#Screaming Into The Void || Stream Time!

[akkivee]

got someone on my tl who’s been chronicling their not-so-slow descent into kuukou madness lmao and it’s so fun seeing people go thru the same emotions i went thru lol can you believe hypmic introduced a peak character like this he changed my life y’all 🥲

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[myfeelisfunny]

Amazon Music giving me the biggest heart attack while listening to Stick Season (Forever)...

was??? what do you mean WAS???

[demonio-fleurs]

it kills me how many triple a games this year are only doing digital releases

especially when you consider that 2023 has been an absolutely horrible year for video game preservation, with digital marketplaces going down and the announcement of the 3DS/WiiU multiplayer servers going down

[skyllion-uwu]

It's YIIK Friday

[benisasoftboi]

All very true. Firmly seconded.

But also, if we’re talking theatre logistics - and I know no one wants to hear this - it’s also because for many theatres, especially small, regional theatres like the one I work at, bar sales are a key factor in keeping them financially viable. Running a theatre is more expensive than a lot of people realise. You would not believe our electricity bills, especially since the UK’s cost of living crisis. Intervals mean a second chance to make some money that will help us pay them, and also pay the venue techs, and the front of house staff, and for repairs, and so we can have that one really cool prop that brings the whole show together, and and and-

There are shows I’ve worked on that I do think would benefit from being one long run. Hell, last summer I worked on one that was actually written to be run straight through, but we cut into two anyway. And while it worked, you did lose something I think would have been there without that interval. But, among a few other reasons, we knew that not having an interval would be sacrificing a lot of potential bar sales, and we need those.

Ideally, art could be made for art’s sake and wouldn’t need to be subsidised with Pepsi sales, but we don’t live in that world. I wish we did. And I can’t speak for the finances of big West End theatres, don’t know that area of the industry - but if you’re at a tiny, local theatre like mine, I just want you to know: we aren’t cynically kicking you up to the bar and selling you overpriced beer so that our manager can get a second yacht this Christmas. We’re doing it so that we can literally keep the lights on and keep making the art we love.

Unpopular theatre opinion: intermissions are bad and I wish we could just have a 2.5 hour performance uninterrupted, like people manage perfectly well at movie theaters. It always just kills my emotional immersion. Set changes and costume changes valid, but the art form could adapt in other ways. Or making the intermission experience somehow also part of the performance? Just something more interesting and intentional than dumping people out into the lobby to buy m&ms.

[lymtw]

"Come here," Toji says, at the sight of the involuntary pout that works wonders to express your internal, dispirited mood. His attention is divided very unevenly between you and the movie playing on the TV, you holding the greater part of his focus. He's watching you for his own peace of mind, hoping that every time you take a break from the movie, to check your phone, you'll spare him a look. You've been quieter than he knows you to be, and you're not sitting even remotely close to him. He's on one side of the couch and you're on the other side.

A few seconds pass since Toji spoke up, and he wonders if you even heard him in the first place, because you didn't respond. He passes on repeating himself when you shift your eyes from the TV to meet his gaze, and though your gloominess isn't because of him, you can't offer him any sort of indication that you're good.

"Sorry, i'm not in the mood to take my clothes off, Toji," you say, your voice a gentle, pitiful excuse for sound. If your voice could be seen, it would be similar to the tragic way that grass blades slowly try to stand up, after being stepped on. If the sound of your voice could be felt, it would be the void-like, almost nauseating feeling in your stomach, that comes with ignored hunger. You sound detached from the bright person Toji knows, and clearly, you're not okay.

"I'm not asking you to undress yourself. I want you to come to me," Toji responds. "You're sitting so far over there, away from me, like I did something to you. For being the most reasonable person I know, this isn't fair, at all." His eyes stay on you as he awaits your response, but he is only met with the sight of you looking down at your hands.

"Be fair. You didn't help me get better at communicating, just to turn the tables on me like this." His tone is sharper, out of urgency. He wants to know what he can do for you, but it's hard to do that when you're there, yet, not there. "Just... come here, ma," Toji tries again, his voice a little softer and understanding. "Please. Let's talk about anything." He pats his thigh, directing you to one of the reserved spots he holds for intimate conversations with you.

You know Toji's stubbornness will not leave you alone. It's impossible to hide anything from him once he's onto you, so you stop prolonging the inevitable and silently do as he says.

You turn off the TV, before walking over to him and settling on his lap. You sit there, with a racing heart, because Toji's attention feels like a spotlight on you. His hands interlock at the small of your back and rest there, as he waits for you to say something. Silence invades the moment while you figure out where to start.

"What's wrong?" He asks, when there is no attempt to speak made by you. Immediately, your throat begins to ache, and your eyes start to sting. It's a question known for breaking people, and you're on the brink of becoming another victim. You think you can widen your eyes to keep them dry or blink away the tears, but the outcome doesn't favor you. Toji's hands shift so that they're splayed out on your lower back. They move up and down in soothing motions, as if he's trying to coax your strong emotions out with the comforting gesture. Like a gloomy sky finally giving in to rain, you cave in to vulnerability.

"Baby?" Toji calls, watching as sadness takes over your features. He sighs as he pulls your twinkly-eyed self into his tight embrace. He hates when you cry. The sound and the sight is the equivalent of pouring acid on his heart. It's torture for him to see that his baby, his sweetheart, his love, has been reduced to streams of tears, but he knows that getting it all out is for your own good. This is the 'alcohol in the wound' part of the process. You don't want to do it, but you'll feel better, afterwards. Just like a real physical wound, Toji will make you get it done. Scream if you must, curl into him like you are trying to go through him, he's not going to abandon you.

"Just breathe, sweet girl," he instructs, when he hears the heart wrenching sound of your stuttered breaths. "Breathe. Give me a good one," he says, rubbing your upper back. You inhale, the act still heavily stuttered, before you exhale. "Good. Again." You repeat the process and get the same trembling breath as a result.

"Fuck," you choke out. Your head feels like it's pulsing, your abdomen burns, your chest feels heavy, as if you have chains tightly wrapped around your torso, and your throat aches. It's all so overwhelming, you feel like there's a disastrous storm ruining you from within.

"Sweetheart, please breathe. You're gonna turn blue any minute now." Toji can't hold you any tighter without crushing you, but he wants to, so badly. This is the lowest he's ever seen you and it's killing him. He has never made you this upset. It's hell to even imagine what you must have endured to get to this point.

"You're safe. I have you," he says, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of your head. "I'm here, baby."

Toji's shoulder is damp from your waterfalls of tears and he can feel an excessive amount of heat radiating from your trembling body. Your crying ceases and all that can be heard are sharp, short inhales and puffs of air, as you try to regulate your breathing. Toji continues running his hands over your back, soothing the tired, tense muscles of your shoulder blades.

"We are gonna have to talk about this later, doll. I know that might not sound like the most fun thing to do, but it'll make you feel better. I want you to feel better."

Toji is mindful of your silence. He knows your voice isn't in the best condition to speak after your surge of emotions, and you're probably exhausted, but this isn't a dead end for him. He'll figure out your needs, and he'll take care of you. Anything to bring your happy, smiling face, back.

Toji allows you to pull away from his shoulder, and instantly takes in the sight of your pretty, ruined face. You don't look at him, and he assumes that your appearance is to blame. Your eyes, they're red and puffy, glimmering in the light with your now contained feelings, and you're still sniffing like you need to blow your nose. It's terrible to see you this way, but he would withstand much more than this, if you needed it.

"How does a bath sound, for now? A bath and then some food? You hungry, mama?" He asks, his expression involuntarily soft, as he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes, attempting to clean you up a little.

"No," you say, quietly, with the fragility that remains of your voice.

"I'm gonna pick up some food while you relax." Toji almost laughs at the subtle roll of your eyes. "That's my bad. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. You need to eat something."

He doesn't want to put you through any more stress, but when he needs to take care of you, during times like this, he knows what you need more than you do. Your reasoning is clouded by your emotions, and you'll let go of yourself, because your thoughts rewind over and over to what's plaguing your mind. Toji knows you'll be glad he did this for you when you feel better.

"Let's get that bath ready," he says, securing your legs around his waist, before he stands up from the couch. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you breathe in his scent, until you reach the bathroom.

Toji flicks the light on and sets you down on the counter. A chaste kiss is pressed to your tearstained cheek, before he lets you go so he can prepare your bath. You turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror and hate the messy sight before you—the product of your meltdown. You turn on the cold water and splash some on your face, hoping to decrease the puffiness of your eyes, even just a little bit, while Toji is busy. You dry your face afterwards and check your appearance in the mirror, again, to clean up any remaining gunk in your eyes.

