#almost as if they knew people would just... want to go back and talk to him a lot...

[stilllivinginthesewers]

Let's go with my second most important OC (should I do it with all of them?)

Name : Riley (i asked ChatGPT until i was satisfied with the name 💀)

Age : 17 years old

Love interests : Some guy named Louie, a really good cook scared of any type of firearms (though he becomes the most dangerous man ever if you spoil his food/bother him while he's cooking)

Favourite food : Red Guacamole (red avocadoes exist in this universe as well as blue and green ones, and red ones are sweet and spicy. Still, spices and ingredients are as important in the recipe)

Job : None, they used to study psychology but then stopped and now they just... Hang out with his group of friends (and a literal god also)

Hobbies : Surfing and paintball, mostly

Best at : helping people, whether it's emotionally or physically. He'd do anything to help anyone, even if he has to get hurt, to skip two whole nights of sleep or clean the blood of your worst enemy. He tries to tank almost everything and often forgets that people sometimes didn't ask for help, and that he's not invincible himself.

Loves/Hate : They love seeing people smile, and they hate seeing people suffer, or simply cry. But nothing really bothers him, as long as he knows everyone is going well, he's happy.

Best memory : One day, before his parents divorced, his dad took him to the city for a whole day when his mom wasn't here. It's the first time he really felt happy, and this day he knew how much he meant for his dad.

Worst memory :

(⚠️TW SUIC_DE, skip this part if you don't wanna read this⚠️)

During his studies in college, he met a girl, Sina. She came from another country (which is common knowing his country had the best universities in the world) and since she didn't know anyone, Riley became friends with her. Both of them had the best times together, in spite of Sina's depression. But one night, he received a goodbye message from Sina, and rushed to her apartment to try something. He couldn't find her at home, and decided to look for her on the rooftop. At the very moment he arrived, he could see her fall from the roof.

✨ End of the TW ✨

Design? : Basically, yes. Long dark hair, tanned skin, always wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a long bermuda short, carrying a white and red surfing board. I didn't really draw him yet so it never really changed.

Inspiration : I don't remember, I think it's because I love helping and I thought about a character who would be like this, but pushing this trait a bit further.

Genre : I'm not sure I understand, but he's one of the protagonists (plz someone tell me if I'm mistaken)

Gender/Sexuality : Riley is a man, and is biromantical/allosexual

Siblings : He has a step brother, 10 years older (his name is Alessandro, and is the most important political figure of another country (although he's just a huge troll and is so laid back he shouldn't have his current post)

Relationship with his parents : Riley visits his dad really often and both love seeing each other, whereas he never talked to his mom since she left, but he's okay with it, it's not like he missed her.

Favourite trait of the OC : HIS HAIRRR I WANT THEM OMGGG

Drawing/writing frequency : I write about them quite often compared to the other OCs

Killing the OC? : We're both aged the same, about the same physical strength, but he's really fast and I have asthma so I guess not.

Phobias : None, he's not really scared of anything

Rival : He has no true rival actually

Duration : It's been about a year, something like that i think

Age of creation : 15 or 16, something like that x)

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

��� - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men would react to you ignoring them because your mad at them

Daryl wasn't used to being ignored. Back in his old life, people either feared him or needed something from him. Now, with you, he was met with a warm, loving embrace. So, when you turned your back on him, a frown etched its way onto his face.

The first time you ignored him, he thought you were just busy. Maybe you were engrossed in a book, fixing something around the house, or simply lost in thought. He gave you space, figuring you'd come around when you were ready.

But the silence stretched on. You moved around him like he was a ghost, your eyes never meeting his. He'd try to catch your attention, clearing his throat or asking a simple question, but you'd brush past him as if he hadn't spoken.

Daryl was a man of few words, but he observed everything. He knew your routines, your habits, the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy. Now, your eyes were clouded, your movements stiff, and a knot formed in his stomach.

He started to wonder if he'd done something wrong. Had he forgotten an anniversary? Said something insensitive? His mind raced, replaying recent conversations, searching for a clue to your sudden coldness.

The uncertainty gnawed at him. He wasn't good at expressing his feelings, but he hated the thought of hurting you. He needed to know what was wrong so he could fix it, even if it meant swallowing his pride and apologizing.

Daryl decided he couldn't take it anymore. The silence was suffocating, the distance between you agonizing. He had to break through the wall you'd built.

He found you in the garden, tending to the vegetables you'd planted together. He approached slowly, his boots crunching on the gravel path.

"Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. You didn't respond, your hands continuing to pull weeds with a vengeance. He sighed and tried again. "(Y/N), what's wrong?"

You remained silent, your back still turned to him. Daryl's frustration grew, but he tamped it down. He knelt beside you, his calloused hand reaching for yours.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, his voice laced with vulnerability. "I can't fix it if I don't know what I did."

You flinched at his touch, pulling your hand away and standing up. You walked past him, heading back towards the house without a word. Daryl watched you go, his heart sinking.

Daryl was a simple man, but he wasn't stupid. He realized you were deliberately ignoring him, and it stung more than he cared to admit. He wasn't used to being denied affection, especially from you.

He started to crave your attention, your touch, your smile. He missed the way you'd lean into him at night, the way you'd laugh at his grumpy jokes, the way you made him feel like he belonged.

He found himself lingering in doorways, hoping you'd acknowledge him. He'd offer to help with chores, hoping to spark a conversation. He'd even leave little gifts for you – a flower, a smooth stone, a freshly caught rabbit – hoping to soften your heart.

Daryl's tough exterior began to crack. He became almost pathetic in his attempts to get your attention. He'd follow you around the house like a lost puppy, his eyes pleading.

He'd sit next to you on the porch, nudging your arm with his. He'd hum your favorite songs, hoping to jog your memory of happier times. He'd even try to imitate your voice, teasing you in a way he knew you usually found endearing.

It was all to no avail. You remained unmoved, your silence a constant reminder of his failure.

One evening, you were sitting by the fire, lost in thought. Daryl watched you from across the room, his heart heavy. He couldn't take it anymore.

He stood up and walked over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. This time, you didn't pull away.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Please. What do you want from me? I'll do anything."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and your voice broke as you finally spoke. "I'm mad at you, Daryl. Really mad."

Relief washed over him. At least he knew what was wrong now. "What did I do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You explained that you were upset because he'd taken unnecessary risks on a recent supply run. You were worried about him, scared that you'd lose him.

Daryl listened intently, his grip tightening on your hands. He hadn't realized how his actions had affected you. He'd been so focused on providing for you, he hadn't considered your feelings.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure we had enough."

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I know," you said. "But you have to be more careful. I can't lose you, Daryl."

Daryl pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your familiar scent.

"I promise," he whispered. "I'll be more careful. Just... don't ignore me like that again. It hurts."

You hugged him back, burying your face in his chest. "I won't," you said. "I'm sorry too. I just needed you to understand how I felt."

Daryl pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with love and tenderness.

"I understand," he said. "Now, how about we forget about all this and just... be together?"

A small smile appeared on your face. "I'd like that very much," you said.

Daryl leaned in and kissed you, a slow, gentle kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss of apology, of reassurance, of love.

After the kiss daryl picked you Up bridal style carrying you to your shared bedroom, laying you down to cuddle and be close making sure you knew how much you meant to him and how much you both loved each other.

You're mad at Rick. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, a decision you disagreed with, or just built-up stress in the apocalypse that finally overflowed. Whatever the reason, you're giving him the silent treatment, and the great leader, the hardened survivor, is utterly lost without your attention.

Rick notices the shift immediately. It's like the sun dimmed a little. He walks into your shared space, a hopeful smile on his face, ready to greet you.

"Hey darlin'," he says, his voice a low rumble that usually makes your heart flutter. You offer a curt nod, your eyes focused anywhere but on him.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head. "Everything alright?"

Silence. You busy yourself with some mundane task – sharpening a knife, mending clothes, anything to avoid eye contact.

His confusion deepens. He hovers, unsure if he should press. Rick isn't used to being ignored, especially not by you. It throws him off balance.

Rick becomes hyper-aware of your every move. He watches you from across the camp, his brow furrowed with concern.

He notices the way you pointedly laugh at something Carl says, completely disregarding his attempt at a joke earlier.

He sees you offer a comforting hand to Daryl when he's clearly in a mood, while Rick’s own attempt to sit next to you at the watchtower resulted in you moving away.

He can practically feel the coldness radiating from you, and it makes him ache. He knows something is wrong, even if he doesn't know what.

Rick tries to initiate small talk. "Need any help with that?" he asks, gesturing towards the clothes you're mending.

You shake your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. Your needle moves with quick, precise movements.

He tries again later, "Heard anything on the radio today?" Another shake of the head.

His frustration grows, but he tries to keep his voice even. "Look, Y/N, what's going on? Talk to me."

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes flashing with hurt and maybe a little anger. But you quickly look away, offering nothing but silence. This hurts him more than any yelling could.

Desperate, Rick seeks out Michonne. "She's not talking to me," he confesses, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what I did."

Michonne raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Think hard, Rick. What have you been doing lately? Have you been listening? Really listening?"

He thinks back, replaying recent conversations, his decisions, his actions. He remembers brushing off your concerns about a scouting mission, dismissing your opinion during a planning session because he was stressed and thought he knew best.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. He hasn't been listening. He's been so focused on leading, on surviving, that he's neglected your feelings.

"Damn," he mutters, his face etched with guilt. "I messed up."

Rick doesn't do grand gestures in the traditional sense. He's not going to serenade you or buy you flowers (because, well, apocalypse). His grand gesture is vulnerability, honesty, and a genuine attempt to make things right.

He finds you alone, sitting by the campfire, staring into the flames. He sits beside you, close but not touching, giving you space.

"Y/N," he begins, his voice soft and sincere. "I'm sorry. I haven't been a good partner lately. I've been so caught up in everything that I haven't been listening to you, and that was wrong."

He continues, "Your opinion matters to me. Your feelings matter to me. You matter to me. More than you know."

He reaches for your hand, his calloused fingers gently wrapping around yours. "Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me what you need. I'll do whatever I can to fix it."

Your resolve starts to crumble. Hearing his apology, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes, melts the ice around your heart.

A tear slips down your cheek, and you finally turn to face him. "You didn't listen," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "I felt like I wasn't being heard."

The floodgates open. You pour out your feelings, your frustrations, your fears. You tell him how his dismissiveness made you feel small and insignificant.

Rick listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours, his grip on your hand tightening. He nods, acknowledging your pain, taking responsibility for his actions.

