#THROWING PEOPLE INTO VORTEXES NOW

[lizalfosrise]

Finally, it's time for Lonetrail! Ehehehehe, second pull under watchful eye of catalyst she arrived!

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Tonight I convinced my party that we had to take one course of action and upon finding out that we could instead try and Teleport to save this person who risked their lives to get us out of the last city we were in before demons and devils took over, convinced them to totally change the plan and Teleport into the middle of the woods with the headmistress of the top magic university in the world and the top researcher at its sister facility instead. All while there's a chance that the person we're trying to save is possessed by a Nightmare. Oh, and we rolled just below what we needed to get to the place in the woods where the headmistress scryed (scried?), so we could be anywhere up to 350 miles away from our intended target right now. Oh, and an ancient green dragon lives in these woods and there's a 200000 gold bounty out for them.

But bright side: we hit level 8 today and I took the Sentinel feat!

[inkspiredwriting]

Love, Hate, and the Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves had always been known for his sharp mind and sharper tongue. Y/N, his girlfriend, was no different. Their relationship was a fiery mix of love and playful antagonism, a dynamic that often left the rest of the Hargreeves family in stitches. Today was no exception.

The siblings had gathered in the living room of the Umbrella Academy, the air filled with the scent of popcorn and the sound of laughter. Klaus had found an old box of family videos and insisted on a movie night, much to everyone’s amusement.

Y/N and Five sat on the couch, bickering over which movie to watch.

“I’m telling you, Five, ‘The Princess Bride’ is a classic!” Y/N argued, holding the DVD case up for emphasis.

“And I’m telling you, Y/N, if I have to hear ‘As you wish’ one more time, I might throw myself into a time vortex,” Five retorted, rolling his eyes.

Diego snickered from his spot on the floor. “Ah, the sweet sound of true love.”

“Viktor,” Y/N pleaded, turning to him for support. “Back me up here. ‘The Princess Bride’ is timeless, right?”

Viktor smiled, enjoying the show. “It is, but watching you two argue is better entertainment.”

Luther, munching on a handful of popcorn, chimed in. “You know, Five, for a guy who’s been through the apocalypse, you’re surprisingly bad at picking battles.”

Five shot him a glare. “And for a guy who’s part gorilla, you’re surprisingly bad at shutting up.”

Klaus, sprawled out on the other couch, giggled. “Oh, leave them alone, Luther. This is their foreplay.”

Y/N and Five both turned a shade of red, but neither was willing to back down.

“Fine,” Five said, crossing his arms. “We’ll watch ‘The Princess Bride’. But if I start quoting it sarcastically, you have only yourself to blame.”

Y/N grinned triumphantly. “Deal. And for the record, if you don’t cry when Inigo Montoya gets his revenge, you’re heartless.”

Five smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. My heart’s in perfect working order. Unlike some people’s taste in movies.”

As the opening credits rolled, the siblings settled in, occasionally glancing at Five and Y/N, who were now sitting unusually close, sharing a bowl of popcorn. The movie played on, and true to his word, Five couldn’t resist a few sarcastic comments.

“‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ Classic line,” Five deadpanned. “Really hits you in the feels.”

Y/N nudged him playfully. “Shut up and watch, smartass.”

Halfway through the movie, during the iconic fire swamp scene, Klaus leaned over to Diego, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think they’re actually fighting, or is this some weird foreplay we don’t understand?”

Diego chuckled. “Given how they are, it’s probably both.”

Y/N threw a piece of popcorn at Klaus. “We can hear you, you know!”

Klaus caught it and popped it into his mouth. “Just saying, you two have the sexual tension of a rom-com.”

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smirk. “And you have the brain of a goldfish, but we still keep you around.”

Laughter erupted, and even Y/N couldn’t help but join in. The teasing was relentless, but it was also filled with affection. The Hargreeves were a dysfunctional family, but they were a family nonetheless.

As the movie reached its climax, Five found himself genuinely engrossed. He glanced at Y/N, who was watching with a look of pure joy on her face. Despite their constant bickering, he loved seeing her happy.

The final scene played out, and as the credits rolled, Viktor turned to them, grinning. “So, how was it, Five? Are you a ‘Princess Bride’ fan now?”

Five shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N beamed. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Klaus jumped up, stretching dramatically. “Well, this was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. Preferably with more popcorn and less bickering.”

Diego smirked. “Less bickering? With these two? Not a chance.”

Five stood, pulling Y/N up with him. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave these amateurs to their popcorn.”

Y/N laughed, following him out of the room. “As you wish.”

The siblings burst into laughter again, and Five couldn’t help but smile. Their love/hate relationship might be a source of endless teasing, but it was also what made them, well, them.

As they walked down the hallway, Y/N slipped her hand into Five’s. “Thanks for watching the movie with me, Five.”

He squeezed her hand, his usual sarcasm softened by genuine affection. “Anytime, Y/N. Just don’t expect me to quote it back to you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she teased.

And with that, they continued down the hall, ready for whatever adventures and arguments lay ahead, knowing that as long as they had each other—and the Hargreeves’ relentless teasing—they could handle anything.

[goldcleaver]

Phainon will fail Nikador's trial.

Let me explain;

TLDR; Phainon will fail the trial as Nikador will reject him. However, he will be chosen by Kephale to lead the people of Amphoreus to victory. The coreflame of Nikador will instead go to an unwilling Mydei.

Soooo, Phainon is off on a big adventure trying to claim Nikador's divinity after surrendering their coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis since the ambassador of the prophecy doubts his strength of will. I'm here to tell you that he will fail this trial in some shape or form.

Throughout the trailblaze mission, Phainon proves on multiple occasions that he worries about those he cares about constantly. Obviously, the best example of this is how desperately he wants to help Mydei fight Nikador. When he's denied, and sent to discover Nikador's weakness instead, he spends the next couple of hours in-game yapping about how much time they're wasting. He's worried out of his mind, and the rest of the cast picks up on it all the time.

Not only that, but he doubts himself. Something troubles him ahead of surrendering the Coreflame to the Vortex, which both Castorice and Dan Heng notice. He seems to have no qualms about admitting it, but he clearly can't shake whatever it is making him falter. 

While there is nothing explicitly stating what he's worrying about, the possibilities are endless. Prior to being chosen by the prophecy, Phainon was fuelled by his desire for vengeance, described by Castorice as being a "hollow shell". She questions whether or not his new mission takes priority over his desire for revenge. Similarly, Mydei says Phainon's fear holds him back, and that his resolve must be toughened if he is to withstand whatever Nikador throws at him. Phainon evidently wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's a very troubled heart.

What this shows is that Phainon is not ready to dedicate himself entirely to the fight, which Nikador demands. Nikador uses extreme violence to extinguish strife and war to maintain the balance of Amphoreus, which currently doesn't quite line up with Phainon's character. He is more inclined to using violence as a way of defending and protecting people.

Now, that's not to say that Phainon has nothing to do with Nikador at all. He seems to be a figure the people can rally around and follow into battle, much like Nikador. However, I don't think this is enough to see him through his trial.

So, while Phainon will be rejected by Nikador on account of his fears, he will instead be chosen by Kephale.

Phainon is the Deliverer. This isn't just a silly nickname given to him by Mydei - it's his role in the story of Amphoreus. When he has overcome his own struggles, he will lead the people and the Chrysos Heirs through the crisis and towards a new dawn. In Aglaea's own words;

Now, what exactly she means by this is unclear, but it gives me an uneasy feeling. The only miracles we have seen so far have all involved looking back in time, which Phainon currently cannot do. However, Aglaea's words are eerily similar to those describing the legend of Kephale's return in the Tides of the Basin. Here, Kephale leads the people to victory against the black tide, which seems more fitting for Phainon's character.

So, Phainon will be chosen by Kephale, whether that means receiving their Coreflame or assuming their identity, or perhaps he already is Kephale, in his own way.

This is not only conveyed to us textually via foreshadowing within the story itself, but it is also communicated via visual design. Phainon's design is positively littered with Kephale's symbol and other sun-related imagery.

I can spot at least 12 instances of Kephale's symbol or sun motifs in his design. That's no coincidence. In comparison, the only real reference to Nikador is the fact that he wears white, which Nikador also does, according to the information provided via the Tides of the Basin.

But if Phainon won't get Nikador's divinity, then who will?

Well, the game basically shoves the answer in your face; Mydei. He's the prince of Castrum Kremnos, he has some manner of bloodlust, and he has no reservations about using violence as a means to an end. On paper, he's the perfect candidate, which Phainon states to Aglaea. However, Mydei has refused the Coreflame. He has done so implicitly, as well as explicitly, to both Phainon and Aglaea. He doesn't want the Coreflame, nor the divinity that comes with it, because he's afraid of leading his people down the same dark path as his predecessor. Seemingly, the only reason he wanted to deliver the final blow to Nikador was for bragging rights.

Thus, something has to change drastically for Mydei to not only be offered the Coreflame, but to accept it. What this will be, I have no idea, but it will start with Nikador spitting Phainon back out without making him a demigod.

And if that wasn't enough to convince you; they are literally associated with these Titans in-game:

In their respective entries in Amphoreus' Saga of Heroes, Phainon is depicted with the symbol of Kephale, whereas Mydei is depicted with Nikador's. Whether this is an oversight on hoyo's behalf or a not-so-subtle attempt at foreshadowing, we will likely never know, but it's interesting food for thought.

Now, this isn't some earth-shattering revelation, nor is it some super deep character analysis, but it will be super interesting to see Phainon's story unfold. His character development has the potential to be some of the best stuff hoyo has ever written if they manage to pull it off. 

[motthe]

I know probably everyone has asked tis but- how about a smoll blurb on S2 Viktor and reader in the lumen au? Maybe reader also tries to bury themselves by helping Jayce or Mel (I’m more inclined to Mel in particular)

thank you so much for requesting! (the inbox is currently empty so you’re the first to request!!! how exciting~)

SPOILERS FROM ARCANE S2 ARC 1

Days went by, each longer than the last. Neither you nor Jayce had anything to show for it besides the lab left in ruins and dark circles weighing your eyes down.

You two had never been particularly close, always busy running in different circles, but you shared the same important people in your lives. What Mel was to him, Viktor was to you and vice versa. Mel was your confidant and Viktor was his—truly it would make more sense for you and Jayce to be closer. Then again, Viktor hadn’t been all that interested in befriending Mel either.

Not all circles merged, it seemed.

“How is he?” Jayce asked every morning, hovering by the cot you’d taken in the corner of the room. You stopped responding on the third, holding Viktor’s lumen out from where you kept it cradled to your chest.

In the wake of Jayce’s last ditch effort to save him, all that was left of Viktor’s soul was a wispy bronze overtaken by that violaceous magic that had swirled within the hexcore. Where it had been the size of your palm, now it barely filled the center, a few millimeters bigger than the hex tech gemstones.

It was brighter than it had ever been, but that tawny gold that had dulled to a muddied brown in the rise of his illness—that lumen you would know blind—had been stripped away.

He was still alive. That pulsing block encasing him had left his face bare, his breath stable. But whatever it was doing to his body was blurred. You could see the outline of his arms and legs, thin but prominent.

Whatever was going on in there reflected on his lumen, as it barely remained conscious. He couldn’t fly. Where he loved to sit between your neck and shoulder had become cold as he didn’t have the strength to hold on. The warmth of him remained, and some days he managed to move, always wiggling deeper into your palm.

