering him only half-lucid half of the time. He was bedbound for two weeks before he turned. He didn’t suffer, though. On the last two days, he was so feverish that he passed out. The color draining from his face. He was dying, and he was unable to give you any last words.

Those days were over. In a sick way, you were conflicted. On one hand, to your satisfaction, Simon wasn’t suffering anymore, but on the other, Simon wasn’t there with you anymore. Not really. Not entirely. You weren’t completely sure. It looked like Simon, if only a little bit. He was still muscular, tall and handsome as your husband always had been. The scars had changed; they had gotten uglier. Like black, decaying tissue that littered his skin, which previously had a pinkish, cool undertone, and now looked like nothing in particular. It was a grayish, sickly purple. Like no blood flowed through it, like no semblance of life was in it. Like a living corpse. His hair hadn’t grown in nearly a year, it was the same as you remembered; that shaggy haircut that you had pleaded Simon to change, but he swore it made him charming. His beard was still the same, short blond stubble, although dirtier and more unkempt.

And God, the eyes—the once beautiful brown eyes, that looked like pools of the sweetest honey in the summer sunshine in the late afternoon. Lifeless. Bloodshot like they would implode at any second. But there was no blood flowing—of course there wasn’t. He was dead There was no other color on his face. His complexion was pale and sickly. There was no color on his lips. The freckles looked blueish on his skin. If there was any blood flowing, you would have noticed at least a little bit of color, you figured.

Rationally, you knew, he was dead. Gone. He didn’t remember you. He didn’t know his own name; at least not until you called it. He would make a full body turn if you called him his full name, “Simon Riley!”, all angry as if you could ever be mad at him, and yet you knew deep down—it was nothing. It wasn’t Simon. It was a muscle memory response, devoid of any meaning. He didn’t understand what those words meant.

But God, was it hard to believe he wasn’t there. You watched him throughout the day sometimes. Checked on him. Brought him food. As if you would hear a soft ‘thank you’ in his Mancunian accent. As if he would give you a kiss on the cheek if you made his favorite meal to please him. He didn’t. There was no whisper, and there was no kiss on the cheek with those chapped lips that you begged him to moisturize. He just stared at it with a hollow hunger. Like he was hungry but couldn’t feel hunger. Because he was dead. And eventually, he crouched and ate it with his bare hands like some kind of animal.

You are watering a dead plant, a rational part of you told you, seeing your husband that way. So careless, so animalistic in a way Simon could never be if he were still alive. He wasn’t some refined bourgeoisie asshole, but he had manners, at least. Simon wouldn’t act this way.

He’s dead. And you knew it was right. You watched with tears in your eyes as he ate up the food you made him with his bare hands, spilling and dirtying his grimy hands like a toddler who couldn’t hold a spoon properly. Simon would never. He didn’t like you touching his face to wipe away crumbs. He’d gently push your hand off his face, grumbling about how he was “a big boy” who could wipe the crumbs off on his own, in front of a mirror. He would never be caught dead like this. Yet there he was, you supposed.

You rushed upstairs and left Simon to his own devices in the basement, which you had worked tirelessly on to convert it to a bedroom. You gave him an old, creaky bed even if you knew he didn’t need to sleep anymore. You cleaned the basement from time to time. All to make him comfortable. As if he would notice.

You slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside, then the two padlocks and the lock you had placed to bolt that door to the ground.

Damn it—damn the world for taking him away and leaving you with this husk of who he was, a shell of his former self. This God forsaken decoy of Simon, that still smelled like him. Like gunpowder, cigarettes and neat whiskey. His favorite cologne was still on that fucking sweater. His favorite sweater, a black turtleneck that clinged to his waist just right. It was filthy now.

You could watch him all you want. Watch him idly stand in the middle of the basement and stare at nothing, watch him try to pull on the chain that you attached to his ankle so he could be free to eat you alive. But it was never the same.

Sometimes you would be able to make out words that Simon would say a lot, being grumbled clumsily by this doppelganger of your husband, which was falling apart where it stood. “Jo—hnny.” “Capt—ain.” “Rog—er.” “C—–opy.” “L–love.” “Lo—vie.” “Watch.” Sometimes it would laugh exactly like Simon did. Sometimes it would say some strange nothings, as if trying to tell you something. Sometimes, if it heard a familiar sound, it would mimic Simon’s mannerisms as if practicedly. If the safety of a gun clicked, Simon would pull out an inexistent gun and pull the trigger, or pretend to assemble and reload a rifle. If a phone rang, he would wait for the third ring before reaching for his pocket and picking an imaginary phone up, the way Simon did when he was there, grumbling something about “if they’re calling despite being ignored, it must really matter,” calling it filtering his calls. If the microwave rang as you were heating up food, he would grab an imaginary dish and pretend to burn himself with it as he stubbornly never wore gloves to pick up boiling hot dishes. The stunt double had gotten him down to A T.

And the worst part was that it was enough for you.

It was enough for you to install traps all around the house, keep Simon strung up in your basement and throw down meals for him, sometimes live animals for him to tear up like a starving wild dog.

Simon had tried to bite you more times than you could count; but you had forgiven him each and every time. You didn’t hold a grudge. You told him you still loved him. You told him he was still your Simon. That he was beautiful. You wept as you asked him not to be afraid—as if he felt anything at all. You didn’t know if he did. In your head he did.

You sometimes heard him beg for help as he babbled incoherently, his Mancunian accent alive and well, his voice and speech getting worse and worse each day. He sounded more incoherent as the days went by, more animalistic. The words slowly became animalistic nothings, growls and grumbles that meant nothing. He was rotting from the inside out, decaying and perishing right before your very eyes. The longer you waited, the more the virus consumed what was left of Simon. Each day he smelled worse. You bathed him, of course. But it didn’t go away, the stomach-turning smell of rotting flesh. You tried to get him to brush his teeth, but nothing could mask the smell. Not even if you bathed him in his cologne.

But the fact that the zombie looked like him and sometimes sounded like him was enough for you. Putting it that way, it sounds sick, but it justified all of the work you had put in. It was enough to keep you hopeful, keep you thinking—or rather, fooling yourself into thinking—that there was still a way to bring him back, enough to keep you praying on your bedside each night, begging to have your Simon back. You were absolutely confident he was still there to some extent. That it was just a matter of time before someone found a cure and you and Simon would be free of this hell.

Free to kick the world’s arse together. The way he had intended. Until then, you were rotting in this farmhouse. Until Simon came back to you. Until your last cigarette was finished. Until the last tooth decayed and fell from his putrid mouth.

[littlecrittereli]

catching up on all the chapters of decoded and i'm literally tweaking out. your writing has so much imagery and you're able to capture the reoccurring themes and emotions of healing, anxiety, desperation, and disorders like PTSD even if you're not specifically saying it (like the knife imagery, and how chris feels like he's walking on egg shells around the crew whenever he feels like he's trying to earn their trust back, or trying to get that label of mentally stable back on him). it throws me for such a loop anytime i see some of the words you use. "invasive" really stuck out to me when you were describing the chip in chris' arm, and (as an older sibling) you capture the complex of an older brother perfectly. i feel like such a fangirl, but you're able to place the reader in everyone's shoes (besides diego n anyone not on the crew), from chris struggling to heal and feel trusted--and survivors guilt, to martin just wanting his brother to feel secure (and struggling to cope with the change), to aviva, koki and jimmy all caring for him. I also LOVE how you show little instances into chris'.... well.... i guess memory gaps? or i guess his time in the suit? I don't know how exactly to word it, but you ride the line between telling too much, and telling to little-- it's just enough that it's disturbing and leaves so many questions. and the pure symbolism in chris scarring martin while in the suit, the branding and ownership imagery, the loss of self-- its all so amazing, im enamored! it's honestly a work of art and honestly i'm obsessed with how the story's evolving. just AAAAAA if i could read your fic for the first time again, i would. if I had the time to write a dissertation on it, i also would. keep up the amazing work!!! im so excited to see all the things yet to come with your writing (you should totally write a book at some point!!) (and your art is amazing too!!!)

-sincerely, a college english major (who's also sick with brain fog so sorry if this isn't as clear as it should be)

This is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me wtf

HEKSHSJ IM SO HAPPY YOU ENJOY IT AHHHHH im so insane for them and everytime someone matches my insanity i jump around in my enclosure

This is honestly the first thing I’ve written thats over 20k!! I have never been super confident in my writing capabilities, sticking more to art and comics. But I really wanted to give it a try, and I’ve been learning so much and having so much fun with it!

I will definitely be writing more stories in the future, but Reprogrammed is really special to me in a lot of ways. There’s a lot of symbolism and deeper interactions that I don’t usually explore. It’s honestly been really refreshing and healing to me in a way :]

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Kinks & Cuddles

kol mikaelson x reader

summary: comforting kol after he faces his mother's rage

tags: hurt / comfort, mentions of abuse, cuddling, mild smut, mommy kink, blood drinking / sharing

word count: ~1.6k

note: this is inspired by a michael langdon fic i read years ago. i felt the kink fit kol, too. linked on my ao3 if i can track it down. also, i’m publishing this drunk :)

“Hello, love,” Klaus greets as you enter the mansion, “I assume Rebekah’s called you for the intervention?”

You nod, “is it bad this time?”

“One of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

You purse your lips, wondering how you’ll tackle it. 

“Of course,” he continues, “we could just leave him like that. Eventually he’ll snap out of it and go on a killing spree to deal with his emotions instead.”

“No, I’ll get him better before it comes to that. It’ll be okay.”

“Alrighty then. Oh, but Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“He may be hungry. There’s bags in the fridge if you need.”

“Thank you, Klaus.”

“I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

After giving him a polite smile, you make your way up the stairs to Kol’s room.

Ever since you’ve started dating, you’ve become more involved in the Mikaelsons’ family business, which, unfortunately, includes their mother’s torment. It isn’t uncommon for the witch to punish them like children, no matter how old they are. Most of it is yelling, but there are times you’ve seen her be more physical, too. Elijah’s the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her, but that’s because he’s never the troublemaker. And while he can often calm her down mid-argument, sometimes, his efforts are futile. 