After you've said your piece, Rick pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "I understand," he murmurs, burying his face in your hair. "I'll do better. I promise."

He holds you for a long time, just breathing you in, feeling your warmth against him. The silence is comfortable now, filled with understanding and forgiveness.

He becomes incredibly needy for your affection. He follows you around like a lost puppy, constantly touching you – a hand on your back, a brush of your hair, a lingering kiss on your neck.

He needs to reassure himself that you're not still angry, that you still love him.

At night, he holds you even tighter than usual, his body pressed against yours. He whispers apologies into your ear, peppering your face with kisses.

"Don't ever shut me out like that again," he murmurs, his voice laced with vulnerability. "I can't stand it when you're mad at me."

Later, as you're drifting off to sleep, Rick gently nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Y/N?" he whispers. "Tell me you're not still mad."

You sigh softly and turn to face him, cupping his cheek in your hand. "I'm not mad, Rick," you say, your voice full of love. "Just don't do it again."

He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours. "I won't," he promises. "I need you, Y/N. I need your voice, your opinion, your love. Please don't ever take that away from me."

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then another, and another. Each kiss is filled with gratitude, relief, and a desperate need for connection.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too, Rick," you reply, pulling him closer.

From that day forward, Rick makes a conscious effort to listen to you, to value your opinions, to be a better partner.

He realizes that his strength as a leader comes not just from his decisiveness, but also from his ability to listen to and understand the people he cares about.

He still messes up sometimes (he's only human, after all), but now he's quicker to recognize his mistakes and apologize.

And he never, ever, wants to experience the agony of your silent treatment again. He would do anything to avoid that. He will be attentive, and understanding.

Negan's Reaction to Your Silent Treatment

Negan struts in, Lucille slung over his shoulder, a cocky grin plastered on his face, ready to shower you with affection after a long supply run. "Honey, I'm home!" he booms, expecting your usual bright smile and a playful jab about him tracking mud everywhere.

Instead, he's met with silence. You're in the living room, pointedly engrossed in a book, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in your eyes.

His grin falters slightly. "Babe? Everything okay?" He tries, his voice laced with a hint of concern masked by his usual bravado. Still nothing.

He circles you slowly, like a predator assessing its prey, but really, he's just trying to figure out what he did wrong. The confusion is written all over his face, a stark contrast to the confident swagger he usually exudes.

Negan's never been one for subtlety. He tries the direct approach. Kneeling beside your chair, he peers up at you, trying to catch your eye. "Alright, spit it out. What'd I do? Seriously, I'm drawing a blank here."

You deliberately turn the page of your book, refusing to meet his gaze.

He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Come on, (Y/N). Don't do this to me. You know I can't stand it when you're mad at me." His voice takes on a softer, almost pleading tone, a side of Negan few people ever get to see.

He starts listing possibilities, each one more ridiculous than the last. "Did I forget to feed Lucille? Did I accidentally wear your favorite shirt? Did I…oh god, did I use the last of your (favorite snack)?"

As the silence stretches on, Negan's attempts at humor fade, replaced by a growing sense of unease. He needs your attention, your reassurance, your affection. It's like a physical ache.

He starts resorting to physical affection, hoping to break through your wall of silence. He gently takes your hand, his calloused fingers intertwining with yours. "Please, talk to me," he whispers, his voice rough around the edges.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment, breathing in your scent. "I hate it when we're like this. You're my best girl, (Y/N). Don't shut me out."

He might even nuzzle into your neck, like a giant, needy puppy. "I'll do anything. Just tell me what I did, and I'll fix it. I promise."

Negan's pride is a formidable thing, but his love for you trumps it all. He's not above groveling, though he'd never admit it to anyone.

He starts offering bribes. "I'll do the dishes for a week. I'll even clean the latrines. Hell, I'll let you have the last word in every argument for the rest of our lives. Just…please, talk to me."

He pulls out all the stops, reminding you of your favorite memories together, of the times he made you laugh until your sides hurt, of the quiet moments of intimacy and understanding you shared.

He might even threaten to unleash Lucille on himself, though he knows you'd never let him. "I swear, (Y/N), if you don't say something, I'm gonna..." He trails off, realizing how ridiculous he sounds.

Finally, stripped of his usual swagger and bravado, Negan sits beside you, his shoulders slumped, his voice raw with vulnerability.

"I know I'm not perfect," he admits, his gaze fixed on his hands. "I know I screw up sometimes. But I love you, (Y/N). More than anything. And the thought of you being mad at me…it tears me up inside."

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and desperate hope. "Just tell me what I did, and I'll make it right. I promise. Just…don't leave me in the dark."

This is the moment where he truly breaks through. The raw honesty, the genuine vulnerability, it's impossible to ignore.

Whatever the reason for your silence, seeing Negan so genuinely affected melts your anger away. You finally break your silence, explaining your frustration, whatever it may be.

Negan listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours, nodding occasionally, offering apologies and reassurances.

Once the air is cleared, he practically smothers you with affection. Hugs, kisses, whispered apologies, and promises to never upset you again (though you both know that's a lie).

He's incredibly clingy for the rest of the day, following you around like a lost puppy, constantly touching you, needing to be near you.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, wrapped in his arms, he whispers, "Don't ever do that to me again, (Y/N). I can't handle it." He presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you tighter than ever, cherishing the feeling of you safe and sound in his arms.

From that day on, Negan is even more attuned to your moods, more sensitive to your feelings. He makes a conscious effort to be more attentive, more understanding.

He still slips up occasionally, of course, but he's quicker to apologize, quicker to make amends.

And anytime you even look slightly annoyed with him, he gets that same panicked look in his eyes, the same desperate plea in his voice. "What is it, (Y/N)? What did I do?"

You can't help but laugh, knowing that even beneath his tough exterior, Negan is just a big softie who's completely and utterly head over heels in love with you. And that, more than anything, is what makes your relationship so special.

[f1samcro]

New vs Old

Based off this ask from @bear-ink

Hi, I love your writing. Please could I request Jax Teller ? Jax and reader are co parenting, and Tara isn’t making it easy for them with her jealousy, but she is the mother of jax’s child and he stands by her over everyone else, as he never stopped loving her.

You and Jax had loved each other, really. You'd been there after Tara had first left, held him and let him cry. And once he stopped being upset, you let him hold you close and take you out on dates. By the time you were 23, after being together for three years, you got married. Life was good. You two were good. Until you weren't. You couldn't really remember when, it wasn't a sudden change. It started with Jax coming home a little later, not much, but enough for you to be almost in bed. Then you both stopped talking so much, stopped leaning in for random kisses when you walked past each other. You two tried. Tried counselling. But it was staring you right in the face, you and Jax just didn't love each other like that anymore. So, you split after seven years of marriage.

You were supposed to move out after you found some footing. That was the plan, but you had to skip out on an apartment showing due to illness, and Jax had decided to stay and look after you. (You really weren't well.) After a few days, he insisted that you go to the doctors. That's when you found out. Pregnant. Three months. The only thing you could think of was you and Jax's 'one last time'. He insisted you stay in the house, so you did.

On the 25th of August 2008, Abel John Teller was born. You and Jax found your rhythm. Gemma had practically applauded you two for your ability to co-parent. Until Tara showed back up. It was bound to cause problems when you swung the door open to see her during Abel's first birthday party. To his credit, Jax did loom over your shoulder when you didn't come back quickly, and he had told her to go away. Then he slammed the door closed, planted his hands on your shoulders, and pushed you back into the kitchen just in time for cake.

But after that, Tara was around a lot more. You and Jax had found it easier to co-parent a baby in the same home. You agreed you would move out when he started school. But for now, if Jax wanted some alone time or time with a woman, he would stay at the club for the night and be back home by lunch. A kiss to Abel's head, hand running over it softly, and a kiss to your cheek. But then that stopped. Because when he'd open the door, Tara would follow him in. He kept the small ritual for a while, until you heard a nasty-sounding argument between the two. Then he stopped. And Tara kept trying to mother Abel. Would push you out as much as she could. You let her more than you should've, trying to keep the peace between Abel's father and his girlfriend. But this was your last straw. You were taking Abel to the park, and Tara tagged along. And then she took Abel from your arms, the second she saw people she knew. Introduced him as her son, and you as the nanny.

The second you got home, you rounded on Jax. Snatching your baby out of Tara's arms, "If you don't sort her the fuck out, I'm leaving. And I'm taking Abel with me."

"Woah. Hey. C'mon, let's not overrea-"

"Don't finish that sentence, Jackson. If anything, I'm underacting. I've let your stupid bitch walk all over me. I'm done. Sort her out, or I'm gone."

Jax furrows his eyebrows, looking over your shoulder at Tara, who was fuming. "The hell did you do, Tara?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. She's not threatening to take my son away, jus' 'cos you did 'nothing'."

She narrows her eyes at him, watching as he tilts your face up and leans forward to kiss your forehead, whispering something. You nod and turn, walking to Abel's room to put him to bed.

Jax stares his girlfriend down until you return, you sigh softly and look at him. "I took Abel to the park, and she tagged along. Saw her friends, how she got the-"

"Stick to the story, darlin'."

You huff, crossing your arms, "Snatched him outta my arms, introduced him as her son. And me as the fuckin' nanny."

Jax runs a hand over his head, "What the hell, Tara!"

She straightens her back, "What?"

He narrows his eyes, "You think I haven't noticed? Not the first time you've pulled this shit. And we've discussed it. Multiple times. You're not Abel's mother. She is. And you'll show her some goddamn respect."

Tara scoffs, "You're taking her side?!"

"Why wouldn't I? She's the mother of my child. I'm always gonna take her side. 'Specially when she's not the one in the wrong."

Tara glares, "Always. Right. And if she was wrong?"

"Then I'd be havin' this discussion with her." He looks over at you, and then back at Tara, "I think you should go."

She blinks, "What?"

"Get. Out."

She shakes her head, "C'mon, Jax. I love-"

He cuts her off, "I don't. I won't love someone who's tryin' to tear my family apart. So get out. Don't come back."

She sneers, turning to you, "You stole him from me!"

Jax scoffs, "Wasn't ever really yours. Not when you couldn't respect my family."

"I was supposed to be your family!"

Jax tilts his head, scrutinising her, "You could've been. But you can't understand that she's my family. I need-"

"Her. You need her! You still love her!"

Jax nods, "Maybe I do. Can't exactly blame me, can you? You expect me to sit here and watch her be the best mother my son could ask for, and not fall back in love with her?"

