#I’m somewhere between anger and bargaining at the moment

[peachesinjeans]

Am I going through the stages of grief for a year name????

[zorosangell]

zoro and his girl who are always bickering and fighting and breaking up and getting back together again. atp, the other straw hats are used to it now. I can also imagine zoro NEVER apologizes and his idea of getting back together with his girl again is just acting like buisness as usual (just going back to her and sitting with her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, kissin her cheek, acting like nothing ever happened, etc) and usually, she’s receptive to it. Because even though she’s as stubborn as zoro (maybe even more), she hates arguing (and loves him too much).

but imagine during one of their arguments, Nami drags her out to go shopping at a island they stopped by, and she sees all these happy couples holding hands and being affectionate and just being sweet and soft with each other. she realizes…zoro is never sweet and soft with her. and he NEVER says I’m sorry (I imagine maybe she sees an arguing couple in the market, but the guy comes with flowers and an apology and it makes her wonder). She makes up her mind, she won’t take him back until he says those words, no matter what. I know this isn’t so descriptive, but I’d love to see you take on this! ❤️

⛥ﾟ・。 pit

synopsis: time and time again zoro has forgotten about your outings, leaving you dressed up and alone on several occasions. but after nami witnesses it in person, she finally puts her foot down... and you finally confront your swordsman.

cw: angst, very little comfort, happy-ish ending (left up for interpretation), zoro's kind of an asshole, nami's a girl's girl, reader is better than me.

a/n: listen to promise by laufey or casual by chappell roan if you want the full experience. i've never written a trifling zoro before this was crazy

"Why don't you stop wasting my time and give me a real discount?" Nami asked, firmly slamming her fist on the counter.

"Please don't be angry! I'm doing my best!" the cashier apologized, "But, c'mon, I can't take fifty percent off no matter how much you buy. They're marked down enough already!"

The man looked to be on the brink of tears, and you couldn't help but snicker.

"Nami, leave the poor man alone..." you smiled, feeling a little bad for him, "He's just doing his job. And besides, it's not like you can't afford it."

"Nope," she denied, popping the p as she grabbed another humongous pile of clothes. "It's the principle of the matter, (y/n). If I have the option to pay for something half-off, why would I pay full price?"

"They're not half-off!"

"Besides..." her gaze drifted to your outfit, a small pout settling on her lips as she looked you up and down with saddened eyes. "I can see that you are clearly trying to out-glam me, so I gotta glam back!"

She turned to the cashier, placing down the new pile.

"You drive a hard bargain. I'll buy these, too. But I want ninety percent off."

The man nearly fainted and you laughed, surprised by Nami's playful rivalry.

"Nami, you've owned more clothes than I've ever worn. I think it's safe to say that between the two of us, you're the one that's out-glamming me," you assured, resting your cheek in your palm as you leaned on the counter.

"But look at you!" she playfully whined. "Your outfit is killer! And your hair is on point, too!"

Though, just as quick as she examined your outfit, she realized that it was really good.

Too good to be shopping in.

"Wait, (y/n), were you supposed to be going somewhere? Why are y—"

The moment your face fell, the glimmer in your eyes dimming at the memory, reality finally donned on the navigator, hitting her like a sea train at top speed.

He did it again.

Anger rushed through the woman's veins like wildfire, her face not even attempting to conceal her fury as it twisted into an expression of absolute rage.

You knew it all too well.

"Nami, ple—" "I'll KILL HIM!"

The clothes on the counter were suddenly a thing of the past as the red-haired woman drew her Clima-Takt and stormed toward the exit of the boutique, the dangerous aura she was emanating sending a shiver down even your spine.

Like magnets, everything began to click for the woman.

The beautiful outfit.

The done-up hair.

The glum look on your face.

'That bastard stood her up again!'

That's why you had been wandering around town aimlessly.

You were waiting for him.

This scenario had become commonplace over the past several months you and the green-haired swordsman had been dating, much to Nami's severe indignation.

It was always the same.

You and Zoro would plan a date.

Zoro would get caught up training, or get caught up drinking, or just plain, old fucking forget.

You would end up alone, having gone through all the trouble and embarrassment.

She would have to console you, and you would have to keep her from bashing his head in.

Then you'd have to face the jerk the next day, who, instead of apologizing, simply acted like nothing ever happened.

As if the entire ship see how utterly crushed you were.

And then the whole cycle would repeat the following week.

Nami was sick of it.

'This shit ends today.'

"Nami, please! It's not worth it!" you ran out the store and after her, grabbing onto her arm. "It's not gonna change anything!"

"The hell it isn't!" she barked, brows cinched tightly together. "(y/n), I won't stand for this anymore! This is what?! The twentieth time?!"

"Twenty-third... but I'm not counting..." you corrected, meekly.

"(Y/N)!"

"I know! I know!" you sighed, plopping yourself down on the curb, defeated. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

"There's nothing wrong with you! There's something wrong with him not realizing just how much of a fucking catch you are!" she groaned, exasperatedly, as she threw her hands in the air. "Twenty-three times, that bastard... I oughta chip his swords twenty-three times."

"I guess... I just don't get why..." you mumbled, looking down at your lap with glassy eyes. "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?"

Nami turned to you, heart aching at your saddened form.

"Don't think that for another second!" she denied, quickly moving to take a seat next to you, pulling you into a small side hug. "You've done absolutely nothing to deserve this. Zoro's just being a real jackass."

"But there has to be some reason," you attempted to rationalize, tone rising. "Does he not care? Am I just that insignificant that he can't even waste an hour or two to spend time with me? His girlfriend?"

"That's what I've been saying!" Nami agreed, loudly, calling the attention of some passersby. "(y/n), you've given him chance after chance after chance, and he still hasn't cleaned up his act."

She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, flashing you a sincere smile.

"I'm not saying you have to break up with him, unless that's what you want to do, but I'm saying that you really need to realize just how amazing you are, and hold him accountable for his actions."

Shooting up from her seat, she stood before you, pointing a manicured finger at your chest.

"You're the prize, girl! You're strong, smart, kind, compassionate, and drop-dead gorgeous! What guy wouldn't want that!" she turned to a few of the men passing by, a smile on her face. "Right?"

"YES!" they cheered, eagerly.

Your face burned with embarrassment.

"Nami!"

"You get my point!" she laughed, resting her hand on her hip. "You deserve someone who will treat you like the princess you are. Whether that's Zoro or not is up to you, but know that his track record begs to differ..."

Taking a moment, you let her words sink in, your confidence rising slowly but surely.

Maybe you were that great...

Maybe you did deserve more...

Maybe it was time to start anew...

"Y'know what... you're right! It's time for a change!" you smiled, slowly standing up from the curb. "No more tears!"

"Nope!" Nami cheered, proudly.

"No more excuses!"

"None of 'em!"

"No more pretending!"

"Not around here!"

"From now on, I'm gonna start living life for me! And if that means going out clubbing tonight and getting drunk to forget my problems, then so be it!"

"Y'know what, I'll take it! Let's go!" Nami squealed, the two of you quickly charging back into the boutique.

You couldn't fight off your smile, your shoulders feeling like an insurmountable weight had been lifted off them.

For the first time in a while, things didn't seem so bleak.

"Ooo, I think I saw the perfect revenge dress for you, (y/n)! It's gorgeous!"

Walking out of the girls' quarters, you felt like a million bucks—and were probably wearing it too with the amount of money you and Nami spent in town.

But price be damned, the result was phenomenal.

The provocative dress.

The decadent perfume.

The glittering jewelry.

The leg-extending heels.

You were absolutely breath-taking.

Not to say that you weren't before, but just significantly more so.

The dress itself was just the right amount of short, and helped carve out your curves deliciously.

Your hair was done courtesy of the ship's archaeologist, its style elegant yet loose to fit the club scene you were going to.

And your skin was practically glowing thanks to the oils Nami had picked up in the market.

So, it was safe to say you were at least a quadruple threat.

Looking down at yourself, you smiled, feeling like the prettiest woman in the world.

No longer concerned with the feelings of others, or the wrong-doings of yourself, you felt freer than you'd ever had.

And you had Nami to thank for it all.

'For finally knocking some sense into me...'

Sensing someone's presence, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, only to see your swordsman standing right before you.

His eyes dragged over your body, almost analytically, a grin rising to his lips.

It seemed he finished his training early...

"Where are you goin' all dressed up?" he smirked, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer. "You look good... an' smell good, too."

Quickly, you pushed yourself out of his grasp, your legs pressing forward to stride across the balcony, leaving the him to stand there, surprised.

You had never pushed him away before, much less ignored him.

'What the hell?'

"What's the matter with you?" Zoro's voice lowered an octave, brows furrowed in confusion as he followed after you.

You didn't answer, keeping your gaze trained ahead as you pressed on, heading toward the stairs that led off the Sunny.

"(y/n)," he tried again, voice slightly firmer, as he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "(y/n), what the hell's your problem? Where are you going?"

Harshly, you flung his hand off, brows slowly beginning to crease at his audacity.

He was acting like nothing happened.

Again.

He knew exactly why you were fucking upset, but was making the choice to completely ignore it in favor of acting stupid and playing in your face.

Your jaw set tight, all your thoughts grinding to a screeching halt.

For the first time ever, anger and resentment began to claw at your chest, your hand itching to rise up and slap him right across the cheek.

Enough was enough.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," you spat, voice dripping with venom as you went back to walking. "I don't wanna see you right now."

"See me?" his brows furrowed as his finger pointed toward his chest, now even more confused. "The hell did I do?!"

Or maybe he was just fucking stupid...

Either way, you finally cracked.

"IT'S WHAT YOU DON'T DO, ZORO!" you roared, whipping back around to face him, the man flinching at your volume. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT'S ALWAYS BEEN WHAT YOU DON'T DO!"

The leak in the dam of your heart had finally turned into a full-on flood, and you were now outpouring months upon months upon months of pent up anger.

"You stand me up! You forget our dates! You make it abundantly clear that you would much rather spend the day nursing a sake bottle than with me!" you scoffed, throwing an exasperated hand in the air. "Do you even remember what we were supposed to do today?!"

The swordsman paused a moment, scouring his brain for recollection of the event.

"Hey, Zo'," you piped up from your spot in the corner, shutting the book Robin had loaned you. "I'm gettin' kinda hungry. You wanna grab lunch?"

He nodded, grinding out another squat as he lowered his knees to a ninety-degree angle, somehow perfectly controlling the two ton weight on his back.

"Yeah, you go on ahead," he grunted, holding the position. "I'll catch up. Gonna finish up this set."

"'Kay," you nodded, flashing him an eager smile. "I'll meet you at that sushi place we saw in town."

Zoro's eye shot wide, a sudden sense of dread sinking in his stomach as he finally remembered.

"Oh, shit..."

"Yeah... Oh, shit," you scoffed, turning to head off the ship. "I'm done with this..."

"Woah, woah, woah, wait a minute," he grabbed your arm once again, pulling you back. "(y/n), it was an accident... I didn't mean it."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?! You never fucking apologize!" you yelled, jerking sharply away from his grasp. "At least that way it could seem like you're at least trying to pretend you care about me!"

"Of course, I care about you, (y/n)!"

"YOU CERTAINLY DON'T ACT LIKE IT!" your voice cracked.

He halted, expression falling and chest tugging with pain as a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

You were hurting... bad.

And it was all his fault.

All of the times he left you hanging, all of the times he screwed up.

They were all coming back to haunt him, each one doubling the weight of the sinking pit in his stomach.

How could he have not seen?

You had been so patient with him—never raising your voice, never holding a grudge—and he supposed his mind had unconsciously took that as the green-light to proceed.

Granted, he never forgot anything or stood you up out of malice or actual lack of care.

It just... slipped his mind.

Though, in that, he could see where his thinking was flawed, and where you could find a problem.

"Am I... just that forgettable to you?" you asked, voice suddenly small.

Zoro snapped himself out of his thoughts, eye wide at your tone.

It sounded so distant.

"Of course, not, (y/n)," he quickly denied, lurching forward to hold you out of instinct. "I—"

But you stepped back, avoiding his grasp as your arms raised to hug yourself, hoping to keep everything together.

"Every time I look at you, I feel more alone," you continued, letting out a few sniffles. "I'm always, always reaching out to you, always down for whatever you want to do. But you just... never reach back... and you don't even bother to apologize..."

Glancing out at the sunset, you fought off the wobble of your lip, hugging yourself even tighter.

"Zoro... I can't be with someone that doesn't care about me..."

That's when everything suddenly came to a screeching halt.

Zoro felt like the words cut right through his chest, tearing through his heart and opening it up like force hell-bent on making him see.

He'd rarely felt this feeling, but he knew what it was instantly.

Fear.

"(y/n), don't do this," he started, panic slowly spiking in his veins. "I'm sorry for being such an idiot... but we can work this out. This doesn't have to be... it doesn't have to end like this..."

"But it does," you countered, quickly. "It isn't like this is your first time doing this, Zoro... or your third... or your tenth... or even your twentieth."

You scoffed, half-laughing at the situation.

"If I hadn't said anything, you probably would've made it to thirty."

Zoro's chest stung at the comment, the man almost letting out a wince.

It was harsh... but not without truth.

"I'm freeing myself of all of this, Zoro. I deserve better," you stated, firmly, slowly regaining your confidence as you turned away, heading for the stairs. "This conversation is over. And thanks to you, I'm late."

The swordsman looked just about ready to shit his pants, the finality of your words scaring him more than any enemy.

You were his girl.

His best friend.

His ray of sunshine.

Seeing you so upset, so jaded, because of his actions?

He felt like shit.

And, in that moment, he honestly wanted nothing more than to hold you.

To shower you with a thousand apologies.

To make it up to you in any and every way he could possible conceive.

But you were slipping through his fingers like smoke, blowing father and farther away.

"(y/n)... please..." he tried one final time, voice softer than you'd ever heard it before as he carefully grabbed your wrist.

And you nearly broke, the sound of his voice pulling a sharp string on your heart, nearly making you take everything back.

But Nami's words from earlier replayed in your mind, and you fought the feeling, pulling your arm away.

You had to stay strong, for both your sakes.

"We're done, Zoro," you finished, finally descending down the steps. "I'm moving on."

The swordsman watched as you disappeared in front of him, now suddenly feeling as if you were worlds away.

He'd finally done it.

He'd pushed you over the edge.

And rather than feeling angry or upset, or even sorry for himself, he felt empty.

Truly and utterly empty.

The rest of the crew watched from cracked doors and open windows as the man stood there, staring at the place you had once stood like he was in a trance.

Nobody wanted things to turn out this way.

It was clear as day that the both of you loved each other a great deal... but Zoro needed this.

He needed the wake up call.

And now that he was presented with all the necessary truth, he could finally work toward remedying the situation; and, by the will of the Gods, making up his dizzying amount of transgressions against you.

It would be hard work, and for the first time in his life, he would have to be completely vulnerable.

But the crew believed in him.

And the crew believed in you, too.

The both of you would come back from this stronger than ever.

And Zoro would come back to the crow's nest with a calendar hanging front and center on the door.

Courtesy of the ship's navigator.

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Wiped Off the Map

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: You walk in on Rhysand and Morrigan talking about bringing a certain Cursebreaker back to the Night Court. When the destruction of your home started off in a similar situation - how far will you go to convince Rhysand it's a bad idea?

Read pt. 2 to Wiped Off the Map - HERE

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

“She’s not coming back to our court.” You said, your tone biting through any excuse Rhysand threw your way. “Her presence on Night Court soil will start a war.” You tapped your finger on the table to emphasize your point, your eyes narrowing as you saw Rhys’ harden in determination.

“She needs help.” He reasoned, your lips pursed, a pulse of frustration running through you. “She can get it somewhere else, she’s Cursebreaker, she has everyone falling at her feet.” You spat, feeling a spark of anger begin to roil through you. You took a deep, shuddering breath that had Cassian sending you a pointed look.

You had just come back from training, your chest heaving as you greedily sucked down mouthfuls of air, eager to soothe the burning in your lungs. You could still feel the sweat slide down your back, grimacing at the feeling as you brushed away a sweat soaked strand of hair from your vision.

Your eyes locked on Rhys and Morrigan talking about the girl in question, and a pang of fear had struck you so deep you felt your magic force the mountain to shudder beneath you. The event sending the pairs eyes shooting in your direction. They both knew your past, the destruction the same action they were debating right now had reaped on your family’s camp. But their concern for the girl seemed to trump their consideration for your past and by proxy, their entire fucking court.

“A war is going to happen either way.” Morrigan offered, her maroon dress shifting as she turned in her chair to regard you. Your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth coming to hang open as you looked at her incredulously. “So you decide to burn bridges now- are you two fucking with me right now? Do you even realize what this will do to our relations with the Spring Court? Not to mention- the entirety of fucking Prythian.” You waved your hands across the room, as if you could encompass the entirety of the continent in a single sweep. A bitter laugh escaped you, your body in complete disbelief that they were even considering this for a moment.

“She has abilities from every court, that may be worth sacrificing relations with Spring- they’re already strained enough as it is. She is more of an asset than anything.” Rhysand said, sending a look at Cassian. You had no doubt the two were talking amongst themselves, and it only sent more anger coursing through you.