This is one of those times. Yesterday, Esther had gotten so angry at Kol that not even Elijah could stop her rage. You hadn’t been there, but his siblings recounted it to you. He had come back from The Mystic Grill a little drunk and the woman was furious, yelling about how he could’ve attacked someone and wouldn’t have been able to properly heal and compel the person away. Kol tried to defend that he wasn’t that drunk, but the defiance earned him a slap to the face. The boy gave up instantly, retreated to his room, and hadn’t been out since. As for their mother, she had left early in the morning, no note nor anything else. This unpredictability isn’t unusual for her, but it sure is maddening. 

After Rebekah and Klaus had searched the entire mansion for their mother and found no trace, they called you. You have become sort of like a guardian angel to the family - saving them on multiple accounts, helping them through tough situations, and comforting them after episodes with their mother. Yes, it’s Kol that you’re dating, but you love the rest of them like siblings. 

Their mother, of course, doesn’t know how close you are with the family. There’s no way she would allow it - not for someone to know the family secrets, nor for someone to love Kol the way you do. At the very least, she’d put a boundary spell around the house to prevent your entry; at the worst, she’d set out to kill you. The siblings wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Kol?” You ask gently as you reach his door. He only groans, muffled by his pillow, in response. “It’s me, baby. Can I come in?”

“Fine.”

You’re just as quiet about turning the knob and sitting beside him on the bed. “Hey, you.” You brush your finger down his cheek. “You look quite cuddly.”

He doesn’t answer, opting to bury his head deeper into the pillow. His hair rests messily against it, and his eyes are closed. Strong arms keep it in place under his head, and the way that they’re flexed shows off his back muscles, which peek out from under the blanket. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Is it okay that I sit with you?”

“Yes.”

“Mmkay, good boy.” You murmur, cuddling up beside him. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

He’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “who called?”

“Bex, this time. She’s worried about you.”

“It was her last time.”

“I remember that. And it was you that called me.”

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“Why do you always come when we call?”

“Because I love you all,” you reply instantly. “You’re the family I never had. Except for you, though,” you boop his nose, “because I love you in a different way.”

“I love you, too. Hey, um… can you do that thing you were doing last time?”

“What thing?” You try to rack your brains to what you did last time you comforted your boyfriend. 

“This.” He haphazardly moved a piece of your hair as an example. 

“Ah! Yes, I certainly can.” Immediately, you reach up a hand and pull it through his hair, playing with the locks, and massaging his scalp. 

“Thank you. Feels nice.”

“Good. I’m glad. You need anything else?”

“No, just cuddles.”

“Okay.” You smile. Before you know it, you’re both fast asleep. 

◇◇◇◇

You’re not sure what woke you up, but some hours later, you’re disturbed from a deep sleep. One of your hands still rests in Kol’s hair, while the other lies under your own cheek. When you open your eyes, though, instead of him being at eye level with you, his head is ducked down to your breasts. Before you can ask anything, you sigh involuntarily as you feel your nipple being tugged between his teeth. His tongue is swirling around your breast, wetting it, and then releasing it to flop back to its sideways position. His head then dips to take it in his mouth again, repeating the process. 

As soon as you come to your senses, you try to find your words. “Kol?”

No response. 

“You okay, baby?” You run your hand back through his hair. 

This seems to wake him up, quickly. He snaps out of an apparent trance, removes his mouth, and refuses to look at you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I should’ve asked. I’m sorry, mommy. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, there,” you hook a finger on his chin, “no apologies, you’re perfectly okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He finally looks up at you, “but I touched you without asking.”

“It’s okay, baby. In fact, I’m glad you found the comfort you needed. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Not at all. Do you feel better?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Good. Good boy.” His body shivers at the praise. “Do you need-” You stop mid-sentence. “Did you call me ‘mommy’?”

His face pales. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” His head drops back to the sheets in embarrassment, “I don’t remember.”

“Kol…”

“Please don’t hate me.”

“Oh, pumpkin, I could never hate you! Actually, I find it endearing.” He swallows hard enough that you hear it. “Did you mean it?”

His eyes narrow, “Mean it as in…?”

“As like… was that a slip of the tongue, or was it something you’ve wanted to say?”

“I…I…”

“It’s okay, Kol.”

“I meant it.” He wets his lips. “I just… every time you come help me after mother yells at me, you make me feel safe. Like how a mother should. I don’t know why exactly it makes me want to call you that, but… it does.”

You tilt his chin back up again, and this time he obeys, “to make you feel safe and to love you are all I want to do, Kol. And yes, those are jobs your mother should be fulfilling, too, but if she won’t, I’ll gladly take on both roles.”

“Wait, really? It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. And you already know I love it when you suck on my breasts, baby. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you…”

“You can say it.”

“Thank you, mommy.”

“Of course,” you kiss his head, “mommy loves you. She’s here to take care of you. And, speaking of, are you hungry?”

Before he can answer, his grumbling stomach gives him away. 

“Ah, so it seems.”

“I don’t want to go downstairs, yet. Please don’t make me.”

“Oh no, no, no, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you do anything, baby. I know what it’s like to be in that kind of headspace, and you really shouldn’t go down there until you’re out of it. Not only do I need to take care of you now, but I have first-hand felt the embarrassment of being in public while in a special headspace, and I don’t want you to go through that, okay? No, we’re gonna stay right here.”

He blinks up at you, wanting to cry at how thankful he is for your understanding, yet having no words to say about it. You catch onto this and kiss his forehead. 

“Alright, baby, you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Mmkay, I want you to feed on me, okay?”

“Wait - no, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Kol. I trust you.”

“But-”

“You need to eat, Kol. And I’m not leaving you, nor letting you go down there. Now, come on.” You lift your wrist to his lips. 

Slowly, he drags his teeth along your skin, still hesitant. 

“Feed, sweetheart.”

He takes a deep breath, then finally pierces his fangs into your skin. You gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Good boy, keep going. Keep going.” You play with your hair as you encourage him. “Mommy’s got you. She trusts you.”

After about a minute, the color returns to his face, and he drinks with more confidence. Then, he stops, and immediately bites his own wrist to bring to your lips. You take it, watch your wound heal, and smile up at him. 

“Do you feel better?”

“A lot better. Thank you, Y/N, for the blood. And for comforting me. And for loving me. And for, y’know, not making fun of me.”

“I would never make fun of you. Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. Do you need anything else?”

“More cuddles?”

“I’d love to.”

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (27)

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This is the last chapter! So it's a bit long and a little spicy in certain bits haha but I hoped you enjoyed the journey so far!

We got to the end and a happy ending 😆

Love you all, thank you making this a great experience and for all the lovely comments 💖

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The sun kissed your skin and so did your husband, his dark blonde hair catching the light as his eyes took in the sight of you sprawled out in your swim suit. Just your very presence seemed to make him look drunk and for his fingers to crave for your warmth.

The waves were gentle today, that it made the sunlight glimmer over the surface like patches of diamonds. It had been a while since you had moved out to the Hamptons. You hadn’t had a lot of grey days or gloomy clouds hanging over your head, it was endless blue skies and white clouds, the beach air seemed to agree with you as you took in a deep breath. This new chapter made up for everything, so much so that Barbieland was now in the past.

The city had it’s charm but you needed a change of pace, a step towards a new start. The wounds in your heart was healing, it was time to step out from Melissa’s apartment and a life you knew. You had grown comfortable in it and all you needed was a shift in your perspective. It was nostalgic, to place the keys to that dark wood door into the hands of a new tenant as you packed away your things into a moving truck. But the beauty was, you weren’t doing any of this alone. Every aspect of this change felt welcome and adventurous because he was by your side.

So as a reward to all your hardships, now you began your day with morning swims instead of bustling through an angry crowd and by lying in Ken’s arms as you lounged by the beach instead of being in a loud kitchen. Life had taken a slower pace and you enjoyed every bit of it.

It only felt like yesterday when you walked out that hotel lobby hand in hand, gold rings gleaming in each other’s ring finger and now it had already been a year of this bliss. The gathering was quaint but it was never about the people or the grandeur of it, it was getting to be there together after having thought you had lost him forever. It was getting to slow dance to your favorite song and then dance the night away.

You were by the corner talking to one of your friends when Ken found you during your reception, his cheeks flushed with colour and a smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Come on, I’ve requested a song for us.”, he took you to the middle of the dance floor as he tipped his head toward the Dj to play the song.

The intro began to play as he took your hands in his to give you a playful wink. ‘The very first night’, by Taylor swift was the song he had chosen. You shook you head as you laughed.

“Every weekend, the same party. I never go alone and I don’t seem broken-hearted. My friends all say they know everything I’m going through. I drive down different roads but they all lead back to you”

He sang the words to you, it took you back to the all the times you had seen him waiting outside during Girls night. To think that all those different roads had in fact led you both together made the nostalgia dig deeper.

"We never saw it comin’, not tryin’ to fall in love, but we did like children runnin’, back then we didn’t know we were built to fall apart. We broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts."

You sang the second verse to him, because that was how you fell in love, and you broke the status quo when you both found your own lives here, but parts of the story left you both with broken hearts only for it to seal together now.

His eyes beamed with life but so did the corners as it held traces of his tears.

"But don’t forget about the night out in L.A. Danced in the kitchen, chased me down through the hallway. No one knows about the words that we whispered. No one knows how much I miss you."

This you sang together, he placed his forehead on yours as you swayed together. For all those nights ago when you were catching feelings and falling in love all over again.

It truly was one of a kind, a love you will never get to witness again in this lifetime.

"Take me away to you."

He spun you out and that night was the best you had ever witnessed, your heart was full. It felt like it could go on forever.

You knew nothing about what life held from then on, all this was new and so when many advised that it would start getting harder after the honeymoon phase died, you didn’t understand the logic.

Because for you, his love was constant. It wasn’t something that demanded a lot of effort. You and him shared that easy frequency where fights were limited, like you could read each other’s mind. The honeymoon phase didn’t have an expiration date, he treated you with such tenderness that it wasn’t just a display of his affections, it was the embodiment of it.

But today was important, it was the grand opening of your restaurant, situated right on the beach front. At the very thought your mind dipped away from your daydream and into the endless spiral of preparation for the event, so you held his face in your hands to get his attention to which he groaned as he pouted his lips.

“We’ve got to prepare for the evening.”, you chuckled to which he broke free from your hold to nuzzle his into your neck as he laid by your side.

“We’ve got hours to prepare.”, he mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know, I don’t want anything to go wrong.”, you said as you sighed.

“And it won’t.”, he reassured you.

