#Why can’t I stop stumbling down fandoms WHY

[l0stglitch]

A night at the boardwalk (part 2)

Platonic Yandere lost boys x reader

Part 1

Notes- Tysm for all the support you guys have given me, it really means a lot. It’s nice to know that the lost boys fandom is still thriving, as this movie literally means the world to me ❤️

Warnings- Yandere behaviour, Controlling parenting, Borderline abuse, David and Marko are still assholes

“I’m not gonna ask you again sweetheart. Who were you with at the boardwalk?”

You scowled at David, refusing to answer the question honestly.

“No one! How the fuck do you expect me to have any friends when you keep me locked up in this stupid cave all day!?”

Your father rolled his eyes, his patience already wearing thin. “We aren’t stupid, Y/n. You think we couldn’t hear you talking to someone?”

You broke away from his icy glare and chose instead to look at the floor. There was no convincing them that you had been alone- that much was certain. Paul was easy to lie to, but the others? You didn’t stand a chance against David, Dwayne and Marko.

“Cmon Y/n, you know we’re only worried about you. Just tell us who you were with and this doesn’t have to escalate.” You looked up at Dwayne. He was watching you with a sympathetic look on his face, his brown eyes staring deeply into yours.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied through gritted teeth.

“If you’re so innocent then why’s your heart beating so much?” Marko retorted, taking a threatening step closer.

You turned to him with a glare, “Oh I don’t know- maybe because I’m being accused of something I didn’t do!”

“We all know you were with someone, so why don’t you stop being such a brat and just fess up.”

You laughed disbelievingly, “I can’t fess up to something I didn’t do!”

“Except you did run off with someone- so therefore you can fess up.” David said, his tone unamused.

“I’m done with this fucking conversation!” You snapped, turning around and storming off.

Marko grabbed you by your wrist and yanked you back, his eyes dark.

“You don’t leave until we say you can.”

You tried to tug your wrist free, “Get off me.”

Your father smiled at you mockingly, “Make me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You threw a fist straight into his nose, the impact making a sickening crack.

Marko groaned and stumbled back, your wrist slipping out of his grip.

“You bitch!” He snarled, leaning onto Paul slightly for support.

In an instant, David was in front of you, grasping your shoulders with an uncomfortable amount of force. His blue eyes now shone yellow, and his lips were drawn back into a snarl, revealing a pair of wicked fangs.

You couldn’t help but shrink back in fear.

“You better learn your fucking place sweetheart. You’re at the bottom of the pack- you understand that?”

You nodded timidly, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“You don’t hit any of us.” He practically spat the words out at you.

“Sorry.” You croaked, trying to fight back the tears that were beginning to pool at the bottom of your vision.

He released your shoulders and practically shoved you backwards, “Go to your room.”

You turned around and sprinted out, finally allowing your tears to flow freely once you were sure you were out of their sights.

Through your wobbly vision you stumbled into your room and slammed the door behind you before throwing yourself onto the bed with a sob.

You lay there curled up for a while, hugging the bear Paul had won for you when you were little. You buried your face in the tattered fur and let it soak up the moisture of your tears.

Eventually, a gentle knock sounded on your door, followed by a creak as it opened.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was Dwayne. It was always him.

“Hey baby.” He murmured gently as he rounded your bed. You didn’t react, choosing to keep your face hidden and back turned away from him.

The bed dipped as your father sat down beside you. You felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

You flinched under him, and Dwayne instantly loosened his grip.

“Are you hurt?”

You sniffed in response, feeling another fresh wave of tears gathering at the question. Fuck, you hated being so sensitive.

“Hey, look at me baby. Did David hurt you?”

You rolled onto your back and looked at Dwayne tearfully. He regarded you with a concerned frown.

“You know he didn’t mean it. David just… forgets how fragile you are.”

Your father gently pulled the collar of your shirt, revealing a canvas of freshly bruised skin.

“He hurt me daddy.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

Dwayne felt his stomach twist with concern as he realised the extent of the damage David had caused. He gently pulled his hand away from your collarbone and tenderly wiped away your tears.

“You’ll be ok, babygirl. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do that again.”

You could feel your throat constricting painfully, making it hard to speak. “But you let him do it. You didn’t even try to stop him.”

Dwayne didn’t know what to say. There was no point in denying it, after all you were right. He hadn’t stopped Marko from antagonising you, and when David had gotten physical, he had just stood to the side and watched.

“I think Marko likes it when I’m in trouble,” You admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “He likes telling me off and shouting at me.”

Your father stared at you, caught off guard by your statement.

“And David… he gets angry a lot, but I don’t think he enjoys it as much as Marko does.” You knew you’d regret speaking your mind later on once you felt more emotionally stable, but at that moment you just craved comfort.

Dwayne shook his head pityingly, “That’s not true, baby. We love you more than you’ll ever know. We hate seeing you upset- so I don’t want you thinking that Marko enjoys arguing with you.”

You wanted to believe him, but it was hard when the earlier conflict kept playing in your head over and over like a broken record. The way Marko had grinned at you so condescendingly, soaking up your frustration, and how his eyes had gleamed challengingly even after you punched him. He had obviously been pissed off, but you couldn’t ignore the way he had instantly sprung out of Paul’s hold seconds after, eager for more. He wanted to see how far he could push you. How far he could stretch your limits before you snapped.

“Then why didn’t you help me?”

Dwayne sighed, “Y/n, this isn’t about picking sides. David asked you a simple question and you turned it into an argument. That had nothing to do with me.”

You sniffed, “Had nothing to do with Marko either.”

Your father glanced over at your door, making sure the others weren’t lingering outside. “I’ll have a word with Marko, but you need to accept that you aren’t innocent either. I know Paul was high, but that isn’t an excuse to lie to him and then run away with a bunch of strangers. You could’ve gotten yourself into serious danger, Y/n.”

“It was one person dad! And she’s my friend. She wouldn’t hurt me.”

“But someone else could. You think she’d be able to protect you from all the bad people around? You need us Y/n, not your friend.”

You sat up without a reply, fiddling with the teddy in your lap.

Dwayne shuffled closer to you and wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “How about we go outside so you can apologise for what happened.”

You shot him a pleading look, “Do I have to?”

He didn’t say anything, instead standing up and offering a hand.

You begrudgingly let him pull you to your feet and lead you back to the main part of the cave. You were acutely aware of how hot your face felt, still flushed and sticky from crying.

David didn’t need to look up from his Kerrang! magazine to know that you had returned. He could feel the accelerated beating of your heart through the air. Paul and Marko did too.

“So, you calmed down from your little tantrum?” He asked, finally glancing up at you with a quirked brow.

You had to force yourself not to storm back to your room at the comment, already feeling pissed off again. Dwayne squeezed your hand warningly, as if he could sense your irritation.

“Yeah, I guess I have.” You replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of your tone.

David watched you indifferently, “You come to stand here and stare at us or have you got something to say?”

You scratched at the back of your neck, a nervous twitch you’d picked up a long time ago. Your eyes flittered over to where Marko was sat. His arms were sprawled out across the back of the couch and his head was cocked to the side. He watched you with barely concealed interest, curious as to what you’d do next.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” You replied, forcing yourself to look back into David’s icy blue eyes.

He raised his brows patronisingly, “What’re you sorry for?”

You swallowed. “For running away at the boardwalk.”

Clearly that wasn’t all he wanted from you, as the look of expectancy on David’s face remained strong as ever.

“And for arguing about it.. and then punching Marko.” You glanced back over at Marko sheepishly, who still regarded you with those hungry eyes.

“You got anything you wanna say to Paul?” It took all your willpower not to yell at David in frustration. He was clearly dragging out this apology, and you had a slight suspicion that he was trying to bait you into getting yourself into more trouble.

You didn’t see the look Dwayne shot David. He knew exactly what the other man was doing, and unlike his blonde lover, Dwayne took little pleasure in disciplining you.

Paul didn’t seem particularly bothered by the whole situation either. You could see him lounging in an armchair, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Sorry for running away Papa.”

Your father exhaled a plume of smoke before standing up and tossing away the cigarette. You watched silently as he walked towards you in an unconcerned manner.

Paul squeezed your shoulder and gave you a lopsided grin. He was obviously still under the effects of the weed.

“I’m just glad you’re ok kid- I missed you.”

You blinked dumbly, unsure of what to say. Had it been just you and Paul, you would’ve gone along with what he was saying, but with David eyeing you from his wheelchair throne, it was difficult to twist your narrative into whatever Paul thought was going on.

“Well… it won’t happen again.” You replied uncertainly, letting him pull you into an affectionate hug.

He hummed contently before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I know. We’ll have to keep a better eye on you next time!”

You heard someone stand up from behind you but couldn’t decipher who, as Paul held you too close for you to be able to easily twist around.

The sound of footsteps informed you of the approaching figure, who you soon found out to be Marko, as he rested his hands on your waist and leaned closer to your ear to speak to you.

“Y’know Paul may be high as fuck, but he’s not wrong about keeping an eye on you, pumpkin.”

You shivered at the warning, hearing Marko chuckle as he backed away, giving you enough space to finally free yourself from Paul’s grasp.

“It’s morning soon right? I think I’m gonna go to sleep.” You said as you turned around, eager to have some time to yourself.

As you started to make your way to your room, David’s voice made you stop. “Not by yourself you’re not.”

You frowned, “What’re you talking about?”

Marko smirked, “It’s just a precaution. Y’know, so you don’t try running away again.”

You paused for a moment, trying to understand what they meant, until suddenly it clicked. “I don’t need you to watch me during the day! When have I ever ran out of the cave? Where would I even go? It’s not like I know how to drive your bikes!”

David just shrugged, “We let you get away with one thing and then you start to test the boundaries. It’s not forever- only until we can trust you again.”

You stared at him incredulously, but didn’t argue back. “Fine. Who am I gonna be stuck with now then?”

“I can watch her,” Dwayne offered, ignoring Paul and Marko’s protests. He knew that out of the four of them he’d be the best at keeping you placated, and after your earlier conversation, you’d probably be more at ease with him.

David’s face remained neutral, “Fine by me.”

You simply scowled at him before promptly turning around and storming back to your room with Dwayne in tow.

It didn’t take long to reach your bedroom door with the pace you were walking at. You were tempted to slam the door in Dwayne’s face when you walked in, but decided it wouldn’t be worth pissing off the only person who wasn’t entirely mad at you.

With a frustrated groan, you threw yourself onto the bed for the second time since returning home. Dwayne just sighed.

You looked up and glared at him, “What?”

Your father sat down on your worn couch and watched you thoughtfully. “Things would be so much easier if you just stopped arguing with us all the time.”

“Maybe I would if you didn’t set such stupid rules,” you shot back.

“You know we only do it because we love you.”

“Well you guys have a funny way of showing it.” You huffed in response, rolling onto your side so that he wouldn’t be able to see your face.

“You’re still young, Y/n. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“That’s what you always say.” You mumbled, pulling your teddy close to your chest.

“Well it’s true.”

You didn’t reply. It was pointless trying to argue with him, and you were beginning to feel tired.

Dwayne noticed your fatigue, and jumped at the opportunity to change the subject.

“You gonna shuffle up or am I gonna have to sleep on the couch?”

You twisted to look over your shoulder, and saw how pathetic he looked sat over there by himself. The couch was nowhere near big enough to fit his tall frame, nor was it particularly comfortable either.

Still choosing not to speak, you rolled over to make space for Dwayne. He got up with a small smile and shrugged off his leather jacket before coming over and climbing into your bed.

You both lay there in silence for a while, lost in the comforting darkness of the room. The shapes of your furniture became hazy blurs in the dim light of the few candles you’d lit earlier.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

You frowned and glanced over at Dwayne, “Huh?”

“We do love you. I know sometimes you have your episodes and you convince yourself that we all hate you, but there’s nothing you could do that would make any of us feel that way.”

You hated that he called it that. You weren’t having an ‘episode’. Any normal person would’ve reacted the same way. Still, you knew that arguing about his terminology would get you nowhere, so you chose to ignore it.

“I just don’t understand why you guys adopted me if all you’re going to do is scream at me.”

Dwayne looked at you sadly, “Oh baby. I’m sorry you’re upset, but you know why we took you in. You were being raised by monsters. Humans are naturally cruel and your family was no different. They were abusing you- our hearts broke every time we’d see you come crying to us covered in bruises.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. They’d told you this story countless times. How they had met you when you were little and saved you from a life of abuse and neglect. You’d been taught about the cruel nature of humanity, and how that justified the many lives your fathers had taken.

Of course, if you followed that logic then technically you were a bad person as well, but of course, according to them, you were special. Different from the rest of mankind.

“You promise David won’t hurt me again?”

“I swear, Y/n. He won’t lay a finger on you.”

The room fell silent again, until Dwayne beckoned for you to come closer.

“Come here.”

You scooted over to him, allowing your father to wrap an arm around your shoulders. You curled up against his bare torso, finding comfort in his presence.

“Go to sleep now, angel. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

You hummed in reply and closed your eyes, finally falling asleep as you felt his fingers gently massage the back of your neck.

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife @purple-lemon-8 @xjesterxjacksx @ursinaw @simplyreading96 @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

Sorry this took so long to write! Please excuse any bad grammar/spelling as I proofread this late at night so it might not be perfect. I also wrote this over multiple weeks so the characters might not be completely consistent 😅

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 3

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: After your "date" with Tyler took an unexpected turn, you wake up to see Scott confronting the cowboy about your disappearance. Word Count: 2045 TW: Fluff, Angst, Family Conflict, Confrontation, Yelling, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

“Where the fuck is she, Owens!” 

As your eyes flickered open, you realized you were no longer lying on Tyler’s chest in the bed of his truck. Instead, you were curled in the back seat, one of his merch t-shirts balled up under your head and his jacket draped over your body as a makeshift blanket. Your head was positioned near the passenger side of the truck and, lifting it slightly, you noticed the driver’s door was open. Tyler was standing outside as if he had just climbed out, the little you could see of his surroundings revealing he had driven you back to the motel.

He turned towards whoever had just spoken—the voice was very familiar even though your sleep-hazed mind couldn’t place it—and held up his hands. “Why don’t we all just calm down an—”

“No!” Suddenly, Scott burst into view as he stormed up to Tyler, stopping only when he was practically chest-to-chest with him. Scott towered a good five or six inches over the other man, yet Tyler didn’t as much as flinch as Scott growled in his face. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck is she?”

Tyler stared calmly at Scott’s fuming face for a moment then chuckled. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you lose your cool like this before, Scotty. In fact, can’t say I’ve seen much more than a sarcastic sneer from you before. Something must have riled you up real good for you to be in this state.” Tyler’s voice had slowed, his accent becoming twice as heavy as before as he milked every second in an attempt to push Scott’s buttons—and it was working.

Nostrils flaring, Scott yelled, “How about the fact you’ve been alone with my little sister for the past four hours? I’ve been trying to call and text her but she hasn’t answered.” 

You suddenly realized you had tucked your phone into your purse when you left the motel room. The purse that you had then placed on the passenger’s seat when Tyler helped you down after parking in the field so you could both go eat your food in the bed of his truck. The one you had completely forgotten about until just now. Oops.

But Tyler didn’t offer any such explanation. “We were busy,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, are you really worried about her, or are you just worried she was having a good time with someone like me?”

“If you laid a single finger on her—”

“No. You don’t get to do that.” The smug grin that had been on Tyler’s face evaporated as he became stone-serious. Whatever game he had been playing was now over. He took a step forward, this sudden shift causing Scott to stumble back in surprise. “You don’t get to play caring, protective older brother when just a few hours ago you basically told her to fuck off because you didn’t want her here. I understand you two might have a complicated history, but family isn’t something you can pick and choose when it's convenient for you. You didn’t want anything to do with her after she traveled all this way just to see you, so you don’t get a say in what she does now.”

Scott recovered slightly, but though he tried to bite back with the same fury as before, it seemed dulled by the force of Tyler’s words. “And you do?”

“No, I don’t. Only she does.” Tyler started to turn towards his open door but then thought better of it and faced Scott again. Lowering his voice, he said, “You know, I used to think you were in the wrong truck. That you should be in Tin Man instead of Scarecrow considering how cold and uncaring you seemed. But I was wrong. You may have your fancy degree from a world-class university yet you are too brainless to see that all she’s looking for is just a little of your attention and love. And if you aren’t willing to give that to her, you can’t get mad when she finds someone else who will.”

Scott sneered at Tyler. “You’ve known her for a few hours and you think you know her better than someone who’s known her her entire life?”

“Yeah. I do.” 

The back door to the truck flung open and you blinked up at the bright lights shining in. Tyler stood in the door with a halo of neon light framing his silhouette, anger rolling off of him in waves. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes burned beneath his cowboy hat. However, when he saw you staring up at him, his expression softened. Giving you a small smile, he murmured, “Hey, sweetheart. You want me to carry you to your room or you think you’re awake enough to walk?”

Stretching to help wake up your limbs from where you had been curled, you sat up. “I can walk.” Ducking your head to hide the bashful smile fluttering on your lips, you added a soft, “Thanks though.” 

Grabbing your purse off the front seat, you started to crawl towards the door when Tyler offered you his hand. You took it and slid out, a small cloud of dust bursting up around your ankles as your boots hit the dirt. Tyler reached back into the truck, grabbed his jacket, and wrapped it around your shoulders before placing his arm on top of it, hugging you close to his body. The warmth radiating off of him and the smell of his skin made you want to snuggle deeper into him and drift back to sleep. 

Maybe you should have taken him up on his offer to carry you after all.

As he began to steer you towards the stairs leading to your room, you noticed Scott standing by the rear of the truck with his arms folded across his chest. The two of you made eye contact for just a moment, but you quickly looked away. You didn’t like the look in your brother’s eyes—the seething anger and blatant disappointment you were used to, but it was that hint of something else that made you turn away and lean your head against Tyler’s shoulder. If you didn’t know Scott better, you would almost say he looked hurt. But that couldn’t be possible because Scott would have to care about you for him to be hurt by Tyler’s words or by seeing you together.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything else as Tyler helped you climb the stairs. Letting out a soft sigh of relief when your brother disappeared from view, you whispered, “Thank you. For standing up to Scott for me.”

“You heard that?” You nodded against Tyler’s shoulder and you felt him shift beneath you. “Yeah, well, he had the right to be worried about you, but he also needed to be reminded he wasn’t a saint in this situation. Besides, you’re an adult and can spend time with whoever you want.”

You hummed a soft agreement before, a few dozen steps later, reluctantly pulling yourself away from Tyler as you reached the correct door. “Well, this is me.” 

He watched as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. Turning to face him, you said, “I know I already said it, but thank you…for everything. I-I really needed that, out in the field. It helped. And while today did not go at all how I expected, I’m actually very happy with how it turned out.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” 

The two of you continued smiling at each other and you weren’t exactly sure what you were supposed to do next. But just as you started to close the door, Tyler leaned his shoulder against your door frame and said, “Hey, whether you’re done messing with Scott or not, I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

You blinked, butterflies blooming in your chest. “R-really?”

“Yeah. I had a really nice time tonight. It’s not every day I meet someone like you and I’d like to see more.”

Someone like me? You briefly flashed back to yourself sobbing into his chest in the bed of his truck and wondered what he could have possibly seen in you that he would want to see more of. However, you weren’t going to pass up this chance if he was offering. 

Fidgeting with the strap on your purse, you nodded, “I’d like to see more of you too. Maybe you could let me come on a chase with you or something?”

Tyler’s dimples made your breath catch in your throat as his smile widened. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more interesting…I would love to take you on a chase. Show you what it means to wrangle a tornado. How ‘bout I pick you up in the morning around 7:30?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Nodding, Tyler reached out and took your hand. For a moment, you were taken aback. You might not have known each other long, but after everything that had happened tonight, it felt weird for him to end it by shaking your hand. But then he lifted it, his face disappearing beneath the brim of his hat as he dipped his head, and his lips brushed the back of your hand. 

The kiss was brief and faint, just a soft caress on your skin contrasted by the rough scratch of his stubble, yet you felt a jolt of electricity surge up your arm before traveling throughout your entire body. You were so glad your other hand was still clinging to the door because, without it to steady you, you were sure your knees would have given out. 

Tyler didn’t seem to notice as he straightened up and gently lowered your hand to your side, giving it a light squeeze before releasing it. Then, with a tip of his hat and a wink, he said, “Good night,” and strolled back down the walkway towards the stairs.  

You watched him go until he disappeared. Only then did you close your door, leaning heavily on it with a sigh. Your head thudded back against the sturdy metal as you replayed every moment from the night in your head.

What were you doing? Had this really all started as a game, a way to pay Scott back for how he treated you? Now Tyler was planning on picking you up the next morning after you spent most of tonight crying into his chest? And why did you feel so giddy about seeing him again?

Tyler wasn’t at all what you had expected from his videos or from what Scott had said about him. Sure, he had a wild, playful side, but more than that, he was funny and kind and smart and, to top it all off, a perfect gentleman. You can’t remember the last time someone had treated you with so much respect or consideration. He never tried to make a move or insinuate you owed him for the fact that he was doing you a favor. And even when he pulled you into his arms where it would have been easy to take advantage of your emotional state, he had only sought to comfort you and make sure you were okay. 

Then he had to go and kiss your hand like some handsome cowboy prince charming! What the fuck.

Pushing yourself off the door, you went over and grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink before disappearing into the dingy bathroom. Tyler’s scent still clung to your skin and you almost didn’t want to wash it off. However, the desire to rinse away the remaining tears from your face and feel the hot water streaming down your exhausted, tense muscles won out. You would just have to find another excuse to cozy up to Tyler again tomorrow. Maybe another meal next to him in the back of the truck. Or resting on his shoulder as you both watched the storm clouds roll in. Or pressing yourself against him as you leaned in—

It was only then that the full weight of your situation hit you. This might have started out as an act of revenge on Scott, but the joke was now on you. After only one day, you were falling fast and hard for Tyler Owens.