Your heart kept breaking. If someone took a stethoscope to your chest they might only hear the crunch of glass with each breath. It might soon be dust if nothing changed.

Your name brought you out of an empty sleep, a warm hand brushing back hair in desperate need of a wash. The cold metal of a ring had tears filling your eyes.

“Mel,” you whispered, opening your eyes to her gentle features.

“Oh, dearest,” she murmured, throwing her arm around you as you curled tighter, shoulders shaking. It took so much energy to cry, you wish you wouldn’t.

“Where’s their lumen?” You were drifting as you watched Mel turn from Viktor’s prison. “Was it—?”

“No. It’s there.” He gestured to a metal birdcage he’d taken from one of the academy classrooms. Your lumen was inside, pressed against the side facing Viktor. “I put it as close to him as I could.”

“Jayce,” she said, words hardened. “Take it out of that. Now.”

“I can’t!” he breathed, running his hand through his hair. “It keeps trying to go to him and whatever the hexcore did could end up absorbing their lumen, too. This was the best I could do!”

“Put them in a cage?!”

“Mel,” you murmured from your corner. She turned, eyes brought with fury. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Her nostrils flared, her hands waving towards you. “Look at you! You’re sick.”

“I’m heartbroken,” you said, holding Viktor’s lumen impossibly closer.

“They’re injured,” Jayce explained, guiding Mel to the other side of the birdcage. The council woman choked on a gasp as she lowered, taking in the vein-like strips of purple worming out from your lumen. “It tried to take it in. I managed to pull it out of the vortex before the hexcore did that to Viktor.”

Mel rushed back to you, looking you over. You smiled weakly, lifting your shirt where that same injury pulsed under your ribcage.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore,” you promised.

“But it’s not healing,” Jayce pointed out, “and Viktor hasn’t shown any signs of waking up.”

“Heimerdinger?” Mel asked, running her fingers through your hair again. Your eyes closed, tension ebbing away just a bit.

“Missing,” whispered Jayce. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Their voices strung together, tones bleeding into one persistent hum. You were exhausted. Everything took so much out of you, even breathing. It was as if you could sense each trickle of energy as if left. All the while, that stain on your side grew hotter.

So tired, you thought and fell back into an empty slumber filled with the distant sound of something gurgling.

.

Viktor woke abruptly, his name echoing somewhere just out of reach. Every movement was hindered, the sensation too uncomfortable to stay in as he struggled to freedom. His hands emerged first, his first step bringing him to his knees. He was used to that.

But not this. Not these limbs, deadened and stripped to muscles trickling with the color that stained the black behind his eyes. The metal of his back brace had combined with the flesh, just as the one on his leg had done with the hexcore experiment. His palms and knees scraped the ground like prongs on porcelain.

He stared at his hands, finding his breath and processing the sensations. Retracing his steps had him in the council room—votes entering the air, Jayce’s hope-filled smile as he turned to Miss Medara and that refraction of light as glass shattered.

Viktor stared at his hands, not anything like they were, when they shielded your lumen from the onslaught of something. An explosion?

Where are you? he thought and passed that ethereal purring in his head, something rattled.

His head turned and blearily, he made out a cage just shy of his foot. Your lumen, flushed against the bars, flashed in worried little increments.

He groaned, pushing back into his calves as he reached, dragging the cage to him. The simple lock flicked open and the small hinges nearly broke as you burst out, burying into his cheek. The cage lied abandoned as he held you, a new strength in him as he spied his cane and Jayce out-cold on the desk nearby.

Your lumen slid from his cheek. He just managed to catch it before it dropped from the air and it’s then he saw the new color bleeding out, purple veins trailing from a spot at your center.

Viktor…

He swiveled, eyes widening at the body curled on a cot against the wall. Even under a blanket he knew your outline, your hair falling off the edge of the cheap bed. Your face was tucked into your chest, one hand outstretched towards his prison, fingers brushing the floor.

Grabbing his cane, he didn’t bother to watch as it elongated under his touch. Now a staff, it brought him to you, dead to the world as he tilted your head back, brushing the hair from your sickly colored skin.

A light drew his attention to the cover over you. Peeking out from beneath was his lumen, changed and pressed against your skin where your shirt had ridden up. The same scar on your lumen pierced your side, the color of the veins flashing as he brought his hand closer to observe.

The memory of Sky cut into him. Those colors pulling at her face as she disintegrated into dust.

The hexcore had attempted to take you.

“Vik…tor?” Your eyes fluttered, breathing mere puffs as you tried to focus on him.

“Be still,” he murmured, the voice strange in his ears. “I must fix this.”

His palm smoothed over the stain, his other hand holding your lumen as white wisps curled around them. He took a breath, fingers quivering. A blinding light flashed through his eyes. Your back arched as if pained, your weak cry echoing.

Jayce’s voice called for you as you dropped onto the cot, panting.

“Viktor?”

He ignored him, taking in the silver scared lines left behind on your side and lumen. It floated from his palm, twirling as if shaking off the excess energy.

You sat up with a gasp, crumbling off the cot into him. He wrapped his arms around you, a memorized response. The warmth he knew from you was the same and yet it did not seep into him as it once did. The sensations were all distant.

“Viktor,” you whispered into his neck, clutching him. He stared down your back at his arms. Holding a hand up.

“What…am I?” he questioned.

“You’re alive!” shouted Jayce, kneeling next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

Viktor wasn’t sure if that was the answer he needed, but as you pulled back and looked up at him, there was a…charge. Familiar, yet new.

Whatever he was, if he could still be with you, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

[tvseries-writings]

Dangerous Addiction

Buy me a popcorn

Plot: After an accident during an interrogation, reader struggles not to fall back into her old addiction. She finds out how thanks to her soulmates.

Wandanat x Bioquake x Bobbi x reader (Soulmates!au) [Wanda x Natasha x Daisy x Jemma x Bobbi x reader]

TW: alcoholism, panic attacks, addiction.

Many people say that silence is the most deafening noise, more than any other noise; even more than the sound of a mine being blasted to collect the precious minerals it contains. And now, in the utter silence surrounding the room, as you sit in one of the chairs by the kitchen table, looking down at the still intact bottle of vodka, you realise that those people are right.

It is 3:45 a.m. on a dull Saturday morning, and that boy's face, imprinted in your mind, has kept you from sleeping and, at the same time, led you to open that bus locker that Jemma had diligently locked immediately after learning of your "not so little" problem.

In your world, each person has tattooed on his or her body the first words their soulmate will utter when they first meet.

You have to admit that, in the unfortunate and violent family in which you found yourself growing up, due to some abominable flaw in the system, having five different phrases tattooed on your back was no big deal. Two soulmates was abnormal enough, but five? Inconceivable, and Mark, your stepfather, had reminded you of that again and again until, one beautiful day, he had died of a heart attack. Of course, the moment he had keeled over in front of you, you had definitely not run for help...And then they say karma doesn't exist.

Bobbi was the first, of the five mysterious soulmates, that you met and fell madly in love with. It was Bobbi who got you into S.H.I.E.L.D., shortly after recruiting Daisy (at the time Skye), and giving a face, finally, to two of the people whose words she had tattooed on her right forearm.

I want to be your sponsor, I want you to get better.

It was Bobbi who helped you out of the vortex that had engulfed you, helping to what is now about to be six whole years of sobriety. Six years in which not one little drop of your trusty friend alcohol entered your stomach. She became your sponsor, stayed with you night and day, held you close as you puked your soul out in the filthy bathroom of a bar at five in the morning and whispered harsh words to you when you told her you wanted to quit. You don't know where you would be without her. In fact, you don't know where you would be without all of them. Jemma, Bobbi, Daisy, Wanda and Natasha are your rock and always will be. But today, today you need to forget and they may be your rock but, unfortunately, they have far too many demons to face and yours you may as well keep to yourself.

With a knot in your stomach and nausea, you uncork the bottle. The pungent smell of vodka burns your sinuses as you carefully place the bottle cap on the counter. The concave end facing down, just as you did at the bar. Your fingers clench around the thinnest part, the contact of your skin with the cold glass makes you shiver, and for a moment, for just a single instant, you think you don't want to throw away those six long years of sacrifice, and then...then that boy's face hits you like a slap in the face. In fact, the slap would hurt much less.

He was just a boy, a young soldier molded by Hydra who had killed himself to give in during your interrogation. You had been harsh and too slow to stop him, you had not stopped him and he had broken his right cheekbone, causing the small cyanide capsule placed right there, below the surface, to rupture. That guy was walking around with a time bomb embedded between his eye and nose and he had done it voluntarily and killed himself with that same bomb. He had killed himself in front of you, his name was Gideon and he had just turned nineteen. And he was dead, he was dead because you were not focused enough, because you were the one who pushed him to do it and now he was gone. He should have had his whole life ahead of him, he had only been subjugated but now...now there is no possibility of redemption for him.

"What are you doing?"

The sound is so sudden and unexpected that he lets go of the bottle and it shatters on the floor of the bus. The plane continues on its course, as if nothing had happened. How fascinating the machines are, so emotionally numbing and indispensable at the same time.

Bobbi approaches slowly, as if afraid to scare you. Your hair is ruffled and your look is a mix of worry and weariness at the same time. You swallow, beginning to shake your head and fall to your knees, repeating the words I'm sorry and sorry as you fiercely pick up the pieces of glass from the bottle.

"Stop or you will get hurt."

The blond girl doesn't even have time to utter those words that a piece of glass sticks into your hand and causes a deep cut that begins to bleed profusely. You don't notice and Bobbi is fucking terrified of this. You don't feel the pain and, on the contrary, you continue cleaning frantically, as if nothing is wrong. Maybe you too have become a machine, emotionally numb. Damn, how you wish it; to feel no more pain -- isn't that the human dilemma?

Bobbi snaps forward, tired of seeing you hurt again and again, and grips your wrists with her hands to stop you; it works. You suddenly freeze, avoiding eye contact and uttering no words. Bobbi doesn't let you out of her sight for a minute as she gets up to get a rag to dab the wound and stop the bleeding. You stay for about ten minutes like this, in silence, while Bobbi bandages your wound by applying two stitches for 'safety.' She bandages your hand but, once she is done, she does not move away, contrary to what you expected. Instead, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and causes your gazes to cross before breaking the silence.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

You always said that Bobbi, as an alternative to super badass spy, might as well have been a psychologist (as well as a model, of course). Her tone, in fact, is just what a person would expect to hear from a psychologist; gentle but detached. In a warm but cool lucidity of action. To the art of weighing words that only Bobbi is capable of and in which she is first even to Jemma. When she notices that you have no intention of responding, her hand quickly finds your leg.

"Have you been drinking?"

You bite your lip, slowly shaking your head.

A small smile ripples her lips as she leans toward you to place a kiss on your forehead.

"Well, well...you've been a good rock star."

Bobbi rests her forehead against yours, caressing your cheeks as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

"We're both tired and need sleep, you especially. I'm not dropping the subject and it's definitely something we'll discuss in the morning but until then, until then we'll go to bed with the others. And I don't want to hear y/n objections."

You follow her, whatever she wants, you'll give it to her. You owe it to her after the shit you were going to do tonight; not that you wouldn't have done it, going back. But now, now it's a thought that will have to be put off until morning. Bobbi tucks you in and wraps her arms around your sides, hugging you from behind. Your nose breathes in Daisy's lavender scent and Wanda's vanilla scent while Nat's faint snoring and Jemma's reclaimed words accompany you into the world of Morpheus.