You nodded, placing your hand over his that wrapped around your waist. You turned to him, to catch sight of him resting so peacefully. He looked like a merman come to life so content with his life on land, that you were blessed with having him with you, in the arduous journey of life.

“I’m just nervous.”, you let the words spill because with him it just ebbed from out of you. His thumb stroked your body as his eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t be.”, he said gently, his eyes finding yours, you were lost in his gaze.

You weren’t saying anything and neither was he, but you were having an entire conversation. You pushed away his hair, he caught your wrist, to then pause before he kissed your palm. It was as if he could never get enough, that’s how he displayed his affection. Delicately and unconditionally, executed with excellence.

“You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”, you felt his grin against your palm to which you groaned, squirming away but he didn’t let you slip away.

He reeled you in, like a boat out on the bay, till you were on top of him. He raised his brow letting you know that he was waiting for it, the sentence he got you to repeat every time you doubted yourself.

“I deserve this happiness.”, you began to which he closed his eyes again, feeling appeased as he listened to you.

“And?”, he asked.

“I worked hard for this.”, you continued to which he nodded his head in agreement.

“You did and you continue to.”, he held your cheek as his eyes found yours again but now he beamed and you knew that he was proud of you.

As you held his gaze you narrowed your eyes at him knowing well why you were out here. The morning swims and walks by the beach were your effort in helping him get out of his fear of the water. All this while, he would only stand by the shore and never get in. You didn’t force him, it had to be on his terms, he would wait for you when you went out for a swim but you could see it in his eyes, the desire to follow you in.

“Now it’s your turn.”, you got up and he sighed as he looked at the serene waters.

You held your hand out to him and he took it, to stand up and dust the sand off him.

“Race you to the shoreline?”, you asked him, with adrenaline beginning to rush into your bloodstream.

“What will you give me if I win?”, he smiled as he rested his hands on his hips after pulling away his shirt.

“Anything you want”, you said mischievously which piqued his interest.

“Ok count down to –

But you didn’t, you didn’t wait for him as you took off running, down towards the open waters.

“Hey!”, he called after you, telling you it wasn’t fair that you cheated as he chased after you.

You felt laughter fill your mouth and the sweet taste of victory when your feet touched the water before you dove in.

He slowed down the moment you waded away, his smile sobering as his feet rested ankle deep. His eyes however were on you, looking at you as if he was mesmerized. He wanted to get out there. So he waded in deeper, the water rising up to his knees.

So you made it easy, and got closer to him instead, as you stood in front of him. Your hair slicked back as you felt water trickle down your face, your hands were cold and wet as you placed it against his cheek.

“You don’t have to push yourself. This is greater progress than before.”, you told him.

But something about the way you shimmered beneath the sun, the cold touch of your fingertips, he knew he couldn’t let this hold him back. He had to let go, of the way his past fears still had an edge over him. He wasn’t going to lose everything again. All this he had now was here to stay, so were you. So the waves didn’t seem daunting anymore.

He hummed as his gaze fell to the shape of your lips, his eyes darkened as he bit his lip. He took in a deep breath, looked ahead and in that instant made up his mind.

You didn’t expect it, when he picked you up, getting your legs to straddle his waist as he ventured further. The water level raising up his waist to his chest. Seeing you smile was intoxicating that he wanted to venture further.

“I just needed the right motivation.”, he chuckled.

“Oh and what is that?”, you asked swiping away water from his face.

“You”, he said, his eyes taking in the details of your face.

And with that feeling the cold waters around him that were being to turn warm as he got used to it, he couldn’t wait anymore, he reached up to place his lips on yours.

It was sweet, the taste of strawberries on his lips then the sting of the salt balanced it out. He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting more with a sly grin on his face. You dipped low, you lips hovering over his.

“You don’t want to claim your prize?”, you whispered feeling bothered that he didn’t catch the meaning of your phrase from before.

“Not here.”, he said slowly, his voice getting husky and low.

“I feel jealous having to share you with the sea.”, he said and it only made you chuckle. That his competition wasn’t another man’s attention but the elements around you. That some how he wanted to be the breeze that caressed your skin, the water that enveloped you or the sun that made your hair change colour.

“Alright.”, you conceded with placing a kiss on his forehead.

It was relaxing, bobbing a long the waves as you lazily swam about. But with the afternoon sun rising higher, the water was getting warmer and your skin had spoken up enough salt.

---

So you packed up and headed home. Your new place was much bigger, the large windows let natural light stream in, your kitchen was idle with a few covered dishes from last night sitting on the counter top. You dropped your bags into the allocated space that contained all the items that related to your beach activities.

Ken put away his flip flops to then head over and peruse through the fridge to cure his hunger.

“I’m headed off to take a bath.”, you let him know as you undid your hair, a trail of water droplets followed you.

The salt now stuck to your body and face that everything felt grimy and uncomfortable. So you took a towel and got into the shower space, the warm water cascading over you to make you feel fresh and clean.

But half through you heard the sound of the bathroom door open and close. You saw his silhouette through the fogged glass. The outline of his body gave way to his presence as he got into the shower with you. He held his sweet gaze but you could tell he wasn’t here to play games. He drew closer to you until he towered over you, to tilt your chin so your eyes were on him, the water beginning to cover you both, his hand slid up your neck as his fingers wrapped around your throat gently. His eyelashes dripping wet, his light hair turning dark as it soaked through.

“I’m here, to claim my prize.”, he said, his voice lost its politeness, now he said it with an authority making his lip tilt up.

“Took you long enough.”, you said as you met his gaze.

You slid your hands down his back, there was no holding back now. He found your lips with a passion and hunger that never seemed to run out. Being touch starved only meant neither wanted to keep their hands to themselves. He held you steady, his body pushing you up the tiled wall as you held onto him, your hands slipping against the glass as he dug his tongue deeper.

Your bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as his hands traced down your body. The salt disappeared, the steam took over. There was no time to pause, it was a dance, it was an art. The way he paced himself and the way you craved his touch.

You could see his little puffs of air take up a wispy form as the hot water continued to keep you both warm. His fingers travelled down the dips of your waist to the curve of your backside. He trailed it back up to cradle your head again as he held onto your hair, the edge of his nails scraping against your scalp as he exposed your neck to leave a trail of kisses or to leave little love bites but you fought for your turn.

You pulled his chin down to you, meeting his unrelenting mouth with yours, the sound of his delighted moan drove you insane, the power your touch held to make him weak in the knees, it empowered you to pull on the ends of his hair, to pull him deeper towards you that his hand slipped from when he had braced himself against the wall behind you. He pressed into you and you pulled away to catch your breath.

Madness, you were both full of it. You would eventually get to finishing up your bath later, but as he took caught his breath, his chest rising and falling with yours, his eyes focused on yours to tell you he only wanted more, you knew this was far from over. He pinned both your hands above your head and dipped his head to meet your lips again.

--

The walk up to your store was nerve wracking. The sun had set and the moon was out, Ken was all dressed up in a loose blazer, white fitted shirt and trouser pants, he looked pristine while you wore a maroon velvet gown, perfect for this evening. But when you caught sight of your restaurant, the nervousness faded because the neon sign was on. ‘Melissa’ in a cursive font lit up the street and reminded you of fond memories.

Ken took your hand to give it a gentle squeeze, his hair combed back as he nudged you ahead. You stood taller and pushed through the door to be greeted by your friends and staff, some of whom joined you from Sam’s kitchen.

The menu was set, the food was prepared and everyone looked happy. Ken invited his colleagues from the local school he worked at and also from the youth program he was overseeing. You grabbed a drink to clink against the glass to get everyone’s attention.

“I know I’ve spoken a lot over the past few months so I just want to keep this short. I wanted to thank everyone here, for being a pillar of support and for cheering us on. Looking forward to a great night and to the many more that are to come.

Here’s to new beginnings.”, you finished raising the glass in the air to hear an eruption of cheers around you.

The crowd fizzled away as each one found their own spot, you took a sip from the glass as you turned to the photo wall behind you. Ken slipped his hand from behind to kiss your cheek to then rest his chin on your shoulder as he admired the photos with you.

It had one of Melissa, a lot from New York, one from your wedding day, one with Ken and you riding horses and many more. This was your new legacy, one made by your own with the people you loved. The other walls were still empty but you knew that as time passes, they will become full too.

You took Ken’s hand as you found your table, that idea set up for you two, he held out the seat for you to sit in and once you did, he took up the seat in front of you.

Your plates were placed in front of your with the first course and it felt like you had come full circle from where you began to where you were. The world paused for a second. Ken’s eyes caught yours before he looked towards to shelf near the entrance. You turned to see it too and on it sat, Chef Barbie and Beach Ken.

For the dolls who once had nothing, now the world was theirs, it was yours and his.

---

Tags:

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[anastasiareadsnwrites]

First of all, aaaah you're so talented asgsfds I love your fics, I am literally obsessed, and also idk if you have anon emojis but anyways can I be 🧡 :D

And second of all... May I request a Lady Lesso x never!student (platonic), anything angsty with hurt and comfort :333 just mother mothering

Thank youuu, Tasia :) 🧡

Forged in Fire (Lady Lesso x Never! Student)

Author's note: Hiya, love. It was great to see a request for this fandom. Of course, don't hesitate to request anything else or ask me to rewrite it. I am currently going through some difficult choices, so PLEASE bear with me as the fics slowly come out

Summary: You, a Never student struggling with failure and self-doubt, find unexpected guidance and tough love from Lady Lesso, who teaches them that true strength comes from enduring pain and turning it into resilience.

Warning(s): Hurt/comfort, mentions of failure and weakness, emotional distress, and mild language

The MAIN Masterlist

Late at night, the halls of the School for Evil were eerily silent. You hung your head low and approached Lady Lesso's office. The knock on the door was hesitant, barely audible, but Lesso was always aware.

“Enter,” came the cool, clipped voice from within.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, feeling the weight of the headmistress's sharp gaze immediately upon you. Lady Lesso stood by her desk, her hands resting lightly on the surface, posture straight, eyes narrowed.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice as cutting as always.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come at all,” you mumbled, the words stumbling out awkwardly. “I— I didn’t know where else to go.”

Lesso raised an eyebrow. “You? A Never? Unsure? Pathetic.”

