#and he’s so inspiring. he’s part of the reason i took up drawing again and regained some passion for music.

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part:𝟷𝟺

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, PTSD, violence, suspense, hurt, Soldier Boy gets hurt,

Word Count: 4433

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

Whispering “Earving?” once more, you trailed him to shadowy spots where fewer people were present. Though you knew you would have to deal with this eventually, you couldn't help but feel uneasy about what lay ahead.

When he halted, you took care to keep your distance.

You walked up to him and asked, “Why are you not talking to me?” to let him know you weren't a threat and that all you wanted to do was communicate. “Did you know what happened to me?”

Your eyes widened in suspicion as he examined you from head to toe before you told him anything further. To your surprise, Earving lifted his hand and pulled his blades from his back in a menacing manner. 

Your heart was pounding as you whispered, “What the hell are you doing?” It also hurt you to see him preparing for a fight, and you shook your head in disbelief. “Don't you ever try it.” 

You immediately defended yourself with your fists when he struck you with his blades, as though he were going to cut your skin. Thank goodness for your training sessions with Ben; you were starting to feel a little better and in shape. 

Earving attacked your legs again, forced you to the ground, briefly restrained you, and attempted to strangle you. But you reclaimed your hands from his gloved ones, struck his masked head, and violently shoved him on the ground. 

You said, “The company lied to everyone,” before he struck you once more. I'm not a traitor." 

Even though you tried to persuade him that neither you nor the government were your enemies or vice versa, he didn't seem to be listening to you and kept attacking you even though he knew you were still stronger than him. 

You shoved his head hard against the wall in front of you, forcing him to think straight. “I'm not blaming you for what happened,” you blurted out. “I just want you to know I'm still your friend. I understand your reasons about why you didn't visit me or try to save me.” 

After you hit his head against the wall a few times, he managed to break free from your hold and push you back until your back cracked the wall and made a hole in it. 

“What the hell, Earving?” Your t-shirt tore from your stomach to your chest as you screamed at him in aggravation. “You must hear what I'm telling you because I am speaking the truth. Vought lied about me to you and to everyone else, and they studied my body for decades in a lab to make the next supe generation better, to make it perfect.”

You said, “For God's sake,” fighting back tears as you were overcome by all that had transpired so quickly. Your hands balled into fists as you prepared for yet another blow. “If you attack me again, I swear I'm going to leave a huge amount of fucking damage on you.”

When his phone started ringing, Earving saw your rage rising and plunged his blades into his back once more. Before you could even respond, he vanished into the darkness once more. 

After you hurried back to the van without drawing attention from civilians, Frenchie noticed your torn t-shirt and messy hair and wrapped his hands around his head, practically yelling, “Mon Dieu, where did you go? What on earth happened to you?”

After sitting down next to him and seeing the screen in front of you, you muttered, “Nothing,” as you looked around for Kimiko. 

“Clearly, it's not just 'nothing.' Have you been spotted by anyone? Have you had a fight?” 

“No,” you instantly told a lie. You didn't know if this was the correct moment to discuss the actual events that transpired. 

Frenchie looked at you, her eyes narrowing. “You look like you've just had a fight,” he questioned. 

“I told you nothing happened,” you yelled angrily, feeling ashamed as the table beneath your hand began to crack. God. You were hopeless. But you remained outraged and wounded by everything that went on. Why would Earving even behave in such a manner? 

Frenchie placed his hands in the air and muttered, “Alright, alright,” in a calm but terrified voice. “I'm not going to ask any questions anymore.”

Though you chose to speak with him at a later time, you felt awful for using your position of power to frighten someone who was clearly weaker than you and was only attempting to carry out his own duties. 

With concern, you questioned, “Is Kimiko okay? I can help her if it's needed.”

“No,” Frenchie said, displaying his happy expression on the TV. “Pay attention to her remarkable speed and talent. Kimiko is a unique lady.”

Your eyes darted around the busy street, your super-hearing tuned in to every sound, and you continued to stare at the screen in front of you. Memories of your surprise altercation with your former best friend flashed across your memory. Why would he ever attack you like he actually wanted to kill you? Was Ben correct when he said Earving was only loyal to Vought and no one else? 

It was painful that, despite everyone's lack of loyalty toward you, you continued to show loyalty to those who had previously betrayed you and stabbed you in the back. You couldn't decide if you or they had a problem. Either you were difficult to understand, or it was simply difficult to love you. 

“She's done,” Frenchie remarked as he opened the door and prepared to go. Kimiko gave him a quick shoulder pat. 

“Let's fucking go.” 

It would be better if you called Ben at home. 

Ben's footsteps sped up to Herogasm as his eyes looked for TNT Twins. You were quite correct to despise this accursed and abnormal place. He was very into public sex, threesomes, gangbang while high, and all things associated, so he had enjoyed the twisted notion when he found it with Stormfront Bitch, but now it seemed like a new room straight out of hell. God was fucking missing from this place. Even though he occasionally wanted to, at least he was relieved that he refrained from joining it while he was with you.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he was a little afraid of his own physical needs when Butcher told him they were going to Herogasm the day before since he hadn't fucked anyone since he was free. Besides, he wasn't used to taking himself in hand so frequently without fucking someone for so long, even if he jerked off like a fucking teenager two or three times a day. He felt much better, though, knowing that he had no feelings at all regarding anyone or anything related to Herogasm. 

At this point, Ben was positive he would never want to visit this absurd place again. But as soon as he could, he had to fuck you raw.

Ben can't argue that he felt much safer having faith in you about anything because he was aware of your unwavering devotion to him in spite of everything he had done.

After all, loyalty to him was the most important thing in a partnership, and two people being devoted to one another was sufficient for a lifetime of companionship.