When you finish, you turn back, just in time to watch Toji rise from his knelt position by the bathtub. He makes his way back to you and stands between your legs, offering you a contemplative look, and a "hm" to go along with it. No words are exchanged when his hand reaches out to gently cup your jaw, allowing him to turn your head in any way he wants. He leans forward to examine you more closely, to check if anything is "broken". He can see you pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh, as he continues to snoop around.

"Oh," he says, like he found a cable that has simply been disconnected. He turns your head a little, and keeps inspecting the problematic area, building up the suspense for you. You couldn't say it, but him finding something scared you a little, considering you had just looked at your reflection and didn't see anything.

"Don't move, doll. I'll get it." His hand rests on your shoulder, the other on your thigh, as he leans in closer and closer, until his body heat coils around you. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. It's featherlight, almost like a gentle breeze. Another one lands on the same area, then another, and another, until he hears your little laugh, a sound that brought both of you mutual relief. Your relief came from understanding that Toji didn't actually find anything off, while Toji's came from the miracle of him being able to make you laugh, after what went down not that long ago.

"Two seconds, ma," he says, beneath your ear. He pulls away from you and goes back to the now foam covered, sweet smelling bathtub. He leans down to turn the faucet off, and returns to you, afterwards.

"It's all ready for you," he says. A smile curls on his lips when you raise your arms, signaling for him to pull your shirt off. "You wanna keep your bra and underwear on?" He asks, as he pulls the hem of your shirt up. You nod, just before the material goes over your head. He sets it aside and helps you down, off the counter, so you can take your sweatpants off. You pull your phone out of your pocket and set it on the counter. Your fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants and tug downwards, until they just slide down your legs and allow you to step out of them.

Toji watches you carefully step over the edge of the tub, one foot sinking through the foam and into the warm water, followed by your other foot. You crouch down, slowly, until you are able to sit down and eventually lay back. You close your eyes once you're in a comfortable position and just let the warm water and the pretty smell work its magic on you.

Toji kneels beside you, and observes you in a more serious manner than before. His gaze lingers on those tired eyes of yours, for longer than any of your other facial features. Your eyelids are still swollen and the bags beneath your eyes are prominent. The longer he stares, the more he thinks back to how you were so distressed, to the point where you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. It scared him. He didn't get a single word about what was wrong, from you. You couldn't say anything other than that single curse, but even then, you sounded like you were being strangled by your own emotions.

Toji knows this is only a temporary fix— this calm sight of you resting in a bubble bath. Your feelings won't be swept under the rug, because he knows that if it were him going through this exact situation, you wouldn't just give him a hug and call it a day. No, when you take care of his mind and heart, you hold him in your arms and don't let go until he's the one trying to cage himself in your embrace when your arms loosen around him. You keep your voice at an intimate volume as you tell him about your day, because sometimes he isn't immediately ready to talk about what is bothering him, but he still wants to hear you. You cook for him, you give his tired body massages, you shower him with love and affection, and when he's finally ready to tell you what's going on, you listen closely to everything he has to say and you offer him your utmost support. You love and protect him to no end, and he has become shamelessly clingy towards you, because of it.

He wants you to feel as loved as he does. He wants you to know what it's like to experience the same level of care you give him. He may not be able to replicate it to a T, but he's willing to try for you.

"Hey," Toji calls, tenderly running the knuckle of his index finger back and forth, over your cheek. You hum, and blink open your eyes, giving him your attention. "I'm gonna go get us some food. Stay on the phone with me and keep me company until I get back, yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. Can you bring me my phone, please?"

Toji gets back on his feet and takes one large step towards the counter, retrieving your phone, before taking that same step back to leave it next to you, on the edge of the bathtub.

"Be right back, doll. Pick up the phone as soon as I call, okay?"

"Okay."

His hands grip the edge of the bathtub, to prevent him from falling in, as he leans in to peck your cheek once more. His weight shifts onto one arm so he can bring a hand to your face and rub the kiss into your skin with his thumb.

"Love you, ma."

"Love you, too."

With that, Toji stands up straight and heads towards the door. He takes one last look at your pretty face, before exiting the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He grabs his phone from the couch, his keys from the hook on the wall, and messily slides his shoes on, not bothering to put them on correctly, since he won't be getting out of the car, anyways. He secures the inside of the house, before heading out, and once he's outside, he finds his house key and locks the door. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes haste of clicking the phone icon, and then your contact, as he keeps walking to the car. His phone is now against his ear, and he listens as the line rings once... twice...

"Hi, Toji."

"Hi, baby."

[justporo]

So you'll see tomorrow

A/N: Seeing a beautiful piece of artwork by @velnna and listening to Half life by Livingston I got a very angsty idea for a drabble (so be warned, it's sad). This idea came to me first a while back listening to Just a Man (you know from *that* BG3 edit). @velnna as always thanks for letting me play with your son - and sorry I hurt him... Also thank you to Dad on Maf's discord server for the inspo for the final line.

