#Not being able to sleep because you know a spirit is watching is... tiring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ppumeonae-bigvibe · 9 months ago

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under his watchful gaze

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pairing: mingi x gn! reader

↬ tags: implied that mingi and reader are childhood friends (about why they are roommates now the author herself isn't too sure just roll with it), you can assume reader and mingi are going to the same school, mingi is 3 years older than reader in this one

summary: you have a guardian angel that watches you while you sleep. that's mingi

word count: 807 words

a/n: can't put any labels on what mingi is to the reader because the agenda of this fic changed course MULTIPLE times, the bonus scene will explain a bit of the backstory (it was only added because the story wouldn't have made sense without the backstory)

a loud knock on mingi's door grabbed his attention and he swivels around in his chair to face you. he removes his headphones, game paused in the background. you stood shyly by his doorframe, greeting him all while clad in cozy sleepwear, "hey mingi, i'm not disturbing you right?"

he shakes his head, "no, what's up?" you waved your hands in front of you, "oh, uhm. i just wanted to tell you that if you're going to play games, could you tone it down a bit? i'm gonna head to bed now, i've got an early class tomorrow." you shoot him a half grimace half smile at the mention of your class.

unfortunately for him, his friends were counting on him to tank a match. he clears his throat and gave you a curt nod.

"yeah, i'll try. have a good rest." he bids you goodbye and his door closes with a whoosh, mechanism clicking shut. mingi tears his gaze away from the door and returns his focus back to the game.

"mingi what's taking you so long?!" he rolls his eyes at the way his gaming mates hollered at him.

"my bad. someone was talking to me. let's go for another round?" mingi cracks his knuckles, before poising them over his keyboard.

"that's the spirit! one more win!"

-----

"ah damn we almost got that team!" mingi groans, rubbing his eyes. "yeah no shot. we nearly got obliterated! if mingi didn't advise us to defend our base i think we would have lost more." his teammates chatter idly, agreeing to take a quick bio-break. mingi stretched his legs out, and wonders if you were asleep now.

picking up his phone, he notices that you sent him a message on social media just a second ago. a second chime signals a new message and he clicks on the notification.

just a bunch of animal reels from this evening...and wait, why were you online?

mingi shoots you a quick text, somewhat apologetic.

mingi: was i too loud?

a small grin appears on his face when he spots that familiar green dot beside your profile icon. you were still awake. awake and purposely avoiding his texts.

mingi: ahem.

mingi: excuse me, but i thought you said you were going to sleep 2 hours ago??

you: well uhm...i couldn't sleep ;-;

mingi: come to my room?

-----

a while later he hears his door open and he turns to look at your tired form, "you seriously need to sleep, like now." he knows you can't quip back at him for he had no classes the next day. he removes his headphones on one side to hear you better.

"well! i just can't, what about it?" you leaned against the ajar door, crossing your arms in front of you. mingi couldn't help but burst out laughing at how you were pouting, clearly annoyed for not being able to sleep.

"why didn't you just come and sleep in my bed, just like last time?" he pats the empty bed behind him and you flushed, sputtering, "i...i mean! it's not...it's not like we're kids again or whatever." you locked your hands behind you, averting your gaze.

"mingi? hey! we're gonna start another round." his friend's voice called out through his left ear and he unmutes himself to speak, "give me 5 minutes." in one swift motion, he gets out of his chair and drags you into his room, pushing you down onto his bed all while ignoring your protests.

you huffed, mumbling under your breath, "it's so embarrassing that you still have to coddle me to bed at this age." you surprisingly let mingi tuck you in, pulling the covers to your shoulders. he takes your phone from you, earning him yet another eye roll from you.

"can't stand you being grumpy the next day, so you better rest now. if your bed doesn't work, then my bed it is." he dims the bedside lamp, the only source of light being his monitor in the room. he squats down beside you and you flipped to your side to gaze at him. he locks eyes with you, a wry smile growing on his face.

"are you afraid i'm gonna let the whole world know that you can't sleep without me around? silly twerp. get some proper rest, not some half-assed 3 hour sleep on a school day." you reached out from under the covers to flick his forehead, accepting your fate. mingi knew you couldn't say no either.

"fine. goodnight mingi."

-----

mingi keeps one side of his headphones on, occasionally hearing you toss and turn in his bed. he mutes himself for the rest of the rounds, choosing to text his teammates in-game instead. mingi switches to the quieter keyboard and mouse to avoid waking you up. in the end he couldn't focus for long--not when you were in the same space as him-- and quits the game.

"i'll go off first. see you all same time tomorrow?" chimes of "sure thing" and "see you" came from his fellow gamers and he logged off. mingi ambles over to you, lying down beside you. he stares at you intently, every rise and fall of your chest under his covers made him happy knowing you were getting rest.

"look who's sound asleep now huh." he murmured under his breath, warm hand gingerly carding through your hair and you stirred from his touch. he hides his pleased chuckle behind his other hand when he realizes that you were nuzzling into his touch, seemingly unresponsive after that sudden movement.

"goodnight to you too."

-----

bonus:

10 year old mingi was shaken awake from his sleep and blearily he reaches out to switch on his bedside lamp.

"w-what..." mingi glances in your direction as you perched at the end of his bed, your half-lidded eyes meeting his barely opened ones. you fiddled with the ends of his blanket, "i can't sleep. mommy and daddy are talking loudly again."

he sighs, opening his blanket for you to crawl in. you slipped into the space beside him, and he drapes the blanket over you. "don't kick me or i'll push you off the bed." mingi threatens jokingly. he flicks off the light and the two of you lay down in silence, the hum of the ceiling fan the only things both of you could hear.

"i'm sorry." you whispered. even though mingi's eyes were closed shut, he can feel your intense stare through his lids. "what are you sorry for? auntie and uncle were nice enough to take care of me until my parents come back from their trip. so it is also my duty to take care of you when they can't." mingi doesn't know if you understood what that loaded statement meant, but you seemed satisfied at the fact that he was beside you and that was all that mattered to the 7 year old you.

he gently pats you, and you fell asleep under his care.

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

#ppumeonae-bigvibe #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez song mingi #ateez mingi x reader

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ekwolfwriter-blog · 7 months ago

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WIP Zutara Month Challenge: Accidental Kisses

This one, I have a cute idea as well. And I have a snippet for this one.

So this one I have been slow working on because I had the idea then lost it but now I can make it slowly but the idea is as following:

After The Southern Raiders, Zuko has been able to help Katara around more but noticing she looks more tired than usual. He finds her and she confesses, after nearly collapsing on to the ground. He caught her and after some time of talking, she tells him that she has been trouble sleeping and was only able to sleep when they were close in the Cave (Shocker I know)

But Zuko then offers to make a little blanket cave for them to help feel a bit more relaxing for her. Especially with the feeling of cuddling with someone.

The following snippet is of Katara thinking of thanking Zuko - while a little sleep deprived but also feeling a bit honest with her heart:

Katara bit her lips as she looked at Zuko as he was pointing out to the stars from their little blanket cave that looked up at the sky. She could see the sincerity in his eyes and he seemed eager to tell her the story but all she wanted was to show her how much she appreciated his efforts. And more so, she could not deny that he was looking rather handsome in the softer moon light.

'I... i want to give him a kiss,' she thought. 'But just on the cheek. Yeah, that is safe. And I am sure he will understand. I mean it is not too much, hopefully he understands.'

Katara moved closer as she took a breath and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

But Zuko turned to her as he said something "Anyway, hope I didn't bore -"

His sentence was cut short as his lips were met with Katara's lips as she had her eyes closed. Zuko stilled as he looked at her softly, waiting for her to make a move as he did not want to embarrass her. But a traitorous part of his heart and mind wanted to give in and kiss her back. Her lips states like sea salt and a bit chapped but he liked how soft the the kiss was on his lips.

Soon Katara opened her eyes as she looked and realized what she had did. She pulled away and blushed hard. "Oh Spirits! So so so so so sorry Zuko. I was just trying to give you a kiss on the cheek. I was not trying to kiss you creepily. I promise I am not like that," She tried to explain but pulled the sheets over her head.

Zuko only watched, confused but also feeling his heart gushing over Katara being flustered for some reason. He blames his traitorous heart still doing back flips from the kiss. But he realized he took too long to say something as he cleared his throat. "It's okay, I know you are not like that. I am sorry as well," he said.

Katara looked at him from under the sheets. "What are you sorry for? I was the one that kissed you without permission."

"Yes, but I did not pull away or answer your kiss back," he said softly as he sat up a little to rub the back of his neck, his face was turning red. "A gentleman is always taught to respect the lady, but also that kisses are important, especially with how important a kiss is. And I figured you were trying to just say thanks but I did not pull away either and accepted the kiss."

Katara looks up at him. "Does kissing mean something different for your people?"

"Not any more different than what it might be for others, but that just... a kiss on the lips feels more personal. And intimate than what a man like me should expect."

"A man like you?" She was curious as she sat up with him.

"A man that is... well digraced in more than just his looks," he said as he shied way away from his face as Zuko's scared side was on the other side.