He was still thinking about your exposed ass from your nightdress, remembering how you appeared on the bed this morning. He was surprised at how effortlessly, and without even trying, you could make him rock hard. Getting on top of you, ripping off your underwear, and sliding into your swollen cunt would be so fucking easy. But in reality, it wasn't that simple.

Feeling his hardness returning over your thought, Ben muttered, “Oh, fuck.” 

Ben scowled and picked up the smoke bomb that had suddenly been thrown between his legs, thinking it could help him become a little high or divert his attention. 

“Halothene,” he said, glancing at the man who had thrown it to him. “What were you going to do with that?” 

The man repositioned himself, bracing himself for combat. Ben took a step toward him and sighed. The man's heart was pounding uncontrollably. 

“Not him,” Butcher stated firmly. 

Ben immediately nodded to Butcher. Anyhow, he was not in the mood to murder someone who was weak. 

He took a deep breath and tried not to get furious when his eyes eventually spotted the TNT Twins. When Ben saw their eyes widen in fear, he grinned. They were obviously taken aback to see him again. 

“Soldier Boy,” they muttered in tandem as they looked to one another for the right words. “It was Noir's idea; you must know that.”

“Was it?” Ben inquired as he gently inched closer to them, his shield tightening around his hand. 

The woman answered, “Yes,” quite quickly. “And the Crimson Countess. They conspired to deceive Y/N and you as well.”

He said TNT Twins, “Noir can't even shit without Vought's permission,” after hearing your name. “Did you know that she spent decades in a lab having her body studied? Did you know that Vought intentionally deceived everyone?” 

The sister asked, “Why does it matter?” before the man spoke.”All we did was follow instructions. Not that we desired to, though.”

They were aware of it. Ben shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, careful not to blow this place up. “You two will speak up against Vought to the media, tell them what they did to me and Y/N, and tell me where the fuck is Mindstorm. You two will come with me and fucking fix what you have done. If not, I'm fucking going to kill you both.” Ben spoke in a ferocious manner, clearly threatening them. 

They cried out in shock, “Fuck no,” sounding as though they would sooner die than stand up to Vought anyway. 

They locked hands and prepared to strike him, acting as though they would only cause minor harm to his body. The Russians did their best to harm him; of course, none of them worked. Ben was in disbelief that he used to work with the world's most worthless and foolish superheroes. 

Ben's supe hearing was triggered by a Russian song played by another supe in a different room before he spoke. He attempted to contain himself, and his palm closed tightly around his shield and closed his eyes. 

But the enormous power that was beginning to emerge was much bigger than him at that precise moment because of the horrific memories from the lab he had spent decades confined to. Ben's final thought before blowing up the entire place was of you. He should never have come here without you.

Once you were in your room, you decided to give Ben a call after some time had passed. You were informed that the person you called could not be reached at that time. You threw the phone on your bed and yelled, “Asshole,” out of anger. 

The damage had already been done when Ben awoke. Fuck it. This time, he had made an extremely serious mistake. He was sure he'd be on the news tonight. 

A man across the room likewise appeared to have a strange cape when Butcher came to approach Ben. 

“Soldier Boy and William Butcher,” he murmured. Ben and Butcher exchanged looks. “Oh, god. You were behind this. This whole thing was your idea. William, we made a deal with you to fight to the death. You and me.”

Ben struggled to figure out what was going on between them as Butcher offered him a confident look. Homelander went on, “This is cheating. The deal is off.” 

Homelander's gaze lasered Butcher against the wall as soon as he finished his speech. Ben sighed after giving Butcher a quick glance. 

“You were my hero growing up; I have watched all your movies hundreds of times.” Ben offered Homelander a degrading grin as he spoke admiringly. The guy with the blonde hair had the worst suit ever. It was a shame.

“You were the only one who was as strong as me.”

“Buddy,” Ben said, not giving a damn about Homelander���s words at all. “You think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape. You’re just a cheap fucking knockoff.”

Homelander's jaw tightened, and his eyes grew enraged as Ben repeatedly insulted him. He was enraged hearing such stuff from the supe he idolized since he was a child.

“Oh, no, no,” Homelander responded without fear. “I’m the upgrade.”

When Homelander attacked, Soldier Boy started to punch him again and again, but Homelander was well-trained too; he was indeed as good as Ben in combat skills. He wasn't like the weak supes in Payback; Homelander was indeed built different. However, this didn't make Ben feel a thing at all. Homelander was just another supe who was just more than a bit easy to deal with. That's all. In fact, it would be a good training for Ben to warm up.

Ben briefly lost control of the momentum and gave Homelander the advantage as they continued to hit one another. Ben looked on in confusion as Butcher rose and then lasered Homelander as well. 

“What have you done?” Confused, Homelander murmured. 

Ben stood up, yanking Homelander by his useless cape and violently throwing him against the wall as he ascended in the air, and their lasered eyes engaged in combat. 

Following Homelander's escape, Butcher and Ben struck him simultaneously, shattering the wall behind them. 

Homelander tried to laser Hughie after he broke up the brawl in his nude form, but Hughie was too fast for him. 

Ben effortlessly grabbed Homelander by the arm and pushed him to the ground, keeping him there while Butcher and Hughie also helped him. 

Butcher yelled, “Do it,” as Ben attempted to go full force this time. 

Ben pushed himself to concentrate on the enormous power shining behind his chest, but for some reason he was unable to release it. His tendency to explode when he didn't mean to was annoying, but he couldn't use his new abilities when he needed them. Perhaps it was because, just moments before, he had already blown up. 

Homelander groaned like an animal under threat when he realized he was going to be slaughtered by them. With a single, fierce roar, he drove everyone from his body as he fled away. 

With a mumble of curses, Butcher turned to face the sky. 