Another tremble shook the mountain which had Rhys looking at you in warning. Morrigan looked between you two, her lips pursed. “You mean powers she doesn’t even know she has? Where are you going to put this girl? Are you going to keep leaving us here to clean up your messes while you go play house at Hewn City?” Morrigan bristled at the mention of the Court of Nightmares, her figure going tense. You noted Cassian steping closer to you two, ready to save the mountain from being destroyed should you start a brawl. You felt a slam against your mental shields so hard you physically recoiled, staggering a step. “Stay the fuck out of my head.” You growled, Morrigan looked at her cousin in shock, surprised at the fact he’d actually try to get past your mental shields. Your anger simmered into a rage, your expression twisting. “You better not think you’re bringing her anywhere near Velaris. You keep dropping everything for this girl as if she’s part of your duties or some shit. It’s a bargain Rhys- one that’s optional on your part. I’m beginning to think you prefer playing dad then spending time with your family- that in case you have forgotten- you’ve left here for half a century.”

Cassian sucked in a breath. Morrigan looked like you had just slapped her. Rhys’ eyebrows rose, but he stared at you silently. Your breaths and the soft ticking of the clock were the only sounds heard as you stared at him, your eyes conveying just how abandoned you’d felt since Under the Mountain.

Nobody dared to speak, nobody moved as you looked between them. You seemed to sag as you realized he wasn’t going to cave. You bit your lip, your head falling as you shook your head. You looked back up, seeing Cassian eyeing you in sympathy, and you felt your eyes begin to sting as your jaw clenched.

“Y’know what Rhysand? You may act like you know what you’re doing, but ever since we came back from Under the Mountain, your priorities have been severely out of line.” Your heart chipped a little bit as your memories flashed back to that dark, agonizing place. Your wings folded tightly to you, the action purely muscle memory from having to keep them tucked in to fit through the passageways.

A scowl grew on your face, and you sent Cassian and Morrigan a glance before turning toward the stairs. “Let me know when you get them back in order.” You said coldly. You didn’t look back at the trio as you came to the landing and took them two at a time. You thought about how Cassian hadn’t spoken the whole exchange, and another flood of anger rushed through you at his inability to back you up. You passed Azriel on the way up and ignored the way his shadows seemed to reach out to you, as if in comfort. You didn’t allow yourself to look up at him either, you knew his face would be blank and you didn’t think you could take more indifference.

You wanted nothing to do with anyone until they realized what this meant for Prythian. One stupid girl, and they were ready to go to war for her at the drop of a hat. Your scowl only grew as you made your way up to the roof, and didn’t think twice before you sent yourself soaring off it.

You knew this was partially immature, you knew they would send themselves into a frenzy when they found your room empty the next morning, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you thought about how this one decision would bring the Night Court to its knees.

You would disappear. Until Rhys saw reason, and until the rest of them stopped following him so blindly. Just like Under the Mountain, you weren’t going to allow Rhys to make decisions for you. And just like after that tiny village on the border of the Winter Court was wiped from the map, you were alone.

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 21

You

The two of you move through the woods, your boots crunching over fallen leaves as Daryl keeps a steady pace ahead. His eyes are focused on the ground, tracking, but you can tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that his mind is elsewhere. You keep your distance, the silence between you heavy and tense.

Your own thoughts are a tangled mess of anger and betrayal, each step making the frustration inside you grow. You’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for the chance to say something—to make him understand the depth of your hurt. But the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between fury and pain.

After a few minutes, you can’t hold it back any longer. “So, you were just never gonna tell me, huh?” you snap, your voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.

Daryl’s head jerks up, but he doesn’t turn to listen to you, and after a moment, he continues on walking, “What ya talkin’ about?” he says under his breath.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about, Daryl,”

His expression shifts from confusion to annoyance as he stops abruptly to turn to you, “Y/N, I ain’t a mind reader so if ya got somethin’ to say–”

You step closer, your tone clipped. “The Governor wants me, Daryl. I was the damn bargaining chip. And you—you just let me walk around clueless while you and Rick decided to change your minds and offer Michonne instead, you know how fucked that all sounds?” His eyes widen, and there’s a flicker of something close to panic before he forces it down. His jaw clenches. “We ain’t tradin’ nobody,” he says defensively, voice rising. “Rick changed his mind, woulda never been you anyway,”

“That’s not the point,” you snap, voice cracking with anger. “You didn’t even have the guts to tell me! I had to hear it from Merle!”

He looks away, his shoulders hunched. “I was just tryin’ to keep you safe,” he mutters, but there’s a rough edge to his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His hands tighten, knuckles going white as he holds his crossbow down.

Your hands shake with the force of your anger, and you step even closer, voice low and furious. “And what about what I wanted, Daryl? You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His head jerks back up, his eyes burning with guilt and frustration. “What good woulda come from tellin’ you? You’d just be more scared, more pissed off—and for what?”

“Maybe I had a right to be pissed off!” you shout, your voice raw. “But I didn’t even get the chance, did I?”

His face darkens, and he takes a step toward you, his voice low and rough. “You never told me what happened Y/N. You never said a damn word about what went down between you and the Governor. I’m tryin’ to protect you, but I don’t even know what from!”

You freeze, the rawness of his words cutting through the rage. The memories flood back uninvited, and the shame twists deep in your chest. He softens, his own frustration melting into something closer to desperation, “You don’t gotta tell me or nobody else what really happened. But I can’t protect you if I don’t know what he’s after. Rick said he wants you as some kinda pet or some shit,” his lip curls at the last words, fury blazing across his features.

You open your mouth to respond, but then you see movement ahead. It’s Michonne, slicing cleanly through a walker’s head with her katana. You and Daryl both tense, the argument shoved aside by the immediate need to confront her.

Daryl raises his voice, “Hey!” he growls, filled with urgency and anger as he approaches her through the tall grass in the clearing, “Where’s my brother?”

Michonne looks up, eyes hard and focused. She doesn’t say anything as she takes in the two of you, and your heart pounds in your chest as you look around the open field, dead walkers scattered. He slows as he approaches her though, and you’re right on his heels, watching for any sign of Merle or worse around you.

Daryl slows as he gets closer, his earlier fury replaced by something colder, more fearful. You stay on his heels, your senses on high alert, every rustle of the wind making your skin prickle. “You kill ‘em?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but still carrying the weight of everything ahead.

You steal a glance at Michonne, trying to read her expression, but her face is stone—unreadable, as if she’s gauging Daryl as much as he is her. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, her eyes never leaving his.

Your breath catches sharply. So, he’s alive. Did he go back to the prison? Did he keep going? Where the hell is he headed? 

Oh–the trade. He was at the farm.

“He let me go,” Michonne finally says, her voice low, almost gentle.

Daryl’s face hardens at her words, but there’s a flicker of relief in his eyes. He takes that as a cue to keep moving, his steps purposeful but frantic. As he passes her, he mutters, “Don’t let anyone come after me,” and then he breaks into a run, pushing past her and continuing along the path he believes Merle took.

You don’t hesitate. You jog to catch up, your gun raised and ready, but you pause briefly in front of Michonne. Your eyes lock, both of you sharing an unspoken understanding—a mixture of pain, regret, and resolve. There’s a flicker of something else in her gaze, a silent apology, maybe even guilt.

You feel a tightness in your chest as the weight of what Daryl is about to face—what you’re both about to face—settles over you. You force yourself to look away, swallowing back the rising lump in your throat, and sprint forward after him.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

As you approach the deserted barn for the second time that day, a chill snakes down your spine. Something feels terribly wrong. Your eyes narrow at the sight of a black car, abandoned in the dry grass. Bodies litter the ground—both walkers and people, their limbs twisted unnaturally in death. Instinct kicks in, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You lock eyes with Daryl, your gut already coiled tight with dread. You signal left for the field and point for him to circle right behind the barn. He nods, but his eyes linger on you, filled with a silent urgency, almost like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words. You tear your gaze away, rifle raised high and ready, and press forward.

As you continue on, you can hear the unmistakable growl of a walker up ahead, and see it crouched down over a body. It’s gnawing on the flesh of someone you don’t recognize– the wet, sickening squelches of torn muscle and skin filling the air. The walker’s eyes suddenly snap up when it hears your footsteps, meeting your gaze.

The sight knocks the wind out of you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as you take in the familiar features—the skin close buzz cut, the piercing blue eyes now bloodshot and hungry. 

You want to scream, to rage, but all you can do is stand there as Merle Dixon gets on his feet, nearly tripping over the bloodied body that was his meal to come for you. His steps are unbalanced, shuffling, but persistent as he comes at you. Fresh blood and bits of flesh hang from his mouth, but when you look lower to his chest you can see the dark, crusted, old blood that was his death blow. 

“Merle,” you choke out finally, voice breaking as he comes in front of you, arms stretched out to you. Tears blur your vision as you step back, letting the rifle fall and swing back as your hands slip from it to push him away. You shove, hard, and he snarls, fingers still trying to reach for you. Sobs come hard and fast out of you as you gasp for your breath, looking at the man who was bitter, crude, violent, but fiercely loyal and always by your side.

“You damn idiot!” you scream, throwing your hands on him again and shoving with all your might. He stumbles back like he’s drunk, but his hungry eyes still meet yours, as if he’s still there underneath it all. It’s a twisted, horrifying reflection of the man who’d been like a brother to you. He’s the closest person you’ve ever lost to this fate. Sophia was a gut punch, but this? This feels like your heart is being ripped out. Your face is hot and wet with tears as strands of loose hair cling to it, your expression twisted in anger and grief. Merle keeps coming at you, and after you push him one more time, your knees buckle underneath you. You collapse, sobbing uncontrollably, the grief overwhelming. He falls fro the impact of the push. It takes him a moment to gather his limbs again to come back up. 

“Daryl!” you scream, your throat raw, voice tearing from the depths of your soul. It’s a desperate, terrified call for the man who knew Merle better than anyone. Footsteps pound the ground behind you, and you glance up to see Daryl rushing forward, knife raised—but he stops short. Your sobs feel like they’re breaking your ribs as you watch Merle from the ground. You're shaking so badly it’s almost like the earth underneath you is moving, quaking with your grief as well. 

Merle is back on his feet, his eyes piercing at you with a new frustrated snarl curling his lip as his rattling breaths come closer. Daryl is suddenly in front of you, and he pushes him back. It’s not as hard as you had shoved, and as Merle comes back for him, Daryl is backing up, almost cowering as the cries come from his mouth. 

The sight of Merle, now a walker, seems to shatter something inside him. He falters, his steps becoming hesitant, the knife lowering as he takes in the horrifying reality. You watch, paralyzed by your own grief, as Daryl’s face crumples, the tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked.

Merle snarls, lunging forward again, and Daryl backs up, choking on sobs that rip through the air. He’s not fighting anymore—he’s collapsing under the weight of everything Merle was, everything he lost. His cries mix with yours, a cacophony of pain that fills the empty field. 

“Daryl,” you manage to choke out through your own sobs, your voice barely a whisper, “we need to—” 

But before you can finish, Daryl surges forward, a guttural roar escaping him as he tackles Merle to the ground. His knife plunges into Merle’s skull with brutal force, once, twice, over and over again. The impact is fueled by years of rage, of lost moments and broken promises, of love that never found the words. It’s raw, violent, the blows landing harder each time until Merle’s face is unrecognizable—reduced to the mangled remains of a man who once fought tooth and nail for his brother.

You clamber up to Daryl as he pushes the knife in one more time, your hands gripping his shoulders. He falls back easily, his cries louder as he collapses back onto you, onto the ground. You hold him back against your chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and chest, pulling him close. His back presses against you, his body shaking with raw, uncontrollable sobs. You hold him tight, your own tears wetting his neck, your face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

The two of you remain there, tangled in each other’s grief, as the full weight of the loss settles over you. Merle, who had sacrificed himself to save you, to save Michonne, is gone. And in this moment, all you have is each other—the one thing neither of you can bear to lose.

[afyrian]

fears and pumpkin spheres kageyama tobio x gn!reader (angst) m.list | wc: 633 | halloween event: day three

    pumpkins are littered throughout a large farm, small and medium intertwined by the stems. a few gourds have their own strips of areas, warted and unique colors splotched around. walking up and down the aisles, the long wait time starts to get to kageyama. walking behind you, his hands rest on his hips, lips falling into a simple line. 

  "okay, so i just can't pick between a smaller size and one that's bigger, for a jack-o'-lantern, you know?" you ask, grabbing a hold of a smaller pumpkin, holding it in your palm, "the bigger one would be more suitable for an actual jack-o'-lantern, but the smaller one-"

  looking back at kageyama, you can see the sour look on his face. your sentence falls flat when your gaze stays stuck on his. "what?" you ask, standing up with the miniature pumpkin still resting in your hand.

  "nothing," kageyama shrugs, his mind clearly somewhere else, likely a big volleyball-shaped stamp placed perfectly on the front of his brain.

  leaning down, you set down the pumpkin, your nostrils flaring. straightening back up, you shake your head. a part of you always knew that this would happen. that no matter what you did with kageyama, there'd always be a bigger force in his life. one that would surpass just weekly practices and games on the weekends. 

  yet, you figured that that time wouldn't come so soon. that you could keep his attention just long enough that the two of you create a deeper bond. "no, no. why do you come to these things if you never actually care about it? if you're just going to ignore me," your hands brush against his old sweatshirt your wearing.

  "i don't know what you're talking about," his voice is the same tone he always has, no anger, no fear, just straight to the point. 

  clenching your jaw, your hands rest on your hips. you can feel your eyes get misty. the feeling light and drifting away from you. "don't do this, tobio. i try to go on dates with you, i come to your games, i clean the dishes, i give you everything i know to. so why is it that every time we try to do something do you have to ruin it?" you question, gaze trying to stay focused on him.

  “i’m not ruining everything. you’re just misreading my expressions,” kageyama shrugs, eyebrows furrowing in the most annoying-unaware-of-your-feelings-way possible.

  “‘misreading your expressions’? what are you talking about? every time we go out anymore, you act like i’m not even there! sometimes i’d just like my boyfriend to act like a boyfriend. like he actually gives a shit about me,” you bring your hands up to your face, pushing back your hair before resting them on the back of your neck.

  kageyama, finally feeling the actual severity of the situation, brings his hands up to yours. looking into your eyes, he tries to give you a smile, only coming off as more annoying to you. just looking at him smile churned your stomach in the worst way possible. “i do care, i do. i’m just busy, i have a lot on my mind,” he bargains, watching as you push his hands away.

  “shouldn’t your partner also occupy some of your mind? shouldn’t you be able to take a moment and just think about them? because i think about you. and if being together for nearly a year hasn’t brought us to the point of being happy, then no time will,” you take a step back, reaching down to grab ahold of one of the smaller pumpkins. 

  taking a few steps past him, you stop, looking back, “if you really want to explore this, you know where to find me.”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@bae-ashlynn @puffychu6781

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

Actions and Consequences

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific Chapter Warnings: implied sex (between reader and ex-boyfriend) past boyfriend being rough and mean to reader, eating, official set up of dynamic and rules, a little bit of spicy for you guys 💋(hint)

7 Years Ago

“Two more weeks… I can’t believe it.” Y/n sighs, leaning her head against the shoulder of the boy laying beside her. He smiles, passing a hand over the top of her head, smoothing down her static hair.

“We’re going to be graduates… fuck it’s crazy.” She cranes her neck, smiling as she meets green eyes. He leans forward, pecking her lips quickly. “Alright, let me up. My moms gonna be home soon.” Y/n rolls over, taking the black sheet with her as he climbs out of bed, searching for his shorts.

“Good, I need to help her finish the desserts for your party tomorrow.” After months of hopping from one house to the next, Y/n has finally been able to settle into the guest bedroom of her boyfriend’s family home with what little belongings she owns. She sits up, letting the sheet fall around her hips as she snags her t-shirt and leggings off the floor.

“Oh yeah? What y’all making?” He tugs on his tank top, running his hand through his spiky blond hair as he eyes the naked expanse of her back.

Y/n shrugs, pulling on her shirt before slipping into her leggings. “Um I think a lemon cake.” The young man flops onto the bed and she laughs, laying back down beside him, her fingers twining together to rest over her stomach.

“I do like lemon.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Trust me, everyone knows Trever.” He nudges her with his elbow and she laughs, a joy filled sound she’s finally getting use to.

“God, I can’t wait, finally get out of high school and we can just… do whatever. Well I mean I’ve got collage next fall but still.” Trever sighs blissfully before turning to look at his girlfriend. “Gonna come be my secret roommate? Get me in all kinds of trouble.”

“You wish,” Y/n scoffs, nudging him back. “You know my classes start a semester before yours.” Trever stays silent for a moment, Y/n staring up at the ceiling unaware of the change in his once easy expression.

“You’re still serious about that?” The question catches her off guard, her head turning to look at him. His face is pinched, like he can’t believe her. Y/n sits up, turning to face him fully.

“Y-yeah… Trever I’ve been serious about this. It’s the whole reason I work three jobs and bust my ass in school every week.”

He pushes himself up, leaning against his head board. “Look, babe, I’m not trying to be mean here but… do you really think you can do it? You’re talking about the FBI here… they don’t just take anyone. Especially…” He hesitates and her temper flares, her eyes narrowing.

“Especially, what?”

Sighing he gestures to her with a splayed hand, “Ya know… little country girls who don’t really know what they are doing. If you really want to work somewhere that makes you feel like you’re making a difference, why not go for something you’re almost guaranteed a job?” His expression shifts like he’s had the most brilliant idea, ignoring the obvious hurt growing across Y/n’s features. “911 dispatcher! You won’t even have to waste your money on-.”

“Fuck you.” She spits, standing and marching from the room, anger filling her chest to the point it almost hurts.