You flinched at the word, the sting of it cutting deeper than any wound they’d sustained earlier. For a moment, you considered leaving, running away before your already shattered spirit could be broken any further. But instead, you stood your ground, shaking slightly as you balled your fists by your sides.

“I’m trying,” you said barely above a whisper. “But I— I don’t think I’m cut out for this. For any of it. I keep failing, over and over. Everyone sees it. I see it.”

Lady Lesso’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, and for a moment, silence hung heavy in the room.

“Sit,” she finally said, pointing to a chair. Her tone left no room for argument.

You hesitated before shuffling over to the chair, sinking into it with a sigh. You winced as you moved, the pain of their injuries reminding them of the trials you failed earlier that day.

Without a word, Lady Lesso pulled open a drawer and took out a small silver case. Inside were various healing supplies. She moved toward you, her steps precise, as if every movement had been carefully planned in advance.

“Hold still,” she instructed, kneeling slightly to tend to your wounds. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, though her face remained as expressionless as ever.

“You think you’re the only one who’s struggled?” she said after a moment, her voice softer now but still cold. “That you’re the only one who’s ever been weak?”

You looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

Lady Lesso’s lips twitched, a shadow of a bitter smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “You think I’ve never failed? Never been brought to my knees by this place or my own mistakes?” She shook her head, focusing on bandaging the wound. “You’re more foolish than I thought.”

You blinked, stunned by the admission. Lesso, failing? It was unimaginable.

“But... you’re strong. You never let anything get to you.”

“Strength,” Lesso said, pulling the bandage tight, “doesn’t come from avoiding pain. It comes from enduring it. Learning from it. Turning it into something that makes you unstoppable.” She looked you in the eye, her gaze piercing. “You let this weakness consume you, and you’ll be nothing. You’ll never belong.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but they quickly blinked them away, biting their lip. “I... I don’t know if I can.”

Lesso stood, crossing her arms as she looked down at you, her expression softening in a way that was almost imperceptible.

“You can. And you will.” She took a step back, her voice steady but less harsh now. “You’re in this school for a reason. The only question is whether you’ll decide to live up to it.”

You looked down, unsure, but a tiny flicker of hope began to spark within them.

Lady Lesso walked back to her desk, her back to you. “Now go. And don’t come back here again unless you’ve decided to stop wasting my time.”

You rose from the chair, still aching but feeling a strange sense of warmth from her words, as if they’d been wrapped in some unseen armor.

“Thank you,” you muttered, turning to leave.

Before you reach the door, Lesso’s voice calls out once more.

“Don’t make me regret believing in you.”

---

The door closed softly behind you, but even as you walked back through the darkened halls, Lady Lesso’s words lingered in your mind. *Strength doesn’t come from avoiding pain... It comes from enduring it.* The weight of those words pressed on you, filling their chest with both dread and determination.

You stumbled slightly as you walked, your wounds aching despite Lesso’s careful bandaging. The halls of the School for Evil had never felt so suffocating. Whispers echoed off the stone walls, whether from the castle itself or fromnyour own imagination, you couldn’t tell. Every failure seemed to trail after you, haunting your steps.

And yet... there was something else now, too. A spark, faint but there.

---

When morning came, you stood at the threshold of the classroom, hands trembling slightly as they grasped the door handle. The eyes of your peers turned toward you as you entered, and the familiar knot of anxiety twisted in your gut. You hadn’t spoken to anyone since the night before, still unsure if Lady Lesso’s words were meant to encourage or break you further.

You moved quietly to your seat, ignoring the whispers of a few other students nearby. As the lesson began, you tried to focus on the instructions being given, but your mind kept drifting.

"You’ll never belong."

The words of your classmates from days before echoed in your head, each one cutting deeper than any physical wound. Your fingers dug into your palms under the desk. No matter how hard you tried, it never seemed enough. Would it ever be enough?

But then, Lady Lesso’s voice rang clear in your memory. "You’re in this school for a reason."

It was the first time anyone had ever implied that you belonged here, that there was potential within you.

"Believe in yourself," you whispered to yourself, echoing her unspoken challenge. "Or no one else will."

---

By the time the class ended, your mind was made up. You couldn’t give in to the weakness clawing at you. Not now.

You made your way back to Lady Lesso’s office, uncertain why you felt drawn there once again. Perhaps it was to prove that you hadn’t been broken yet. Or perhaps it was for one more brief moment of the comfort she’d offered, even if it had been delivered in her own unique, harsh way.

When you knocked this time, the door opened faster, and Lesso looked up from behind her desk. She raised an eyebrow as you stepped inside.

“I told you not to come back unless—”

“I’m not wasting your time,” you interrupted, surprising even yourself with the sudden burst of confidence. “I’m... I’m going to get stronger.”

Lady Lesso leaned back in her chair, scrutinizing you with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she smirked—a small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips.

“Then prove it,” she said, her voice low. “Don’t just tell me. Show me.”

---

The days that followed were filled with grueling trials, but you attacked each one with renewed determination. Every time you faltered, the echoes of your old insecurities threatened to pull you under. But you pushed forward. Each step, though shaky, was a step toward proving to yourself and to Lady Lesso that you were capable.

In the quiet hours, when the pain of failure felt too much, you'd find themselves returning to the headmistress’s office. And though Lady Lesso never coddled you, never truly comforted you in the way others might have, she was always there. Always offering a bandage, a reprimand, and just the smallest hint of belief.

---

Weeks passed, and you stood once again before Lesso’s desk, bruised and battered but still standing. The headmistress glanced at you, a fleeting look of approval passing over her face before she spoke.

“I see you’re still standing.”

“Barely,” you admitted, though there was a small smile tugging at your lips now.

Lady Lesso closed the book she’d been reading and stood up, moving closer. She studied you for a long moment, and for the first time, her voice softened. “Good. That’s all you need to do.”

You felt something warm bloom in your chest at the words. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like they were simply surviving. You were growing stronger, inch by inch.

And Lady Lesso saw it.

[viperfizz]

HII I LITERALLY LOVE your page so much,, I find the rarepair Xara x Ellegaard so original but well working . so sorry if this has been asked before, but what makes you think this rarepair work so well?? I’d love to hear

oh my goddd this means so much to me, thank you!! <3 I’ve actually never been asked this question before, and i’m more than happy to answer anything xaragaard related!

I don’t even remember the pinpoint reason i started liking the ship, but a big inspiration (and probably the pinpoint inspiration actually but i’m too chicken to admit it) was probably this one animated video i found on youtube a few years ago by bluegirlstarlette that was like “omg what if xara and ellegaard met”

i don’t even think i watched this video at first, i just looked at the thumbnail and something clicked in my 14 year old lesbian brain and i thought “wow they would be a cool couple actually”. Which is funny because not only in this video, but with every single mention of Xara and Ellegaard, everyone seems to have the same opinion of “oh they’re related somehow because they sound and look the same/they both work with redstone” which i always have the strong urge to shut down immediately but hhhfjdhdjdj that’s a whole other can of worms i don’t feel like opening. To me, they’re wives and that’s that.

I’m not exactly sure what drew me to the idea of Xara and Ellegaard as a couple in the first place. I would say it was because they’re such different people and i’m a sucker for polar opposite couples that compliment each other, but they’re only different on a surface level if you don’t think too hard about it. Ellegaard is a stable, hardworking, and sometimes arrogant genius who is able to run an entire town while also working on insane projects. meanwhile Xara is fresh out of prison, and is very bitter and aggressive. not a very stable woman, but she’s very smart when she wants to be. her stubbornness just gets the better of her sometimes. put these two together? absolute perfection! Ellie is able to ground Xara and teach her that she is more than her emotions, and Xara teaches Ellie that she can relax every now and then and that there’s more to life than just working yourself to death.

Like i said, they seem like (and pretty much are) polar opposites, but they have a lot more in common if you look just a bit deeper. below the iceberg, you’ll find that besides practicing redstone, they’re both just two introverted older women who get too caught up in their own heads sometimes. They prefer to do things themselves instead of letting other people get in the way and making things more complicated. They’ve both encountered the dreadful experience of having friends drift apart first hand. They’ve both seen a close friend die in front of them. It’s all there.

The idea of Xara and Ellegaard finding each other and being given a second chance at life in their middle ages, slowly learning how to love themselves again by loving each other, being able to heal one day at a time from all they’ve been through as long as they live those days out together, that’s what i think makes xaragaard work so well. they can find comfort in familiarity, and become better people because of it. if not for everyone else, then for each other.

thank you so so much for letting me dump all of this on you op, i really appreciate your interest!! i just get so excited when i find people that have the same love for xaragaard that i do since they’re such a rare topic. Much love! :D 💕💕

[themadlostgirl]

B&B: Please. I Love Her.