Ben didn't give a fuck at all, even if he was eager to kill Homelander while he knew he had more pressing problems at hand. Murdering Homelander was easy to do. However, he had to seize control of the company and turn the tables as quickly as possible. 

Ben grabbed the phone out of his pocket to try to call you as he stood up and straightened his suit, but it didn't work. 

Ben growled, “Fuck this,” and turned to face Butcher. “Call Y/N right now.” 

Butcher said, “Give me some slack, for God's sake,” as he got up and brushed off the dust from his coat.

Ben snatched the phone from Butcher's hand as soon as it began ringing and gave him a cold glare while Hughie and he pleaded with him to get out of there. 

Ben, who was a little nervous, walked to the car quicker than Butcher and Hughie. 

Ben muttered, “Give me a fucking moment,” as Butcher and Hughie entered the vehicle and looked at him. 

It had only been an hour since you went to sleep when your phone rang. You answered it while you rubbed your eyes and exclaimed, “What?” 

You had cried uncontrollably because of what transpired between you and Earving, since you hadn't anticipated his treachery to be that severe and brutal. 

Ben said, “I guess I couldn't give you a call because my battery is dead. Are you now at home?” 

Your eyes widened with suspicion. “How unlucky!” you murmured in a sour tone. “And yes.”

“Something terrible happened,” he sighed. You were scared by the underlying fragility in his voice, which made you feel no longer sleepy. He whispered your name and continued, “I messed up badly.” 

Your heart raced, and you temporarily forgot about your own issues as you were anxious at hearing an unsettling and insecure tone in his voice. You prepared yourself to receive the worst news. “What did you do this time?” 

Ben's jaw tightened at your disappointed complaint. Even though he was making an effort, it had been a while since he had disappointed someone with such severity, making him feel like a total failure. Ben parted his lips to speak, but he truly had no idea what to say or how to convince you that he wouldn't let you down the next time. He knew that had become one of his professions nowadays. 

“Well, let's talk when I come home. We're going to head out, so I suppose I'll be there by morning.”

He immediately hung up the phone without waiting for you to say anything more. He was a little embarrassed by his unpredictable actions and wasn't sure how you would respond. In the meantime, he would be thinking about this. 

You sighed and attempted to return to sleep, but it took you an hour to put your issues aside and allow your ailing body to rest.

Instantly opening your eyes and got off the bed upon hearing a door close in the room next door, you realized it was Ben.

You knocked on his door and said, “Ben?” even though it was still open.

He turned to face you after putting his shield next to his bed and said, “You don't have to knock it. You are welcome to show up at any time, sweetie.”

Even if he was attempting to make jokes to rile you up, his tone was anything but funny and suggested that he was distressed.

You approached him and gently closed the door, asking, “Can we talk now?” 

He also approached you and gave you a hug after leaving his chest material on the table, preventing you from speaking. You let out a sound as his fingers gripped your back firmly, and his chest seemed warmer than before. You held back your hug, but you also didn't press for an answer in the hopes that he would calm himself down and tell you. 

You attempted to ignore his fingers as they moved over your body, but your chin lingered on his muscular shoulder. You were surprised that he wasn't trying to make sexual contact with you, and you wondered what had happened to make him act that way while you were apart. 

"I missed you," Ben said softly,

Ben has always hated to say things like this and felt like the helpless, weak men in the movies, but he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed since he knew you needed his help and he kept failing you repeatedly even though it wasn't his intention. Ben hesitated to admit that he needed you more than ever because he knew that if you had been there, you could have stopped him from using his freshly developed powers to explode and kill some people.

If he could simply kidnap the TNT Twins and make them speak negatively about the company, then that would also be a great opportunity for you. They would also provide him with information regarding Mindstorm, which can be beneficial in your case. 

His body stiffened as he breathed in your hair. 

He aggressively remarked, “You smell something different,” smelling you a little more forcefully this time. “Like someone I know.”

You put your arms around his biceps and murmured, “Quit smelling me and calm down,” as you didn't make him feel angry. He appeared as though he was about to lose it. “I'll tell you when you tell me about what happened in Herogasm.”

“I blew up the entire place.”

“Ben!” you said, pushing his hands aside as your shocked eyes grew wider. “Why?”

His voice was dry as he spoke hurriedly, “I didn't mean to.” While you waited for him to continue, Ben looked around and considered how to explain everything. He then remarked, “It's... the same thing happened in Midtown. I was speaking with TNT Twins about Vought and attempting to persuade them to voice against it.”

His eyes went dark, as if he was uncomfortable and didn't want to continue. 

You placed a hand on his chest when you noticed he was having trouble with his inner thoughts, in an attempt to calm him down and encourage him to speak. You said, “And?” gently. 

“I heard a Russian song,” he furiously and unsettlingly declared. Placing his hand over yours to make sure you understood, he added, “I guess it's kind of a triggering thing for this thing to get activated.”

He interrupted you right away before you could say anything, saying, “I really tried to stop it. I did not mean to disappoint you or mess things up like this. Not at this particular moment.”

You muttered, “Don't worry about that. It wouldn't be the first time.”

“Yeah.” He gave you a small smile to lighten the situation and murmured to you, as if he were also trying to suppress the anger in your voice since he understood you had every right to speak in that manner. “However, I will speak with Butcher and ask him to locate Mindstorm as soon as possible in order to resolve your problem. Perhaps I might want to amend our agreement regarding Homelander.”

You muttered, “I don't know, Ben,” at a loss for what to do. “It's becoming uncontrollable. Tonight, everyone will be talking about you once more. First, we must figure out how to clean up this mess.”

He immediately raised his voice and said, “Fuck them,” not wanting to think about Vought or the media at all. “You do not think of such things. I'll soon have things under control. The first thing we need to solve is your situation about your powers, okay?”

“But why?” 

“Because you come first,” he stated with a serious attitude. 