Both you and Tara pause, watching each other. She turns abruptly and storms out of the house, door slamming behind her. You look over at Jax, who shakes his head, "Movie?"

You nod slowly, "Movie it is."

[howlsofbloodhounds]

we need to talk more about Killer and Papyrus relationship and Killer wants.

So when he tells Color what he truly wants he mentions wanting his brother back first, then his friends, then his old life, and then about being "Sans" again. I just want to know why is it that Killer is never written as going back to his timelime the life he wants so badly.

I find it interesting that most drawing or comics with Killer and Papyrus. Killer is either turned slightly or the comic breaks stop before his soul. You rarely see his soul when he interacts with Papyrus and I can't help bit wonder if that's because of Stage 1 and Stage 2 and being unsure of which stage he would be on during those moments.

Almost anytime he is shown with Papyrus it shows us how much he cares about him. The comic where he kills him is a bit of an outlier he seems to release all his pent up frustrations and feeling like its something he must do or he wants to do but the moment he does so he breaks down even vomits. He doesn't like Chara wearing his scarf no matter how many times he's killed. Sees his brother in every Papyrus he meets. Often seems to make him unstable like with the comic on stage 4 and during the fight with swap Papyrus he even cries. Drawings always show him pushing Papyrus away or just turned away with a sad face. He considers Papyrus his best friend even in Stage 2. When, he left Papyrus it seemed he had tears in his eyes, his hands were shaking as they went to wrap around Papyrus and return the hug before suddenly deciding to push him away instead and run away. The Killer captured by Nightmare reset just so his brother could have a happy ending then was going to erase himself either because he doesn't think he matters which he does think Papyrus doesn't need him anymore or because he just doesn't trust himself or because he knows Papyrus wouldn't be happy in a world where Sans just died no he had to delete himself so Papyrus wouldn't have to mourn someone whose never coming back. Its just so akdjaoykdhf. Let him see his brothers, his friends the world he knew. He doesn't even seem to like other au's. Why must he always live in the omega timeline if he's rescued or in Nightmare castle if they make him good can't he have his world and his brother for once. He cares about Papyrus the most, Alphys the second best I would say and probably Grillby third. Toriel somewhere between Alphys and Grillby wether at the front, the middle or back. I say Alphys because she's in two comics. When he pushes everyone away to protect himself its Alphys and Papyrus. She's the only one he even took a moment to really talk to with Grillby and Papyrus it was to vent his frustration and just kill them almost immediately while with Alphys he had a bit of a breakdown then killed her.

Why does no one focus on the people in his world, the relations he had there. Like we get so many hints and people just brush them away and only want Killer to ever be happy with the Bad Sanses or with Color in the Omega Timeline why can't he be happy with his old friends and family one of the only things he admitted to even wanting. Sorry for the rant.

~Musical Anon

Because he refuses to actually go back. Notice how in the comics with Nightmare and the cats, Killer talks about how he thinks the others are in their own timelines living their lives, Nightmare asks him why he isn’t back home at his, and Killer doesn’t answer?

He can’t go back home, he feels. He wants to, but he can’t. And it’s not just guilt and shame, it’s that profound distrust in himself. So long as his SOUL is the way it is, where anyone can do what Nightmare does and use him for their plans and desires, he believes no one will ever be safe around him.

That they couldn’t even begin to trust him—why do you think he’s so insistent that Color not trust him when he’s in Stage 2–when he’s “like that”—or that Color kill him if he ever goes into Stage 3?

Not to mention how he hides and keeps Stage 4 a secret—and it’s shown very clearly that, when Killer is in Stage 4, he has absolutely no qualms about who or what he kills.

We all saw how brutal and violent Stage 4 can be, and that’s without mentioning Stage 3 being described as “crazy” and the examples we’re shown of Killer being violent towards others while in Stage 2.

He will kill Papyrus if he’s triggered into Stage 4—Stage 4 has done it many times before.

It’s because he loves his brother so much that tries to remove himself from his life—thinking he’s somehow protecting him or keeping him safe by making these choices for Papyrus.

Assuming Papyrus doesn’t need him anymore, wouldn’t want him and shouldn’t trust him—but these are all assumptions he makes without talking to Papyrus even once. I have to wonder if he even actually remembers how to talk to Papyrus anymore.

I think Killer in Stage 1 needs to rebuild that trust in himself and the people around him, including Papyrus, before he’d even begin to feel that he’s anything anyone could trust— let alone love or want.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hesitant to even touch or hug Color and almost excessively gentle with it, withdrawing quickly and likely has a tendency to keep his hands to himself — given how he couldn’t even bring himself to touch Dream while in Stage 1, even when he couldn’t tell if Dream was even real or not.

All in all—i don’t think immediately running back to Papyrus or his timeline would help Killer at all. Because he’d spend his entire time there living in fear of himself, walking on eggshells, trying to avoid triggers all while dealing with nightmares, dreams, and memories of all the times he’s hurt everyone in the Underground. All the times they’ve hurt him.

And he’d be alone with those memories, that pain and guilt, that shame and confusion. No one else remembers Killer—they remember Sans.

And feeling alone with all of it, the “only one” being hurt, the “only one” who remembers, is what started his resentment and jealousy of Papyrus way back then in the first place.

More than being afraid of killing or hurting anyone again, especially his brother, I do believe Stage 1 would be plagued by the fears that—if he goes back to that place, where it all started—that he’d start believing he wants to kill them again.

If that’s actually true or not doesn’t really matter—because Killer in Stage 1 believes it is, and could potentially remember the beginning of everything.

The anger, the jealousy, betrayal and hurt. But more importantly—the confusion. How none of it really felt real, how his mind didn’t feel under his control, how he thoughts didn’t feel like his. How his emotions didn’t feel like they belonged to him.

He thinks he can only go back to Papyrus if he’s “fixed.” If he’s Sans again. If he’s the same old person he was, as if everything that happened never did.

But what if that’s not possible? What if he can never go back to being that person? Does that mean he cannot have his brother or even his old friends back at all, because they are not his, if he is not Sans?

No, of course not. Because his brother and his old friends are their own people, who can and should be given the chance to make their own informed decisions on if they want him back in their lives or not.

And that’s why I like to think Color definitely encourages Killer to reach how to home, to Papyrus, even if it’s not an in person meeting yet—such as a letter or a phone call. Even if only to just let the poor man know his missing brother is alive, even if not quite okay. Even if not quite the brother he remembers.

Color definitely wouldn’t force Killer into this, but I do think Killer’s opportunity to reach out to his loved ones who remember and want him back is something Color has wanted for himself for what feels like longer than he’s even really been alive.

His family doesn’t know who he even is, and at this point it looks unlikely they ever will. He will always be a stranger to them—he’d never wish that on or want that for his friend, especially if they also want Killer back.

Even if the moment is bittersweet and brings up fears of being abandoned or forgotten again in Color, I think he’d also be both proud of Killer, and happy that he finally managed to help at least one Killer get here. Writing letters to his brother, making puns and laughing with Toriel over the phone, sharing information about soul research with Alphys.

Not every Killer was able to live long enough to experience this for themselves.

Also, a little off topic but it’s something I’ve wanted to talk about for a bit, but I do believe that Papyrus is the only person Killer in Stage 2 has ever felt anything like resembling guilt, regret, or remorse for the pain he’s caused him or for what he did to him.

Of course, it’s described as Killer “feeling sick” when he remembers what he did to Papyrus, so i doubt he recognizes what this emotion is or what it means when in Stage 2.

In contrast, when it comes to Color, I think Killer in Stage 2 feels frustrated or uncomfortable when he recognizes that he’s hurt or caused Color pain, knows he should feel bad about that, but he just doesn’t or can’t.

It’s those exact feelings of frustration and discomfort, as well as the fact that he doesn’t like being the reason why Color is hurt/upset and doesn’t want to hurt Color, that he puts in effort to either make it up to him or to try and figure out what caused the pain in order to try and not do it again.

He doesn’t feel guilty about it, maybe doesn’t even fully understand the extent of Color’s emotions, but he can see that something he did caused Color pain. So he tries to put in the effort to care and make it up to him.

[abbi111]

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆!𝑲𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊 (part I)

Tags: manipulation, yandere, Kakashixreader, possessive, toxic relationship, isolation Minors Do Not Interact 18+

Kakashi and you had a very toxic relationship. He would play the good boyfriend role around other people but alone it was night and day. It was easy to make him mad and he was very possessive of you. Being able to do anything but shop for groceries is impossible. Well without a fight and a few hurtful words being spat.

You were cleaning up the living room and picking up around the house when your boyfriend Kakashi comes home. Yall have been sharing a two room home together for some time now.

“I’m back from a mission. Where’s my girl?”

You fix the last book on the shelf before turning both in relief and dread. You plastered a smile on your face, turning to greet him like always.

“Hii Kashi, I missed you,” you walked to him and threw your arms around him. Enjoying his company.

“Why hasn’t this already been cleaned up?”

You look up at him meeting his eyes.

“Oh this is from today I’ve been cleaning everyday you have been gone promise.”

He runs his hand down the your hair cupping your face.

“Good girl, finish what you’re doing and make me something to eat ok?”

You nod obediently at his command. You knew what he expected from you and you needed to keep accomplishing it.

“Of course,” your heart was pounding out your chest.

After finishing all your task you join the coach next to him.

“Um… Kakashi, I was thinking…” you started, trying to keep your voice light. “I want to go back to school. Just part-time. I’ve been looking at classes.”

The shift in the air was instant. His eye stayed fixed on the page in front of him, but his finger stilled mid-turn.

“Haven’t we been over this before n/a?”

Kakashi voice was calm, but there was an icy edge to it that made your stomach twist.

“We have talked about this,” he continued, his single eye narrowing slightly as he turned his head to face you fully. “Why would you want to surround yourself with people who don’t care about you? Who don’t know you like I do?” His hand wrapped around your wrist, not hard enough to bruise but tight enough to send a message. “You’ve been doing so well here with me. Why mess that up?” You tried to speak, to reason, but he leaned in closer. “Why would you want to throw yourself into something like that, are you trying to get away from me?” His hand reached out, wrapping around your wrist with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “You don’t need ideas, sweetheart. You need to be safe. And I’m the only one who can give you that.”

You nodded slowly, the fight draining from you. “Okay. I was just… thinking out loud.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then let go of your wrist and leaned back.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Always so good when you remember who you belong to.”