...................................................................................

As soon as you wake up, the weight of the likely conversation you'll have to have with your soul mates is felt more than you'd like. And if you already hate having to get up on other days, today is even more difficult. You get out of bed and walk down the hallway with the same agony as a condemned man heading for the gallows. No, a condemned man is better off than you. At least he has the consolation of death; you, on the other hand, have only the certainty of a scolding from your girls.

It is barely 10 a.m. and your girls' voices echo in the narrow, cold hallway leading to the kitchen. As soon as your head peeps through the door, all the voices fall silent.

"Hey..."

Your stomach twists as you sit in the only vacant chair left. Wanda is at the stove, Natasha is behind her, trying to give her a hand even though you all know the Russian spy is anything but a good cook. You don't look at them, not brave enough to let your gazes cross. In fact, you find it much more interesting to play with the bandage Bobbi had wrapped around your hand a few hours earlier.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Were you going to flush six years down the toilet?"

"Daisy!"

The biochemist gives the inhuman a shove but the latter ignores it, moving closer to you and crossing her arms under her breasts. You're not looking at her but you can still feel her look of disapproval and anger pierce your body.

You sigh, poking at the bandage with your fingers before fingers tighten on your wrist, stopping you.

"It's okay detka, we just want to know what's going on."

The sokovian's tapered, cold fingers trace the edges of the slightly bloody bandage.

Thin, cold fingers force your chin up, and your eyes settle on Natasha.

"Malyshka, we are worried about you, all of us are." The black widow freezes for a few moments, casting a glance at Daisy before continuing, "Bobbi told us what happened, told us about the bottle."

"We can't help you if you don't tell us what's on your mind, love" The biochemist caresses your face, her eyes lingering on the wound and the doctor arches her right eyebrow, turning to Bobbi to ask for an explanation but before the blonde can speak and relate the trance-like, self-harming moment you had the night before to your soulmates, you speak.

"I'm sorry. I took the bottle, it's true, but I didn't drink a drop. I swear."

"But you thought about it, you took it because you wanted to, if Bobbi hadn't woken up you-"

Daisy gestures across from you, her gaze furious but not hiding the concern behind her eyes and the slight tremor of her hands and the metal slab under your feet.

"Dee, you need to calm down," Natasha whispers, her lips graze the Inhuman's cheek and the shaking ceases.

You sigh, disentangle yourself from their touches and stand up, moving away from them. You lean your back against the wall, cross your arms under your breasts and look at them. You look at Bobbi, Natalia, Wanda, Jemma, and Daisy -- all your soul mates stand around the chair you were sitting in just moments before.

"Y/n..."

"That boy died because of me, his body is still in the fucking interrogation room. He was young, younger than you Dee, damn it!"

Your breathing becomes frantic and heavy; your chest starts rising and falling so fast you think you might break your ribs given the speed of your breaths.

"Detka, detka breathe."

Wanda tries to move closer but you curl up on the floor, your head between your knees as your body shakes, out of control.

"Honey, y/n, you need to slow your breathing. In and out, come on honey, come on."

The biochemist kneels in front of you, reaches out her hands to your trembling body but hesitates whether to comfort you physically or not. She is afraid that touching you will only make your panic attack worse.

You shake your head, angry tears streaking your face as you stand up in a daze.

"I thought I could do it, I thought I was strong enough but I'm not. I need it, I fucking need it, I need to ease the pain..."

Your words are those of a junkie, an addict, a desperate man who is looking for his daily fix; that's how you feel, in the grip of emotions you know you cannot control. Your six years sober seem ephemeral, volatile, futile...they were not years of sacrifice but of suffering, far from your personal drug, far from your old friend. Your eyes anxiously scan the kitchen, looking for the bottle from the night before.

"I emptied it down the drain." Bobbi says, whose steady but concerned gaze crosses yours, "You can do it rockstar, it's another hard time but we'll get through it together. Just like the last six years."

Your breathing is slower now. Not because of what Bobbi said but because of the feeling of relief you feel at even the thought of drinking alcohol and enjoying, once again, its effects.

"You're right Bobs, thank you."

You effort a smile, lying through your teeth but, at the same time, using your spy skills to try to convince the women in front of you.

Surprisingly, they seem to believe you; you doubt that you have been convincing to such an extent, you simply believe that they want to convince themselves that they don't have to worry about your addiction again. Wanda's telepathy is strictly forbidden in your relationship unless it is absolutely necessary so the only stumbling block, to notice by her look, is Daisy.

"You won't fool us like that, y/n. I want to fucking believe you, I want to so badly but I know I can't."

"Dee, don't-"

"I'm tired of your bullshit! It hurts to see a person you love kill themselves with their own fucking hands. Can't you see that he's going to kill you? How can you not see that? Before Bobbi found you, our tattoos with your phrases were burning every fucking time that shit entered your body!"

The quinjet begins to shake but, this time, no one says anything. Bobbi, Wanda, Natasha, and Jemma remain silent as they watch the confrontation.

You sigh, defeated. Her words hurt but you know they represent the truth, unfortunately. You didn't know it hurt them physically, though. In all those years, none of them had deigned to tell you. You don’t know whether to be happy about it.

"You're right, I have no intention of not having a drink right now, and I know it hurts you to know that, I know it destroys you to see me like this because if one of you were to feel what I feel right now--" your voice cracks, your gaze drops, "I don't think I'd be strong enough to take it."

You approach Daisy, and the instant you rest your forehead against hers and caress her wrists, the plane stops shaking. You wipe a tear from her cheek and place a kiss on the tip of her nose, making her smile.Within seconds, the other girls pull you into a tight hug. It is interesting how strong the bond with a soul mate is; physical contact can soothe any kind of worry and anxiety. Not an addiction though, given what you have been able to discover over the years.

After a few moments of silence, Bobbi decides to speak.

"When was the last time you went to AA, rock star?"

You sigh, closing your eyes for a few brief moments. You knew they would ask you, you knew Bobbi - especially - would. After all, she is still your sponsor despite the fact that you are in a relationship. Soul mates...what complex beings.

"More than six months, since we started air missions."

"Detka..."

"Malyshka, that's really a long time."

"Honey, you know you have to go to the meetings. They're to make sure you don't fall back into addiction, non-"

You shake your head, stopping Jemma and curling up a bit more in Daisy's arms.

"I...I was fine, really. I swear to you, I was fine. But that boy....that boy might as well have been one of you. Wands, Dee, if S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nat, the Avengers, hadn't found you when they did...you might as well have been in that fucking sack, locked between those four metal walls."

A sob shakes your chest, then another, until tears begin to line your cheeks profusely, soaking Daisy's Metallica T-shirt.

"I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to...I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay. It'll be okay rockstar, it'll be okay."

Bobbi tightens her grip on you, her long fingers drawing reassuring circles on your back as you vent your emotions in your soulmates arms.

This time, however, your breathing does not seem to calm. The fear of hurting them and the certainty that you have hurt them in the past only worsens your condition; your vision begins to blur and the last thing you are aware of, are their worried looks and red encircled fingers moving over your temples.

"Breathe, detka."

……………………………………………………………………

"Y/n? Honey, open your eyes, Can you hear me? Come on, honey. Open your eyes."

Jemma's gentle but concerned voice rouses you from your stupor; you blink rapidly, trying to get used to the light from the medical capsule and the light from the annoying flashlight Jemma is shining directly into your eyes.

"Auch, Jem."

You slip out of the clutches of that infernal contraption, causing the biochemist to roll her eyes and let out a sigh of frustration.

"I don't understand why out of five at least three of my soul mates are impossible as patients."

"Hey!"

"Oh come on, I'm not even as slow as the two of them," the Russian shakes her head with conviction, poorly concealing a smile when Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

"See, they are children. Spies and superheroines...sure, right."

Wanda laughs, seeing Jemma get irritated at their behavior and approaches the biochemist, hugging her from behind. The English girl visibly relaxes, letting her arms cradle her.

"How are you feeling, rock star? You gave us quite a scare."

Bobbi leans over you, leaving a kiss on your lips.

"I'm fine. I...I don't really remember what happened, actually."

"You had a major panic attack and even Wanda couldn't calm you down." You nod, bite your lip, and then whisper weak apologies as you play with the sheet of the crib on which they laid you down.

"It's okay detka, it's okay."

Wanda smiles but you can tell from her look that she is hiding something.

"I got in touch with the Jack, the director of the old AA group you used to go to in New York."

"Bobbi, I told you, I-"

"You wanted to drink malyshka, you told us. We're doing this for your sake."

"Nat, come on. We all have little relapses, that doesn't mean-"

"And you're off the missions for a while, just to get you back on track. Doctor's orders, honey."

"What? Jemma...tell me you're kidding, you guys can't-"

"We won't risk finding you in an alcoholic coma again!"

Daisy blurts out, no longer putting up with your constant excuses. Her statement makes you all blink; you lick your lips, nodding and leaning back against the pillow behind you.

You don't agree, of course, but if it will make them feel even a little better then maybe you can make an effort and be good, at least for a while.

"All right, fine, I will do what you asked. I will go to the meetings and not participate in the missions but only for two months, not a day more. What do you say?"

They would like to protest, you see it in their eyes but, in tacit group assent, they decide that even just your predisposition to let them help you is enough, at least for now.

You spread your arms wide, smiling and inviting them to curl up on the tiny crib that, after a few seconds, you discover is capable of supporting the weight of six grown women.

"Oh by the way, we told Maria what happened, she wasn't too happy that her best friend didn't tell her anything, rock star."

Fuck.

Heyy, thank you so much for reading! How are you? Anyway, requests are always open. Here is my ko-fi (buy me a pop-corn, if you want) and, just to share some news: I’m working in a cinema! That’s my 7th month :)

Have a great day!

Taglist: @chaekhan @resilientpendragon @so-no-kissing-then @ashadash0904 @kingshitonly @alwaysgoodnight @callistic @xjule @yuleni18 @wandanats-wife-quotes @alexxislexi @maximoffslilwitchintraining @coollemonsaresour @hushed-woodsman @razorscooteer @eponine-xx @maniacallinc @michelle17080-blog @scarletwidow @tati3001 @your-my-mission @m-r-nicely @hi-i-1 @fayharley @anniethurs @ktstwice @scarlet-raccoon @maria-403

[risswirly]

Frayed Edges

SYNOPSIS: The plan was to attend a vortex party to get your mind off the argument you'd had with Warren, but things take a turn when he unexpectedly shows up, begging to talk to you GENRE: Angst and fluff NOTE: It's a bit out of character I can't lie but I just rlly wanted to write something with a bit more conflict T^T (Song inspo: No. 1 Party Anthem, Arctic Monkeys) WORD COUNT: 3.4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Typically, this would be the last place you'd want to be. The smell of alcohol, weed and impulse hangs thick in the air as blasting music numbs your eardrums. You'd only gone to a few Vortex club parties in the past and it seemed they never got any less wild. Somehow, your friends' promises of "it'll be fun", "it'll make you feel better", and reassurance to stick with you the whole night successfully got you to come, although, after only a few drinks, she was now nowhere in sight.