Your cheeks heated a little under his focused look, and you retrieved your hands from him before heading to his bed and sitting to put an end to the intense moment. 

As you settled onto his bed, Ben's eyes narrowed, and he started thinking inappropriate things. You need to have spent the entire day and night beneath him, getting as much fuck as you both needed to make you tremble around his cock. 

As he began to remove his suit, including his pants, you were thinking about how to talk to him about yourself and Earving without irritating him. Ben didn't seem to care that you were in the room or that you were staring at him while he got undressed. 

He was putting on his gray sweatpants, and you were looking for a t-shirt when all of a sudden you stated, “I fought Noir.” 

“What the hell?”

He sat on the bed next to you and swiftly turned to face you. “When did this happen? How in the world did this son of a bitch track you?”

You murmured, “Calm,” as you noticed his veins starting to show. “Frenchie and I were in the van, and Kimiko had something to do. At that moment, I noticed him watching me from across the street.”

“Fuck, I knew from the way you smelt that bitter, like get into my nerves.” He questioned, without you even finishing your sentence, “And?”

You sighed as you noticed his growing impatience. “I wanted to talk to him, so I followed him until he stopped. I suppose I was naive.” 

Even though you were feeling vulnerable just now, you went on. “He didn't say a thing at all, and I don't know why, but he attacked me.”

“Fucking betraying son of a bitch, I should have murdered him when I had the chance.” Ben's hands were fisted on the bed, and his mind was racing with ideas as he growled with fury. “Did he do something to you?”

“Of course not,” you said with a sorrowful inner smile. “He would never be able to hurt me, even if he tried a hundred times.”

You winked at Ben, and he laughed. It gave you some relief to watch him become more relaxed. 

Playfully, he asked, “You're a fierce thing, aren't you?”

“Sometimes,” you replied with a smug grin. Ben noticed that you looked sad, and that's when your thoughts of Earving flashed across your mind. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “Stop worrying about that cunning cocksucker. You see, he was always a puppet of Stan Edgar and Vought. It has nothing to do with you. This won't ever, ever change.”

With a nod, you examined his bedroom and replied, “Yeah, I can see it clearly now.”

He cleared his throat. “You know, you can sleep in here whenever you want. You see, my bed is pretty bigger than yours, obviously more comfortable.” 

You arched an eyebrow suspiciously and asked, “Are you thinking funny things?”

“It's something I would never dare do,” he grinned. 

When he mentioned sleeping, you couldn't stop yawning and felt your body preparing to go back to sleep. You were aware that he wouldn't touch you without your consent, following what transpired between you. 

You rested your head on one of the pillows and mumbled, “Ben,” your eyes nearly closing from sudden exhaustion. “Can we continue training tomorrow?” 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆

Ben felt his heart soften so much at the sight of you sleeping off in his bed that he felt as though he could soon lose his mind. It had only dawned on him that he needed to pay attention to such a minor thing. The amount of control you had over him when he awoke from decades of sleep was insane. Perhaps he had been blind and sleeping for a lot longer than he realized.

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope I didn’t fuck up this chapter, lol..And I know it is kind of slow, but I don’t want to rush things, since the reader went through a lot. Comments and reblogs are appreciated very much.  They keep me going. ♡˚.

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto @yvonneeeb @starryperson @mfnqueen1 @chaand-sitara @boywivlove @stilinskisthings @brynanna @delaynew @yoyoanaria @n-o-p-e-never @ghostslillady

@certifiedhaters @deans-spinster-witch @demodemo909 @stoneyggirl @cheynovak @libby99hb @moneyburner @jenn-777q @hey-there0-0  @purplerosequartz @shadowghoul2525 @darkqueen1995 @simpin4pixels @deebris @spideybv28 @mystic-mara @tranquilty @winchesterwild78

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series. ♡˚.

Losing You series Masterlist is here.

[reidsdimples]

When Everything Changed | Part 2

Part 1

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Enemies to lovers- Angst 🖤

Inspired by Wires by Athlete

Tw: hospitals, injury, Spencer near death

Your feud with Spencer feels trivial after you’re both shot

The first time you wake, you’re in a panic. The ceiling of the trauma unit is speeding by in a blur while people around you push the stretcher. There’s an immense amount of pressure and pain in your shoulder which is probably why you’re screaming. It’s also probably why every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

“They’re FBI agents! Get them in here now,” somebody screams.

You black out again and come to as you’re being moved onto a table. The room sways as you crash harshly into the metal surface.

“Spencer…” you murmur as one of the surgeons places a mask over your face. All goes black with shouts and medical equipment blaring in your ears.

-

The room comes into view in a blur. You try to glance around but the figure standing over you is indistinguishable.

Finally your brain catches up to your eyes and you see JJ and Rossi at your bedside.

“What happ…” your voice gives out.

“You were shot in the shoulder. It was a flesh wound, they got the bullet out,” Rossi says and places his hand on yours.

You allow Rossi’s father-like comfort to wash over you before panic seized you once more. The room stirs and your stomach drops as the reality of the situation kicks in.

You wince and lay your head back, it feels like someone placed a led weight in your shoulder. Then it comes back to you.

“Reid, what happened to Reid?” You gasp.

“He’s still in surgery,” JJ answers. Her tone tells you it’s bad.

“How long?”

“You’ve been here about 4 hours, Spencer’s been in surgery for 3,” Rossi informs you.

“Is he…” tears well in your eyes. He took a bullet for you. Both bullets should have hit you. Why would he do that?

“He’s in critical condition,” Rossi’s voice is filled with sorrow. The words are a blow to your abdomen, drawing all of the oxygen from your lungs.

“No,” you whisper and try to sit up. Guilt creeps its way in and claws its way down your spine.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N,” JJ reassures you. You shake your head.