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that!” Trever follows her out into the hallway, grabbing her by the shoulder as they reach the top of the stairs. She spins and shoves him, but he plants his feet, gripping her painfully by the shoulders. “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that again. Not in my goddamn house. You’re lucky my parents are even letting you stay here and you’re gonna act like that?” He shakes her harshly, her teeth slamming together making pain shoot up her jaw.

“At least your parents fucking believe in me! Your moms the one that paid off the rest of my entrance fee last week!” She struggles against him, her hands pushing at his chest but his fingers dig into her muscles. His face reddens but before he can say anything the front door swings open. A short, black haired woman stares up at them in confusion, her mouth open slightly.

Trever steps back quickly and Y/n moves down the stairs, keeping her eyes on her so-called boyfriend. “What is going on? I could hear you screaming from the front porch.” She closes the door behind her, her many bracelets tinkling with the movement as she sets her purse down on the landing.

“Nothing, Mrs. Dwayne.” Y/n says quietly, moving down the stairs until she is beside the woman. “I need to go to work…”

“I thought you were going to bake with me dear?” The sad look that passes across the older woman’s brown eyes makes Y/n’s throat constrict, that hated feeling of pinpricks forming in her nose. In the past five months of her relationship with Trever, Mrs. Dwayne has been nothing short of a mother figure to Y/n. Teaching her to cook, to clean, showing her the basic skills of life without so much as a disgruntled look. She didn’t want to hurt her now.

“I-I will.. I mean I am… I just. I need to go get something for work, I mean. I’ll be back.” Before Mrs. Dwayne or Trever can say a word Y/n is bolting out the front door, towards her run down car, rage and devastation simmering in her chest so heavily she can’t think anymore. The need to be anywhere but here propelling the car into motion.

She wouldn’t break down here, not where anyone could find her, when she’s alone she’ll let the tears run freely and her sobs fill the empty space around her.

Present Day

The rest of Tuesday had crept by silently, nothing like the first half of the day. You had joined Aaron for dinner in the dining room, where he informed you he had a few conference calls to make in the morning and he would check on you when he was done. That was many hours ago.

You had been awake long before the sun rose behind charcoal clouds, listening to the rain pelt your window relentlessly. You sit propped against your pillows, lost in deep thought… shameful deep thoughts. Most of your night was spent tossing and turning, what little sleep you did get wasn’t filled with the usual empty darkness, or the occasional bad dream; instead Aaron had taken up every unconscious thought.

You had dreamt of his hands on your body, much like the day before, only this time there was even less in between his burning palms and your skin. You could feel the reverberation of unheard words from his chest into your back, his hands slipping up, up, up cupping your breasts through your bra. His hips ground against your back, the buckle of his belt biting into your skin as his erection pressed against the swell of your ass. Then his palm began to travel lower, straight to your-

You shake your head fiercely, before smothering yourself with a pillow, groaning loudly. You stay like that for a few long minutes, desperately trying to ignore the ache between your thighs until it becomes to much. Throwing the pillow across the room you climb out of bed and head straight for the bathroom, determined a scalding shower would set your mind right.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Steam billows out of the room after you, a scratchy towel wrapped tight around your body, another holding your hair in place atop your head. The skin along the tops of your shoulders and breasts glow pink, having used the hot water liberally. You make your way over to the bags you had placed on the floor last night, grabbing the closest one and rummaging through it.

Something smooth and soft slips against your hand and you grab it, pulling it free of the wadded up clothing. Realizing you should really organize everything before it all becomes a wrinkled mess. Dropping the bag you unfold a Champaign colored silk night gown. It’s simple, a trim of lace adorns the bodice and it reaches about the middle of your thighs, a small slit up both sides. You can’t remember Aaron ever placing it in the cart otherwise you’d of protested.

A large part of you doesn’t want to wear it, or any of the clothing for that matter. That part was called shame. Shame that he had so easily talked you into letting him buy you all of these clothes, better yet talked you into this whole mess in the first place.

But another part of you, the one that really did not want to wear the same sweats again for the 8th day in a row, won the battle. With a defeated sigh you change into the gown. It’s hugs your body, accentuate your curves and clinging to your damp skin. It’s soft, comfortable, and smells clean, that’s all that matters to you.

You grab your over night bag, pulling out your iPod and headphones before crawling back into bed. You set up your computer to finish working, before pressing play on the little pink device and popping in an ear bud. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand only once, but you ignore it, instead typing away on your computer.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Morning slowly rolls into lunch, a half eaten croissant sandwich lays on your nightstand as you dutifully work, bobbing your head in time to the music.

‘What’s in your head, in your head? Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie-ie, oh’

Something connects with your door, the sound reverberating through the room making you scream. You rip out your ear bud, holding your breath as a series of knocks rattle your door, making your stomach swoop and drop all at once. Slowly you move from your bed to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open a crack. Aaron’s usual hard stare greets you, but his cheeks are tinged red, his lips pressed into a thin line. A shudder wracks through your body at the intensity of his stare, your palms feeling clammy against the door handle.

“Um… hi?” He doesn’t say a word as he wraps a hand around the door, forcing it open and you out of his way as he barges inside. “Hey!”he stops in the middle of the room, one hand on his hip and the other rubs at his forehead. He’s dressed in a darker pair of blue jeans this time, paired with a black collard shirt, probably more appropriate for his conference calls.

“Does your phone not work, or have you just been-.” Aaron turns then and whatever annoyed tyrant he was about to go on dies on his tongue at the sight of you. You’re standing at the door, eyebrows raised and eyes a little wide in panic, but it’s not your expression that stops him. His eye dip to your body, noticing what you’re wearing and something in his stomach stirs at the sight. The dress is stretched around your body, specifically across your stomach, an indent where your belly button is. Your hips are accentuated and he realizes with a small thrill that the fabric is just barely see through as he gaze travels from your breasts to your face.

“Fuck.” He breaths out, and a shiver skirts down your spine at the rumble of his voice, blooming into something warm and fuzzy between your hips. Aaron slowly makes his way to you, and this time you stay rooted to the carpet, your chin lifting and the back of your head bumping against the door as he stops a few mere inches in front of you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Aaron reached up, dragging his knuckle across your spaghetti strap, brushing across your collarbone where it stops on the curve of your neck. He cups the side of your neck, half of his palm resting against your jaw as his thumb sweeps back and forth. That warm and fuzzy feeling has caught fire, burning with a demanding intensity that leaves you reeling.

“My… My phone?” You ask absently, anything to change the direction of what might happen, his dark eyes snap to yours and you wish you had never spoken, anger and lust swirl together in his irises, his pupils dilated.

“Your phone,” He repeats, head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t quite remember what he came here for. “Were you ignoring me?”

You shake your head, then rethink his question. “Well… no not outright. I was working and in my head space, I remember my phone going off a few times but I honestly didn’t think about it.”

Aaron can only find honesty in the doe eyed look you’re giving him. “That’s two, sweetheart. You need to be more attentive.” Your eyebrows furrow, your soft gaze shifting to something hard as you glare up at the older man.

“Be more attentive? If you really needed me you could of just called. I was busy doing work, I still am.” You snap, gesturing towards your bed. He keeps his hand firm on your neck as he turns, glancing at your open laptop and he can faintly hear your music playing. “And what do you mean by two? Why do you keep counting?”

His thumb presses against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head further back and the pressure makes you squirm. He turns back with a small smile, something impish laying behind it. Aaron ducks down closer and you go still, his breath fanning over your lips and you can smell the tingling scent of mint.

“I did. Twice in fact. I’m counting the amount of times you break your rules, how ever many that is will help us decide what your punishment will be.” Aaron watches the blush slowly form across your cheeks before it seeps down your neck underneath his hand. He would be a lier if he said the effect he was having on you didn’t go both ways.

“We didn’t agree on any punishments, and how can I break a rule I didn’t know about?” You utter, quietly, your eyes betraying you and dropping away from his stare. Aaron smirks, nodding as he smooths his hand down to your collarbone, feeling the wild thump of your heart through your skin.

“That’s why I’m here. We’re going to discuss everything. Over lunch.” He steps back leaving you glued to the door staring at him baffled. “What are you in the mood for? We’ll order something in instead of risking the weather.” And as if the sky could hear his wise judgment a roll of thunder shakes the building. You squeeze your eyes shut until the noise dies off and the only thing that can be heard is the rain splattering against the window once more.

Aaron watches you, gaining a new piece of information, before walking towards the nightstand where the muted green hotel phone lays. He notices your half eaten breakfast sandwich and mutters something you can’t quiet hear.

“Um.. pizza?”

“Pizza it is.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Not long after a steaming pepperoni and sausage is sitting on your dresser. Aarons posted in the chair again and you’re perched on the foot of the bed, picking at the melted cheese glancing your boss’s way every now and again.

“You look like you have something you want to say.” Aaron says, taking a large bite of his slice. Your shoulder rises and falls, watching him openly now. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so… human. This is the same man you’ve witnessed stand his ground against men ready to kill, talk down others who are ready to end it all; protect his team with a fierceness that goes unmatched by any other. It’s hard to think of him as anything else besides SSA Hotchner, but right here… is just Aaron.

“I don’t know… I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.” You admit, biting into your lower lip. “Everything is just… it’s such a sudden change and hasn’t been easy to get use to.”

Aaron smile is pitying at best and you want to convince yourself you hate it. “I know baby. You’ll get there, though. We have the entire month to smooth everything out and come to understand each other better.” The loose use of different pet names makes your insides bubble with craved affection, shame tinting your skin. “Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“You do, at any point you can call it off, but you know exactly where that leads.” His tone is all to knowing of your decision and you huff, scrubbing your hands across your face. He takes your silence as reluctant agreeance, pulling out his phone. “Last night I came up with some rules, punishments and rewards that I think will suit you and I the best.” He taps away at his phone for a few seconds before continuing. “The first, simple, call me Aaron when it’s just the two of us. Second, don’t doubt me when I say I am buying you something or taking you somewhere. Money is not an issue. Third-.”

“Answer my phone at your beck and call?” The sarcastic question sort of fell from your lips, causing Aaron’s eyes to narrow as he sets his paper plate down on the pizza box.

“Third.” He emphasizes, drawing out the word. “Check in with me. I need to know you are okay, if you’ve made it where you are going, if there is anything you need. It’s important that you do so.”

“That’s going to be hard to do when we will be on cases and working.” You point out, picking apart your pizza and taking small bites of the greasy dough.

“That’s why all of these rules are moldable to how we live. Work is for work, but some things will still apply. Like making sure you are eating, drinking plenty of water, getting rest when you can. After hours, when it’s just us, I expect you to follow your rules completely.” He watches the way you pluck off the pepperonis, setting them off to the side. “Punishments won’t be a daily thing like it is with others. We can pick a day where we sit and go over everything you’ve done wrong for the week, then decide your punishment from there. I have a few ideas such as choosing your clothing for the week, have your write lines, have you kneel for an extended period of time.”

Your nose scrunches, the next thing your peeling from your pizza is the little balls of sausage. “That all sounds a bit childish.”

“You aren’t wrong. But you’d be surprised how childish a person can act when given rules.” You roll your eyes making him chuckle. “Just like that.” You shoot him a halfhearted glare that he returns with a smile. “But if you’ve been a brat all day, disobeying me and forgetting your rules multiple times, then I may need to resort to something a bit harsher. Putting you over my knee, bondage, collar.” He watches your face flush, eyes going wide like a full moon. “Even then. It’s more so about the embarrassment than it is ever about the pain. Some people find these things enjoyable.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Aaron’s smile takes on a more devious twist, letting his head rest against his fist as he props his arm on the chair. “Maybe you’ll just have to find out.”

You stare at him in shock, your half deconstructed pizza laying forgotten in your lap as your insides burn. Your mind betrays you, questions popping up like wildfires; what would it feel like? Would he leave marks on your skin? Would you enjoy it like he says?

Stammering you drop your gaze from his, his smile never fading as he searches the soft planes of your face, forcing himself not to look any lower than your exposed collarbones and the gentle slope of your shoulders. You set your plate to the side, crossing then uncrossing your legs, the bed creaking as you try to sort through your thoughts. “Can um… can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Does David know? And if so is there anyone else?”

Aaron nods, then quickly raises his hands at the look of panic crossing your features. “David is the only one who knows, and that’s not because I told him out right.” Your panic quickly melts into confusion. “David is the one who suggested I bring up a contract with you.”

Your jaw drops, absolutely flabbergasted. “Wait.. David’s… he’s into this?” Aaron nods again, letting you piece together what you will with that crumb of information. “Oh… so… that means the two do you were talking about me.”

Aaron laughs, a deep pleasant sound. “I promise, it wasn’t anything like you might think. We are just worried, and he thought it would be more appropriate coming from me than him.” Despite his humor you can feel panic rising steadily in your chest.

“Ho- Aaron what if someone finds out?”

“There isn’t any reason for anyone to know.”

The iron grip of your blooming panic wraps itself around your throat, your body humming with a desperate need to move and open your lungs. You stand from the bed and begin to pace the small area, passing Aaron with each turn on your heel.

“What if one of us slips up? The amount of trouble we could get into is-it’s astronomical. I’d be forced out of my job because I’m suddenly a woman who sleeps with their boss. You would be forced to resign but of course they’ll go easy on you-.”

“Honey-.”

“-Even if it doesn’t get to that point, the entire team will see me differently. They will question the authenticity of my role and my job. Oh God, and Morgan would be relentless with the teasing.”

“Y/n.”

“He still calls me señorita after I messed up my order at that Mexican restaurant a month ago! He’d never let us-.” Aaron leans forward, capturing your wrist as you walk by with a sharp tug. Pain laces up your already tense muscles and on instinct you turn, your hand lashing out and connecting with the side of Aaron’s face.

Everything goes silent, both of you stuck staring at the other in shock. “I-I’m… I didn’t mean-.” Aaron pulls you down and you clumsily fall into him, knee banging against the chair; your free hand landing on his shoulder. Aaron wraps a hand around the back of your neck, squeezing and before you can utter a word his lips crash into yours.

A muffled squeal escapes the back of your throat, squirming in his tight hold but it proves useless as his other hand drops your wrist, circling the back of your thigh and pulling you fully into his lap. Thighs caging his hips, chest pressed tight against his you squeeze your eyes shut. Aaron depends the kiss, moving his lips against yours allowing a few whimpering syllables to reach the air.

Your heart hammers painfully, your hands gripping at his shoulders but to your surprise you find your body relaxing. Every panicked thought is eclipsed by Aaron as his tongue slowly traces the seem of your lips, asking for entrance that you hesitantly give. But once you get your first taste of him you know you’re gone for, a soft moan rattles through your chest and Aaron devours it, licking into your mouth like a man starved.

His rough hand slips up your thigh, mindful to stay over your dress as it rides up, to cup your ass, squeezing the fat making your hips jump. The involuntary movement makes you grind down against him, pulling out another moan that is quickly followed by one of his own. He is all you can focus on, the fingers in your hair at the base of your skull, the growing bulge pressing into your heated core, the way the side of his nose bumps into yours. His thighs shift, sliding you further into his lap with a ragged groan.

Slowly, almost unwillingly you pull back, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. He gives you the silent moment you need, his fingers scratching your scalp slightly as you try to compose yourself atop him. He can’t stop the way his eyes roam to your lips though, the short taste of you forever imbedded in his brain.

When you finally let your eyes flutter open you meet his half lidded gaze, you lick your lips. “I-I need some time alone…”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hours later your phone buzzes on the nightstand, you glance at it from where you lay, curled up on your side in bed. Your fingers keep tracing your kiss swollen lips, unable to stop thinking about anything else. Grabbing your phone you roll onto your other side, opening your texts.

A new message from Aaron pops up, and your thumb hovers over the screen, your stomach churning with anticipation. Clicking the screen a long message pulls up.

‘Let me know what you want to change, my sweet girl.’

A smile tugs at your lips without your permission, cheeks reddening as you read over the list of rules, rewards, and punishments that follow. At the very end, boldened followed by a question mark is the word:

‘Spanking?’

You take a deep breath, sealing your fate with a few clicks of your keyboard.

Thank you all for the amount of love this has received 😭 I can’t wait to continue writing the rest of this story. Please comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Tag List: @kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs @morgthemagpie @zaddyhotch @little-miss-cherry-cola @fandomawesomness @heart-breaker8 @aad1993 @obsessed-oops @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @rosiehale23 @emptybagofchips77 @icarusgloom @imr0nni3 @cashtons-wife

[juneknight]

Idling || 10

Previous drabble here.

You have Jake's attention, certainly. Not his respect nor his fondness, but his attention.

About this: some minor descriptions of wounds suffered by both the system and the reader. Jake being (justifiably) mean. Angst angst angst. Hurt no comfort.

*

He points to the table and chairs and says: “Siéntate.” 

And you do not need to ask what he means.

*

Jake Lockley tends to your wounds. It is surreal to know that the hands which so tenderly clean the blood from your arm, so carefully inspect the edges of the wound, these are the hands which slit a man’s throat earlier that night. His own wrists are bloodied from Marc and Steven fighting against the handcuffs. He does not act as if he notices the wounds at all. 

“Well?” he mutters, holding a hypodermic needle and syringe up to the light of the window and inspecting its contents. The little wooden box he had pulled from a fucking hole in the wall was–unlike many other things around the flat which regularly collected dust–well maintained, pristine beneath the oak lid. Jake had opened it with familiarity, and inside was an array of medical items: needles, vials of liquids with the labels scratched off, needles and gauze and antiseptics. 

He works with nimble skill, and you know that he has done this work before. His eyes flash up at you after your silence. The look in them is entirely unknown to you, a familiar landscape of deep brown framed with dark lashes, but the expression, the anger and emptiness turns it into a foreign land. Another planet.