You make your way into the kitchen, deciding that if you had to be stuck here until she reappeared, you would at least spend that time drunk. Grabbing and filling a red plastic cup, you gulp down a glass of punch. You wince at the unexpectedly strong concentration of vodka, which you probably should've seen coming.

Perhaps this party wouldn't be so bad, you reconsidered, filling your cup again. Just a few more drinks and you could actually see yourself having a good time, dancing to the music, catching up with people, and.. maybe even meeting someone?

You immediately feel your heart grow heavy as you remind yourself why your friend had thought it would be a good idea for you to come. You chug down another cup.

It had been about two weeks since you last spoke to Warren, no calls, no texts and most certainly no face-to-face interactions, simply spotting him in the hall was enough to make you feel sick to the stomach. It was nauseating how quickly someone you once needed to breathe could make you feel like you were suffocating. The worst part was you really did miss him. His smile, his corny references you didn't understand half the time, his hand on the gear shift in his car, the feeling of his fingertips tracing your-

You shut your eyes tight and knock back your head, letting the alcohol fill your system. What was this, your 5th drink? If it could make you forget for just one night, it was good enough, was all you thought as you stumble to refill the cup. For the first night in two weeks, you wouldn't question your self-worth, you decided tonight would be your night.

You crush the plastic cup in your hands and throw it into the bin with a newfound determination coursing through your veins as you make your way toward the music. The living room is swimming with people, music blaring from a makeshift DJ booth at the front of the room, and coloured lights flicker and illuminate the blurry crowd of dancing students.

You make your way to the dance floor and begin to move along to the music. Although you start a little awkwardly, over the next hour you gradually feel the warmth and haziness from the alcohol engulf you, feeling the thudding of the bass sync with your heart as you become more and more confident.

In your dancing you suddenly notice the empty coffee table that's situated in the middle of the room right next to you. In a moment of impulsivity, you hoist yourself up on top. You wobble a little at the sudden movement, but looking out over the crowd, the world feels like your oyster. You giggle to yourself as you sway your hips drunkenly, trailing your hands over your body and through your hair, showing off, even winking at a cute guy in the crowd, feeling like the hottest girl alive.

You close your eyes as you dance, and the room feels electric, everyone staring at you, cheering, dancing along to your rhythm, their cameras flashing as you feel the best you have in two weeks. You reopen your eyes and feel your breath hitch in your throat, in the corner of the room, standing with a drink, you spot Warren, his gaze fixated on the same thing as everyone else's: you.

You feel your heart begin to pound, now wanting nothing more than to disappear. You quickly try to step off the table, but the crowd of tightly packed bodies gives you no room to escape. You feel as if you're about to throw up and try your best not to panic, looking for an exit from being the centre of attention.

Among the sea of faceless people, you see a hand extending toward you. You look and see it's the guy you had winked at before reaching to help you. You grab his hand and sigh in relief as he pulls you down from the table, holding you steady as you stumble out of the crowd. You look back to try and spot Warren but can't see him through the dancing mass of students. "Woah, you are totally gone", he chuckles as he leads you away from the lounge room. "Yeah, that was the idea", you mumble, holding your head in your palm as he brings you back towards the kitchen.

You lean against the counter and contemplate every decision you've ever made. Why the fuck was he here? Warren never came to these kinds of events, so why, of all nights, did he come here? Tonight? You groan into your hands and feel like crying. "Hey, this might help" You feel a hand on your back and, upon uncovering your face, are greeted with a glass of water. "Thanks", you mutter before taking a sip. Now in the better-lit kitchen you could get a decent look at this guy. It would be a lie to say he wasn't good-looking and he had been considerate enough to help you out, but the thought of Warren just a few rooms away gnawed at you.

He leans his hip on the counter, facing you with crossed arms. "I, uh, saw you wink at me during your little moment" he grins coyly. You bury your face in your palms once again as you remember, "Fuck. I did, didn't I?" You groan, questioning if Warren had seen that or not. "Yeah, you seem pretty wasted" " he chuckles before unashamedly looking you up and down, "How 'bout we ditch this place huh?" he suggests, an eagerness lacing his voice. You shut your eyes and curse your previous spark of confidence under your breath, now being faced with the chore of turning this guy down. "Like you said, I'm pretty drunk and I'm actually waiting for my friend so.." you manage to stammer as you slowly take a step back. "Oh come on. We'll be done before she even realises you're gone," He insists with a smirk, taking a step toward you.

You try taking another step back, but something blocks you. You let out a small gasp and your body shudders as you feel a hand trail its way from your lower back to your hip. You don't even need to turn around to know who the hand belongs to. "She's with me." Warren's voice is sombre and harsh as he glares at the boy who uncrosses his arms and laughs, "Excuse me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "I said she's with me, so back the fuck off", Warren repeats, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You look up at him and your heart stops as you realise how close his face is to yours. You notice the definition in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, eyes narrowed as he shoots daggers into the guy standing in front of you both. Warren was far from intimidating, but in this moment, all traces of his unserious and lighthearted self disappeared. The boy chuckles and brings his gaze back to you, a sceptical look on his face as if to say, 'no way he's serious'. You let out a shaky breath and reluctantly nod your head, facing Warren would be better than leaving with this guy. He scoffs and looks over your one last time before putting his hands up in surrender with a shrug, "Whatever, bitch", he mutters as he turns and leaves.

You let out a sigh and take an unsteady step away from Warren, his hand slipping from your waist. You now stand before him, barely able to look him in the eyes, "What the fuck was that?" you ask, your voice laced with more anger than intended. Warren shakes his head confused "Excuse me? That was me helping you", he states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, thank you Warren, my night in shining armour. Please. do you want a medal?" You snap back. His eyes fill with hurt as you mock him, he takes a shaky breath, "(Y/n) please, I just want to talk. I want to fix this" he pleads. Your throat tightens hearing the ache in his voice and you immediately regret drinking so much earlier, wishing you weren't so intoxicated right now. You sigh, "I'm still here aren't I?" You roll your eyes. You see his gaze soften as you agree to talk but the anxious look in his eyes quickly returns, "Not here", he insists as he looks around at the other people in the room.

Before you can say anything, he takes your hand and begins leading you through the house, taking you upstairs and into a bathroom far from the main action of the party, although you can still hear the music and chattering faintly. The two of you stand alone in the dim light, thoughts racing and hearts pounding, the millions of things you've wanted to say and yell and ask him over the past 2 weeks seem to escape your mind. His eyes gaze over you, taking in every feature and curve of your face as he stands in front of you, breathless. You take a small step back and he snaps back to reality, "S-sorry. I just.. haven't seen you in so long", he mutters apologetically. "Well, you wanted to talk? So talk" You murmur, your tone not so harsh now that it's just the two of you.

He anxiously rubs the back of his neck, clearly nervous, "I don't even know where to start", he whispers quietly. "What you said to me two weeks ago might be a good start" " you reply, a tang of bitterness still in your tone. He places a palm on his forehead, "That stupid argument", he groans painfully.

Your brows furrow, "Stupid?" you echo his words, the anger in your voice raising with your temper. He shakes his head "No- no, that's not what I meant" he tries to correct himself, clearly frustrated.

You turn your back to him trying to hide the pain in your face, "I gave you my ALL, Warren. Every part of me and you just.. it didn't mean anything to you. Do you know how much that hurts? But no, you're right, it's just stupid" You spit back, the alcohol from earlier making it hard to control the shake in your voice.

He takes a hesitant step toward you, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort you, but he refrains. "(y/n).. You know that's not what I meant-" he pleads. "Really? Do I know? I thought I knew two weeks ago too, but clearly, I was wrong" Your scolding sounds more like a sob as your emotions bubble over. "I never meant to hurt you", He whispers just loud enough for you to hear.

You take a shaky breath trying with all your might to stop the tears that sting your eyes. You turn and face him, "No, Warren, you don't get to play the intention card. I asked you what we were, what I meant to you and you couldn't even give me an answer. Months of sneaking around and keeping things a secret, I couldn't take it anymore. I want more, Warren. I want us. I want real, genuine love, not this friends-with-benefits bullshit!" You step toward him and point a finger into his chest, "You knew how I felt, and you knew you didn't feel the same. You knew how this would end, but you kept leading me on.. and you wanna say you 'didn't mean to hurt me'?" You sob, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks and onto the cold tile.

He stands with his mouth agape, unbreathing, still and completely silent as he takes in what you said. He inhales shakily before speaking. "Is that what you thought I meant?" he breaths. His question is genuine. You hear the anguish and guilt in his voice as his face melts into despair. Seeing you cry, his hesitancy instinctively disappears, and he begins to comfort you, with one hand, he softly holds your shoulder, placing the other on your cheek, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. "No, no, (y/n)... You can't seriously think that's how I felt, please.." His begs, utterly crushed.

You continue to cry, giving up on holding it in anymore, "'I don't know', that's the only answer you could give me Warren. Do you know how much it hurts to hear someone you've loved for so long tell you they don't know what you are to them ?" You break down into tears, taking his wrists and weakly trying to pull his hands away as you sob. He continues to wipe your cheeks despite your protest "I couldn't even think straight that day. I was scared out of my mind-" You cut him off, "You think I wasn't scared?" You cry, pushing his hand away forcefully

He shakes his head in distress, "No (y/n), that's not what I meant! You have it all wrong!" His retorts back exasperated. His voice is raised, not by a lot, but just enough to get you to stop interrupting him and hear what he has to say.

"God. I feel like everything I say is being misunderstood or comes out wrong!" He holds his head in his hands, taking a step back to breathe. "You think I don't also want more? I want to be so much more. I want to be more than just friends with benefits, I want to be more than just casual hookups, I want to be more than whatever the fuck we were before. That day, in your room, when you asked me what you meant to me, I froze, okay? My brain shut down and I went into panic mode and all I could say was 'I don't know' over and over because in all honesty, I don't know how to even begin explaining just how much you mean to me."

He goes quiet as he calms down and takes a deep breath before continuing, "That day, I was scared if I told you how I really felt you'd get freaked out and I'd end up fucking it all up and losing you. But I lost you anyways.. and on top of that I ended up hurting you."

He rubs the nape of his neck nervously leaning his head back as he finally confronts his feelings, "I've never felt this way about anyone and I don't know how to deal with it. Every time I see you I feel like I'm going insane. You have no idea how much of an effect you have on me."

He rubs his hands across his face restlessly, "These past two weeks without you have been absolute torture- I only came to this stupid party because I hoped that by some miracle you'd also be here and I'd see you. I knew I had to fix this because.. I'd never forgive myself for being stupid enough to lose the person that means the most to me." His breathing is fast as his heart beats out of his chest as he finally opens up to you about how he truly feels, something he's been too afraid to face for so long.

He places both his hands on your shoulders and looks deep into your soul, his eyes filled with longing and need, " I want us more than I've wanted anything else in my whole life.. Please"

You stand in shock, unable to speak. You look at him, instead of the heartless villain you'd convinced yourself he was, you see the boy you'd fallen in love with, vulnerable and honest, giving you his heart. You realise that all this time you'd let your anxieties manifest and cloud your vision, that all along you were just two teenagers in love too scared to admit what you felt. You see the desperation in Warren's eyes as he tries to fix the mistakes he's made, and you feel yourself melt from the inside out. You nod softly as you lean into him.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he gently pats your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He buries his face in your hair, breathing you in as he squeezes you tighter. You feel him exhale shakily as he holds you, the tension and anxiety slowly dissolving from his body as he grasps the fact you're in his arms again. "I really thought I'd lost you", he quietly whispers into your neck, you hear the tears in his voice as he brings you closer.