Part 4 coming 9/2!

[rebelliousstories]

Flirting Gone Wrong

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Brief Mentions of Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 1,040

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: After a while, most people would throw in the towel. Thankfully, or unfortunately, Remy is not most people.

Consider A Donation: Here

Remy was at the kitchen, sulking as he stared at the group on the other side of the room. No matter what he did, no matter what he said, they just would not join him in the fun. After a while, Gambit thought that they might not be interested in him. But Storm had put a quick stop to that thought in his head. According to her, they really did like him, yet, for some reason they were not acting on it.

For months, he had been trying to make a move on the person. And every time he did it, they found another way to negate his attempts. Each time he laid down a line, they took it literally or chuckled it away. If he tried to wrap an arm around them, they ducked out of the way. If he tried to give them pastries or treats, they always split them with whoever else was around.

Safe to say, Gambit did not think that they liked him as Storm claimed. But he kept trying. Hoping that one day he would be able to win them over. However, there he sat. Sulking over the fact that they were laughing about something with Rogue and Wolverine across the kitchen.

“Are you going to sit there and stare at them all day?” Jubilee asked, saddling up to where the Cajun was.

“I jus’ don’t get it, petite. Storm says they like me too, but they ain’t doin’ nothin’ to prove that. Jus’ treatin’ me like one of the rest o’ ya.” He lamented, dropping his chin on to the heel of his hand. Remy’s body sagged with the weight of a deep breath leaving his body.

“Gambit, listen. When we have our nightly talks, I can tell how much they like you. They’re just a little afraid to show it. Have you tried talking to them about it? Maybe seeing why they won’t return the affection?” This gave the man pause. He shook his head when he realized that he had never stopped to ask them why they were acting like this.

“Well, there’s your problem,” she shoved Gambit gently, “go talk to them about it. Because, if I’m being totally honest, I can’t deal with another day of you two pinning after each other. It’s frustrating in a sweet way.”

“You’re right, petite. Gambit should just go talk to them. Been beatin’ ‘round da bush too much.” He said with such conviction that Jubilee cheered. As he began to walk across the room, Remy stopped, turned back around, and held a worried look on his face.

“What should I say?” Jubilee rolled her eyes, but got up to go near him anyways.

“Something that’ll get you two together and not this ridiculous pining!”

The girl turned him back around, and shoved him hard towards the group. He stumbled, and nearly fell which caught everyone’s attention. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Remy chuckled nervously. Gambit shot a dangerous look back at the girl that had pushed him, who only smirked at him in return.

“You alright there, Gambie?” They asked, coming closer to offer a helping hand up. He only hoped that his confidence did not fail him now.

“Course I am, pistache. Listen, can I talk to you real quick? Alone?” Remy wondered quietly. They nodded and began to lead the both of them out of the kitchen towards the hallway. Sitting in silence for a while, Remy kept his eyes trained to the floor below as he tried to muster his courage back up.

“So…” they started, “what did you want to talk about?” The man was trying very hard to put his thoughts into words, but that was going horribly. They sat in silence for another minute before he composed himself.

“Do you like me at all?” He blurted out.

“Of course I do, Gambie. Why-“

“Not as a friend or another member of da team? But as a romantic partner?”

It was now their turn to become silent. Chewing their lip, their eyes stayed on the ground below them. Remy’s silver boots were now the most interesting things in the world. They knew that he was trying to get their attention back on him by calling their name, but they felt their mouth getting dry.

“And what if I do,” came their question once they could speak. Remy came closer to them so he was now in their bubble.

“Well, I’d love nothin’ more, pistache. Cause I’m right there with ya. Jus’ neva thought you liked ol’ Gambit is all. Neva game no signs or nothin’.” His hand scratched the back of his head as he admitted his feelings.

“Oh, no, Gambie. Don’t think that. I just never expected you to like someone like me.” Tilting his head to the side in what could only be described as a puppy tilt, Remy looked confused.

“Whatcha mean, pistache? We both mutants.” They groaned just a bit as they realized they needed to spell it out for the Cajun.

“No. That’s not what I meant, Remy. I mean, I never expected you to like someone that was asexual.” When he did not speak, they continued. “I don’t feel any sexual attraction. I want to go on dates and have a relationship, but sex grosses me out. I just don’t see the point to it.”

They teared up a bit when Remy had not spoken still. Realizing he had a fleeting moment, he rushed to take them in his arms comfortingly.

“Oh, pistache. Don’t think that now. Gambit don’t care. You jus’ keep bein’ lovin’ you, and we’ll figure it out from there. Ain’t gotta do nothin’ you uncomfortable with now.” He ran a hand over their head as he spoke, hoping that his words were able to get through.

“You really don’t care?”

“Non, pistache. Just care ‘bout you.”

The tears went away near immediately at this. Pulling away, they were able to look him in the eyes with joy this time. Raising onto their tiptoes, they pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, causing him to blush. He reciprocated as soon as he got the go ahead, and boy did he enjoy watching their cheeks light up in flames.

[sister-lucifer]

 READ PART ONE HERE 

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Comfort, fluff, slight angst but nothing heavy, not explicitly romantic

Summary: The thunder rouses you from a nightmare-filled sleep, and in your distress you run to Tim for comfort

Content/Warnings: None really, reader has nightmares due to unspecified trauma but nothing is explicitly written, Tim is a little emotionally constipated but does his best, no explicit romance.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You nearly jump out of your skin when the screaming thunder rips you from your fitful sleep. You sit up so fast you almost fall out of bed, your jaw hanging open like you’re trying to cry out despite no sound leaving your throat. Your chest is heaving so fast you start to choke on your breath. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, and even longer still for you to remember where you are. 

Do you recognize this place? 

Home? 

This isn’t home. 

No. Not quite.

A home, yes, but not your home. 

The TV is still on. 

The wallpaper is still peeling.

The shag rug is still discolored. 

You know where you are. 

You look around for a second, taking in your surroundings and making sure your assessment was correct. It’s like a flood of memories coming back to you in an instant, and for a second it’s almost calming. That is, until you get to the part that made you so afraid in the first place. 

The nightmares have been pervasive for weeks now. You’re not sure why. It’s some sort of episode you think, one of these days it’ll stop, but it’s been wearing on you. You’ve hidden it from Tim as best you can. You don’t want him to worry, that’ll only make you feel worse, and usually it’s easy enough to shake the thoughts from your mind. 

Usually. 

But this time it’s lingering, an unwanted guest meandering in the doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time, like dirty smoke permeating everything around it and yellowing the walls with its horrible malodor. 

God, it’s everywhere.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face in them. It’s a feeble attempt to calm yourself, to stop the images of your nightmare from flashing in your mind over and over again, but it does little to help. 

The thunder cries out again and you yelp in surprise, the harsh noise cutting through the static buzzing taking over your mind. It irritates the pounding headache you can feel coming on. You’re exhausted, only being kept awake by the obscene amounts of adrenaline being pumped through your veins. 

God, it won’t go away. 

There are just some thoughts that can’t be forced out no matter how hard you try. They can’t be pushed away or covered up or cut out of you. You can only wait until they dissolve on their own, but right now they feel like a cement block weighing you down from the inside.

The headache is coming on faster than you thought, and you wince under the pressure of pins and needles in the back of your head. 

God, it hurts. 

You can’t stay here. 

You can’t stay in this room. 

It’s like the walls are closing in on you, the darkness barely shrouding their approach. 

It’s not safe here. 

You need Tim. 

He’ll know what to do.

You jump from your bed and tumble to the floor, not even taking a moment to acknowledge the pain as you thrash your way out of the covers tangled around your ankles. You barely manage to stumble to your feet, slamming into the doorway as you flee the room. It stings, but you don’t care. 

You’ve forgotten all pleasantries or manners as you burst into Tim’s room, slamming the door open so fast the knob rattles from the impact. Tim jolts awake with a grunt of surprise, and for a moment his hand jumps to grab the revolver he keeps in the dresser drawer. He only fumbles with the handle for a moment before he blinks a few times and pauses. He squints at you, tilts his head, then sighs in both relief and annoyance. 

He collapses back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. 

“God…dammit, kid!” He groans, and you feel a pang of guilt that’s quickly washed away by the flood of tears stinging your eyes and burning your throat. 

You rush to his bedside, collapsing against the mattress and gasping for air as you try to collect yourself. You try to breath in, but the air is forced back out of your lung before you can take a meaningful breath. You choke out a pitiful cry of Tim’s name, but with the old TV being the only light in the room and his vision still blurry with sleep he can’t see the distress that’s evident on your face. 

He turns over onto his side, brows furrowed in annoyance and a hint of a scowl on his lips. 

“What do you need, kid?” 

You don’t get to answer before the thunder comes down again, making you flinch and forcing a surprised noise from your mouth. Tim turns and looks out the window, sighing and rolling his eyes. 

“Is it the thunder, huh? You scared, kid?” 

“Yes,” You finally choke out. 

He pauses, his expression instantly shifting to one of concern. He scrambles to sit up, making room for you on the bed. 

“Okay, okay,” He says softly, “Come on, get up here, I got you.”

You claw at the sheets as you climb up into bed with him, your hands immediately finding his body and grabbing onto his shirt. You pull yourself into him so desperately he almost falls over, barely managing to catch himself just in time to keep you both from going down. 

He’s almost as frantic as you are, large hands fumbling with you as he clumsily pulls you onto his lap and into his chest. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt so hard your knuckles are getting sore. It hurts, but you can’t let go. You hiccup and your breath stutters as you fight for air. 

“Hey, hey,” He whispers, trying to keep you still against him without crushing you, “Are you hurt or anything?” 

“No,” You answer, not relaxing your grip for a second. You feel Tim nod. 

“Okay, okay. What’s wrong, kid, what’s got you all worked up?” He asks. Hopefully you can’t hear that little shake in his voice. 

“N-Nightmare,” is the only reply you can stutter out, but it says enough. It strikes a nerve somewhere deep inside of Tim’s being, and it hurts like hell. He knows what it’s like to wake up screaming, terrified and alone. 

You’re not alone, though. Not this time. He won’t let you suffer like that.

…But god, he is so bad at this. 

He loves you with everything he’s got, but he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s come right out and said it. It’s embarrassing for him, that’s all, the words taste contrived and sticky in his mouth and it’s just unbearable. It’s not something he can make himself do. 

What else can he possibly say? 

He ponders that question as he keeps you against him, almost afraid to let you go. He can feel your hot tears soaking through his thin night shirt now. He doesn’t know how to stop them. He’s always suffered alone, he doesn’t even have a frame of reference here. 

Think, dammit, think, Tim. 

He won’t tell you everything is okay. It’s not, it never will be, and he’s not going to lie to you. 

He won’t tell you to stop crying. It’d be a horrible thing to ask of you, full stop. Christ, at this point, you deserve a good cry. 

He won’t stay quiet. It’s completely out of the question, he has to say something, and it has to be the truth. 

He has to tell you the truth. 

“…You’re safe with me, kid,” He sputters, trying to get the words out as fast as possible, “You’re safe, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you. Not ever.” 

You go quiet for just a moment, like you’re surprised to hear that. Then you hiccup and suck in a harsh breath, and the sobs roll in once more. He sighs and starts to rub your back in smooth circles. 

“Whatever’s scarin’ you, kid,” He mutters in your ear, “I won’t let it get you. Nothing‘s gonna get to you while I’m here. You can sit here in my lap all night if you want, I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere ‘til you feel safe.” 

As he talks, you slowly start to calm down. It’s gradual, but when he stops talking your hiccups and sobs have gotten just a bit quieter. Your grip on his shirt has loosened a little, too. 

You believe him. 

God, you really do believe him. 

And for some reason, that’s the most amazing thought that’s ever crossed his mind. You really do trust him to keep you safe. 

He plans to keep it that way. 

He adjusts you in his hold just a bit, moving to lean back against his pillows. He tightens his grip a bit just to keep you from moving. He doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to get away from you, he just wants you both to be comfortable. 

Both of his hands rest on your back, slowly sliding up and down as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Your body shivers against him, the heaving in your chest starting to level out bit by bit as you catch your breath. He can feel your lungs expand and contract with each breath. 

He reaches up to scratch the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around you. He listens intently as your voice quiets until you’re silent, and then the only thing he can hear is your steady breathing. 

He just sits there for a minute when he realizes he’s actually managed to calm you. He’s almost impressed with himself. In any other universe, that was probably a disaster.

His hands still and move to rest on your back once more. He doesn’t feel the need to keep you held so tight now. You’re not going anywhere.

Are you even awake? 

He turns his head to look at you, and you stir a bit in response. He quickly turns his head back so as not to wake you if you are asleep. He’s not going to get up until you are. 

He sighs softly to himself, his eyes turning back to the TV and whatever trashy sitcom he fell asleep too a few hours ago. He doesn’t really care. He won’t be up for much longer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off the exhaustion is quickly taking over, not to mention the warmth and comfortable pressure of you laying on top of him is more relaxing than he’d like to admit. 

He’s only just allowed his eyes to flutter shut when he feels you stir, and suddenly they fly open again. He stays still, but alert. You’re not having another nightmare, are you? Shit… 

He tenses as he listens to you, watching your movements  carefully. You don’t seem upset, at least not yet, but that can change in an instant. 

He’s ready to hold onto you if you freak out. He’s thinking about where he last left the first aid kit, just in case. He’s wondering what he’ll have to say this time if he can’t bring you down again. 

But then you go still. 

And you’re quiet. 

And you’re breathing steadily. 

And everything’s okay again. 

Then Tim flinches as an unexpected mumble of his name falls from your lips, and he turns to look at you in surprise and slight concern. 

“Yeah, kid? What is it?”

He gets no response. 

Your eyes are closed. You’re asleep. 

Thank God.

He huffs at his own anxiousness before laying his head back again. He pats your back softly, and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy again. 

“You know what?” He whispers as he reaches to pull a blanket over both of you, “I’ll ask you in the morning. Sweet dreams, kid.”

reblog banners by cafekitsune

[hero-of-the-wolf]

@kikker-oma !!! I couldn't let this month pass without writing you a little something 🫶 I hope you like it!!!! based on this drawing here :)

Twilight stumbled back a step, bringing his shield up against the lizalfos’ attack. His side screamed in protest at the impact, forcing him to fall back another step.

“Careful, Twi!”

“Do you need any help?”

“Are you okay?”

The rancher ignored them all. He was losing his mind. He knew that the others meant well, but it was hard not to feel absolutely smothered by all of their concern. He was a fully capable hero, just the same as the rest of them. So why was his injury such a big deal? Just because he’d almost died-....

Twilight shook his head firmly. He was fine. The wounds were well on their way to scarring by now. So what if they were still sore? So what if his current strength was only a fraction of what it once was? There was absolutely no reason for the others to worry about him.

He was fine.

The lizalfos pressed the attack, hacking its sword against his shield over and over again. Twilight gritted his teeth, losing more ground with every hit.

This was getting ridiculous.

Surging forwards, he bashed his shield against the monster, stunning it, and thrust his sword through its chest. With a horrible screech it exploded into a cloud of black smoke.

Twilight panted, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. He moved to walk forwards when his legs buckled, sending him stumbling to his knees with a surprised grunt. Almost immediately he felt a concerned hand prodding at him. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, trying to hold it together. He’d be worried too if he was in their shoes, he tried to remind himself. They meant well.

He waved Sky away and forced himself back to his feet. His side was still screaming at him, his head was spinning, he couldn’t quite catch his breath. He looked around for the next monster only to realize the battle had already ended and everyone was staring at him.

He felt his face flush red.

Without a word he picked a direction and took off, steps quick and unsteady. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed space.

He managed to make it out of earshot before the pain grew too much and he was forced to sit down roughly on a nearby rock.

Hylia it hurt.

It shouldn’t. He hadn’t even done that much during the battle. It shouldn’t hurt at all.

What was wrong with him?

“Twilight?”

He stiffened. He didn't dare to turn around. He knew that whoever it was, they wouldn’t be leaving him alone so easily. But maybe if he just—

“Hey… are you okay, rancher?”

Or not.

“Fine,” he snapped.

“I’m… not so sure about that.”

Footsteps crept closer, almost too quiet to hear. Twilight glanced over to see Hyrule nervously wringing his hands. When he noticed the rancher looking at him he immediately stopped, dropping his arms back down to his sides. The rancher frowned in concern and motioned him closer.

But Hyrule only bit his lip in response. “You… you’re bleeding, you know.”

Twilight looked down at his side, eyes widening in surprise when he saw that his shirt was already growing red.

“Oh.”

“Can I…?”

He nodded, resigned to his fate, and let Hyrule pull his armor off to look at the wound. He ignored the traveler’s concerned sounds, staring down at his clenched fists instead.

He’d hurt himself again.

Some hero he was.

“I know you’re trying to get your strength back,” Hyrule finally spoke up. “But you can’t hide this from me.”

Twilight glanced over again to see Hyrule watching him expectantly, his hands still outstretched. His heart twisted in guilt and he forced his gaze away.

“M’sorry….”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Hyrule gently pressed his hands against the wound. They were blessedly warm, easing the pain back into a much more manageable ache.

“Thank you,” he tried again.

Hyrule paused, looking up at him with a small, genuine smile. “Anytime.”

[loko4koko]

Cowboy Toji. He's taken over my mind. Imagine him tied up with his own rope, commanding you to help him, but instead, we tease him till he's all hot and bothered.

oh my sweet anon you have NO idea how this ask has affected me 😭 as someone who used to be heavy in the rdr2 fandom, i have a LOT (A LOT) of thoughts about sexy yummy cowboy men hehe

gn!reader but they do wear a dress!

MDNI 18+ BELOW THE CUT

cowboy!toji—well, he isn’t just a cowboy, he’s a bounty hunter. one of the best around, too. he has no rivals because everyone knows they aren’t even close to being as tough as him. he’ll hog tie a bounty right up (or shoot them if they’re being a pain in the ass), sling ‘em on the back of his horse, and when he’s done dropping them at the sheriff’s, he’ll use the hefty reward to celebrate at the nearby saloon.

only, toji may have celebrated a little too hard this time, ‘cause he fell victim to one of the oldest scams in the book. 4 whiskey shots and 2 beers in, toji gets approached by a working girl, and she’s real pretty, too, so who would he be to say no to a little company? so he stumbles off with her, following her lead to a secluded room in the saloon. but what happens there is far from what toji had expected.

when he wakes up, only a couple of hours later, he can’t see anything. the room is dark, and…why does it feel so cold? there’s a grimace on toji’s face as he tries to get up from what he thinks is the floor, only to realize his limbs are completely immobile. ‘that fucking girl…” he thinks, hissing as the ropes tied around his almost completely naked form dig into his flesh. he’s left in nothing but his underwear, grumbling angrily to himself while he tries desperately to wriggle out of his binds. that girl must’ve been a pro at this, though, ‘cause those ropes aren’t budgin’.

you’re in the storage room next door, organizing the newest case of liqour when you hear it. there’s someone groaning, some shuffling, and it startles the hell out of you. you set the box full of alcohol aside and listen further, and when the person swears your eyes widen. you tiptoe your way out to the hall, pressing your ear up against the door of the second, empty storage room. “goddamn thievin’ girl..shit..” you hear them say. it’s a man’s voice, real deep and boy, does he sound angry. your curiosity gets the best of you in the end, so you push the door open, reaching to turn on the lantern near the entrance. it takes a second for your eyes to adjust but when they do, your breath hitches.

there’s a man—just like you’d heard from the other room—and he’s..oh. your face grows hot as you take in the compromising position he seems to be in. his short black hair is tousled, scar on his lip twisted up as he tries to wriggle himself free, and when he looks up at you, it’s like a switch flips inside of you.

“ya mind givin’ me a hand here, doll?”

those dark, brooding eyes follow your every movement as you cross the short distance to reach him. you drop to the floor in front of him, dirtying the long skirt of your dress but you couldn’t care less. you’ve heard stories of a famous bounty hunter, one who could clear rooms with his gaze alone. the one with the scar and the midnight black stallion. the man who rides through the night like death incarnate. the one and only toji fushiguro. and here he was, bound in his own ropes, right in front of you.

your eyes are full of wonder as you take him in, hand subconsciously reaching out to smooth a thumb across his scarred lip. it’s real. he’s real. and he’s bared before you, wrapped up like a present that only you know about. your fingers skip a path down to his chiseled jaw, then further, down past the thick cords of his neck, before they come to a stop on his broad chest. the skin is flawed—healed knife slashes and bullet grazings etched across his pale flesh—but still so soft, so inviting with how it ripples under your delicate touch. as you explore him, your thumb brushes his nipple and he shudders, steely eyes boring into you when you meet his stare.

“this ain’t what i meant by ‘givin’ me a hand, sweetheart’,” he says, voice rumbling low.

“i- i’m sorry, do you..want me to stop?”

he’s silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight while your hand hovers just off of his toned abdomen. your palm is so close you can still feel the heat radiating from him, and it’s killing you how badly you want that heat on you directly from the source.