“How long have you been hiding from them?” you can’t help but wonder. You wince when Jake begins to numb the wounds. The bleeding is sluggish, but you see as he recurrently wipes the crimson away that they are not as deep as you thought…thank god. 

“Siempre,” says Jake. ”Always. Ask better questions.” 

“Khonshu said—”

“Listening to a word from him is the first place you went wrong tonight. Better questions. Con prisa.”

“You’ve been working for Khonshu even after Marc and Steven bargained for their freedom. Why?” 

“I like the work,” he says. “And it keeps us safe.” 

“They don’t want you to kill anyone.” Jake rolls his eyes and says nothing. You press him: “I’m serious. Steven wanted to turn himself in. Have you ever spent time in a psychiatric ward? Or prison?” 

The look Jake casts at you could freeze the boiling water in a kettle. You can’t help but blanch, stomach dropping somewhere between your feet, heart pounding with an instinctive fear. How can he look at you with such obvious hate when his hands are so fucking gentle?

“That is never going to happen,” he grits out.

You gather whatever guts you have left that haven’t twisted into knots and say, voice trembling more than you would like: “Then no more killing.”

“You don’t control me,” he snaps, placing the last steri-strip in place. He crumples the packaging with obvious violence, like he would much rather be crushing your throat. “You might have Marc and Steven by the balls, but not me. Never me.”

A scream of pure frustration and fury bubbles in the back of your throat. It takes all of your mindfulness to swallow it down. This conversation is getting you nowhere—it is getting Steven and Marc nowhere. You need to try a different strategy. Pulling your arm back, your eyes scan the neat little wounds which will likely scar. 

“Thank you,” you say a little stiffly, trying hard to infuse the gratitude in your voice that you are sure you feel for the man—deep, deep down. 

Jake snorts. He is placing unused supplies gently back into the box, latex gloves snapping as he removes them and leaves them in a bloody pile on the tabletop. Your window of opportunity is closing before your very eyes. Though he hasn’t said as much, you know that Jake doesn’t want to spend a moment longer here with you than he has to, and once he has finished this job, he will disappear back into the headspace. 

“You care about them,” you say. His eyes flash upwards from his work, dark and mistrustful. He still says nothing, but you figure that perhaps that is as much encouragement as you could expect from him. “This is important to them. Steven’s heart, his conscience—it’s huge. And Marc already feels like he has too much blood on his hands. Do it for them. Please.” 

After a long stretch of silence during which you hold your breath, Jake mutters something beneath his breath. 

“What?” you ask softly. 

He turns in his chair, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor. He stares at you straight-on, and it’s almost too much. If you thought Marc’s gaze could pin you in place, then Jake’s has you feeling like a frog pinned to a lab tray, ready to be taken apart by a scalpel in his skillful hand. 

Looking you straight in the eye, he says: “I said, you are the dumbest bitch I have ever met.” 

You gape. “Excuse me?”

“‘Do it for them?’ Like everything I have ever done has not been for them? If I wanted a lecture on how to care for my brothers, I would ask for it from anyone in London but you. Because not a single person in this dismal fucking city has hurt them the way you did tonight. You know what I will do for them? I will spare you my hands around your neck. This. One. Time.

“You let them know that I said, you’re welcome.”

And with a strange shiver, face grimacing, Jake is gone. 

The body looks at you, and for a moment you don’t know who is fronting. The eyes are perhaps just as unfamiliar to you as Jake’s were, though there is no hate in them. He looks at the table, taking in the supplies. His eyes rake over your wrist, even when you clutch it against your chest as if you could hide it from him. As if you could take it back. 

Then Steven says, sounding so heartbreakingly resolute: “I think I’d like you to leave, now.”

[wheatfieldspoet]

grief, in doses

denial

i think we could have saved you.

anger

they said you hadn’t had an appetite for ten days. ten days. and they didn’t think to call, didn’t think that their pride and stubborn belief in conspiracy should be immaterial in this moment. they just let you sit in your chair and let you fade. i gritted my teeth through the revelation of this sorrowful mystery, biting back the urge to tell them they don’t deserve to cry. they let this happen. they can keep their fucking ivermectin, i want my Lola back.

bargaining

can we go back? please, i had no idea how short the time was. i’m not asking for much, only one more walk—you don’t even have to say anything. just let me lead you down the stairs, one hand on the rail and the other in mine; let me feel the shifting weight of your aliveness before you step foot into your black car. let me have one more embrace to breathe in the scent of your perfume. let me keep your lipstick stain on my cheek. let me say goodbye, but not before giving me the chance to plead for Him not to take you yet. not yet. i’d ask for not ever, but i know that’s impossible, so please—not yet.

depression

when the weight of remembering comes, all i can do is cry. but i’ll choose to overdose on memory any day, to carry everything with me because i’m afraid i’ll forget where i put them down. the color purple, violet, but also garnet. butterflies. poker chips. the queen of hearts. banana rebosado. chocolate cake. ube. durian. a tin can of crackers, a letter opener next to it. the sound of a grandfather clock. “bésame mucho” on the magicsing. rings with large stones that never fit my fingers right but you let me play with them anyway. your hands, always soft. an eyebrow pencil for that time you realized you filled only one brow in, but not until after we were walking around the mall, one of your arches brown and the other grayed. you were graceful in your embarrassment—even if you could never look less than beautiful. i laughed about this with mom recently, and we both burst into tears after the first ha.

anger

i’m ashamed to share a bloodline with some of the men in our family. they survived wars and revolutions but couldn’t bear to plan your memorial. so they left it all to your youngest daughter and i had to be the one to tell my own mother she didn’t have to be strong. i had to feel her break in my arms.

denial

things that don’t make sense: to talk about you in the past tense; to say only Lolo and not Lolo-and-Lola; to see you in pictures and realize we can never take another; that your jewelry and perfume bottles and makeup are exactly as you left them on your dresser; that your perfectly paired blouses and satin camisoles are still hanging in your closet; that one day your things will no longer smell like you.

depression

i remember how it brought you joy to watch me sing and dance; there’s plenty documentation of this on old film, your laughter and applause underscoring the britney spears. you never knew it, but there was a time i was terrified to sing at family events—but i would for you. “moon river” was a song i learned from you. dad played the guitar and i sang to you the whole time. you kept your eyes on me, smiling as you sang the words back. just for me. that night, i made a playlist of songs i could sing with you the next time i got a chance. i didn’t get one. but somewhere in between your novena days, i found the garageband file where you, Lolo, mom, and i sang “somethin’ stupid” for one of your anniversaries. i isolated our vocals together and wept for an hour.

bargaining

can i visit you past the veil and keep no promises? if i am told to walk ahead and not look back, i will give a non-committal nod, knowing full well i love you too much to lose that chance. i’m sorry for all the time i took for granted. i hadn’t even thought there would be a last one.

denial

i am a child again and i am walking with you hand in hand in a field of butterflies. they float above our heads, creating a halo around yours. i giggle in wonder—so pretty!—and name every color i see and can feel the fondness through the warmth of your squeeze. you loosen your hold and nudge me forward gently, telling me to chase them. my delight rings through the air as i skip through the grass. then i think: this is a moment i should be sharing with you. i turn around, only to find a flock of purplewings where you once stood. i reach out my hands to catch one, but they flutter away in a burst.

acceptance

i wake up.

— jade a.

escapril day 10: drug of choice

bonus prompt - @darlingwendy: The Kubler-Ross model, or the five stages of grief, is often thought of as a linear experience. The reality is much different. Playing with a non-linear narrative, write a poem that grieves.

[whirlybirbs]

birbs i’m convinced u work for marvel... too many similarities

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE  |  touch

summary: reunited. you find solace in one another.

pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader

a/n: this is a short one before the weekend, but it's particularly heavy on the comfort and physical connection that's growing between doc and loki. it's sort of an important milestone. the gif for this drabble if by @kamalaskhans from this stunning set here.

[   MASTERPOST   ]

Loki's heard it once, he's heard it a thousand times.

"You! You conniving, craven, pathetic worm. You did this."

His utterance is now laced with irritation — the sort that bleeds into you and nibbles at your composure. He throws his hands, tosses his head back, and leans forward onto his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

Pain, however, hinders this. He winces, swallows down a roll of nausea, and inhales again. Odin's beard, that woman could lay a hit. As if the memory hadn't been painful enough. Now, he's sure he won't be walking right for days, at least.

And yet, matter how hard and fast Lady Sif strikes him down again ad again, it does little to wound him in comparison to the all-consuming worry that you're back there, somewhere, alone. At best, sitting in a cell like this. At worst, pruned — and frankly, Loki doesn't prefer either.

He's had some time to think. And though every loop begins and ends all the same, Loki has to admit that every words cuts a little deeper. He is all those things Sif has called him, that Sigyn has called him, that every damn woman in his life has called him — and worse.

And frankly, he's tired of it.

He's sick of being the villain. Or... Some outcasted projection of one, always battling for attention to fend off loneliness. But, the attention of many hardly compares to the attention of you.

The thing playing over and over in the back of his head is you and him on Lamentis-1, and how gently you'd held his face. You'd looked at him as if he held the hope of a future together. He saw promise. Understanding. Affection.

And as he tries to grit his teeth through another wave of pain, he cannot help but feel wholly undeserving of it.

He exhales, pushes away his desperate anxiety and angst, and tries to prepare for another bought of Sif's anger.

But, when he turns on his heel, it's not Sif standing in the doorway.

It's you.

Mobius, too, but frankly Loki isn't exactly thrilled with the TVA Agent — besides, you're here and you're running and you're throwing yourself into his arms.

Loki's breath is stolen when you connect with him; your arms lop around his neck and your knees knock his and you're up, up, up on your tippy toes as you cling to him. He feels you grip the back of his shirt. You face finds the crook of his neck, and you say his name, and all he can do is sag with relief.

Then, he winds himself around you.

The touch is... Hel, he can't remember the last time he was touched like this. Perhaps by his mother many, many, many moons ago. It's a touch that brings no threat of violence, or of bargaining, or of faux-interest in gains. No, it's gentle and kind and genuine and desperate.

"Loki."

Loki exhales and winds his fingers into the back of your blouse. He grips you tightly. His other hand holds the back of your head, and he exhales again. Shaky, slow, and deliberate.

"Hello, my little bug," he mutters into your hair, voice as soft as velvet.

His anger towards Mobius melts away in this moment — if only for this moment. And it's one he wants to remember. You fit nicely in his arms, and Loki wonders if perhaps he could get used to this. He could, actually. He doesn't even need to ruminate on it for more than a flash.

Your hands circle his ribs, and you pull away all too soon.

In a desperate attempt to keep you close, the God's hands find your face. Long, delicate fingers cradle your cheeks as he looks down at you — and he can see the traces of manifested emotions hanging on your lashes, still damp. His heart beats wildly in his chest at the thought that you could have been worried over him.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, leaning a bit lower to look you over; and when you nod, he doesn't pull away. He pushes at your lash-line with his thumb. A tear runs down the pad of his finger.

"Are you?" you ask, voice a bit hoarse. Your hands move to find his, and you hold onto him as if he's a beacon of light, of safety, on the rough sea.

"I've, uh," Loki clears his throat and ignores the tender twang of pain between his legs, "I've been better. I am better, now, actually. I was... I was worried."

You have a thousand things you want to say, but none of them will come out — so instead, you squeeze his fingers and look him over.

You reach. Loki's heart stills. Your fingertips trace his cheekbone.

"You're pale," you mutter, "Are you sure you're alright?"

It's Mobius who chimes in. "Seeing as his unmentionables have just been beaten in by Lady Sif about 87 times in the last hour, I'm guessing that's a no."

Your eyes widen. Loki offers an incredibly pained, sarcastic smile. You hand flies to cover your open mouth. You gasp.

"Oh."

"Oh, yes," Loki chimes in, "So, lovely. Really."

"I'd make a joke but," you mumble, "Now's not the time."

"Yea, no one is kissing those things better," Mobius chirps over you, moving to point at Loki, "We've got bigger fish to fry. Now listen to me, both of you—"

The two of you pull apart, facing the agent — and when your hand drifts from Loki, he finds himself immediately reaching for it. Though you pay him no mind as he watches you shift closer, nearly tucked to his chest, you do squeeze his hand.

"Do you two swear Sylvie didn't implant those memories in Hunter C-20?"

"Mobius, please," you speak up as you step forward, tugging Loki along as you do, "She's not lying."

"I believe her," Loki insists firmly, "I do."

Mobius holds his breath as he looks between the two of you. Then, he exhales. His hands find his hips.

"So, what?" he asks, "I have to trust the word of two Loki's and their soulmate?"

Loki waits, then presses his lips together. "How about the word of friends?"

Mobius swallows, then nods to both of you.

"You were both right," he says, "About the TVA. From the very beginning. A-And if you wanna save Sylvie, you need to trust me. Can you both do that?"

"No more futures," you say firmly, standing your ground, "No more."

"No more," he affirms, offering a sad look, "I'm sorry — I am. I had to be sure before... Before we did this."

"Futures?" Loki asks, squinting down at you, "What?"

You just shake your head and grip his hand a little harder. Your eyes are sad.

"You two..." Mobius starts, eyes glimmering with something warm, "You're good. Both of you. You can be anything, even heroes. I promise that. Y'know, in case anyone ever told you different."

Be it TVA, or Lady Sif.

Suddenly, the end seems in sight. The curtain has lifted, Mobius knows, you're back with Loki and he's back with you. All you need to do is save Sylvie, and take down the Time-Keepers.

But, when the three of you step from that Time Door back into the theater?

Ravonna Renslayer is waiting.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Something causes Lan Qiren to just SNAP, go absolutely fucking feral, and run off to become a rogue cultivator.

Beautifully Spent

- Chapter 1 -

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

“It is your duty, Qiren.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked coldly. “I believe you’re thinking of my brother. You might remember him – the sect leader?”

He’d never spoken that coldly to anyone, least of all an honored elder, one of his own teachers, but he had no choice.

Ever since he was young, Lan Qiren wanted to become a traveling musician - to wander the world freely, without the burdens that would fall on his older brother, the prospective sect leader. Even as he got older, he'd never quite let go of that ambition, refining it until it had become not only a dream but a plan.

He would see that plan come to fruition, no matter what it took.

His teacher looked at him helplessly. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You know your brother has chosen seclusion –”

“I know that in the eyes of the sect I have never been a quarter the man he is,” Lan Qiren said quietly. “I know that in each instance that we have argued, you have all taken his side. I know that I was asked, time and time again, to yield – because he is the elder, because he is the heir, because he is the more talented of us two. I have always yielded, because I am a filial son, a good brother, and I love my sect. I have always yielded.”

His teacher cast his eyes down to the ground.

An acknowledgement of guilt.

“I will not yield this time,” Lan Qiren said simply. “This is the rest of my life, honored teacher. This is my entire life. For once, let himbe the one to yield – to do his duty to his sect, as he was always meant to.”

“But –”

“I have always been here for him.” Lan Qiren did not allow him to interrupt. “I have been his scapegoat when things have not gone his way, I have been his pawn in political games, I have even been his punching bag when he needed to vent his irrational anger. Everything he has had the freedom to do, he has done because he has had me here. If I were not here, would he be able to go into seclusion?”

His teacher was silent.

“He would not,” Lan Qiren concluded. “To go into seclusion when you are the only option to lead the sect is to be an unfilial descendant of our ancestors. And so, if I am not here, he would be obligated to live up to his duties.”

“His heart has just been broken. Do you have no empathy for him?”

“As much as I do for the woman who was forced by circumstances to agree to marry him, and no more.”

“Qiren…”

“Think of it as me being dead, honored teacher,” Lan Qiren said, and ignored his teacher’s flinch at such inauspicious words. “Do you need me to remove my forehead ribbon before I go?”

“Qiren! Of course not!”

“Ask my brother,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “He will have the final word, as usual, and he does not like not getting his way.”

He left that day, his head held high.

He did his best not to think of his brother, who had, in his own way, wanted freedom, too.

Lan Qiren travelled, after that. It was just as he’d always planned it: quiet nights along forest paths, visits to small towns in out-of-the-way corners of the world – inquiring and then solving any issues they had that required a cultivator, and playing for them when no such issues remained. He had anticipated hardship, knowing himself to be a rich young master who’d never really faced the world; he hadn’t anticipated kindness: a few married women in one town taking the time to show him how to do laundry, giggling at him all the while, a group of young woodcutters in the next the best way to forage and cook food when one was hungry, a merchant and his wife teaching him how to bargain to avoid getting cheated…in time, through the generosity and enthusiasm of others, he learned all the skills he needed.

He refused payment for night-hunts – amazingly, his sect did not cut him off as he’d almost expected them to, and he was still able to collect his usual allowance – but accepted it for his music, and from his place behind his guqin he watched, quiet and content, as life swirled around him in all its myriad forms.

In between music and night-hunts, he idly taught some skills to the children in the towns he passed through – the vast majority were common people, completely lacking in cultivation skills, but his sect’s rules and the philosophy behind them were applicable in far more situations than that, and basic martial skills in even more. Whenever he stayed somewhere for more than a few days, he added in lessons in basic literacy, mostly because the idea of not having books at hand was abhorrent to him; the parents involved were generally more grateful that he was keeping their children out of trouble than especially interested in what he was teaching them, but it’d never hurt anyone to know a little bit of reading.