Katara looked at him softly as she sees now what he meant. She reached up and turned his face to her as her hand touched his scar; caressing his face in her touch as she smiled softly at him. "From what I can see, you are more than honorable than anyone I have met, and certainly more gentleman like. Nothing can change or should make you feel ashamed of it."

Zuko was stunned as blushed then somehow seemed to lean into her hand more to feel it. He smiled brightly at her. "Thanks," he said.

Katara smiled more as she sighed before saying something, but she could feel her exhaustion hitting. Probably a good time to avoid talking about the kiss more. "Well, I should sleep. I should let you go as well."

Zuko raised his eyebrow at her as he smirked. "Weren't you the one that said that you wanted me to cuddle with you to help you sleep again?"

"That was then and this is now, and I just don't want you to feel weird with me," she tried to say, feeling her cheeks heat again.

But Zuko chuckled as he leaned back. "Who said I didn't like the kiss?"

Katara turned to him as she was the one stunned this time. She looked at him with more hopeful eyes as he undid his best to feel a little more comfortable, but looked ready to sleep with her. Katara slowly leaned down into his chest as she sighed and looked happier.

"So... you did not mind the kiss?" Katara asked.

"Not at all, it was... rather sweet, just like you," he said softly as he pulled her into him.

That is all I have for now, subject to change and tweak but hope you like it!

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #writing #zutara month 2024

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

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Unfinished - Part Two : Spirits Follow Everywhere I Go

A/N: Let's keep spooky season going a little longer, shall we? First of all, I want to shout out a huge thank you to everyone who had read the first part of this story. The response has been wonderful and I am especially thrilled to know that people are enjoying the historical element of this story - there's a lot more about Eliza, Cal and Henry coming! This part is decidedly darker than the first, so I will go ahead and warn you that if you're not into scary stories, this might not be the one for you. But if getting spooked is your jam, then grab a snack because things are about to get haunted up in this bitch.

READ PART ONE HERE

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, murder, haunting, mention of loss of parent - ** Death of Reader's mother & immediate aftermath ** grief, language because Xander's coping mechanism is to swear like a sailor (if you are at all unsure about the content of this chapter, please feel free to message me with any questions!)

Word Count: 5,239

Summary: Henry's murderous jealousy leaves him with quite a mess to deal with... and moving Cal's body ends up being the easy part.

Meanwhile, you and Marcus arrive back at Maplewood to comply with the investigation involving a murder victim and a mysterious painting.

Maplewood Manor - Midnight, October 30, 1868

Henry Ashford’s limbs ached as he eased himself into bed that night.

Cal was heavier than he looked lying in a heap on Eliza’s bedroom floor, and he had to be moved down three flights of stairs into the cellar. By the time he’d finished stashing the artist where he wouldn’t be found until he could be further dealt with and had trudged back upstairs to get himself cleaned up, Henry was bone tired. The adrenaline that flooded his system when he snuffed out two lives as thoughtlessly as candles had left as quickly as it came, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he felt consciousness slipping away.

The fact that his dead wife was lying in a bed one room over didn’t seem to hinder his ability to find sleep. Peace, though, proved to be more elusive.

It began around midnight. Silver blue light from the full October moon shone through the sheer white curtains and directly onto Henry’s sleeping form, waking him from the heavy slumber he’d fallen into. Groaning, he blinked against the intrusion and sat up. In the haze of his exhaustion he figured that he must have forgotten to pull the thick drapes closed before collapsing into bed, so he swung his legs over the side and stood to remedy that, hoping that once the room was dark he would be able to fall back to sleep.

But as soon as the plush velvet drapes were pulled shut and he had turned away from the window, he heard the scrape of the curtain rings along the rod, and watched as a sliver of light splashed onto the bed, widening before his eyes. Henry froze, standing stiff and rigid as a statue, as the familiar shape of his wife’s silhouette joined his shadow on the wall in front of him. Wheeling around again, he saw only the window and the moon shining beyond it. Rattled, he reached shakily for the drapes to pull them closed once more. It must have been a trick of his mind and the moonlight, he assured himself. A side effect of the night he’d had, or a dream that lingered after his feet hit the floor.

Eliza was dead. He’d seen to that himself, so she couldn’t be at his window, messing with the drapes. Taking a deep breath, Henry climbed back into bed. Again the heavy weight of fatigue sent him sinking into sleep, the room pitch black and silent around him.

It didn’t stay that way.

“Henry.”

A fierce gasp tore at Henry’s throat, hands wildly clawing at his neck as though trying to free it from a noose. He bolted upright, chest heaving and eyes bulging, the drapes and sheer curtains thrown open. Stark moonlight poured into the room, spilling over him and bringing an icy chill with it. Terror gripped his heart as he tried and failed to blink away the image before him.

There in the center of the frame stood the shadowy figure of Eliza Ashford. She was faced away from him, staring out at the moonlit grounds of Maplewood Manor. Though her form did not appear solid - more wispy than a living human being - her presence felt more powerful than ever. And more angry.

“E-Eliza?” His own voice sounded foreign to him, fear and confusion shrinking its normally robust tone. “How… You cannot be-”

He scampered back into the pillows, knocking the base of his skull hard against the backboard in an involuntary effort to flee as Eliza slowly spun towards him. Only her eyes were visible, glowing an otherworldly whitish blue out of her otherwise blurred and featureless face. Her lack of a mouth didn’t stop her from speaking, though, her words reverberating inside Henry’s eardrums as her ghostly eyes pierced him straight through.

“You thought it was so easy to be rid of me? Thought you could stamp me out? Stamp Cal out?”

In a whoosh of frigid air the panes of glass shattered inward, and Eliza suddenly shifted so that her spectral eyes hovered only inches from Henry’s. He yelped and shook, wincing away from her as she tilted her head.

“You thought that you could hide what you did?! Hide his body like animal bones?! Desecrate the only man I ever loved and walk free?!”

“No.” Henry’s hands came to his ears and he shut his eyes as tight as he could. “No, no, no.” He repeated the word over and over, refusing to accept any of what was happening. “No! This… This is fantasy! You’re not here, Eliza. You’re dead! You’re dead!”

Without opening his eyes, he burst from the bed and ran to the door, moving right through the shadowy shape of his wife and feeling the blood crystalize in his veins with the cold. Stumbling through the hall with his arms outstretched, he made his way to the room where her body lay. He ran to the window and pulled open the drapes to shed light on the space, and as he knew he would, found his wife to be still in her bed. Right where he had left her so that she would be found in the morning.

Releasing a sigh, Henry slumped onto the cushioned bench under the window and stared at the corpse across from him. It was a small comfort to see that she was still there and that whatever he’d witnessed - or thought he’d witnessed - had just been a misfire of his imagination. It was a short lived relief when he considered what it might mean for his sanity. But even that worry didn’t have time to grow roots in his brain, because from the hall, an eerie silver glow moved toward where he sat.

“You took me away from my children, Henry. How could I ever forgive you for that?!”

“No…” He whimpered. “No, please… Leave me…” He wasn’t sure who he was pleading with or how he would be able to move past this moment if it were to simply stop - because how on Earth could he explain what had happened without admitting to the illogical? Henry didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in souls. So even if the haunting were to suddenly cease, he’d either have to change his mindset entirely, or concede that he had lost his mind. Neither sounded good to him, but both were preferable to the horror he felt watching Eliza’s shadowy specter follow him into the room where she died.

Her eyes were still her only visible feature, and they bore into him as she hovered near the bed. “You cannot run from me, dear husband. Not from me, and not from what you’ve done to Cal! I will never leave you. I will never let you have peace. You will never be free from this night, Henry Ashford!”

With another gust of air powerful enough to break the glass behind him, Eliza’s ghost slashed through the room in a cyclone of screaming rage. She flew directly at Henry, the man shouting out in terror before she turned and changed course for the last of Cal’s works.The unfinished portrait that still hung on an easel in the corner of the room radiated the same silver light as she was absorbed by the canvas, and then Henry was alone once more.

The windows were back in pristine condition, as though they’d never shattered in a storm of shards. The curtains were closed, as they were before he had rushed in, and the candlestick on the bedside table sent a halo of warm orange light flickering across the floor. Henry crossed the room slowly, one trembling hand closing around the metal candle holder. Carrying it with him, he walked back to his bedroom and peeked inside, shining the light to see that his window had also been restored to its original state, the glass back in the panes and the drapes secured shut.

But the return to normalcy did nothing to settle his fear or ease his racing pulse back to a place where he could once again find sleep. Instead he went down into the parlor and poured himself a brandy. Using the candle he took from Eliza’s room, he lit every candle he could find so that he would not be in the dark, and he sat awake with a drink in his hand until the housekeeper returned in the morning.

She, of course, assumed that Henry had been in a state of shock due to the grief of Eliza’s untimely - but natural - death. The poor man, she thought, taking pity on him. She never could have known that his insomnia had been brought on by the curse that his murdered wife had put upon him, or by the visitation of her ghost.