Warnings: implied character death (but this is just an alternate timeline ok??), self sacrifice

~~~

So this was it.

This is how they would all die.

There was no way they would defeat the Netherbrain. All their endeavours that led them here, all for naught. Unless…

Staeve saw it in his eyes first. How their expression changed from swimming and hopeless to hardened and determined. Astarion’s brows drew together - the crease they created between them as sharp as his daggers he lifted up once more.

“Staeve.”

He had never heard his voice like this. The tone as sharp as a knife and hard as rock.

It scared him.

“I’m going to create an opening for you. Be ready.”

Fear dug its claws into Staeve’s throat, choking him, as he began to realise what was about to happen.

“No,” the half-drow whispered, weakly grabbing for his lover’s wrists with all of his remaining strength.

“Astarion, no! You can’t do this!”

Panic gave Staeve new power. Helped him to forcefully turn Astarion around to him. Helped him make his love stare into his eyes as he screamed at him again. And again.

He shook him, even making the daggers drop from his pale, blood-speckled fingers.

Staeve kept screaming, feeling his voice become hoarse, hot streams of tears washing away the grime and gore as they made their way down his face.

But as he kept throwing everything at Astarion he noticed ruby eyes remaining hard and unfaltering. The decision had been made.

The last of his strength went with his last drop of hope as Staeve’s hands fell weakly from Astarion’s. His legs gave up, knees hit the ground hard.

And only then did Astarion shift, taking a final step back before making the run-up.

He dropped down in front of Staeve who could only stare up at him anymore.

“Let me do this one thing right, Staeve,” he whispered solemnly, cupping his love’s face. “Just this once let me make things right.”

Staeve’s vision was blurred, his head swimming. But he still clearly saw the warmth in Astarion’s eyes as he leaned his forehead to Staeve’s.

Astarion’s hand wandered to the nape of his neck as he pressed his eyes closed. “Promise me, you’ll live for me, Staeve. To the fullest.” When the vampire opened his eyes again, Staeve was sure there were tears in Astarion’s eyes as well.

There was nothing in Staeve to do or say. He wasn’t in control of anything anymore it felt like. Not even his own body as he solely kept listening to Astarion’s final words.

“And promise me,” the vampire continued, voice breaking, “sometimes - when you sit in the sun - you’ll think of me, Staeve. Promise me.”

Astarion only waited only long enough for Staeve to weakly nod, seemingly the only thing he was still capable of.

Then he crushed his mouth to his lover’s, the motion so forceful their teeth crashed together.

Desperation had them kiss so hard it hurt, that it felt like perishing already. Astarion’s hand on Staeve’s neck pressed down so hard it felt like bones might crush. A single last breath was passed between them as their lips moved against each other as they tried to make this the most vivid moment they had ever experienced.

One so he could never possibly forget this final kiss - how it had felt.

The other so he would go to his end, with the taste of his lover on his lips.

When a small eternity ended and Astarion broke away he grabbed Staeve’s face a final time.

“I know in another life, I would have loved you forever,” Astarion uttered with a smile.

Then he let go, Staeve almost toppling over, suddenly void of anything still lifting him up.

Astarion grabbed his daggers, turned around with a last glance and a smirk - and then he leapt.

[demonicangxl]

TV is such a painful song what the fuck billie

[lieutenantfloyd]

My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

[shonen-brainrot]

Divorced!Bakugo, who clung to the belief that your talk of divorce was a jest until the final moments. However, when the papers arrived in the mail, disbelief gripped him. The reality struck hard — you had indeed taken the steps, filling out the divorce papers. The truth unfolded before him: you no longer wished to be Dynamight's wife.

Divorced!Bakugo, who, aware of his anger issues that you found disturbing, chose not to address or change his harsh demeanor. His gruff and ugly behavior persisted, marked by frequent outbursts and yelling directed at both you and his child. His dedication to hero work took precedence over family time, leading to his frequent absence. In addition, he exhibited controlling tendencies, exerting influence over every aspect of your life.

Divorced!Bakugo, who refused a cordial divorce, and instead chose to air your private grievances publicly. With a sadistic amusement, he watched as you struggled to maintain composure in the court.

Divorced!Bakugo, who's now haunted by the echoes of a love that once burned brightly. He now navigates the desolate landscape of solitude. In the quiet of his empty home, the walls seem to absorb the unspoken words that were never uttered during those final, bitter moments. The scent of loneliness lingers, a constant reminder of the void left in the wake of a shattered relationship.

Divorced!Bakugo, who wears a mask of indifference, concealing the cracks in his heart. The world sees the explosive hero, but beneath the surface, there's a vulnerability that only the shadows witness.

Divorced!Bakugo, who sinks into an unhealthy state of mind. The solitude that envelopes him becomes a breeding ground for toxic thoughts. Haunted by relentless thoughts of you and the child you took away, he struggles to maintain focus. Katsuki finds his concentration shattered, the clarity needed for his hero duties slipping through his fingers like sand. Mistakes become an unwelcome companion, a repetitive dance of errors that threatens the efficiency he once prided himself on.

Divorced!Bakugo, who only feels rage when news of you moving on, finding someone new, lands like a crushing blow. His heart, already battered, is now subjected to the relentless storm of jealousy and insecurity. Unable to resist the urge, Kasuki succumbs to the dark temptation of cyber-stalking, googling and scouring every available digital space for information about the new man in your and your child's life.

Divorced!Bakugo, who, in a fit of uncontrollable rage triggered by news of your new relationship, unleashes destructive fury. He obliterates every photo, every remnant of your shared life, screaming and incinerating possessions with his quirk. The once-sacred spaces of your bedroom and ground-floor office in the shared penthouse are consumed by the havoc.

Divorced!Bakugo, confronted with the aftermath of his destructive outburst, collapses in the center of what was once your shared bedroom. Tears stream down his face as he desperately attempts to salvage at least one picture from the ashes and shattered glass that now cover the floor. His heart aches with regret, and the weight of anxiety presses down on him, threatening to crush his resolve. Amid the wreckage, a glimmer of hope emerges. Surprisingly, one particular picture defies the destruction he wrought upon the room – a captured moment of you in your wedding dress and him in his sleek black suit, exchanging vows on the day of your marriage.

Divorced!Bakugo, who clutches a photo to his chest, tears streaming down his face like a torrent. In that poignant moment, he vows to transform, promising himself that he'll demonstrate his genuine wish for happiness for both you and your child, even if you've moved on. Despite shattered dreams he destroyed himself, he yearns to be a presence in your life, aspiring to salvage a friendship, a flicker of hope burning within him, praying you'll consider it.

[beckyninja]

Revelation

Pairing: Lt. Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: descriptions of torture

Description: Our favorite Ultramarine Captain Lieutenant realizes his personal serf means far more to him than he thought. And all it took was his subconscious concocting a truly horrific scenario.

Alright guys, you seemed to like my fluff. Now I thought I'd try my hand at some angst. As always, please forgive any non-canonical details. And thanks to @solspina who's Dante dream fic heavily inspired this.

Pain.

Demetrian Titus knew this feeling. In his long life as an Astartes, he’d experienced more kinds of pain than most Imperial citizens dreamed of in their worst nightmares. Stab wounds, shattered bones, burns, bites. He’d endured them all, healed, and moved on.

Not this time, though. This pain… lingered. It welled and pulsed within his very nerves, bypassing all attempts by his enhanced body to neutralize it. It stemmed from the chains bolted to his wrists and ankles, from the hundreds of injection sites scattered across his skin.

And from the mind of one Inquisitor.

“Ah, awake again, I see.”

The deceptively calm voice echoed inside his skull. A face came into view, seeming to float in the endless void.

It smiled.

Once, he would have lunged at that smug face. He would have strained against the shackles that bound him, warrior’s instincts screaming at him. Fight back! Kill!

No longer. That time had passed. Days? Months? Years ago, perhaps. Now he simply stared. He would not speak. He could not give the answers this madman desired, and he would not dishonor himself by lying. 

His silence was the only resistance he could give.

Normally, this infuriated his tormentor. He would rant and rail, promising new and varied forms of agony. 

“There is heresy within you, traitor. And I will dig it out, if I have to do so from your broken corpse!”

The Inquisitor often promised death, either as punishment… or reward. At times, Titus welcomed the idea. Then thoughts of the shame such a ignoble death would bring his Chapter filled him and he silently vowed to live another day. 

Eternal service. The vow of an Astartes. The vow of an Ultramarine. It did not matter the circumstances. He would endure. He would-

“I have something new planned for you this time, Titus.”

A sickly light illuminated his surroundings. It slowly revealed a figure crouched at the Inquisitor’s feet. After years of silence, a word fell from Titus’s torn lips.

“No…”

You. It was you. How? Titus’s mind whirled, trying to piece together a timeline that suddenly made no sense. You couldn’t be here. He hadn’t even met you yet! A deception. It had to be.

Then the Inquisitor reached down and yanked your head back. The hood of your serf’s robe fell and Titus looked into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at him with hope and adoration. Now full of terror.

He jerked against his bonds without thinking, trying to reach you, trying to shield you from what was to come.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Such a reaction! And here I thought Astartes were above such mortal frailties as affection,” his hand left your head and strayed lower, “and desire.”

You yelped as that hand groped your flesh. Blind fury filled Titus and he lunged once again. 

“Do not touch her!”