When he happened upon a place already governed by another sect, he did not take particular care either to avoid or to approach them; if they happened to meet, and to invite him to stay with them, he would. Lao Nie tracked him down six times for that very purpose, citing increasingly less plausible excuses, before Lan Qiren finally agreed to make the Unclean Realm a regular stop on his travels just to make him stop; in contrast, Cangse Sanren just showed up at the camp he had made for himself one day, her husband as always by her side, and simply refused to leave for the next three months.

He did not visit the Cloud Recesses.

Not when he heard about how his brother had, however reluctantly, come out from seclusion and begun to do the work of sect leader, and do it well, the Lan sect prospering under his leadership as they had always expected to. Not when he got news that his nephew was born; not when he heard that one nephew had become two. Not even when he heard that his brother’s wife had died, though the thought of that miserable woman’s self-inflicted fate had moved him enough to write a letter of condolence to his brother – their first contact in seven years.

Lan Qiren did not expect anything to come of that impulse, though perhaps he should have known better: it wasn’t more than a week later that he received a letter in return, the heavy formal parchment used by the Lan sect as familiar to him as the back of his hand, his brother’s equally formal calligraphy very nearly as familiar.

The words on it weren’t familiar at all.

I have made a terrible mistake, his brother wrote. I need your help.

Lan Qiren was perhaps not especially filial to his sect, having abandoned it as readily as he did – but despite everything, he did love his brother.

He went home.

“Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen,” his brother said, nodding at the small child, pudgy and fat and adorable, quivering like a pudding even as he tried to force a smile onto his face, clutching onto a baby only a few months old, the little one strangely solemn despite the inexpert manhandling. “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.”

Lan Qiren was not as shy as he used to be, and he had gotten better at dealing with children. He knelt down until he was level with them, though he did not force himself to adopt any expression that did not come naturally. “Hello,” he said. “I’m your uncle.”

“Hello, uncle,” Lan Xichen said.

Lan Qiren held out a hand and waited, even as his brother took his leave, busier than ever. It took a little while, but Lan Xichen eventually put his own hand in his, and walked with him; after a little while, he even entrusted him with little Lan Wangji, fussing until Lan Qiren had tucked him into the corner of his arm in a manner he found appropriate.

By the time his brother found them again, Lan Xichen was chattering on and on about his xiao lessons, while Lan Qiren nodded along and added his own observations – he was decently skilled at the xiao himself; while it was not his preferred instrument, there were times when it was easier to carry than a guqin, and he had had time, when he was younger, to indulge himself in learning more than one instrument.

When Lan Xichen saw his father, he fell silent at once. He did not hide behind Lan Qiren’s robes, though Lan Qiren half-thought he wanted to – his little hand trembled in Lan Qiren’s palm.

“Would you like to take your brother back?” Lan Qiren asked him. Lan Wangji was a good baby, crying only a few times, each time responding well and easily to the usual things a child his age wanted – milk, a burp, attention. Moreover, Lan Xichen was good with him, thoughtful and careful; Lan Qiren had no concerns entrusting the baby to him, and Lan Xichen brightened a little when he realized that, nodding happily and taking Lan Wangji, pausing only a moment to glance worriedly at his father before scurrying off.

Lan Qiren looked at his brother.

“He’s afraid of me,” his brother said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

A blind man could tell. Lan Qiren said nothing.

“Wangji cries whenever I hold him, too, even though he almost never cries the rest of the time. He’s not even a year old, and he already knows.”

“Knows?”

His brother looked out into the horizon. His hands were behind his back, clasped in a formal pose. “That I’ll ruin them, too.”

Lan Qiren put his own hands behind his back as well. After a few moments, he said, “You care for them both. That’s not nothing.”

Their own father hadn’t managed even that. He had treated Lan Qiren with utter indifference, while treasuring his eldest beyond the point of reason, encouraging him to always think only of himself; the seeds of their estrangement were planted long before either of them knew it, each of them learning different lessons from their father’s mismanagement – Lan Qiren how to be inferior and doubt himself, his brother to be self-absorbed and careless with the feelings of others; Lan Qiren to bend himself to the point of breaking, his brother to refuse to bend at all.

It had served neither of them well.

“I don’t know what love is, except possession,” his brother said. “Xichen torments himself to try to live up to my expectations, and all I’ve managed to teach him, other than fear, is how to say yes to everything just to make people go away. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking of him as an extension of myself, which is still more than I can do with Wangji, who doesn’t even cry like a regular child should…” He paused. “You didn’t cry much as a child either.”

Lan Qiren glanced at his brother, surprised. He hadn’t known his brother had paid enough attention to him back then to even notice.

His brother smiled thinly. “Our family is known for its quiet children, did you know? I hadn’t, but they told me after Wangji was born. Apparently, there’s a few in every generation: a little slow, a little strange, with minds that don’t work quite the same way as the rest of us. The ones that don’t like to look you in the eye – sometimes they learn to speak, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re brilliant. As babies, they’re generally a little too quiet. There were three in our father’s generation, but in ours there was only you. And now, there’s Wangji…”

He shook his head.

“I wronged you before, Qiren. I don’t want to do it again – I don’t want to know what sort of father I’d be to a child like you. I’m not willing to risk waiting to find out, either.”

When Lan Qiren left the Cloud Recesses, he took with him a qiankun pouch weighed down with more money than he’d ever had in his life, two children, one smiling happily as the other burbled quietly, and his brother’s trust.

He had no idea what to do with any of it.

[danielxricciardo]

Hi love the writing! Could you do something angsty around 26 or 35 with max??

Summary: You found out Max cheated on you

Warnings: angst, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

26. “Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?”

35. “What will you do if we break up?”

'Max is looking at you' you read what your best friend Anthony, an engineer at Red Bull Racing, wrote.

And you worked at Red Bull Racing too, you decided with Max Verstappen, your boyfriend, that this is the best way for you to travel with him. You didn't have a complicated job. You dealt with filtering the negative ad on the team and then you gave it to Victoria to deal with the articles as she knew.

'Okay, let him look,' you write on the piece of paper that Anthony wrote quickly on.

You were at a meeting with all the Red Bull Racing employees, to your bad luck. Being in the same room with Max Verstappen was the last thing you wanted at the time.

Sure, your relationship was beautiful, or it had been anyway. He was whatever you wished from a man and more. He looked like a bad boy but he was the cutest and most thoughtful man you knew and he made you feel safe even when you couldn't see him.

His words still resonate in your mind and you had to make a supernatural effort not to cry.

You knew Max Verstappen loved you. He told you that every day and showed you through the gestures he made. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you didn't look for scandal either.

But every time you saw her, a lump appeared in your stomach. Without wanting to, you became careful around you, looking for her or Max. When you saw them talking, you looked for any excuse to go near them.

But your fear was unfounded, wasn't it? Max loved you, you were together for two years and you were fine.

But you also looked at her. She had also had a long-term relationship with Daniil Kvyat, a relationship of almost three years and they have a little girl together. There can be nothing between them.

Anthony has told you several times that Max and Kelly have been spending a lot of time together, at least lately, and you said you weren't worried. Why would you be?

But last night all your worries and fears came upon you at once. Anthony told you he saw Max leave the paddock with Kelly and didn't come back for about three hours. He didn't want to pay attention to this thing but when Anthony went to the driver to show him some sketches he noticed a small bruise on the backside of his neck.

"Really?" he tells you laughing. "How old are you to leave hickeys on your skin? Only teenagers still do that."

You felt all the color drained from your face. Hickey? You never left anything like that on his skin.

Anthony probably realized that what he said was not about you.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry..."

"It's ok," you say and smile at him even though you wanted to die at that moment. "I need a little bath, I'll be right back," you say and get up from the chair.

You started crying in the bathroom. You were disappointed, scared, disgusted, and shocked. To learn that someone you trusted unconditionally had been lying, cheating, and had developed an emotional bond with another woman behind your back was not registering in your brain.

Yes, you weren't a model, you didn't look like one, but Max always told you that you were perfect and that no other woman compares to you.

You literally could not wrap your head around what was happening...

You hoped that your darkest thoughts would never come true, but they did. Max and Kelly. Together. Behind your back.

It feels like every nerve in your body has either frozen or left your vessel completely. Your body literally enters a state of shock; adrenaline. You are absolutely stripped. Vulnerability. Disbelief. Disgust. Horror. Anger. Confusion. Shattering, crippling, traumatizing heartbreak.

Trust, honesty, and respect are necessary for a relationship, and Max just shattered all three at once. You have been the victim of an emotional crime. You ask yourself, how could this person fuck me over like this?

I trusted them.

I loved them.

I was loyal to them.

I kept my end of the fucking bargain.

How could you emotionally manipulate me?

What was I lacking?

Am I the problem?

Truly sickening, reality-twisting, mind-fucking stuff. You just couldn't believe that this was happening to you. Infidelity is something you hear about quite often, in books, movies, the media, or to other people, but not to you. This was somebody you loved with all of your heart, who told you he loved you, who had never shown the slightest inclination of dishonesty or moral transgression or disloyalty.

"Y/N, are you okay?" you heard Anthony behind the door, the fear and worry present in his voice.

"I'm fine," you say, though no one would have believed you. "I'll be there in a moment."

You splashed some water on your face, looked in the mirror, and bit your lip. You looked like hell. The eyes were red, the small veins that irrigated the eyeballs were broken, the face was red, in a combination between the violent crying crisis and the anger you had.

What were you going to do? Will you pretend you didn't know anything? Will you tell him you knew? Were you going to break up with him or were you going to wait for him to break up with you to be with Kelly?

You finally came out of the bathroom and Anthony was waiting for you at the door. He hugged you tight and assured you that everything would be fine. But he had no way of knowing that. It was nothing more than his simple hope that his best friend would not lose her fucking mind.

The phone starts ringing. Anthony lets you go and he goes to see who's calling you. He gives you a worried look. You immediately realized that it was Max who was calling you. Tears began to flow down your cheeks again and Anthony took your reaction as an invitation for him to answer the phone.

"Hey, man," he replies, and you don't hear what Max is saying. "No, she went for a coffee and left her phone on the table. Okay, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

You approach him after he's finished the call to make sure you don't hear Max's voice.

"He said to go to his room."

"I don't want to see him."

"I realized that. Let's go, we'll deal with this problem later."

You went for a walk. The fresh air calmed you down a bit, but you had all kinds of thoughts in your mind.

How many times has this happened? Did you really want to know that? You really wanted to know how many times he kissed her and then he would come to you and tell you that he loves you.

If Anthony hadn't seen the hickey, how many more times did he planned to cheat on you?

Did he love her? That would have hurt you the most, knowing that you failed to give Max the love he needed and had to look for it in the arms and bed of another woman.

"Just know that I understand your feelings. I've been through this myself." Anthony breaks the silence and you look at him. "To be cheated on, it's a feeling of helplessness and zero self-worth. You feel as if you didn't do enough for that person which is why they reached out for someone else sexually or romantically. You blame it on yourself half the time. You dig for answers in your memories to try to figure out where you went wrong, where things started to go in a different direction. You hope that it won't happen again. You hope that the saying "once a cheater, always a cheater" it's just a myth. They broke your trust, how could you ever trust them again, right? You become paranoid when they go out at night or they don't answer your phone calls by the first ring. You find yourself having more down and depressed days than happy days. And a lot of questions will always replay in the back of your mind. Why? Why now? Why with them? How could this be happening to you? No matter how many times you get an answer, it won't be enough. Day after day, it'll get better but worse at the same time."

After two hours you returned to the paddock. You were immediately notified that Max was looking for you everywhere and he was worried he couldn't find you. Ironic, isn't it?

"Y/N!" you hear Max's voice.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Anthony asks, standing in front of you to block your image of Max.

"No, it's okay. I'll handle it somehow..."

Anthony nods and leaves, staring angrily at Max.

"Hey, I was looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Your eyes are a little red." he asks and if you didn't know better you'd think he cared.

"Let's go somewhere private."

You went to his room. You sat on his bed and thought about what you could say. You were thinking about what Anthony told you when you walked together.

Max hands you a dose of Red Bull and you take it, feeling your throat very dry.

"We need to talk," you tell him and you feel your eyes start to sting. It was not yet time to start crying.

"Okay? Is something wrong?"

"Is it true what Anthony told me?" you ask and you see that Max doesn't know what you mean; how would he know? "Is it true that you and Kelly spent some time together?"

His face went blank for a moment as he tried to understand.

"What you mean?"

You reach out your trembling hand to the collar of his polo shirt to lower it where Anthony told you it was the mark.

And Anthony was right. There was, in front of you, the hickey Kelly made on him.

Max didn't expect that. He looks at you with wide eyes and you hear his heart start beating harder. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked away from you, numb. You discovered his secret. You didn't know if he was afraid of your reaction or sorry you found out his little secret.

"I didn't intend to hurt you," he says, and you realize he's telling the truth.

He had a guttural voice.

You smile at them. A broken smile that hid the primordial desire to cry and hit him with all your best.

"I don't care about your intentions. They're irrelevant. You didn't intend to hurt me? Well, you didn't intentionally try to keep me from harm either."

You don't know where you had the strength to look into his eyes and not cry. Max looks crushed. Because you found out? Because you're breaking up? Because he has to put an end to the affair with Kelly?

"How long was it actually going on before I found out?"

You see Max trying to think of an answer that doesn't affect you so much or destroy you at all.

"For less than a month," he answers.

One month? Where were you a month ago? In Spain. Did something happen there? Did you notice anything strange about him? To his behavior? No. You didn't notice anything.

Was he really that good at hiding his mistakes?

That, of course, if he considers the relationship with Kelly a mistake.

"Did you ever think of me when you were with her?"

He did not answer. You didn't even know if you wanted to know the answer to that. What would it be like to answer that he never thought of you and that his mind was soaked in serotonin that only Kelly could think of those moments?

"I never stopped loving you."

"I don't believe you loved me while you were cheating on me. Love and betrayal are incompatible. I don't feel safe with that kind of 'love.'"

"So? You're breaking up with me?" Max asks.

Although you still had so much to say, you no longer had the power. You were so mentally and physically exhausted that you just wanted to be alone and cry.

"There's nothing else to do, is there?" you say and leave his room.

Anthony was waiting for you. He noticed that you had no tears on your face and frowned.

"What happened? Did you guys make up?"

You hug Anthony hard and cry. At that moment you gave up being strong. You gave up pretending, even in front of you, that you were fine.

Fuck it, you weren't fine. You were far from fine.

You looked back at Christian Horner, who was presenting something on the video projector. You lost the whole meeting with the crew. You had no idea what was being said.

Honestly, you don't even care what they said. You only worked there because you were Max Verstappen's girlfriend. But for eighteen hours, this was no longer true. So what's stopping you from going to Christian and telling him you're resigning? What keeps you from going home and forgetting about Max, forgetting the last two years of your life and starting over?

"That's it for today, thank you very much, friends, and let's get back to work, yeah?"

Everyone gets up from their seats. Anthony draws your attention and beckons you to look at the garage door.

You could faint then and there. No one and nothing ever prepared you for the emotions you were experiencing then. Kelly Piquet was at the garage door, waiting for the meeting to end. She was staring at Max, but he was just looking at you.

"Can we talk a little?"

You nod to Anthony that you're fine and he can leave. You look at Max and you see that he doesn't look very good. He had dark circles and you're sure he didn't sleep last night either, just like you.

“Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?” he asks, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes," you answer categorically, looking at his face, waiting for him to raise his head so you can look him in the eye.

“What will you do if we break up? You will leave here or-” you interrupt him.

"Not 'if I break up with you,' we've already gotten over it," you say and Max looks at you with wide eyes. "We already broke up last night. I'm still here because I haven't had a chance to talk to Christian yet to tell him I'm resigning."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have nothing to do here. I came to Red Bull Racing for you."

A tear runs down Max's cheek.

"What can I tell you to stay?"

"There's nothing left to say. Now go," you say and you feel a lump in your throat. "She's waiting for you."

Max turns to the garage door to see who you're talking about.

"I gave her a text message last night and told her it was all a mistake between us."

You smile at him. "Goodbye, Max," you say then you shout for Christian.

[badgirlcovenrep]

atlas

Alex Chen × Steph Gingrich fluffy comfort one-shot

(I was talking to a friend about the game and we were discussing how Alex is probably still carrying a lot of trauma. And even after everything that happened at the mines we still don't see her really grieve for the whole situation and herself. So- I had to write it, you know?)

Enjoy!

TW: mentions of suicide, death and mental health issues.

It's two months into their relationship now, and they are somewhere in a Californian town, living in a tiny apartment close to the beach. They play together in small venues and underground clubs. Alex bartends and Steph referees for DND campaigns at a nerd bar they found by chance on their first week there.

They're happy. As happy as Alex remembers being since she was- well, maybe nine.

Every day, it's a little like waking up into a dream. Living in an apartment with her first girlfriend, listening to music as they cooked dinner together. Getting to kiss her just because Alex felt like it. Because her heart went a little loopy inside her chest when she smiled. Because she knew Steph would hold on to her waist and make her feel like she was full of electricity.

The 'falling in love' business felt overrated before Steph.

But Being in the middle of it now, Alex doesn't think there's anything better.

Although a part of her still felt quite numb - she guesses it's not something that will go away that easily - and day by day, Alex felt a little bit more like she could breathe... like she was finally letting herself go, at least a little bit.

****

Now that she could comprehend and use her powers, it also seemed as if she'd started to become even more of a magnet for all sorts of emotion around her. And apparently Alex could do it in her sleep too.