“no.”

so you don’t stop. your hands are fully on him now, groping at his chest and caressing his stomach. and when your hand trails lower, your eyes meet his again and he holds your gaze quietly. you can feel how hard he is through his underwear, can feel how hot and big and throbbing he is. lip between your teeth, you take the plunge and grip him tight, barely able to wrap your hand around the girthy shaft. he hisses, eyes still on you, unwavering in their confidence. it doesn’t matter to toji that he’s the one restrained, he knows (in his sober state) that he could intimidate anyone into backing down, and you’re no exception. but there’s something in him, something that he sees in you that has him keening at your touch. in him- addicted, in you- addicting.

you’ve reduced this big, burly, violent man into a grunting mess. there’s sticky spots of pre staining his underwear and his head has fallen back between his bulky shoulders and fuck, he wants to cum, so bad—so fucking bad—but you’re not as sweet as you look, keep slowing the pump of your wrist down when his hips start to grind up into the strokes.

are you going to be nice, be kind to this scary man? or are you going to leave him there, high and dry? choose wisely, he’s a professional at finding people who’ve wronged him…

>thank u for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

[yanxidarlings]

hello !! I've been really interested in your "not slytherin" writing and i think i have reread it more than 20-ish times hahahah since it's really good and you're the reason why i am invested in all these fan characters (since i didnt see what their appeal was before reading your work).

and now speaking of it, I'm now thinking about a specific "what if?" scenario, and that is; what if the suffering the reader goes through becomes so much to the point it transforms them into an obscurial? they have pretty much oppressed all their emotions, all their negativity, for four years— and it broke them. and the angst would be so good for this. the reader would definitely be more than distrustful. they're afraid that since their name has already been burnt off their own family; they would soon be expelled or even worse taken into the ministry for how dangerous they are to the other students. and this would definitely up the yandere factor to another level. they're aware theyre at fault for most of the reader's suffering, and that a single trigger would cause them to burst but then they can't do a single fucking thing about it or else.

not a request, but it's something ive been thinking about for a long time now !! (I'm really new to the hp fandom and ur writing definitely made me want to read more into them so I'm glad i stumbled upon it suddenly ^^)

dude, broski, broskilenski, ur a wizard of some sort because HOW ELSE COULD YOU READ MY MIND

i was considering making the reader an obscurial (my favourite fanfiction trope by far) but hesitent incase it was too farfetched but I HAVE BEEN GIVEN A SIGN

was sitting on not slytherin aye p2 but this ask has given me the inspiration to write

so without further adieu, with compliments to the other not slytherin p2 ask

jaythes1mp asked:

Could you do a part two of your latest fic (at this time) — YANDERE SLYTHERIN BOYS: NOT SLYTHERIN, AYE?

Where all the sudden suffocating affection they’re showing him after years of tournament makes him leave Hogwarts because he’s so terrified. He knows they couldn’t have changed, since they’re still threatening anyone near him. But once news gets around to them that he’s leaving for good? How would they take the news? And if they learn that he’s been disowned from his family? Would that be a good or bad thing — because now they can’t arrange a marriage. And it would be harder to find him if he got out of their grasps.

Would they be forced to team up? Would they force him into an unbreakable vow or blood pact??

Please do my request, I’ll beg. Just ask, I will actually get on my knees and beg. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

i present

YANDERE SLYTHERIN BOYS: NOT SLYTHERIN, AYE? P2

“remember, you have to do anything to be slytherin, no matter what it takes” draco's words replayed in m/n's head. he'd replayed that sentance so much it had become distorted, is that even what he said m/n thought to himself, watching the train pass by.

under his eyes were bags the size of boulders, he hadn't slept in days. not since..

"excuse me, sir" a voice rung in his head. m/n shook his head, he wanted it all to go away, go away, go away- "mister, i'm gonna have to ask you for ID" somesort of internal wiring within him snapped "GO AWAY" m/n screamed, finally turning to face to the person- man.. muggle police officer, that had been addressing him.

the officer moved back, taking a strange device off his uniform and speaking into it "i'm gonna need back-up, barkley" whilst the man was engaged, m/n made a run for it.

"GET BACK HERE YOUNG MAN" the police officer bellowed, chasing after the teenage boy.

running through, down the subway and onto the train tracks, the officer gave up the pursuit. sooner or later the boy would be run over by an oncoming train in the tunnels.

after running for who knows how long, m/n finally slowed to a walking pace. then he stopped. the sound of a horn filled his ears, the pitch black tunnel illuminated by the vehicles headlights. i

it was getting closer

m/n looked around, there was nowhere to go in the narrow tunnel

closer

tears filled his eyes, but instead of sobbing he began laughing, only to break out into a fit of sobs and then revert back to laughter.

it was too close

suddenly a BANG was heard as the train came to a stop, the tunnel filled with black mist, which had somehow crushed the head of the train.

it was not natural, it was.. dark magic.

• it was on the front page of the daily prophet the next day 'OBSCURIAL SIGHTING IN SOUTH LONDON SUBWAY' obscurials were no common occurance, the last one was reported in the 1930's, new york.

• it wasn't a cured illness, no, the circumstances of it's development had simply become less common. children of all blood status' had access to education in order to facilitate their powers, and there were muggleborn programs across the world to ensure they did not develop one either.

• it had the ministry stumped. there were no leads on the obscurus, nor was a body found to sugget the outburst had caused the hosts death.

• albus dumbledore was no stranger to obscurials, he had lost so much to them, his sister, his nephew — but he knew well what power the host of one held. and the key role one could play in the coming war.

• which is why he had to find the obscurial before the ministry, or lord voldemort did.

"i am not here to hurt you, m/n" the headmaster called out, slowly approaching the young wizard, who's wand was drawn. "what spell do you plan to use, child?" the older man chimed, it was no secret m/n l/n was never the best with applied magic, like he was with potions or magical creatures

m/n's wand arm shook, "petrificus totalus" upon speaking the words, his wand shot out a spell, of which dumbledore blocked. hitting into the ground, the concrete began to degrade.

terrified, m/n dropped his wand, eyes glassy and wide "i didn't- i have to go" he stuttered out

"there are people who will hurt you, who will use you as a weapon" dumbledore moved closer to the boy who was now shaking "i can help, you can help, you don't have to be the monster the obscurus compels you to be" they were now face to face, or beard to cheek, as m/n couldn't break his eyes away from the concrete.

when the boy nodded, the headmaster took his arm, and a loud POP sounded through the air.

the next day, m/n attended breakfast as if he had not been missing for the past two weeks.

the headmaster had given him his own room under the guise of spacing issues, perhaps having an escape would make this year less hellish, or maybe spending too much time alone would exuberate his growing instability.

at least he could kill one of his tormenters without any witnesses now.

a couple people stared at him as he made his way to the great hall, lovegood had even greeted him. albeit she held the quibbler she had with her close to her chest.

"salazar!" he heard a familiar voice exclaim from behind him, arms wrapping around him "where have you been, l/n" he didn't like the way malfoy was looking at him, it was soft "i thought- i thought you had done something stup-"

m/n was quick to shove off malfoys embrace, rather roughly, before turning around to walk away.

he was pulled back, he now saw malfoys eyes were glassy, as if he was about to cry. what a baby, m/n thought, he wasn't listening to whatever bollocks was coming out malfoys mouth, instead he just glared "and i'm sorry if i was the reason-"

"malfoy, just go cry about this to the house elves, they get paid to care i don't"

and with that, m/n was off, ignoring zabini and nott who were staring at him as he shoved past.

• as the days went by, his tormentors wouldn't leave him alone, but they weren't doing what they always had, they were being nice. which scared him even more. perhaps because niceness was so foreign or because he knew it had to be a ploy for their next big trick.

• he wanted to be left alone by them but there was no way out. they held him in chokeholds they called hugs and suffocated him with what they called kisses.

• they sat with him in class and one of them was always partnered up with him, but they just wanted to sabotage his grades, and get him expelled.

• they were no longer hostile towards him but towards each other, whenever one caught him with another, they'd fight each other with wits or fists.

• they dragged him to their dorm every night and drew sticks to decide who he would be stuck with for the night. he never slept those nights, they were just waiting for him to fall asleep so they could do something horrible.

• but he rarely ever slept at all these days, which is what contributed to the paranoia that led him to leaving.

• the only reason he stayed was for headmaster dumbledore, who had been attempting to help him learn to control the obscurus, to no avail. when the headmaster was outcast by the ministry, there was no reason to stay and wait to get caught for what he was.

"do you understand your fault, mr l/n" the sickeningly sweet sound of umbridges voice filled his ears, it was more painful than the cuts inflicted on him by the quill he had been forced to write with.

blood was trickling down to the floor, the words that he had been made to write indecipherable, covered in the blood they had drawn. "i must not disrespect the high inquisitor" he uttered, teeth clenched.

"i don't think you understand, mr l/n, twenty more lines"

he remained still, staring at the blood on the carpet, then at the decorative plates embeded with cats, and then at umbridges face.

"i quit"

"pardon, mr l/n?"

m/n stood up out of his chair, dropping the quill on the floor "i'm leaving hogwarts" he threw his wand on the table he had been forced to maim himself at, before storming out of the room.

• the news soon reached the slytherins that their beloved m/n had left the school, leaving them bewildered.

• when draco tried to find the reader by having his father get in contact with the l/n's, it finally hit them that m/n had been disowned, rendering their previous efforts to keep him useless.

BLAISE ZABINI

• blaise is probably the most crushed. his entire plan involved arranging a marriage with the reader, which was now impossible. but what upsets him more is that m/n never even told him. five months and not one mention of being disowned.

• he's mad at the reader until he comes to know the reason for the reader being disowened - because of all he and the other slytherins had done to make it seem like he was a blood traitor.

• blaise hated himself for being a part of it all, but above all, he hated the other slytherins for starting it all. it was draco's fault they all started tormenting him, it was mattheos fault they took it to the extreme.

DRACO MALFOY

• draco had his suspicions from the moment m/n returned, his father had mentioned in passing about the l/n's and how dissapointed they were in their son. but it usually ended in lucius praising draco for being such a good son, so he had never paid it much mind.

• it was his fault, he knew it. he hated feeling powerless but that's what he felt as his father told him m/n hadn't gone back home. m/n didn't have a home. he could be out there all on his own, exposed to the dangers of the muggle world..

• his obsession only grew after m/n left hogwarts, every moment of every day he wondered where he was, if he was okay, if he was with anyone. if he was with anyone he'd end them.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

• enzo had been told by his parents a few months ago they were unable to arrange a marriage because m/n had been disowned. not that he told anyone else, let them think they have him whilst lorenzo makes m/n fall in love with him.

• except his every advance was met with rejection or hostility. and when m/n left for good he was devastated, how were they supposed to live out their love story now?

• lorenzo confronts the other slytherins when the news m/n had left reached them, which is what led to the realization that they were all sickly obsessed with the ravenclaw.

MATTHEO RIDDLE

• something had been strange about m/n the moment he returned, mattheo saw it in his eyes. whether it was what he had gone through the previous years still haunting him, or something else, mattheo tries to get m/n to talk to him, but he's.. mattheo, who once broke m/n's ribcage from beating him.

• it was impossible to foster any trust no matter what he did. he tries to talk about his own struggles, his cruel father and upbringing. he tries to treat m/n like a porcelain doll, but the walls never go down.

• hell hath no rage like a riddle scorned, mattheo would have killed umbridge if tom hadn't stopped him. but he wasn't done with just her, the l/n's were next on his path of rage, and there was little anyone could do to stop him from inflicting a painful death on them

THEODORE NOTT

• theo could barely handle m/n's reluctance to warm up to him, it took every bit of strength in him not to yell and force m/n into opening up, accepting his affection, but m/n not being there at all? theo goes off the rails.

• he fears the worst, what if.. m/n.. theo thinks to himself every moment he's not thinking about how to get him back. when draco tells him m/n was disowned, he broke down crying in the bathroom when he was alone later.

• the world was not safe for a young wizard with no wand or money. what if the dark lord went after him for being a blood traitor. theo went with mattheo to threaten umbridge, and figure out where m/n would have gone.

TOM RIDDLE

• tom could see all the pain m/n was going through when he used legilimency on him. he saw the abuse, the torment, the self hatred, and he knew what the reader had been through and become.

• he's furious that m/n's own parents would disown him, as if he was disposable. it reminded him too much of his own father. but he puts his emotions aside to focus on what really mattered, finding and keeping m/n.

• tom was the only one who had figured out m/n's condition, and used it to his advantage, telling his father that the reader was the obscurus the ministry had been looking for, making m/n voldemorts new target for capture.

tracking down an obscurial was not as simple as the dark lord had anticipated it to be, which is why he delegated the task to his eldest son who had first hand experience with the boy, m/n l/n.

coming to a stop as the sight of the boy filled tom vision, the young death eater watched as m/n stared down his reflection in the water. tom slowly came closer, wand at the ready, until his own reflection revealed his presence.

"you look horrible" the boy turned to face tom as he spoke "you here to kill me, riddle?" m/n sounded resigned, like he had already accepted it.

but that was not what tom was there for. "the dark lord wants you within his ranks" tom stated, avoiding m/n's dead gaze. "what the dark lord wants does not concern me" m/n took a step back, he was scared, tom could tell.

"are you going to make this difficult for me, m/n?" tom took a step closer, snaking an arm around the males waist.

before m/n had the chance to try and stab him in the eye with his own wand, tom stunned him, knocking him out, as lord voldemort came out of the shadows "well done, son" tom looked down at m/n's unconscious face as they apparated. you'll love me oneday.

• the readers condition certainly complicates things for the slytherins, it's no longer simply just subjugate him whether he likes it or not, the readers stability is the difference between life or death, freedom or azkaban for them.

• he becomes the dark lords puppet project, a weapon to use against the order of the phoenix and a tool to keep the future of the death eaters loyal.

• he never returns to hogwarts, tom made sure he was outted as the obscurial so that he'd never have anywhere to run, everywhere he could go he would be seen as a threat, a monster.

• an all-out war breaks out bewteen the slytherins once they have the reader in their grasp again. no one is willing to relent, m/n belongs to them. not the others, them.

• the slytherins would slowly come to the realisation there was no single 'winner', none of them could ever have a normal life with him now the dark lord was back and he had developed an obscurus.

• instead the focus would switch into keeping m/n safe, from voldemort, from himself, from the ministry, from everything.

TOM RIDDLE

• out of all of them, tom can handle m/n's obscurus the best. mostly because he's level headed enough not to set him off. sure he has some sadistic tendencies but at the cost of his own, and surrounding lives?

• tom's obsession was exuberated by the obscurus, it made his darling all the more appealing. to hold such power over someone so powerful is what drives him to sometimes provoke the obscurus, to see what potential m/n truly holds.

• sometimes he goes to far and gets someone or himself seriously injured. he wants to help his darling learn to control the obscurus, but it's hard to acheive when he himself also wants to control his darling.

THEODORE NOTT

• theo is frankly horrified when he finds out m/n had developed an obscurus. he had only ever heard stories about obscurials dying young, after an outburst they can't control.

• he wonders how long m/n had suffered with it for. in the back of his mind, he hopes it was before hogwarts, or else he truly was an absolute piece of shit, to help torment the one he loves most into such a despairful illness.

• theo spends the time he's not with his darling searching through the old pureblood libraries for even a hint of a cure. he wanted to be with his darling forever, but the oldest obscurial only ever lived until 23. theo won't stop until he can figure out how to get rid of the obscurus.

MATTHEO RIDDLE

• mattheo knows he's most likely the reason, above all the other slytherins, for the readers affliction. he was the one who chased him into dark hallways and used the torture curse, the one who said the nastiest things, the one who went the furthest with the torment.

• he wishes he could take all his darlings pain away. because one wrong word, one accidental touch, could send him over the edge. a world without his darling is what scares him the most, above everything fucked up in the wizarding world.

• so he treats m/n like a single bump would shatter him. it's difficult, mattheo isn't exactly the super soft type, but he tries, he knows if any of the slytherins caught m/n looking upset around him they'd end him.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

• enzo underestimates the readers condition, until he finally see's it for himself one day when snape had called m/n a freak, and he exploded. safe to say, it terrified enzo.

• he's under the impression that if he loves m/n enough, the obscurus will go away. deep down he knows it won't, but it helps him justify the heap of affection he doses his darling in. his heart breaks when he's pushed away and he knows pushing back could result in the worst.

• lorenzo is the readers number one caretaker. he always reminds them to eat and get sleep and not to stress about anything. he tries to treat them as normally as possible but it gets difficult when the obscurus mentality kicks in and m/n starts talking about killing them all.

DRACO MALFOY

• draco isn't quite sure how to approach his dear darling after finding out he's an obscurial. draco is overcome with guilt for the hand he had in it, and abominably frustrated he can't just force the reader into doing what he wants.

• when he becomes a death eater he begins to fear for his darlings safety, he hears what the dark lord says about his plans including m/n, and it scares him. there's no regard for m/n's safety or survival, the dark lords only goal is to set m/n off when he takes hogwarts for a quick and easy victory.

• draco tries to get closer to m/n by playing the dependent rich boy, who doesn't know how to do anything for himself. draco figures that if m/n starts to feel responsible for him, it'll be harder for him to leave or say no.

BLAISE ZABINI

• blaises mother told him to stay far away from m/n when she found out. if it were anyone else he would take her advice, but this was his darling, and he could never abandon him over a small imperfection.

• he's the easiest to be around among them all, he doesn't feel the need to always been touching or talking to the reader which is usually what sets him off.

• blaise tries to help m/n settle back into normal life (normal meaning non socially isolated endlessly tormented), but years of torment has taken it's toll in more ways than one. sometimes m/n will accuse blaise and the others of the strangest things, but they all have to take it in stride, or else risk an outburst.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ scenarios | dating negan

♡ fandoms; The Walking Dead

♡ characters; Negan Smith

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; explicit sexual content

♡ notes; in case anyone forgot i’m technically not a dedicated slasher blog

i put this in sections so i didn’t have to make more than one post lol . also these take place while he’s still the ruler of the saviors. i’ve been obsessed since his first episode oh my god that’s eight years of hyperfixation so that’s usually where my brain goes plot- wise

i’m thinking Billy Butcher is up next? lmk who else we wanna see, Garcia Flynn from Timeless is probably too niche? but i love him so so much

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

I. Kisses/PDA

> negan is an affectionate person

> with his wives it’s just for show- they’re hot, and he wants all his followers jealous of his lifestyle

> but with you, it’s different

> his wives don’t like him, per-se. he’s convenient to be married to and easy on the eyes, but they’re cold to him

> and he knows why, he doesn’t really give a shit. especially now that he has you.

> you may not be his spouse- you’re sure as fuck not letting him call you that without a ring- but he’s even more physical with you

> standing by him? hand on your back. sitting? you’re on his lap. look cold? he gives you his jacket and keeps you tucked under his arm

> “i just like takin’ care of you darlin’”

> and he loves kissing you in front of others- from little pecks to long, lingering kisses that makes other people look away

> he seems possessive, and he doesn’t mind people pointing it out

> it’s not that he doesn’t trust you- it’s never that

> he trusts most of his men too…maybe not simon. because simon loves staring at your ass

> but he’s proud. he’s proud you’re his, and he’s yours, and that he gets to show you off

> and like hell he ever lets anyone forget it

> alone he acts like keeping his hands off you is impossible

> he smacks your ass any time you lean over, pulls you into big bear hugs from behind and randomly pick you up

> he doesn’t ever want you to doubt his feelings for you, and physically is the easiest way for him to show it

> he’s very sexual, big shocker

> but his favorite kisses are sleepy kisses

> you wait late into the night when he’s due home from terrorizing his territories

> some part of you is afraid one day he won’t come home- so you always wait

> you’ll be exhausted, rubbing your eyes and yawning and usually wrapped up in a blanket

> but no matter how long he takes directing his men and double checking inventory and dealing with the dead

> “hey there, baby doll”

> you always run straight into his arms and bury your face in his chest. he’ll laugh and pick you up, kissing you gently before he carries you to bed

> most times he falls asleep on top of the covers with you, eager for the morning when he can make it up to you for being gone so long

II. Sharing a bed

> negan isn’t used to sharing a bed anymore

> the wives have their own rooms just down the hall, and so do you

> no reason for him not to give you at least a little space

> and having a room is the height of luxury in the sanctuary anyways. it’s a perk of dating the boss

> but you don’t know how to tell him you do want to share a bed, even though you’re barely apart when you’re awake

> so you just…don’t. you assume it’s a boundary he wants to keep and don’t mention it

> until the night terrors start up again

> you’ve seen a lot of people die a lot of different ways. most of them people you cared a lot about

> the memories always seem to come back in your dreams no matter how far back you push them

> when you’re woken up by one in the middle of a harsh storm, it’s just a bit too much

> you just can’t stop crying, and it’s loud and you need held. you need him.

> you creep as quietly as you can down the hall, and you hesitate at the door until the thunder crashes again

> when you stumble in he sits up fast with a knife in his fist

> then he gives a slightly annoyed sigh in recognition, relaxing

> “the hell are you doing?”

> “i just- um-“

> you can tell he notices the wobble in your voice and opens his arms up without another smart remark

> “hey, hey, i’ve gotcha..”

> he doesn’t ask questions- you don’t cry for nothing. and he gets nightmares too

> falling asleep in his arms feels natural…so natural it becomes a habit

> and he sleeps better with you too, curled around you and holding you so tight you think he might be worried you’ll disappear

> it’s less than a week before you stop using your bed altogether

III. Let’s get kinky

> he’s happy in pretty much any dominant role, whatever you call him is good enough for him- daddy, sir, master, etc

> and he likes when you call him whatever it is in front of his men

> the only chance of getting your dick/strap in him is if he power bottoms. but 95 percent of the time? you’re receiving and it’s big

> he likes being risky. he’ll take you out to visit settlements just to have an excuse to stop and fuck you in the car

> or even in a house there, just a room over from his men and gagging you with his fingers so you don’t get caught

> not that he’ll care if they catch you anyways

> he has a nice big office- half of the reason he uses it is so he can have you on his lap as a cockwarmer while he reads or looks over inventory numbers

> the other half is so you can suck his dick under the desk while he talks to simon or dwight

> (simon is a raging pervert so he definitely knows, too)

> he loves fucking your face, watching you get all teary eyed and drooling all over yourself from taking his massive cock

> “oh look at the fuckin’ mess you’re making!”