The doctor enters and begins checking you out and encouraging you to rest. You argue that you can’t rest until you know your coworker is okay.

While the gesture was nice, whatever pain medicine he pushes into your IV sends you back into darkness before you can stop it.

-

The next time you wake, you feel more normal. As though waking up from regular sleep instead of from passing out in shock.

Sunlight filters through the massive glass windows which overlook the city. Your concept of time is non existent but at least you only have one IV in you now instead of three.

“You’re awake,” Garcia smiles and stands. Her usual bouncy optimism is missing in her words. She looks exhausted.

“Did he…” you don’t even know what to ask.

“He’s out of surgery. He’s critical but stabilized,” she answers in a hushed tone.

“I’m so sorry,” your voice cracks.

“Why are you apologizing? You were shit too,” she softens her voice and pushes your hair back from your face,

“That bullet should have hit me, I don’t know why he got in the way,” you sniffle.

“That bullet might have struck you in the head,” she raises her eyebrows like you’re being ridiculous. She was right though, your head is right at the same height as his neck.

“He couldn’t have known that,” you reason.

“No but he instinctively would have protected anybody on this team. He didn’t have to think about it,” she tries not to cry.

“I know,” you nod.

Just then Hotch and Prentiss enter the room, smiling to see you awake.

“Hey,” Prentiss hugs you gently.

“What are the doctors saying?” You ask anyone out loud.

“They’re hopeful you’ll only need to be monitored for another 24 hours,” Hotch informs.

“I meant about Reid,” you say.

“The bullet entered the front of his neck and lodged into his trachea. It was touch and go for a while but they were able to remove the bullet and reconstruct the damaged airway,” Hotch starts.

“He went into respiratory distress this morning and had to get intubated. He’s on a ventilator now. That’s why he’s still critical. He’s not breathing fully on his own and they’re trying to drain the blood and fluid from his lungs,” Garcia adds.

“I…” you lip quivers and tears start to fall. You’re horrified for him. “He must be so scared,” you whisper.

“He’s sedated, he doesn’t know what’s happening,” Prentiss says softly.

Of course he’s sedated, he wouldn’t be awake and intubated.

You’re about to say something when one of the ICU’s alarms begins to blare.

“Code blue, room 3489,” you startle and sit up as the three of them rush out of the room. Nurses and doctors take off down the hall.

“Wait!” You cry.

Code blue- someone is in respiratory or cardiac arrest. You want nothing more than to get out of the damned bed but you’re hooked up to an IV and an alarm.

Garcia nods and throws her hand over her mouth before darting back to you.

“It’s not him, it’s not Reid,” she huffs a relieved crying sort of laugh and hugs you.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t deal with losing someone on the team. It would destroy you.

You couldn’t imagine going to work and not competing with him to be the smartest in the room. It was annoying but god right now you missed it. You even missed his dad’s and his attitude and snarky remarks. You were so mad at him for taking that step in front of you. Yet you just wanted to be there at his bedside like the rest of the team.

“I want to see him,” you tell her.

“You will. You just have to focus on getting your strength back first,” she says. Garcia had a way of saying things that was so comforting.

The rest of that day was spent sleeping and getting a play by play of Reid’s progress.

-

The following morning you were up on your feet and able to walk around perfectly fine. Your arm was in a sling to prevent excess movement on your shoulder but for the most part you felt fine.

You were eager to go see Reid, though you weren’t sure why. The team had warned you that it wouldn’t be easy to see him hooked up to the breathing tube and other wires. You should be reluctant. But you just needed to show yourself that at the very least, he was still alive.

Stepping into his room was jarring and you froze in the doorway. His entire body was limp, his head flopped to the side, and his hair pulled from his face with a rubber band. He looked everything and nothing like himself.

He had drains and tubes coming out of his lungs and out of the hole in his throat, the tube down his throat forced his Adam’s apple to be protruded out, and you couldn’t count the amount of medication drips he was hooked up to.

His usual dark circles were deeper, more purple, his skin pale, and a feeding tube was inserted into his nose. You swallowed hard and took a slow step closer to him. He was always so animated and full of life, yapping constantly. To see him so motionless, so silent… it was devastating.

Morgan was sitting in the chair next to his bed, his head down next to Reid. He had fallen asleep. Reid was like his little brother, he hadn’t left his side. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night of the shooting.

You could see the breathing machine pumping, inflating his lungs for him. You could hear a low hum and what sounded like fluid in there. Occasionally it looked like he would cough or gag around the tube.

“It’s normal, his body isn’t used to there being a tube there,” the nurse informs you as she injects something into his IV line.

“Does it hurt?” You ask.

“He’s not aware of it if it does,” she gives you a sympathetic smile.

His fingers twitched momentarily but it was the only sign of movement.

You pull a chair up next to him and sit slowly. You can’t take your eyes off of him. You physically feel your heart break seeing him like this. Seeing any one of your team like this would devastate you. But Reid… you had a complicated but reluctantly understanding with. He was more like you than anyone else there. Seeing him often felt like looking in a mirror, seeing him hurt was too much.

“The machine is only doing 20% of the breathing for him. The fluid has reduced a lot. This is progress,” Hotch says somberly. You nod and wipe a tear.

You wished Reid could talk. He’d give you a million different probabilities of how this could play out along with a run down of what all of the equipment did. He’d be realistic but you had a feeling he’d give you hope. Maybe though, you just wanted to hear his voice.

You touch his hand, and trace his fingers delicately. You wished you could help him. Wished you could do something.

Garcia rubs Morgans back and gestures for him to follow her. The team leaves you to have a minute alone with him.

“Why did you take that step?” Is the first thing you say through tears. “That was so stupid,” you laugh. “You’re supposed to be the genius,” you breathe out another tear fueled laugh.