You grasp the fabric of his shirt tightly as you finally embrace him after weeks apart. "I missed you so much" " you mutter as you close your eyes and feel his warmth blanket you. He caresses your head softly, "I'm not going anywhere", he reassures you.

You pull away slightly and look him in his eyes. You see his cheeks are wet from his tears and he looks away embarrassed. You softly cup his jaw, pulling him to face you again and begin to gently wipe his cheeks dry. He looks at you through heavy eyelids as he leans into your touch. He places his hand over yours, "I want to be official this time." he says nervously. He pauses and takes a deep breath as he swallows his fears, "(y/n) would you.. be my girlfriend?" his words are quiet and nervous as the questions hangs in the silence between you.

Time stops as you hear the words leave his mouth and you feel his heart pounding through his chest. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes widen as you feel your own heart explode. As the words register in your mind your eyes soften and you smile back at him softly, "I'd love nothing more" you whisper just loud enough for him to hear. You watch as the worry leaves his face as he takes a deep breath and he smiles back at you tenderly.

He slowly brings a hand to your jaw and leans in as you close your eyes you stand on your toes. He erases the gap between you, kissing you gently. He breathes you in, missing every part of you as he's reminded of how addicting you are. "No more secrecy, no more hiding" He continues kissing you as he talks "I want everyone in this town to know I'm yours" " he mutters into your lips, his words muffled by his kisses. You giggle at his eagerness as you kiss him back, "I like the sound of that".

As you laugh you suddenly hear a familiar voice from outside "(Y/n) are you in there?!" you hear your friend call drunkenly from outside the door. You and Warren both become paralysed, your attention snaps toward the world outside the bathroom as you hear her open the door without warning. "(Y/n)! Guess what! Apparently Warren is here tonight an-" she freezes in her tracks, eyes wide and jaw on the floor seeing the two of you in a heated embrace, his hands on your lower back and your fingers in his hair. She blinks in shock before speaking, "Oh, hi Warren..." She says awkwardly, glancing at you with a look that screams 1000 words before she begins to back away. "Okay, I'm just gonna..." she trails off as she closes the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

You stand in silence for a moment, still looking at the door before you burst out into laughter. "Oh my god, I have so much explaining to do", you groan as you lean your head on Warrens chest. He chuckles at your embarrassment, "It'll be okay",  he reassures you as he pats your back, still holding you tenderly. You look up at him, "Yeah, it'll be okay", you echo back. He looks at you, eyes filled with warmth and affection. He was right, it would be okay, because right now in his warm embrace, nothing had ever felt more right.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[sleep-i-ness]

Disillusioned 3 (Tenth Doctor x reader)

Synopsis: You're back.

PREVIOUS PART | DOCTOR WHO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

A hand brushed your cheek, caressing you back to consciousness, and you groaned, tilting your head into the touch. Revelling in the sweet moments of half-sleep and warmth before you inevitably had to deal with whatever shit you’d gotten yourself into. The soft mattress enveloped you, dipping slightly to your side for whoever was next to you. You doubted that you’d remember their name once you had to open your eyes.

“Y/N,” the figure beside you murmured, a soft rumble like a purr along your side. It was familiar, the voice, you knew it, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Oh, God, you better not have slept with another friend. It always made things so awkward.

“Y/N.” The voice was more insistent, and you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes and dragging your hands over your face as you struggled to open your eyes to the brightness of the room. Who turned the bloody lights on?

You blinked the blurriness from your vision and froze as you came face to face with the Doctor. You yanked the covers up to your chin, scooting away from him, as your eyes remained wide. The last thing you remembered, you’d been with Jack, you’d gotten away from here.

“…What am I doing here?” Your voice trembled, even as you tried to steady yourself.

“You just teleported back in.”

You scoffed. “Just teleported? I don’t just teleport, you did something.”

“Woah, woah,” the Doctor mirrored your position, sitting up next to you, and you realised with a jolt that he was still in his three-piece suit. “I didn’t do anything.”

Grimacing, you swung your legs out of bed, noting with relief that you were still entirely dressed; in the stupid hospital gown, but dressed nonetheless. You rolled your shoulders back, tilting your head from side to side with a crack and stood up. “Right, well, I’m off then.”

You whacked your hand on your vortex, ready for the familiar giddy whoosh to sweep you straight back to Jack. But nothing happened. You frowned and pressed it again. And again. And again.

The Doctor just watched you, expression unreadable bar a slight downturn to his lips. You sneered at him. “What the hell have you done?”

“Give it to me.”

You glared, unclasping it from your wrist and throwing it over to him. He caught it without blinking and you rolled your eyes. Stupid Time Lords and their stupid reflexes.

The screwdriver buzzed as he ran it over the device, flipping it over to scan the back as well, and he shook his head. “It’s fried. Nothing more than a nice bracelet now.”

Oh God. You slumped back down onto the bed, next to the Doctor. Letting out a shuddery gasp, you covered your face with your hands and tried to fight back the desperate tears crawling up. But it didn’t work, and a choking gasp made its way out of you. You sobbed open-mouthed as the tears were wrenched out of you, no longer caring the Doctor was watching. Nothing mattered anymore. You were trapped, stuck in the monotony of chronology.

Because the Doctor sure as hell wouldn’t keep you around. He’d made that perfectly clear.

“Fix it,” you begged. “Fix it, please, Doctor.”

“I can’t.” He reached out a tentative hand to your shoulder, and you flinched away from his touch. What good was he if he couldn’t even help you? You were just going to get abandoned, probably back on Earth, and forced to live each day in and out like normal people. Yet without ever dying. Oh God.

You crawled back under the covers, pulling them high over your head, and squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just fell back asleep, you’d wake up and everything would be okay again. You’d be back at Torchwood, back with Jack and people you trusted, and this would all be one bad dream.

Light broke into your cozy escape (if you could call it that) and you cracked open one eye, glaring as you saw the Doctor’s head popping under to look at you.

“Can I join you?”

You shrugged, sniffling slightly as your bottom lip wobbled.

The Doctor shuffled down underneath the duvet with you, staring up at the woven pattern of the sheet above and sneaking a glance at you every now and then. As if you didn’t notice.

“You could stay here,” he murmured.

And you froze. You whispered, “what do you mean stay here?”

“Stay. With me.”

You laughed bitterly. “I thought you didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I never said that.”

You rolled away from him, turning your back on him. He could rewrite history in his mind as much as he wanted, but you remembered. You remembered how much it hurt when he discarded you for the newer, bouncier, blonder model; old news now that he had some bright-eyed young thing around. You’d tried to talk to him about it, you really had, but you’d just been waved off because Rose had something to talk to him about.

And then came the fateful day, when he’d decided that you’d become too jaded to keep on hand and told you in the heat of an argument that you’d better run off to Jack.

“I thought I wasn’t welcome in the TARDIS anymore.”

The Doctor sighed. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned. Since when did the Doctor ever apologise?

“I’m genuinely sorry. I’ve regretted that day ever since. You are always welcome on the TARDIS.”

“Sure,” you snorted. “Now that you’ve lost Rose, you’ve come back for the second best.”

You turned back round again to face him, part of you tickled by the silly motion of shuffling yourself over. But you kept your scowl locked onto your face. The Doctor blinked at you, eyebrows furrowed, downturn to his lips etched slightly deeper.

“That’s never been the case. You,” he paused and pursed his lips. “The TARDIS, if you want it to be, if you can put up with me, will always be your home.”

You laughed, tears welling up in your eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that? How many times you’ve disappointed me?”

He just stared at you, lips pressed together, forehead wrinkled. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Stay?”

You wrinkled your nose, twisting your mouth to one side.

“Please.”

You sighed. “...Fine. One last try.”

[passionateseadruid]

Snake Kings Bride 10

Fenrir

It’s been a few weeks since the “incident” as your coining it. Lucifer seems rather unaffected by it. He’s been love bombing you as usual. Making you food every day, buying you new gifts, tight hugs that were practically suffocating you, and he took you out for "dates" every weekend. This weekend he's taking you to the gluttony ring to look at how the hell hounds are treated.

You dressed in a pastel yellow shirt with a duck on it (of course) and flared jeans embroidered with apples on the sides (again, of course). You walked out of the room to find Lucifer waiting for you.

He squealed “You look so cute!” He hugged you and snuggled into your form.

“Stop. Touching. Me.”

He pouted, giving you puppy dog eyes. “I don’t wanna, doll!”

“I am not you doll.” You tried to push him away, but you just ended up stumbling back. “Let’s just get going to the gluttony ring.” You picked yourself up and walked towards the limo.

…

About an hour later you, Lucifer, and Beelzebub (or bee)

were sitting in a lounge overlooking a chaotic Hellhound part Bee was throwing. It was admittedly a bit uncomfortable. Lucifer and Bee were getting drunk on “honey” and you were sitting trying not to look out the window of the overhead lounge because you’d probably see people making out and/or grinding on each other.

“Hey… I’m gonna head out for some fresh air okay?” You told Lucifer.

He hugged you arm nuzzling it for a few seconds before letting you go. “Come back soon okay! I’ll find you wherever you off to!”

You stepped outside the club and checked some text messages.

“Tough night?” Someone asked from behind you. You turned around and saw a tall Hellhound with a broad muscular figure.

“You probably shouldn’t be talking to me.” You warned. His fur was black and he had a scar over his left eye.

“Okay, that’s kinda rude.” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s for your own safety. My “Fiancé” is possessive and probably wouldn’t like me talking to anyone guy.”

“You’re Lucifer’s girl aren’t you? Nice to meat you candy apple.” He smiled.

“Candy apple?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“Your jeans.” He pointed out. “Anyway I’m Vortex. Why are you out here all alone?”

“Lucifer and Bee were getting hammered and I just didn’t want to deal with that. I came out here to get away from all the noise.” You explained, just wanting to be alone right now.

“Sorry about that. Bee can get kinda rowdy at times. So you’re just out here to relax?” He asked not getting the hint.

“Yeah. It’s the only time I’ve gotten to be away from Lucifer in days. It was supposed to be alone time for me.” You said passive aggressively. Before he could respond you got the call you’ve been waiting for for months! “Sorry I have to take this!” Vortex nodded and left you to the phone call. “Hello?” You asked hesitantly.

“Hey is this Luci’s new bitch?!” The guy on the other end of the phone asked. He was loud and brash, and you remember him from your one day out doing whatever you wanted in exchange for going on a date with Lucifer.

“Yes that’s me. Did you find him, Mr. Blitz?” You asked hopeful of the outcome.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist honey, we got the guy.” He said so nonchalantly. 

“Great! Unfortunately I can’t come pick up the information about him right now. I’m… out of town on a work trip and I won’t be back until later tonight.” You explained sheepishly. 

“Yeah yeah, just come pick it up when you get the chance. I will say that it’s quite odd to have you request we track this guy down, but money is money and I’m not complaining.” You heard the squeaking of a chair in the background of the call.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Blitz.” You smiled so grateful for this.

“Thank YOU for your money.” He hung up and you went back inside to find the sins.

You were trying not to trip over limbs or bump into people. The whole place looked more like an orgy than Ozzie’s did. (But then again you weren’t exactly on the floor at Ozzie’s. There were fountains of honey, crazy ring statues, hexagonal shaped furniture, and music blaring from every corner of the place.