He had one trick up his sleeve, though, one thing to try in order to stop Eliza from torturing his nights. His wife had made it known how much she hated his obsession with postmortem photographs. She had stated on several occasions that her soul was not to be trapped on film, that when she died she wanted to do so as she lived - having never been photographed, only painted. So after the doctor had come and officially proclaimed her dead, but before the undertaker could remove her body for burial preparations, Henry took his camera to her room and loaded the photo plate.

He wouldn’t know the outcome until later that night, when he developed the image in his darkroom. In the cellar.

– – –

Maplewood Manor - 10:30 pm, October 30, 2023

Red and blue lights glared off the carved pumpkins that lined the porch steps as Marcus pulled into the Manor’s circular driveway.

Everything about the way the age old house looked, surrounded by emergency vehicles and personnel, was wrong, and it sent a twisting sensation through your stomach. It reminds me of the night that- You felt the breath in your lungs grow stale at the sight of two EMTs rolling a covered stretcher through the front door and into a waiting van. It made your blood run cold. Shit.

It reminded you of the night that your mom died.

It was December of your senior year, and you were home for winter break. Your house had looked wrong then, too, as you stared at it from your front lawn. You could remember the cold grass against the skin of your knees and the way the chilled air felt like frost on your tear stained cheeks. You couldn’t be inside until everyone had gone. It was easier to breathe outside, even if the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. And Marcus was there with you. He’d been staying with his grandparents who only lived twenty minutes from your place. When you called him in hysterics he got immediately into his car and came straight to you. You were outside already when he got there, on the ground in front of the house, and wordlessly, he joined you, putting his arms around you, holding you to his chest and speaking directly into your ear, telling you that he was right there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

In that moment, he was the only solid thing in your world.

Either the scene in front of you reminded him of that night, too, or he saw it on your face that you were lost in that memory, because he cleared his throat and spoke your name. Blinking, you tore your focus from the closing van doors and turned to face him. His eyes locked with yours, and in them you found the same sense of comfort that you always had. “Hey.” He reached across the center console and gripped your hand where it rested in your lap. “You okay?”

Your fingers linked with his and squeezed as you nodded. “Yeah.” You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah,” you said again. “Just… thinking about…” You trailed off with a shrug and brought your free hand up to swipe at your eye.

Marcus sighed. “I know.” His thumb moved back and forth over your knuckle, and then he brought his other hand up to finish off the tear you’d missed. Fingertips skating over your cheek, he kept his hand on your face as he continued. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here with you.”

Swallowing, you sniffed and nodded again. “I know.” He dropped his hand, watching as you fixed your makeup in the rearview mirror. You blew out a slow breath and turned to look at him again. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your time off, so I’m sorry that-”

“Stop.” He shook his head. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now, okay? I mean that. I’m here for you, and right now that means helping you through whatever this is.”

You never took his friendship for granted, but an overwhelming wave of gratitude for him rose in your chest at that moment as you tried to imagine facing what awaited you inside the manor without Marcus by your side. Even without his FBI training, his presence alone would have bolstered your nerve as you answered questions and complied with the investigation. It was enough just to have him - your closest and oldest friend, someone who you trusted completely and who always made you feel safe.

“Thank you, Marcus.” Your voice was quiet but you knew he heard you.

His lips pulled up to one side as a small smile lightened his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he withdrew his hand from yours and opened his door. You followed, walking around the front of the car to where Marcus stood waiting for you. Though you knew he wouldn’t stop you from taking his hand again, he didn’t offer it immediately, and you knew it was because he was giving you the chance to make a completely professional impression on the officers you were about to meet with. Instead, he walked side by side with you, arm dangling close enough for his sleeve to brush yours.

Before you made it halfway up the walk, Xander rushed down the porch steps to you. “Thank fuck you’re here. This shit is weird and I am freaking the hell out!” There were deep, worried creases between his eyebrows, and he was taking big open mouthed gulps of air.

“Hey. I’m sorry, X.” You put your hands on his arms the same way Marcus had done to you earlier at the diner, and demonstrated a slow, even breath in and out, trying to get the frazzled 20-something in front of you to do the same. He did, and you nodded. “You alright? Did you already talk to the police?”

Xander blew out a breath and eyed Marcus before turning back to you. “Yeah. They cleared the building, made sure no one was still inside, and then they asked me a bunch of questions. I told them everything and they said I was okay to go for the night and that they’d call me if or when they had any more questions but I wanted to wait until you got here.” His eyes shifted back to Marcus. “Shit, did this bust up date night or something? I-”

“Uh-” You cleared your throat, eyes going wide. “Um, no, we just - This is my friend Marcus. He came for the lecture tonight and he-”

“I’m just here for moral support.” Marcus smiled warmly at the jittery kid.

Xander nodded. “Well, good. Wish I had some of that.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “No way I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. Not after seeing…” He trailed off, blinking off into the dark distance beyond the house.

Your heart ached sympathetically. You knew what it was like to be the one to find someone dead. It feels like the walls are collapsing. Holding your breath after your next question, you hoped the answer would be a no. “Xander, did…did you know who it was?”

“No. I’d never seen ‘em. I mean not before…” He gestured to one of the second floor windows and released a sigh. “Far as I can tell he wasn’t a student.” That’s good, at least. This is gonna be hard enough for the kids to handle, at least it wasn’t one of them. Xander went on. “Cops found his I.D. on him. Turns out he was just some dude who came for the lecture, and-”

“Wait, what?” You tilted your head, eyes darting over to momentarily meet Marcus’. “They came for the lecture?”

Xander nodded. “Yeah. Cops asked me for a list of everyone who bought tickets so they could cross check it I guess and he was on there. Some guy named Hank Elkins from right outside Philly.” He shrugged. “Why? You know him?”

The name meant nothing to you personally, but you recalled it as one of the first to populate on your attendee list, meaning that Hank Elkins had been planning on coming to the event for months. A shiver ran through you at the thought that he had no idea that a night learning about incomplete artwork would ultimately be his last. “No, I don't know anyone by that name.” You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. “Do they have any idea who did this?”

“Nah, the security guard on duty didn’t have access to the camera playback so they had to wait for the director of campus security to get here and he just got here like two minutes before you. So they’re probably in there lookin’ at it now.”

As he finished speaking, a uniformed officer exited the front door of the house and strode down the steps. “Mr. Paulson?” The officer addressed Xander, who answered with a ‘yeah’. “I’m here to escort you back to your apartment, make sure you get home safe.” He didn’t look much older than the college student, but you were still glad that Xander would have someone keeping him safe on the way back to the main area of campus. The young officer turned to you, greeting you by name. “The detective is inside, she’d like a few words with you.” He turned back to Xander. “We should get moving.”

Xander nodded. “Yeah, alright, thanks.” He wrung his hands and looked at you. “Keep me posted, yeah? I… I wanna know what’s going on with this since… Since I-”

Again you felt that twist of sympathy in your chest. Since you were the one who found him. “I will, X. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Told you, no way in hell. But yeah.”

You watched as Xander followed the officer assigned to him, and then turned to Marcus. “If it was someone who came for the event then… then maybe the killer was here for it, too. ”

Marcus nodded, concern written all over his face. “Maybe. Those security cameras are new, right? Didn’t you tell me the restoration committee put new ones in a few years ago?” Of course he remembered that. You confirmed that they were new within the last two years. “That’s good. Footage should be nice and clear. If the killer is on there we should be able to see their face and-”

A woman’s voice speaking your name interrupted his sentence, and you looked up to see the detective Xander mentioned standing in the doorway. “I’m Detective Allison Sharpe. Thank you for coming back so fast.”

You swallowed and glanced at Marcus before heading up to where the woman stood, your friend following you. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will.”

“We appreciate that.” She looked at Marcus next. “And you, sir? Do you also work with the University?”

“I don’t.” Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge to show the woman. “Agent Marcus Pike, FBI.” You watched Sharpe’s expression change slightly as she looked over Marcus’ credentials. “I’m with the art crimes division.”

“Well now there’s a stroke of luck. Maybe you’ll be able to help us, Agent Pike.” The woman directed her focus back at you. “I’m sure your assistant, Xander, told you about the mystery painting?”

“He did.” You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know where it came from?”

Detective Sharpe raised one eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “We have no idea. But hopefully one of you two can shed some light on that. It appears to be quite old, but I’m no art expert.”

You cleared your throat. “Can I… take a look?”

“You can. But first I’ll need you to give your statement and take me through the evening from your memory. If you were here as well, Agent Pike, we’ll need you to do the same.” Sharpe gestured to the front door. “Officer Fromer is waiting in the dining room to take care of that. I need to get back inside to review the security cam footage, but as soon as you’re finished he’ll bring you into the other room where the artwork is.” She spread her hands wide. “Again, anything you can tell us about the piece, anything you can remember about the night, anything strange that happened, any weird questions your audience asked… it could all be helpful.”

“Of course.” You nodded and followed her into the house.

Though your brain was buzzing with adrenaline and your stomach churned with unease, both of those sensations were dimmed as you felt the warmth of Marcus’ hand on the small of your back.

– – –

After you answered all of the questions that the officers had for you, and gave your account of what happened that night from the time you arrived at Maplewood to the time when you and Marcus left, you were escorted into the parlor room, where your presentation had been.