Then he pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you with deceptive warmth.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he whispered against your hair. “The world out there doesn’t love you like I do. Do you even realize how this makes me feel?”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, love. You’re too special to be wasting your time on dreams that don’t matter.” His fingers ran through your hair, slow and rhythmic like he was trying to soothe a child. “You know how fragile you are. The world will chew you up and spit you out, and I won’t always be there to protect you if you keep pushing me away.” He held you tighter, like he was trying to make you smaller, more manageable. “I only want what’s best for you. That’s why I have to be firm sometimes. You don’t see it now, but one day, you’ll thank me for keeping you close. For keeping you safe.”

[mensahbots]

So, I’m awkward with actual humans. It’s not paranoia about my hacked governor module, and it’s not them; it’s me.

Glare intensifying. “Okay, so what did you hire yourself to do?” That was an interesting way to put it. I kind of liked it. And it felt so weird to be talking to a human like this, a human who knew what I was. I didn’t have to force myself to stare at Pin-Lee’s face, worry that my expressions were normal. Abene had known I was a SecUnit, but she hadn’t known I was me.

Farai said, “Thiago, no. She asks for space, you need to give that to her.” She smiled at me politely. I never know how to react to that. She leaned in to Mensah to kiss her, and said, “We’ll see you at the house.”

Indah was looking at me again. I hadn’t said anything because what was I supposed to say at this point? Oh, I guess I could have said “hello.” Well, it was too late now.

We didn’t have time for me to show it 35,000 hours of media and I didn’t have access to my longterm storage anyway. And that had worked on me, but I knew I was weird even for a SecUnit.

According to the report 2.0 had downloaded to me, 3 had actually seemed to like the other two SecUnits on the explorer, as if they had been friends, at least to the extent that they had been allowed to communicate with each other. I’d never thought that was possible. Maybe I’d always been a weird SecUnit; maybe 3 would have better luck communicating with other SecUnits.

a collection of moments :3

my favorite thing about this string of moments is that then in "home" we get mensah's pov, and she's lying to her friends and constantly thinking "secunit can see right fucking through me" (and it can-- it reads her so well lol)

She didn’t want a corporation’s excuse for a trauma support specialist poking around in her emotions. She almost adds, I didn’t need it, which would be a dead giveaway. And then it occurs to her, a giveaway of what? What is she worried about giving away, here among these people she trusts with her life. SecUnit is looking at the far corner, as it usually does. But they installed cameras for it in these rooms so it probably is watching her expression. It says, “Why not? Is it free here?”

That was taking the conversation to a place Ayda didn’t want to go. “I might have time later,” she tells them easily, and pours herself another cup of tea. When she glances up, SecUnit is actually looking directly at her. Their gazes lock for what seems a long moment but knowing SecUnit, is probably only a second at most. As its gaze shifts back to the corner, Ayda feels her cheeks flush, as if she’s been caught in a lie. Well, it was a lie.

She thinks she’s deflected it, but then it comes right back around to its target. “Maybe you should go to the Station Medical like Dr. Bharadwaj.” I can’t, I’d have to tell them what was wrong, is her first thought. And yes, she’s aware that’s the problem. She can’t bring herself to lie, so she only says, “I’ll try.” There’s a quiet, skeptical snort above her head, and she knows SecUnit isn’t fooled.

and her perception of it interpersonally is quite different from its own:

The killing machine in question has just sent her yet another message packet. They’re piling up in her feed and if she would stop encouraging SecUnit by opening them, it would probably stop. They’re all formal requisition forms for Preservation Station Security, requests for increasingly improbable armaments. She responds to the latest with I don’t even know what that is. It’s a good thing she understands SecUnit’s sense of humor.

Still not meeting anyone’s gaze, SecUnit’s expression flashes through a brief, eloquent ironic twist. Ayda hides a smile. Of course you have to pay for it.

“Station Security is forty-seven seconds out.” SecUnit’s voice is even and conversational. And confident. This is a confrontation it knows how to handle. It’s slipped in front of her, reassuring lean bulk between her and the intruder. 

just one of many reasons that "home" is my favorite short story in the murderbot diaries canon ^^

plus we see many indications of murderbot's rapport with mensah in the books, even early in all systems red. from its pov, despite murderbot being awkward with humans, it connects easily with mensah:

I panic all the time, you just can’t see it, I told her. I added the text signifier for “joke.” She didn’t answer, but she looked down, smiling to herself.

mensah also makes effort to understand and accommodate murderbot early on in asr, which is not framed as a big deal or a burden for her:

“Maybe, under normal circumstances.” She was looking a little off to one side, not trying to make eye contact, which I appreciated.

and of course, she's also the first human to tell murderbot she thinks of it as a person— and in a way that it's able to hear/accept, which seems very meaningful for it

“But this situation is different. It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.” My insides melted. That’s the only way I could describe it. After a minute, when I had my expression under control, I cleared the face plate and had it and the helmet fold back into my armor.

i think this is part of why she's its favorite human. yes, murderbot is weird and awkward, but mensah vibes with it regardless and makes effort to understand and respect it in all their early interactions. that feels special for it. from "home," we know that feeling is reciprocal. i think it goes a bit further, because there we also learn mensah has similar issues with emotional vulnerability and self esteem in the wake of her trauma, which adds another layer of uniqueness to the dynamic. mensah doesn't see murderbot as inept or lacking, and murderbot likewise has a high opinion of mensah despite her negative self-perception.

i always love when a character who sees themselves as a freak has a person (or more) who understands, respects, and connects with them so thoroughly. this feels extra meaningful for a character like murderbot who sees itself as incapable of things like friendship and being understood due to social conditioning and trauma. that's part of why its friendships and comfort level with the preservation humans are so nice to see. likewise, it's no wonder they're so important to it.

imo, the murderbot diaries series has an interpersonally hopeful quality to it, since murderbot has this type of connection with a variety of characters in different permutations throughout the story. it has optimistic messaging that even if you're a social outsider, there will be well-intentioned people hoping to understand and connect with you no matter where you go.

i think there's a lot more to be said about this topic with respect to murderbot's trust issues, its perception of its personhood, and its history of being forced to enact violence, but.. i've said enough for now ^^'

[mydogatemymotivation]

I kind of think that people focus a little too much on the Lasat Merc that Kallus mentioned in the Honorable Ones. I get it, because it's an interesting scene that Kallus describes but I think focusing on the mercenary himself is, like, not the point. I don't know whether he worked for Saw long term and was a partisan himself, or if he was just a hired gun because Saw needed some extra muscle, but him staying hidden and kind of shrouded in mystery is just so much better for Kallus.

First of all, focusing on the merc makes what happened to Kallus kind of fall to the wayside, it takes the focus off of him almost entirely. I do think that it makes sense from Kallus' pov because I think he fixates on the mercenary after the fact, maybe as a way to cope, but there was a lot more going on with him specifically.

He was the only survivor, for one. No matter what side someone was on, surviving that situation is traumatizing. Especially with the calculated way Kallus described it (we also have to remember that he may be something of an unreliable narrator here, he's traumatized and biased). I remember watching The Pianist which was, unfortunately, a great movie (I say unfortunately because it's a Roman Polanski film, and I had no idea about the allegations at the time) (I watched it for class and wrote a paper about it, WWII movie) but there's a scene in it where there are people who are laid on the ground face down and shot in the back of the head one-by-one, except the last one because the soldiers clip runs out. So he takes the time, standing above this guy, to reload his gun, then shoots. Even just as a film scene that shit stuck with me. You can't tell me that living through that and not knowing whether or not the gun was going to turn on you wouldn't be the reason you have nightmares for the rest of your life. You can debate about motivations and the partisans all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that living through that means you're never sleeping through the night again.

Kallus also says that he couldn't move. I don't know if he was pinned down, or if he was in shock, but I always took it to mean some kind of injury. Something like an incomplete paralysis, nerve damage to his spine, that causes temporary paralysis. Long recovery time, surgeries, physical and/or occupational therapy, etc.

He would've been a very young boy, trying to do good (even if he was misguided), injured, unable to move, watching all the boys his age die one-by-one, waiting for his turn, being the only survivor, the medical trauma, the physical pain - that mercenary doesn't need to be evil to make this properly traumatizing for Kallus. He could be a completely neutral actor.

Second of all, Kallus' anger at the mercenary is exaggerated. He's angry at himself. A lot of people I think ask the question of "how did Kallus stay with the Empire after what happened on Lasan?" Honestly, I think the answer is denial. There's no way to deny what happened on Lasan, but there is a way to bury your head in the sand. Not ask questions, assume that there was some grand plan you're just unaware of and that if you knew all the details then everything would make sense, put more trust in the people you definitely shouldn't be trusting, and find someone else to blame. Basically, double, even triple, down, because if you don't then everything you've done is for nothing. He takes his anger out on Zeb and clings to this narrative about this mercenary to try and throw together some explanation he can get behind mentally. Also keep in mind that Lasan happened like, two years or so before the beginning of the show. So as little time as Zeb has had to deal with what happened to his home, Kallus also has had two years of mental spiraling to try and tie himself into knots to justify what happened, and he only seemed to get crueler and angrier in that time frame (that random stormtrooper he kicked to death??). It wasn't until he was able to talk to someone about what happened (and I don't imagine talk therapy is encouraged in the Empire) that he was able to come back around. Kallus only lasted three, maybe three and a half years after Lasan before he finally couldn't take it and left (and, maybe it's just me, but I don't really count his time under Vader. You do what Vader says in order to survive)(but that could completely be my perspective). But all the while, every time he fought Zeb, he was fighting that mercenary and himself.

The mercenary left him alive because 1) he just flat out didn't see him, 2) Kallus was so badly injured he thought Kallus was dead, 3) Kallus was the only one without a helmet and the mercenary saw a young boy. We never see this mercenary. I don't know if he died, or if he left the partisans after deciding he didn't like Gererra's tactics, or if he was a hired gun whose job was done. Either way, I don't think Kallus should ever see him again. I don't know if I have the words to explain why (sorry if I repeat myself, but I'm trying to put words to my thoughts) but somehow Kallus' ability to let this issue go, in my mind, is directly tied to his ability to heal from the Empire. I don't necessarily think that this is a thread he needs to chase, or an issue he needs closure on. His lingering resentment is petty and small compared to Zeb's capacity to forgive, and I think he would beat himself up for still feeling angry. His ability to close the door on this is directly related to his ability to accept Zeb's forgiveness. When people talk about the mercenary, I just, I feel like, they're missing what the mercenary is for Kallus. And in real life I could understand wanting answers about something that happened to you, but in this instance, narratively, the mercenary is left unnamed for a reason. This character is a catalyst or a shadow in Kallus' story, he's not meant to be examined for his own sake, he's meant to be examined for what he means to Kallus.