The nightmares came in clusters most of the time, a badly cut-together mess of voices and feelings. The lady that lived under them, who lost her son when he was little. The couple from down the street, who were going through a hard time in their relationship. Even the little girl from upstairs, who had terrible night terrors of sharp-teethed monsters reaching from under her bed.

They all mixed inside her head until she woke up gasping for air and sizzling with emotion.

It was rare that she'd have a full dream, one that made sense and completed itself, but when she did they were always about Gabe. About sitting together at the rooftop of the Lantern and sharing a beer. Or climbing trees, like they used to do when they were little.

It was a relief from the usual doom.

And that dream was supposed to be nothing different. Or at least she thought it wasn't.

****

In it, they were at the ravine. A world of twinkling stars shining above their heads. The Colorado mountains all around them creating a landscape that was just as beautiful as it was bittersweet. Alex could see the log she'd crossed, still standing between her and the tiny outcrop of stone Ethan had been stranded on.

She hadn't dreamed of the ravine since leaving Haven Springs, but while she was there, Alex dreamt of it every night. She would see it when her eyes were closed. She could hear it, - the sirens, the terrible, deafening rumble of the ground splitting beneath them. The panic, pounding into her ears.

But this is different. Because when she looks around, Alex realizes she's standing over the elevated plateau, tied to the waist and leaning all her weight against a sturdy piece of rock.

Looking at her from below is Gabe. Lying on the cold ground. A cheesy smile spread across his face.

"Why are we switched?" Alex asks because that's all she can think of asking, as she stares at the rope that anchored her to the ground... to Gabe.

"Beats me. This is all your brain, not mine." He says, and Alex huffs in annoyance, "you know what's going to happen, but you keep coming here."

"I don't have a choice."

"Hmmm..." Gabe hums, but there's some humor in his expression as he stares intently back at her, "and that's exactly why... I'm here because I should say goodbye."

A coldness spreads over Alex's limbs. Around her, the very fabric of the dream dims into darkness as a strong breeze blows past them. She suddenly feels like throwing up.

"What- what does that mean?" It's a stupid question. This is her dream. Alex knows what it means.

Deep down, she knew she'd been conjuring him up for her own sake. Trying to bring back any morsel of relief into the giant hole he'd left inside her heart. However, Alex also knew at some point he'd be gone- she just didn't expect-

"You don't need me anymore, Alex." He says. As if it's that simple. As if she'd ever-

"I'll always need you, Gabe. Of course I need you." The words stumble out of her mouth, and she can feel the hot, angry tears falling down her face.

It feels like a hot iron pressed to the very top of her chest.

Like lava, boiling up into her bloodstream until Alex wants to punch something. The steam that prickles from under her skin, fighting to break free.

Anger always comes first when people feel cornered. It's something she noticed a while back. Out of all the emotions Alex had dealt with the past few months, that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Shit, Gabe. When you died I needed you more than ever."

"But we can't fix that, can we?" He asks, and another wave of anger rips through her. She looks anywhere but him, because Alex feels that if she does, she'll tackle and kill him all over again. But when he says nothing and they're left in the same pocket of silence - the one right before the whole world collapsed - her eyes eventually fall back to her brother. Tied to her and laid on the ground beneath. Looking at her like just as much the goofy asshole she missed so much.

Anger always felt urgent and fast, like a flash going through her body and leaving everything inside it in disarray. It demanded to be completely felt, but only for the moment it took for Alex to decide it wasn't worth launching the nearest object at a window.

Or trying to kill her dead brother.

"You might have needed Gabe. But you don't need this Gabe anymore, Alex. You can do it on your own now."

The fear and sadness that came after? They were usually much, much worse.

"But this is the only Gabe I have."

Those emotions, when mixed, turned into a horrible harmony that paralyzed her lungs and darkened the sides of her vision. They felt just as urgent as anger, but complacent. A beast staring at her from the very bottom of a pit. Tied to her by the waist and trying to lure her down into the abyss.

And, for Alex, the abyss was as deep as a ventilation shaft for a Colorado mining site.

"No, it's not. You'll always have me, Alex. And you know that." Not in the way that matters. Alex wants to say, but it's so redundant. He's the ghost. He should already know that. "And you have Ryan now, and Eleanor, Riley, Charlotte, Ethan... Steph..." he gives her a cheesy smile in the last name, wiggling his eyebrows back at her teasingly.

"Oh, God, way to ruin the moment." Alex can't help but chuckle a little through her tears. Is she blushing? You can't blame her for blushing, right? God, she feels like Diane.

"Hey. Let me have it. One of my only regrets is that I never got to tease the hell out of Steph for dating my little sister... and for being whipped as hell."

"That would have been so funny."

"I knew she'd get along with you but I guess I didn't expect... that. Shame on me. Should've had more artistic vision."

Alex chuckles as more tears run down her face. It's so bittersweet it hurts from the very inside of herself.

"All jokes aside. I'm glad you have her, and that she has you. She's good. Just make sure you tell her I'll haunt her from the grave if her dumb ass breaks your heart, okay?" Alex nods, and her body starts shaking with strangled sobs. So much emotion she just can't let go of. Because if she does, Alex is afraid there'll be nothing left.

"Hey. Don't cry. You can do this, Alex. You know how to live life now."

"I don't want to lose you again, Gabe."

"You'll never lose me. You'll just have to look a little harder." He smiles up at her, pulling jokingly on the rope, "now play your part - or is it my part? You get it."

And then- too soon. (Same as it was that night.) The sirens blast through the mountains, and somewhere above them, a giant explosion blows her eardrums, and boulders the size of cars come tumbling down the mountain.

She barely has time to blink. Barely has time to breathe one last time. Seen as she's Gabe, when she looks up all she sees is the giant rock, flying towards her, hitting her across the torso so hard, before she knows, she's flying way above the ravine, and one last glimpse of the stars catches hold over the veil of her memory before everything turns black.

****

She wakes up in bed, desperately clawing at the top of her chest as she gasps for air. Her lungs feel like they're made of lead, and all around her, she can feel the weight of the rocks, the explosion, the debris, weighing down her body.

Alex pats across the mattress for Steph, who is not there. Another wave of panic washes over her. So strong her mouth turns dry and her head aches as she tries to breathe in, but her lungs can only handle tiny, torturous gasps of half-breath.

Alex dispels a world of curses towards herself inside. Willing her own body to just calm down. In the bathroom, she can hear Steph singing softly to herself- she must have come home late from the DND tournament. Alex told her she'd swing by, but she'd had a long shift and ended up just passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Alex hadn't had an incident like this in very long. She could control it now. Most times. It wasn't easy, with being on the road and constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes, she still got more than she could bargain. When she walked across a depressed person on the sidewalk, or heard one of their multiple neighbors yelling at each other through the walls, and suddenly she felt as if the world blended out of focus into a tsunami of feeling.

Feeling that wasn't hers but still felt so much like it was.

Steph helped whenever it happened. For a sarcastic punk rock mess, she was surprisingly stable and so very reassuring.

Just the fact that she can hear her voice. That Steph is there in the apartment with her, is enough to calm some of her nerves, and while Alex still can't keep herself from pulling in gasps of air as she tries to hold in any kind of oxygen, she at least has a plan.

Water. Water will make her feel better, right?

Almost as soon as the idea crosses her mind, Alex's half-delirious brain commands her to get up, but her body feels so very heavy. Like she's really been trampled over by a wave of giant boulders. And as soon as her feet touch the ground, her legs give up under the weight, and she falls onto the hard floor with a loud, heavy thud.

The girl's hands fly up to hold her weight against the bed, and thankfully that means she doesn't face plant the ground, but it sends her heart into a neck-breaking pace, and all air Alex'd been able to gather so far escapes her in a single huff until she's hyperventilating again, hot, angry tears running down her face.

You're so weak. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course, you had to go and lose Gabe twice, who the fuck would want to stay with such a mess-

"Alex, are you okay?" Steph's voice comes, as she opens the door to find her girlfriend sitting on the ground, looking like she might pass out from just trying to get her lungs to work, "Alex!"

In a second she's crossed their room and kneeled by her, both hands going up to her cheeks on instinct, smearing away her tears.

"Breathe with me, okay? We've done this before, you can do it." She always gets just a tiny bit of a scared aura around her when Alex gets like this, never for long enough that she can read it, but it's still there, the tiny flutter of fear, "come on, breathe."

Her eyes go up to find Steph's, her strong, glittering green gaze. Alex might be the one with superpowers, but it was Steph who could so easily reach in and soften her edges like it was nothing. It was Steph who could just lean in and hold Alex's hand against her chest, letting her feel the determined rise of her lungs. Strong. Stable. Even Alex couldn't possibly understand how she did that.

How she always made Alex's breathing slowly come to shaky, deep breaths, crawling painfully out of her dry throat, but still better than gasping like a fish. Inside her, Alex feels the furious hurricane of emotion, twisting itself into the bottom of her lungs, taking hold of every bit of her until she felt like she could throw up.

"Wait here, I'll get you water," Steph says, and Alex wants to complain, she doesn't want to be alone, even for a second.

But before she can, Steph has left their bedroom for the kitchen, and Alex feels as if she's stable enough to crawl into bed, so she does so at a glacial pace. She grabs Shu-Shu, holding her close to her chest as she sits and waits for Steph.

She eventually comes back in with a glass full and Alex gulps it down in silence, unsure if whatever dam of emotion that has taken place inside of her will break if she tries to speak. So she sets the glass back and lies her head down on the pillow, facing away from Steph and the rest of the room as she tries to reel herself back in.

She can hear Steph taking off her boots and climbing into bed, one arm winding around her waist as she pulls Alex in closer.

"Was it the lady from upstairs?" Steph asks, eventually, after they sit in a few long minutes of silence.

"No." She replies, and it comes out so strangled, so broken, a few more tears run down her face. Steph pulls her even closer, a tight, steady pressure.

"The couple again? I swear to God I'll call the police on that asshole this time."

"No." Alex says, and she detaches herself from Steph just enough so she can turn around and look at her, "I had a dream about Gabe." Simply saying his name makes her whole body shake. Steph is looking at her so intensely, Alex has to close her eyes, holding on to the fabric of her shirt with all she had not to explode in whatever terrifying, dizzying bomb of emotion she could feel brewing inside herself.

Alex felt so much from other people it overwhelmed her multiple times a day, and even then, it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to how much sheer strength it took from her not to let it blow.

It scared her. More than anything.

"He wanted to say goodbye." She says eventually, "it was- I don't know. This- I- this isn't coming from anyone- How do I get rid of it? It's like it's all inside of me and it's taking up so much space and I don't know how to fix it" The words come tumbling out before she can stop them, and she's rambling through tears.

Steph sighs. And Alex can feel the love and sadness mixed together, blowing from her in waves as she holds Alex's chin, bringing her up so they can look at each other.

"Baby..." there are tears in her eyes now, as she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching, and they are so close Alex can smell her lemongrass shampoo, "This is all yours."

And such simple words shouldn't hit her this fucking hard.

But it all suddenly makes so much sense-

Alex was numb after her dad left. She felt nothing for months. It was one of the most terrifying feelings in the world, a deep and powerful depression that threatened to overtake her at any given point.

Like her whole body was nothing but dead weight and her brain was way too tired to even try and keep up.

Young as she was, Alex guesses she never realized the first time she felt anything at all after that was when she discovered her powers. The day a boy came to the orphanage and he was so angry it blew her across the hallway. Ever since then, everything around her was a cacophony of feeling. Coming from every direction. Every street corner, every store, every park.

Every moment of her life since she was eleven, Alex could only feel for others.

"I- I forgot." She realizes, half surprise and half so much sadness another sob breaks through her throat.

Now it made sense, the anger, the sadness, the fear, a hurricane of emotion so very powerful it made her ears ring.

"I'm scared." She admits. Because for someone who had been so focused on learning how to exist among other people's feelings, Alex had no clue how to handle herself, "what do I do with all of this? How do I fix it?"

"Alex. Look at me." Steph brings her face upwards until they are so close, Alex can see the speckles of blue in her eyes, "Gabe died just four months ago, and you were there to see everything- then you got shot and thrown down God knows how many stories into a dark abyss that you somehow walked out of, but not before also finding out about your dad's tragic death - and I haven't seen you cry, actually cry, for yourself, even once."

"I- I can't, it's too much. I don't know how, Steph." Alex had learned her lesson. She'd seen her life as it was and survived it. Deep down she knew it wasn't her responsibility anymore - that it never was her responsibility, to begin with - to hold herself together for others. She knows.

But old habits die hard, and Alex guesses it'll take a while before she starts feeling it too.

Because right now, it still felt like the world might collapse if she wasn't there to hold it together.

"Just- give it to me. Everything you have, I can carry it for you." Steph says, with such determination, Alex actually believes her, but she takes her eyes away, trying to avoid the bubbling of tears threatening to jump out through her throat "Let it go, please, Alex. I can't watch you carry it alone anymore."

At that moment, Alex glances at her again, and there's so much pain, so much love in her eyes, that inside Alex, the dam finally breaks and she's choking on sobs. Tears start running down her cheeks as Steph leans in and pulls her closer, one arm around her shoulder and one on her hip, squeezing tight in reassurance.

If she didn't know better, Alex would've guessed Steph was the one with the superpowers, with the way she coaxes wave after wave of emotion out of her with nothing but her steady presence and quick, light kisses she leaves on Alex's head and hair as she holds on to her shirt for dear life.

It overwhelmed her more than anything she'd experienced so far, and for what feels like hours, she just sobs as Steph holds her.

She cries for her mom. Dead before her time, trying to hold them together to the very end. She cries for her dad, dying a slow death deep underground, a picture of the two children he'd never see again dangling around his neck. She cries for Gabe, for the time they'd never have, for the time they did have.

Above all, for the first time, Alex cried for herself. For being the last out of all of them. For the little girl that had to love and lose every single one of them in succession.

And in the middle of all of it, like a speckle of golden light hidden under all the darkness, for the first time, she feels that it could all start to feel alright.

[mxvladdy]

Lost Affections: Part 3

Ayyyyoooo. Here is the last part to @marymaryroo's request!

On to the next one :)

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Beelzebub

Beel would never call himself accident-prone. He didn’t trip and stumble like Belphie when sleep deprived. He most certainly wasn’t as bad as Mammon when he was without his glasses or contacts. No, he would never say he was that bad. While not clumsy he knew he could be careless, especially when food was in the picture. He didn’t think twice about eating random things. It did hurt anyone, not physically. Sure, Luke and Satan got a little put out when he swiped something, but it didn’t hurt them.

He just forgets sometimes that you are different. You and he go together so well he forgets that you aren’t a demon. You don’t have the steel stomach or fast recovery time that he has. You make up for it. When you go out to eat you always research the place ahead of time. Does the place have non-enchanted food? Human grade options? If not, you make sure that Beel has his fill before taking him somewhere more appropriate for your stomach. Neither of you thinks about residual contaminants.

His life with you unravels with kisses. It is a slow, inconspicuous death. It builds over time with each brush of his lips to yours. Neither of you notices the taste of magic clinging to his mouth or tongue, neither of you thinks of the implications of all the weird potions and food he samples.

It starts small, you forget simple things about him. When his club activities ended, or what his favorite post-game drink was. He brushes it off, it’s trivial really. You are busy and these things can happen to the best of them. He keeps brushing off the nagging worry until he can’t.

It comes to a head one night at the door to your room. “Beel?” You yawn, pulling your robes closer around you. “What’s up?” You glance down at the box of snacks and pillows in his hands. “Did I miss something?”

“It’s date night.”

Your brows shoot up, facing heating. “What.” You sputter. Beel frowns, placing the box at his feet. With slow movements, he places his hand on your forehead. You were a little warm.

“Mmmmm.” His hearts flutter with nerves. Was his little human sick? He ignores the way you stiffen when he touches you. “Do you need a doctor?” He asks bending down to look you in the eye. He catches a whiff of something when you exhale. It is faint but clings to your breath, it’s sickly sweet and sharp to his nostrils. “You need a doctor.”

Without a second thought, he grabs your arm and drags you out of your room. His food forgotten in the hallway with your protests buzzing in his ears. “Beel...Beel!” You stumble after him. He ignores you each step he takes determined and picks up speed. Before you know it you are sitting next to Gluttony in Purgatory waiting for Solomon, beyond confused and anxious.

You fidget on the couch, peeking glances at the troubled look on the red-heads face. This wasn’t like him. He was a man of few words, sure, but this was new. Beel left you to your devices mostly, a few polite conversations here and there, but you two never hung out a lot. You zone out when he starts talking to Solomon. You were still half asleep from Beel waking you up. You had been sleeping so soundly beforehand. “Are you alright?” You jerk awake unaware that you started dozing again. Solomon crouches in front of you.

“I think so?” You had no idea what this was about. “I’m just tired.” The mage says nothing to you, instead turning to glance at Beel. He jerks his head to the door, a clear signal for the old demon to wait outside.

With one last pitiful glance, Beelzebub leaves the two humans to converse. “Now then.” Solomon rounds his piercing eyes back to you. “Tell me how's your stay in the Devildom?”

You tell him confused but willing to play along with his odd request, the sooner you wrap this up the sooner you can go back to bed. An odd feeling of missing something begins to grow as you tell him. Soon you began to fumble, the harder you try to recount something the harder it was to collect. You still were convinced anything was seriously wrong but the growing look of concern on Solomon’s face was making you think otherwise. “So,” You finish rubbing your knees with sweaty palms. “I’m I dying or something?”