“Or you will do what, exactly?” The Inquisitor gripped your chin and forced it up. “Look at him, girl. Look at your hero.” Another cruel laugh. “So strong and noble. And now all he can do is watch as I do this… and this…”

Your cries brought a pain greater than all the Inquisition’s tortures combined. Your eyes fixed on him, begging him to save you. He thrashed against his chains harder than ever before.

They only grew tighter.

The Inquisitor’s laughter rose to a shriek. “You swore to protect her, Titus! You swore to never let her come to harm again!”

He drew back his hand and struck you across the face. Again. And again. Titus watched welts and bruises bloom across your skin. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed. 

“This is your fault, Titus.” The Inquisitor grinned.

My fault. 

He had taken you for his own. Your companionship, in a galaxy that had abandoned him, soothed the ache in his soul. 

Now you suffered the consequences of his selfishness. 

For the first time in his life, the proud Ultramarine begged. “Stop, please!”

The Inquisitor threw you to the ground and brought his booted foot down on your arm with a sickening crack! You screamed.

Titus felt something break within him as well. “I WILL CONFESS!”

Silence. Darkness. He found himself alone in the void. He could no longer see you or the Inquisitor. For an eternity he hung there, waiting for something… anything.

Then, a voice whispered in his ear. “She means so much to you, doesn’t she?”

The sound of a blade splitting flesh. The overwhelming scent of blood. 

***

Titus’s eyes snapped open. All three of his lungs expanded as he gasped for breath. He lay on his cot, in his quarters, surrounded by the soft glow of candles. The omnipresent hum of the ship buzzed in his ears. 

His torment at the hands of the Inquisitor had ended over a century ago. You were not there. You had never been there. 

Why, then, did he still smell your blood?

At that moment, a soft beep came from the door as it slid open. You stepped inside, a bucket of cleaning supplies perched upon your hip. You glanced at him with a smile.

The scent of blood grew stronger.

In the blink of an eye he knelt before you, hands grasping your shoulders. “Where are you wounded?” 

“My Lord?” You gasped, the cleaning supplies clattering to the floor.

He noticed the reddish marks on your sleeves and growled, low and predatory. “Who hurt you?”

He’d find them and tear them limb from limb.

“No one, my Lord. I am not hurt.”

“Do not lie to me!”

You flinched. He winced, removing his hands.

“I am not injured.” You repeated. “The medicae are short-staffed at the moment and I offered to assist with the wounded in the infirmary. I know I should have asked your permission, but I didn’t think you’d disapprove. I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“I… I do not disapprove.” Titus closed his eyes and tried to regulate the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “There is no need for you to apologize.”

You were silent for a moment.

“You had another nightmare.”

“Yes.”

“It involved… me?”

“Yes. You were… injured. I could not… I tried to…”

Emotions ran riot through him. Some he could name: anger, guilt. Others were entirely foreign. He felt unmoored, severed from the comforting order of practical and theoretical.

“Perhaps I am indeed corrupted in some way.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Perhaps I deserve to suffer.”

“No!”

Something soft pressed against his face. He opened his eyes to find your hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Forgive me, but I hate it when you say such things.” Your beautiful eyes burned with conviction. “You saved me when no one else would. You are honorable and courageous and deserving of whatever happiness can be found in this life. You, Demetrian Titus, are a good man.” You hesitated then, your voice dropped to a whisper only an Astartes’ ears could have heard. “Emperor forgive me, I love you for it.”

Your words. Your touch. The strange emotions stirred up by his subconscious. All these things ignited in his mind… and Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines experienced a revelation.

He covered your mouth with his own.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

I hope I tagged everyone who asked!

[potatoplace]

Gone

Azriel x Archeron!Reader (deceased), Elriel

the 1 | alternate endings: betty | The Prophecy

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: In the wake of your death, Azriel loses everything. And still, you're dead and gone, an aching void felt in those around you.

Warnings: character death (suicide), dead body of reader, grieving, fuck Azriel

Words: ~2.5k

Author's Note: Yes, the title comes from Rosé's 'Gone'. Go listen to it RIGHT NOW. I would say that even without this fic tho lol love me some Rosie 🫶 So here's the first one of the second parts to the 1! I hope you guys like it, and I hope I did all of the characters' reactions justice (especially Miss Feyre) - ALSO thank you for all the love you've given the 1! It was born out of my own crappy day, I'm happy something good came out of it ☺️

18+ only pls

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Azriel quickly made his way back to Elain, doing his best to put the interaction he had just had with you behind him.

His mate.

Elain’s sister… That’s the only way he had ever thought of you.

As a human you had been… Less than average. Hard to look at.

At least in comparison to Elain.

Elain was a breath of fresh air, so lovely and innocent and so entirely unlike him.

And turned fae, she was even more breathtaking.

He had waited for her to realize how truly damaged and scarred he was, and not just on the outside. How entirely unworthy of her he was.

But she hadn’t. She had seen him, loved him, even with how broken he was on the inside.

And he had meant his words to Nesta, when he had said no one would ever compare to Elain, even his mate.

And he was right. You didn’t compare to her.

But as he reached her side and wrapped his arm around his lovely Elain, he couldn’t help but… wonder.

Had he just made a mistake in rejecting the bond so easily?

His free hand came to rub at his chest, which felt like it was being scraped with a knife, a dull, throbbing pain.

“Are you alright?” Elain’s sweet voice asked, and he tilted his head to look down at her.

A small smile graced his lips. “Of course, sweetheart. Come to the balcony with me, will you?”

The ring he had selected for Elain lay in a white velvet box, tucked safely in his jacket pocket. It was a beautiful ring, a silver band inlaid with glittering diamonds, and a stunning pink diamond as the centerpiece.

You had told him that Elain had always wanted a pink diamond ring.

He hoped you weren’t lying, trying to sabotage his proposal.

He wouldn’t put it past you, mating bonds do make fae rather territorial. Even if Elain is your sister.

He shook the thought out of his head, you had never been anything but kind. Boring, yes. Quiet, yes. But always kind.

Azriel smiled at Elain once they reached the balcony, and they stared out over Velaris together for a moment while he gathered his courage.

“Elain,” he said softly, drawing her gaze to him.

“Yes, love?” Elain asked, her lips curving upwards, as if she knew what was coming.

Azriel dropped to one knee and pulled the box from his jacket, reveling in how Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Elain, I have loved you for so long now. In fact, I believe I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you all that time ago, in the human lands. Never did I think that I would have the honor of calling you mine, even once. But now, knowing how wonderful you are, I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you. Elain,” he said, cracking open the box and showing her the ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

Tears were streaming down Elain’s face as she beamed down at him. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” She squealed, and Azriel quickly slipped the ring onto her left hand before taking her in his arms and spinning her around. “I love you so much, Az. And how did you know I wanted a pink diamond?” Elain asked once he had set her down, giving her time to admire her new ring.

“Oh, I may have asked Y/N for advice on what you’ve always wanted,” Azriel said.

“Ah, that was smart-”

“Oh my gods!” Feyre screamed, cutting Elain off and causing the pair to look over to her.

“What is it, Feyre?” Rhys asked worriedly, panic on his face after Feyre’s outburst.

Feyre took off running before answering, Rhys following immediately, and the rest of the inner circle exchanged looks before sprinting after them, leaving the confused citizens of Velaris behind.

They skidded to a stop at a balcony, where Feyre was leaning over it, sobbing.

“No!” She screamed, a guttural cry leaving her lips as she collapsed to the floor, Rhys barely catching her in time as she passed out in his arms.

“What is it, Feyre?” Nesta asked as she walked over to the balcony, glancing over the side herself. “Mother above! Y/N!” Nesta yelled, the first time that Azriel had heard true, heart wrenching pain in her voice, and she collapsed next to Feyre, tears streaming down her face.

Y/N?

But what would be wrong with Y/N? Azriel had left her in the hallway, not ten minutes before now.

Elain tugged him over to the balcony, her heart rate picking up just from the reactions of her sisters. When she peeked over the side, a scream left her lips, more wounded and hurt than Azriel thought she would ever sound. “Y/N!” Elain cried as she fell next to her sisters, the three of them huddled together once Feyre came to a moment later, her sobs picking up instantly, her hands clutching at her chest.

Azriel dared a glance over the side, his heart dropping to his stomach when he saw it.

Saw you.

Lying there, unmoving, darkness surrounding your body.

He gasped and stumbled back from the balcony, reality hitting him.

Dead.

You were dead.

You were his mate and you were dead!

Tears streamed down his face, and he couldn’t tell exactly what happened next, but soon enough Cassian was flying back up from the ground, your limp, unmoving body in his arms.

The three sisters’ sobs grew louder when they saw you up close, the three of them surrounding your body where Cassian had gently placed it on the floor. Feyre sat with your head resting in her lap, her hands running through your hair as she sobbed. Azriel watched on, a hand covering his mouth as he beheld your lifeless form.

“Why…? Why would she do this?” Feyre cried, resting her head on Rhys’s shoulder when he sat next to her. “I don’t understand, she was fine just a little bit ago…”

Azriel couldn’t help but feel partially responsible.

“I…” He started, but stopped before he got it out.

Nesta’s head whipped towards him, though. “You…? You what, Azriel?” She snapped.

All eyes followed suit, snapping to Azriel’s form, taking in the tears on his cheeks.

“I… Y/N is… was… my…”

“Spit it out,” Nesta growled, her voice icy with rage and grief.