Idk hopefully this makes sense I should've gone to bed a while ago, this was just something I've had on my mind for a minute. (and as always, this isn't me trying to absolve Kallus of anything he did, just thinking, trying to understand him, etc., cuz he's interesting)

[winterspiderpurrs]

In Vitro

Parker luck was at it again. After years of bad dates, breakups and just not lucky in love. Peter meets Tony Stark.

He accidentally ran into him when he was dropping off lunch for his Aunt at the hospital.

" Oh my gosh! I am SO sorry sir. I... your...Tony Stark? "

After Peter apologized a few more times, he offers to replace the coffee that he accidentally knocked out of Tony's hands when they collided. He didn't expect him to accept.

Tony apparently, had heard his speech about his research proposal a few months back; at that time. While Stark Industries doesn't do much in the way of the medical field. 'Not in my wheel house and not wanting to step on toes', a comment that Peter didn't quiet get. He was interested to know if anyone has offered him a grant or had taken him on.

While people loved his idea, when they hear it from a 22 year old Omega. Well. People tend to brush it off. So Peter had only gotten a job recently at the hospital where they had run into each other. A receptionist job, Aunt May(Beta) was able to pull a few strings.

After that, they started to met up at coffee shops, then inviting Peter to the lab to see what other ' ideas are tinkering around in there'. Tony didn't CARE that he was an Omega, he valued his brain, and if he didn't have a crush on him before, he definitely did after that.

With in a few weeks, Tony asked Peter to dinner. And the rest would be history. Except, when Peter asked about them seeing if they should live together after about a year of dating. With Tony's busy schedule, it would be easier, Tony like that idea, but said he wanted to be slightly traditional.

"Let's do things the proper way Gioia Mia, lets get engaged first. And then once we are finally bonded, we can get our own place or move to my family home upstate"

In a society where Omega's are almost 2nd class citizens. When an 'Engagement' happens, the Omega must go in for testing. As it isn't FAIR to the Alpha to possibly be stuck with someone who cannot carry.

And THAT, is where the Parker Luck comes in. Just when Peter thinks he can FINALLY have it all. Well. The test results are in. They didn't say he COULDN'T have kids, just that he would have a very hard time getting there. And they recommend treatment.

" Don't worry Tesoro. Stephen will know how to fix this. Bastard is good at what he does, going to gloat probably, and we will make sure you can have the pups for us."

"I'm so sorry Tony...if you don't want to.. to see me anymore. I ... I can understand"

"Hey hey... its not your fault. Dry your tears. Your still Perfect Peter. Knew it the moment we spoke. This is just a bump in the road. We will make sure your ready when the time comes."

Phone rings.

"Dr. Stephen Strange's office, this is Mindy, how can I assist you today."

" Hey Mandy, can you patch me in to Stephen"

"Of course Mr. Stark! Right away, please hold while I transfer"

Click, stale music.

" This is Dr. Strange"

"Stephen, looks like we will be needing you expertise"

Stephen sighs could be heard from over the line.

" Of course you do. This the road your really want to go down now? Won't some.... other Omega do?"

"No no. Peter is it Stephen. We HAVE to make this work. You'll see once you meet him. Please as a favor to me. You know I don't like asking for favors. "

"Fine. I'll help"

"Grazie cuore mio"

"Your insufferable"

********************************************************************

Talked to @professional-benaddict about this idea after they got the ask and we decided we were inspired! And to take it on a wild spin of our own creation.

Link below of the original ask and response! ( which is quiet delish)

https://www.tumblr.com/professional-benaddict/781460953688686592/would-you-ever-consider-writing-ivf-into-a-blurb?source=share

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Midnight Romance

Synopsis: you and karina experienced a very unfortunate event, but fate brought you two together at a midnight station.

Karina x Male Reader !!

Word count: 1550

It was supposed to be a good evening. You had everything planned perfectly—fresh clothes picked out just for this moment, a thoughtful bouquet of flowers resting beside the menu, and a spritz of your expensive perfume that you knew would make you feel confident. You had even sent a text earlier, brimming with excitement: “I’m here! Can’t wait to see you.” You checked your phone more times than you cared to admit, waiting for a reply. But the hours passed, and still, no response. The waiter came and went, your drink slowly losing its chill, and the anticipation you once felt began to fade into disappointment.

You were stood up again.

You couldn’t help but wonder what went wrong. Was it really that hard for someone to love you? Was there something inherently flawed about you that made people walk away? The questions lingered in your mind as you silently left the restaurant, the bouquet still in hand, a symbol of hope that had already faded. You headed for the station, the weight of it all slowly sinking in as you walked the empty streets.

Not far from where you were, at another restaurant on the same street, Karina was facing her own heartbreak. She had entered that night expecting a different outcome—a conversation, maybe even a future. But as the words were thrown at her by the man she thought she loved, everything came crashing down. His excuses were endless, but they didn’t change the truth. He had lied to her. He had cheated on her, over and over again. And Karina had stayed blind to it, until now.

Tears blurred her vision, but she wiped them away as she walked out of the restaurant. Behind her, the man was still yelling, “You misunderstood things! Let’s talk this out, Karina!” Karina didn’t need to hear it. She didn’t need to look back. The realization hit her all at once—this wasn’t love. It was betrayal. And with a heavy heart, she turned away from it all, walking in the same direction you were, toward the station, toward the silence of the night.

As you walked down the street toward the station, the cold air biting at your skin, you spotted Karina sitting on the bench, her striped off-shoulder shirt soaked from a few stray tears. She wiped her eyes quickly, but it was clear she wasn’t having the best night either. You couldn’t help but think to yourself, I guess some people still have worse days.

You took a seat a couple of spaces away from her, not wanting to intrude, but the silence between the two of you felt heavy, almost too heavy. The bus was taking forever, as if the universe was dragging its feet just to remind both of you that life can suck in unison. The ticking seconds only made it worse.

Karina sniffled, trying to keep her composure, but the sound of her attempt at holding it together made your chest ache a little. You couldn’t just sit there and ignore it.

“Hey,” you said quietly, glancing at her. “You okay?”

She looked up, startled, and then quickly wiped her cheeks again, but it didn’t really help the redness in her eyes.

“Oh… it’s nothing, really.”

“You sure about that?” You raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the bench, your voice softer now. “You’re really trying hard not to cry, but you’re not fooling anyone.”

Karina laughed, a little bitterly. “I guess not. But… yeah, I’m not okay.”

She turned toward you, her shoulders sinking in defeat. “I just… I found out he’s been cheating on me for months. And I’m just—I’m so stupid for not seeing it. We had this perfect night planned, and it turned into a disaster when he finally admitted everything. I just… don’t know what to do anymore.”

Your heart softened. You couldn’t imagine what she must’ve been going through. It felt too familiar, in a way.

“You’re not stupid,” you said gently. “It’s easy to miss things when you’re wrapped up in the good parts. People lie. It’s their thing, not yours.”

Karina nodded, her eyes filling with more tears. “I just don’t get it. I thought we were different. I thought he loved me.”

“I get it,” you said, swallowing a lump in your own throat. “I had a date tonight. The kind of date I planned for, you know? I got all dressed up, sprayed my best perfume, and waited for hours… but they never showed. The message was there, sure, but I got stood up. Again.”

You both sat in the quiet for a few moments. It wasn’t awkward anymore. It was just two people in the same kind of pain.

Karina wiped her eyes again but this time with a softer smile. “I guess we both got let down, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small chuckle. “But I’m not really surprised. I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”

“I used to think I’d never let someone do this to me. But here I am.” She let out a deep sigh. “I guess we’re both just looking for something that doesn’t leave us hanging, right?”

“Exactly,” you replied. “We’re not asking for the world. Just someone who shows up when they say they will.”

Another beat of silence passed, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was just… comfortable. Like you both knew you weren’t the only ones with problems.

The sound of the bus screeching its brakes in the distance made you both turn your heads.

“About time,” Karina muttered, her lips curling into a smile.

You smiled back, a little more relaxed now. “Yeah. Guess the universe finally decided to stop messing with us.”

The bus arrived, and as you both stood up, Karina looked at you again, her expression softer. “Hey, thanks for talking. I didn’t think I could tell anyone what happened tonight.”

“Anytime,” you said, shrugging. “We all need someone who gets it.”

As the bus doors slid open, you both climbed aboard, sitting beside each other with nothing but a shared understanding between you. The night still had its weight, but somehow, it didn’t feel as heavy anymore. The tension faded into something lighter. Maybe not better, but not as bad as before.

For the next 30 minutes, you two kept talking—about everything and nothing—discussing dreams, failures, and the occasional joke that had you both laughing in spite of it all. By the time the bus came to a stop, the night didn’t feel like a total loss anymore.

“You know,” Karina said as you both got up to leave, “I think this might have been the best part of my night.”

You grinned, a little more hopeful than before. “Yeah, same here.”

Karina chuckled softly, then hesitated for a second. “Hey, would you mind if we kept in touch? I know we’re strangers, but… it’s nice talking to someone who understands.”

You raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I get it.”

Karina pulled out her phone, unlocking it and offering it to you. “Here, let me just text you.”

You quickly added your contact info, then handed it back to her. She typed in her number and sent you a message.

“There we go,” she said, looking up at you. “Now you have my number. Hopefully, next time we talk, it’s under better circumstances.”

You smiled. “For sure. It was nice talking to you, really.”

Karina nodded, her expression more relaxed than before. “Yeah, same here. Take care.”

With that, you both left the bus together, but in opposite directions. You didn’t know what would come of it, but at least you both had someone to talk to when the world felt a little too heavy

[whore4mattsturniolo]

Right My Wrongs - A Dealer!Chris Mini-Series

He thought he was past it. past her. But one glance and everything split open. The anger, the ache, the part of him that still waited for her to explain why she left. And worse, the part of him that would forgive her if she did.

The air of the house was thick and hot, saturated in weed, perfume, and sweat. Music bumped the walls loud enough to go deaf, everything shaking and vibration with the beat. Chris stood at the edge of the room, a drink in his hand, eyes scanning the crowd. He tried to focus. Focus on himself, focus on making his money. The party was loud and suffocating. He took another drink, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb him. 

And then he saw her.