> he’s generous though- he loves reciprocating oral

> and he loves overstimulating you too- whether that’s by edging you for hours or just making you cum again and again and again

> he loves taking you from behind, pushing your face into the mattress and gripping your hips so hard they bruise

> but he also loves when you ride him slow, gasping quietly as he watches you fall apart completely for him

[azucar-skull]

A Mile In His Shoes

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @fire-lightz

Fandom: Rise of the TMNT

Prompt: (ROTTMNT) Leo and Donnie swap bodies on a botched mission. The spell reverses after 48 hours, but... how long can they pretend to be each other until it goes wrong? And what can they learn about each other?

Word Count: 5775

Posted on AO3 too!

----------------------------------------------------

“Hurry up, Nardo! We need to go!”, Donnie gripes.

“Ugh! Just- Gimme a sec!”, Leo rolls his eyes.

“You get 5 minutes before the tank leaves without you!”

Honestly, Donnie just can’t seem to understand why his figurative twin just takes so long to get ready. They don’t even wear clothes, to be honest. Just their ninja gear. So why is Leo looking himself over in the mirror all the time before they head out? It’s not going to make his baldness go away.

Leo had about 27 seconds left on the timer until he finally shows up in the turtle tank with the others. The team rolls out to the bank where a wizard yokai is caught stealing from the bank and about to make an escape. The wizard bolts out the front doors and starts heading for the streets before Raph swerves the tank right in front of the wizard, blocking his path. The team jumps out the tank, weapons at the ready.

“Stop right there, pointy hat! Give us the goods!”, Raph orders.

“Hocus pocus, you lose your focus!”, the wizard cackles before blowing a puff cloud of pink glitter at Raph.

Raph coughs as the cloud hits him before shaking his head in a daze. He looks around the scenery confused.

“Wait…what..? Where…am I?”, the snapper mutters.

“Raph, focus !”, Mikey gripes.

“Ah, right. Right…uhh…focus on what now?”

Mikey rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the enemy at large. He charges at the wizard, swinging his nunchucks in a mystic orange hue.

“Come and get some, dumb- ble- dork !”, the box turtle taunts.

“Tweedledum and Tweedledee! You are now the king of bees!”, the wizard cackles again before throwing yellow pocket glitter out of his robe at the turtle.

Mikey yelps as he’s hit in the eyes, rubbing them profusely. Before suddenly he hears a loud swarm of ominous buzzing from behind him. Mikey spins around to see a sea of bees pummeling towards him. Mikey screams in a panic as he runs around, flailing about and swatting away at the onslaught of bees attacking him.

Which leaves the disaster twins. Donnie knows Leo will try to jump in haphazardly which is why Donnie needs to think up of a plan fast before he does-

“I got it!”, Leo calls out.

“No, I got it!”, Donnie snarks.

The two run into each other, bumping shoulders as they try to fight for whose turn it is to go against the villain next. And yet, the wizard cackles at their bickering as the two try to stumble towards him. And Donnie knows it as a sign that the villain is about to strike another spell at them.

“You can never tell what the other is going through, until you walk a mile in his shoes!”

A glittery cloud of mauve and cyan mixed together erupts for the wizard’s sleeve. Donnie stops his squabbling with Leo to push his brother back in an attempt to save them. But he is a second too late. The cloud hits.

And Donnie blacks out.

Donnie’s head is left spinning for a bit when he wakes up. Whatever spell the wizard put on him must be a concussion spell if that makes any sort of sense. The softshell blearily blinks his eyes open and finds himself on the other side of the road that he ran to. Weird, how’d he end up over here? He pushed Leo this way, he was sure. He must’ve been thrown, sure feels like it from how stiff his back is.

Donnie pushes himself up, reaching for his katana- Wait, katana? No, that’s Leo’s. Where’s his bo staff? And better yet…why’s Donnie’s hand…

A brighter green?

Donnie yelps as he looks down at himself. Bright green, triangular body shape, yellow stripes on his arms and thighs. No, that can’t be right! What…

“Guh…”, Leo groans off to the side. “That was so not cowabunga.”

And when Donnie looks over at him, his fears are confirmed. Donnie watches as his own body wakes up, his voice replaced with Leo’s. Leo takes one look at Donnie, stunned and confused, before looking at himself and beginning to scream.

“Oh please, Nardo. Is my body really that hideous to you?”, Donnie gripes.

“No no no no no! My beautiful complexion! My style! And EUGH purple is not my color! Donnie, change us back right now!”, Leo exasperates, staggering to a stand and marching over to his figurative twin.

Donnie huffs in annoyance as he takes a stand as well. “Oh, I would gladly like us to switch back. As soon as we find that wizard.”

“I have him.”, a low voice drawls from ahead.

The two look up to see Draxum has entered the scene, holding one of his pocket dimension orbs in one hand and checking over Mikey’s bee stings as well. Raph is still in a bit of a daze but some clarity seems to be coming back to him.

“UGH great, of course Draxum’s here.”, Leo rolls his eyes (Donnie’s eyes?) back into his skull.

“Since when was Donnie the one so annoyed about seeing Draxum?”, Raph mumbles.

“Because Donnie is now Leo, dear Raphala.”, Donnie sighs.

“I- Wait…WHAT?”, Mikey snaps his head up at the two. “...Huh, you know, it’s actually hard to tell.”

“Hard to? Oh, come on you guys!”, Leo throws his hands up. He starts his protest march over to Draxum. “Draxum, you better change us back right now or I swear I’ll be the one to throw you off a roof!”

“...Okay, nevermind, I take it back.”

Draxum scoffs as he stands up straight, inspecting the two. “Trust me, I’ve had my eye out for this wizard for a while. One of my old colleagues whose ambition got the better of him. Knowing him, this body swap spell will wear off within 48 hours.”

“48 HOURS?!?!”, the twins exclaim in sync.

“Yes, yes, you’ll just simply have to make do for the rest of the weekend.”, Draxum wavers a hand, completely unfazed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get this wizard back into custody before the human police show up. And I suggest that you four do the same. Don’t leave me to clean up your mess again.”

“OH you got SOME NERVE , Draxum!”, Leo shouts. But Draxum is simply starting to walk away as Leo continues to shout at him. “Why can’t you help us? Surely, there’s some kind of mystic mumbo jumbo you got in that lab of yours that can get rid of this! Hey! Get back here, you old deadbeat! UGH!!”

“Relax, Donnie-”, Raph sighs.

“Leo.”

“Oh, right, Leo. Heh, that’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Eugh, great, it’s like we’re identical twins now that always get confused for the other.”, Donnie gripes.

Mikey beams up to a stand, still scratching his bee stings and the ointment that Draxum gave him. “Well hey, it’s not so bad. Maybe you two will learn something about each other.”

“Not now, Miguel.”, Leo mutters.

“No, this can be a good thing! You two are always fighting with each other and I’m growing sick of it. Now, you two can finally-”

“MIKEY I SAID NOT NOW!”, Leo snaps. “Don’t you guys hear that incessant noise in the background?”

The brothers pause. Donnie glances around as he hears some sort of wailing in the distance. Sirens.

“You mean police sirens, Nardo? That’s kind of a New York constant.”, Donnie snarks.

“Yeah, but it’s annoyingly clear. I think the police are on their way. We gotta get out of here, guys.”, the slider (softshell?) exasperates.

“Yeah, good call, let’s hurry.”, Raph nods.

And so the team makes their way back to the lair with the twins now stuck in each other’s bodies. Donnie doesn’t feel that much disoriented for the most part, which is honestly what’s bothering him about how similar the two are. But aside from that, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Just chalk it up to the casual daily inconvenience that is the turtles’ lives.

This isn’t so bad.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

By the time the brothers return home, Donnie still hasn’t felt much difference. Meanwhile Leo keeps bickering and complaining about every little thing. The sewers are too cold, the sounds of cars and sirens overhead are too loud, and just about anything seems to tick him off. Donnie understands these notions well enough, and that has him thinking… Is Leo actually dealing with the physical attributes that Donnie has spent his whole life tolerating? What is the silver lining between the mental and physical depictions of the body? Isn’t mentality also intertwined with physicality? What parts of Leo are actually inside Donnie’s body right now? What parts of Donnie are inside of Leo’s? Perhaps this weekend will allow Donnie to learn something new after all. A fascinating experiment that many scientists have devoted their lives work for…

“Donnie, at the very least, for the sake of my sanity, could you please keep up my skin care routine on my behalf?”, Leo implores by the time they step inside their home.

“Eulgh, why should I? You have like a bazillion products meant for human skin, how does any of that even work? Aren’t most beauty products just scams anyways?”, Donnie detests.

“Well if I’m stuck inside of your body, I can’t do it myself. So please ?”

Donnie rolls his (Leo’s??? Honestly, who's to say?) eyes so far back in his skull it starts to hurt. He lets out a long agitated groan before reluctantly making his way to the bathroom.

“Alright, alright! Anything to stop your useless whining.”, he begrudgingly agrees.

Leo sighs in relief. “Thank you, Donnie. Seriously, I promise to take care of your body too. Starting with getting out of these itchy glitter coated clothes! Ugh! I can’t stand this!”

Donnie rolls his eyes again for good measure as he makes his way to the bathroom. Honestly, the glitter doesn’t even feel that itchy on him at the moment. He doesn’t understand what Leo is getting so worked up about.

But at the same time…he does .

Once inside the bathroom, Donnie finds that these next 48 hours are also going to be a bit…invasive. Honestly, Donnie can go days without a shower (or weeks if he’s really pushing it on a new lab experiment and is stubborn enough to shoo away his brothers). But he made a promise to Leo to respect his bodily autonomy to some extent. And Leo is to do the same in reassurance. And so he peels off all of Leo’s gear and carefully sets them aside. And that’s when he gets a good glance at himself in the mirror.

It is obviously jarring to look at himself inside of Leo’s body. The body shape, the markings, the shell. It all feels so unnatural to him.

But Donnie can’t help this overwhelming sense of wrongness etching into every core of his being.

The more he stares at his swapped reflection, the more wrong he feels. Every little feature he’s seeing is just wrong wrong wrong -

A high-pitched whine echoes from outside in the lair. In an instant, Donnie is snapped out of his trance and quickly throws on a bathrobe (a blue one as the purple one is too small to fit around his shell) and hurries outside. The whine echoes again and Donnie is quick to follow it, accompanied by Raph and Mikey. It’s coming from Leo’s room. Donnie makes it down the stairs first as peers into Leo’s subway car to find the slider-softshell crouched down on the floor.

“Donn- Leo? What’s wrong?”, Raph calls out.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re here.”, Mikey offers a patient smile.

“SHUT UP! JUST- SHUT. UP.”, Leo snaps, clutching at Donnie’s goggles around his head.

Immediately, Donnie knows what is up. He quickly ushers the snapper and box turtle out of the room.

“Here, I got this. Let me handle it.”, the softshell-slider insists.

“Wha- Don! Come on, we can help.”, Raph protests.

Donnie shoves the two out of the room. “ Trust me, I got it!”

He shuts the sliding doors in their face, shrouding the room in darkness. He walks over to his figurative twin and crouches down on the floor.

“...Too much?”, he asks in a soft voice.

Leo winces. “There’s this squeaking noise coming from somewhere and I can’t find it! It’s driving me insane.”

Donnie nods, looking around the room. “Mhm, is that all?”

“Is that all ? Don, we swapped bodies! I’m covered in glitter! Your body smells like it has been rotting in the lab for days! And fuck ! What is happening?”

“It’s a sensory overload, Nardo. I’m certain I’ve explained this to you before.”

“Well yeah but I didn’t think it was this horrible! How can you even stand all of this? Just a couple hours and I’m ready to tear my skin out!”

“Okay first of all, please don’t. That is my skin you’re talking about.”, Donnie gripes. “Secondly, you’re in luck. I just so happen to have a few “fix-its” in place for situations like this. How about we start with getting you out of my clothes and into something more comfortable?”

Donnie stands up and looks around Leo’s room. Ugh, this place was left a mess for…who knows how long. It’s honestly a surprise there’s been no bugs in here. …Yet. Donnie heads for the doors, urging Leo to follow.

“Here, it’s probably best if you take my clothes for now. Your stuff may be too big.”, he explains.

Leo glances up at him for a moment (and man is it weird to see his own face look at him like that) before sighing and getting up to follow his brother. They step out of the subway car, going back up the stairs and down the hall to Donnie’s subway car room. Once inside, Donnie shuts the doors again and searches around his wardrobe closet for something Leo could wear. He grabs one of his patented sensory friendly hoodies and sweatpants. He tosses them in Leo’s direction.

“Here, these’ll make you stop feeling virtually anything on your skin. I also suggest taking off the battle shell and goggles too. If noise is still a problem, I got these ear defenders somewhere under my bed-” Donnie pauses as he turns to face Leo who is just staring at the wall. “...Leo?”

Leo doesn’t speak for a moment. And then, “.......It’s quieter in here.”

Donnie ponders those words for a moment. Because yeah, duh of course it is. Donnie made sure of that. “Yeah, I soundproofed my room. And the lab as well.”

“Is this why you soundproofed the garage and turtle tank back in our old home?”

“Of course. Whether it’s because I’m working in the garage or Raph’s got some kind of training going on in there, it helped keep the peace.”

“Hm.”

Leo turns to the clothes tossed in his direction, picking them up and rubbing the fabric in between his fingers.

“...Thanks.”, he hums.

“Yeah, of course.”, Donnie nods. “Do you…want to take a shower first or are you really okay with me going first?”

“You can go first. I think I still need some time to sorta…adjust to this whole situation.”, Leo gives his signature half-smile (which is uncanny to see on Donnie’s face) as he gestures towards the both of them.

Donnie nods again, giving a dry smile. “Sure thing. I’ll try not to take too long.”

And so with that, Donnie heads back out and returns to the bathroom. He takes off the robe, setting it back on its coat hook with the others. The softshell-slider strides on over to the shower and turns on the faucet, letting the water run to get warm. While he waits, his eyes are drawn to the mirror again. He can’t help it. It does look really weird to see himself in Leo’s body.

But there’s just something so unsettlingly wrong with it. Donnie can’t quite place his finger on it. He pokes the cheek, grazes a hand across the very bald head, frowns at the lack of magnificent brows. Then he twists around to see the shell. Still cracked from the damage from the Kraang but healing just fine. Nice and sturdy as it should be which gives Donnie some relief. Then he turns to the side, grazing his hands down his chest. And his brain short-circuits for a minute at the thought of not running his digits over any ridges.

Because this plastron is flat .

And that’s what was wrong.

Of course it is. The brothers discovered at an early age that Leo is a biologically female turtle. Splinter just sort of guessed they’re all boys and ran with it. Leo loved being called a boy so when the discovery was made, there weren't any drastic changes that needed to be set. But Donnie can see it now, with Leo’s body, staring into the mirror. How every factor of his being just felt so wrong .

His plastron is too flat, not bulky and rigid like his brothers’. His shoulders are too soft. His jawline is too gentle. His neck doesn’t have that larynx lump from dropping several pitches from puberty. The fat on his thighs and chest are too round and prominent. His gait is too narrow. And literally every single factor about him just screams wrong .

And of course Donnie would feel this way. He is a boy, growing up in a boy’s body. And now to be in one that’s so…feminine feels unnatural. It makes Donnie just want to hide away from the world but at the same time, he can’t stop staring at the mirror.

…And that’s why Leo took so long to get ready for their mission. Wasn’t it?

Oh crap, the shower. Donnie sees steam beginning to form and quickly hurries over to cool the water down a tad. The softshell-slider takes a sigh and steps in to wash up. He’s okay, he’s just going to have to deal with Leo’s body for the rest of the weekend. No big deal. Of course he feels something wrong, this body is not his. It’ll work itself out.

It has to.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After the shower and not wanting to think or feel anything else, Donnie dips by Leo’s room and tosses on one of his hoodies. Surprisingly, the hoodie is a lot more baggy and bigger than Donnie expected it to be. It could probably even fit Raph. But considering that whole crisis Donnie just had in the bathroom, perhaps it isn’t even considered that surprising.

Welp, enough fucking around. Science waits for no man…or turtle. Donnie strides on over to his lab, hearing the shower turn on again as Leo must’ve been waiting with anticipation to wash off all the glitter gunk. Donnie puts on one of his spare goggles and begins to tinker with another project of his to keep himself busy. A toaster that can shoot out toast at an angle so that it lands on a plate. (Unfortunately, there’s been many failures involving someone getting hit in the head with a toaster snipe).

After a couple hours, he hears footsteps padding into the room. He glances at the reflection of the toaster to see it is Leo who has shuffled inside the lab. (And he is ignoring how his heart skipped a beat when he saw his own body in the reflection at the confusion). Leo seems to be doing better, now clean of glitter and in the comfort clothes that Donnie lent him.

“Feeling better?”, Donnie hums.

“I…yeah.”, Leo nods. “Some food helped too. And speaking of, as much as I hate to admit it, you might actually be onto something about that mac n’ cheese with dino nuggets combo.”

Donnie looks up from his work, turning around. “You…ate my food?”

“It’s the only thing I felt I could stomach. I didn’t realize how good it was to have something simple.”

“Could you really blame me and my love of Kraft’s? (Even if they did change the recipe…)”

“I mean, we have a whole kitchen full of food.”

“And yet you choose my food.”, Donnie smirks and raises a brow.

Leo pauses, a glimmer of acknowledgment in his eyes as he connects the dots. “...And yet I choose… your food. Huh.”

Donnie’s smirk only widens as he turns back to his work. Leo grabs one of the chairs and scoots it over beside his twin, sitting in it backwards and resting his folded arms on the chair’s back. At least that is still something Leo about him.

“I’ll buy you more. I swear.”, Leo blurts out after a moment.

“Don’t worry about it. I always keep some spare snacks in here and in my room.”

“So I’ve noticed. I've been wondering about that.”, Leo nodded his head at the closed plastic box tub in the corner where Donnie stashes the occasional backup food. “Though, I think Casey Jr has beat you to the punch. You should see his room at April’s, the kid keeps stuff stored under his bed out of habit. Though it’s not really potato chips but more…soup cans and jerky.”

“Honestly, I’m not surprised.”, Donnie rolls his eyes.

The two share a chuckle. It’s nice, Donnie notes, to have these moments together with his twin. Yes, they bicker. They are opposites in a way. But that is what makes them an excellent pair, a compelling match. Leo scoots his chair closer, wincing at the groan it makes. He peers over to look at Donnie’s work.

“You better not work my brain to death, my forehead isn’t as big as yours to hold all that nerd stuff.”, Leo snarks. Donnie pays him no mind. “What are you working on anyway? Better be a shortcut to get us out of this mess.”

Donnie actually barks a laugh at that. “HA! Trust me, if I knew of a way out of this, I would’ve done it already. Anything to get out of this unbearable body of yours.” Well the moment was nice while it lasted. Let the bickering commence again.

“ My body is unbearable?”, Leo snaps. “Oh please, yours is nothing but a walking torture machine!”

“Oh stop being so sensitive !”, Donnie rolls his eyes.

“Now that’s saying something, coming from you-”

“I’ve been dealing with sensory issues my entire life. I learn to deal with it . Meanwhile, you only need to worry about the size of your plastron and whatnot.”

“What are you talking about? Why do you say that like my problems mean nothing compared to yours-”

“BECAUSE AT LEAST YOUR BODY CAN BE FIXED!”, Donnie shouts, slamming his fist against the workbench. “MEANWHILE I AM STUCK LIKE THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!”

Leo pauses, stunned. Donnie can see it in the reflection of the metal just as much as Leo can. A shared hatred at the same body. How remorseful. Leo leans back in the chair, holding himself up with his grip on the back of it. He shakes his head, looking away.

“That’s not true.”, he says lowly. And Donnie’s expression softens. “You only hate it because that’s my body you’re thinking about, not yours. Even when we’ve swapped minds, you still don’t understand. Because you can’t see into my mind.”

“I mean, we could mind meld-”

“But you can’t see it.”, Leo presses, anger dripping from his words. “I mean…what does it mean to be a man? As much as I like to stare in the mirror and point out every imperfection, would it even matter to get them all resolved? There are some elements of being a man that I don’t like. And there are some elements of being a woman that I want to keep.” Leo presses his lips for a moment, shifting around awkwardly. “For example…I’d like to keep my- ahem - pants.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”, Donnie stirs, spinning the chair around to face his brother.

“I mean, come on! How do you even walk around with this…thing?!”, Leo gripes.

“Oh for the love of pizza supreme, can we please not talk about that?”, the softshell-slider groans, rolling his eyes far back into his head. “And for what it’s worth, you’ve been wholly you this entire time and none of us have thought of you any less of a man.”

Leo scoffs. “Yeah, tell that to the yokai customers I gotta deal with at Hueso’s. I swear if I get called a waitress instead of a waiter one more time, I’m going to lose my head.”

“Well you already did, seeing that your mind is in my body right now.”, Donnie mutters.

“Ah, I see.”, Leo hums, unamused. “Speaking of, how’s your mind doing inside of my body?”

“Aside from the obvious? I guess I haven’t really thought about how numb my senses are now.”, Donnie shrugs. “No loud noises or icky sensations. Just pure focus on my work.”

Leo groans. “Bleugh, you’re gonna work my body to death by the end of the weekend, aren’t you?”