He laughs dismissing the notion with a wave of a well-manicured hand. “No, no your soul is still firmly in place.” He rubs his chin. “But you have lost your memory, only when it comes to Beelzebub though. It is very peculiar. Have you ingested anything weird of late? Done any experiments with Satan?” You shake your head. To the best of your knowledge, you have been really careful with your food intake while down here. Devildom foods were delicious but had potential side effects for you and Solomon.

Solomon nods. He figured that. “Could I draw some blood? It sounds to me like you might have trace contamination of some kind. Diavolo and I discussed that this might happen but I wish to double-check.” Well, that’s worrisome, you nod and begin to roll up your sleeve. Solomon bustles collecting a few vials and a mouth swab for extra measure.

“Thank you.” He smiles looking at the samples with scientific glee. “I will let you know what I find. Until then, I guess just go about your regular day. Unless you feel ill, in that case, come to me immediately.” With that, he leaves you depositing you back with Beel.

The walk back to the House was more subdued, both of you were confused as to what to do next. “So,” You flounder. “We were-are an item?”

He shrugs looking down at you. “Yes. We’d hang out in your room on Saturdays, and get brunch on Sundays... do you still want to?”

You shrug feeling awkward. You felt nothing but platonic friendship to the large demon, though Solomon did fill you in on what you apparently have forgotten. “If you want to? I’m up now, and too nervous to sleep.” Beel grunts clenching his fists at his side.

“No,” He shakes his head. “You should rest, even if you can’t sleep. This is overwhelming. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow?” You feel bad. He sounds so hopeful when he asks, like a good night’s sleep was all you needed to fix whatever this was.

You reach for his big hand and squeeze it. “Sure, Beelzebub. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lets you go watching you head back into the house. Running on instinct he turns and heads into the dense forest surrounding the house. He needed to hunt for a bit.

That’s how his twin finds him, gorging himself on the fauna of the forest. Belphie’s socked feet pad loudly over the dried grass and scattered bones of the once lush lowlands. “You know Lucifer is going to be pissed. It takes forever for the wildlife to come back after one of your benders.” He tosses his oversized pillow onto the dead grass and lays down. Belphie doses for a moment, the sound of his brother’s many mouths and whistling of wings a white noise to him. Up until an obnoxious locus landed on his nose.

“Beel.” He flicks the bug off his face, shooting the swarm coating his brother’s skin a sour look. “What’s going on?”

Forgot. Me. One of his mouths rattles out, flecks of meat and vegetation falling from between crooked and jagged teeth. Another opens near his rib cage to speak. They. Don’t. Love. Me.

“I’ll kill them.” Already Belphie is back on his feet. He feels for his brother and his plight, but the thought that you betrayed him after you promised to never hurt Beel took precedence. The storm of bugs goes quiet, all the millions of eyes now turn to him. They jerk and twitch in unison before converging back on the mass of leathery gaunt skin of his brother. His human form takes shape slowly, shiny wings and many mandibled skulls melding together to create his flesh.

Beel grabs Belphie’s shoulders. His claws dig into the soft fabric of his nightshirt. “It’s not their fault.”

“Then who?” Beel chuckles weakly at his brother’s blood lust. He couldn’t deny that he felt it too, but he had no idea where to channel this anger.

So he ate. It calmed him a little. If he could get into the village and eat there...no. The last time he siphoned the emotions from the populous at large Lucifer got mad. The whole of the Devildom had to shut down for a good week to recover. He rubs his stomach a feeling of agitation growing in the pits of them. “Don’t know. Solomon is taking a look at it.” Belphie snorts a sneer growing on his lips. “He is helping, Belphie.”

“Sure-right. That boy meddles in all shorts of shit he shouldn’t. Careful he doesn’t try to bargain with your skin for this.” He eyes where your mark rests on his brother. It would be a perfect lure to entrap his twin in a pact.

Hmm.

No, none of this would do. Belphegor would rather die than let some human-like Solomon meddle anymore in his family’s affairs, and as far as he was concerned the moment you started seeing Beel you were as another sibling. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll bring dinner up to our room.”

After settling Beel under the covers of his massive bed Belphie went on the hunt for more food in the kitchen. He stops by your bedroom door picking up the box of goodies still left in front of it. He piles more things into the box when he reaches the kitchen. Swiping up snacks at random Belphie piles the box sky high. His hand stops over a few of your favorite human snacks. Should he? Honestly, it was a blind shot in the dark if it would comfort his brother or not. After a bit more debate Belphie puts the chocolates back, a different idea already turning in his head.

Back in their shared room, he listens to his brother run down the last week between huge bits of sweets. As he recounts every little thing that has gone down they both began to notice just how strange you have been. Both twins sit in the aftermath of Beel’s words, a wasteland of wrapper and silence stretching between them. “Think it will come back?” The twins lock eyes, Beel’s large and unsure but simmering with foolish hope.

“Possibly.” Belphie grits out, breaking their eye contact. He could never lie to his brother, at least not to his face. “Get some rest. I’m sure someone will have a plan in motion by tomorrow.” He’ll set his plans in motion tonight.

Lying in wait some hours later Belphie listens through the walls of the massive house for your quick little human heartbeat in your bedroom. He matches his shallow breaths with yours feeling yourself slip into slumber and his realm. Once you are completely under he drifts off himself.

He enters your dreams and scowls unused to stumbling inside of a dreamscape. Your dreams are muddled and clotted with stick webs of confusion and hazy memories. Odd bits and pieces of images drip around the edges of your mind. This place was a disgusting mess. With a deep sigh, Belphie begins trudging through the quagmire.

He peers around making note of the black holes in your mind like canvas ripped from their frames. Rotten magic assaults him from all sides. Stopping in front of a particularly deep gash in your mind he rolls up his oversized sleeves finding what he was looking for. He knew this memory was in it, just on the outskirts of the scene playing out. He could knit this rip back together easily, after that it should give him some clarity on the others he couldn’t place.

This was going to take a lot of energy. No one would notice if he stole some energy to get things started. Belphie smiles to himself already tapping into Lucifer's dreamscape, taking a bit more than he needed. You deserve only the best after all.

__________________

“Morning everyone.” You chirp plopping down in your chair. The brothers reply with groggy acknowledgments, completely unlike themselves. You look around at the bunch. “Are you all ok?” The group grunts collectively yawning or rubbing their weary eyes.

“Tough night.” Lucifer looks up from his newspaper. He was half-dead in his chair, a cup of coffee shaking in his hands. Asmo sits beside him looking on the verge of tears as he gently pokes his swollen cheeks and eyelids. The only two that seem to even be remotely coherent were the twins. The youngest of the two sleeping oblivious to the turmoil of his siblings while his brother stares at your every move. “Good morning Beel.” You nod feeling awkward in this shared space.

“Morning.” He smiles at you, a few crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. Something ticks in the back of your mind at his look. A foggy image comes to mind. It feels like a dream, but so real at the same time. It makes you nauseous, a weird sense of dejavu fighting its way to the forefront. “You ok?” He puts a hand on your shoulder.

You blink noticing the room at large turning their gaze to you. You nod, reaching across from him for some leftover food. The moment a bowl of cereal was in your hands Asmo swept you up in a conversation about his “fading” looks. You don’t think of Beel and your predicament for the rest of the day, not until Solomon invites you over to his hall for tea.

“You were poisoned.” He states simply over his sorry excuse of scones. You pause in the middle of trying to break a piece off on the table.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing to apologize for, unless you did it intentionally.” He laughs. “It appears to be through slow ingestion over a long period of time. The levels in your blood are staggering but not lethal. It looks like the magic took root in the temporal lobe-much like a tumor, really quite fascinating- and has been eating away at the memories of the person, or in this case, a demon that poisoned you.” Beel had been poisoning you? Solomon waves his hand at your look of concern. “I am quite positive that it was not intentional. Mind you he does find the most wondrous things to shovel down his gullet. The fact that it mixed perfectly into a potion instead of a lethal toxic is sheer dumb luck on your end.” You breathe a sigh of relief finally tossing the baked good away as a bad job. Well that's...something. At least you’d be alive to stumble around your apparent “forgotten boyfriend”.

“Any chance of fixing this?”

Solomon shrugs. “Possibly? I need more time to figure out exactly what components are involved in your test results. Then making a tonic to undo all the magic is another thing entirely.”He discusses a few other options with you for a few hours, going over in great detail the ins and outs of potion-making. Soon the windows of the sunroom grew dark, the glow of the lamps outside growing brighter so you could see the pathway back to the house.

“I better head back.” You stretch looking out into the pitch outside. Hmmm, if you remember correctly Levi should be off of work by now. He said to call when he was done to come to pick you up. As if on cue a sharp knock on the door disrupts you. Instead of a shock of blue hair, you are greeted with orange. “Oh-hey Beel.”

“Hey.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a facsimile of a friendly smile. “Ready to go?” He picks up your forgotten school bag and takes your sweater from the coat rack. With a well-practiced motion, he slings the bag over his shoulder and holds your sweater open for you. He obviously did this a lot before…

You stare back wide-eyed at Solomon who only smirks, nodding at you to hurry up.

Out the door and into the chilly night you sneak a peek at Beelzebub walking quietly beside you. He catches your look and raises a brow. “Sorry.” You feel your cheeks heat a little under his thoughtful gaze.

“About?”

“All of this.” You wave at yourself. “Please don’t feel obligated to hang out with me. Until we can get this settled. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Beel grunts, stopping in his tracks by a low garden wall. “I was hurt-am still hurting.” He admits. “But this isn’t your fault, so what good does it do to blame you for it? Even if you don’t remember me as your partner, you still remember me as a friend...right?” A warm smile spreads across his face when you nod. “Then I’m ok with this. I haven’t lost you completely and even if you don’t ever feel the same way about me anymore, I think I will be ok.”

“I- thank you Beel. That means a lot.”

“Of course.” He hums. “Let’s head back. I think Asmo left some food out.”

You dream of Beel again, a weird amalgamation of scenes all tossed together in a great pile with you in the middle of it. You could do nothing but watch like a film as they rush by you in a blur. Some scenes didn’t line up right, bouncing around like a scratched vinyl, but it still made sense in a way only a dream could. You play out each dream like an actor, the script coming to you naturally with each little venette. You sit outside his locker room, a basket of food and drink in your lap, your heart fluttering in your chest. You and Beel were watching his brothers on the beach, his broad hands rubbing sunscreen into your skin. Beel walking you back to your room after a long night in the library holding your hand in his strong, sure grip. Saturday afternoons spent hopping from one cafe to the next sampling the sweets and drinks to both of your heart's content.

It grips your heart but slips away with the rise of the young morning moon.

When morning comes the night is nothing more than a few smudges in your mindscape. Yet, a light, sweet feeling stays with you. You found yourself smiling more around the redhead and gravitating to him during the day. He accepts you back with a friendly hug and a friendly ear.

He treats you no differently than you remember. It’s nice. Even if a part of your yearns to see how he treated you when you were more than friends.

You begin to get excited for when your head hits your pillow. The dreams become clearer and clearer each night. Some new pieces show up and fall into place as the weeks progress. You start seeing bits of your dreams in the day too. After-images of you hand in hand with him walking down the other side of the street. The taste of something sweet on your tongue or a familiar scent in your nose.

After one particularly vivid dream, you wake determined not to let the contents of this dream slip through your fingers. This time you dreamt of the kitchen, dirty bowls, and units scattered about the cluttered counters. You had been baking something, and failing miserably.

Sneaking down to the kitchens you pull out all the things you could remember. For some reason, this dream lit a fire in you, like it was the last piece of the puzzle to getting it all back. You don’t think, instead, you just let your body take control. You baked a cake.

Well, it was supposed to be a cake. The center was too spongy and collapsed inward while the sides were dark and cracked. The icing was badly blended and melting from the still-warm pastry. It was almost exactly like the one from your dream.

You stare at it waiting for some great revelation, but nothing comes. Great. Now what?

“I smell food.”

“Gods!” You jerk smacking your knee on your bar stool. Beel’s deep voice scaring you half to death. “Should put a bell on you.” You grin. Beel peeks his head through the door brows furrowed.

“This is familiar.” He walks in pulling up another chair to sit next to you.

“Ye?” You look back at him.

“Yes. This was our first kiss.” You drop your icing spoon. “You wanted to surprise me before a big game.” He put a finger through the thick black and purple icing and pops it in his mouth. “Ah- You forgot the bane extract...I had thought that perhaps you remembered.” The hope in his voice stung your chest.

Oh. You look down at the mess you made, whatever feelings of satisfaction are lost. “I thought I was forgetting something, but my dreams are all blurry.”

“Dreams?” Beel pauses reaching for a slice. “You dreamt of this?”

“Yes. Been dreaming about you a lot of late.” You flush. “Little things that are starting to build a bigger picture. I just had this dream of a cake and the urge to make one...so- here we are.” You wave your hand out over the messy kitchen. Sighing plopping your chin down on your palm. “Guess I can sleep on it a bit more huh?” You shoot him a quick wink and sad smile.

“Or just ask Belphie.” He shrugs, taking another large slice of the disaster. “Sounds like he’s been meddling.” That realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Damn, you could have slapped yourself. “I’m sure he meant well, but he shouldn’t force you if you don’t want to. I could tell him to stop.”

What! No! You shake your head. “No. I-I don’t mind it. Solomon has yet to figure anything out, and whatever your brother is doing seems to be helping a little.” Beelzebub said nothing to that and just continued to eat while you started the dishes.

“Do you want to end tonight like we did before?” He asks sometime later, half of the dishes now drip drying in the rack. His long arms box you in on either side holding on to the lip of the sink. His head dips low, his chin resting on the top of your head. Deep down you knew that you could leave at any time. His grip was loose and easily breakable, considerate as ever to your comforts.

You turn to face him, a soft look crosses his face. “And how did it end?” He grins moving closer. You would have to thank Belphie for his interference. Just, perhaps later. You doubted he would want to be in your dreams tonight.

[primergon]

KINDA ANGSTY SCENARIO REQUEST: how would the tfp bots or cons (or both if you can) be at raising their child after loosing their human conjux, how would the loss affect them and the way they take care of the kid(s)? (sorry for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language)

A/N: Thank you for sending this in Anon! Don't worry about your english, it's really good ! I'm going to the Autobots for your ask and if a lot of people enjoy this then I'll make a part two with the Decepticons! I hope that's alright <3

1. Whether it was under the influence of the matrix or not, Optimus had always wanted a sparkling. There were stories of how the matrix encourages its bearer to create life, a survival instinct crafted by the old gods to ensure that the Cybertronian race persevered. Yet even when he was still an archivist, Orion had always wanted to raise a bitlet. Therefore, even if he grieves over the loss of his conjunx, he was still the doting father. Even if Optimus was constantly torn between his responsibilities as both a leader and a father, he always seemed to make time for both. He would teach them the alphabet and read them bedtime stories, and Optimus was an expert in balancing discipline and encouragement since he used to take young soldiers under his wing. There was a familiar ache against his spark when he realizes the baby had inherited their carrier's optic colour. Whenever the sparkling cries at night, he would scoop them up in his arms gently. Cooing and rocking the little bitlet until they fall asleep. Whenever things get too difficult for Optimus, he would always look up to wonder if his conjunx is watching them. It warms his spark to know that his little sparkling will grow up just to be like their carrier. It gives him all the more reason to win this war.

2. Your death change Bumblebee. Even after the war ended and he had his voice back, it was as if the light inside him had dimmed. He turned quiet and mostly kept to himself. If it wasn't for the little sparkling you both had together, Bumblebee wouldn't have healed properly. He pushed himself to continue for your bitlet's sake, always striving to be the best father. He often seeks Optimus for advice, and when he wasn't there, Arcee and Bulkhead were more than happy to help out. Even Ultra Magnus is open to giving the Scout advice. The war sometimes makes people forget just how young Bumblebee was. He was old enough to have children of course, but he was way too young to be widowed. And so he and his sparkling learned from one another, and parenthood was a different kind of challenge for him. But the moment the baby wraps their little hand around his finger, Bumblebee knew that all the sleepless nights were worth it. He just wished you were here to see the little sparkling fall asleep against his arm.

3. Bulkhead didn't hide his grief. He would openly talk about you to his sparkling, trying to hold back tears as he remembered all the good memories you shared. He was an excellent father, even if he sometimes doubts it. Wheeljack would often remind him that he's doing amazing, even offering to babysit the bitlet while Bulkhead gets some rest. The wrecker often gets angry at the world for being unfair, for taking you away from him, from your baby. Going as far as to punch holes into the metal walls of the base. Yet, the gentle giant made sure his sparkling would never see that side of him. Always affectionate and attentive to the bitlet that reminds him so much of you. Miko would let the bitlet sit on her lap, playing with her while Bulkhead watches nearby. He often visits your grave with the baby, talking to you as if you were there to listen - and Bulkhead knows, somewhere up there, you were listening.

4. Angry. Arcee was upset, frustrated and so very angry. The world keeps on taking and taking from her. It broke her heart to know that her bitlet would grow up in such a cruel world. Yet, the moment she looks into their eyes and sees a reflection of you in them, Arcee made a promise to make sure that no hurt will ever come to her sparkling. It's funny how she used to tease June for being a helicopter mom because Arcee is no different. She's protective, sometimes too protective of the baby. Always worrying every five minutes even after Ratchet had ordered her to get some sleep. She doesn't trust anyone outside of team Prime with her child, and even if they wanted to hold the baby she would have to be close to keep watch. Jack would often watch over them, entertaining the gibberish coming out of their mouth. It warms her spark to know that even under all that loss, she still has love left inside of her. And she swore to give it all to the sparkling in her arms. Not a day goes by without her thinking of you.