You wrap your hand over his and squeeze.

“This team needs you, please just keeping fighting Reid,” you implore him. “Your mom will be here tonight. It took some strings to pull but Garcia has her on a plane now.”

“I’m so mad at you. You brilliant asshole,” you can’t help but to smile.

And then, you don’t know why you do it. He would hate it surely, but you stand up and plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Your hair looks ridiculous by the way,” you whisper and push the baby hairs back.

You start to think that maybe if you hadn’t holstered your gun, Reid wouldn’t have felt the need to step in front of you to take the shot. That’s realization hits you like a ton of bricks and forces you to sit back down.

You were really starting to feel like it was your fault.

“I’m so sorry, Reid,” your voice cracks and you squeeze his hand a final time before leaving the room.

“Let’s get you home,” JJ says and grabs your uninjured arm.

-

Days passed, days passed and you didn’t want to leave your house. You listened to the doctors and primarily did bed rest, but you were ancy.

Spencer had been taken off of sedation last night and was becoming more lucid. You would get to see him tonight. Garcia says he’s improving quickly.

The last few days passed in a blur, the same way a hummingbird passes by a kitchen window. You rub your arms and sip your coffee. You don’t know how what you’re going to say to him.

Part of you still warred with guilt, with the way that technically you guys didn’t even like each other. Yet something had changed. Something gave way that night. You couldn’t explain it but you needed to talk to him. Maybe you needed to know whether or not he blamed you.

Did you make a bad call by holstering your gun?

You didn’t know. Hotch still hadn’t debriefed you or taken your statement of events.

Night falls and you step into Spencer’s hospital room hesitantly. You had been haunted by the state in which you saw him last time, the trauma of it all clawing at your heart.

To your surprise, his bed is propped up and there’s a book in his hand. You smile with delight at the way he can’t help but attempt to lean forward over the book like always.

“Wow,” you say. It’s remarkable how much better he looks. Still injured, still disheveled, but so much better.

He waves at you with that flat smile he favors.

“He can’t talk right now,” Morgan informs. “But he wrote down a list,” he holds up a stack of books.

“Of course Dr. Reid wakes up from a coma and wants to read Dostoevsky,” you smile.

He doesn’t return the sentiment but grabs what appears to be a white board and marker. He starts scribbling before holding it up to you.

“How are you?” It reads.

“Sore, but alive,” you want to say ‘thanks to you’ but you refrain. Instead you take a seat on the opposite side of the bed as Morgan.

“Well now that you’re here, I think I’m going to go home and rest,” Morgan sighs and stands.

“You’ve only been here a week,” you joke. “Get out of here, we’ll call you if anything changes.”

Spencer starts scribbling on his board again.

“I’m sorry,” it says in his signature hand writing.

“For what?” You ask softly and adjust in your chair to look in his bloodshot eyes.

“That you still got hit,” it says simply and he frowns.

“Don’t apologize! You saved my life,” you respond exasperatedly. “We almost lost you Spencer. You have nothing to be sorry for,” you don’t realize it but you start pacing. “I was so mad at you for stepping in front of me. That bullet should have been for me,” you gesture at him.

His eyebrows furrow and he starts shaking his head.

“No.” He writes on the board.

You sigh and sit back down when you see that his heart rate increases significantly on the monitor.

“Are you okay?” You redirect the conversation. He thinks for a moment and you find yourself wanting to touch his hair, to comfort him. It’s a new desire, an odd one.

“They haven’t explained what happened to me. I don’t remember,” he scribbles.

“Do you want me to tell you?” You ask and place your hand on his.

He looks down at where you touch him but nods.

You tell him everything from the moment you saw him bleeding to the surgery and the coma.

“But you’re out of the woods and making great strides to recovery,” you finish.

He presses his palm into his eye socket as though his head hurts before writing again.

“Thank you. I’m okay,” is all it says.

“You’re straining your eyes by reading,” you point out when he blinks as thought his head hurts.

He nods, aware of that fact.

“Here,” you take the book from him. He lets you and points out where he left off. You begin to read to him and he lays back in the bed with a deep breath.

“…He was so obsessed with what had happened to him that he was afraid to put it into words, lest he should lose it all at once, lest he should be left with nothing. He was so possessed by the idea that he was afraid to think of anything else; he wanted to forget everything else, to think of nothing, to do nothing, to feel nothing, so as not to lose what he had gained…” you trail off.

When you glance over at him he’s gripping his journal, the pen beside him, and he’s fallen asleep.

You dim the lights and take his journal from him. You glance only at what he had dozed off writing.

‘I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’

The quote takes you by surprise, mostly the familiarity of it. You can’t place where you’d read it before nor could you figure out why he was writing it.

Nonetheless you place the journal on the table beside him before moving to get comfortable in the recliner. You would sleep there tonight.

Sleep finds you slowly, the quote he sketched replaying in your mind. You’ll figure out where you read it tomorrow.

A/N: I just finished season 8, I had no idea until after writing this that Spence suffers a similar injury in season 9- oops.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @darklinsblog

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nightmares. Violence. Dub/non con. Kissing. Nudity. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Plot related cigarette use. Language.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello there! I wasn't intending on posting this chapter until I had the others finished but I guess Tumblr took that decision away from me and published instead of saving! Oh well, guess I'll roll with it. As always, I hope you enjoy and would be very happy to hear your thoughts. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The combination of the darkened clouds and the even more desaturated décor is making the room despairingly claustrophobic.

Sporadic breaths rattle up and down your trachea; a remnant of the fear that had been created by the tail end of that conversation. You are struggling to make sense of the direction it had taken; the barrelling downward spiral whereby you discovered your newfound status.

No longer do you hold the lone title of soulmate. You are a captive.