“You’ll live.”, Donnie sighs. “Honestly, the idea of being in your body further confirms I am content with my identity. I don’t want any of this and it sucks that I’m stuck like this. Honestly, if this was permanent I might-”

“Kill yourself?”, Leo raises a brow. Donnie stammers for a moment, the thought of it barely had time to pass by his mind before Leo beated him to the punch. Yet the slider-softshell just laughs. “Don’t worry about it, it comes with the package.”

A cold chill ran through Donnie. He turns to his twin with wide and concerned eyes. “...That’s horrible.”

Leo simply shrugs, unfazed. “Yeah but it’s like you said. You learn to tolerate it.”

Donnie quickly shakes his head. “No, no . You shouldn’t have to tolerate your body-”

“And you shouldn’t have to tolerate yours either.”, Leo insists. “This… sucks . Your body sucks and so does mine. It sucks .” The slider-softshell sighs as he leans back more in the chair. “And I’m honestly tired of having to deal with it.”

Donnie pauses for a long moment, biting his/Leo’s inner lip while drumming his fingers against the table. He hates how this feels, knowing full well that this dysphoria is what Leo has been experiencing all his life. And it hurts him to know that there is something that can be done about it. There has to be, at least. Mutant turtle genes be damned.

“I’ll look into gender affirming care for you. Maybe there’s some place in the Hidden City for it.”, Donnie speaks up against the quiet. “Maybe they have mystic illogical magic potions or some bullshit, I don’t know.”

Leo’s eyes light up a bit. “You’d…really do that?”

Donnie scoffs a laugh and nods. “Well… yeah . You’re right, this does suck. And it sucks even more that you have to deal with this for so long. So yes, I’ll be looking into it. And it doesn’t have to be the full package transition if that’s what you’re worried about. Doesn’t have to be right away either. Regardless I can assure you, Nardo, you are very manly.”

Leo chuckles. “Oh please, there’s nothing manly about me.”

“You’re so manly it’s annoying.”, Donnie smirks.

“Shut up!”, his twin laughs some more.

“You’re so manly your room reeks of axe body spray. Seriously, it’s like a bomb went off in there.”

“I don’t even use it that much.”

“You’re so manly that you like other men.”

Leo cackles, wheezing in between for air. Donnie can’t help but join him in his laughter. Together, their laughs echoed out of the lab and throughout the lair and the underground tunnels. Leo wipes a tear that pearled in his eye.

“Okay, fine. You win.”, he chuckles. “...You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Too bad, I’m going to. Suck it up.”, Donnie spat lightheartedly.

Leo groans, rolling his eyes back as he slouches back in the backwards chair. “Okay well if you’re going to do that, then…then I’m going to the store and get you whatever foods you want. Seriously, it’s only a matter of time until the bugs find your stash.”

“Well I have thought about giving a list but whenever I do, something always changes and there’s just food sitting in the kitchen that I just don’t want anymore.”, Donnie ponders, crossing his arms.

“Pssh, no big deal. I’ll eat whatever you don’t want then.”, Leo wavers a hand. “And speaking of…I promise to be more mindful about your sensory issues. Existing like this is torture enough. I don’t want you to have to deal with this on your own.”

“Again, I’m used to it.”

“ Are you? Or is it that masking thing you always do?”, Leo presses.

Donnie huffs a sigh. “Okay, yeah, maybe a little.”

Leo smiles, leaning forward and holding out his hand for a handshake. “Then it’s a deal. You’ll help me. I’ll help you. That’s what twins are for, right?”

Donnie smiles back, warmly. He nods, taking Leo’s hand. “Right.”

The handshake only lasts a second until Leo slinks his (Donnie’s) hand away and grimaces. “Eugh, your hand is sweaty.”

“That’s my line.”, Donnie hums.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The weekend goes as follows; Leo discovering the amazing world of torture that is sensory issues and Donnie discovering the amazing world of torture that is gender dysphoria. But they also learn new things about each other constantly. Donnie would always make fun of Leo for his slouching but now…he gets it. Leo would always be confused as to how Donnie could stand having a weighted battle shell on him but now…he gets it.

If anything, this spell has brought the two closer together. Whenever there’s a problem with one of them, they would go to the other for support. Simply because they finally understand each other better now. If the twins weren’t inseparable before, they definitely are now.

The timer of the spell then reaches its limit Sunday evening, all the brothers watching the clock with anticipation. It’s like they are all waiting for the New Year countdown.

10!

9!

8!

7!

6!

5!

4!

3!

2!

1!

Poof!

A glitter cloud of mauve and cyan surround the two of them in an instant. Donnie coughs and wheezes at the cloud, batting away the smoke and blinking his eyes repeatedly. As the smoke clears, Donnie looks down at his hands. And they are indeed his hands.

Leo laughs in relief, wrapping his arms around himself and spinning around. “Oh thank pizza supreme! Leon is back!”

Donnie smiles, grazing his hands against his plastron ridges and down to his hips. “Finally, it’s good to be back.” Yet he winces at a soreness on his softshell. “Augh, gees, Leo. How long have you kept this battle shell on for?”

Leo grumbles too, crossing his arms. “Yeah well my body is starving because someone forgot to take lab breaks.”

Raph chuckles at the two. “Good to have you boys back in your own selves.”

“Yeah!”, Mikey beams. “And I don’t mean to say I told you so, but I totally told you so! You two have gotten a lot closer this weekend.”

The box turtle bounds over to the slider wrapping him in a hug. Leo starts rolling his eyes and bickering with the youngest on how much he doesn’t want to admit Mikey is right. Meanwhile Raph is wrangling the both of them in their friendly squabble. But then, as Donnie adjusts to his senses…

Everything hits him like a truck at once.

The lights are too bright again, the sounds of his brothers roughhousing are too loud, his softshell is incredibly sore from 48 hours of wearing a battle shell. Oh yeah, he did not miss this. As his other brothers round up in a hug, Raph pulls Donnie in with them. And as endearing as it is…it’s just too much. Donnie forces through with a masked smile but can’t help the way his body stiffens. But immediately, Leo takes notice. For he understands that feeling all too well now.

Leo pushes out of the hug. “Okay, break it up, you guys. I am dying to have some food and just sit on the couch for the rest of the night.”

“Oh come on! We should celebrate!”, Mikey insists.

“Oh I am celebrating. I’m celebrating with some dino nuggets and mac n’ cheese.”, Leo smirks, glancing over at Donnie. “Don, you in?”

Donnie clenches and unclenches his fists for a moment before nodding. Leo nods back.

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the TV room. Go pick out something to watch.”

Donnie nods again before quickly stepping out as soon as possible to get away from the loudness and chaos unfolding. The TV room is much quieter and it only takes a moment for Donnie to notice his weighted blanket on the couch from where Leo was using it last. The softshell takes off his battle shell and settles inside of Leo’s blanket nest, wrapping himself up in its security. He picks up the TV remote and skims through the options available. Eventually, he settles on a ghibli movie. Letting it play as he sinks into the couch.

Leo comes into the TV room a few minutes later with two plates of the infamous dino nuggets and mac n’ cheese combo. He hands a plate to Donnie before sitting beside him but making sure he’s not sitting too close.

“I didn’t think you’d still like these after we swapped back.”, Donnie mumbles.

Leo shrugs. “I’ve grown to like it. You’ve got good taste.”

Donnie huffs a laugh. Together, the two just watch the movie and eat their comfort meal. By the time Donnie sets his plate down on the coffee table, he sees how Leo slouches forward on the couch, subconsciously wrapping his arms around himself. Donnie frowns, for he understands that feeling all too well now as well.

The softshell opens the weighted blanket like he is opening a door, inviting Leo to enter with him. The slider only had the chance to glance at him for a moment before Donnie drags him by the arm to scoot his twin closer. Donnie wraps the blanket around the both of them, enveloping Leo in that same sense of security. Leo can’t help but smile at the gesture, snuggling closer. The two don’t even need mind meld anymore to understand each other.

That’s what twins are for.

----------------------------------------------------

Speedran to finish this 20 minutes before my therapy appointment-- (now it's 8 minutes)

[ruiniel]

In Aeternum

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Relationship: Alucard x Reader

Count: 2.2k

Rating: M

Tags: Pining, Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Dark Romanticism/style, Castlevania References, Reincarnation, Post-Castlevania 2017-2021, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, F!Reader, Herbalist Reader, Magic, References to Speakers, Creatures, Shapeshifting, Second Person POV

AN: Bringing back a story written on the old blog for an ask (I believe it was from @mightyarsh? Let me know if not!). Oneshot for now, TBC if there's interest for more.

Edit: here's Part II

Summary:

Alucard centered story, where his s/o in ~1476 is a herbalist who eventually dies of old age. Fast forward to the 1790s, Alucard stumbles into you: a herbalist and magician, with the same appearance of the one he knew long ago.

“There you are,” you whisper gleefully to yourself, bending down. Your gloved hand reaches to pick the buoyant cluster of white and yellow feverfew at your feet.

The forest sings with life, and sun rays brush bright, dappled fingers over the forest ground. Your satchel is almost full, and you’re pleased to see you’ve crossed most needed supplies off your list for the day. Dusk will soon be upon you, and while you’re more than capable of protecting yourself against any manner of disturbances, the wisest approach would be to head back sooner than later. Carefully, you wrap your quarry in a rough strip of paper and tuck it inside your bag with other scented packages. You rub at your nose with fingers smelling of yarrow, valerian and meadowsweet, considering being done for the day. Looking at your compass, you aim to follow North, towards the town where you run your trade and livelihood.

You take a few steps, thoughts on the newest concoction recipes you’ve been provided by a member of your guild.

At first, you don’t mind the eerie shift in the air. A smell, a reek rises and engulfs you, and though you sense no movement, the tendrils of impending threat weave around your ankles. You stop short.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end; your heartbeat quickens. You know this instinctual warning, you’ve felt it before.

You’re being watched.

Eyes narrowing, you wait, then take a step forward. A stir deep in the tall, dark undergrowth has you lifting your left hand, your stance gone rigid, fingertips sizzling with a rush of hot, elemental energy.

You falter as the creature reveals itself, emerging from of the shadows descended over the wood like moving shrouds; you can’t deny the beast’s unreal beauty as your gaze skims over the white, shining hide, to the golden eyes catching the last drops of sunlight spearing through the trees, watching you with an interest bordering on human.

No, you realize, swallowing hard; its eyes are human, but for all your knowledge in the arcane arts, you can’t for the life of you place its kind. You’re all too familiar with the unmistakable scent of foreign magic, and now it crackles around the dire wolf like rising thunder.

A thought, a forgotten piece of knowledge crosses your mind. Shapeshifter.

If it weren’t for your less than favorable situation, you’d be hopelessly entranced by the rare apparition.

The creature remains still, observing you with curiosity while you place your right foot behind you and drop your satchel. Your fingers form the conjuration symbol of fire.

“I don’t know what you are or why you’re here, but I warn you, one wrong move and I will not hesitate to burn you to a crisp!”

Your voice shakes beneath your bravado, but you don’t get to finish your shaking threat. Before you can muster even a wisp of a firebolt the wolf bounds in a great leap, and in primeval fright you trip over your own legs, falling to the floor amid wilted leaves and dirt. Your unremarkable life flashes before your eyes and only late you notice you’re still breathing, still in your body; still breathing, not dead.

You swivel around, rising to your knees.

Your eyes widen; you balk at the ghastly sight and scramble backwards on your arms and legs, watching the wolf ripping out the throat of another apparition reminiscent of rotting corpses. Guts splatter the trunks of trees, skin tears and bones splinter. The pestilence of ancient necromancy fills your nostrils; your head is spinning, and through your daze and the vicious, threat-induced pounding in your head, you barely see two booted feet instead of a four-legged stance. Closer they come, as your panting breath hitches in your throat.

You lift your gaze, heart struggling between your ribs. Ahead, a widening pool of murky green blood drools beneath the carcass of his kill.

“You should... watch yourself better out here,” come the soft words, and as your shocked eyes move over him, you see broad shoulders, a well-knit frame garbed in black, and looking into his face, you’re struck by a deep, wrenching familiarity.

His unblemished features possess that same stillness, but also honesty and reluctant kindness; and something else. Indefinable, like grasping at a half-forgotten dream at the strike of dawn.

You can’t speak, and mutely stare as he kneels before you. The first impulse is to back away, but through the remnants of your panic you squint at him, and recognition flares. “You!”

You’ve seen him before. You remember now. You… you know him. He’s been a recent, frequent customer in your apothecary shop, coming by regularly to purchase herbs and powders used for an array of purposes. He never skimped on payment, even for the most expensive of wares.

Those otherworldly traits you remember: in truth, how could you forget. His presence is always the hallmark of the familiar, though in what way, you cannot say.

“You…” you repeat dumbly, staring at his proffered gloved hand.

You hesitate before reaching, allowing long fingers to wrap around yours as he helps you to your feet. The grip sends a rush up your spine and warmth down your body, and you marvel at how fast you turned from paralyzing fright to cursed reactions of a completely different kind.

“I never knew you were a shapeshifter, Mr. Țepeș,” you croak, deeply embarrassed by the uncanny rebellion within. You release his hand, perhaps slower than would be deemed appropriate.

“And you never mentioned you were a magician.” He smiles as you dust off the leaves and dirt from your clothes. “But then, these are not things commonly shared among acquaintances in this day and age, are they?”

Despite the near brush with a gruesome death and his unexpected, though fortuitous, presence, you still find a shred of mirth within you. A wry smile curls your lips. “No, I suppose it is not. Though we’ve come a long way from deeming magic devil’s work, and burning witches at the stake.”

His brows furrow at that, and something twitches in his jaw. You wonder if your words had somehow upset him, though in what way, you haven’t the slightest idea.

What was he doing here?

Whatever shadow crossed his expression is gone, however, and he shakes his head. “Indeed, we have. Still, I think you agree caution is key. And please, just ‘Adrian’,” he follows, as gallant as you remember him, as if there’s not a dead abomination he’d disemboweled lying only a short distance away.

“Very well, Adrian,” you find your voice. The word is easy on your tongue, like a fresh, blooming flower. Here you are, alone and at his mercy, for you have no inkling of his true power, but your fear sluices away with his closeness. You wish you knew the reason why. “I won’t tell anyone, if you won’t,” you add, astonished at the sudden shift in mood.

“You’re a long way from home,” he ignores your light remark, watching you strangely, a near wistful gleam in burnished eyes.

“Yes, well, I was out gathering supplies, and I’ve encountered no trouble thus far, but,” you pause, an eyebrow raised as suspicion rears its head. “...you were following me?”

He looks away. “I was hunting it,” he gestures behind him. “Stray creatures of the nether still lurk in the whereabouts of my home, and I’ve encountered too many bodies around abandoned pathways and ditches to allow the prowling to continue.”

You’ve heard of this. You know of at least two families who had recently lost someone; people disappearing without a trace, none ever returned.

Misery for their plight fills you, but now your curiosity has peaked at his words, and there brims a need to know more. “You mention your home… you live close by, then?” Throughout your sparse dealings, he always kept things professional, and despite having met countless times before, you obviously know close to nothing about him.

Adrian hesitates beneath your searching stare, biting his lip. “For now.”

You’re left to wonder at the meaning of his words, your gaze straying behind him. “Oh, how horrid of me! You saved my life. Thank you,” you bow your head, your gratitude genuine.

Adrian looks up to the skies. He smiles. “Darkness falls,” he says. “My deed will prove useless if you end at the hands of brigands or whatever other things haunt this part of the wood.” Unsettling amber eyes are on you again, and something warm and sweet settles in your belly. Now, of all times.

“I…” you choke, “I better get moving then,” you avert your gaze, bending down to retrieve your abandoned satchel.

“I could escort you to the edge of the forest, if you wish.”

The words take you by surprise. Your eyes cut to his again, and in the half-light, their gold is deeper, brighter. Wolf-like, but without the trace of a threat.

“... two wards are better than one, that sort of thing,” he smiles thinly, almost shyly, his gaze intent on your face.

“... that would…” do you want him to? After all, he is little more than a stranger to you, but then again, you are not exactly powerless either, were he to try anything. The thought shames you for some unknown reason, and deep inside, there comes the truth: shapeshifting powers aside, you want him close, you want to know him beyond the placid stares and the memory of those fleeting, close-lipped smiles; beyond the all too brief encounters. Something rooted deep pushes past all sensible misgivings.

You shoulder your satchel, meeting his stare. You sense no danger coming from him, none. Instead, a pang of sadness coils around you, leaving you breathless in your confused stupor.

Your heart beats so fast it might break your sternum, but in his shuttered expression you find nothing. A cool wind shivers through the branches, lifting his pale hair, sending strands astray as he silently awaits your decision.

You nod slowly with a sigh. “... that would be very kind of you.”

You walk in comfortable silence, exchanging questions of mundane import here and there, then falling to silence again. If there’s still a waver to your step, or a hitch to your breath since you nearly lost your life today, your travel companion makes no mention of it.

You tread through dust and leaf until you reach the forest’s edge, and before you lies a vale, and a town tucked within it. You glance over to see your new acquaintance walking in a smooth, determined glide, looking left and right.

When your eyes meet, the question forms immediately, more so since you’ll use any excuse to explain the staring. What has actually happened to you? More annoyed at yourself than expected, you ask, “I haven’t seen you around here often. Before, that is,” you nibble on your lip as his gaze flicks away from you in the fallen twilight.

“I could say the same about you,” he muses, “I’ve always lived close by, actually. But I’ve been… absent these past few years, let’s say.”

Odd. And yet. “Oh, I see. I had settled here after leaving my caravan and parents to find my luck in the world. They knew I needed to channel the talents they’d noticed growing and affecting my life more and more with each passing day. For all the dangers I’ve met, great or small, I’d found some use for my skill in herbalism, found odd jobs until I scraped enough which, along with the help my parents offered when I left, allowed me to rent a place of my own.” You look swiftly his way. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry,” but the look in his eyes cuts through your cresting apology.

“No,” Adrian shakes his head, “It is no bother,” he says, an odd quality to his voice. “No bother at all.” 

It’s a long walk to your cottage at the edge of town, through the same muddy, unpaved road you’ve trod day after day, month after month, year after year. You’ve been alone for so long it’s become a way of life, and you mull over that thought, making your way to the worn, crumbled building of your little shop.

Pausing before the door, you turn around to face your unlooked-for savior. “Well, then.” You smile, catching the peculiar stares of one or two neighbors. Irritation flares—of course, none would even think of minding their own business.

“Well, then.” 

The niggling prickle of something in your mind remains, but you know better than to linger with a stranger in the evening outside your home. The town is not so large as to be impervious to wagging tongues, and that is nothing you want to be a part of.

“Thank you, again,” you offer, not knowing what else to say, for he is so still again, staring through you as though seeking something. 

“Until next time,” is all he says.

“... Under better circumstances. I hope,” you try a jest, turning to unlock the wooden door to your cottage.

“So do I.”

The wind has become stronger. You turn around, wanting to add something that disperses from your mind as you find yourself alone, the night and a rising moon your only witnesses.

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[baileypie-writes]

HI can I plz request a oneshot for Velvet and Veneer with a preteen sister reader? (Abt age 12-13 and in middle school). They notice for the past few weeks, reader is always doing her makeup when they go out, always smiling at her phone, stuff like that.

But one day, they overhear a conversation a phone call that reader is having with her friends. They find out that their baby sis is crushing on a boy. And Velvet looks proud, giving her advice while Veneer is js like ":0"

A/N ~ Sure! Hope you enjoy!

~An Older Sibling’s Job~

Velvet and Veneer + Preteen!Younger Sister!Reader

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Relationship: Familial

Synopsis: Velvet and Veneer find out that you have a crush on a boy, so they do what any older sibling would do.

Warnings: Velvet and Veneer teasing Reader

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

“Hey! Is that my makeup?” Velvet asked. Though she knew that it was.

You just froze, staring at her. She caught you red handed. “Yeah. Sorry.” You sighed in defeat.

Velvet scoffed. “This is, like, the fifth time this week! Buy your own! Why are you so interested in makeup all of a sudden anyway?”

You turned away, hiding the embarrassment on your face. “Nothing. Just… growing up, I guess.” You made up the excuse. You finished applying blush to your cheeks, then gathered all the makeup and shoved it into Velvet’s hands. “Here. Now get out of my room!”

You slammed the door in her face, starting her. Velvet let out an offended huff, and stomped away.

~~~~

“Hey, Veneer, why’s (name) acting so weird lately. She’s always in her room, and she’s been stealing my makeup. She’s never even been interested in makeup before.” Velvet asked her twin.

“I have no idea, but she is definitely acting weird. She’s on her phone a whole lot more now. I knew getting her a new one was a bad idea.” Veneer responded.

Velvet folded her arms and started to think, Veneer doing the same. After a few moments, she had an idea, and he seemed to have one too.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Velvet asked mischievously.

“Spy on (name)?” Veneer responded in the same way. One shared smirk confirmed the idea, and set their plan into motion.

~~~~

The twins tip-toed over to your bedroom door. Veneer stumbled, nearly knocking them both ever. Velvet thankfully caught him, and shushed him.

They put their ears over the door, and listened. You were on the phone with one of your friends. Luckily, they were on speaker, so they could hear the full conversation.

“You’re coming to the mall with us, right?” Your friend asked.

“Of course I’m coming! Hanging out with you guys is so fun!” You responded.

Your friend laughed teasingly. “Oh, yeah. That’s totally the reason you’re coming.”

“Yeah? What other reason would there be?”

“Oh c’mon, (name)! I know you’re coming because (crush’s name) is gonna be there!”

“Ugh, fine! You got me!” You confessed.