Your eyes went immediately to the six easels that you had set up. All of the paintings that you brought with you were there, and all intact. None of them seemed damaged or meddled with in any way, and you let out a small sigh of relief at that. But then your eyes traveled to the seventh canvas. When they did, your mouth dropped open and you sucked in a gasp.

I… I think I know that painting.

It had been taken off of its frame and draped over a chair that someone had dragged up to the front of the room. From the upholstered backrest, a pair of eyes looked back at you, light and emotion already present in them despite the fact that the portrait was far from finished. The shape sketched out was that of a woman, her chin and cheekbones just barely hinted at, her hair only depicted as a brownish splotch to show where more detail was needed. But her eyes, clearly the feature that the artist deemed her most striking, were so complete and lifelike, it felt as though the featureless woman was looking straight through you.

“Eliza Ashford.” You muttered the name that you’d read on countless documents throughout your time with the Maplewood Manor restoration society, certain beyond doubt that you were looking at her missing portrait.

“What?” Marcus stepped up next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You recognize this?”

You licked at your suddenly dry lips, gaze still fixed on the pair of painted eyes in front of you. “Yeah. Marcus, I think that’s…” Mid-sentence, you turned away and crossed the room to where a large portrait hung over the marble fireplace. The click of footsteps on the hard floor told you that Marcus was following close behind. “It is. Look.”

Pointing up at the family of four that had called Maplewood home over a hundred years ago, you directed him to the woman shown standing beside her husband, their two children in front of them.

“It’s Eliza Ashford. The Ashfords were the last family to own this place. Their family portrait has hung here for years. When the university took over the property they found this in the attic along with individual portraits of Henry Ashford and the two children, Josephine and Edwin.” You shook your head and turned to look at Marcus. “But there wasn’t one of Eliza. She died young, so everyone assumed that was the reason that she didn’t have her portrait done. But-” You lifted your eyes back to the family above the mantel and saw the same life and light in Eliza’s as you were struck with in the unfinished painting. It’s the same artist. It has to be. “But I think it just wasn’t finished in time.”

Marcus frowned up at the family portrait. “Where was it then? If it wasn’t with the others in the attic?”

You shrugged and let out a breath. “No one knows. No one even knew for sure it existed. There’s no record of the family paying to have it done, even though there are records for the other works that were commissioned around the same time.”

“You’re right. No one knows where the painting has been for the last 150 years-” Detective Sharpe’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard the woman come into the room, and when she spoke you jumped. Marcus shifted closer to you, reassuring you with his presence. You relaxed slightly as Sharpe continued, but noticed that she looked shaken, and that left you nervous. She cleared her throat. “But we know how it got into the house tonight. Hank Elkins brought it in under his coat.”

“Elkins?” Marcus questioned. “The victim? What was he doing with a piece of missing, unfinished artwork? Was he involved in the art world? A dealer, or collector?”

Detective Sharpe nodded. “All valid questions, Agent Pike.”

Something told you that whatever was about to come next was going to be shocking, but that didn’t stop you from asking anyway. “If you know that Elkins brought it with him, then you must have seen him with it on the security cameras.” Sharpe nodded again as your heart pounded. “Then… Did you see what happened to him after he displayed the painting?”

Did you see how he ended up dead on the second floor?

“Yes.” Detective Sharpe “But I still can’t… explain it.” Her tone sounded almost hollow, and you knew that couldn’t be good.

“Would we be able to view the tape, Detective?” Marcus asked the question politely despite the fact that you knew that he could pull strings and make a few phone calls to grant him - and you - access to any part of this investigation that he wanted.

“You can,” Sharpe replied after a pause. “But I’ll warn you it’s…” She wrinkled her nose. “Unsettling.”

You swallowed and blew out a shaky breath. “Alright.” You looked at Marcus and chewed your lower lip. “Let’s take a look.”

Sharpe nodded. “In here, please.” She gestured for you to follow her back to the dining room.

Before you could cross the room, Marcus caught your wrist and gave you a slight tug to turn you to face him. “Hey, you sure about this? You don’t have to… If you don’t want to see that, I can watch and-”

You brought your hand up to cover his where it wrapped around your wrist and gave him a tired smile. “It’s okay, Marcus. I need to… If I’m going to be any help with this, I need to know what happened.”

He inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling as he let the air back out. “Okay.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Without hesitation, you walked across the room and into the dining room to view the footage.

– – –

Twenty minutes later, you could barely breathe. Allison had told you that what you were about to see was impossible to explain, and she had been right. Even knowing that going in wasn’t enough to prepare you for what you saw happen to Hank Elkins in that bedroom upstairs.

Cameras in the foyer had caught him come in. He’d even taken his seat and listened to your entire presentation. But after you had finished with your Q&A and you’d directed visitors into the next room for refreshments, Elkins had slipped past you to go back into the parlor to set up the canvas he’d smuggled in. After that, he was picked up by a different camera - the one in the back stairwell. That door had been locked, and you had given Xander the only key. But Elkins shockingly had a key in his pocket, and he used it to gain access to the second floor. Once he was upstairs he made his way into one of the bedrooms, and that was when things got really strange.

He began talking to the walls. But not just rambling. He was gesturing wildly. Pleading, almost, making begging motions with his hands. And then the room went dark and a sound like a rush of wind ripped through, and when the lights flickered back on, Elkins had been flung across the room like a rag doll, head smashed against the wall so that he landed in a heap on the floor.

“What the hell was that, Marcus?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as the two of you walked out into the night and made your way back to his car. Your hands and knees were shaking, and you felt hyper aware of every cricket and frog making sounds on the grounds of Maplewood. You turned to face him and saw the same terrified shock that you felt mirrored back at you. “What the hell happened to him in there?”

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door for you. “I don’t know. But I know it wasn’t good.” His frown deepened. “You mind if I crash at your place tonight? I booked a hotel room, but-”

“Jesus, Marcus, mind? After that? Please, like I’d let you leave me alone tonight. What’d you book a hotel room for anyway? You know you’re always welcome at my place.” But as soon as the words were out you wished you could take them back. He was always welcome at your place. But the last time he was in town, it wasn’t just your place, and your ex hadn’t been thrilled about the closeness of your relationship with Marcus. “Shit, I’m sorry. I know Bill wasn’t exactly great to you. But…” You shrugged. “Bill’s history. It’s my place again. And I want you there.”

He stared at you for a few seconds, something unreadable in his eyes, even to you, even with as well as you knew him. It seemed almost melancholy, but then he blinked and his expression was back to even. “Well then that’s where I’ll be.”

“Good.” You reached for his arm and gave him a light squeeze. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I’m really spooked.”

“Yeah.” He waited for you to get into the car and then closed your door. “Me too.”

The numbers on the dashboard clock switched to midnight as Marcus turned the car around the circular drive and headed for the road. If either of you had been looking at the house, you might have seen the glow of a pair of eyes watching you from the second story bedroom window. But you didn’t. Instead, those eyes watched you go, and then they blinked into darkness.

-- -- --

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @haylzcyon@wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry

#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x reader #pedrostories #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike #spooky story #spirits follow everywhere i go #unfinished

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maarriiii · 2 years ago

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Simp (Part 9) | Wilbur Soot

A/N: More of a filler than anything else. Nothing really happens here since I don't know what to write honestly

Summary: You and Wilbur catch up after a couple of days

Pairing(s): CC!Wilbur Soot x gender neutral!reader, CC!Wilbur Soot x actor!reader

Warning(s): None.

my masterlist :))

Call Me What You Like was out and Wilbur couldn't be more proud of himself and the band. It was a long journey trying to finish this one, almost getting scrapped and tucked away with other unfinished songs that would probably never see the light of the day. Wilbur was glad he stuck with it cause by the looks of things, everyone seemed have positive responses to it. Everyone was enthusiastic about Lovejoy's newest single. His friends, his fans, his family. But, secretly, he wanted to know about what you think of it.

Wilbur hadn't heard from you since almost two days ago—when you made a surprise appearance in his chat. He knew you were busy, promoting your film that he hope would be able to watch soon. So, he had been trying to distract himself with everything he could possibly do—preparing for tour, hanging out with his friends, etcetera. He didn't think of himself as a clingy person, someone in need of constant attention, but with the amount of times he checked his phone for any notification from you only to put it away when he found none would say otherwise.

Wilbur leaned his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They'll talk to you if they have the time. Stop being clingy, man."

"Who's being clingy?"

Wilbur raised his head, seeing Tommy in the doorway. "It's nothing, Tommy."

"You sure?" Tommy asked, amusement in his voice. "Seems like it is something. A certain famous person, perhaps?"

He walked and sat next to Wilbur.

"Shut up, you little gremlin."

Tommy cackled, while Wilbur sat there unamused at his situation. "You're so bad at lying, Wil. I could see it in your face. What's wrong? Is y/n ignoring you?"

The blonde boy continued teasing him, making voices and all. Wilbur sat, taking in at all in, face flat until finally he headlock him.

"Ah! Phil!" Tommy cried out.