5. Even if it wasn't his fault, Ratchet couldn't stop blaming himself for it. The memory of your death playing over and over again in his processor. It made him feel unworthy of the baby in his arms. He doesn't show his grief, but underneath that exterior, Ratchet was crushed. There was a multitude of emotions overwhelming him, sadness, regret, worry, anger, pain - so much pain. The hurt only goes away when the baby laughs. That gave him the push to pull himself together. Ratchet is naturally idealistic, he sets high standards for himself to cope with your absence. He became preoccupied with taking care of the baby, and if he wasn't, he was reading on how to become the ' best father.' Optimus has to constantly remind him that we cannot create the perfect parent out of a test tube. Every mistake made Ratchet feel ashamed, yet he accepted the fact that parenthood was all about learning. He wasn't religious, but Primus does the old mech feel blessed to have the baby in his arms.

6.Smokescreen still couldn't fully accept your death, stuck within this loop of bargaining and denial. It pained everyone around him to see Smokescreen so torn. The only thing that kept him grounded was the Sparkling. He loves how they remind him to stay cheerful, giving him hope even when he can barely smile. He remains optimistic for your baby's sake, knowing he still has so much to learn about being a sire. Smokescreen wasn't a perfect parent, mistakes naturally occur, but what makes him a great parent is that he tries to be better. He was maturing into a better person because of his child, achieving the best version of himself through fatherhood. Eventually, he knows he should move on from the grief, but just because Smokescreen decided to accept your death for the sake of your child doesn't mean he forgot about you. He knows that you'll always be in his spark. He wonders if you're proud of him.

7.Being a father was not something Wheeljack had predicted for himself. He had always seen himself as a lone mech, never grounded to one place. It was just heartbreaking to see that when he finally decided to build a home with you, the universe had other plans. Wheeljack guarded his emotions and kept to himself because he doesn't want to get hurt, so your death made him withdrew even more. He was angry at himself. Yet when he held the sparkling in his arms, Wheeljack realized that they needed him more than ever. He doubts he'll make a good father, but Team Prime was more than willing to help him. Bulkhead gave him a lot of pointers on how to care for the baby, even Ultra Magnus had offered some advice. Fatherhood helped him heal and at the same time, it made him realize that he still has a home. As reckless as Wheeljack was he's protective towards his baby. He only begins to cut himself some slack when Arcee compared him to Ultra Magnus. Wheeljack knew children were different from assembling ships. There was no manual. He struggled a lot, but through time and a lot of patience, he was happy to see that his sparkling grew into a mini version of himself. They remind him so much of you and Wheeljack wished you were there to see him now.

8.Ultra Magnus lives a life of fighting. Even before the war, he was already part of the military. As the leader of the Wreckers and the Autobot's second in command, Ultra Magnus has to make sure he has nothing to lose. He cannot afford any kind of liability that would hold him back. Therefore, when he lost you, he couldn't help but beat himself up for it. He feels responsible for putting you in such a dangerous position, even if your death had nothing to do with him. A common misconception is that Ultra Magnus doesn't feel, but in reality, he feels too much to the point where your death pushed him into drinking. Ultra Magnus has a hard time allowing himself grief, so once he does, he loses control for the first time in his life. The main reason he sobered up was that he knew he had a child to look after. He was attentive and observant, always providing for the sparkling whenever it cries or gets hungry. Yet, a baby is nowhere near one of his subordinates. Even if he's aware of this, he sometimes still finds himself stuck in difficult situations. The commander has a hard time asking for help, but thankfully those around him were more than willing to help out. Ultra Magnus was a strict parent. He often grows too protective of his child. The thought of losing someone after you was unbearable. However, with a little reminder here and there, Ultra Magnus had managed to raise a wonderful child. Ultra Magnus would often take a look at the holo-picture of you he keeps in his subspace and feel proud. He was happy to see that his child took after their carrier.

A/N : I hope this was what you wanted Anon <3

[algernoninwonderland]

Can I ask you to make a guide about writing Akumatized Marinette fics in such a way that still keep all characters in-character?

I’ll do you one better!

Here’s My Five-Step Program on How To Write Akumatised Characters!

Feel free to use it however you like!

1.  Have a clear idea of who your character is, what their drives and dislikes are, before you get around to akumatising them

For instance, Nino wants to have fun and to make his friends happy but hates being told what to do by authority figures. Mlle Mendeleiev wants to be regarded as a big deal in the scientific world and hates being ridiculed.

Though some of these drives and dislikes can be really ridiculous when it comes to some of these akumatised characters and can have little to no emotional weight because some episodes are comedy-oriented (M. Ramier likes feeding his pigeons, he doesn’t like being told that he can’t feed his pigeons, this is stupid but also funny) or just poorly written. Still, they all seem to follow that same basic formula.

2. Understand how we get to the akumatisation proper, or, what happens before the transformation

The characters about to be akumatised are being pushed to their limits. Why? It depends on the episode, but it’s usually a case of “the character can’t have it their way because of [reason] and that makes them angry”. What are they angry at? There’s no fixed rule here. Depends on the circumstances of the episode. They’re caught in a situation with an outcome that leaves them emotionally unstable and angry, is the point.

Watch Utena. Just watch it. It’s (maybe) the best anime ever. And Miraculous uses the basic mechanics of the Black Rose Saga without understanding what made it good in the first place. Without spoiling too much about that part of the anime, secondary characters with issues hinted at in the first arc come to the forefront of the show for one episode each, during which they are being pushed to their limits. They have a moment of Regressive Therapy with the arc’s antagonist who makes them expose their buried negative feelings and weaponises them to turn each of these characters into the “villain” of the week, if you will. In Utena, these characters, their desires, their fears, gives us a different perspective on the storyworld, the plot and the characters we’ve spent the most time with until then. It’s so good. Just watch Utena.

Anyway, Hawk Moth is a kind of devil figure there (all of this is very Faustian) using the moments of emotional vulnerability in these characters to trick them into striking a deal with him.  He offers them the power to act on these negative feelings, and they must do his bidding in return (he can exert some control over them if this deal is agreed upon but that’s really murky).

Note that these soon-to-be-akumatised characters are not in the right mindset to fully realise what it is they’re getting into, unless they are Truly Evil. Hawk Moth is the one in control there, he is calm and manipulative, he is the one to define the terms of the contract, if you will. This makes me reluctant to call the great majority of the akumatised characters villains (but that doesn’t stop the show from treating them as such). They are blinded by their anger, and not in a position to bargain.

3. Understand what being akumatised is and what it does

“Hello, [villain name], I’m Hawk Moth. Are you sick of piles of owls constantly blocking your driveway?! Well then you gotta get Owl Trowel!  Things are pretty unfair, aren’t they? I understand. I will give you the power to do [whatever], in exchange, you must give me the Miraculouses” Hawk Moth, in every episode.

Being akumatised is a twisted, dramatic expression of these negative emotions and frustrated desires, with an awful colour palette and character designs that range from “pretty good!” to “no.”

Now watch the original Sailor Moon anime. Some of the people working on it later moved on to make Utena. It’s mostly a very good show, and one Miraculous draws from a lot. It blends what was the norm in the magical girl genre until then (shows centred around femininity and growing up) with tokusatsu-type monster-of-the-week stuff. Notably, some of the villains of the week in the early seasons were humans whose desires and frustrations were used by the Dark Kingdom (the Big Bad) to turn them into monsters. The Sailor Guardians (our heroines) had to fight and heal them from that evil corruption.

Being akumatised is a physical transformation and a mental transformation as well, characters who wouldn’t hurt a fly as their regular civilian selves become unhinged and violent and drunk with power. This isn’t them anymore, not entirely. Does that mean an akumatised character’s actions are entirely divorced from what their regular selves think and feel? Not entirely. Alya really wants to know who Ladybug is, Ivan really wishes people would stop picking on him, Aurore really thinks she deserved that victory. Being akumatised means taking these feelings to the extreme and manifesting them physically while attaching them to an item the character has been shown to carry earlier on. Maybe that item is the cause of what upset the akumatised character in the first place, and turning that into a weapon… Sometimes. Maybe it’s something else. The show isn’t very consistent in that regard. You figure it out yourself.

Hawk Moth brings out the worse in these characters and then some, using his magic. He exerts some degree of control over his akumatised pawns though how much is unclear, and I think that’s a deliberate choice from the creative team. In this case, I think the ambiguity makes things more interesting than “bad man entirely controls people who are only puppets with no will of their own whatsoever”.

4. And Now How Would Other Characters React?

When akumatised characters have vengeance in their mind, they go after the person they think is responsible for whatever went wrong. Unlike our heroes and HM, they aren’t concerned with being secretive about who they are, since they are overconfident in their new powers.

The most common reaction to akumatised villains attacking Paris is: “running away and screaming and trying to get somewhere safer”.

How would individual characters react to an akuma attack? How involved were they with the person that got akumatised? Did they play a role in making that person upset? Did they suspect the person had these kinds of feelings before, or is it a complete surprise? What does it tell us about the relationship between the akumatised character and the non-akumatised character reacting to them? Find answers to these questions and you’ve got it all figured out. Refer to the show itself regarding characterisation, it may not be always consistent so pick what you like best, what would be the most interesting.

5. Now That You’ve Got It All Figured Out, Plan and Write the Damn Thing.

Only you can tell the story you want to tell the way you can tell it, so do it, rework it, show it to your friends and rewrite it again until you’re somewhat satisfied.

And voilà! Hope this was somewhat helpful!

[zemodaddy]

Shades of Him

Chapter 3

Warnings: violence, fluff, caring zemo, death

For the first time in awhile, you had slept without another nightmare. Granted it was like 3 hour you had rested but still. You didn’t want to get up, not yet. It was so warm and comfy that moving would be a sin. The blanket wrapped around you felt like a cocoon, making you feel safe. Your eyes slowly fall open. They land on a couch across from you. That’s strange, how did you.. Realisation slapped you in the face. That blanket around you isn’t a blanket at all. You look down. An arm was wrapped around your waist. It was then you felt the soft pounding of a heart beat against your back. Panic started to set in. This is not good you thought, not good at all. Closing your eyes you think of the best way to get out of your predicament.

“What the actual hell” Your eyes fly open. Sam stood there, eyes wide, staring at you. Shit. “Sam calm down, this can be explained.” Your whisper. “Can it?!” He whisper shouts “ I’m going to get Bucky”. Oh fuck no. Sam had already left the room to find him. Carefully you untangle yourself from Zemo. He was still sleeping peacefully on that couch, thank god. Slowly you roll over, however you miss judge your move and fall onto the carpet below with a loud thud. Zemo stirs in his sleep. You curse yourself as you get up and race after Sam.

You didn’t realise that as you exited the room, two chestnut eyes had followed your every move. Thankfully you reach Sam just as he was about to knock on Buckys bedroom door. You pull him into a room that looked like some type of storage area for food. “Look I woke up really early this morning and went down to get some pills for a headache that I had” Sam raised his eyebrows. “and so you ended up sleeping with the enemy?” “You make it sound like I did something more than just- anyway he’s helping us! I wouldn’t call him an enemy” He ignores your statement and says “So how did you-“ You explain what happened last night “so I sat next to him and fell asleep, nothing happened!”

You hear footsteps in the hallway. “ I’m no one to judge y/n, just please be careful, especially around him.” “You know I’m always careful!” You grin. He returns the gesture and opens the door. Your glad he kept this between the two of you, Bucky would freak out and get his metal arm in a twist. You walk back into the kitchen followed by Sam. Zemo was gone which explained the footsteps. Had he heard anything? You push that thought aside and go to make some tea for the second time that morning. You and sam both sit at the breakfast table, sipping from your mugs. He really was a good friend to you.

You were getting yourself ready when Sharon announces that she has a location on Nagel. You hurry and quickly check yourself in the mirror. You wore black slightly baggy pants, a matching vest top reaching just above your belly button and an accompanying jacket. It was perfect for missions like these, not too suspicious and practical. You fix all your weapons to yourself including you new gun and head downstairs to meet the others.

You all arrive at a place with cargo containers littered all around you. On the way there you kept glancing at Zemo to see if he acted any different. Fortunately he just kept to himself. Did he notice your intimate moment this morning? His expression revealed no answers. Following Sharon in the maze of cargos she led you to one particular one, handing you each an ear piece. “I’ll keep and eye out for you while you talk to Nagel” she says “thanks Sharon, for everything you’ve done so far” “just hurry people” you nod and all pile into the container.

Finding it completely empty, you do some searching until Zemo finds a secret door leading to a downstairs lab, an upbeat song playing in the distance. Walking down one by one you find a man filling test tubes up with some sort of liquid. Bucky stops the music and he turns around, shocked to find us standing there guns raised. “Who are you what do you want” ignoring his first question you state “you recreated the super soldier serum” after being told to get out of his lab you had no option but to threaten him. Nagel looked just like the crazy scientist you expect him to be, his calculating voice didn’t help that imagery.

“I’m not saying anything” you roll your eyes. This guy does not understand how this is supposed to work. You step forward until you were in front of him. “I can burn you alive from the inside out by making your blood boil, starting from your feet, then your legs, then to your heart, so I suggest you start talking” disbelief was prominent on his face so you summon up a flame around his ankles. “Okay!” He down right screamed. He begins to explain how he created the serum and how it was stolen by a girl named Karli.

“Guys we have company” Sharon says over the device. Shit how have they found us so quickly?

“Is there any serum here?” Sam asks. “No” was all he said. Sharon runs in “we’re seriously out of time”. Bang! A gunshot sounds through the lab. Zemo was holding the gun, now being restrained by Sam and Sharon. Seconds after, you were thrown back against a wall, the noise of an explosion had blinded your ears. Things were breaking and smashing all around you. Your whole body ached from the force that had lifted you into the air.

You hadn’t realise how much derby covered your body until a strong hand lifted you out of the rubble. None other than Zemo was now guiding you out of the collapsing lab and out into the open. “Are you okay?” That was the second time he’d asked you that today. “I’m fine” you were slightly annoyed at him. You were perfectly capable to getting out of there yourself, you’ve experienced worse. Guns were being fired and you both duck. You pull out your gun and start shooting back. “Did you steal that from somewhere?” “what? how did you-“ “they all have trackers on them, this is how they must have found us so soon” he looks at you. The one thing you didn’t want to do was get your friends hurt, and now you have led them right into a trap. “I..I didn’t know”. You were disappointed in yourself, and when you looked over towards the others, now also fighting these bargain hunters, that feeling turned to anger. Anger at yourself for being so stupid. You felt your body fill with energy.

The bargain hunters started shooting at you again, making you explode with rage. Without another word you start to run towards the men standing a few metres away from you, and send a monstrous flame, racing towards them. You let them find you. Another burst of flames in the other direction, engulfing the unfortunate soul in a living hell. You put your friends in harms way. The men started running away now. You couldn’t let them get away. You needed them dead. Fire burnt in your eyes, and death shone upon you, guiding you to them. You felt yourself loose control. Loose that sense of focus you had before, your task was to find them, and make them suffer for your mistake. It was the only way to stop that feeling of guilt building in you. If you deal with the threat then was there really any harm done?

Zemo had been watching your fiery battle in astonishment. He couldn’t move, he could only watch you gracefully send those men to their deaths. Only when he saw you move once again, following the guys running for their lives, did he run after you. “Y/n stop”. You spin around ready to fight whoever that voice belonged to. You stopped short. “Darling I think they’re gone now”

“No” you say forcefully and in a gravelly voice. “They want to hurt us”. You were not yourself anymore. You were only the killing machine you were trained to be. Zemo takes a few small steps towards you. “They’re gone” he repeats, taking another few paces. You look down on your hands, flames licking them. You had let yourself become the person you swore to keep away. “ you’re okay now” Zemo rips you out of that thought. You couldn’t find anymore words to say but “I’m sorry” you whisper, your eyes began to well up with tears. The baron reaches his hand out carefully, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

Before he could reach you however, your knees hit the solid ground and your face falls into your hands. Zemo quickly follows your action and wraps his protective arms around you, letting you bury your head into his chest. At that moment you didn’t care who he is or what he had done. You didn’t care how this would affect your future. All you wanted to do was crawl in a hole and stay there for the rest of eternity. “It’s okay your safe now”. Your mind was spinning with thoughts. It felt like you would never be able to escape them ever again. Zemo strokes the back of your head as he rests his chin on top of it, locking you into that embrace. You felt the most vulnerable at that point but yet so safe.

On the way to the airport you separate from Sharon. No one questions your blank expression as you look out of the car window. They had all seen your outburst. All knew better than to talk to you while your were like this. It was better for you to have space to think. Zemo had helped you get to the car, after you calmed down a little. Now being emotionally and physically drained, you wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped you. Would you ever have ever returned to your normal self if he didn’t come for you?

Back in the jet Zemo was preparing something in the small kitchen at the front of the plane and Sam and Bucky were discussing the next move. You were sat away from them, staring aimlessly out of the window again, pretending to be interested in something outside. A few moments later Zemo hands you a cup of tea that you presumed was cherry blossom from the look of it. You give a very small smile and return to your staring. He leaves and a few minutes later returns with a blanket, silently suggesting to you to get some rest.

You sip at your drink and feel yourself drift away from reality. “How is she” a faint voice asks. “By the look of things mostly just tired now” a different voice whispers. “I should talk to her when she wakes up” “are you sure that’s a good idea.” “It might help” that was all you heard as you travelled to the world of dreams.

Note~

I know these aren’t the longest ever but the next part should be up in a day or so! Hope you enjoy 😊