*And another old request done! Woo!*

Pairing: Felix x fem!Reader

Prompt: Storybrooke AU. Reader gets badly hurt and Felix tells them how much he loves them.

~~~

“Felix!” you charged into the apartment practically frothing at the mouth. “Get the weapons! We’re gonna go fight some pirates!”

“Wait, what? Pirates?” Felix’s head perked up, “I thought were weren’t allowed to try and kill Hook.”

“No. Not Hook. Different pirate. Someone named Bluebeard and his crew. They’re pillaging the town and we have special permission to use lethal force! Come on! We haven’t had the chance to fight in forever!”

“I’m coming.” He grabbed his club and tossed you your sword. “Let’s go!”

You ran down to the center of town where everyone was facing off with the pirates. Hook was fighting the captain Bluebeard while everyone else took on the rest of the crew. Snow and David saw you coming and sighed a little at the manic joy on you and Felix’s faces.

“Die pirates!” you caught one of the lackeys by surprise and stabbed them through the back, the tip of your sword protruding out their front.

“Oh joy, I was wondering when the jungle rats would make an appearance.” Hook sniped as he dodged another blow from Bluebeard.

“Like you’re not pleased to see us.” you said as you moved onto a new target. “After all, Felix and I have special experience fighting pirates, as you recall.”

“Oh I recall.” Hook snapped, “Now how about you put it to good use?”

“We are!” Felix bashed one of the pirates over the head with his club. “How about you focus on your own fight or do you need one of us to pick up the slack?”

“This really isn’t the best time to be talking!” Emma shouted at you guys.

“Are you kidding?” you slashed the throat of another pirate that tried to attack Regina from behind. “Felix and I would still be carrying on full blown conversations while fighting Hook’s crew back in the day and we never got hurt.”

“Behind you!” Felix shouted and smashed the kneecap of a pirate that tried running up behind you. “We’re rusty. Don’t get cocky.”

“Ugh, fine.” you pouted and went back to work.

Despite all the manpower you had Bluebeard’s crew was monstrous in size. Every time you slayed one pirate there was another waiting. The battle finally started to turn when Hook finally dealt a killing blow to Bluebeard. The remaining pirates, with their captain dead and their numbers dwindling, surrendered or ran.

You breathed out in relief as you ripped your sword back out of one of the pirates you had slain. “Well, that was fun.” you turned to Felix. “I’ve missed this.”

“I have--watch out!” Felix shouted. You turned with your sword raised, ready to defend yourself but it was too late. An injured pirate that you had thought you killed was back on their feet and had shoved a dagger through your stomach as you turned.

The air left your lungs and you froze. The pirate was blown back by a wave of magic but the damage had been done. Reflexively you wanted to pull the blade out but you forced your hands out to your sides. Removing it would only make you bleed faster.

Everything began moving in slow motion. You felt your knees hit the pavement as you collapsed and saw Felix running towards you, his face pale. You glanced back at the dagger sticking out of your body and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

---

Felix was able to catch you before you fell forward and drove the dagger deeper into your body. Carefully he laid you back on the pavement. You were bleeding. You were bleeding so much. Why was there so much blood?

“Darling? Darling, can you hear me?” he cradled your head in his lap. “Come on, you can’t do this! Wake up!”

“Stop, let me through.” Regina shoved through the crowd and knelt down beside you. “Shit.”

“Fix it!” Felix screamed at her. “Fix her!”

“I’m trying damn it! Give me a minute!” Regina snapped back at him. She looked down at your body and sighed. “Healing magic isn’t that easy. Emma, come here, give me a boost.”

Emma came up and placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder, channeling her magic into her. “Okay. Nobody say anything, I need to concentrate.”

Regina grabbed the hilt of the dagger and tore it back out of your body. The blood began to pour out more rapidly and Felix wanted to scream at her for doing it and making you lose more blood but he bit his tongue. She was helping you. She couldn’t heal you with the knife still in.

A glowing light spread from Regina’s hands and seeped into your abdomen. Sweat trickled from her brow with the effort of it. She wasn’t just closing the wound, she was healing the cut veins, the organs, replacing your blood. And it was taking forever.

Felix knew that she said to be quiet but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out as he stared down at your unconscious face. They were quiet and choked.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t leave me like this.”

His hands shook. Whether from rage or sorrow or fear he couldn’t say. “I love you, darling. I love you so much. And I’m sorry I never say it enough. So please, stay. Hang on for me. If you come back to me, I promise, I’ll say it every day. I love you. I love you.”

The adults were quiet. They had known that you and Felix were together, that you had been together for years even back on Neverland. But you two never acted more than good friends in front of them. It was now though that they saw exactly how deeply you cared for each other. At least, they saw how much Felix cared for you.

And they recognized that his world was ending right before his eyes.

He bent low over you, his forehead almost touching yours so no one could see the tears that gathered in his eyes. Felix was not someone who begged. Not someone who prayed. But he would spend his years kneeling at a pew every day if it meant that you would just open your eyes. “Please. This life isn’t worth living if you are not here with me. Please. Please. Please.”

Please don’t take her from me. Please give her back to me. Anyone. Anything that is watching or listening. Please. I love her. I love her. I love her.

He felt a hand brush his cheek and his eyes snapped open. You stared up at him, your gaze not all in focus but a weak smile pulled at your lips. “You mind? You’re crying on me.”

Felix gathered you in his arms, crushing you to his chest. You winced and he let you lay back down but he was still holding you tight to him. Regina stepped back, satisfied with her handiwork. Your stomach was still tender but you were awake. You were alive!

“I love you.” Felix whispered into your neck over and over as you held you in the middle of the road. “I love you, darling. I love you so much.”

“Felix…” you pulled him back enough to look in his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I thought I lost you.” he let out a shaky breath. “Don’t ever fucking do that to me again!”

“I’ll try my best. I promise.” you hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And I love you too. I love you so very much.”

Felix relaxed in your arms, quietly muttering the same three words over and over as the fear left his body. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[crow2222]

I don't know when I've written enough to comfortably start posting the chapters of this fic,

but here's a little snippet of the first chapter under the cut because I just wanna share some of it already

“I’ll be back in the evening, later Ponyboy.”

Sodapop ruffles my hair as he says his goodbyes to me for the evening. I hate how it feels without grease in it, but I haven't had the energy to put it in. That's only if I use Two-bits's tub too, and I don't think I can handle that like Sodapop can.

Soda was grinning at me but his sad eyes were telling me the truth. He’s been working like a dog day and night for the hospital bills. I just wish I could help- if only my limp wasn’t making it so damn annoying to walk.

He walks away from me, going into Two-bit's room; Darry was sleeping there, or at least he's meant to be asleep. If he could get out of bed, I feel like he'd be like those cats scratching at the door that have been left out in the rain, begging to be let in; or in his case, let out. He’s gonna go downright crazy soon from staying in bed, but he has to. Doctor’s orders. He hasn't given himself a proper chance to heal ever since we got out of the hospital. We just about had to tie him down to the bed last night, he kept trying to clean all around Ms Matthews house; it was a bit of a funny sight sure, seeing my big brother on his tippy toes trying to clean the top of a fridge, but his scrunched up, pained face, took all the laughter out of me.

He felt guilty for staying here indefinitely, hell I do too, but I'm taking this gift without a second thought because we sure need it.

But at least Darry got assigned Two-bit’s bed. I had to sleep in Karen’s obnoxiously pink room; being a fourteen year old greaser in a preteen girl’s frilly pink bed was embarrassing, to say the least. I have a feeling there was a slight advantage to our rooms though- aside from the bed sizes, Karen's room didn’t stink like Two-bit’s room, it's no wonder Darry can't fall asleep.

Even if all I did today was walk to the kitchen, make a bologna sandwich and plant my ass on the couch; I sure felt tired.

I settled my head deeper into the dirty couch pillow, it don't smell too good and it was lumpy but it was better than the hospital bed so I hugged it gratefully. My vision goes as I close my eyes, starting to think about why all this had all happened in the first place..

…

I wonder what it’s like in a burning ember..

I stared at my cigarette’s burning, almost glowing end instead of reading the book I had propped wide open in my lap, the words sitting patiently right in front of me. It was some dusty old book I’ve read multiple times- if the bent corners weren't already enough to tell, the scribbles of my thoughts would be. None of that has never stopped me from reading a book before though. If you knew my family, or what side of the town we’re on, you’d know that we don’t have a good flow of money; I just have to make do with what I have.

Unless Darry was in a good mood and let me go out on a trip to the library; I’d pretend the books I’ve had sitting around for years weren't mine, dust never collected on the books in the first place from how often I handle them. Instead, I’d pretend they’re brand new books I’ve bought recently, ignoring the highlights and anecdotes in between the lines I've made myself.

I was smoking peacefully in my room, which wasn’t exactly allowed but the whole gang was away for the day, at least for now. Darry would always send us out when a cigarette was lit, he got that from mom; she’d never let anyone smoke in her lovely home, not even her own husband, said it gave her headaches.

Both of my brothers were working and the rest of the guys were probably out in the town causing trouble like the hoods they are, which was the usual. I can’t lie, I really did hate them a little bit for hanging out without me, but at the same time I know I shouldn’t, seeing how it wasn’t their fault that I got grounded. Well, at least not this time.

[potteryheadd]

No Time To Die Ch.1

Pairing: (Eventually) Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

Summary: Endowed with the Infinity Stones, Reader is racing against time to save the universe with the help of MCU hero’s they meet along the way. 

Chapter Summary: Reader makes a tough decision that changes not only their life, but the universe. 

Warnings: angst, Suicidal Ideation (and plans), mild(?) Torture, kidnapping, medical equipment use (tube inserted in body), 

Word Count: 2.6k

a/n - Ahhhhh this has been a long time coming for me. I started this story a year and a half ago when I was in a very dark place. Thankfully with much deserved self reflection and support I am ready to come back to this story. Now, with the help of some of the BEST beta readers I’ve had the pleasure to meet, the first chapter of this series is ready for your enjoyment. ^.^

 p.s I envisioned the reader as plus size and black (cause that’s meee) but it can be read regardless.

Big thanks and love to my beta readers: @srhwho​ @beating-a-dead-plot​ @the-singular-peep​ @who-you-gonna-message​

It’s all gone. 

I’ve finally finished selling all my things, and an empty apartment lies before me. A ghost of what it used to be, really. From furniture, appliances, wall art and throw blankets, down to the Marvel comics and movies I never finished. Given away. I had thought to keep everything the way it was when I left but I know the money I’ve saved can go to a good cause.

The tub is warm and soothing, water nearly spilling out but stays bubbled around the edge as I slip deeper into it. The smell of my last Christmas candle lingers in the air and, if it weren’t for the bottle of pills on the toilet seat cover next to me, I might’ve said this was a pleasant experience. As I stare at them, I can’t help but think how long it would take, would it hurt, should I have picked another way?  