You arrived in New York with a newfound spirit—albeit being tired and jet lagged. You haven't told Wilbur about the news due to you immediately passing out when the soft cushiony bed of your hotel suite touched you and the interviews that happened later that day. The first day of the press junket in New York was busy and packed, and with meeting the rest of the cast again, some of you wanted to catch up in the city. A lot of drinking, eating, and laughing occurred and you thought it was the best way to end the night.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, longing for the feel of your silky pajamas and cloud like king size bed, you tried very hard to fought off the sleep that came. You wanted to talk to wilbur even for just a little bit and also listen to his new song that just came out. You searched for the headphone you always bring everywhere, made yourself comfortable on the bed again, and searched the song on YouTube.

The sight of Wilbur on the screen brought a smile to your lips and you couldn't helped but nodding along to the beat of the song. You thought it was great—though maybe you're just bias—and grew even more excited at the thought of seeing him in one of his shows.

Late in the night, Wilbur's phone buzzed on his desk and at the sight of your name, his face lit up. He didn't wait for a second longer to unlocked his phone and reply to you.

Hey wil Are u still up

hey there yes I am

Oh good I don't want to interrupt your sleep or anything Sooo I just heard the new song

He exhaled, slowly getting nervous.

what do you think?

I LOVE IT IT IS SO GOOD I'm going to annoy everyone with the amount of times I will play this.

Wilbur chuckled, his nerves eased. He never would've thought this crush towards you—one that exist only because he thought you were good looking and talented—would grow into something more, something genuine that pulled at his heartstring and made his heart just beat a tiny bit faster at the mention of you. It had been awhile since he felt like this about someone and there's a part of him that was scared because it was you, someone he could've never thought because it was just downright mental.

thanks y/n i'm glad that you like it

Also i have something to tell you too

okay shoot

It's about the shows

oh?

Unfortunately I didn't get any tickets Cause i was in the middle of the interview when the tickets went on sales

Wilbur immediately lost his spirit. He knew it was too good to be true. He wanted so badly for you to come to at least one of them. He wanted to see you; your eyes, your lips, your smile. He wanted to hear you; your laugh and your voice.

oh that's okay y/n you're busy and all

But...

but? but what?

You didn't reply immediately and it killed him seeing that three little dots disappearing and appearing.

come on y/n you're keeping me on edge here

Oh who am I kidding I DO HAVE TICKETS SAM GOT THEM FOR ME IM SEEING YOU IN A FEW MONTHS

Wilbur stood up from his bed ridiculously fast, eyes wide and very awake than he was before. He wanted to cheer like a school boy who just got accepted by a girl that he liked, but hold himself back for two reason; one, he didn't want to have a noise complaint from his neighbor and two, he was a 25-year-old man--though he was very much screaming and cheering internally.

y/n that's great!! i can't fucking wait to see you

Wilbur spent the late night talking to you until you had to go, but it prove to be hard to close his eyes and sleep when all he could think about was you coming to see him doing what he loves with a smile on his face, and unknown to him, you were doing just the same.

#simp #wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #wilbur mcyt #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur x reader

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lumine-no-hikari · 7 months ago

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #151

I am running on only 3 hours of sleep and I have no idea what to write today. So I guess I'll tell you about the pancake breakfast.

Last night's letter ended up being written late, and then after that, I was troubled by various things and it took me until 3:30am or so to finally fall asleep. And then J and I woke up at 6:30, because there was a pancake breakfast going on for folks who are pilots. So we went. And I took a buncha pictures for you:

J took some pictures, too:

...There were also sausages, but neither J nor I thought to take pictures of them, for some reason. I'm sorry.

J talked to a lot of people. He's very conscientious when it comes to this stuff, so he's well-liked by most of the pilots in this community. For the most part, I was a bit too brain-dead from lack of sleep to interact with anyone in a more than cursory fashion, but I had a good time nonetheless; I can be tired and in good spirits simultaneously, and it's very good!

Also, along the way of today's adventures, I found 14 big feathers, and a couple little ones:

...They were very pretty, but they seemed old and a bit too worn from the wind and the rain to keep them. Also, I imagined that if there are this many of them, it is the result of a bird having been struck by something while flying around near the runway instead of being just a single random loss of a plume. So I picked them up and arranged them in a relatively peaceful location, hoping that if the owner of these feathers is no longer with us, that its soul is also at peace. Naturally, I washed my hands shortly thereafter.

J and I went to get lunch at a place called Taiwan Noodle after that, because we were at the airport for around 3 hours before returning to our city, and we were hungry again, as is natural. It was nice.

Oh! I am reminded! I took some other pictures for you in days past that never made it into the letters that were written on the days they were taken. I'm sorry about that. But I suppose now is as good a time as any to show them to you.

These are from going to my friend's house to help her watch her little son:

...Here is a new looseleaf tea that I blended together with you in mind...

...It's prismatic just like you... 😊💖

And... here is the finished lilac syrup, distributed in jars to give to my friends:

The big jar there is for those of my house.

I made some of the tea pictured above, and sweetened it with the lilac syrup; the result was an absolutely heavenly concoction that I wished so much that I could have shared with you:

...It tasted like sunshine and flowers blooming outdoors; I think you would have loved this one...

And here are a couple from the park that M, J, Br, her son, F, and I went to:

...Sephiroth, I'm super tired today, and it's hard to formulate complete sentences, but... I still wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you. I wanted you to know there's someone out here who cares enough to put in whatever effort is possible to try to extend a little kindness towards you. Try to remember that you're not alone, okay?

I guess I'll call it here. It's midnight, and I still gotta get ready for bed; if I wanna be able to drive to the place tomorrow so I can give a jar full of lilac syrup to the leader, I have to have actually slept for 8 hours. So I'm going to go do that.

I love you. I'll write to you again soon, so stay safe out there, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

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cyeli-no · 1 year ago

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Old fic idea where Cyno’s past start to haunt him after dreams return to the people of Sumeru. He sees the priests who experimented on him every time he closes his eyes and feels trapped in his own skin when he lays alone in a dark room. Memories where he was beat or of when he nearly died follow him closer than his shadow. The lives he was forced to take leave him perpetually covered in red that he cannot wash away.

When he wakes, he feels as if he is losing the last pieces of his mind. In the darkness, he will whisper out a question Hermanubis and receive no answer. Is this what the scholars who stole the Forbidden Knowledge faced? But, he feels even more foolish than that. He shouldn’t be stumbling just from memories, especially not memories he believed he long since overcame. But, his skin crawls and his fingers dig into it in attempts to rip it apart. He never does, forcing his body into a bath and submerging himself until he wrinkles and his body is loose enough to finally take in breaths without his ribs crushing up against his lungs.

His sleep schedule has never been the best and it is even worse in the height of reworking the Akademiya. He needs to find new matra to replace the ones instated by the former Grand Sage as he chases after scholars who have taken advantage of the uncertainty of their nation to do as they line. He is single-handedly in charge of so much that it feels like his legs cannot function properly at the end of the day. He is so tired, wants to close his eyes and rest, and al he can get are whispers of men and women he hoped would never rear their heads again.

He knows it takes a toll on his body when he nearly loses his arm to an Eremite he once would have been able to easily overtaken a month prior. It’s jarring to have the wind knocked out of his lungs as he is pressed to the floor because as his vision darkens for a moment, he is being bound by chains Cyrus once freed his wrists from and the man above him is just another scholar with a scalpel. He doesn’t scream, the sound always trapped in his throat instead because his body reminds his mind how much it aches at the sound.

He doesn’t move when the man cackling above him is flung off. But, at the sound of his name, he calls for the one who has always rescued him, “Professor...?” There is a pause and he knows that it isn’t Cyrus. Cyrus who gathers him closer because he fears Cyno will freeze by how cold he is, stripped away to barely nothing, is not showing his face in his blurred vision.

No, it’s not Cyrus. His mind knows there is danger more than his body allows him to move. Sitting upright aches, even with the slight assistance by whoever helped him, and he can’t relax the limbs that tense at the touch. “Cyno?” The voice fills the air and he strains his eyes to follow the movement of their lips. “Are you with me?” He doesn’t know if he answers, but they frown and he can feel his energy slipping. They lean closer and catch him easily, “I’ve got you.” The promise leaves him breathless.

It is like he laughed without making a sound or moving. Will he be dragged back again? After he just escaped? It’s always the same.

Insistent, the person tightens their grip, “I will keep you safe.” His mind submerges deeper in fog and the endless night. He can’t make out their face anymore and he has to be okay with it.

When he wakes up, he will have to handle it because he can’t right now. When he wakes up, he will escape. When he wakes up—

He makes a wish to the distant stars for Cyrus to find him.

Cyno doesn’t find Cyrus in his dreams. Instead, he just watches blood splatter across the floor and watches people draw closer to rip the remains of his mind apart and watches— He can feel Hermanubis rumbling under his skin and he knows to swallow down the urges to release the spirit. He cannot let it. Help me... What a terrible feeling it is to not believe his father will make it in time.

He wakes up in complete disarray, unable to sit upright with his body heavier than ever. He barely moves from whatever he is laying on, head pounding, and he searches from Cyrus instantly. Dad? His mind must be playing tricks on him because the footsteps are certainly heavier than the sage. Still, he reaches for the person like a child wishing to be held. He wants to be held.