You made your way back up to the lounge and had to pretend like everything was normal.

Once you got there you saw a terrifying sight. A very, very drunk Lucifer whining on the couch. Once you entered his head shot up and he smiled at you. He flopped off the couch and ran to you. He leaned against you at a weird angle to press his face against your chest. His drunken rambling made no sense. He pulled you away from the door and pinned you against the wall.

“Your ssssoooo pretty~” He giggled as he slurred his words. “Fuck.” His voice came out in a whisper. “I wanna kiss you so badly!” He whined.

“You need to sober up.” You tried to get away as he held you close.

This seemed to be a running trend in your “relationship with the king of hell huh? He’d do something awful and make you super uncomfortable. Then he would apologize and love-bomb you with presents as an apology, promising to change and be better. But he never has, he never will.

“You’re so perfect! You’ll never go away~” He said sloppily. He giggled at you as you looked dully at him.

Maybe there was no escaping him, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t, wouldn’t, and shouldn’t try. There was nothing that bounded you to him. Renesmee and Nina were lovely to hang out with and be around but Styx and Pluto weren’t exactly the most welcoming of people to be around. It was suffocating.

“We need to get you some water.” You tried to step away again he he just held you in place against the wall and kissed you.

“No! I don’t want any water when I have the sweetest taste I could ever have here in my hands. You’re lips are like ambrosia, Darling. I need to taste them over and over. I need your kisses more than I need to breath!”

You wanted to cry. In any other context this would have been so sweet and romantic. If only he hadn’t taken you and violated you with his wants and desires every chance he got. He would have been such a sweetheart and a hopeless romantic if you two had met under normal circumstances. But instead he is forcing you to be his wife.

“We’re leaving.” You said as you grabbed his arm.

“I don’t wanna go!” He whined and struggled as you dragged him outside and away from the rest of the party.

“You need to sober up before you get a hangover tomorrow and become even more needy and “affectionate”. If you can even call it that.” People cheered as they saw you two leaving. You wondered if they actually thought he was a good king or if they were just kissing up to him. If it was the first option then why? He profited from a system that was built to keep them down. 

You threw him in the back seat of the car and climbed in after him. Eventually the car drove off and you were making your way back to the Pride ring. The car ride was silent as you stared out the window and Lucifer slept with his head on your lap.

Eventually you saw something that shocked and disturbed you.

A small Samoyed hell hound was being held down and muzzled… “Stop the car!” The driver stopped at your command.

You ran out and ran towards the small creature. You gently scooped the pup into your arms and glared at the bigger Hell hounds trying to take this poor creature away.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” You yelled in rage.

“None of your business! Now step aside!” One of them yelled. You held your ground and refused to let go of the poor little creature.

“It’s okay little one. Nothing is going to harm you while I’m here.”

“While we’re here…” Lucifer came out from the car unexpectedly. “I may have a killer headache but I know when my girls in danger. You come at my wife you fuck with me. And I don’t like getting fucked…” he spoke in a menacing tone as his horns grew out of head, with the new addition of a big black spot on his horns that weren’t originally there. His wings sprouted from his back. “Go to the car doll.”

“No.”

“Doll…”

You grabbed his hand and pulled both him and the puppy to to car. “Call up Bee and tell her we’re adopting this Hellhound. What’s your name little one?” You pulled them both into the limo.

“I don’t have one.” The sweet Samoyed revealed as Lucifer called Beelzebub.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’m a boy…”

“I’m gonna name you Guinefort after the folk hero! I’ll call you Guinea for short! You’re like a cute little guinea pig!” You smiled and booped his nose.

“What’s a guinea pig?” He tilted his head.

“Not important right now. How do you feel about your name?” He cringed at it. “Not a fan huh? How about… Gelert! No? Shippeitaro? Samara? Raiju?” You thought for a moment longer. “…hm. Fenrir?”

“That one!” He clapped.

You smiled. “That’s a beautiful name.” You kissed him forehead.

Yes, earlier you we’re talking about how you had nothing to tie you down to hell but… what were you supposed to do? Let him die? Or whatever they would’ve done to him? No… one step at a time you were going to start to change hell while you could. Even if you wouldn’t stick around to see the improvement it would make for its citizens.

“I promise Fenrir, as long as I’m with you nothing bad will ever happen to you again.

[vo09]

Random Nathan headcanons I have:

He lacks a sense of identity and his whole tough/edgy persona is just that, a persona, a character he has built because he thinks people who he deems as "cool" will respect and like him more. He just parrots and imitates, this is why he will throw every insult he knows in the same sentence or will write graffiti with offensive and mean stuff whenever he has the chance. He's trying too hard, he's whole behaviour is too over the top, too exaggerated, too performative.

His change between his 14 year old self from BtS and his 18 year old self from the first game was more sudden than gradual. He really decided to become like this one day so he would stop getting bullied. He probably got mocked at first, but as soon as people realized the things they could get out of him thanks to his money, they started to "befriend" him, making him grow more confident and cocky (and prompting him to turn worse).

He's starved for attention, affection and approval, so he always tries to be the loudest, the funniest, the meanest... He wants people to like him so badly he just becomes an obnoxious attention-seeking person, unaware that this usually makes people not like him inside the very group of people he thinks actually likes him. A lot of people inside the Vortex club actually dislike him, bad-mouths him and mocks him behind his back.

Ironically, while he acts like he doesn't, he actually fears judgement and cares too much about other's opinion on him and how he's perceived. He's really self-conscious and insecure despite what he tries to convey. His hunched over posture is very telling and his need to make himself smaller comes out unconsciously when he's by himself.

He's dependent on drugs not only as a way to cope with his issues or because they make him look "cool", but because they really help him let loose and become the "social carefree self" he "needs to be now". In reality he's awkward and introverted.

He's considered socially inept or unaware. He's completely oblivious that many times people are openly laughing AT him, not WITH him. He's naturally naïve and too trusting (easy to gaslight and manipulate). His guarded distrustfulness and self-deprecating tendencies are recent due to finally realising he's been manipulated and used by others (specially by Jefferson).

He's actually inside the autistic spectrum and his "difficult defiant behaviours", "violent outbursts" and "tantrums" have been misdiagnosed as Oppositional Defiant Disorder (but are actually autistic meltdowns).

He became specially obsessed with death after Rachel was killed. He photographs dead beings as a way to cope with the concept of (her) death. His photo entry for the Everyday Heroes contest being someone working on a graveyard is symbolic of his guilt. He wishes Rachel at the very least could've gotten a proper burial.

He usually squints his eyes because he can't see properly (he has a mild astigmatism which he inherited from his father). He doesn't want to wear glasses.

[briceterry]

Time for my autistic ass to gush about the Second Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (2024) trailer!

First, we get more footage of the Chao in that restaurant that Team Sonic was in, and we now know the name of it, Chao Garden. In reference the Chao Garden in Sonic Adventure 1 and 2, the people ask Tails if he's detective Pikachu and Knuckles says that he looks like a Pokémon. Now I want fan art of Movie Tails in a Pikachu onesie. But all of the banter is closed because Robotnik's badniks found them in Japan and start to cause havoc!

So it seems like Robotnik and Gerald aren't fully teaming up with the hedgehog and his friends, which was a thing I was worried about because a sequel of a video game movie from one of my favorite franchise left a very sour taste in my mouth... I can go on why The Angry Birds Movie 2 ruined that damn franchise along with other things that Rovio done to make Angry Birds go downhill, but this isn't what were talking about. Were talking about about a fast blue hedgehog who eats chili dogs and stops a evil doctor.

We get more looks at shadow, and he looks sick and he still sounds awesome from we heard from the ultimate life form. I'm still waiting for a "Whoa..." To come out of your mouth, Mr. Reeves!

Next we see a gadget that made the vortex in the first place from the first trailer that tried to suck Team Sonic into. Also we get to see the Knuckles' strength by biting onto what seems to look like a wire so Sonic can throw a ring in time so they can get back to their parents house.

These three are literally the best brothers who get into messes, I swear to god I'm gonna be giggling like a man baby and I'm gonna get kicked out of the movie theater for being a fanboy.

More shots of Sonic and his team of brothers. You can't call them friends, they're just brothers and I love that the Sonic movie fandom made it sorta cannon.

Now we get a new look at Robotnik's brand new design, and I'm loving this. And...

He's pissing on the moon with the Space colony ARK.

Another example of their brotherly bond. It just comes to show how much Sonic evolved in the movies. In the first movie, he was forced to hide which made him lonely, but by the end of that movie Tom and Maddie adopt him as their son, though he doesn't see it yet until the second movie, where he meets Tails and Knuckles who he befriends at the beginning of the film when Robotnik gets sent back to earth, and Knuckles when he finds out about Robotnik tricking him.

All of the heart warming stuff ends because Shadow has a mother fucking gun again after 16 years with Shadow the Hedgehog (2005) and the trailer end with the mystery that Sonic fans are gonna be debating just like the film Die Hard... Is Sonic the hedgehog 3 (2024) a Christmas movie? I don't know, that's up for you to decide. In all honesty that scene with Robotnik and Gerald had me laughing. They. Are. COOKING!

[writinghotchner]

the infinite amount of times you saved yourself, and the one time you didn't have to

Pairing: aaron hotchner/reader Rating: M (sfw) Warning: talks of self harm & depression (nothing too descriptive)

----

i really don't know why this came into my brain, but i couldn't shake it so...here we go. please mind the warnings and take care of yourselves <3

----

you have a small moment of wanting to relapse after being clean for so long and aaron finds you in the bathroom

you've dealt with self harm since you could remember. it started with hitting yourself as a child and then progressed into scratching, and then eventually when you got a little older, you got your hands on a pack of brand new razor blades. and then it became a problem. it stemmed from lack of control, a therapist once told you, so any time you felt like you were in a situation you couldn't control - or felt the need to control - you'd immediately take it out on yourself. the only thing you could control was the pain. and, as sad as it is, it always made you feel better. it stopped the spiraling and the crying and the heaving of breathe that you could never fully suck into your lungs.

you're not entirely sure how you got here in this moment. in your underwear and bra on the bathroom floor of the apartment you share with your boyfriend. he works for the fbi, travels a lot, never really seems to be home...but it still works. you've never been in such a healthy, loving relationship before, despite the distance. so maybe that's why you feel the tinge of guilt sitting on top of the unbearable sadness that rumbles in your chest like a brewing hurricane.

you're happy. for maybe the first time in your life. you have a great, albeit, stressful job, a handful of good friends and you're potentially with the love of your life...so...how did you get here? on the floor of the bathroom in the apartment that you share with your boyfriend. who is, unfortunately, or fortunately, still at work. he wasn't out of town, thankfully, but his attention was still needed in quantico. he could potentially show up at any moment. and that sends a bizarre lightening strike of adrenaline down your spine. if you're going to do it, now's the time. before he comes home and sees the mess you've made, yet again, and leaves. like almost everyone else has done before.

you know this is a pattern. you'd been stuck in a depression vortex for most of your life, so when good things start happening your brain immediately throws you ten steps backwards, and you wind up like that scared, lonely teenager, clutching something sharp and willing yourself to either do it...or don't.

you'd never really been good with talking yourself out of it. and now is no different. you can do it, and hide it for as long as you can. put on the facade that everything is and has always been great. and then he'll see the fresh marks, and you'll immediately fall back into being that scared, lonely child begging people to not leave you.

you'd done this so many times that it's almost comical that you keep hoping that this is the one time you can talk yourself out of it. but then, what else can you brag about, if not that your are your own hero. always the one to save yourself. not that anyone's ever really stuck around long enough to even try to be the hero.

but still, you picture aaron charging through the bathroom door, his short hair suddenly long and flowing in some magical wind and lifting you into his big, strong arms and hauling you off to some beautiful place where you can breathe.

you close your eyes and sigh. your legs are starting to go numb from how your sitting on the tile floor. now or never the pathetic little voice floats around your brain.

you take a deep breath, straighten out your left arm and grip the razor blade tighter....

just as your about to zip the blade through your flesh, you hear the front door open and then close. you hear aaron shuffling around calling out for you.