It’s okay, this is what I want. Right? I promised myself if I did everything I could and nothing worked, this could be it. 

A glimmer catches my eye and I turn to see the last thing I own, a photo. A photo of the only thing I wanted to see before I go, my friends. The ones that really made me believe things could change. We met by chance but were held together by our love of nerdy things. What would they say about me now?

Tears stream down my face as I grab the photo, wishing it could save me from this. From what I’m feeling, what I’ve been through, what I’m about to do. I see my smiling face and wonder what I could’ve done to get that back. To feel hope again. I turn the photo over and find my list of reasons to stay alive. 

10.I deserve good things 9.I want to make a difference 8.Heavy rain and hot chocolate 7.What if they invent space travel after I’m gone? 6.Eating cheesecake at 3am  5. Sunny days 4. Looking for shooting stars 3. The neighborhood cats 2. Spite 1.Love

I remember all the jokes my friends made when I wrote down the first two. It’s true though, spite has gotten me so far in life but love feels like healing. It made me appreciate the small, beautiful wonders of the world all of which I’m leaving behind. Can I really leave all of this behind? I close my eyes and list my reasons like a prayer till my voice goes hoarse. 

Maybe waiting one day won’t hurt

The door to the bathroom slams shut. 

Whispers begin to fill the room, creating a cacophony of almost unbearable sound. Dropping the photo to cover my ears does nothing to drown out the voices, all of which are too quiet to hear more than a word or two.

“...protect…” 

“...chosen…”

“...chosen…”

“...chosen…”

“...find them...” 

The bathroom light blows out and I jump splashing water everywhere as a giant reflection appears in front of me. It looks like moving water. I think for a second then go to touch it, my hand completely passing through. 

Holy shit

Yanking my hand back I see my fingers tangled in a necklace with 6 gems, each radiating a different color. Why the hell is this so familiar? Before I can inspect anymore, the room begins to shake and the jewelry falls out of my hand into the tub. I grip the edge of the tub and sweep my legs inwards to catch the necklace and quickly put it on. 

The room goes still. 

What the hell just happened. I touch the center of my chest, smoothing my fingers over the chain. Rising from the tub, prior motives long forgotten, I towel off and find myself lying in my empty bedroom with my phone plugged into the wall.  

Search: Real Infinity Stones MCU

As I scroll through the results, mostly containing plastic versions of the stones for sale and Marvel movie ads, nothing resembles any sort of answer. 

I mean sure I’m off my rocker a little bit right now, but I know I didn’t just imagine that. Infinity Stones!? I’d heard rumors about Hydra being real, maybe even multiple realities – but this? How am I even holding it!?

BANG BANG BANG

The front door startles me and, as I get up to answer, my stomach tightens. Something doesn’t feel right.  As I tiptoe towards the door, the banging becomes louder and louder, until I’m in front of the peephole. No one. Suddenly glass shatters from my bedroom window and footsteps bound towards me. I rush to the kitchen, hoping to find something, but feel a slight pinch on my neck and darkness takes over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room I wake to is nothing like my apartment. Cement walls covered in cracks and dirt and grime, the strong smell of bleach and mold hangs in the air.  Head pounding, I can feel soreness in my arms and legs. My heavy eyes open to see that I’m strapped down to a chair, incapacitated. My shirt has been ripped open and a small tube has been hooked up to my chest, connecting to 3 giant machines placed around me that are filled with a blue liquid. 

“Finally, you’re awake.” 

Behind me, in the far right corner, sat a man in a long tattered white coat with a clipboard in his hands. He watches me through his broken glasses as I struggle against the restraints, careful to not move the tubes. 

“What are you doing to me?” I ask weakly.

“Only saving our asses, now please sit still. I can't get a proper reading on the stones when you move like that,” he replies, crossing the room and opening the door for another man. This one had on all black tactical gear, a gun fastened to his hip, and a black arm patch with a bright red skull and six tentacles. He stays close to the door and crosses his arms. 

“Who the hell are you? You’re not doing shit except keeping me hostage with the Hydra reject over there!”

“Actually, he was a top asset to Hydra in the days before Thanos.” White coat chuckles, “And think of our relationship more as that of Frankenstein and Monster.” 

My eyes go wide with fear. “What the hell are you doing to me!?” 

White Coat stands between two machines and flips a switch, sending me doubling over in pain. Blue liquid from the machines starts seeping through my tube. After a minute, he flips the switch again and begins asking questions,

“How’s the clarity of your mind right now?”

“Could you feel anything happening with the stones?”

“Are you noticing any hardening in your muscles?” 

This guy is insane

I huff leaning up, “Just please tell me what you’re doing to me, I don’t know why I have the stones or how to use them. If you want them so bad why haven’t you taken them?” 

“Trust me darling, we tried,” White Coat says, pointing to my chest. I look down in horror noticing a faint, oval shaped scar around the necklace. “Those stones don’t want to be taken.” 

Did they fucking cut me open? I’ll kill him I swear…wait-

“Why is it healed so much, I just got here?” 

“The stones healed you, of course. Can’t have their protector getting hurt, now can they?” He sounded bitter.

I raise an eyebrow and he steps around the machines with a small metal chair and clipboard and sits in front of me.

“This last test really messed with your memory, huh? The stones chose you as their protector.” 

It hit me like a train. The voices. Most were too quiet to even hear but I know they said this. They must have been trying to tell me, or warn me. But what does “find them” mean? Find who? There’s no way it’s these guys.  

“Chose me? Why would they have chosen me?”

Tactical Gear turns to me. “Trust me, sweetheart, we’ve been trying to figure that out too.”

“Oh and…you’ve been here a while my dear, about 6 months now?”

“6 months tomorrow, Doc.” Tactical Gear sports a grin as he speaks.

“W-why can’t I remember? Have I been asleep?”

Tactical Gear snickers, “You wish, sweetheart, we’ve spent a lot of quality time together. And your memory? That’s all Doc.”

“It’s truly the kindest thing we could do for you, this work doesn’t happen without some… side effects” 

Side effects!? “What kind of side effect warrants memory loss? What’s going on here!?” 

“Jesus Christ, Doc just tell them, it’s no fun fucking with them when they’re like this.” 

“I wanted to give them time, but … alright,” White Coat lets out a breath. “I assume you aren’t aware of the multiverse, yes?” 

“Like in Marvel movies?” 

He sighs, “This is much more complicated than that but yes, and similar to the movies, Thanos is also very real and very much on his way for those stones. He destroyed Hydra looking for them many years ago, and I have no doubt he senses their presence now.”

“My theory is that, combined with my version of the super soldier serum, the stones will react to your new strength and be our ticket out of here. You’ve been quite stubborn these past few months and have refused to willingly participate in my work so this,” he gestures to the restraints, “is our last resort.”

"You're seriously making me...what, like a super soldier? Like Captain America? I could literally die!" 

“ Do not worry my dear, you will be my greatest creation! You are going to lead Hydra into a new age across the timelines.”

“The only thing I’m going to lead is my foot up your ass, now let me go!”

White Coat only shakes his head before getting up and walking back around the machines. He looks as if he is going to mess with the machines again but decides against it, instead walking towards the door. 

“Take them back to their room, we’ll pick up tomorrow.” 

Tactical Gear pushes off the wall and unties my arm restraints. “Now don’t get feisty, wouldn’t wanna have to hurt you.” 

He smiles. 

Dick.

Feeling comes back to my legs as he takes the straps off and lifts me up bridal style out of the room. He walks down a long blue lit hallway, avoiding the stripped wires hanging from the ceiling. If I had the strength in my legs I’d run, but… where would I even go? I don’t know where I am or how far I am from civilization. The room I’m taken to is bland to say the least. Four more cracked cement walls, a chair, and a bed that Tactical Gear throws me unceremoniously on. He turns and walks out, locking the door behind him.

A sob escapes my mouth as I turn over and clutch my legs to my chest. None of this should have happened. I know what I should’ve done, and now I'm here. I pay no attention to the necklace as I run my fingers over the scar – it’s healed but will most likely never go away. A familiar feeling begins to rise. 

After everything I’ve been through, THIS is where I end up? These stones saved my life and now I’m stuck with fucking Dr. Jekyll and Hyde? No.Fucking.Way. I’m getting out of here even if it’s the last thing I do. 

This is how most nights go now. Wake up, a breakfast of toast and expired fruit, and then continuous torture. Like cattle being raised for slaughter, only I’d be the one doing the slaughtering eventually. I can feel what the serum is doing to me, I’ve bulked up to the point Tactical Gear has a hand on his gun whenever I’m in the room. It would be an ego boost if it wasn’t so damn terrifying, especially since the man looks like he’s itching to pull the trigger!

 It’s been 3 weeks and I haven’t even thought of using the stones. My captors are less than thrilled, but I know Marvel like the back of my hand and, if they think super soldier serum will trigger these stones, yeah right. I just need to buy enough time to figure out where I am and how to leave. They haven’t said anything about it, but I know that’s what comes next. Brainwashing. It’s the only way they’ll ever get me to use the stones for them. 

I can hear footsteps through the thick concrete as Tactical Gear approaches, a new perk of the serum. He opens the door and gestures to walk out, hand readily on his gun. I slip past him and make my way to the room — there aren’t any exit doors in the hallway so he lets me by. I learned that my first week. I take a seat and allow him to strap my arms and legs to the chair. He begins inserting the tube and I reflexively wince as he purposefully pushes it too hard. 

“I’m hoping this test will be our final and all 3 of us can continue my work somewhere else,” White Coat says, not looking up from his clipboard. 

“Wait- you mean this is it? What if it doesn’t work.” My heart races as I think of the consequences of not using these stones.

“ Well, you’ll finally be done with the serum today, so training should be next.”

Sure. “Training”. I knew it. 

Looking down again, I feel a wave of nausea come over me. I had to get out of here and fast. Should I use the stones? Are they even in my control? I close my eyes and begin pleading with them.

Please, please, take away my tube and get me out of here! 

I wait a moment before opening my eyes and seeing everything still as it was.

“Get ready, dear, try to concentrate on a portal out of here!” 

And away from you

As he begins flipping switches again, the blue liquid crawls back towards me, and I can’t help but continue to plead with the stones as pain shoots through me. 

Please get me out of here

Please get me out of here

Please get me out of here

Swoosh

A bright light blinds me as the left wall collapses in on itself and is replaced by a smokey blue portal. White coat cheers and begins fiddling with the machines again while Tactical Gear steps over to me and starts untying me from the chair. After unraveling all the restraints, he roughly yanks me up from my chair and pulls the tube from my side. I cringe, expecting pain but as I look where the tube is I already see a scar forming on my side. Another new perk of the serum I’m sure. 

 He turns back around to grab a duffle bag hidden from behind a machine and I know this is the only chance I’ll get to escape. I leap over two giant bundles of wires to get out of his reach and dive towards the portal. 

“Stop them!”

I can’t tell who’s yelling but it’s the least of my worries as I pass through the portal and crash onto cement. Scrambling up I turn to see White Coat and Tactical Gear bounding towards me. Running through what I now see is an alley, I turn the corner onto the sidewalk and immediately crash into someone.

“Oh my god, please you have to help! These guys are cha-”

My eyes look up to meet large white lenses with black rims sewn into a red and blue suit, an all too familiar sight. 