She was standing in the corner of the room, laughing with a group of people, her familiar face like a ghost from his past. She still struts around like the world belongs to her, all gold hoops and red nails and that same smile. His stomach tightened, and for a moment, everything else faded. The laughter, the music, the stifling heat of the room, all of it disappeared. It’s just her and him. Memories flood his head, suffocating and painful, memories that made his throat dry and his chest tight. He didn’t even want to look at her, but his eyes betrayed him. She caught his gaze and, for a brief second, something flicked in her expression. She gave him a soft smile, trying to say something without speaking.

Chris immediately looked away, slamming the rest of his drink back. He turned his back to her, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickens, how his chest grew tight like the weight of all those old memories is crushing him. But it doesn’t stop her.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares. The world around him goes quiet, the music distorts, faces blur into nothing.

He’s back in his old room, sixteen, still living with his parents. The room is dimly lit, a quiet draft coming through his window. The walls are paper-thin and the air stinks of smoke and the perfume she wore too much of.

She’s on his lap, whispering something in his ear. Something about how he’s too soft, too good, how that’s why she loves him. Her fingers trail down his chest, but her eyes are sharp, almost like she’s searching for weakness. And he ignores it. He looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters to him. Like she’s the love of his life, the only one who understands him.

“You and me,” she mumbles. “Always.” She kisses him before he can get a full word out. She swallows his anxiety, his nervousness, until all he can think of is her.

He never saw her after that. Not when he was getting searched by campus security. Not when he was dragged off campus in handcuffs. She acted like she never even knew him. Like the sweet moments they shared were nothing more than a faded dream. 

Later in the night, as the party died down, she found him again. Alone this time. She walks up to him, hesitant, twiddling her thumbs in anxiety, but clearly determined, as she stumbles over to his corner of the room.

“Chris,” she says softly, and just hearing her voice makes his insides twist. “I…didn’t think you’d be here.”

He doesn’t speak, just lifts his cup to his lips, only to realize it’s empty. He takes a long breath, his grip tightening on the cup in his hand. He could walk away any time he wanted. He could leave, go find another spot, anywhere that she isn’t, but he stays. He’s not sure why.

“You look good,” she murmurs, fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket. “I’ve…been meaning to talk to you.”

“No.” His voice is cold, sharper than it needs to be. He doesn’t want to be around her. He doesn’t want to feel anything when she’s near him. She stands there for a moment, waiting for him to say something more, but he just glares at the floor, his shoulders stiff. The silence stretches, and you can almost see the tension radiating off him. “Don’t lie.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, covering her nervousness at the harshness of his words. He was nothing like the Chris she knew in high school. “I’m not—I’m not lying, Chris.” His name on her tongue is like venom, her voice poisoning him. 

He lets out a bitter, sharp breath that might’ve started as a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It’s jagged, cruel. He’s not some scared, shaky kid anymore, too scared to even smoke a joint. He’s not the kid that stared at her like she walked on water. “Fuck are you even doin’ down here?,” he asks, his tone flat.

“Does it matter?” She says, running her fingers through her silky hair. “I know things between us ended…kinda bad but…I really have been meaning to talk—”

He cuts her off, voice barely containing the anger seeping into his words. “You coulda talked to me when I was getting searched. You coulda talked to me when I was in juvi for a year. You coulda talked to me any time in the past five fucking years.” She flinches at the heat of his words, growing louder with each breath, before he calms himself down. He’s shaking, vulnerability leaking through the tough exterior he’s been keeping up for years now.

She sighs, stepping closer to him, almost in defeat. “I was scared, Chris,” she says, her voice soft. “I didn’t…I didn’t know what was gonna happen.” Chris’ eyes lock on hers, his stare more aggressive than anything he could do to her. 

“No,” he says flatly. “You don’t get to do that. You knew what happened. You watched.” The words spill out before he can stop them. Everything he’s been holding in for years, the anger, the abandonment, the pain. It comes flooding to the surface. His breath quickens. He wants to scream, to run away from everything. But he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard and takes another step back.

“I tried—”

“You didn’t try shit.” His voice cracks on the last word. Not from weakness, just the effort it’s taking to hold it together. “When shit got hard, you ran.” Her face crumples for half a second before she catches herself. She takes a step toward him, hand halfway out like she might touch him, and he flinches, recoiling like she was a hot flame grazing his skin.

“I was a kid, Chris. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know how to fix it. None of us did—”

“You didn’t wanna fix it.” His response is immediate, sharp. “I was a kid too.” He swallows hard, his throat tight, constricting his heavy breaths. 

“I—I'm clean now.” She closes the distance, trying again, gently. “I’ve changed,” she whispers. Her face falls slightly, but she presses on, like she’s trying to find the right words, trying to get through to him.

Chris shakes his head, jaw clenched so hard it aches. “You getting clean doesn’t undo what you did.” His expression is unreadable, too still, too empty. The kind of calm that only exists right before something explodes.

“Don’t come near me again. Do what you’ve been doing the past five years…and stay the fuck away from me.”

Her lips part, like she wants to protest. Like she has something left to say, something that’ll convince him to forgive her, forget the past, and come back to her. She looks at him, her face a mixture of guilt and confusion. But Chris doesn’t wait for her response. He turns his back on her and walks away, weaving through the crowd, his heart racing, every step feeling like a weight on his chest. But as he walks, it’s clear that he’s the one who’s not letting go. It’s not about her anymore. It’s about him. About the way she shattered him, and how he’s been trying to put himself back together ever since.

Chris couldn’t get her out of his head. The sound of her voice, the way her eyes softened when she saw him. He was pissed. But above all, he was hurting. He had every right to be. The anger was starting to slip away, the swelling and aching of his heart taking its place. The pain that had been buried for years. The hurt that came from being discarded, being the one everyone turned their back on. Even when he fought for them. It was too much. It always was. Too much, and somehow not enough.

He’d buried the feeling deep down inside him. The rejection, the abandonment. And here it was again. Here she was again. The girl who’d broken him. The girl who made him who he is. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be tougher. He’d numbed every part of himself with drugs, with sex, with everything. 

He couldn’t let himself break.

The night after was worse. The walls Chris had spent years building were cracking, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down. He’d spent hours trying to drink it away, trying to forget it. The weed wasn’t enough this time. He needed more.

You had been texting him, but he ignored every message. He needed the space. Needed to stay frozen. And yet, the longer he stayed away from you, the more the emptiness took over. He couldn’t stay away, but it was all he knew how to do.

The night swallowed Chris whole the second the door shut behind him. He walked fast. No direction, just away. Away from everything. His hoodie was on inside out. He didn’t care.

The streets were damp. His fingers trembled when he pulled out his phone and scrolled past your name. Straight to another one. A plug. Not weed. Something stronger. He needed something stronger.

Maybe to shut his brain off, silence the loud, angry thoughts raging through his head. Maybe to feel nothing for a while. He told himself it was just to take the edge off. He’d sleep. He’d forget. It was better than crying, better than screaming into the dark like a kid, better than being weak. 

The meetup was fast. Impersonal. Like everything else in his life.

Two white pills, swallowed dry. A half bottle of something bitter to chase it. Then…nothing. Numbness. As the wave of euphoric washed over him, pushing him into the soft mattress of his darkened room, he almost felt good. He felt normal. Until he didn’t. The pain still throbbed in his heart, a dullness that didn’t go away, not even when his head started floating.

All he could think about was her.

The flash of familiar eyes across the crowd. Her. Laughing like nothing happened. Wearing the same perfume. Smiling at him like she hadn’t ruined his life and then walked away.

He didn’t say anything to anyone. Just turned and left like a ghost. Told no one. Not even you. What would he even say?

Hey, the girl who ruined my life is back and I think I’m losing my mind?

Fuck no. He’d rather be numb.

He laid on the floor of his apartment now, staring at the ceiling, shirt half off, heartbeat crawling under his skin. He hated this. Hated how empty he felt.

But most of all: he hated how much he couldn't escape it.

[baestruly]

your hands in mine ━━ marinat

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  natalie scatorccio x mari ibarra

.˚ ᡣ𐭩 after the yellowjackets are rescued, natalie turns to mari for support warnings - fluff, hurt/comfort, post crash, teen timeline, marinat cuteness, bisexual nat and mar wc: 2.8k

It wasn’t real,  none of it was. After endless fights for their lives, Natalie and Mari are on the edge of humanity, struggling to stay sane despite the raging voices in their head, the forest calling to them, trying to control them.

Natalie was fucking done ─── after what she did to Coach Scott, she completely lost it from there. But Mari had, surprisingly , been there for her. The two girls hadn’t talked much before the crash ─── okay, like at all, It was expected. Natalie was punk and kind of a loner, she wasn’t afraid to admit, yet Mari was popular. She had endless friends and was known by almost everyone like Jackie was . 

Natalie wasn’t sure what to do with herself that night, she found herself reminiscing as the girls ─── monsters, that’s what they were ─── sat around the fire, the darkness of the night encircling them in a rage of fire. It was supposed to keep them warm, yet Natalie couldn’t feel colder. 

Mari sat next to her, and she said what she did to was wrong ─── like Natalie needed to hear that more, she knew how much she fucked up, but she also knew it was the right thing to do for the guy she cared about who was struggling. Yes, Mari was disappointed, but she talked to her with such softness that it felt like understanding, awareness ─── to let her know she was there with her, that Natalie wasn’t alone. 

Strangely, it made her feel better.

That’s how Natalie found herself escaping their campground, which was starting to feel more like a prison as the winter crept towards them. She had caught a glimpse of hope ─── after screaming at Misty for destroying the fucking emergency transmitter in the beginning ─── but she had helped her escape ─── while everyone had been sleeping. The sun was going to rise soon anyway, so she’d only have around an hour of darkness to the point of the mountaintop she was headed to. 

She’d called and called and sat there for hours , shivering her skin off, until a man answered and she ran back alerting the team they were going to get rescued. 

In the midst of it all, despite Shauna screaming at everyone, holding people she thought she’d called friends at gunpoint (even Lotte), Natalie caught Mari’s gaze from across the camp, beside Akiliah and Travis. Even Travis’s eyes softened, with a longing for a relationship that was there, but passed ─── just a memory. 

Natalie’s and Mari’s would only begin. Their memories of each other, their talks during the night, started at the end. The end of the traumatizing path in the forest, they could see behind it and start with that fire, crackling in the night as their slow breaths mangled into soft puffs showing in the cold winter breeze.  

No one deep down wanted to board that plane, not after what happened. 

Especially Shauna. 

When rescue arrived, even Lottie had sat Shauna down to talk, wearing the clothes she kept when she landed – a sign of remembrance of the girls they used to be, but couldn’t find again. 