Velvet and Veneer turned to each other, sharing the same shocked look.

You had a crush.

~~~~

“Veneer, can you drive me to the mall? Please?” You begged, giving your best puppy eyes that always won Veneer over.

“Sure!” He agreed, grabbing his car keys, but Velvet stopped him.

“-IF… you tell us who (crush’s name) is.” She said with a smirk.

You gasped. “How do you know-? You were spying on me weren’t you?!” You accused.

“Maybe… So who is he?” Veneer avoided your question.

“Nobody! He’s just some guy!”

“Some guy that you like!” Velvet teased. You groaned loudly, completely embarrassed. The twins laughed for a few seconds, before Velvet got more serious. She nelt down a bit to be at your level, and put a hand on your shoulder. “Here’s some tips to get guy’s attention. Look them in the eyes, make sure to compliment them, and bat your eyelashes.”

“How’s batting my eyelashes gonna-“

“Just trust me!” She then stood back up, and signaled to Veneer to go.

“Alright, (name), let’s go! And on the way, you’re gonna tell me all about this (crush’s name). Ugh, I can’t believe our baby sister has a crush!” He said, leading you out of the house.

You groaned again. “Why are you guys acting like this? It’s not a big deal!”

“It’s just an older sibling’s job, (name).” Velvet said casually, and lightly pushed you out the door.

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

~~baileypie-writes

[norel-ravenclaw]

Friends With Unexpected Benefits

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Angel Dust x gn reader

Rating: 16+

Word count: 500ish

Description: Angel is your first - and best friend in the hotel. You lean on each other more and more, in a variety of ways.

WARNINGS: | cursing | sexual jokes and touch | reader has unspecified ‘intimacy issues’ |

Starting the first day you arrived at the Hazbin Hotel, Angel Dust was the one you could connect with and talk to the easiest. As Charlie insisted on a group introduction party, Angel’s humour and friendliness made it tolerable. He was intrigued too by your receptiveness to his teasing. You accepted his touch and lewd jokes, giving as much as he dished out.

Leaning over the back of the sofa, two hands snake around your shoulders. “You’re fun,” he drawls. “We should hang out.”

“Like, going out and doing stuff, or laying in bed scrolling on Sinstagram half dressed?”

He blinks in surprise and grins. “I’m down for either.”

You return his smile. “Me too.”

Fiddling with the hem of your shirt, he says, “I get off tomorrow at six.”

“Okay. But you’re helping me pick out what to wear.”

“Done.” He effortlessly vaults over the back of the sofa and grabs your hand, tugging you towards the stairs.

You laugh and let him practically drag you up to your room, throwing open your closet doors.

“Oh hun, your shit is awful.”

You lean against the wall by your bed. “Yep. Vaggie’s hand me downs really aren’t going to cut it.”

He pulls out a plain white t shirt. “Tie this in the front and roll the cuffs on those sweats. It’s a start, anyway.”

You laugh and put it back. “Whatever you say.”

When it’s time to leave, you meet him in the lobby. At first you can tell he’s putting on a show after a long day of working. But once you reach the first store, he quickly gets into it.

It’s not long before Charlie’s credit card is practically smoking as Angel helps you build a wardrobe to last an eternity in hell.

You stop at his favourite restaurant, having a few drinks. He starts shit talking about his boss, and the laughter between you gets easier.

After a few glasses, your walk back to the hotel is a little tipsy. You link arms and end up matching your steps, laughing as your gait becomes more exaggerated.

You stumble through the doors of the hotel and head up to your room to put everything away. By the time you’re done, you turn around to see Angel passed out on the foot of your bed. You grin wryly and lay down next to him, awkwardly pulling corners of blankets over parts of you and him.

When he wakes up in the wee hours, he sees you snuggled against him, and can’t help but smile.

The next evening, he gets home late and opens your door, knocking as he does. “Sup bitch. You here?”

You drop your phone on your face and he laughs. “Um hi.”

He tosses his handbag onto your desk and sits on the edge of your bed. “I’m taking ya up on that offer ya made yesterday.”

You see his hands shaking as he unlaces his thigh high boots and slip off the bed to help with the other one. He looks momentarily surprised by your thoughtfulness, but smirks and says nothing.

You raise a brow as he starts stripping off more and more layers of his costume.

“What, I thought this was clothing optional.”

“Eh sure. Why not.”

Stripping down to his underwear, he tosses the latex and leather aside with a sigh of relief, snuggling into the soft blanket. “Fuck, so much bettah. Hey I don’t have your Sinsta. Shit, or your number.”

You make a grabby gesture and he hands you his phone, rolling onto his side while you input your info. “Heh you’re kinda cute, aintcha?”

Raising a brow at him, you hand back his phone. “You think?”

His fingers dance up your leg, hiking up your new pjs. “Mm, these are so soft. And so are you~”

You drape a leg over his and thread your fingers into his hair, gently untangling the knots. “Haha.”

Going back to scrolling, Angel watches you for a second before smiling softly and looking at his own phone. “Ha! Your first Sinstagram post is a pic of the fuckin hotel wall?”

“What? The pattern’s pretty. I’m into that old style stuff.”

“Loser.”

“Mhm.”

He melts under your touch as you pet his hair until you both fall asleep.

A couple days later comes another exercise from Charlie that leads to an unexpected confession on your part.

Angel presses for details when you go back to your room. “Hey sweetheart, what the fuck was that about earlier, huh?”

“Oh, uh… I just have intimacy issues. Heh.”

Suddenly he’s on you. “Oh? Well, ya got yourself the perfect therapist right here, darlin~ Hey we could role play that~”

Your eyes widen. “Oh! Uh… Wow, I mean…”

One pair of hands goes to your hips, and another on your shoulders. His slutty smirk softens a bit. “I mean it ya know. I can help you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I can’t afford you~”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you into a hug. “What’s the point of having all these skills if I can’t even use them to help my best friend. Come on, let me be useful to ya, make you feel better.”

You squeeze him back. “…You wouldn’t hate it? I’m kinda messed up. I don’t want to make anyone deal with this shit… much less you.”

He pulls back to look in your eyes. “Hey, maybe it’ll be nice to go soft for once. I’ll take good care of ya. I promise. Maybe… we can work through our shit together, huh?”

You blush and give him a lopsided smile. “So… are you really okay with this whole… friends with weird benefits thing?”

“Fuck yeah, babe.”

[angryschnauzer]

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 8

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Story Warnings: Slight Angst, Talk of a car accident in the past, Anxious Sy, Mild Embarrassment, First Date Nerves, Kissing,   NSFW, 18+, Smut, Fingering, Grinding, Hot Tub Frolics, Handjob, Titty Sucking, Nudity, Blowjob, Oral Sex.  

Chapter 8 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink.

Wordcount: 2767

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,  Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 8

Sy poured three mugs of coffee, setting one gently down in front of you as you glared at him, he did a piss poor job of hiding his smirk which infuriated you even more;

“SY!”

“I’m sorry honey, but as this is the first time i’ve seen you angry and i know i shouldn’t laugh, but that is the cutest angry face i’ve ever seen”

“It really is” Mike added from the far end of the kitchen table, his feet resting on the chair next to him as he pushed another slice of toast into his mouth.

“No. You; quiet”

Sy pulled your chair out, rested a hand on each armrest and leant forwards;

“I’m genuinely sorry about the surprise of finding a stranger in my kitchen, but you really do have the cutest face when you are angry”

Before you could get another word out he pressed his lips to yours, and your rage dissipated to the point you deepened the kiss, the world slipping away around you until you heard a quiet cough;

“I’m still here ya’ know guys”

You and Sy pulled your lips apart as he rested his forehead on yours;

“I just got a premonition of what it's going to be like in our household in twenty years time when our own smart ass kid can’t take a hint to get lost”

Mike laughed as Sy pulled away and sat next to you, tossing a grape into his mouth from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table;

“Uncle Sy, I just spent far too many hours on a bus to get here, walked cross country so Dad didn’t see me, had to break into your house as you seemingly forgot I was coming. I’m staying here, at least in this chair. If you two wanna go fuck i’m not stopping you”

Sy took a deep breath;

“Jesus Christ, you are just as infuriating as your Dad was growing up”

Mike grinned and you could see the likeness between him and Walter. The dark hair and sparkling eyes, but also the slightly lopsided grin. You could only imagine the hearts Walter broke when he was Mike’s age.

“So Mike…”

“Yeah Sweetcheeks?”

“Why are you in town but hiding from your Dad?”

Mike looked at Sy and back to you;

“He didn’t invite you?”

Sy turned beet red and suddenly got flustered;

“I been kinda busy Mikey, i completely forgot about it if i’m being honest, plus we had other more important stuff going on which is why she’s staying here” Sy looked to you; “It’s Walter’s 40th Birthday this week. Trying to get as many of the old family back together as a surprise”

You nodded;

“Ahh I see. Thus the covert operation of Mike staying with you”

"Precisely" Sy nodded; "So errr… whatcha doing Thursday evening?"

"Nothing as far as i know"

Sy smouldered; "Wanna come to Walter's surprise party?"

You smiled, genuinely feeling relieved for the first time in 24 hours;

"I'd love to" you leant forwards and pressed a kiss to Sy, only for Mike to cough.

"Still here"

Letting out a deep sigh, Sy turned;

"Get used to it kid. I'm crazy about this woman."

-

After a shower you settled some essentials into the drawer Sy had emptied for you for when you stayed the night again in the future, before packing the rest. As you climbed into Sy's truck he gave Mike instructions to chop a pile of logs ahead of taking a nap, climbing into the driver's seat he smiled at you;

"I can guarantee he'll only do one of the two instructions i just gave"

Laughing quietly you smiled at Sy;

"The nap?"

"Honestly? With Mikey you never know. Even though he has probably been awake 48 hours he is just like a freaking ball of pure energy so he'll probably end up chopping the entire wood pile"

"So, you're the mean Uncle? Putting him to work" You said with jest

Sy laughed;

"It'll be easy for him, he works part time at my brothers sawmill in Portland, he's told me that Mike will literally go out on his lunch break from his IT department and chop through a couple of tonnes of logs just for fun… and posing on tiktok"

You nodded and unlocked your phone, scrolling through instagram until you found the thirst trap reel of Sy doing exactly the same, peeling off his shirt halfway through;

"Oh, you mean like this?" Turning the screen to him and you watched the blush rise through his face to the top of his ears.

“That’s completely different. And is not a thirst trap, it was a hot day”

“There’s snow on the ground”

“I was getting hot”

You smiled;

“It made me hot too” you said quietly, your comment almost immediately followed by a rumble of tyres of gravel where Sy wasn’t paying attention to the road and had pulled onto the verge.

“Whoops”

For the rest of the short drive to your cottage Sy paid attention to the road, pulling onto the driveway as the gravel crunched under the tyres of the truck.

“Never gonna be able to do a surprise visit with this gravel” he commented

“That’s the whole point”

Sy paused as he rounded the truck, considering your answer;

"I had never thought of it in that way. Now it makes sense"

"The fence too, and the roses and briars. Hostile architecture. Anyone tries to climb over the fence its so old and rickety that it's clear it'll fall over, likely tipping you into a patch of thorns"

You unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm, waiting for the three beeps before stepping inside and dropping your bags on the floor. The house was quiet, flecks of dust floating in the beams of sunlight that fell in puddles on the wooden floors. Sy stood in front of you, pulling you into his arms;

"So, what are your plans for today?"

"Lunch with Tam later, and I guess trying to find a gift for Walter?"

"So… no plans for the next few hours?"

You could sense the hopefulness to Sy's voice, and you could feel your body respond to the idea he was silently suggesting. Slipping your hand into his you turned and led him up the stairs, an appreciative hum as he realised you had agreed to his unspoken suggestion.

Stepping into your bedroom you felt like a Jane Austen character about to be ravaged by the handsome suitor, a bang of nerves nudging the arousal from top spot, Sy picking up immediately on your change;

"Are you ok? We don't have to…"

"No, I still want to. I'm just not super experienced in bed. You'll be the second guy i ever slept with"

Resting his hands on your upper arms Sy pressed a kiss to your forehead;

"Numbers don't matter. I wouldn't care if you had been with one or fifty before me"

Hooking his finger beneath your chin he tilted your head to meet his kiss, starting tentatively at first before it rapidly got heated. His hands cradled your face as you pulled his t-shirt out of his shorts, pushing it up his muscled torso. Digging your fingers gently to the wide chest, he pulled his shirt over his head before practically ripping your dress off, his hands moving to cup your breasts, feeling the soft flesh beneath the lace. Reaching around he deftly unhooked your bra with a practised skill, tossing it aside. You dragged your fingernails down his stomach before flattening your palm and slipping it into the waistband of his cargo shorts, feeling the rough bush of hair which his happy trail climbed from.

"I need you so bad" he admitted, taking hold of your other hand to rest against the obscene bulge tenting the front of his shorts.

With a sly smirk you moved your efforts to unbuckling his belt and unzipping him, letting the garment fall to the floor with a heavy thunk where his pockets were weighed down with keys and change. Just as you were going to get your hands back on him he surprised you by lifting you up and tossing you onto your bed, his big hands pulling your panties down your legs before he lay between your thighs, his mouth immediately on your pussy.

“Sy, I need you… I need you inside me”

He looked up and smiled;

“I know Honey, I need to be inside you too, but i gotta loosen you up first, don’t wanna hurt you”

“Ohh” you relaxed and let Sy go to town, enjoying the feel of his wide tongue and soft lips skillfully bringing you to the edge before you came. It was a soft and gentle orgasm, a starter to the meaty and filling main course that would follow.

Sy climbed up your body, peppering your skin with kisses before he settled between your legs. The weight of him was a comfort, thick corded muscle surrounding you at your most vulnerable, safe in the cage of his arms. He kissed you and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You found yourself instinctively squirming beneath him, the feel of his hardened shaft nestling between your soaked petals.

"Eager, aren't we?" Sy teased

"Please Sy, i'm ready"

Pushing himself up you watched as his positioned the fat tip at your entrance then paused and cursed;

"Fuck… protection…"

Your eyes went wide. In the past you had been on the pill but had stopped that as soon as you'd left James. Without any desire to even consider dating up until Sy you certainly weren't prepared;

"I don't have any…"

"When is your period due?"

"Umm…" now was not the time for your head to be considering your calendar; "By the end of the week"

"Okay… I can pull out, you should be past ovulating, right?"

"'Bout a week ago i had my ‘hungry horse’ three days, so yeah" referring to the short period of time when your appetite suddenly ramped up after you had ovulated.

Sy looked deep into your eyes as if trying to see any doubt;

“Are you sure about this?”

You were so turned on you probably weren’t thinking straight, your pussy making the decisions for you as  you hooked your legs around Sy’s butt and pulled him closer;

“I need you inside me now”

“Okay okay, baby, relax for me”

Sy reached down and positioned himself at your entrance, his attention darting between where your bodies were about to be joined and your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly pushed into your welcoming body. 

“Holy motherfucking…” Sy cursed as he stretched you out, yet his muttered words floated away as you were overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath until Sy pressed a single kiss to your cheek and spoke softly;

“Honey, you’re gonna have to relax otherwise i’m gonna cum sooner than either of us want”

“I am… I'm trying to. I’m just waiting for the pain”

Sy paused;

“The pain?”

“Yeah… when you hit my cervix”

He held himself up on one arm as he softly cradled your cheek with his big hand;

“Oh Honey, I'm not gonna do that. I’m fitting just fine and don’t need to go any deeper, Hell, I ain't got no more inches to go deeper anyway. I’m guessing your ex was longer? And didn’t care that he hurt you?”

You nodded;

“But Sy, you’re not small, James was really long but really narrow…” you smiled up at him; “I like the feel of how thick your cock is, it feels really good”

Sy pressed a single kiss to your lips;

“Oh I'm not worried about my size Honey, I know I got a good deal. Now, how about I make you feel even better? How ‘bout I show you why girth is better than length?”

You smiled at him and nodded, to which he reached his head down and pressed a kiss to your lips before he slowly rolled his hips. You could feel the smooth slide as his cock rubbed against your inner walls, each ridge and vein caressing you whilst the bulbous crown curved up and cushioned against your g-spot. Resting your hands on his muscled back you let pleasure take over, suddenly realising just how skilled Sy was as a lover. 

As the senses of summer filled the room you felt a bliss like you had never before. Muted light coming in the windows, the scent of the garden blooms in the air. Birds and crickets in the distance were the only sounds beyond those the pair of you were making. The air was thick and heavy, another summer storm brewing rapidly but the heat only made your lovemaking more intense. Almost every sense was fulfilled except taste, your subconscious deciding to go for the whole set as when Sy rolled his hips and filled you again, you craned your neck and instinctively licked the side of his neck, tasting the sheen of sweat that had appeared on his skin.

“Oh Honey, you wantin’ a taste?” Sy muttered menacingly; “You ain’t the only one”

Gripping your hips he pushed up on his knees, never pulling out of you as he rocked his pelvis, but your ass was resting on his thighs as he widened his stance on the bed. He slid one hand into the small of your back, supporting it as you arched your spine, his other hand resting on the bed beside your head. The angle gave him enough room to continue to fuck you as he kissed and sucked at your breasts, taking a mouthful of titty before switching to the other.

As the room grew darker you could sense petrichor in the air, that impending humidity before a storm broke. Sy growled as he felt your body tightening, and as his sound faded away a rumble of thunder followed as if an answer.

Shifting, Sy straightened his body, kneeling on the bed as he gripped your waist with both hands, rolling his hips with each thrust;

“C’mon baby, cum for me, i’m getting so fucking close, let me see you cum for me”

You were already so close you didn’t need Sy’s words, but as your hands instinctively reached for something to grip onto you felt your fingers straining against the cotton fibres of the sheets as your final barriers dissolved and your orgasm finally crested. Lost on a wave of utter bliss you were in a haze of euphoria, the world around you no longer existing apart from the groans of Sy as he came too.

You missed how Sy watched you in all your beauty, chewing on his lip as he placed his hand over your abdomen and could feel as his cock pumped ropes of cum into you. Thoughts he would never share surged through his mind as he knew gravity would be flooding your widened cervix with his seed, and it was if he could feel the searing heat he’d filled you with warming his hand through your body. Mesmerised by the notion he would see your belly swell over time he was lost in the moment, before you reached for his hand, your palm sweaty;

“Sy… lay with me. I need you to hold me”

As if coming out of a trance he shook his head before tenderly pulling out of you and moving back, setting you softly down before he curled around your body at your side, cupping your cheek and turning you until the tips of your noses met;

“Fuck me, that was amazing” he muttered.

-

Later you were both showered and redressed, Sy holding an umbrella for you as he escorted you back to his truck to drive you into town for your lunch with Tam. Pulling up to the kerb outside Antonios’ he killed the engine before jogging around to the passenger side, opening the door and holding his hand out for you, smiling kindly when he glanced at your shorts;

“No dress incidents this time”

“I’ve learnt my lesson” 

Taking your hand he walked you up to the outside patio where Tamara was already waiting for you, giving her a smile and nod before placing a kiss on your cheek;

“Have fun, i’ll call you later”

The pair of you watched as Sy returned to his truck, smiling and waving as he drove off before Tam rested her elbows on the table and leant forwards;

“So… tell me everything…”

[randomfoggytiger]

*-*-*-*-*-*-* Brief Encounter *-*-*-*-*-*-*

-*-*-*- of the Interdimensional Kind -*-*-*-

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

Words cannot express how deeply your work and your ways have impacted my experience in this fandom (and life, as a whole.) So, I shall keep all speeches short; and only observe that-- having spent a month first watching, then writing, then thinking and rewriting-- I hope this endeavor does credit to your favorite movie. You deserve it, and much, much more~.

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

We're neither of us free to love each other. There's too much in the way.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

The clouds had gathered for a storm, but only succeeded in blocking out the sun. 

Whimpering drizzles pattered the windshield, streaked tears across the windows, glistened occasionally in the waxing moonlight. The road stretched on and on; and the wind, the rain, and the engine roared with cacophonous, irrepressible force. Her head thrummed with pain, drumming in time with Nature’s protestation. 

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think. 

The trees on either side began to gather around fences. Then farmhouses. Then neighborhoods, landmarks taking shape in the mystic dark. Turns, lanes, and the final road. 

Then home. 

Five more minutes. 

Purse, keys, exit. 

Her mother met her at the door, gloved and coated and anxious. “We were worried sick-- are you okay, sweetheart, where’ve you been?” 

“Yes, Mom. It just took a while getting back.” 

“It’s been over an hour, Dana.” She paused, snappish and loving and hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” Purse, shoes, coat. “I won’t keep you, it’s late.” House slippers.

“Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk after your shift.” 

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?” 

“You should ask him, he’s still up.” 

Ask him, ask him. Can’t ask him. “Why? Does he feel sick--”

Her mother’s hands, warm and clean, gently touched her face, gently drew her chin away from the stairs. “He wouldn’t say. But he loves you, Sweetheart-- he needs you.” 

Scully stilled, stayed in that spot until her mother kissed her cheek, said her goodbyes, drove down the driveway and into the night. 

“But I don’t, Mom,” she confessed, startling as the wind howled and the house groaned. Their anniversary clock ticked its seconds loudly in judgment. I no longer love him.

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

I'm a happily married woman - or I was, rather, until a few weeks ago. This is my whole world, and it's enough, or rather, it was until a few weeks ago. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him. 

She saw him; and doubted herself, doubted the familiarity he shed in passing. Set aside the prickling sense of deja vu and kismet and every other word she’d once learned to give meaning. Dismissed the force of loneliness pinching, squeezing, crushing her heart. Labeled these sensations under false names and placed them in faulty categories. Stood in the weakening sun of a small-town airfield and refused to think until the skies opened up and the rains fell.    