At least that's what Morpheus made it sound like. The word is shudder inducing and a fresh trickle of bile spills into your mouth.

The door he left through, the one blocking your freedom, you are standing close enough to it that you can see every grain and groove of the ebony wood - and the curious absence of a handle or lock. With a flattened hand you gingerly press against the varnished surface, upping the pressure when you don't appear to have tripped any alarms. There's no movement no matter how hard you push, not that you really anticipated any. Morpheus said locked in for a reason. Regardless, you feel that you needed to try just in case he had changed his mind. Again, an eventuality that you do not expect.

You get the sense that Morpheus' grasp of stubbornness would rival that belonging to a group of at least 100,000 people; he is a ruler, and a centuries-old one at that. Accustomed to being in control, well versed in the art of exerting it.

He's chilling too. That nightmare quality really won out just now. You have seen darkness in his eyes before, (brought on by intense moments including sexual desire) and the effects he can have on the environments surrounding him, but this was a whole new breed.

The deflection. The disdain. The remorselessness. How the shadows had danced around him like crude oil twisting in water, a cloak of obscurity and energy to drive you away and leave you isolated.

And your relentlessness was the catalyst for it being unleashed. You're unsure as to why you brought up the theoretical consequences of refusing to be his soulmate. It had just slipped out. There were numerous other ways in which you could have handled the situation yet that was the conversational path you took.

You shudder again, wrapping your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. It provides a measure of relief but also draws attention to the fact that he should be doing this. Morpheus should be holding you. Talking this through with you.

Instead he left you standing on the marble floor, the intrinsically endothermic nature of the material causing iciness to seep up your legs via your bare feet.

Seeking warmth, you move back to the bed and dejectedly lie down.

The usual covered plate of food has appeared on the bedside table; your expression is so obviously rattled that you can see every detail despite the metal's distortion. You roll over, not wanting to contemplate eating for even a second.

Your entire body is tense, with epicentres in your tight chest and thought-clogged brain, the latter of which is showing signs of inducing a migraine. You breathe with steady intent, a review of the encounter relentlessly replaying.

One question keeps rising to the surface, getting louder and more insistent with each iteration:

Why was he doing this?

He had said it was to protect you. That it was dangerous outside. Was the dream world suddenly that different now that you had free will? Surely he would have led with that if it were true. Found a way to make it safe...

He's been unfalteringly devoted to you in every other way thus far. The aftercare looked to be proof enough of his character. The reassurance, and explanations during the soul-tying. Holding you. Staying beside you while you slept, even though he did not require the rest himself.

But then there is the distinct lack of sharing, both of his internal and external worlds, and of course the 'it is not your place to do so' comment.

That one really stings. You had been convinced that you were his equal. Yet the way the words fell so easily from his mouth, without hesitation nor any sign of an underpinning emotion - it sounded like a response that was not uttered in the heat of the moment.

How were you to know though?

You've not known him for that long and it's not like you can tell from the bond between you, even now after days of longing to and trying to pick up on something, anything that would inform you of his heart. The one thing you can attempt to read into is the state of the ceiling sky; you are getting a sense that it is linked directly to his moods. Its sudden deterioration the moment you had voiced your concerns couldn't have been a coincidence, could it?

The more you grapple for meaning, the harder you are finding it to reconcile the evidence before you, so conflicted on your opinion of him, of the situation. Yet no amount of speculation and reframing could take away from the few facts you have:

The Fates had told you of an unfathomably long imprisonment that Morpheus had endured and suffered in.

So why was he putting you in a parallel of that?

How can someone who is supposed to be your soulmate be so unreadable to you, and so inexplicably cruel?

You curl into a ball, groaning out loud in frustration.

You ponder if there is something defective within you, if he can see something that you are too human to perceive. Maybe you deserve this on some level because you are not quite enough for him.

"No," you say out loud, firmly casting that contemptuous thought out of your mind.

You will not go in for self-loathing or self-pity. You are strong and capable and compassionate. Morpheus is still your soulmate. You can fix this. Once he's back, you will talk about this.

The resolution seems to lessen the lingering despair enough that you unwittingly fall asleep.

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

There's an anticipatory undercurrent to the chatter being passed back and forth across the circular tables spaced evenly across the function room.

You're sat at one such table, the hands folded in your lap occasionally brushing against the heavy dark blue velvet draped over the wood, the feel of the material's sumptuous pile triggering pleasant goosebumps.

Ice laden water jugs and bowls of savoury snacks occupy the middle of the table, and each seat is designated by a placeholder. Your name is displayed in a bold font across the folded piece of stiff card in front of you and the names of all your colleagues have been typed out on matching markers.

The lighting could be described as ambient, moody even - a strange choice for such a celebratory event. The strongest source of light is directed towards a projection screen, where the order of events are being presented.

You thumb the lock screen button on the right hand side of your phone to check the time. 20:28. The scheduled break is due to end soon. You take a sip of water from the tumbler stamped with your lipstick and wait.

The microphone on the podium clicks and crackles as it is brought back to life and all heads turn in unison towards the man standing there. A spotlight provided by the professional lighting rig suspended above is ignited, the light from it so bright that it obscures every feature on his face.

His tone is light as he reels off a few formalities, making a joke about the speed of which some individuals had headed to the bar come the start of the interval, eliciting a sequence of throaty laughs from the crowd. He then jumps back into the award giving.

"This person, I know for a fact has really been putting in the effort with developing the traits required to truly embody this accolade and everything it stands for. Taking gullible to the next level, allowing themself to be debased and shutting down all logical reasoning. A veritable inspiration of inconsequentiality; therefore, it comes as no surprise that the award for most worthless human goes to -"

He pauses for effect, and the entire room watches on with baited breath.