“Woah woah it’s okay! I’m Spider-man, I can help!”

[rekas-writes]

Spooktober Day 2: Sweater Weather

Pair: Omen/FtM! Reader Source: Valorant

Type: Drabble - 1298 words Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Perspective: Second-Person (You/Your)

Summary: Omen knits you a sweater to help ease your dysphoria

TW: Mentions of Dysphoria, binders and spiralling

A/N: I got an Oodie recently and I’ve been lounging in it all day everyday while I play games. Can’t lie, it’s a very nice dysphoria reliever for me and is part of the inspo for this fic haha. Also, for however far I am behind, I’ll be making up for. Don’t worry!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Today just wasn’t your day… nor was the day before… or the day before that… And thinking about it, you wondered if any day would ever be your day again. 

Tomorrow didn’t exactly fill you with hope, only the lingering dread of having to face the light of day once more, of having to face your draining thoughts and inner voice once more. If you had to describe Dysphoria? It was like a dirt pit. A dark, deep pit that whenever you fought a little harder to climb out, you only found yourself sliding back down to where you started. Maybe a little further. The edges were all loose dirt and slippery gravel, like some corn silo a poor bird would get suffocated in.

It had been a while since you’d faced a wave of emotional aching as painful and as seemingly never-ending as this. The voices pulling you down so viciously were usually quiet enough to ignore; they were easier to rip apart and disprove when you were so confident and proud... But now? When your confidence was shattered so completely by your incessant thoughts and your self esteem felt so brittle and fragile? Now, you only seem to see and remember everything that felt wrong, even when everyone around you seems to only see the best you. The you that looked and felt every bit the man he is.

Your growing discomfort with yourself only made your bad habits emerge louder, ever more apparent. From staying in your dorm, to wearing your binder for far too long, hyper-focusing and pinching at the parts of you you deemed too “unmasculine”. Every little thing felt off, setting your cursed brain off to spiral ever deeper into its own misery and anxiety. It felt so lonely, so isolating. Like another experience that sets you apart from being a “true man”.

But your looming shadow would never let you forget that you were never really alone in the first place, were you?

Though quiet he may be, he was always there. A solid presence that never wavered, even when your Dysphoria threatened to wash you under. Omen is your beacon of comfort during times like these, a symbol of solidarity as he empathises with your plight. Though your struggles differ, he sees the likeness in the way he questions every so often if he was truly more than the endless shadow and void he’s bound as. Whether or not he was deserving of the friendship and love he is shown by you and his allies. If he was truly deserving of the title of your boyfriend, when there were others more human than he who vied to be by your side in the way he was.

But you always shrugged those thoughts off, always looking at him with that content, little smile of yours as you assured him that none could ever replace him. None could warm your heart more than he, the agent with the namesake of imminent catastrophe. In your eyes, he’s so much more human than so many people you’ve seen. You make him believe that he’s worth it. That he is worthy of love when all he believes he is, is a monster.

So he tries his damn hardest to do the same when you feel down. When you feel like everything is against you. Patient, as he encourages you to heal at your own pace. The time he had off-mission was time he spent mostly by your side, no matter how much you tried to convince him you were fine. He’s always been perceptive, especially of you and lying was never your strong suit. You always felt a little guilty whenever he did this, but he stuck by you with such stubborn concern and affection that managed to stifle those gnawing thoughts.

Rousing you from your thoughts, Omen frowns a little (something you recognise as the little constant jitter and wave his blue scars make whenever he’s displeased) as he calls your name seriously, making you flinch a little like a child receiving a scolding, “How long have you been wearing that for?” He points a claw at you, and you only look away guiltily. He always seemed to know when you had it on and when you’d taken it off. You can feel his frown deepen as he shakes his head at your averted eyes, “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he states so matter-of-factly that you can’t seem to find a valid argument. Shuffling with a garment in his lap, he finally addresses the thing you’d been curious about since he’d laid it down. It seemed to have patches of your favourite colour from what you could see of it bunched up.

“I made this for you,” Omen lifts the now seemingly oversized garment up, “to ease your discomfort,” he speaks softly, his posture turning a little more shy and bashful. His hard work and care could be seen in each individual stitch and the various beautiful blends of simple and complex patterns. It’s like a way cooler, comfier version of your baggy hoodies. The ends of the sleeves cinch to make sure your hands are visible and usable under the puffy sleeves without needing to roll them up. You take it with bright, awe-stricken eyes and a wonder-smitten smile, and Omen can feel his core pulse with affection and pride at making you look so happy.

Taking a deep breath in, you enter your bathroom to change- feeling the tight squeezing around your torso ease at last as you finally take your binder off for the day. You’re quick to slide your night shirt and newly acquired knitted sweater on, if only to distract from the growing distress in the back of your mind. Shuffling out, you have a weary smile as you spin around to show your boyfriend his handiwork, “How do I look, love?”

The way the shadows flow laxly upon his form, the bright blue highlights of his face pulsing slowly and contently, he seems like he’s smiling as he regards you. Slowly, he reaches one bandaged hand out carefully- his version of an invitation for affection. You’re quick to answer as you usher yourself into his arms. He takes a moment to relax, still slightly unused to physical contact, before holding you gently in his arms as he mutters,

“Handsome,”

The word takes you off guard, but in a way that makes your heart leap and mouth twitch upwards in a way it hasn’t for so long. It’s a wonderful welcoming change to the discomfort and self-bitterness. His tone lies bare with truth, and it makes your heart clench. You gladly let yourself be held in the Controller’s delicate embrace, closing your eyes like pounds of weight had been eased off of you for once. Like a few chains of many sliding to the floor, finally snapped and broken. You’re almost tearful as he holds you close, yet it portrays all the unspoken love and tenderness all the same. It’s easy to see how much the usually aloof agent cares for you in the quiet actions he makes for you.

Omen mutters a soft proclamation of love for you in your ear, ensuring only you and you alone can hear; your name follows so confidently that you can’t help the watery hiccup and raw sob that forces its way out of your throat. He carefully runs a hand against your back, a comforting touch as he helps you let go of all the pent up emotion bottled up inside. It's just your name but it’s never felt more sweet nor more fitting than when it fell from Omen’s mouth. It’s a reminder that you truly are the man you yearn to be. Always have, always will be.

No matter how hard the climb to inner peace was, you realise maybe…  Just maybe… As your shadow holds you close, perhaps you didn’t have to climb out of your pit alone.

[qelattes]

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Some of my favorite notes:

“I resolve once again that the answer is somewhere in the middle”

“But I’m pretty sure that’s simply hindsight bias. I’m seeing what I want to see, based on how i know it all turns out”

“I need to know that you will listen to exactly what I’m trying to tell you and not place your own assumptions into my story”

“The part where you accept the apology because it’s easier than addressing the root of the problem”

“Praise is just like an addiction. The more you get it, the more of it you just to stay even”

“Sometimes I hated myself for wanting him, for finding myself brightening up when his attention was on me, for still needing his approval”

“It just goes to show that money can’t buy happiness”

“You could desire someone even when you don’t like him, that you can desire someone especially when you don’t like him”

“But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is “You’re safe with me” —that’s intimacy.”

“I’m just saying it’s not so great being loved for something you didn’t do”

“Please never forget that the sun rises and sets with your smile. At least to me it does. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping”

“Already realizing that no amount would ever really be enough”

“But no medium can capture what is is to be in someone’s presence, certainly not someone like her. Someone who makes you feel important simply because she’s choosing to look at you”

“Sometimes things happen so quickly you aren’t sure when you even realized they were about to begin”

“It's always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.”

“We all can’t go around treating people like dog shit and then expecting that a simple I’m sorry erases it.”

“Women have sex for intikacy. Men have sex for pleasure.”

“Guilt is a feeling I’ve never made much peace with”

“I hurt her with these tiny scratches, day after day. And then I got surprised when it left a wound too big to heal.”

“I’d rather survive it than never feel it.”

“I knew he was always doing the very best he could with the pain he felt at any given moment. And this, however tragic, had been the best he could do”

“I missed the only man I’d ever loved with any lasting meaning”

“Those things would come in time.”

“He never replaced Harry. No one could. But he did ease the pain, a little bit.”

“Connor began to trust that the world was a reasonably safe place to open your heart to. knew the wounds of losing her father would never truly heal, that scar tissue was forming all through her high school years.”

“No matter how perfect the day seemed, there was kne ache looking over us night after night”

“We both knew she was making a promise she couldn’t keep.”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her again, losing her in a deeper way than I’d ever lost her before.”

“I have been married seven times, and never once has it felt half as right as this. I think that loving you has been the truest thing about me.”

“I had been my truest self, searching for the help of my best friend to ease the pain of the loss of my lover.”

“I really loved having someone look out for me, having someone to look out”

“I think I’d be willing to omit the truth from public knowledge in the interest of the happiness and sanity of a person I love dearly.”

“she loved Celia in a way that was in turns breathtaking and heartbreaking.”

“I promise that I will repay the favor by loving you unconditionally and accepting you always, so that you feel strong enough and safe enough to do anything you set your mind to. ”

[littlerabbittarot]

Tarot: Being Reminded of ‘Strength’

What I love so much about tarot is how it speaks with us, or how we speak to ourselves through it. In our day to day routines, the simple, or even sometimes fantastic of things can get lost. A moment with ourselves, our cards, and opening our hearts can be a good reminder (or reinforcement) of those precious things.

While finishing up reading the book “Tarot Shadow Work: Using the Dark Symbols to Heal” by Christine Jette, more of a workbook in confronting and addressing the darker or more deeper sides of ourselves, I had a pretty profound experience with the final spread. A culmination of the efforts the readers of the book had put in, this final spread centered around ‘The Star’, and our hopes for the future. And not to spoil the spread, I mostly wanted to talk about one card that has had a tendency to follow me. In the position of “Your Gifts” — What does one need to keep or nurture? What gifts have you found in the dark? What strengths have you developed? — That’s where it popped up. ‘Strength’, quite fitting.

The Strength card from the Rider Waite Smith Pocket Edition tarot deck.

I won’t lie, I often get emotional whenever this card shows itself. Almost no matter the spread, no matter the position, it’s like this card appears and tries to remind me, “Don’t forget me, I’m always here, you’ll always have me.”