He wants to be okay.

Recognition comes to him slower than normal when the door is pushed open. But, she smiles when he manages to croak out her name, “Dehya.” She nods and settles by his side, extending her hand to check his forehead.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” She hums under her breath in contemplation as she wipes away some of the sweat built. His frantic demeanor must be more obvious that he originally thought because Dehya settles beside him, “You passed out on me, so I brought you to Aaru Village. Before you stress out, I made sure no one saw us on our way in and Candace checked on you; said you were mostly just exhausted.”

He accepts the cup of water when offered, taking the smallest sips he can manage. His throat feels as if it is is shut, purposely keeping the liquid meant to relieve the ache out of his system. He doesn’t respond, too focused on swallowing. Still, she releases a sigh of understanding at the question he surely has, “I dealt with the group protecting the scholar, who I escorted back when Candace was checking on you.”

He opens his mouth to express his gratitude, but he is left gasping for air instead, the weight against his chest growing with each passing second. His head pounds and he just can’t— something cold presses against his forehead, steadying him before he fully slips. She holds the damp rag to his forehead, “Deep breath, General. I’ve got you.”

Cyno’s voice is hoarse, begging for water that his body is preventing him from stomaching. “Promise...?”

She will never mention the tremor in his voice, the exhaustion that seeps into the sound. Instead, she rests a hand over his, “I promise.”

Her words drag the final breath out of him, relaxing into her touch. The empty cup nearly falls to the floor when it slips out of his hold. She catches it with one hand and carefully lowers the man with another.

He is asleep when Tighnari arrives with Al-Haitham and an old scholar that she can’t identify. She remains close to his side with the promise lingering in her mind. She makes room for the doctor to work, but practically steps between the scholars and the sleeping desert-native. Warily eyeing the stranger, “Will he be alright?” She asks her friend.

Tighnari lets out another frustrated sound, “It would be better if we could transfer him back to connect him to an IV. He’s dehydrated and needs a lot of rest.” He is careful not to raise his voice, the way Cyno’s brows scrunched at the slightest noise is a grim reminder of how hard it is for him to properly rest.

Rest that he desperately needs.

The sharp intake of breath draws everyone’s attention back down. He calls for someone, a wordless sound begging for sanctuary. His body tenses, fingers flexing, and his entire body jolts away from Tighnari when he tries to soothe him. He nearly shouts, mouth falling open to scream— Dehya’s footsteps and the clatter of her chair hitting the floor muffle his whimpers.

She quickly steps into the old man’s path before he can touch her terrified friend. Her back is turned, but the warning remains clear as she pushes back his damp hair. “It’s alright, Cyno, you’re safe.” She repeats as she did every single time he began to stir. He turns towards the sound of her voice and leans into her touch.

Cyno’s eyes are still squeezed shut when he whispers her name. “I’m here.” She answers, “Tighnari just finished checking up on you.” He makes a soft hum at that, “He said you need to drink some water. Think you can sit up for that?”

He blinks his tired eyes open, his weight falling against her firm arms to allow her to straighten him up. He apologizes at one point in the process and she just shakes her head at him. “The Great General Mahamatra apologizing? And to think Sumeru views you as merciless.”

His breathless gasp is his response and she steadies him before he could collapse. “Don’t apologize. Thank you for trusting me to take care of you.” He doesn’t answer that, but she can feel the eyes of three men against her skin as she shifts to sit beside him.

Later, he can tell her what is wrong. Later, they will have to find a solution for his condition. Later, she will offer to fight the sources of his nightmares as retribution. Later, there is so much they can do later.

Now, he leans into her touch, knowing they will be here when his nightmares threaten to drag him away.

#cyno #dehya #cyno angst #cyno and dehya #bffs/qprs cyno and dehya #fic idea #ficlet #cyno and dehya deserve literally everything.

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unreadpoppy · 11 months ago

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Wash My Dreams Away - Chapter 6

Halsin x Gwen (Tav) / Raphael x Gwen (Tav) on the side

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter took me so long to make and it's so big but here it is. I’m probably going to be taking way longer now to update my on going fics because my university classes came back and so did my internship which means I’m either tired or stressed most of the time. Also, tw for suicide since Yurgir kills himself in this one.

As Gwendolyn’s insomnia persisted - though now she was able to take a few, small naps - the group decided to give attention to other matters, halting the search for the Thorm family mausoleum temporarily.

In that time period, Halsin saw the state in which the fist, Art Cullagh was, and thought it possible that maybe he would know how to find Thaniel. After finding his lute in the House of Healing, Art woke up, explaining what had happened to him. With that information, the druid opened up a portal, rescuing the nature spirit. Now, it was only a matter of reuniting him with his other half.

However, while on this mission, Gwen discovered the grim fate of Locke and Komira - Arabella’s parents. Though Withers had reassured that the young tiefling would be safe, now that she had the Weave with her, Gwendolyn couldn’t help but feel for her.

“Someone so young shouldn’t have to go through such grief.” She had said to Halsin. Since he wasn’t getting close to solving her insomnia problem, he’d offered the next best thing: company.

“Nature can be quite cruel.” He replied. “But it always balances itself in the end.” The druid looked at Gwen. “She may have lost her parents, but she has found great power within. Besides, Arabella still has the other tieflings to look out for her.”

“I know but…I wish there was more that we could do for her.” She sighed. “That I could do for her.”

Halsin placed a hand on her shoulder. “You saved her life, Gwendolyn. And you brought her comfort and shelter when she most needed it.” He told her.

Gwen looked forwards, watching the girl playing with Scratch and the owlbear cub, laughing around, a bit of her magic sparking. The tiefling nodded and then shook her head. “It’s amazing how always right you are.” She gave Halsin a smirk, the closest thing to a smile she had given to anyone in the past days.

It may not have been much, but the old elf had to admit how much he had missed seeing her smile, even if it was this. He chuckled. “No one is ever always right. I just happen to be good at observation.”

Gwen huffed, and shook her head. Her attention shifted towards his tent, and upon seeing the sleeping Thaniel, she sighed. “Have you figured out what’s wrong with him?”

Halsin nodded. “The shadows rended him in two when they bore him away to the Shadowfell. Half of his essence remained here, amidst the curse.” The druid proceeded to explain how the other half must have been corrupted from being in the shadow cursed land, that it might not recognize Thaniel or be reasoned with.

Gwen nodded. “You have any ideas on how to find the missing part?”

“No matter how the shadows might have twisted it, it’s still a part of Thaniel’s essence. It will resemble him somehow, and may show part of his powers.” He proposed. “Look for signs of life in the darkness. Wildflowers, where everything else is dead.”

While he spoke, Gwen began thinking if she had seen anything like that before. The wildflowers part, especially, spoke to her.

“I think…I think I know somewhere we could look first.” She said, cautiously. “My memory may be a bit foggy now but I remember collecting a night orchid - Shadowheart’s favorites - near this old house.”

Halsin nodded. “It could be a beginning. I’ll admit that, when we first entered the shadow cursed lands, I saw something of the sort. Fool that I am, I did not grasp their significance at the time.” He shook his head and continued. “There is a ruin, some way outside of Last Light. I caught a glimpse of fresh blooms there, but did not investigate further. I shall mark it on your map.”

Gwen put her hands on her tights and pushed herself up. “I’ll go get to it.” She yawned, turning her back to him and walking away.

Halsin quickly stood to his feet. “Gwen, wait.” He gently grabbed her wrist, turning her back to him. “This is not a burden you have to bear alone.” He said, looking into her eyes. “Every moment counts, and I’ve asked much of you already without being at your side.”

Gwen raised a brow but let him continue. “If you want me, I’m yours. Against the curse, the Absolute - anything. Just say the word.” At that, the tiefling could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She took a deep breath as he said“I’ll be ready.”

Looking at him, she could see the sincerity in his words. She had been for a long time for him to join them, not just because he would be a valuable asset, but so that Halsin would be around more often. In truth, she had become intrigued by him. Halsin had a heart as big as his stature but he was also fierce when needed. He was a good listener, wise and when around the druid, Gwen felt safe. In the past weeks, she had gotten closer to him, considering him a friend.

‘I wonder if he feels the same.’ She thought. ‘If there could be more…’ A stray thought passed through her head, of them becoming more than friends, but she shook her head.

“I think you should come with us. I want you to come with us.” Gwendolyn finally spoke up.

Halsin smiled. “Now our roots can deepen - together.”

The tiefling ran off, gathering the others, and soon, they were in search of Thaniel’s missing half.

…

Once Oliver and Thaniel were reunited, the fey arose from his slumber, putting the party back on their mission: if the shadow curse was to be lifted, Ketheric Thorm must die.

The Thorm Mausoleum. After a day of search, the entrance was finally there. There was a mixture of feelings - relief that they were one step closer to their goal, and anxiety, for only the gods knew what awaited them.

As they approached it, Raphael made his presence known.

“Our hero but thought a treasure ahead, Did not consider the peace of the dead.” He said, turning his attention to the party. “Through the dark she went creeping, And awoke what was sleeping. A new grave they dug, which she herself fed.”