“Y/N was my mate,” Azriel finally whispered.

Everyone gasped, but it was Elain’s face that broke his heart.

“Y/N was… I don’t understand,” Feyre said softly, watery eyes meeting Azriel’s. “What… What happened?” She asked between teary breaths.

“She… She told me, when she had asked to speak with me, Elain.”

“And?” The sharp question came from Rhys.

Azriel hesitated, but the pressure of all those teary eyes had him answering. “I rejected the bond. Just as I said I would.”

“You what?!” Nesta screeched as she launched her body towards him, only stopped by Cassian’s strong arms wrapping around her waist and holding her back from killing his brother. “You found out about the bond and rejected it in the same night?! In less than ten minutes?!”

Feyre was glaring at him, tears streaming down her face, and he was sure that if she wasn’t still cradling your head in her lap that she would be eviscerating him with Nesta’s help.

And Elain… She was staring at him with such sorrow in her eyes, the love that had been shining in them mere minutes before all but gone.

“I… I thought that it was what I should do, I love Elain,” Azriel explained, but he could tell it was the wrong words by everyone’s shock and disgust.

“So you turned down the bond? Just like that? You couldn’t even think about it? When it was Y/N?!” Nesta yelled, her struggles against her mate renewed with her outrage. “What in the hells is wrong with you?” She snarled, silver flames bursting from her fingers.

“You should go, Azriel,” Feyre said quietly, the calm before the storm. And he didn’t want to be here when his High Lady turned into a raging hurricane.

His gaze snapped to Elain, who had turned away from him, instead focusing on where her fingers were caressing your rapidly paling face.

“Az. Just, go home. Okay?” Cassian suggested, his own expression harder than it normally appeared, but still softer than everyone else around them.

Mor and Amren, who had been quiet throughout the ordeal, gave him pitying looks as he turned to leave, his wings drooping to touch the ground.

The three sisters wails grew in volume as he left them, Feyre’s the loudest among them as she mourned her twin, who she’d already lost in death once before, and nearly again to the terror that was the Cauldron.

He could hear the concerned chatter of the citizens of Velaris nearby, a few people daring to venture into the disallowed areas of the House to see what all the commotion had been about. Quickly, Azriel made his way to another quiet balcony, launching himself into the sky.

Tears were still falling from his eyes when he landed in front of his and Elain’s cottage- though he wasn’t sure if he should even call it that anymore.

She still said yes, his shadows whispered to him quietly, their voices tinged with sadness. But… Our mate… they wept softly, coiling tightly around him.

Azriel threw the door open, making a beeline for the bedroom. He collapsed by the foot of the bed, a sob ripping from his throat.

His mate. Gone.

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Three days later and his mate was being lowered into the ground, her decoratively carved wooden casket slowly taking her to her final resting place.

His mate. Dead.

It had been three days since he and Elain had spoken, though they had laid next to each other in silence each night when Elain came home from planning the funeral and mourning in the company of her remaining sisters.

She looked beautiful today, even in dull black mourning garb. Her engagement ring was still sparkling on her ring finger, the one ray of light still left in his life.

He couldn’t help but feel she was slipping through his fingers, though.

A situation entirely of his own making, he supposed.

After the ceremony and during the wake, he waited for Elain to approach him first.

“Hi, Az,” she said softly, settling herself into the chair next to him. He murmured a soft hello back. “I wanted to… Talk to you.”

“Oh? What about, ‘Lainey?”

A slight blush colored her cheeks at the nickname. “I wanted to know… What you said to Y/N. I just… I need to know if it was just the bond being rejected or…” She trailed off, turning her eyes from his hazel ones to the table.

“If I was needlessly cruel to her?”

Elain pursed her lips together. “Yes.”

Azriel sighed. He had hoped he would never need to admit how horribly his last interaction with his mate had gone. “I… I was not kind to her, not like I should have been. I wish I could change how I rejected her Elain.”

Elain’s mouth turned downwards. “What exactly did you say?”

Azriel looked at the ground. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he repeated his awful words to her, her eyes widening by the second.

“I… Azriel, I am sorry, but I cannot marry you.” She slipped the ring, the ring that was so, perfectly Elain, off of her finger and onto the table, sliding it over to him. “I would not be able to marry someone who could say such things to someone, let alone to my sister and their mate. I… I wish you the best. I’ll move my things out of the cottage as soon as possible.”

And with that, Elain stood from the table and walked back to where her sisters and his brothers were sitting, leaving him and his broken heart in her wake.

She’s right, master, the shadows whispered to him. You hurt our mate badly. She is gone.

Tears pricked Azriel’s eyes again.

A few minutes later, a black cloud encroached on his field of view-

His High Lady.

“You said WHAT to my twin?!” Feyre screamed at him, darkness flooding his vision. “You thought being her mate was a joke?! And when it wasn’t a joke, you told her she would never compare to Elain?! And that waiting for your mate, the one who was made for you, was a waste of time?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Feyre raged, her inner beast coming out, only for Azriel to see.

And he was horrified, terrified as his High Lady pinned him to the ground, talons cutting into the skin of his throat and piercing his left wing.

“I should rip you limb from limb,” Feyre hissed, her voice more animal than fae. “It is only for my mate that I will not, but you will leave this court and never return. Better yet, leave the fucking continent so that I am less tempted to hunt you down and slaughter you anyways.”

And then Feyre was off of him, letting her claws slice into his neck, just barely missing his jugular. The darkness receded, leaving him lying on the ground bleeding and Feyre standing over him, appearing as a fae again.

“Azriel.” Rhys approached the two of them, followed closely by Cassian, and extended a hand to help Azriel up. “Brother, you know that I love you. But… You can’t stay here. Not now. Not after… This.” A heavy sigh left his brother’s lips.

Cassian hugged him tightly, careful to avoid brushing against his now punctured wing.

“I’ll miss you, brother. Take care of yourself… Don’t… Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Cassian said quietly, tears shining in his eyes.

“I second that, Az. Be smart, hmm? I’m sure that you’ll find somewhere to hear from this, to change from this,” Rhys said aloud. Then, he spoke into his mind, “I know Feyre said to never return but… If you could, I would like for you to check in with me every month or so. Just to know that you’re alright.”

“I will,” Azriel replied in a soft voice, his throat sore from where Feyre had held him and cut him. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” he added as he regarded the three remaining Archeron sisters, knowing it would likely be the last time he would see any of them.

And then he took to the skies, even with his punctured wing making flight painful and more difficult than it had been since he first learned.

His mate, gone.

His family, gone.

It’s what I deserve.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

'the 1' Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @historygeekqueen @angelbunny222

[coryosbaby]

Content warning . Noncon, Tbosas spoilers!! Plinth! Reader, angst angst angst, nsfw

When you read Coriolanus Snow’s diary entry from the day of Sejanus Plinth’s death, you are betrayed exponentially.

One would think that a clever man like Coriolanus would be smart enough to not note his secrets and leave the journal unlocked. Especially since his best friend with a curious hand was left alone in his room. How dumb he was.

When he walks in, your heart breaks into a million jagged pieces. Your best friend, your coryo, is the reason why your brother is dead.

He notices the book in your hand the moment he enters the room. He moves towards you, you step back. You don’t even know who the blonde in front of you is.

“You’re a monster.”

It’s the first thing you say to him, and the faux sympathy on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Coriolanus can never hide his true emotions because of those familiar turquoise orbs.

“[y/n].”

His voice is a warning, you think. A warning that you have to keep this a secret. His voice is a threat.

But the betrayal and the loss deep in your heart cuts through and your face twists up with rage.

“You killed him. You, you—“ you can’t find the words to express your anger, so your fists come up to pummel Coriolanus’ chest as tears stream down your cheeks. Muffled cries soon give way to screaming sobs, and Coriolanus tries to calm you.

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, his hands wrapping around your form, and you wonder how he has the audacity to try and comfort you after being the cause of your brother’s death.

“What is wrong with you?!” You scream at him. “Why would you— why would you do that? He was your friend! Do you realize what you’ve done ? H-He never did anything wrong. He was innocent— he— he—”

You can’t say anything else, exasperated and torn into pieces and Coriolanus just holds you, and as much as you fucking despise him, you let him commit this act. You can’t see any type of pain written on his face— remorse, guilt, melancholy. Nothing. Just a blatant, ashy emptiness. A hollow void of Coryo. Your Coryo.

There are no remnants left.

You try to pull away from him, but he places a grip on your wrist so tight that you fear it will break. His jaw clenches, breath uneven and his clothes haphazardly strewn.

“No.” He says, and that’s it. No.

Your brows furrow, your bottom lip wobbling.

“What?”

And then he’s kissing you, something he hasn’t done since a slightly non friendly game of spin the bottle in freshman year. He kisses you harsh and, like his heart and the expression on his face, stone cold. You try to push him away, but to no avail as his hands grab your hips in a deathly grip. You cry against his lips, saltwater tears mixing with breath mints and spit, and you wish that Sejanus was next door waiting on the two of you for morning classes and that this happened under different circumstances.

But it doesn’t, and you don’t want to think about it right now, not at all. So when your knees hit the back of Coriolanus’ bed, you let him push you down onto it. You let him trail kisses down your neck and bite you until you bleed. And when the time comes, and his cock is to full hardness and you’re overcome with more lust than grief, you hope that Sejanus can’t see you from above.