I can get frustrated, angry even, when that lion comes up. It can almost feel like a moment of weakness, of humbling, feeling at fault for my struggles and not channeling what the card says I already possess. I think many can relate to this feeling. Being challenged by life and never feeling good enough. Like you’re barely standing on your own two feet, dangling by a thread. One false move and you’ll crumble.

“What strength!?” I often yell back this card. “I’m terrified all the time, unable to do the most basic tasks, crippled by anxiety, hardly taking one step forward before I stumble backward! What kind of strength is that!” I feel mocked, like this card is placed as a joke at my expense.

But the card says nothing in return. In reality, it’s just a piece of paper, it has nothing to say. But it doesn’t need to say anything. The picture says it all.

A lone figure, no sign of fear in their face or posture. In fact, they seem content, pleased even, as they grasp at the jaws of a fierce predator. The lion, with all the power it holds, relents. There is no submission, but trust. These two beings existing together, frozen in time as one. Neither needs to make a move, neither has to. There is this unspoken exchange of curiosity. The courage it takes to approach the lion, and the faith the lion gives to be vulnerable.

When I saw that card appear in this spread, I laughed. The things life has thrown at me these last few years, and when this spread asks me, “What strengths have you developed?” I am shown literal ‘Strength’, I couldn’t help but laugh! And once I was done laughing, I sat with this card. Let it linger in the air, my thoughts going blank as I stared at the artwork. And for the first time, I could hear it speak. Through images in my head of recent events, of me overcoming things I never could’ve imagined. Simple things for most, scary things for me. But I had tried, and stumbled, but kept trying. Going forward, trudging on, pushing through the muck. Looking back at my efforts, I could see why this was the only fitting card to have come out. I may have times of self-doubt, low confidence, and my anxiety is still kicking, but as am I. Slowly, but surely, I continue on, and ‘Strength’ says, “I’ve been there all along, you just couldn’t hear me.”

Sometimes you have to wait for the right moment for something to resonate. You can be told time and time again the same thing, but one day you’ll hear it in a slightly different way, and it feels like brand new.

I’m opening the floor for you to join me in a quiet moment of reflection. If you have a deck, pull out your ‘Strength’ card (or use my photo from this post), a journal ideally too, and sit with it for a bit. Give yourself the space to absorb the imagery, have an open mind and try to listen. After a few minutes, record your thoughts. Maybe leave the card out for a while, or snap a pic and use it as your phone or computer wallpaper. 

What strengths have you exhibited recently? How does it feel to notice it?

— 

Thank you for reading! I hope to continue to blog about tarot, mental health, and similar topics. Feel free to follow, or support me on Ko-Fi.

-LR🐇

[s0ftparade]

A long time ago, my descent into madness began. When I didn’t realize it was me all along that made all of them so special. And always also compared to one person, my twin flame, who I can no longer be with nor would want to. Even so still he understands me better than most. And it is wild to willingly go back to a place of uncertainty for the adrenaline and potential of it all. Wanted by wolves, wanting them back. Wondering if you’ve really been sent by loves no longer alive to cure me of my emotional ailments. Maybe just trigger me into some deeper form of healing. All I do all day is let my mind wander and imagine all the ways you might feel and think. And then I think of all the others who wanted me so bad but didn’t get to even have a taste of the sweetness I could offer. Do I serve myself to you? How can you tell if it’s a good idea? I guess there is no real way to tell. I know I have been madly madly in love and driven insane for it, my insides writhing and my skin bubbling. Wanting someone so bad not because I liked them but maybe because I liked the way they made me feel and I didn’t even realize it all along. Now looking back I know it was me and my desire to control the narrative. And I wish I never let you hold that power, it went to your head and became swollen. Then also there were some who could hold me just only for a moment. Not long enough to keep me but long enough to miss me forever. I’ll miss you too in my own ways. Now I wonder what our fate may be. How long can you hold me for? Before I begin to squirm underneath your thumb. If it’s right I never will but rather it’ll feel like watching my houseplants grow stronger and longer and before I could even begin to notice, flourishing and vibrant green. I’m dying to give my love away to someone who deserves it. And I wish to be understood and seen for just myself and no other facade. It has always been my true desire to not only be seen and accepted, but to be loved and cherished for it. I don’t want to have to tell you I’m special, you should just know that already. I think you’re special. I think you’re so cool and smart and have such good taste. I want to climb on your lap and look at you and pet you and kiss you and listen to your dreams and fears and all of your favorite things. How do I know if you also want that? I don’t want to ask, I suppose it should flow naturally. But I didn’t remember I’ve been down this road before and it didn’t lead to the place I thought it would, so although I’m trying not to be afraid I hope you can’t blame my apprehension.

Ya

[xxfrankieroindragwithgerardxx]

Tw: mention of self harm, depression

Im so fucking tired. I want to sleep but my adhd medication wont let me. I have so many friends but im always lonely. I feel like none of them actually like me. My best friends assure me they love me all the time but any time im not talking to someone I immediately get lonely. Im always sad, all the time. I want to cry so much. I want to sob, bawl my eyes out and let all the sadness flow out with the tears. At 2 am I get bored and take out my knife. At this point i cant even tell if its sh or just a pass time. I used to sh by using my punching bag without gloves. Too much, too hard, too frequent. My hands were a bloody mess. But now theyre calloused and used to it, they dont rip like they used to. I miss it so much. The dark brown dried blood splotches covering my red punching bag. I want to make more so bad but I can’t. Im too tired, my skin is too tough, it just doesnt happen. But I can’t cut i cant bc I swim so much in the summer and I wear bikinis and crop tops so how do I hide that? I’ve been doing it very lightly, just a few layers of skin. It hurts, maybe bleeds a tiny bit, but it doesnt last. It will heal and it wont scar, and it doesnt give that stinging that lasts all day, all week even. Having scabbed knuckles is mostly socially acceptable, people never suspect it to be a form of sh. It is. And now every time I touch my legs and they dont sting I feel so invalidated. I want them to hurt more. I wish there was a place on my body that I could cut and no one would see the scar. Or that the cuts would just disappear when they heal. So I can still se them when theyre red, but they dont last forever. I want a razor so I can cut deeper, more easily. But I can’t cut deeper cuz propel will notice. My mom was just yelling at me to get off my phone and do my homework but every time I stop and look at my computer I want to cry. Im trying I really am. Im trying to try. I used to try so hard but I kinda gave up. I never get anything done anyways. My fucking meds aren’t working, they’ve successfully destroyed my sleep schedule and thats it. I get exhausted at 1 pm but im full of energy at 1 am. I havent gotten the chance to listen to music all weekend, I missed it so much. I just wanna be home alone and sing and dance to Mcr and p!atd. I dont even like panic! that much, just a few of their songs. But house of memories and I write sins not tragedies make me so happy, especially singing along. I want to sing along to mcr, I want to meet them and see them all the time and learn to play guitar with frank and learn to produce with Ray and learn to sing with gerard and learn keyboard with mikey(and improve my pokerface) and I want them all to hug me and I want to meet franks dogs and gerard cats and go to all of their concerts and help gerard pick out outfits. If I could see them and talk to them for the rest of my life it would cure me. If I could have a pretty gf who would cuddle me and listen to me and understand me, I would be so happy. If my struggling friends got better I would get better. If everyone would just disappear, everyone ive ever met except my best friends and my idols, I would be so much happier. I wouldnt be constantly worrying about what people think of me, about them ignoring me and not texting me. I wish I could live in the killjoy universe, ride around the desert with the Fab Four, surviving off of what we need, running from the government. And having fun. Real fun. Not watching tv or scrolling tumblr alone. I mean playing cards and riding dirt bikes and climbing and killing bad guys. Coming home tired and beat up and covered in sand, maybe bleeding but full of adrenaline and just happy that we all made it out alive and that would be enough. Where people dont have to worry about consequences. Getting bad grades leading to no college leading to no money. Where people just have to not die and thats enough. Doesnt that sound nice? My eyes are barely staying open right now, barely staying dry. Im so tired of high expectations.

[bunbunpawz]

Healing

Recently, I’ve been reading some “self healing” books. They all seem aimed towards more of heartbreaks due to romantic misfortunes. In a lot of them I’ve read a very similar concept  “ I heal others, in the hope that they will heal me.” This usually comes from the perspective of a woman. It’s this idea that if you’re virtuous enough, give yourself to other people, hear their worries, issues and problems, then in return they will do the same for you. But in all of these books there is one lesson to be learned, and that is that most people aren’t worth this effort, because in the end they will NOT step up. You will not get the healing you crave. This confuses me, it might just be my own experiences, but I’ve learned this lesson early in life. Isn’t it obvious? just because you help someone, doesn’t put them in some kind of unspoken contract to be there for *you* when you’re the one in need. Even if it is a loved one, a romantic partner or even a family member. They don’t owe you love, they are not obligated to care for you. Sure, it seems like that, especially when most people seem to be in loving relationships (not just romantic). But we are talking about broken souls. People that need that love, that are so desparate to get it, so much that instead they take the role of giving it, in the pathetic hope that maybe that person can spare some for you too.  Your care and love is precious. So don’t give it out with the hope of recieveing it back someday. This will only stain the pureness of your deeds. If you want to be that kind knight, don’t be the nice guy version of it. Acting out of kindness, just because *you* want to, for yourself is what you should strive for. Not for some unspoken reward you expect later even if you are too ashamed to admit to yourself that , that is what drives you take the actions you do.  It’s okay, to not always be nice. It’s okay if other people get upset over you not being nice to them. That’s their problem, it’s on them. It’s important to understand, you *won’t* be loved for acting “kindly” and “healing” someone. Love comes from deeper connection, love will never ask something in return. Love is the unconditional love you have for the people you genuinely love, for the pets that haven’t done a single thing for you except existing and that is enough to make you happy , to make you love them. Love will always be gentle to you, effortless. And there are people that will love the you that you are, it’s just sometimes hard to find it. And that desparate feeling might lead you to stay by anyone, in any treatment, just to have a false image of what you want love to be. And sometimes people start out with love, they start out with what their language so desperately needs and asks for, they give you that food your soul has been craving for so long , but then reality falls back into place. That honeymoon feeling is now gone, you mentally understand that they have always been this way, and the false image of love you put onto them from the few actions that you mistook for genuine care have just been your hearts desire to be loved. A delusional, humane crave to seek out what isn’t there in the hope that it is.  It’s hard to let go. it’s hard to remember that your brain and heart aren’t always correct, and that reality should be faced without any clouds.  But once you do, you can clear a path through the beautiful view of the clear skys and find where you actually need to be, and with who. Love for you, don’t love to be loved.