It barely worked, they had to drag her onto the plane , although, at least she had been more fucking willing this time. The craziest thing that’s happened in a while was ignoring the rescue team the first time because of her fucking psycho fad. 

Nothing but the sounds of the plane whooshed through Natalie’s ears, in and out the other ─── like a fever dream. As if no time had passed at all, and Natalie’s blinked and been through it all. 

She’s fucking lived through every deep breath, every drop of blood in the snow, every breakdown, every piece of─── 

She made it, but why her? 

They were leaving a part of their team ─── their team was their joy, their whole life. Natalie’s stomach sinks, as she watches the trees fly behind her, blinded by resentment and disbelief to fully comprehend she’s inches in the air from what would be the start of her nineteen-month dread, in the depths of hell they called the fucking forest . 

Or “it,” whatever that meant. 

The other girl's fists were clenched yet Shauna’s were folded in her lap, looking forward, dead. Her eyes were dead , like instead of half, the Shauna Natalie used to know disappeared. 

Natalie blinked, hands shaking as she quickly looked around, finding Mari and Akilah sitting together two rows behind her. She smiled seeing the two whisper, like they were talking about something important as if anything could be right now. 

The plane just felt empty, and lonely. 

And Natalie counted every fucking second until they landed ─── if they landed.

And they did . 

She’s stepping down from their private plane, onto the hard concrete ─── fuck, she was looking at a building , the airport . 

And more people she’s seen in a group in two years . 

She looked around the crowd, seeing Mari in front of her, she was bawling her eyes out while trying to cover her face from the harsh camera flashes and questions stabbed towards them.

She was squished beside her, and without thinking, she reached for her hand, her heart stopping when the cool touch of Mari’s interlinks with hers. 

Her heart thunders and blocks out every fucking new reporter there was, and if that would do it, maybe she’d hold Mari Ibarra’s hand forever. They were really soft, how could they be so soft?

They returned to school after that ─── college . Everyone was rallying behind on their paths of what they used to want, and Natalie was at the fucking deep end. 

Lottie was the first to be admitted to the mental hospital, and even she didn’t want any visitors. 

Natalie looked at the phone on the wall, it was screaming her name in the room that didn’t feel like hers, the one that held too much nostalgia for a time Natalie wished she could go back to despite how shitty her house had been. 

It didn’t help that Travis hadn’t tried to see or call her ever since they landed either. 

She remembers the soft touch of Mari Ibarra, how her eyes still gleamed with humour and hope despite their situation. How she gave hope to Natalie, talking about her past and everything she wished to do once they got rescued months before the possibility. 

Her support . 

That’s all Natalie needed right now. 

She threw the pack of cigarettes off her nightstand, took one last puff of the cigar she held and threw it out the open window, into the cool fall air. 

Her heart sped up at the thought of winter. 

The phone rang too long for her liking, too long for her sanity. 

“Hello?”

“Oh my god, Mari.” Natalie gasped, almost a whisper, she couldn’t help a relieved smile spread over her lips, someone fucking would talk to her.

“Nat! How are you?” She sounded better. Even though it was dumb to ask, Natalie appreciated her question, biting her cheek as she ruffled her hair, deciding to keep her natural brown. She didn’t want to be the girl she missed, because it would be fake, a lie. 

But she chopped it short the night she got home. 

“I ─── I don’t know.” She sighed into the phone. “The truth is, it’s been shitty. I haven’t gotten into any college yet, and no one’s fucking talking about anything . All I know is any news reporters who asked questions keep hearing the same thing and ─── yeah , it feels so fucking staged, what if───” 

“Nat.” 

Her heart stopped. “Hm?” She hummed.

“Come over to my place.” She spoke hesitantly yet Natalie couldn’t mistake the urge in her voice, for how genuine she was. She spent two years straight with her after all. 

“And where would that be, exactly?” Natalie smirked, leaning against the wall before she moved to her closet, already grabbing her black zip-up hoodie. Something that felt safe .

The question felt weird, but not at the same time. How close the girls became felt thrilling for Natalie, an invitation of unsure proximity between Mari, she wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Would it be awkward seeing her after months? Would it feel like no time passed and Mari could be her lifeline? 

“I live in a dorm now, Eastern International College.” She sighed, stopping for a moment. “I don’t know how I managed, but I think I needed to get out of my house, y’know? A change from everything I used to know.” 

Natalie nodded, as if Mari could see her. “ Yeah , I know.”  

More silence. 

“See you soon?” Mari quickly asked, it felt rushed and Mari’s and Natalie’s nerves flowed through the line. 

Natalie was halfway out of her room. “Wouldn’t miss it, Ibarra.”

Natalie managed to find the dorm rooms around campus, but Mari was waiting for her outside the building. She looked at the girl from the parking lot, dark hair blowing in the wind. It was shiny,  different. But Natalie never found anything wrong before in the wilderness, nothing was ever wrong with her.

That life was a part of them, as much as Natalie wanted to forget.

Natalie slowly smiled as she reached Mari with a wave. The girl jumped up, reminding Natalie of her enthusiasm before the crash, and how friendly and caring she was despite the various rumours that spread about her. Legend told her Mari Ibarra could also be a bitch, when she wanted to. 

She never saw much of that. 

They awkwardly hugged ─── Natalie was paranoid that if Mari could feel her heart racing, why? ─── it was the fact they were face to face in a fucking school like everything was supposed to be, yet nothing belonged at all.

Her dorm was small but cozy. She didn’t have a dorm mate yet, but she told her she wanted to keep it that way. 

“No one wanted to be roomies with me anyway.” Mari sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed raised scarily high off the ground. Sleeping in a bed was the first thing Natalie had to get used to. 

“Fuck ‘em’ then.” Natalie scoffed, looking around at the floral padded blankets and vintage posters scattered along the wall. It reminded her of Jackie’s room when they partied at her house as a team.

She wouldn’t dare let a tear fall. 

Mari looked at her, nodding as she saw her examining her space. “Just tried to make it feel like me, but it doesn’t.” 

Natalie nodded. “I know.” 

Mari chuckled softly to herself. “Honestly, you should just room with me at this point.” 

If Natalie was speechless before, she sure was now. She opened her mouth, about to say something───

“Sorry, jokes ─── um, I don’t know, since you haven’t gotten in anywhere I thought maybe you’d apply or───” 

Natalie smiled teasingly. “Don’t worry, Mar. I know you’d like to see more of me.” 

The girl looked down quickly, stifling a laugh as they snickered. Natalie was intrigued by their vibe and the closeness of the room, like the walls were caving in, bringing them closer. She didn’t even know if Mari had liked any girl before because she’d only ever heard of the crazy rumours about the few guys she’d dated. Everyone made her out to be some sort of slut, it pissed Natalie off. 

They just had to get to know her . 

“Maybe that’s true,” Mari admitted, testing the waters ─── testing Natalie’s reaction, yet her soft smile told her everything she needed. 

Her gaze lingered on Mari’s face, on the faint scar near her temple, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked away like she was flustered from their proximity, which was unusual for the confidence running through her. The winter wind brushed against the dorm window, rattling it lightly, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Natalie didn’t feel like she had to say something sharp to fill the silence. 

She just sat in it with her. They didn’t need to speak, each growing minute feeling like a layer of warm blankets stacked on top of her, cozy, warm ─── safe . 

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Mari said suddenly, voice low. “It’s like I came back but left someone behind me. I know I was always talking about what I would do if we got back, and I know the world hasn’t changed much but it feels like I've missed decades.”

“Loss can be change,” Natalie replied, rubbing her arm as she went to sit against the wall, rather than on the edge of the bed.  

Mari’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, searching yet unsure ─── hopeful in that way that made Natalie’s breath catch in her throat. Everything clicked, like all those late-night conversations by the fire, the whispered words when they thought the others were asleep ─── it wasn’t nothing . It was never nothing, like how they each individually thought they were. 

“You think she’s still in there?” Mari whispered.

The walls were caving in. 

Natalie scooted a little closer on the bed, letting their knees bump, electricity seeping through her veins ─── it was new, yet exciting. Her fingers brushed over Mari’s again ─── light and gentle, but steady to comfort he

“I think she’s sitting right in front of me.” 

Mari smiled so big, Natalie’s stomach fluttered .

“You can stay here tonight, if y’know, you can’t go back home. Or, until you figure out what you wanna do next?” Mari suggested, not moving her knee against hers. 

Natalie stared at her for a beat, emotions roiling under her skin like wildfire. “And what if I don’t know what’s next?”

Mari’s smile was sad but kind ─── something Natalie recognized too well, through the cracks of her bedroom mirror. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Natalie breathed out a laugh, shaky. “You really want me as a roommate then, huh?” 

“I want you,” Mari blurted before she could stop herself. Natalie’s cheeks heat. They just breathed unsteadily ─── quiet breaths that mingled in the inches between them, the world narrowing down to the dorm room and the bed. 

Just them. 

“You know,” Mari started slowly. “I used to think about this back then when everything was falling apart.”

Natalie’s eyebrows rose gently, her voice quiet and cracked. “About what?”

She knew god damn what she meant.

Mari’s hand brushed a strand of hair behind Natalie’s ear, fingers trembling just a little. “What it would feel like...if you ever looked at me like this.”

Natalie exhaled, like the weight of it all ─── the forest, the blood, the silence finally slipped off her shoulders.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get to. I didn’t know if you even saw me at all if you liked girls at all or───” she whispered back. “I didn’t even think I’d get out.”

“But you did,” Natalie whispered, as if she wasn’t in the present like her mind had drifted elsewhere and Natalie didn’t like that it wouldn’t be on her. She too had noticed how gorgeous Mari was, even when they landed. Despite the nineteen months, she somehow stayed gorgeous. 

“I did.” She agreed, voice steady for once, confident now. 

Natalie sees the pools of dark brown hues in her eyes, reflecting through the shady window behind them, like she’s looking into the depths of her soul, searching for any hurt she endured that she could fight, break ───  save her from because she couldn’t save herself. 

Their lips met, soft and hesitant like a question. Natalie grasped the soft curve of her jaw, and like her hands her cheek was softer, melding with her hand as she graced her thumb against it.

Mari kissed back in soft answer, like maybe they could have something after all this, something that wasn’t just trauma bonding or survival or pretending.

The two pulled back, connecting gazes again. It was short and sweet and everything the two imagined tasting on each other’s lips, when they were not covered in grime and dirt and being disgusting in the wilderness. 