Coriolanus’ teeth scrape against your lips, and your blouse becomes ripped open by the sheer force of his hands. His mouth attaches to one nipple, then the other. He leaves love bites all over your chest and then he spits down on the valley in between them. He groans, heavy and deep, his clothed cock slipping between your thighs as he grips your tits in his hands.

“Mine.” He says possessively. Evilly. Like a monster. And you agree with him, a sob racking your throat, scared and helpless.

“Yours, Coryo.”

You are his, but he isn’t yours. He isn’t the one you’ve grown with. He isn’t the one you fell in love with.

You let him slide your panties down your legs anyways.

His fingers find your entrance, and they slide in easily. Your warm wet walls are tight, and he puts two fingers in as a way to make it hurt. He moves them in and out at a fast rough pace, the wet sounds of your pussy making you feel incredibly guilty and incredibly turned on. His mouth finds your neck again, burying his face into your collarbone. Your fingers find his buzzed hair— not your Coryo’s familiar golden curls — and you whimper. His fingers crook up, hitting the spots no man has ever been able to reach before. His thumb—oh god, his thumb— moves up to rub your aching clit in fast circles. How could he possibly know you like it that way?

Your thighs try to squeeze around the man’s large hand, but he slaps them, and he slaps them hard. You cry out, spewing apologies to him and you don’t even know why you’re saying sorry. You can feel yourself fast approaching your high, and you know Coriolanus can feel it too. He laughs, a dark and sinister sound, and you come undone. Your body spasms, your mouth falling open and a loud pleasured moan escaping you. Coryo’s fingers pull out of you, coated in your cum and slick, and he presses the pads of them onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he mutters, as your doe eyes look up at him and suck. “There’s my good little girl.”

When he pulls the digits out he rubs the spit from them onto your chest. His cock rubs against your pussy again.

“You want it, don’t you?” He says darkly, watching the way your hips grind into him. “Don’t worry. You won’t be sad after I give you my kids, pretty baby. You’ll be so happy. You’ll forget about Sejanus, and you’ll love me.”

The mention of your brother’s name makes your stomach drop. But Coriolanus’ fingers grip your face harshly when he sees the tears welling in your eyes, his face twisted up into a look of anger.

“Stop it.”

You have to sniffle and obey. When Coriolanus’ hands go down to his belt, you feel pathetic for wanting it. When he takes off all of his clothes, naked and bare with his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs, you feel ashamed. When he spreads your thighs and says he’s going to give you a baby, you feel true fear.

But when the tip of his cockhead brushes against your entrance, all of that is replaced with carnal pleasure.

Surprisingly, he pushes in slow at first. Your gummy walls squeeze him in an almost impossibly tight grip, and Coryo has to stop and keep himself from hurting you too soon. When his balls press firmly against your ass cheeks for the third time, all heavy and plump, he begins to pummel you.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He fucks you and he fucks you with an animalistic stare plastered across his angelic face. He grabs your thighs and pushes them over your head, and he claims you with your body bent in half. He gives all of himself to you, but he isn’t yours.

When you try to close your eyes and look away from him, he growls. His free hand moves up to take hold of your throat and for a moment you think you’re going to meet your brother’s fate. His fingers squeeze so tightly that your vision blurs at the edges, your breaths coming out in slow, weak intervals.

“Look at me.” Coriolanus demands. “Look at me!”

You let out a cry, your eyes flying open and looking back into insidious, icy blue ones. His bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth as he sees you, and his cock twitches inside your sticky cunt. You know he’s going to cum, and you feel pathetic. When he does cum, spilling thick white ropes into your womb, you feel ashamed. And afterwards, sleeping off your brutal and disgusting session with your best friend and brother’s killer, you feel true fear.

[shotmrmiller]

WHAT YOU WROTE WAS AMAZING PLS IM SOBBING I LOVE IT SO MUCH GIVING U SMOOCHES

but okay so you sleep by yourself that night he comes home. you know he goes out with the boys — mostly on the weekends but sometimes the weekdays too — so when he comes home just a bit later than usual it doesn’t ring any alarm bells even if you pout a little. and you damn near run into his arms and snuggle into his neck only to smell — not him. something, someone else has touched what you thought was yours.

you pull back from the hug to look him over further. clothes mussed up, lips looking like they were bitten, a little flushed. a little like when you two —

you swallow thickly, throat lining with glass and tears as you suck in a breath. you find that you can’t actually form words for a moment, worried that only bile and venom would come out.

“did you fuck someone?”

he looks panicked — guilty — and you don’t even need him to say it for you to know what he’s done.

“who?” you ask, voice barely there, only able to be heard over the icy silence that followed your question. he replies one of the other pets. you nod, more to yourself than anything, trying not to scream your heart out at him.

but your heart cracks the moment he opens his mouth.

for the first time since you began living with him, you slept alone.

(you did scream at him. tripping over your words and panicked breaths and streams of tears. how could he do this. he didn’t call, didn’t ask. did he even think to? did he even care?)

you’re exhausted. too tired crying like you’ve never cried before, feeling like the weight of betrayal is crushing you as you sleep.

you almost fear that it’ll kill you.

the next day — friday — he knocks on your door before he goes to work. he tells you to have a good day. you don’t acknowledge him.

but you miss him. you absolutely fucking hate him but you miss him so much, it hurts. that particular ache is almost worse than the one of betrayal.

almost.

by mid day, you figure you should give him a chance to talk. he obviously feels guilty, and you love him. despite everything, you love him.

so you clean yourself up and try to look a little pretty for him, wearing a cute slip lingerie dress and bows on your ears.

you clean up around the flat a little. you fold his clothes — he’s been grumbling about it lately and always say he’d do it later. so you do it for him, folded with precision and left to sit on the edge of the bed.

you’re still upset and anxious and everything in between. the nerves make it hard to feel anything and you feel too sick to eat. but you nibble on some bread, knowing he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself. you love him.

when it starts getting later, you decide to make him his favorite cookies. it’s been awhile since you’ve made him anything, and you’ve always enjoyed making these for him. the sweetest kisses tend to follow.

the night rolls around to the point where you know he’s off work. it’ll take him a little to get home, so you settle on the couch and wait.

but as the hours tick by, later and later, the worry grows and gnaws and threatens to split you from the inside out.

maybe he’s out with the boys again? you’d think, given the circumstances, he’d want to come home to you. but old habits die hard, you suppose.

but it gets later. and later.

later than he ever would be out even when things were perfect between you two.

it shatters you. where was he? what was he doing? was he —

the thought makes you sick.

he comes home after midnight. after you wretched in the toilet and cried yourself to sleep — again.

didn’t he love you too?

he sees the cookies put away in a container and a pit grows in his stomach, a void ready to eat his heart. whatever is left of it, anyways.

there’s a note sitting on the top.

“sleep well.”

the writing was shaky and it looks like a few tears spilled onto the words as you wrote them.

your usual xoxo at the bottom was crossed out.

you beat me to it:)

you bloody beat me to it. Fool me once.

your eyes are blank as if the life had all but faded from them, and in a way, they had.

Sitting him down, you calmly, (calmly, because there is nothing in you left other than acceptance, and youll be damned before you ever beg a man to want you) say, "I'll be leaving in the morning."

He tries to say something but nothing he could ever say will fix what he chose to break. "No, the fact that i'm even bothering to tell you is a courtesy you don't deserve. You've made your bed, now continue to lie in it with whoever you keep seeing after work." Smoothly, you get up and walk towards your room.

There is no rancor in your heart for whoever it is he's been with. After all, the one in the relationship with you was him.

You stuff a towel under the door, covering the gap, and clutch your collar to your chest, letting the last tears youll ever cry over him track down your cheeks. He doesn't deserve to see nor hear your pain.

You call an uber while he's at work and disappear.

When he comes back home, the place is dark and empty. He sits at the dinner table alone, with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, and in his hand is the last note you left him, stiff with dried tears and an xoxo at the very bottom.

What makes him crumble is when he sees the glint of your personalized collar on his nightstand, and it finally hits him that you're gone. For good.

listening to eurielle while writing epic sad is just chefs kiss.

[persevereforahappyending]

He Hung Up (Aftermath)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “I’m tired,” your voice cracked. You looked at her through blurry eyes, sniffling, “I’m so tired.” You stared into her eyes, hating to see her heartbreaking because of your pain. “How’d you deal with it?”

Warnings: Nightmares, PTSD, Past Death

Word Count: 4.1k+

Note: Here's the aftermath I said I'd write. Only 5 months later... sorry about that

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“I got you,” you gritted out. “I got you.” You looked into Anika’s pleading eyes as you held her hand.

The voices and screams of the others were indecipherable, all you could focus on was Anika. Her terrified eyes as tears streamed down her face, the way her mouth moved as she screamed, begging for her life. You could feel the slipperiness of the blood coating both your hands. Anika’s wide eyes were the only thing you saw as she slid from your grasp.