It wasn’t unusual for rain to sweep the airfield and wash five to five dozen soggy souls into the small, stapled airport. Workers and servicemen, mothers and children were fractured into groups and driven off to their chosen recreational areas-- chaos and skinned knees and runny noses often mingled in the lunch hall; restraint and sopping boots and rustling purses often flocked to the lounge. 

Four weeks ago, only two wandered aimlessly down the long, rangy hallway. 

She heard his voice behind her, stumbling curiosities to an attendant; and turned, turned, turned against every force of nature to drink him in with her eyes. 

“I’m Fox Mulder, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he was rambling, patting at his coat, rifling through his empty pockets. “Um, I don’t have my badge on me, but…. I need to use your phone so I can call my boss-- my boss, Assistant Director Skinner-- if I could just call him--”

“Mulder.” 

He stopped, a toy unwound with its key removed. Lost, vulnerable; a breath away from flustered, furious. 

His hair was dark, bangs flat. The creases in his forehead were smooth, the hollows under his eyes filled, the ridges of his cheekbones soft and young. He looked for all the world like a boy, innocence barely tainted enough to be searching for a badge in a coat. 

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring. 

That ring shook Scully from fantasy to reality; and she stared at this man, this stranger, and didn’t run. She didn’t run, but maybe she should have.  

“Do I know you?” he asked, ring sweeping back and forth as Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation ran a hand through his hair. Stepped forward in cheap leather shoes and a mismatching cheap, polyester tie. “Ma’am?” 

“No,” she replied, but it felt like a lie. “But I overheard; and… and you can use my phone. Here.” 

He stared at her, stepped back, wrinkles appearing above his furrowed brows. Took her phone carefully, flipped it open like it might explode. Studied it like a holy relic. Looked back as if she’d given him a miracle. 

“You know where I can get one of these?” 

*-*-*-*-*

They ate lunch together. Something small from the food court, something he could eat one-handed while pressing buttons, opening and scrolling and marveling. She sat across and watched the wonder wash afresh over his face with each discovery, wondered herself what would inspire this abject devotion. 

A new song kicked on, overhead-- something the composer must have thought was heady on paper, in the sound booth; but was cheap and tawdry and overdone, pitchy and nichey, among the living. Fox Mulder slammed his thumb one last time, turned around, and tilted his head from side-to-side until he located the speakers. “Never heard that one before.” 

“Hm, neither have I.” Scully unwrapped her sandwich, delicately nudged the ingredients apart, and handed him a pickle with the tip of her manicure. 

“You don’t like pickles?” he asked, plucking it from her finger, trepidatious. 

“I do,” she realized, set her sandwich down. “My husband, William, used to love pickles. I never got out of the habit of trading for his onions, I suppose.” William’s fingers, cold and slack. William’s voice, damaged. William, changed. 

“My partner, Diana, prefers mustard on everything. Plain, only mustard. She’d take it with her coffee, but the Bureau’s got rules against that.” 

“Your wife?” A funny detail to neglect-- a wife at home-- with a female partner at the FBI. A funny detail she’d neglected, too, until his mouth softened around Diana. 

“Not my wife.” He let the statement rest, clicking a few more buttons until her stare realigned Earth’s gravity, pivoted his eyes back up again. “My partner. She put a ring on it,” Fox Mulder of the Federal Bureau explained, twitching his fourth finger, “but not my wife.” 

“Why not married?” Scully caught a new notification sliding across the screen, looked up in time to catch its reflection in his pupils. 

“We’ve never really found the time.” 

“I and my pickles, you and your ring?”

“No,” he chuffed, “Your husband's pickles and my partner’s ring.” 

“Well,” she conceded, crumpling up a wrapper to bide time. “You still haven’t called your boss. How do I know you’re actually with the Bureau?” 

“You wouldn’t have handed me the phone if you didn’t believe me.”

Perhaps there were moments that made as much sense, as much nonsense, as this, in recent years. Scully couldn’t remember them, couldn’t help wondering when life had started making too much sense. Stopped herself from wondering because she knew; she knew when. “And how do you know that?” 

“I’m a profiler-- ‘t’s what I do.” Fox Mulder stopped his idle investigation, drummed his hand on the table, wiped a stray dot of ketchup off his forefinger, and clenched his jaw. “I don’t even know if he’d answer my call. Can I tell you something?” 

“Tell me what?” She was eating the last of her fries, not quite sure when she’d started, not quite sure how they’d quickly disappeared. Not quite sure where this conversation was going; but suddenly sure, absolutely sure, where it was going. 

“I think I’m from an alternate universe.” He waited, shoulders tense, for her reaction. Waited longer, exasperated, when she paused, mid-chew, to weigh his seriousness. 

As if waking from a dream-- from a nightmare, its funk still putrid in her mouth-- and finding the world brighter and more beautiful for it, Scully blinked, sat back, and whispered, “I thought you were going to suggest time travel."

*-*-*-*-*

Though not out of the realm of possibility, dimensional travel was a topic neither wanted to explore in the din of the food hall. Reclaiming her phone and navigating them down the hall seemed the best option. Picking the cafe or the lounge or the tourist traps to settle did not. 

Fox Mulder spotted the rec room, old-school projector queuing up a movie as they scuffled in and settled in the back. In the darkness, they crackled with anticipation, the energy of like-minded intrigue and challenge flowing between them like an entity, like a conduit of another world, bearing messages and olive branches to fortify communication. 

It was 1991 and Fox Mulder was 30. It was 2004 and Dana Scully was 40. 

“If your theory is correct and we’re locked in an unfortunate crossover, then there would be some sign, universally, that the fabric of known reality was being torn through, or punched through, or, or, burdened, in some way, in order to break the known laws of physics. And there isn’t, as far as we know. I mean, have you noticed anything odd, Mulder, about our reality?” 

“I have, yeah.” He had snagged a bag of peanuts, the mainstay of all liminal spaces, during a brief but necessary cooldown from string theories and Copenhagen Interpretations. “You keep calling me Mulder.”

“What?” Scully moved away, jolted from the security their heated debate had given. Aware of the dangers a dark room with a relative stranger posed; began to seriously question how long they had been exchanging strange and alluring ideas. 

“Not Fox, but Mulder. The only ones who call me Mulder are field agents, or my superiors. But you knew.” He was reaching past her to the empty seat where they’d flung the coats; and she half-thought Mulder was going to grab his things and run, half-afraid she’d grab her things and run after. 

“Knew… what?” 

“That I preferred to be called Mulder. That I was going to propose something as wild as time travel. That I needed help calling my boss,” he added, mouth slipping into an easy grin, tap-tapping at the phone lying by her purse. 

An old, uneasy feeling slid into Scully’s gut, crawled up the back of her spine and clutched at her throat. “You think I’m behind whatever happened to you?” 

Mulder stopped, surprised she’d assumed his assumption of her guilt. Surprised he hadn’t assumed her guilt. “I think you’re connected to it, somehow. I believe the sooner that we--”

And Fox Mulder vanished, snatched away by the inscrutable universe. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

You see, we're a happily married couple and let's never forget that. This is my home. You're my husband.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She searched: the rec room, the lounge, the food court, the cafe, the terminal, the front desk, every space in-between. No one answered to his description: tall, hazel-green eyes, flat hair, Fox Mulder-- “a gold ring on his left hand”, she’d remember, then forget again. The day spent, she drove home, bereft of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t place. 

Her mother answered the door, updated her on the home health nurse’s instructions while Scully tucked away her purse, slid off her coat, unbuckled her watch and placed it with the keys. Listened as Captain Scully’s widow promised to drop in tomorrow afternoon.

“William’s asleep, but he finished a sudoku puzzle today. Dana, you should have seen his face-- it lit up with pride.”

“Oh, Mom….”

“I know, dear,” she cried, gripping them both in a long, tight hug. “He said Mom just like he used to. He even asked for his special candy afterwards.”

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a good sign. Oh--!” Maggie darted away, disappearing into the kitchen where the faint whistle of a kettle began to shriek. “I made tea to take up with you. Hopefully it’ll help settle his stomach after the medications.” 

“Thanks.” Acquiescing and agreeing were all Scully felt up to, the smell of peanuts on her hands, on her sleeves narrowing her abilities to a singular focus. To the mystery of the vanishing Mulder, and his theory of her connection to his displacement. He was no longer displaced, now; or, rather, she hoped he was back where he came from. 

The house was emptied, dinner eaten and tea drunk, before she was aware time had moved on and left her behind. 

She was at the table, and William’s scratched-up worksheet hung proudly on the fridge. Her mother had written Time: 8 hrs., 8 min., 8 sec. in the top-right corner and -William underneath. A thin, whispery line under -William was drawn from dash to ‘W’ before the writer changed his mind and started afresh, tracing badly over the old one but following it through to completion. (William’s line) was scrawled underneath, with a neat, precise arrow pointing upward to his contribution. 

William no longer finished crosswords, no longer lobbed her questions across the table, across the couch, across the room; no longer asked her, in Trebek accent, “What’s Mount St. Helena?” to make her smile. William no longer drove, no longer left home, no longer left bed. 

Time had left Scully behind again: it was seven thirty, it was eight, it was going to be eight fifteen. She was tired, it was late, her husband was awake by now. It was eight twenty by the time her dishes were done, eight twenty-five when she began to trudge up the steps and realized her heels were still on. 

“William? Are you awake?” 

His door was already open a crack, wooing her with lamplight and weeping violins. Sharing William’s secrets, or the allure of secrets, to draw her closer and closer in. Her iPod was playing Bruch’s Fantasía Escocesa Op.48, the third on a playlist he’d requested she or her mother or the nurse cobble together. Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy. 

“Violins are beautiful,” she’d told him one night when he was relearning her. “I can always hear them on the opposite end of the house.” And he’d laughed, the mirth of one relearning himself, and kept asking which were her favorite songs. She’d express a preference once, and he’d forget; and ask her to repeat it countless times. Bruch and Grieg and Mendelssohn had worn thin, then reinvented themselves through necessity-- for both their sakes. 

Her husband driving home from work, dashed on the road, split open, by a drunk. Her husband seizing on the table during major surgery. Her husband surviving, a miracle of God. Her husband becoming gravely ill, losing two years of recovery due to brain lesions. Her husband losing his job, losing his independence, losing himself, completely. 

She’d misspelled Grieg as Grief, once. 

“Yeah,” his voice piped, long a smothered under the coverlet. Sleepy, accomplished.

“Your meds on the desk?” 

William’s second “Yeah” was quieter, drifting off before Scully finished shuffling across the shag carpet. Shaking one of the pill containers softly by the bed lump made it shake, further evidence he’d fallen neatly into a doze; but his hand slowly maneuvered out from the pile of blankets, grabbing at the air until she secured it with her arm. 

“First one,” she dictated, humming affirmatively when he echoed her. “Don’t chew, remember?”

“Not for the night pills.”

“Right. Not for the night pills. Do you want to take them all at once, or with some water?”

A head-shaped lump shook-- no-- and she guessed that meant no water. 

“All right. I saw your sudoku today. You finished it in eight hours?” 

“Yes.” The s stretched out, theatrically. “I still don’t like it.”  

Knowing he couldn’t see, Scully squeezed her eyelids shut until stars behind them faded into darkness. “I know. Do you want to do something else? I can have Mom bring you a different puzzle in the morning.”

“No, I. I want… to like it.” Voice matter of fact, smooth. As smooth as extensive damage would allow. William Smooth, as he called it on his good days. 

“I know, William.” 

“I want to like things, Dana.”  

“You’re still healing.” Slipping onto the bed, she patted him to scoot backward. Cautiously. He’d fallen on his side again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He played with her arm, rubbed and smoothed the fine hair there. “And I solved kid sudoku today.” 

“It’s still sudoku, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Long s, tired. 

“Do you want me to read tonight?” He hummed, groaned. A broken but healing sound that reminded her of Mulder’s frantic, searching eyes. “Moby Dick? Just skip the…?”

William chuckled. Light, tonight. “Just skip the kissing parts.” 

“All right, all right. But you owe me when it’s your turn to read.” Moby Dick, collector’s edition, hardback, lay face-up on her end table. With practiced ease, she heaved off the bed, around the baseboard, and back again before her husband had a chance to nod off. Pushed his Thursday treat into his hands and settled while he thumbed it absently. “Chapter 16, The…. Oh, my mistake. There’s no title for this chapter.”

“Hm. Melville?”

“Yes, Melville. ‘Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side--’”

Scully read; and the candy dropped to the floor, and William slept. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 3

I imagined being with him in all sorts of glamorous circumstances. It was one of those absurd fantasies, just like one has when one is a girl being wooed and married by the idea of one's dreams. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She saw him, again, at the airport. 

“Dana!” Mulder yelled, bursting from the teeming crowds of collected newcomers. “Dana Scully!” Hurried, harried, haggard, he rushed down the hall where she stood, wallet in hand, by a food stall. 

“Mulder--” He was here, he was here, and what did it mean? 

“What day is it?”

“Mulder, how did you--”

“Dana, what day is it!” He was gripping her arm; she was dropping her wallet. “I need to know.”

Someone was asking if she needed help, someone else was handing her her wallet, and a third person had recognized her, she could see it in his eyes. “It’s nothing, we’re fine, my friend’s just upset, Mulder, let’s go to the--”

“Dana!”  

“It’s Thursday, Mulder! Let’s go--” But where would they go? “Let’s go, Mulder.” 

Tugging his hand, plucking his sleeve, pulling at his arm, Scully caused him to yield. The fight left and he followed, shoulders drooping, to the car where she swiftly undid the locks, threw on the air, and told him to loosen his collar and take deep breaths. He was sweating, and flushed, and stank. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked, handing him a bottle of water always kept in case of emergencies. 

“All morning. All night, I think. I woke up to someone patting my face. Didn’t have my badge, didn’t have cash, didn’t have your phone.” 

She snapped away, glaring thunderously up at him. So used to standing above William that it annoyed her having to look up to a man. “You stole my phone?” 

Mulder’s head rolled from right to left, trying not to blink when a flat, sweaty bang fluttered, caught in his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to, Dana, it was in my hand when I teleported.”

The fight curled and snapped and wanted to bare fangs, but now was not the time to lay blame. Not when they had a crisis on their hands. 

“Where were you before you… ‘teleported’ last night?”

“Home. I think. I came home from work and went to bed. I woke up, here.”

“Was Diana there with you?” 

Mulder scowled-- at her, or in recollection, or over some third thing he hadn’t shared. “No, Diana wasn’t there. She was out of town.”

“Was she there last week?” 

“No.” The scowl deepened, and he drew upright to analyze her evenly. “Do you think she’s involved in some way?” 

“I don’t know, Mulder. I just… want to solve this as much as you do, and we have no place to start except the variables. What changed from last week to this? What changed from last week to the week before? Any, any difference in routine, in, in professional or personal relationships?” 

His face smoothed, conscious diving deep into the unconscious for answers. The shift and the click of his mind, its turning and butting and rerouting, was visible through the green of his eyes, in the tugs of each zygomaticus muscle. 

“Dana, I never made it home.”

“I thought you said--” 

“No, no, I thought I did, too. I was flying back to D.C. after wrapping a case. And I… I stayed behind, got a late flight, and slept on the plane. I don’t remember waking up.” 

“Were you traveling last week?”

He nodded. 

“On a case?”

“It’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI’,” Mulder shrugged, lips curling, eyes twinkling when she gave him a pity smile. 

“Did you fall asleep at the airport?”

The gears, turning. Without another word, he leaped from the car, blinking against the sunlight. 

“Mulder, where are you going--”

“The airport, Dana. I was here, at this airport, last week.”

Evil can lurk behind the heart of any man, she knew. But it was hard to imagine 1991 rural West Virginia in such turmoil that it had to personally call in an FBI profiler. “Really.” 

“Yes. And yesterday, the plane would have had to fly over this airport to land in D.C.” 

“So, I’m not the problem,” Scully whispered, watched his inconsistent double grow and shrink on the hood of her car. “I didn’t cause this.” 

Mulder was quiet, too quiet. He was waiting for an explanation, his arms bending, melting over each other in the car wax. 

“Last week, you said I was connected to… this.” 

“I thought you were, Dana. And I was wrong.” 

A wail from the mercurial wind promised rain; and they both looked up to see distant clouds gathering, blackening. She dipped down, grabbed her spare umbrella, and closed, locked the car. He shut his door, too. 

“Lunch,” she decided. “Bring your wallet next time. You owe me two meals and a phone.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was expertly juggling two green salads dripping in bacon grease, two wraps coated in garlic sauce, and two supersized, overpriced waters when he drifted back to her side, looking from her to the display and back again. “This where I found you?”

“This is where you made a scene, yes.” Rich vanillas and caramels, salty toffees and shortbread, woody almonds and pecans, butters, creams, and chocolates blended, broke apart, came together in an unmistakably luxurious scent. One that deceptively passed itself off as simply coffee, simply butter, simply vanilla, all while evolving into unimaginable decadence. Simply delicious. A matter of survival. 

The server looked up and grinned-- a regular. “What’ll it be for William today, Ms. Scully?”  

“Two Billy Butters, please.” 

“They make fresh candy here?” Mulder asked, chest swelling as he took methodical, insatiable gulps of air. 

“Yes,” laughed the server, punctuating her statement with a smack, catching the register with ease as its door sprung open, “every day a new batch.”

“You must be talented bakers.” 

The server laughed again; and Scully smothered a chuckle, knowing what was coming. “No, no one’s a baker here! We simply make up the treats.” 

“They serve family recipes,” she explained, “passed down to the owner.” 

“Yes-- and very good ones, too. Anika learned them from her grandmother; and she follows the instructions, and we follow her instructions. And every Thursday,” the server chattered, pleased to have a captive audience, “we put secret messages inside William’s wrapper for him to read.” 

“He’s always pleased to read his messages. Thank you.” Fishing out her change, Scully handed a five and declined the receipt, tucking a candy into her purse and handing the other to Mulder. “For you.” 

“Sweets for the sweet?” he returned, palming his reward with unexpected tenderness. 

“Alms for the poor. Let’s go find a place to sit.”  

*-*-*-*-*

It happened while she was trying to tell him a story. 

Melissa was perpetually slipping in the creek because Scully couldn’t get past that part without giggling. Mulder was chuckling, too, trying to help her rework a sentence or start the story someplace new-- in vain. 

“You look so young,” he said; and the world stopped, it melted, it was consumed by the burning flesh of the sun. Cold, beautiful, fearfully made wonders bloomed from the stars, stretched their wings into nebulas, formed their magic into galaxies. 

“How?” she trembled, fearing, believing. 

“Your eyes.” His voice was impossibly soft, his gaze immovably fixed. “They contain… everything, Dana.” 

Languages of the ancient dead thrummed and rang and sung inside his eyes. Immutable strengths that fell greater men and plunged down, down into the deep. Love, she knew, that was more precious because it could not be taken, only given. That would not let her go until she turned away. 

“Scully. Call me Scully, please.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 4

It's awfully easy to lie when you know that you're trusted implicitly. So very easy, and so very degrading. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

I no longer love him. 

The rain keeps falling, she mused, afraid to move from the door. Scully didn’t know what she meant to think; only that she did, and that was what she thought. 

“I’ll be here next Thursday,” Mulder had warned, grin splitting his face when she gave up the act and smiled, too. “I’m buying.” And that had seemed too wonderful for words, too tender, too glorious. 

That’s why she thought of the rain: the night had shuttered in and the heavens had opened, dashing down their young ones against her windshield, trapping the moon in their little bodies splattered on the car wax. It was too wonderful, it was too glorious, warned Icarus’s wings. It had to end before it started. Before it continued. Before it came to a filthy, fleshy conclusion.  

The rain had flooded in as her mother left, dripping, dripping from her hair, dripping, dripping from her clothes, dripping, dripping from the walls and ceiling and onto the floor. Spreading inescapable mirrors Scully must tread through to ascend the stairs. 

The server will recognize him. We’ll have to stay in the car, with the sun visor up. But my car will be seen, and the visor will add to suspicion. Someone I know will be there, and will spot us.

And it would break William, irreparably. 

He was sitting up in bed, head bent towards a sudoku booklet in his lap, shocks of silver hair sprouting from sutures sewn lengthwise across his skull. Her irrepressible, unbeatable, unsinkable Molly Brown sinking into a man she didn’t recognize-- one without likes, dislikes, preferences. One who clung to the booklets handed to him because they were handed, to her books and her music because she volunteered them. Who shied away from stories before the accident, before the illness, before the lesions and the loss of that last bit of himself. He loved her. He needed her. 

She had believed she loved him, too. 

William shuffled to the next song, and the next before she could face him. 

“'She walks in beauty,'” he quoted, painstakingly looping a circle before looking up to her. 

“'In the night',” she finished, settling on the bed, under the quilt before unfolding her palm. “For you.” 

“Ah, a Thursday surprise.” William carefully closed his fingers, one by one, around the gift before slowly lowering his arm to the bed. One by one his fingers pawed at the wrapping, one by one they peeled back this, then that corner. “Did Anika make this looser just for me?” 

“Hm, no. I think your fingers are getting stronger.” 

“That’s good. One of these days I’ll be able to hold your hand properly.” 

There existed a violent and fierce love in her soul for the wounded fighters with odds stacked against them. She knew it. She needed it, craved it. “Give me your hand. We can try now.” 

He became still, muted in the face of challenge. “I… think we should wait until I’m stronger. I don’t want….”

“William,” she pleaded, dabbing at the tips of his fingers, closing them in her doctor’s hands. “I’d never hurt you.” Please, she thought as his exhale shuddered and creaked. 

Slowly, slowly, he nodded. Slowly, slowly, she slid her palm over his, slowly, slowly pressed on it until the candy wedged between them. 

“Try,” he whispered; and she clasped his fingers and tugged them towards her own. 

Scully waited for the Eighth Wonder of the World. She waited for resurgence: for the disintegrated terra firma to reconstruct its borders, for the galaxy to be shrunk, infinitesimal, and swallowed by the immeasurable pull of a black hole. But there was only waiting, then wincing, then a noiseless yield in William’s stifled groan. Her hand sprang back, wrapper sticking to her hand like flypaper. 