So as Natalie breathed, Mari’s floral scent invades all her senses, bringing her into a sweet high she didn’t want to come down from ─── this electricity that formed between them. 

Without question, they slump against Mari’s pillow, standing upright, shoulder to shoulder, Natalie’s head tilting into the crevice where every breath that used to feel like a chore, met with flowers and comfort. 

Mari Ibarra.

“Nat?” Mari asked, so soft, Natalie barely heard it through the vibrations through her chest, inches away from her face. “Do you think we deserve this? To be happy?”

Did they? After everything they went through, everyone who had searched for them in the first few months decided they ‘ didn’t deserve to go as they did. ‘

That’s before everything. They didn’t know shit that happened out there, and what was so fucked up, was the fact that they probably never would. That secret was buried deep in Mari and Natalie’s beating hearts. 

The hearts that could beat for each other, through a bond they developed like no other, entwined of secrets and understanding no other person in the world could match. 

So Mari could hold her hand a little longer, Natalie’s heart thundering through every bad voice scratching her brain. 

Because her hands were so soft. 

Like the people they used to be. 

yellowjackets masterlist

[mercysought]

Orla almost wants to laugh at the request. She almost wants to paint the cruelest and the most smudge of smiles on her lips, filled with venom that he offers her so easily while with the other hand admonishing her own words. She doesn't. She wants to. But she doesn't. Dark eyes are on Davrin who is looking over his shoulder, connecting with her eyes for a second longer. She holds the gaze, withdrawing further. Her jaw locks though she keeps the snarl out of her mouth.

   "Fuck you." her voice matches the one in her head, now unhindered by the restraint; fully present in her body she hears the rattling of the chains, the whirling of the whip and she is holding her mouth in a snarl as to avoid a bite "I'll have empathy for your people, dead or alive, when you stop trying to destroy mine."

So never. Because they weren't people to him. The memories. The dead. The spirits. Those were his people. Those were the people he was trying to make right, even if it meant killing her. It was simple, he might try to do it all dressed up - try to pull wool over her eyes with justifications. Excuses. Anything that would turn the situation and tide in their favour.

There was always a justification. Always. And the issue was that right? Solas was smart, smart enough to convince himself of his bulshit, convince himself that he was right. But he was not right, he was just a deadly intelligent, delusional, manipulative fuck "Do not pretend to care about my past. If you stayed quiet you'd at least pass for honest."

And she never even asked that of him. Again - god of lies, and all that.

She could see it. How he came to be that, even if Varric had told her he didn't think himself such. He had been a figure of hope for her people, he was still one for many - and that made her sick. It made her sick that he was such a fucking coward.

The answer to her own admission does not go unnoticed, thought it does little to soothe her. The disgust in the pit of her stomach only grows warmer. Another item to put down in a list somewhere, folded neatly as to not smudge the writing. Kept so it can be used later.

   "Only the dead are fucking innocent. The dead and these spirits." even the demons were allowed to be seen as better, misunderstood entities than any one of the people in Minrathous it seemed "The fact that you prefer their company and memory over the living of this world is not a surprise to me."

Empathy for something innocent.

Orla steps through the eluvian, feeling the back of her head grow tender, a headache blooming quickly as she keeps walking. Emmrich and Davrin are talking though she cannot hear them - she knows the time for this conversation is numbered and there would be questions that would demand an answer.

Whatever empathy you offer me is only done after a threat. After a bite against chains. After an offer of violence. Continue raging against your chains, perhaps it will remind you what it is to still be beneath them.

   "Do you think yourself kind?" she wants to bite and instead she gnaws at the inside of her cheek. She is desperately holding onto her breathing, hearing it and counting them - as a way of holding herself tethered. Keeping the red from seeping into her vision. He certainly already felt superior to her, though she didn't need to ask the question.

Truthfully, she didn't need to ask this one either. She knew the answer. She counted the heartbeat in her ears. The breaths. The steps on the grey, dead grass "When a benevolent streak of mercy blesses your hands and you are able to hold yourself back from hurting me though you really want to? Does it make you feel good to know you hold so much power, but choosing not to? When you know you could make me suffer just as easily. Does it make you feel like a kind person to choose to stay your hand against someone you think as lowly as a dog? Tell me, do you?"

The power must feel like relief when you're behind a cage and unable to do anything else. She would know.

But he could keep his fucking pity, his fucking mercy. He could keep it all and shove it "Keep your empathy. I don't fucking want it."

“It is no story,” he snapped. “It is a truth I lived for millennia. I vow to be respectful of your experiences but is it truly so much to ask that you deign to offer me the same courtesy? I do not beg empathy for my sake, but for the memories of those who endured things this world cannot imagine. They were not characters in some fanciful tale. They were real people made to fear, made to suffer, but who never stopped fighting.”

Solas could feel them clamoring at the walls behind him. The thousands, tens of thousands, that they had saved, and the many more that they had not. Those who died fighting, those who died weeping. Those whose minds had been burnt by Elgar’nan, or twisted by Ghilan’nain, or butchered by Andruil. Those who he had bled to liberate and those he had sent knowingly to their deaths. History forgot them all, but even with time and age, Solas could not. 

He folded his leg beneath him, picking at the ancient leather strap of his greaves. Unbuckling it, and then buckling it. Driving his thumb into the loops, scraping the tatters away with his nails. And then buckling and unbuckling it again. 

Their cries turned into the shuffling of heavy boots and tired feet dragging across the ground. He would know Varric’s steps anywhere, but he did not turn to look. It was a ghost that haunted him, nothing more, but one of many.

He dug his finger into the worn metal of his greaves. Bits of dirt and grime chipped away, the once brilliant gold now a muted rust. He traced his nails through the now dulled intricate designs, the elegant embossments worn down into faint outlines.  

“Nor do I, at times.” Solas met her admission with a huff of ironic laughter. He’d lost parts of himself somewhere along the way between the endless wars, endless intrigue, and endless treachery. He’d once confessed to Felassan that the last time he’d felt whole was when he and Mythal watched their first sunrise. But without those wars and betrayals, and the little parts of himself that became its casualties, those countless, clamoring forgotten ones would never have had a chance for freedom.  One’s unvarnished, ‘true self’ was an acceptable sacrifice. 

He flicked his fingers against the sturdy old chain mail, its rattling swallowed by the mute nothingness of the prison. He followed the sound, using it to focus his mind to feel the life of the very spirit she now threw back in his face. But he could not reach Compassion. Instead, he felt his own quieting of Cole’s mind; the gentle, mournful command to Forget.

“That was different,” Solas insisted, gritting his teeth and stubbornly refusing to hear how pathetic a defense that sounded. It had been a weakness, one he should not have shown her. But he could hardly have sat by and did nothing, and risk her destroying something unequivocally good for no reason other than inconvenience or distrust.

“They were harming no one and did not deserve to be hurt or perverted because of someone’s prejudice or lack of understanding. I was not trying to use anything on you, save perhaps to appeal to some part of you that might feel empathy for something innocent.”

[modmad]

He's always helping everybody else to find their happily ever after... but who will save prince charming?

(actually my 2nd entry for the fashion zine heee)

[perilegs]

i am my father's son (enjoyer of irl sidequests)

[kiss2012]

i only have two real friends and lately i’m a nervous wreck

[loveanddeepdick]

nerd!choso who is so unknown at school that people go, “who?” when he’s mentioned. you’re pretty sure that only five people knew who he even was.

nerd!choso who is most definitely the president of some club like chess or dead poets society. he saw you at the club fair and fell in love

he thinks he went to heaven when you approach his table at club rush. yuji, although not in chess, was helping choso recruit people since his poor brother was too shy to talk to anyone. you go up to your friend yuji, making small talk with him.

“i’ve never played chess, yuji”, you giggled

“my brother can teach you!”

you glanced over at choso, not even noticing him at first. he was.. pretty. not pretty as in a way your friends would giggle at you when they saw you in a new outfit, not pretty as in the comments you got under your instagram post, but he was a natural beauty.

yuji had to snap you out of it. of course he noticed though, the way you two looked at each other.

nerd!choso who teaches you how to play chess, not letting the two other members of the small club play with you.

nerd!choso who helps you study, helps you carry textbooks, and helps you with midterms and any exams you have.

nerd!choso who has a nosebleed when you give him a small peck on the cheek when he finally confesses to you after months of pining for you.

you two had been studying in his dorm, comfortable with each other as your head was leaning against his shoulder as you two relished in each other’s presence.

“i like you.”

“oh! i like you t—“

“no. i like you.”

you turn to him. a small smile creeping onto your face. you didn’t say anything, only pressing a short kiss on his cheek. he immediately freezes up, his hands turning clammy and sweaty.

“i—uh..”

then, a trickle of blood comes from his nose, dripping onto his cupid’s bow.

“oh my god, cho!”, you gasped as you jump up, running to grab a tissue from his nightstand where he also kept a picture of you two and a bottle of lotion

you leaned in, wiping his nose attentively. as you chide and nurse him while mumbling, choso can’t help but stare down to take a peep at your tank top. he could see the valley of your boobs and the top of your bra. he choked, letting out a startled gasp before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

he knocked out cold on the spot

nerd!choso who keeps a special picture of you in his wallet. he’ll be at his chess club meetings, at lectures, out with his family, and he keeps a hand on his wallet, knowing you’re in there.

the picture was a polaroid he took with your camera, your eyes were just out of frame but he could see a portion of your fucked out face, his cum dripping from your mouth and splattered on your cheeks. you were completely naked and sprawled out on his bed in his childhood home

it was almost funny how a hot goddess of a girl was naked, covered in his cum, and sprawled out, pussy on display on his old lego ninjago bedsheets.

nerd!choso who dedicates every single one of his orgasms to you. if you were with him, he’d find a way to cum inside you. in your mouth or your pussy, he’s find a way inside. of course, he’d also opt for cumming on your tits or on your face, he wasn’t greedy. but what he really wants, is to cum inside your cute little ass! he’s too shy to ask, of course, but the day would come eventually

if you weren’t here though, he’d pull up his personal secret album for you, filled photos and videos with shots of under your skirt, through the crack of your bedroom, from your window, when you just walking around with a tank top. he loved it all.

but his favorites were videos you’d allowed him to take while he was fucking you from the back or in missionary. he loved watching them on repeat, never getting bored of them. after a while, he gained the courage to show you as well.

you checked your phone to see a notification from your boyfriend and gasped when you opened it.

it was an image of the picture he kept of you beside his bed, covered in his semen. in the corner of the photo was his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.

‘i miss you 🖤’