Everything went silent, your surroundings fading to black, the only thing left was Anika’s endless falling, her face frozen in terror. There wasn’t even a sound as her body hit the ground. The only thing you could do was stare down at her lifeless corpse, head bashed open, her lively eyes now dull.

You watched her, watched as her body twitched, her head turning to stare right back up at you, her eyes remaining dead. “You failed me,” Anika’s voice void of any emotion said. It didn’t sound like her, it didn’t even sound human.

“I-I-” you tried to explain but there was no explanation. The only explanation was that you failed. You had her in your hands, and you dropped her. Your best friend was dead, and it was all your fault.

“Why did you fail me?” The disembodied voice of Anika asked again.

“I-I-I tried. I tried,” tears were streaming down your face.

Anika’s face twisted into something inhuman, a hatred you knew all too well filling her eyes, it was the hatred you saw in the mirror every day since you let this happen. “You couldn’t save me,” her voice became more distorted. “You can’t save anyone. You won’t be able to save Tara.”

The scene shifted; it was no longer Anika in front of you it was Tara. You were holding Tara up; she was slipping through your fingers just as Anika had. “Nononono,” you gripped her tighter, trying to find the strength to yank her up. “I got you. I got you.”

Tara’s tear-stained face looked up at you, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. “Why did you let me go?” She asked, her voice not matching the direness of the situation.

“What?” You asked confused.

Tara lost the terrified look on her face, instead a twisted smile appeared as she let go of your hand. “No!” You screamed, gripping the windowsill as you watched the love of your life fall to her death, her arms and legs flailing as she screamed for help.

The impact never came though. As soon as Tara would have hit the ground you shot up, your heart beating a mile a minute as you looked around, you were in your room, it was just a dream, just another dream. You buried your head in your hands as you wiped away the tears. Your entire body shook as you pressed your palms hard against your eyes trying to forget the images from your nightmare. You knew it was futile though, the images never left, you saw them every time you closed your eyes. It was only recently you were no longer just being haunted by Anika but by Tara as well. You knew Tara was alive, she has made it out, all of you had, that didn’t stop the images of her death at your hands haunting you. Dream Anika was right, you couldn’t save her so there was no way you’d ever be able to save Tara.

You slid out of bed, moving to your dresser to grab a fresh shirt when you sighed, threw the shirt back down and just made your way to the bathroom. You were drenched in sweat, your sleep shirt completely soaked through, a shower would be more useful, and it wasn’t like you were going back to sleep. You didn’t even bother looking at the time before you hopped in, feeling the warm water wash over you. You stood under the shower head, head rested against the cool tile as the water slowly went from hot to cold, you didn’t even flinch at the temperature change, you let it wash over you for another minute before finally getting out.

You put on fresh clothes and finally looked at your phone, first seeing a text from Tara.

Tara: Night, love you

A small smile tugged at your lips before forming into a frown again. Tara had asked you to come over, but you brushed her off saying you had to much homework. You weren’t trying to distance yourself from her, it wasn’t like you were mad at her or blamed her for anything, you just hadn’t had a good night's sleep since the attack, and you didn’t want to be an inconvenience to her. This was the second time Tara had been through an attack, she lost a friend, she should be focusing on herself not taking care of you. The next thing you noticed was the time, 3:42am, you closed your eyes, sighing, feeling the exhaustion that was now just a part of your life. You decided to make yourself a bowl of cereal and just turn on the TV, throwing on old episodes of Criminal Minds as you waited for it to become time to leave for class. It was rare you didn’t wake up before 4am now, you were getting used to it, the less than five hours of sleep, the nightmares, being covered in sweat, waking up before the rest of the world.

As you passed through the kitchen your eyes landed on the get well soon card your parents had sent. You scooped up a spoonful of cereal as you flipped open the card again, a basic store-bought card that your parents managed to at least sign. You flipped the card away and moved to the couch, easing yourself down. Your wounds were mostly healed but certain movements still ached, Tara and the doctors said that would be normal for a little while, after all it had only been about a month since the attack.

After a few hours of mindlessly staring at the TV, not even paying attention to what episode you were on you jumped to your feet, grabbed your bag for the day and walked out the door, triple checking to make sure you locked it. As you made your way across campus you noticed there were a few students walking about, meaning it wouldn’t be another case of you awkwardly standing outside the building of your first class waiting for Tara.

You leaned against the stone railing, rubbing your hands together to keep them warm. You don’t think to grab anything bigger than a hoodie and you almost never wore gloves, you watched as other students ran into the warm building, bundled up in their jackets. You stared as the door swung closed again, the knowledge of warmth tempted you, but the cold was good. If you were cold, it meant your mind was focused on being cold instead of the death of your best friend. The only positive after the attack was that your grades hadn’t taken a noticeable slip, yet, you were sure it was only a matter of time before the exhaustion would catch up with you though.

“Hey,” Tara greeted cheerfully, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” you replied, offering her a small smile.

“How long have you been waiting?” She watched you carefully, looking for any signs that you weren’t actually okay like you were trying to come off.

“Not long,” You tried for a more convincing smile. Tara knew you better than anyone, she was the hardest to convince that you were okay, even though a part of her never seemed to believe you based on the way you’d catch her watching you.

She squinted, staring deep into your eyes, you started to fidget from foot to foot but you kept your smile on. “Okay,” she said, taking your hand in her own and led you into the building.

You sat next to Tara in class, hand in hand like you always did. The professor was lecturing about something, you couldn’t even attempt to pretend you knew what. You were zoned out, playing with your pen as you stared ahead, your eyelids becoming heavier by the second.

You saw flashes of Anika, her face, her hand in yours, you losing your grip, her falling. Your eyes snapped back open when there was a loud screech as the professor moved something. Your eyes darted around the room, you had dropped your pen, you managed to not yell at being woken up, no one was paying any attention to you except for one person. Your eyes met Tara’s; her mouth partially open, ready to ask what was wrong. You silently cleared your throat, shifting in your seat to get comfortable again, as you offered her a small smile. You turned your attention back to the front, but you could feel Tara’s eyes on you, glancing out of the corner of your eye you saw the worried look. She knew you weren’t okay now and there was no way you’d be able to convince her after class.

When class ended as much as you wanted to run out of there and avoid Tara’s questions you waited, you stood patiently by as she packed up her bag, intertwining your hands when she was done and then walked out of the building together. The two of you walked hand in hand through the quad, you swallowed nervously, waiting for the moment she’d choose to strike.

“What happened in there?” She finally asked, keeping her pace, and only sparing you a worried glance.

“Nothing,” you tried shrugging her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, grabbing your arm with her free hand to force you to turn and face her. “Bullshit, what’s wrong?”

She was looking at you with those big brown eyes, you couldn’t take it. You looked to the sky, unable to hold eye contact with her anymore. You couldn’t lie to her, you could avoid the questions and try and brush everything off, but you could never lie to her at the end of the day. You wiped your eyes, trying to hide the tears that had begun to form, having an emotional breakdown after your first class of the day was not in your intended schedule, you were meant to save those for when you were home alone.

“Hey,” Tara said softly, gently pulling your hands away from your face and wiping your tears herself. “Talk to me.”

“I’m tired,” your voice cracked. You looked at her through blurry eyes, sniffling, “I’m so tired.” You stared into her eyes, hating to see her heartbreaking because of your pain. “How’d you deal with it?”

“Baby,” she whispered, tears filling her own eyes. You leaned into her hand when she caressed your cheek. “When was the last time you slept?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “When I was in the hospital,” you admitted. “With you.” You dropped your eyes to the ground, finding your shoes much easier to look at than your girlfriend’s concerned face. It was true, once you got released from the hospital you had been staying at your dorm, you hadn’t stayed the night with Tara since the attack. You knew she wanted you to; she always asked you to stay when you were over at her apartment, but you always found a reason to turn her down. You didn’t have to worry about Tara staying at your place, as accepting as Sam was starting to become, she still wasn’t that accepting, she refused to let Tara stay the night anywhere that wasn’t their own apartment.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see Anika,” you looked up, meeting Tara’s gaze again, a few more tears falling from your eyes. Tara let out an understanding sigh. “And more recently, you.”

“Me?” she asked, confused.

You let out a shaky breath, this was going to be the first time you said it out loud, you hadn’t even told your therapist this new development in your nightmares. “The dreams always start off with Anika but towards the end it’s you. You’re the one I’m failing.”

“You haven’t failed anyone.”

“All I’ve done is fail!” you stepped out of Tara’s reach, running a hand through your hair. “Anika is dead because of me.” You looked Tara in the eye, trying to get her to see that it was all your fault. “I couldn’t save her. Mindy hates me because I couldn’t hold her girlfriends fucking hand for a minute.”

“Hey,” Tara said sternly, gripping you by your arms so you were forced to focus on her. “It was not your fault. And Mindy does not hate you.”