"honey?" he says loudly, walking into the bedroom, where the bathroom your in is attached to.

for some reason, that's what breaks you. you let the blade fall out of your hand and choke on a sob that has been threatening to come out since you got home.

you can hear him on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle. "honey, are you in here?" the door is locked and you don't know if you have it in you to get up and let him in. funnily enough, you're not sure you want him to come him - despite the little hero fantasy you had moments ago.

you suck in a deep breath and you try to calm your voice. "hey, yeah, i'll be out in a second. just getting out of the shower."

you wince at your lie and you can immediately tell that he doesn't believe you. he's a professionally trained human reader, of course he was going to see right through that. maybe you kinda wanted him to.

"sweetheart," he says softly. "i can hear it in your voice. please open the door."

your lip quivers as this unknown fear settles deep inside of you. you've never been so scared of someone seeing this side of you.

another sob escapes you before you even realize it was there, and you know it was loud enough for him to hear. he doesn't wait for you to open the door, instead he throws the side of his hip into it and it cracks open, a piece of small metal clanking around on the ground from the handle.

you can't even look up at him. you've crumbled in on yourself, legs crossed and elbows on your thighs, head in your hands as you finally just let it all out.

"hey," he says softly, and you can suddenly feel his big warm hand on your bare back. "are you hurt? what's going on?"

he moves his hand off your back and puts it softly around your wrist, pulling it away from your face. he uses his other hand to turn your face to him, his eyes immediately scanning for any blood or wounds.

"y/n, i need you to say something, i'm thinking the worst here," he whispers, his eyes never leaving yours. the hand that he used to move your face is now cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away the falling tears.

you still don't say anything, if anything the embarrassment of it all has your tongue. so instead you sit up and fall into his chest where he immediately circles his arms around your shoulders, hugging you to him securely. your heart thuds in your chest as you realize at this position, he can see the fallen razor blade that was to the side of you, hidden by your legs before. you know he's going to see it, he sees everything.

sure enough, you can tell when he spots it. because he pushes your body way from him his, just far enough to where he can look down at your entire body, looking for any signs of blood or bandaging.

"i didn't-" you rasp out. he runs his hands up your arms and uses both hands to cup your cheeks. you can't place the expression on his face, but you know it isn't good. it's never good to make someone you love so much worry so much about you. you feel stupid and even more embarrassed now. a vicious cycle.

"were you going to?" he asks. the concern in his voice loud enough to knock you over.

more tears fall, you want to curl in on yourself and hide away under the rug, but he doesn't let you move your head.

"i think so."

"honey.." his voice is so sad and so concerned. it breaks you even more. you fall back into his chest and he lets you, his arms once again coming around to hug you to him.

"is this something you've done before?"

you take in a deep breath. being in his arms like this always makes you feel better, and the fact that he can't see your face right now makes this conversation a tiny bit easier.

"since i was a kid," you blow out a steady stream of air, willing the hurricane in your chest to go with it. "i stopped for a long time. it felt kinda childish to keep doing it well into adulthood, so i replaced it with other things...." you trail off and he squeezes you tighter and kisses your shoulder.

"and then, y'know, you get older, you get a job, you learn how to distract your brain from the self destructive cycle. but i think i locked the beast away for too long, because tonight i just...couldn't..."

you feel him take in a deep breath. he pulls away from you and runs his hands down your arms and holds your hands.

"i'm glad you didn't. is there anything i can do to help? can we maybe make a plan for the future so it doesn't come down to this again?"

you nod. "i've...never had anyone offer that before. most people just...leave."

he pulls you into a small, soft kiss. his hands are back on your cheeks, and he pushes your hair out of your face. "it'll take a lot more than this to make me leave, honey. we can get through this together. whatever you need."

and for the first time in your entire life, you didn't care about having bragging rights to being your own savior. for once, you can't wait to tell someone how you met the love of your life and how he stood by your side and helped you through the unimaginable. and never gave up on you.

[moonchild701]

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Blue Bonfire

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Summary: Demon Dabi is summoned

Pairing: Demon!Dabi & Gen Reader

Content Warning: Drinking, Implied Death, SFW

Word Count: 666

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: Yes I did make it 666 words on purpose :D

This is for a Halloween Challenge in one of the communities here on Tumblr. I used four prompts from the challenge, plus my own for funsies, so I'll be posting every Thursday up to and including Halloween.

Prompt: Demon & Bonfire

Happy Halloween and Enjoy!💕

My Masterlist

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

The cold, dark night is made bright and warm from the bonfire in the middle of the clearing, the crackles of the orange flames joining the laughter and chatter of you and your friends in the otherwise silent woods.

As a bit of R&R, you all decided to go camping out here, and what better way to enjoy camping than sitting around the bonfire telling ghost stories, drinking and being stupid. And being stupid, you all decide to play games.

Someone brings up the tale of if you're in front of a big open flame like the bonfire, and you say a demon's name three times while throwing salt into the flames, it will appear. You may feel a presence.

Some of you call bullshit, some of you refuse to participate, some of you beg them not to do it.

They do it anyway.

The one who brought it up in the first place is the one to do it. He's of course cocky about it, because well, it's just a stupid story made up to scare people. It's not like it's actually going to work.

"Dabi" he says, all drunken confidence, with a hint of playfulness, dashing salt into the flame. "Dabi." Another dash, "Dabi.", and another.

At first, nothing happens other than the flame turning slightly more yellow. The guy laughs drunkenly, swaying on his feet.

Just as someone says, "See? Bullshit.", the entire fire extinguishes, all at once, all on it's own. You all gasp and squeak and curse, and then the fire suddenly roars to life again, bigger, brighter and a brilliant blue.

You all scream.

Among the panic, someone hears something, shushing you all.

"You guys hear that?" Her voice trembles as she hopes it was just her imagination.

But now you can hear it.

A quiet but incessant clanging of metal in the silence, gradually getting louder, faster, closer.

Until it abruptly stops.

The wind howls, the flames dance wildly, slowly forming a swirling vortex in the shape of a tornado, licks of fire lashing around it. Within it, a silhouette forms, seeming to flicker; the fire seeming to burn brighter, hotter, crackling louder. You skin twinges with the heat, beads of sweat trickle down your face and neck.

And then the fire vanishes, and in its place, there stands.....something.

With the moonlight now as your only source of light, the only things visible of your new addition are the shape of long horns curved to the sky and what seems to be staples in its face glinting in the low light of the moon,

You're all petrified. Completely unable to move with the pure terror saturating your very bones.

And then you hear a laugh.

Low and deep and dark.

Sinister.

It turns your heart to ice, your lungs to ash, your brain to slush.

You feel the blood drain from your face, the tremble of your limbs, the dryness of your mouth.

This thing is very obviously not human.

As if hearing your thoughts, it's eyes snap open, and you hear one of your friends choke on a gasp.

Blue, blue, blue.

The bright azure of his eyes are gorgeous, like looking into gems, into the fire that blazed moments ago, as they seem to glow.

That terrifying gaze traces over you all oh so slowly, slitted pupils making it that more piercing, before finally landing on you.

A flicker of that pretty blue flame comes to life again in his palm, and it illuminates his features hellishly.

The light reflects off of his staples like glitter, swaths of discolored skin contrasting against the pale, unblemished skin.

Of course, the most terrifying thing, is his smile, though it seems like a stretch to even call it that, seeming more like a baring of teeth.

Wide to the point of pulling at the staples, rows of sharp teeth on display.

It's the last thing you see before all you know is heat and pain and silence.

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the King of the Underworld.

Praise be to the King of the Underworld, lonely at the top of his rotting domain.

Before he can save their souls, he must first save himself.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

This world is a one great big lie.

Idia recognizes it now, clenched in the gaping jaws of the Underworld. Phantoms squirm around him, moaning as their distended limbs claw at the air, seeking out the final shreds of hope in their hellish pit called home. They are prisoners, trapped in Tartarus, and he, a prisoner of his own mind.

He forces himself against the bars that keep him in and violently rattles them. The ceiling above--he's filled with a visceral need to smash it, cracking it wide open.

If he is a beast, then so be it.

He will let them--let himself--out.

A dark power courses through his bloodstream. It soars, sings, uplifting him in his sorrows. It is ignorant of the tears of ink that trail down his pale cheeks and drips onto his armor. Sapphire flames, tattered fabric, and midnight ink swirl around him in a hypnotizing vortex.

He knows this form, this dizzying, addictive strength.

Overblot.

He floats, untouchable, above the masses, and above his staggering opponent. A giant, hulking figure cloaked in a flowing black toga, fire wreathing the glass bottle of its head. It bleeds ink, this being that he has knocked down.

But it is still his inner demon, this Phantom.

It is still Ortho.

It is how he is in real life, and how he appears in his nightmares. A frail soul consumed by the shadows.

Idia throws his head back, letting out a stuttering, panting, mad laugh. He gasps, rasps, chokes, heaves for air. It hurts to breathe, to try and contain his cynical grin in the face of the circumstances.

It’s fake. None of it is real.

That memory…

"Shroud. It's good of you to join us for the Opening Ceremony. Here, take my hand. We can attend the event together."

And that memory…

"That was a fun match 🎵 We completely destroyed the opposing team. Let's go for another round, Gloomy Samurai!"

All of my memories are…!!

"I need to go--my dorm leader's calling--but I'll talk to you later, Nii-chan. Tell me all about your first day of third year, okay? That's a promise!"

His senses spiral, scrambling to make sense of the revelations. They come, one after another, rapid-fire and blinding. A blitz of truths, each a punch to the gut.

He never attended the ceremony, he was holed up in his bedroom. Crimson Muscle is abandoning all of his accounts. And Ortho is... Ortho is...!!

Ortho is dead.

He isn't coming back, ever.

You lost one brother and gained another.

The happy illusion at last cracks. Its pieces fall away, revealing the ugliness beneath the splintered fantasy.

That's right. I'm always being saved by my little brothers.... What a pathetic big brother I turned out to be.

How stupid. How stupid...! Wasn't I... Wasn't I supposed to be the one to save them?

He clenches his fists.

"... Sorry, Ortho. I can't stay." Idia lifts his head, staring intently at the ceiling's closed gates. "I have to go. People are waiting for me."

"Ahahah..." The Phantom shudders, a quiet chuckle reverberating from its glass bottle cranium. No eyes, no lips--but Idia can tell he must be smiling sadly. "That's my big bro."

"Are you going to try and stop me again?" Idia tenses, and his power pulsates at the tips of his fingers, waiting for the command to be given.