For a brief second, Gwendolyn thought that her mind was imagining him, considering how deprived of sleep she had been, but after seeing the expressions on her friend’s faces, she knew he was real.

Gwen sighed. “How long were you practicing that little recital?”

“Until it was perfect.” He said. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, you know, in my own way.” Gwen raised a brow at that. “I thought to give you a warning for the dangers ahead.”

The devil proceeded to talk about a creature, one as infernal as he, that lay within the Mausoleum. With a little prodding, he revealed that this creature was an old enemy of his. The ‘devil incarnate’, as Raphael put it, was a strong and dangerous foe that should be put down quickly.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Astarion.” He turned his attention towards the vampire. “When the beast is dead, I’ll consider payment enough to translate those scars of yours.”

“A fairer deal then I expected” The elf replied.

“You wound me, spawn. I always deal fairly.” Raphael eyed Gwen up and down for a moment before continuing “And we’ll close this particular deal soon enough - vanquish the beast and all will be revealed.”

At that last phrase, the devil looked straight at the tiefling, a smirk forming on his lips. She squinted her eyes at him, trying to understand if there was some underlying meaning behind those words, however, before she could think about it, he was gone.

…

‘Of course there’s a temple of Shar here and of course it is full of traps.’ Gwendolyn thought to herself as Astarion finished disarming yet another trap. After the place was cleared, the party moved forward, Shadowheart quickly noticing the skeletons of several Dark Justiciars.

They explored more, stopping when they found a displacer beast and a voice said “What’s this? Fresh entertainment?”

The group looked up and were met with the sight of a large and strong devil, one Gwen recognized as an orthon. This must be Raphael’s enemy.

“But you’re too fresh for this place, aren’t you? There’s a whiff of the surface to you.” He took a great sniff. “And you - tiefling. You have more infernal blood than others of your species“ He said, looking at Gwen. “...There’s something else, almost hidden by your fear-stink…cherries, musk…sulphur.” The orthon paused for a moment, getting angry. “Raphael! I can smell him all over you. Where is he?!”

At that, Gwendolyn felt Halsin tense up behind her. She thought, for a moment, about her options. Raphael had warned them about how dangerous a direct confrontation with the devil could be, and she was too tired to fight. Considering how she had been able to evade a fight with the corrupted Thorm family before, she wondered if she could get the orthon to off himself as well.

“Wait - you know Raphael?” She asked him, pretending not to know that they were acquaintances.

“That perfumed trickster swindled me - trapped me.”

“You know, I’ve had dealings with the devil. Maybe we can help each other.” She offered.

“Where is he? Spit it out - now.”

“What are you doing?” Astarion whispered. “The devil told us to kill this thing, so let’s stop chatting and kill it.”

She turned back to look at him, sending a message via the tadpoles. ‘Trust me.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry for questioning the decision making of our sleep deprived leader’ He responded back, sarcastically.

Gwen rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the orthon. “Let’s share our experiences about Raphael. Perhaps there’s something we can do to help each other.”

“Bargaining, are you?” He scoffed. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s not just the wall that keep me here. Not the traps, the dark or the creatures it hides. Something stronger holds me here - a contract.” The devil explained. “Either I fulfill it, die trying or forfeit my freedom. If I leave this place now, I’ll become Raphael’s slave.”

Putting a hand on her hip, and trying to bring her most charming smirk, Gwen said, gesturing to herself “You are in luck. I happen to be an expert in such deals - and there is always a loophole.”

“Raphael is no foolish story-devil. His mind is different. Sneaky. Listen…” The orthon began to sing, and Gwen had to cross her arms so as to not cover her ears.

As she listened to the contract-song, she felt a chuckle of crackling fire in the back of her mind. Her patron, Skathís, enjoyed a cleverly constructed contract, it seemed. Especially the ones with a built in loophole.

“Pay attention to the song’s last couplet.” She could hear him whispering in her ear. “The clause is near impossible to complete.”

“That’s it.” The orthon finished.

“He’s the one who slaughtered the Dark Justiciars.” Shadowheart said.

“We can kill now? Because if he doesn’t die, Raphael won’t say a damn thing about my scars!” Astarion complained, and Gwendolyn turned back to shush him. He huffed, crossing his arms.

“Parchment can burn. Oral agreements aren’t worth the tongues they’re waggled out upon. A song lingers.” The orthon explained. “I did as instructed, but the song still rattles in my head - the contract still stands, somehow. If I break it, I’ll become Raphael’s slave - forever.”

‘Always deals fairly my arse.’ Gwen thought, remembering what he had said outside the mausoleum. Then, she once again felt Skathís presence. “Allow me to help, daughter.”

She nodded, feeling his diabolic words on her tongue when she spoke. “You always hear the song, orthon. Kill yourself, be reborn in the Hells, break the contract.”

Gwen could feel her father’s grin. A job well done. As the orhon called Raphael a bastard, impaling himself on his sword, the tiefling put her hands on her hips, pleased with herself. The others looked at her, impressed.

“Does…that count as killing him? That had better count.” Astarion said, smiling.

“I told you to trust me.” She told him, and walked away.

…

Back at camp, Raphael appeared, keeping his word. He told Astarion of the grim tale behind his scars, of the Ritual of Profane Ascension and the pale elf’s part in it. The vampire excused himself, needing a moment to think of it, leaving Gwendolyn and the devil alone.

He turned his full attention towards her. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you, dear Gwen.” He said, putting a finger on his chin. “Tell me, how well have you been sleeping? Not well, I take it.“ Raphael smirked.

Her mouth opened, surprised. How did he know? “What do you mean?”

“My, have you taken a look in the mirror recently?” He replied, gesturing to her up and down. “It doesn’t take much to figure it out.” A glint in his eyes told her there was more to it than his keen observation skills, but she couldn’t figure out what.

Gwen sighed, not having the patience for this. “If you’ve come only to insult me then-”

“Ah, I apologize if my words struck a nerve.” He bowed. “Regardless, I come with a gift.” Raphael moved his hand, a vial with a red liquid appeared in it, a small card tied at the top of it. “For your sleeping ailment.”

She took it from him, analyzing the drink. Although Raphael had kept his end of the deal with Astarion, she felt that something was off. Gwen looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

“Your lack of sleep is making you say the most absurd accusations. If I were to want you dead, I would have done so long ago.” Raphael scoffed.

She raised a brow. “Then why help me?”

“Why?” He asked, incredulous. “Because my compassion is boundless, my little butterfly. I stride amongst the needy, giving comfort where I can” He repeated the same words he once said in their first encounter.

“Compassion is not something befitting of a devil.”

Raphael smirked. “Ah, but it seems your patron thinks otherwise.” Gwen gulped.“You may try to hide it from your companions, but I know the secret of your heritage, warlock. That your patron, the cambion Skathís, is also your father.”

He looked down at her. “You think I wouldn’t know how dearly he sang in your ear, showing you the loophole? How eager he was to help end my contract?” His face was contorted in anger. “Did you think I would take kindly to another fiend interfering in my business? After all, I said it was you who must kill the orthon.”

She froze, not knowing what to do. She hadn’t done anything wrong - it wasn’t as if she could deny her patron’s wishes, but she couldn’t predict his next move.

She gulped. “I, uhm, apologize, then, if my patron’s help was so upsetting to you.”

He raised a brow. “Hm…I shall not blame the daughter for the sins of her father.” Raphael took a step forward. “Regardless, I must be on my way.” He pointed towards the vial on her hands. “The gift still stands. Take it, and you shall have the sleep of the just.” A light engulfed Raphael and he was gone.

Gwendolyn stood there, looking at the liquid. It wasn’t a good idea to drink something a devil offered. Afterall, he put a loophole in the orthon’s contract, only the gods knew what this potion could have.

But, another part of her, the one that was desperate to sleep, wondered how bad could it be? Raphael had kept his end of Astarion’s deal, and truly, he hadn’t done actual harm to the party. Gwen tried to call on her patron’s wisdom but he was silent.

‘Some sleep would be nice.’ She thought. ‘I need to rest, so I can get better and help the party more. Besides, how am I to face Ketheric when I haven't been in my best state possible?’

And so, after all had gone to their bedrolls, Gwen opened up the vial and drank everything, not taking a moment to read the card. In an instant, she was asleep.

…

As morning came, and all woke up, Halsin was the first to notice that the pink tiefling had actually slept through the night. She was still in her bedroll, while the others were getting ready.

He crouched down next to her, smiling and nudging her shoulder. “I see you finally got some rest. I hate to cut it short, but we must get on with the day.”

Gwen showed no signs of waking up. Halsin frowned, gently shaking her shoulder now. “Come on, Gwen, you have to wake up.”

Still nothing. “Gwendolyn.” He said, grabbing both of her shoulders, raising her slightly from the bedroll. Her head lolled back, eyes still closed. He put his head on her chest, listening to her heart beat. Still trying to be gentle, he shook her once. “Gwen, wake up!”

“Halsin, what’s wrong?” Shadowheart said, frowning while getting close to him. The others soon turned their attention towards them.