You scoffed at the notion. “How could she not? She hasn’t spoken to me since the attack. Not that I can blame her, I could have saved her girlfriend, but I didn’t.”

“You did everything you could! You were injured, she was hanging off a building, there was only so much you could do.”

“But-”

“And she’s not avoiding you!” Tara snapped, getting angry now, you flinched at her change in tone. “You’ve been avoiding everyone.”

“I haven’t,” you defended weakly.

“Yes, you have,” Tara sighed exasperated. “You’re trying,” she moved her hands to the back of your neck, scratching lightly. “I can see you’re trying but you’re pulling away. We haven’t talked about the attack once.”

“I just…” you dropped your eyes back to the ground. “You have enough to worry about.”

“Well, I worry anyway. I would worry less if you did talk to me.” You nodded. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” she ran a hand through your hair, giving it a light shake. “I want to know, no matter what it may be, I want to know. I want to be there for you.” You nodded again. “As long as you’re comfortable sharing with me.”

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you mumbled. You reached across the short distance between the two of you, playing with her fingers before you linked your hand with hers again.

“Let’s go,” she said abruptly.

Your head snapped back up to hers, giving her a confused gaze. “Where?”

“Home,” she started to walk again, tugging on your hand.

“What about class?”

“Who cares,” she tugged on your again.

“What about Sam?” your feet remained glued to their spot.

“She’s at work,” she tugged you impatiently. “Besides, she’ll understand.”

You couldn’t think of any more arguments as to why you shouldn’t go so reluctantly you moved your feet, allowing Tara to drag you back to her apartment. The whole way there she refused to let go of your hand. When you got to the apartment you couldn’t help but look around, Sam had found a new place almost instantly after the attacks were done, you’d been there a few times, but you still weren’t used to the change. Tara dragged you straight to her room and started digging through your backpack before you could take it off.

“What are you-”

“Take these,” she cut you off, holding out a pill bottle for you.

You took the pills from her looking to see it was the pills prescribed for you to help you sleep. “I don’t like them.”

“They’ll help you sleep.” She shrugged off her own bag, tossing it into the corner before helping you slip yours off and tossing it next to hers. “Take them,” she said again. “Now.”

You did as she asked but made sure she could see the obvious pout as you swallowed the pills. She only rolled her eyes, moving to her bed and yanking the covers back.

“Get in bed,” she ordered.

You listened, mumbling to yourself about how she was bossy, and you didn’t have to listen to her. When you settled under the covers, she crawled in next to you. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” she said, putting her hands under your shirt as she wrapped her arms around your waist, while resting her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” mumbled, placing a kiss on the top of her head before sleep quickly consumed you.

You let out a content sigh, feeling comfortable for the first time in a month as you stretched your arm to the other side of the bed. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes when you didn’t feel Tara next to you, the spot wasn’t cold yet, so you knew she had just gotten up. You reached over, grabbing your phone and saw that it was after two now, you had actually managed to sleep, it was only a few hours, but for once you weren’t tormented in your sleep by memories.

You sat up, rubbing the rest of the sleep from your eyes when you heard whispering outside the door. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and decided to venture out to find Tara, you knew she had to be somewhere in the apartment.

“Just be nice,” you picked up Tara whispering as you put your hand on the door handle.

“I’m always nice,” Sam harshly whispered back.

Despite your sleepy state you furrowed your brow, wondering when Sam was nice. You imagined Tara was giving her sister a similar look.

“Fine,” Sam whispered back.

You shrugged and opened the door, stepping right into the kitchen where Tara and Sam were standing. Tara whipped around, smiling at you widely, making it obvious that whatever she was talking to Sam about definitely had to do with you. Sam offered you a tight-lipped smile but didn’t glare at you, it was progress.

“We were going to order pizza for dinner,” Sam said, her voice becoming strained as if it pained her to be nice to you. “Will you be joining us?”

“Of course,” Tara answered for you. “Y/N is staying the night.”

“I am?”

“And the rest of the week,” Tara continued, ignoring your question as she wrapped an arm around your waist.

“All week?” Sam shouted; her eyes widened at the news.

You looked down at Tara for an answer, this was the first time you were hearing the news as well. Sam said she would no longer kick you out, but she also said she didn’t want you over 24/7 and you were thinking staying over for a whole week might be pushing it.

“All week,” Tara repeated, looking up at you with a small smile then raised an eyebrow at her sister, daring her to argue against it.

Sam released a sigh, closing her eyes as she most likely repressed an eyeroll. “Fine,” she shrugged. “Just don’t fall behind on school,” she gave Tara a pointed look.

Tara smiled sweetly at her sister before pulling you to the living room. You saw Chad in the chair, scrolling through a list of movies while Mindy sat on the couch, yelling at him to pick one. You froze in the doorway, wanting to run back to Tara’s room before Mindy could see you. Tara held you in place though, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Mindy glanced to the side, seeing you and Tara for the first time. You figured you’d see hatred, disgust, or any other terrible emotion on her face but there was none of that.

“Hey, stranger,” Mindy said with a soft smile. “We’re going to watch a movie. If Chad ever makes a decision,” she threw a glare at her brother. Chad rolled his eyes, glaring right back. “Join us,” she smiled at you again, patting the seat next to her.

You gave her a small smile, allowing Tara to lead you to the couch, forcing you to sit in the middle seat next to Mindy, while she sat on the other side of you.

“Any preference?” Mindy asked, looking back to the TV as Chad kept scrolling through movies.

You shrugged. “Something funny,” you said.

“I got it!” Chad smiled innocently at Mindy.

Mindy narrowed her gaze at Chad, none of you had seen what he picked and knowing Chad it could literally be anything. When the movie started Miny groaned throwing her head back.

“Dodgeball, really?” she let out an exaggerated sigh.

“They wanted something funny,” Chad defended, pointing at you.

You quietly chuckled at the twin’s argument, it almost felt like things were normal. You also couldn’t complain about the movie, you knew it wasn’t Mindy’s favorite, though she didn’t seem to like anything that wasn’t horror, you however did enjoy the movie and it was the kind of movie you needed in the moment.

So that’s how you spent the night, watching Dodgeball with the gang until the pizza arrived. There was light talking and jokes but mostly you all just sat in a comfortable silence. Even Sam joined in on the fun, taking the chair across from Chad once she placed the order for the pizza. Sam didn’t joke around a ton but there was a few moments when you saw the hints of a smile, not that she’d ever admit it.

At the end of the night Tara went to the kitchen to help Sam with the dishes, leaving you alone with Chad and Mindy. You were playing with your fingers, not paying attention to what the others were doing until Chad got up from his chair without a word and walked into the kitchen. You rolled your shoulders, trying to ease the tension in your back now that you were left with only Mindy.

“Hey,” Mindy said softly, bumping your shoulder with her own. You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, seeing she had moved closer to you. You hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t face her, you still couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eye for to long. “You know we’re okay, right?” you nodded unconvincingly. “Look at me,” she bumped your shoulder again until you finally looked at her. “I know you blame yourself for what happened.” Your eyes drifted back down to your clasped hands. “But I don’t. No one does. You just need to work on forgiving yourself,” she rubbed a hand up and down your back until you nodded.

It was only a few minutes later when Chad entered the room again, grabbing Mindy and the two to of them said their goodbyes as they made their way back to their dorm. You sat silently on the couch, thinking about what Mindy had said. She literally just told you she didn’t blame you for Anika’s death, even though you already knew that, now there was no arguing against it, her confirmation was all that was needed, that didn’t mean you didn’t still hate yourself though. Mindy said you needed to forgive yourself, that seemed a lot easier said than done.

Tara rejoined you on the couch, intertwining her hand with yours. You heard Sam call out a goodnight before hearing the door to her room shut a second later. Tara rested her head on your shoulder and began playing with her fingers and yours.

“Are you doing better?” she whispered.

“The best I’ve been in weeks,” you whispered back. “Thank you.”

“Good.” She lifted her head to place a long kiss on your cheek before resting it on your shoulder again. “We’re all here for you whenever you’re ready.” You nodded, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Even Sam.” You chuckled at that. You knew she wasn’t wrong, if you really needed someone to talk to Sam would be there for you, she might not enjoy it, but she understood, and she’d be there.

“I have therapy tomorrow,” you said slowly. “Would you come with me?” your hands felt sweaty, but you couldn’t wipe them on your pants. Tara hadn’t let go of your hand, so she didn’t seem to mind the sweatiness at least. “You don’t have to,” you added quickly, rambling on, “I know it means waiting in the waiting room and I know you probably have better things to do and-”

She cut you off by grabbing your face with both her hands and pulling you in for a kiss. Your mind went blank, forgetting whatever you were rambling about. Your shoulders instantly relaxed, your hands moving to rest on Tara’s waist as you reciprocated the kiss.

“I would love to,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice anymore. The two of you stayed like that for a minute, just being in the presence of each other. You wrapped your arms around Tara, and she wrapped her arms around your waist, you shifted positions, so you laid on the couch, with Tara laying on top of you. She rested her head on your chest, lightly scratching your back as you drifted back off to sleep.

Taglist: @screechcat