"No, I understand. Besides, there's no point! You already beat the Final Boss--I don't have a second form," Ortho replies cheerily. "You just shine way too brightly to be stuck down here and shunned."

"Shine?"

The word gives him pause. Idia has never thought of himself as someone that radiates light. He imagines Cater and Kalim and Rook, tries to place himself beside them.

Him, in his blot-stained armor and gloomy disposition.

He doesn't fit.

"Me?" Idia squeaks. "LMAO. Nice bait there, Ortho. I could never be a part of that world."

"Okay, maybe not that shiny." Ortho bobs his head. "But you get it now, right? This is a strength only you have. You can go and share that amazing strength with everyone."

His curse, a blessing.

His pitiful fortune, reversed.

One last tear slides down his face.

"... Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Idia whispers. “I can.”

I can do this.

Magic pools before him, forming a single sphere of light that cuts through the depths of Tartarus. The Phantoms below vocalize louder and louder, as if in awe, in reverence, even as they balk away from the incredible shine.

"Game, set match. Gate to the Underworld."

At his incantation, a low groan rolls through the pit. Not from the monsters that inhabit it, but from the earth itself. There's a screech, a lurch, and then--

The gates above slowly pry open, letting light seep in.

"It's open. You can leave." Ortho rights himself, offering a large hand to Idia. "Here, hop on. I'll give you a boost!"

"Kk, thnx."

Idia boards--and the difference in scale between him and his "little" brother shocks him. Once, Ortho was two thirds of his height. Now Idia fits in his palm.

"Hang on tight! Keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle, we're outta here!"

The Phantom rises. Higher, higher, higher... to that single spot of light, the thread of hope in hell.

Soon, Idia will be out.

And Ortho will be no more once again.

"... You know, I really liked this," Idia muttered, a hand on Ortho's thumb. "The dream. It was fun while it lasted."

"It was," Ortho agrees, "but dreams can't last forever, can they?"

"No," Idia replies curtly, resolution in his voice, "they can't."

As the word leaves his mouth, Ortho comes to a stop. They've arrived at the cusp, at the border between this place and beyond.

Idia's grip on Ortho's thumb tightens.

"... It's alright, Nii-chan," the Phantom says quietly. "The whole universe is waiting for you."

He fights back a sob.

"Ortho... Of course. Just leave it to your big bro."

“Shoot for glory among the stars and soar like a comet," Ortho recites, poking him in the chest. "Go and get'm--and make many new memories for me, 'kay?"

“Shoot for glory among the stars and soar like a comet," Idia repeats, letting go and leaping into the air.

He blasts off in a blaze of glory, like a hero in the comics and video games. Some gallant figure, off to save the his home, his people.

"Safe travels, Nii-chan!" Ortho's voice calls after him. It's strong at first, but grows weaker as the distance between them grows.

"Good-bye!

"Good-bye...!

"Good... bye..."

"Good-bye, Ortho."

And hello, world.

[layover-linux-official]

Write One to Throw Away?

If you're in the software industry for long enough, you'll hear this advice eventually. There's an infamous Catch-22 to writing code:

You don't deeply understand the problem (or its solution space) until you've written a solution.

The first solution you write will have none of that hindsight to help you.

So it naturally shakes out that you have to write it at least one time before you can write it well, unless you're stricken with exceptional luck. And the minimum number of attempts you will need is two: one to throw away, and a second attempt to keep.

It's just math. It's just logic. Write one to throw away. It's got the world's easiest proof. You'd have to be some kind of idiot to argue with it!

Okay, hear me out...

As you work on bigger and older projects, you will continuously be confronted with a real-world reality: that requirements are an input that never stops changing. You can make the right tool for the job today, but the job will change tomorrow. Is your pride and joy still the right tool?

If you're like most developers, your first stage of grief will be denial. Surely, if we just anticipate all the futures that could possibly happen, we can write code that's ready to be extended in any possible direction later! We're basically wizards, after all - this feels like it should work.

So you try it. You briefly feel safe in the corrosive sandstorm of time. Your code feels future proof, right up until the future arrives with a demand you didn't anticipate, which is actually so much harder to write thanks to your premature abstractions. Welcome to the anger stage. The YAGNI acronym (you ain't gonna need it) finally registers in your brain for what it is - a bitter pill, hard-won but true.

But we're wizards! We bargain with our interpreters and parsers and borrow checkers. Surely we can make our software immortal with the right burnt offerings. We can use TDD! Oops, now our tests are their own giant maintenance burden locking us into inflexible implementation decisions. Static analysis and refactoring tooling! Huh, well that made life support easier, but couldn't fix fundamental problems of approach, architecture and design (many of which only came into existence when the requirements changed).

As the sun rises and sets on entire ISAs, the cold gloom eventually sets in. There is no such thing as immortal software. Even the software that appears immortal is usually a vortex of continuous human labor and editing. The Linux kernel is constantly dying by pieces and being reborn in equal or greater measure - it feels great to get a patch merged, but your name might not be in the git blame at all in 2 years time.

I want to talk about what happens when your head suddenly jumps up in astonished clarity and you finally accept and embrace that fact: holy shit, there is no immortal software!

Silicon is sand

... and we're in the mandala business, baby.

I advocate that you write every copy to be thrown away. Every single one. I'm not kidding.

Maybe it'll be good enough (read adequacy, not perfection) that you never end up needing to replace your code in practice. Maybe you'll replace it every couple years as your traffic scales. But the only sure thing in life is that your code will have an expiration date, and every choice you make in acknowledgement of that mortality will make your life better.

People are often hesitant to throw out working code because it represents years of accumulated knowledge in real-world use. You'd have to be a fool to waste that knowledge, right? Okay. Do your comments actually instruct the reader about these lessons? Does secondary documentation explain why decisions were made, not just what those decisions were? Are you linking to an issue tracker (that's still accessible to your team)? If you're not answering yes to these type of questions, you have no knowledge in your code. It is a black hole that consumed and irreparably transformed knowledge for ten years. It is one of the worst liabilities you could possibly have. Don't be proud of that ship! You'll have nowhere to go when it sinks, and you'll go down with it.

When you write code with the future rewriter - not merely maintainer - in mind, you'll find it doesn't need to be replaced as often. That sounds ironic, and it is, but it's also true. Your code will be educational enough for onboarding new people (who would rewrite what they don't understand anyways). It will document its own assumptions (so you can tell when you need a full rewrite, or just something partial that feels more like a modification). It will provide a more useful guiding light for component size than any "do one thing well" handwave. And when the day finally comes, when a rewrite is truly necessary, you'll have all the knowledge you need to do it. In the meantime, you've given yourself permission to shit out something sloppy that might never need replacing, but will teach you a lot about the problem domain.

This is independent of things like test suite methodology, but it does provide a useful seive for thinking about which tests you do and don't want. The right tests will improve your mobility! The wrong tests will set your feet in cement. "Does this make a rewrite easier?" is a very good, very concrete heuristic for telling the two apart.

Sorry for long-posting, btw. I used this space to work through some hazy ideas and sharpen them for myself, particularly because I'm looking at getting into language design and implementation in the near future. Maybe at some future date, I'll rewrite it shorter and clearer.

TL,DR:

Every LOC you write will probably eventually be disposed or replaced. Optimize for that, and achieve Zen.

[aspoonofsugar]

What do you think Bee's role will be in Loona's arc?

Hi,

I am curious to see where it goes too!

So far, I think Bee's role in the series is linked to Loona in two different ways:

She is Loona's foil and is there to challenge our wolf girl to grow up (theme of relationships)

She is there to offer some social commentary on Loona's past and to be challenged by Loona (theme of society)

QUEEN BEE

Loona is the protagonist and main point of view character of Queen Bee. This is why this episode is basically a subversion of a 2000 teenage movie :P

Loona is a young adult, but because of her tragic past and late adoption, she is initially portrayed as a broody teen. She is antisocial, annoyed with Blitz and dependent on him economically. She is also rather immature, choosing to mess around instead of properly working. Well, Queen Bee is the episode where she starts shedding her teenager persona away, so that she can become an adult. This is conveyed through the episode starting as a teenage movie and turning into something different, as it goes on.

A cool loser to a party

The premise of the episode is that of a cool loser being invited to a party by the boy she likes. This is what happens to Loona, who has a crush on Vortex since Spring Breakers. Tex tells her he has a girlfriend, but is still nice to Loona and invites her out as friends. Loona is clearly nervous about attending a social event and is mostly motivated by her interest in Tex. Once she arrives at the party, though, she has to face a Mean Girls Posse and a Queen Bee.

Mean Girls

Vikki: And so, I told him "I'm not gonna go get it, unless you fucking throw it this time." Dalmatian Hellhound: That is so, not fetch! Vikki: Not fetch...

Vikki and her two friends are introduced with a Mean Girls reference ("This is so not fetch!). Moreover, they all wear red ribbons, which are fairly similar to Heather's famous "red scrunchie" from the iconic teen movie Heathers. So, yeah, they are the mean girls posse and they immediately mock and bully Loona.

A Hot Queen Bee

After surviving the Mean Girls Trio Loona is faced with an even stronger opponent: the Queen Bee. The hottest dog in town, who is liked and loved by everyone. Bee-lzebub is a literal queen bee, as she is the Queen of Gluttony and a Bee Demon. Her being the Sin of Gluttony also ties into this, as she makes people physically thirsty and she is an eye candy in the truest sense (she is made of sweets for real). She is all Loona wants to be and is the one Loona needs to break out from her loneliness:

Hey! I'm whatchu need, I'm watchu want

However, Bee isn't who Loona needs to be:

I'm whatchu want, not watchu need

This is the teaching of the episode. Loona goes to the party seeing everyone, but Tex as antagonistic towards her. However, with the exception of Vikki's group, nobody is mean to her. Loona is low-key aggressive towards Bee, but the Queen of Gluttony does not mind. Loona can't snatch Tex away from Bee (and gives up on the idea pretty quickly), but our hellhound has a great time and even finds people she eventually becomes friends with:

Loona approahces the party thinking she is the protagonist of a teenage movie, but realizes mid-way everyone is too grown up for that. All she has to do is to be herself to find her pack.

BEAST TAMER

Bee subverts the stereotypical Queen Bee, since she isn't mean, but welcoming and well meaning. Still, Loona doesn't really warm up to her and they even have a small fight:

Let's highlight Loona only steps down out of respect for Vortex. In other words, by the end of Queen Bee Loona still does not really like Bee. Now, this could obviously be because of jealousy. However, I wonder if there is more at play:

Loona's childhood was a nightmare and it is implied Bee foresees the Hellhounds' forecare system. In general, Hellhounds are treated pretty badly in Hell. It is made clear Bee cares about her people, but I wouldn't be surprised if a Hellhound as unlucky as Loona were to resent her. After all, Bee finds herself in a unique position: she is both a Hellhound and a Deadly Sin. In short, she is both at the very bottom and at the very top of Hell's Hierarchy. She is both a beast and a beast tamer, as her circus motif implies.

So, I am interested to see if going on Bee is going to be challenged when it comes to her political activity. After all, Blitz has already called the Deadly Sins out:

Blitzo: All I was trying to do was rise above this stupid fucking place YOU ALL FORCED US INTO!

I would not be surprised if part of Bee's arc is gonna be about how Hellhounds are treated in society and what she can do to help more.

Thank you for the ask! I quite like Bee as a character and I am interested to see where she goes... I might also write a meta on her design soon :)