“William--” 

“I’m fine, Dana, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, William--”

“You’re not, either.” 

The wind machine whirred and the iPod played Mendelssohn and neither moved. Could move. 

Working her throat past the taste of hot iron, Scully dipped her chin and focused on breathing. “Do you still want to hear what Anika says?” 

Yes, he nodded. “Yes.”

She peeled the wrapper off, held it between both index and middle fingers, worked her thumbs under the smudged, smeared, illegible script. Sighed, aimed for a believable lie. “She sends her love.” 

He nodded yes, no, or perhaps nothing intelligible. “Will you help me lie down? I, I can’t….” 

“Yes, William. Always.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 5

As it is, you're the only one in the world that I can never tell. Never, never. Because even if I waited until we were old, old people and told you then, you'd be bound to look back over the years and be hurt. And my dear, I don't want you to be hurt. 

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

She didn’t go Thursday. 

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t, not after the week William had. Not after she’d watched him meekly tailor his preferences to hers, watched him choke down a tasteless bran muffin not because it was tasteless but because he was proving himself. Not after he’d clung to her hand like a failure and tried to solve a sudoku a day for the nurse to hang on the fridge-- proof that he was better. 

Scully couldn’t stay home, either. 

She told her husband, “I can’t swing by the airport today”, and drove as fast and as far as possible before coming back to herself. 

The breeze sighed into her window, unfamiliar with its scent of golden sunshine and golfer grass and white flowers and old metal; twisted somewhere concretely in her chest. It was the type of breeze, the type of day, that siphoned wishes from the ether, transmogrified them into reality.

She couldn’t be here, either. 

*-*-*-*-*

Scully drove into the hospital, let the car idle in the parking lot, and listened. Wondered if it was fate that the sky remained cloudless. Wished Mulder would materialize from the oppressive heat like an Arthurian legend, a mirage that promised unconquerable hope. Hoped he wasn’t wandering lonely and hungry, distraught she hadn’t shown. Wondered if he did bring his wallet, wondered if she was missing out on a king’s feast. 

It hadn’t rained today; and she wondered if that was a sign. 

*-*-*-*-*

“Dana!”

Scrubbed, prepped, and reading through the schedule, Scully knew, knew it wasn’t Mulder; but her hands wouldn’t pry away from the clipboard no matter how she willed them. By the time she’d straightened and released a breath, a fellow doctor flanked her, throwing intrusive questions and curious glances behind a cup of coffee and two, three, four scratches on a sheet of desk paper. 

“Dana, I thought you took off today--” It was Dolly: innocent curiosity in one hand, rumors and unending speculation in the other. A far cry from Mulder; an inescapable force of her own. “Was there an emergency autopsy? I didn’t hear about one, mind; but then again, I’m hardly ever up to date on morgue affairs--” 

Scully grit and bore it, chastised herself for not anticipating gossip. Smiled at a passing student as she mused on the inescapability of Thursdays-- how they attracted run-ins and questions and mysteries she wanted to avoid after William’s escalating traumas. One transfer hadn’t escaped them; a second was not only impractical, but cowardly. She’d resigned herself to fate and chose her battles.

Then Mulder appeared. 

“It’s not William, is it?” Jerked back to reality, Scully stared, eyebrow up and eyes slit and sharp while her interlocutor rambled on. “He was doing so well this past month, y’know. Maybe he just wanted some alone time with your mom--”

Scully cut in, sharp and demanding. “How did you know my mother stays with William on Thursdays?” 

"Now, now, Dana, don’t get your back up. You told me before, remember?” Had she? “You poor lamb, it’s all the stress you’re going through with… your situation. And understandably--”

“Excuse me,” Scully mumbled, speeding away from the desk, mentally lost to time slots and autopsy assistants and trying, trying, trying to remember if she’d mentioned that fact before. No, I haven’t. She must have learned it from Mary or…. She paused, feeling an immense rush to sit down; and resisted the impulse. I didn’t tell her. I know that much. 

Thursdays were Thursdays, Mary would be spoken to. And everything, she reassured herself, was fine. 

*-*-*-*-*

William was pretending to be asleep when she came home. Her mother, puzzled, greeted her at the door, ushered her in with a worried, “He said he was tired.”

“Did he have any headaches, Mom?”

“No.”

“Lethargy? Speech irregularity? Did he skip meals?” 

“He missed supper, but… do you think anything’s wrong, Dana? He kept asking when you’d come home.”

“Mom--.” Scully did not want to have a conversation-- not now, and definitely not with her mother. “I’ll go check on him, okay? He’s probably catching up on some sleep he missed.” 

Unappeased, unabashed, Maggie Scully grabbed her daughter’s elbow before the latter could retreat. “Dana,” she warned, and Scully stalled, head down and mouth flat. “Is there something wrong I should know about?”

‘Something wrong.’ How wrong and right that word is. “No, there isn’t. I’m going to try to coax him to eat, all right? I love you.” And she hurried into the kitchen, hurried past the bare fridge-- No sudoku, today-- hurried back with his cold supper, hurried away from her mother’s parting, “Careful, sweetheart!”, and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway. Wished that she were hurrying farther and farther and farther into an abyss to think.  

William was pretending to sleep, but at least he had the decency not to snore. 

Releasing a breath, Scully laid the tray down on his end table and navigated the thin strip between his bed and the wall until she came to the master bathroom. A long, relaxing bath; a short, cleansing shower; and a detailed skincare ritual ate up close to an hour of her time, pushed her nearer to the crucial nine o’clock when she could climb into bed and end Thursday. 

The house was groaning with age-- young in comparison to other houses, young like the houses her family would inhabit at each Naval station. It was a comfort to her to own something so closely linked with carefree times, to offset a recovering spouse and longer, demanding hours with the sense of ‘settling in.’ But there were no haunted voices to fill up the attics, or the basement, or the corners where William’s wind machine whirred, and Mendelssohn was whippled on repeat. 

“Dana?” Her husband called, scratchy and retiring. Old before his years. 

“Yes?” She sat on the toilet and clasped her hands before her face. Waited, listening. 

“Did you bring home… something?” 

It was Thursday; and he’d forgotten what she’d said in parting. 

Scully straightened the bathroom, swept out in a cloud of warm vapor, settled on the edge of his bed and touched his fingers, his elbow, his shoulder while he worked it out. 

William waited, waited, waited; then couldn’t meet her eyes. “I forgot again, didn’t I?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

He stiffened under her touch, tried to pass off a lean-away by readjusting his posture. She didn’t chase him. “I’m sorry,” he echoed; and pretended to sleep. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 6

This can't last. This misery can't last. I must remember that and try to control myself. Nothing lasts really. Neither happiness nor despair. Not even life lasts very long. There'll come a time in the future when I shan't mind about this anymore, when I can look back and say quite peacefully and cheerfully how silly I was. No, no, I don't want that time to come ever. I want to remember every minute, always, always to the end of my days.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She was late. 

She was late, she was late, and she wished she could be later. One glance between them and he knew. It was over. 

Mulder remained fixed, a statue with dark stubble and dark eyes, deaf and dumb to the irregularity of the busy crowds swirling around him. So, Scully went to him, reaching out to grab his hand in a way she hadn’t in many, many years. It was sure, and it was true: Mulder’s hand from another life, another world. 

“I haven’t been honest with you,” she admitted, swiping her tongue across her lip in shame. “You know I’m married to a man named William.” 

He nodded, tender. Serious. “His full name is Fox William Mulder-- isn’t it, Scully?” 

She missed that beautiful, beautiful mind. Knew her Mulder missed it, too. “You knew.” 

His eyes were the same microcosm of green, growing things, his voice the same fathomless deep. His heart the same tinderbox that set fire to the world. “I haven’t been honest with you, either.” 

Of course he has secrets, this unfathomable man. 

“Diana and I aren’t partners.” His hand slipped through his bangs, his hair, ring thudding against his head as a reminder, as penance. “She transferred to Europe a couple months ago.” The hazel in his eyes was gone; and they were brown, lonesome and dark. “I’m joining her in the spring.” 

“Mul-- No.” Diana Fowley, perched sympathetically next to a victim, cataloging wounds and weaknesses. Compiling names for the abduction census. Mulder by her side, bangs and ring and penance. “Not with her. Not like this.” 

“I was recruited, Scully. They know where she is, my sister. I’ve told you about Samantha?” 

“Yes.”

“They told me they knew where she was. That they’d take me to her.” 

He could not sacrifice the altar of his mind for so little, could not lose it there as he had here. “Mulder, she’s dead. They took her, and they kept her prisoner, and they experimented on her. She died in California six years after she was taken.” 

“That’s what they said, too.” And his eyes were green, sick. Resolute. The stars behind her lids were falling, falling, falling.

“You can’t go to Europe, you can’t give in, Mulder. These men have no conscience-- the evil they do to save their own skin is beyond words. But we don’t become like them. We fight, Mulder. We fight, and we survive, and we win.” 

“We don’t, Scully.” 

She paused, and a tremor of premonition passed through her. Cold, foreboding. Her tongue couldn’t form the word cancer while the world spun and Mulder looked at her with strange, dead eyes. 

“Dana Katherine Waterstone died in a car accident one Saturday afternoon with her husband and his daughter. The driver, Maggie Waterstone, took a wild turn into traffic. She wasn’t road-ready but had insisted on driving. Dr. Waterstone and she survived most of the impact. Scully… did not.” 

There must be another explanation. “She, she might have been a different Dana Katherine. Maybe your universe’s way of playing a cruel joke.”

“I had some friends look up the obituary. Read the memorial. Visited her grave.” Mulder’s shoulders dropped, his neck drooped, his young face looked impossibly old. “I had a busy week.” 

Her fingers launched forward, clung to his cold arm like ivy. “Don’t do this.” 

“I have to, Scully.” His resolve: unmatched, unchanged. Still the same man who ran after her to the ends of the earth. Who questioned her, challenged her. Who laughed with her in the rain. There would be no Bellefleur graveyard in his universe.  

“Mulder, I love you.” 

Mulder looked up from the impossibly polished floor, a secret smile tugging at his mouth. In another universe, it seemed to say, I would have said, ‘I know.’ “You have William.” 

“He’s not--,” and she clung tighter-- couldn’t, wouldn’t, knew she had to let go, “--you.” Tried to swallow the tightness in her throat, tried to blink back ineffectual tears. Icarus had warned her. 

“But he’s stable.” Yes. “Dependable.” Yes. “Won’t blink in and out of your universe at inopportune times.” Yes. 

There was one last terrible look-- she peered up, fixed her gaze, and opened the gates of her soul. He’s not you. Mulder looked, and looked; was touched to the quick, and opened his mouth in reply.

And Fox Mulder vanished for the last time.  

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 7 

I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again.

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks after it began, it ended. 

She was home early-- very early, because there was nowhere else to go. 

Scully made record time leaving the outskirts of society, passing, unawares, by the woods, the fields, and the roads until the house’s pinched and preening veneer rose from the earth like a tomb. She shooed her mother away with a simple, “I need to talk to William”; then sat in the kitchen, sat in the living room away from his pinned paper on the refrigerator; fell into the gloom of late afternoon, and dozed. 

She was wakened by an animal cry of pain, deep and wrenching screams echoing through the house. Scully shot off the couch, shot out of the room, shot up the stairs, shot through the hallway, shot to his room, chanting, “I’m coming, William, I’m coming!” He continued to scream, continued to thrash when she burst through his door, wouldn’t hear her, “William, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” above the terror that gripped him, that turned his face red and sent sweat dripping across his quaking body. 

“William!” She yelled, finally desperate, giving his shoulders a shake until he burst from dreamworld and glanced wildly about him, locking onto her with his one good arm as unto salvation, gripping her to him as he howled, tearless, voiceless, into her hair. She heard “-ully, -ully, -ully” tumbled clumsily in his mouth. 

“Mulder--”

“William,” he whimpered, clumsy and reproachful and terrified. “William.” 

“William, William, it’s me, it’s Scully, shhh--” 

“Dana.” 

“It’s Dana, William. It’s all right, I’m here, shhh, I’m here.” 

His poor broken body would spasm if he continued this abuse. As gently as she could, Scully rolled over him and tucked herself into the dilapidated quilt, ignoring the tear her husband’s foot had rent near the bottom, ignoring the burst of humid, sweaty air that billowed from the coverlet. Pulled him closer, let him pull her closer. “William, it’s me, it’s me.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, clutching at her with his good hand, pawing at her with his other. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“For what, William?” She waited for his words, wondered if his breath would have slowed or his heart would have stopped or his brain would have burst if he’d kept on howling, trapped and alone and afraid.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” 

His eyes were fathoms and fathoms deep, hurt and broken and humbled. And they watched the storm break, and Dana Katherine Scully crumble.  

*-*-*-*-*

Acknowledgments

All my thanks to Anika, whose support embraced and encouraged me in the fandom. Happy Birthday, and many more years to come~! :DDDDDDDDD

*-*-*-*-*

I shall be uploading the chapters to Ao3 here.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[the-shipper-center]

My vent as a former anti. Now, being a proshipper from 2 years

I can still remember the first time I stumbled into fandom spaces—it was around 2018, and, back then, it felt like a completely different world. I spent all my time on Amino communities, pouring my heart and soul into my posts about my unnecessary overly complicated gacha OCs. I’d obsess over any gay ship I came across because, let’s be honest, it was a lifeline. It felt freeing, validating even, to just fangirl and enjoy the ships that made me happy, no matter how niche or strange they seemed to others. I thought I had found my space, my people.

For years, I avoided TikTok like the plague. Until curiosity got the best of me in December 2021. That’s when I finally gave in and downloaded TikTok, thinking maybe I was just being close-minded. I wish I could say it opened my eyes in a positive way, but honestly, it was more like a punch to the gut. Everything I had loved, every ship I had adored, was suddenly labeled as problematic or "gross." And if you dared to enjoy them publicly? Forget it. You’d be torn apart, dragged for things you didn’t even realize people found offensive.

I was harassed constantly, called names, made to feel like I was disgusting for simply liking the things that had brought me so much joy before. At first, I tried to defend myself, to argue that shipping was just that—fiction. But it felt like everyone was screaming at me, telling me I was wrong. I started questioning myself. Maybe I was the problem? Maybe all the things I had loved really were as bad as they said? It got to the point where I was so mentally exhausted from the constant attacks that I gave in. I stopped enjoying those ships. I became an anti, turned my back on everything I used to like, because it was easier to just follow the crowd than to keep fighting. For two long years, I lived like that—policing myself, hating on the things I once loved, just to avoid more harassment.

The amount of hate I got was insane. It was like the second I stepped out of line from what the fandom deemed acceptable, they came at me full force. I can’t even count the number of times people told me to kill myself or threw disgusting jokes my way. The rape jokes were constant, like they thought making fun of something so vile was the way to make me feel ashamed of what I liked. No one should have to deal with that. I’d get these long paragraphs telling me how I was “a disgusting freak,” how I was the reason fandom spaces were “toxic,” all because I shipped something that didn’t fit their moral purity.

But the thing is, living like that takes a toll. It's draining to constantly censor yourself, to constantly fight against your own interests because someone else told you they were wrong. By mid-2023, I was exhausted. I’d stopped even enjoying fandom. I wasn’t posting, wasn’t engaging. I was just… there. And then, almost as a joke, I found myself wandering into a proshipper server. I thought, “Why not? I’ll just see what they’re all about. It doesn’t mean anything.” But the more time I spent there, the more I started to question why I’d let other people make me feel so ashamed of what I liked. I mean, seriously—how had it come to this? Being scared to talk about fictional characters and pairings????

Before I knew it, I started to find peace in that space, like I was finally breathing again. It wasn’t immediate, but little by little, I started to let go of the guilt I had carried for so long. And, yeah, I eventually became a proshipper myself. But it wasn’t some huge revelation or sudden change. It was more like finally reclaiming something I had been forced to give up. And now, looking back on those years I spent hating myself for liking what I liked? It makes me angry. Angry at the fandom, angry at the people who made me feel like I had to pick a side, like I had to tear myself apart to fit into their mold of what was "acceptable."

I made friends. Real friends. People who weren’t there to tear me down, but to support me and share in the things that made us happy. For the first time in what felt like forever, I had people I could talk to without constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if I was going to get attacked for every little thing. These friends didn’t care if my ships were "problematic." They just wanted to enjoy fandom without the toxicity, without the constant fear of being canceled or harassed. And that was something I hadn’t realized how badly I needed.

I wasted years of my life trying to be something I’m not, all because of this toxic, moralizing part of fandom that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place. And the worst part? It wasn’t even about them; it was about me. They didn’t care. They didn’t know me. But I let them control how I felt, and that’s something I still struggle with. Even now, there’s this lingering doubt in the back of my mind, like, “What if they’re right? What if I’m the problem?” But deep down, I know that I’ve found my space again, and that’s all that really matters.

It’s just hard to accept that you let yourself be molded by people who didn’t care about you in the first place. That kind of pressure leaves scars, and I’m still working on healing.

[siflshonen]

Hi there! I stumbled across your mha deep dives and I just wanted to say thank you, it really helped me understand mha a little better!

It’s frustrating being in the western fandom because a lot of the specifically Japanese ideas are unknown to a lot of the Western audience. And i get it, as a westerner myself I had very little idea as to any sort of Important Context that would be clear to Japanese readers. So I really appreciate that you took the time to even try to explain it!

With that being said, I’ve been wondering how you viewed the end of mha, and how the villains were treated. Do you think they could have been saved (or even Should have)? Could they have been redeemed? It’s so depressing for the big three (Shiggy, Dabi, and Toga) to have been teased as being able to be saved, then in the end they all just,,,die.

How do you view Izuku losing OfA? Personally, I would have thought that if he didn’t keep the power he would have become the First Quirkless Pro Hero, (there are so, SO many fanfics exploring that!), but in canon he just,,,gives up? I suppose in the collectivist view, of course he would give up. But that feels so,,,empty from a western perspective. I suppose I answered my own question of why couldn’t he be a quirkless hero lol.

I suppose I’m truly wondering how the ending of mha was supposed to be recieved, with all the cultural knowledge and everything.

I am so sorry this feels so long and disjointed, and feel free to ignore this if it doesnt make sense! (Or if you don’t have any answers, sorry for putting all this on you)

I don’t have a super well-researched and cited answer, but I can follow my heart on this one.

The only villain I’m truly sad about is Himiko, though even in that case I appreciate that she went with dignity, she went with reciprocated love, and she died as she did because it was HER choice. While I would have preferred to keep Shigaraki alive, I can’t say I miss him all that much. And besides, he regained himself and his autonomy at the end and played a part in the destruction of the thing that held him down and even the thing on which his father’s cruel house was ACTUALLY built: All for One and his meddling.

Touya’s story is tragic, but his death and the way in which it will happen is a mercy. I think it’s great when other folks imagine new endings to suit what they like, but I don’t entertain other viewpoints about his on-the-page fate.

In any case, all three of their “hearts”, if you will, were actually saved in the way most important to them. And they even got to stick it to society by refusing to give up what they wanted and be integrated into it. Death is a pretty clean and irrevocable way to separate oneself from a society, and it is an effective way to haunt the minds and hearts of those who witness those deaths and have to understand that that the person who died hated so much the idea of joining society that much.

That isn’t exactly Toya, Himiko, or Shigaraki’s character motive, but I feel like it’s worth pointing out that other cultures can view death as a kind of revenge instead of someone just trying to make the pain of existing stop. Anyway.

I kinda figured that Izuku becoming a teacher was meant to be him accepting his place in the world and indeed accepting reality now that his dream was over, which is seen as a mark of maturity to just get on with what he’s given. That Kacchan specifically spearheaded the development of his suit and was the one to hold out his hand isn’t just a character moment to show how Katsuki intends to continue to atone, I don’t think. I think it’s also because:

A) Katsuki is Izuku’s link to and representation of the quirked world, and specifically the quirked world of Heroes. He always has been, as he’s the person “closer to [Izuku] than All Might.” As long as he exists, Izuku is tethered to that world somehow and has a way to enter/re-enter it somehow.

B) Relatedly, I interpret Katsuki as an embodiment of individual will and individual’s heart’s desire continuing to remain true in the face of the collective (even after he begins to accept and work with the collective), so it makes sense that he’s the one to pursue and nurture Izuku’s “selfish” and outlandish dream of being a superhero even while Izuku himself falls in line. Put another way, Katsuki is, in many ways, an embodiment of Izuku’s heart’s desire - mostly because the two of them have the same heart’s desire.

Though, speaking as a Westerner as well, Izuku’s choices at the end of the manga don’t sit well with me, either, but this is just as much part of why I’m too much of a westerner to completely see eye-to-eye with Izuku throughout the story as it is a comment on the ending.

Most of all, I think it’s ridiculous that Hawks didn’t get Izuku’s Hero suit funded/in development the minute he took the position at the SPC, or that whatever was left of the Hero system before that happened didn’t already have it in the works. It strikes me as EXTREMELY weird.

I have other thoughts about Izuku and Katsuki’s ending, but they’re mostly reflections about other shonen manga past than anything meaningful to say here.