“It’s Gwen…she won’t wake up.” He said, worry in his voice. She kneeled next to the tiefling, placing a hand on her forehead.

“Maybe we should throw a bucket of water on her - that’ll wake her up.” Astarion said, and Wyll smacked him on the back of his head. “What? I was just trying to help.”

As the two healers continued to try and figure out what was wrong, Minthara pointed at something. “What’s that on her hand?”

Halsin took one of Gwen’s wrists and saw that her fist was enclosed on an empty, glass vial. He took it, and read the small card tied to it.

‘Sweet dreams

- R.’

#halsin x tav #halsin x gwen #halsin bg3 #oc: gwendolyn gray #raphael x tav #raphael x gwen #astarion bg3 #shadowheart bg3 #yurgir bg3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3

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seeinginthedark · 6 months ago

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More things coming to me now , in this psychosis of mine :

I want to go back to the astral realm like fuckn ASAP. But the only way I can get there is through sleep paralysis. So I’ve stopped using because I remember the other times I’ve had sleep paralysis was when I going through withdrawals from the substance I used to have a lot of.

I need to go to the astral realm to confirm what is going up there . Yesterday someone told me that the matrix extends “ up /into” the astral realm, not just here.

How could this happen. It fits into my theory that A.I technology/the Artificial Consciousness has infiltrated our afterlife processes , putting us in these never- ending reincarnation loops. I can’t confirm this until I go to the astral realm and see it for myself .

So I’m grumpy and tired as fuck because I’m not using . I know I can’t just Willy nilly enter that realm on a whim, I need to go through the initiation first. The spirits and beings up there put you through some rough times to see how you handle it. A personal sacrifice has to be made, or surviving a trauma also can be an initiation.

Well once again , my lover, my husband, my other half has been put on the chopping block. I told these entities to leave him alone . He’s been through enough. We’ve been interfered with , again. He’s been removed from my life . That was the sacrifice. It’s sad . I miss him . We can’t see each other or he will get arrested. We had 18 beautiful, drug free months together. No fights, no arguments, no infiltration, no violence . Then a sudden personality swap , things whispered in his ears , paranoid thoughts and him lashing out at me. I didn’t even call the cops this time. It was my pesky useless mental health nurse that did. The entities know how much I love this man. They know what it means to me to lose him. That’s why they fuck with his mind, to get to me. To cause me trauma. Force me to survive it. Initiate me . Invite me into their world. Increase my abilities. Continue this on -going mission that I keep trying to complete, life time after life time. My soul is getting so tired of this. And I miss my Inner Earth home and my Inner Earth family and my Inner Earth friends there. It’s been very isolated for me here, on the surface of Mother Earth. It’s so fucked up how people treat each other here. So I have to push on with the mission.

It’s ok. I’m an alchemist so I know how to transmute my pain into something useful and positive. Pain has become my power. It is the gateway. But I hate seeing my husband suffer for it each time . Now he’s addicted again, missing us, not able to see us . Stuck in an addiction loop.

You know that addicts are truly beautiful souls deep down. They are important for this battle we are in. This battle for humanity and for our souls. They get stuck in addiction as it’s part of their plan, the bad entities. Who feed off the addiction and pain that goes along with it. I see addicts as heroes who forgot they were hero’s . Lost track of the mission.

I’m seriously sick of being messed with . I’m done with being trapped in this matrix simulation . I’m coming for the ones that created it and the ones that monitor us . I’m going to destroy them. I’ve known since I was a child we were being watched. I’m not paranoid about it, just aware. We won’t be enslaved anymore . Or tricked and deceived and used like batteries. Putting families through hell. Exploiting us.

Enough is enough .

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lonestardust · 1 year ago

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hey guys, hi friends, how are you? I miss you. and i miss being here. This was supposed to be a "2023 is over, here is a summary" post but this is just a life update.

TW : wound (⚠️ it's gnarly, ok)

I know I've been MIA for the past two and half months, I've been struggling to write this post. I don't sleep well and I've lost weight. I've been struggling to sit and write about how I'm personally doing. Unable to express personal thoughts. Maybe because I'm the least important thing to me now. All I know is the gut wrenching screams of bleeding Falasteen. I can only tune in that collective suffering. That's where I belong. That's every human being's duty. June Jordan is right "Palestine's liberation is a litmus test of morality" I'll always go back to that quote because so many are failing it. So many disappointed me. It's like they made their humanity crumble into irrelevance the moment they reveled that showing up for humanity is optional and conditional depending on how comfortable and relevant it is to the white western values.

But simultaneously I've been feeling the tourniquet salvaging the wound. The strife for liberation is well and alive. Liberation and Decolonization had become mainstream concepts and practice (although some are still struggling to stay fully principled away from normalization but it's happening!). Like all arabs. I grew up watching the dead kids. The slingshots and rocks combating massive occupation tanks. I grow up haunted by the assassination of 11 year old Mohammed Al-Durrah, by Naji El Ali's Handala being a signature graffiti art in random streets, knowing that Israel assassinated Naji because he was a Palestinian artist. A truth teller. I grow up witnessing how they bulldozed 23 year old Rachel Corrie. I think often of Rayan Suleiman from last year. still haunted by his big rounded brown eyes — this 7 year old, chased by the terrorist zio occupation forces that he fell to the ground and died of a cardiac arrest. A 7 year old. His body shut down. Fear transcended his fragile anatomy that it shut down and died. I'll never forget the photo of his little body surrounded at the funeral by his friends. A bunch of 7 year olds. Starring into the void. not able to process what's happening because it's such an absurd concept. Kids consoling kids. My head hurts witnessing extermination campaigns and mass graves, and maimed bodies beyond recognition — WHOLE full fledged lives turned into literal dust. For 84 days straight now.

My brain, soul, spirit, psyche will never ever be the same again. And I pray this horror dig itself in the depth of the bones of the entirety of the fascist zionist world and their systems and fuel us to take action and never go back to statue quo!

On another note, I've had a quite terrible accident. A deep second degree burn as you can see. Accidentally spilled boiling water directly from a pot on the stove all over my left thigh. The pain is terrible obviously and I caught a really bad flu on top of it in the first couple of days because i wasn't able to cover it, wear pants or properly cover myself while I'm sleeping. So I've been bed ridden, bone-tired with fever and a massive wound.

Day 4 Day 7

Mind you this happened the day before i was supposed to start a new teaching job. Obviously wasn't able to show up and that was a bummer because i needed that job. desperately so and not just financially, I couldn't and can't handle anymore the anger, grief and anxiety pressuring my nervous system. I needed to start that new job immediately to refocus my daily life on a track again just to gain a routine so i could cope. Usually between jobs when I'm unemployed I thrive in doing nothing but my fan hobbies. Art, fandom and creating make my life so rich I could never get bored but in times like these "balancing grief and joy" is NOT an option.

And here is a thing. Because I've seen many many fucked up self-centred individualistic takes coming from white liberals telling us how we should feel (they always feel entitled, don't they), like the irony in the colonial paradigm harming us then offering us their therapy as the solution, coming with "protect your energy", "choose peace", "practice daily masturbation to relieve the stress of what's happening" (yes I watched this being directly and openly suggested on a panel about Palestine) imagine fucking telling somebody to go finger themselves and masturbate the stress of a GENOCIDE away.

The strangest manifestation of the white "self care" industrial complex, where people think they can therapize their way out of colonial mental consequences of bearing witness and being complicit in genocide. Maybe we're not meant to cope with this because it's literally beyond comprehension. Insane pathological narcissistic behaviour to think it's even a goal to feel good right now- if you want to"feel good" your only goal should be mobilising and organizing for revolution through action to destroy and dismantle the imperialist systems, to never go back to status quo!

On the physical aspect. I've been lucky, my dad has been taking care of me, taking me to the hospital visits, paying for my meds, cooking for me and all. And as I sit here, healing and being taken care of, I can't stop thinking of how I have resources, I have a roof over my head, warplanes are not buzzing in my ears 24/7, I get to sleep in my bed. I'm injured and I'm healing, able to sedate the pain with medicine. Can use the bathroom because there is water. But Palestinians in Gaza do not have any of that. None. Kids have their limbs amputated without anaesthesia amid ongoing denial of medical supplies into the strip. Some of them die of pain during that deadly surgical intervention. It makes me sick to my stomach. And I don't know what else to say tbh. I just know we live in a world that has no red lines and we can't continue to exist like that. Empire shall fall.

I genuinely don't know what to say, new year spirit and holidays mean nothing to me. My only new year resolution is to never again get numbed by the Empire. If standing for the lives of people of colour and their liberation is radical in a cesspool of white supremacy and imperialism, so radical it is.

I hope you're doing fine though. i hope you're well and okay. and to be honest I don't have it in me to ask about the fandom and how is it going.. It's probably going, I'm just not there at the moment. But i want to hear from you. How's life lately? What have you been up to? Also I am sorry if you've been tagging me in wips, games or sending me asks, I am genuinely sorry if I did not reply, I promise i see it and appreciate it ❤️‍🩹 I appreciate the special friendships and bonds I've formed in this fandom here, especially this year, and I don't wanna feel like I'm losing that.

#about me #life update

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