Condensation beads slip down the outside of the jug closest to you, mirroring a perspiration bead that has begun to slide from your nape. You look away from the stage, feeling an impending sense of doom slink into your stomach with the nausea that suddenly washes over you. Your intuition is well-founded.

The microphone wheezes as the man inhales the breath needed to deliver the announcement.

He says your name.

The applause that follows is rapturous; a chorus of hollers and whistles punctuating the clapping. It's like you're at a rock concert.

None of it aligns with the damning description of the award name. Under no circumstance do you want to go and accept it; doing so would show that you agree with the committee.

You sneak a glance over your shoulder, wincing at the harsh fluorescents spilling in from the foyer through the set of double doors - that is where you quietly need to get to.

You're pushing your chair back slowly and carefully, about to attempt this surreptitious exit when a spotlight hits you. The hand going for your bag freezes mid-reach.

It's as if a tractor beam has been activated. You cannot stop yourself from standing, cannot stop yourself from walking on the scuffed wooden floor, made that way from years of dancing.

The journey to the stage on your shaky legs is long, given your distance from it, intensified even further by the stares of your peers. You go up the steps at the side of the stage, jelly legs adding risk with the slight elevation. You grip the handrail in a white-knuckled fist.

The award waits on the podium: an oversized key on a black plinth, the golden colour of the metal glints temptingly. With your gaze turned downwards, the man shakes your hand with the pressure of a constrictor, praising you with words that you can't hear above the continued applause.

You force your mouth into a smile and ready yourself to take the award, telling yourself that being gracious is the best approach you can take.

Unfortunately, in your moment of acceptance, someone decides to take advantage.

There's a blow to the back of your knee caps.

You cry out from shock and pain; the sound doesn't last long for as soon as your knees make impact with the boards, a gag is forced into your mouth.

The situation and the gag make it hard to breathe in any way other than frantically, pulse just as agitated in your tight-feeling chest.

The crowd's clapping doesn't stop even as intricate restraints are added at your wrists, even as burning tears and sticky snot stream down your face.

The agony intensifies when you are hauled up by your hair and then herded by several pairs of hands towards the wings of the stage. Your eyes fall on the opaque box that stands just out of view of the crowd.

Its purpose is clear. It is to be your cage.

You're now screaming despite the gag, thrashing as you're dragged towards your doom. Not even allowing yourself to be a dead weight can save you; the cloying fingers are too numerous, too zealous.

The door to the cage opens and the presence of the oppressive void within ekes out towards you like a disturbing fog. Whatever is in there, you can sense it will smother you. Obliterate you slowly. And the people in this room seem to believe you are worthy of such a fate.

The hands anchored on your body begin their last pushes. You whip your head around, making a last attempt to search for an escape when you see a figure out the corner of your eye.

There's no questioning who it is; the person who has been on the periphery of so many dreams these past weeks, you would know him anywhere.

You see a glimpse of movement. Perhaps the raising of a hand. A ripple of power courses through the scene - you feel it vibrate in your chest. Everything freezes, and in that sudden silence you hear Morpheus' solemn and decisive words:

"This dream is over."

You startle, a shriek echoing about the sunless space as you are ripped from the dream. The sheets have you wrapped up like a python; you try with desperation to get free, half-convinced that those relentless hands are still trying to ferry you into that cage.

Floundering, you work and work against the fabric, crying out again when your progress is minimal.

"Soulmate."

Morpheus' deep voice sounds, speaking your name next in such an intimate and gentle way that you instantly halt in your struggle.

He is beside you.

All the attributes of concern are in his facial expression and body language, eyes glistening with an emotion you can't quite place.

"It is over now," he confirms, dissolving the sheet into nothing.

He comes closer, stroking your face with one hand, the other atop your chest with the palm centred on your soul. It's a welcome feeling, his attentions and being free from the tangle of sheets, but you are too far gone for it to stop the fear that the nightmare has set in motion.

"When you said that it was not my place to accompany you, is it because you think I'm less than you?" You ask in a cracking, pitiful voice.

Morpheus stills for a heartbeat, before bending his head to look you straight in the eyes. "No," he breathes. "My soulmate, I could never think that."

He kisses you softly.

It's not what you expected but nevertheless your hands cling to him on instinct, kissing him back and then he's suddenly straddling you. Covering your body with his own to give you a feeling of safety and it's exactly what you require.

You're on the verge of tears from it all, touching the back of his neck, gripping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Morpheus," you call.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

He kisses you deeper this time as if to corroborate his statement. It incrementally lessens your doubts and anxieties but there's a call for communication too.

"We need to talk about what happened," you say with quiet assertion.

For a moment, you wonder if he has even heard you for he claims your mouth again.

"I do not wish to talk," he eventually replies, immediately diving back in for yet another kiss. "I wish to take away your anguish."

"But -"

He hushes you, a soothing shut down that would be infuriating if not for the lingering unease of the nightmare clogging your emotions. "Let us forget what was said. Let us instead indulge in the pleasure of each other's bodies."

You blink, slowly processing his explicit inference, taken aback by the very obvious physical reactions they inspire. You force yourself to adopt a professional expression as your arousal begins to leak onto your gown.

"I want to talk to you."

He's smiling smugly as he tilts his head to the side. "Your emotions betray you dearest, as does your body. I know exactly what you want and it is not conversation."

Shame rises but is quickly blotted out by Morpheus' next action.

You feel bare skin against yours; he's used his power to disrobe you as well as him. A protest forms - he stifles it with his mouth. Your eyes are wide as you take it, as he shifts his weight ever so slightly to align your hips.

His own eyes stare you down after he pulls back, unblinking like an apex predator who has caught sight of its favourite prey.

Easy prey.

That's what you are.

He arranges you as such too; grasping your legs and moving your knees to your chest to bend you in half. Pinning you underneath him.

Neither of you last long with the tightness of the angle once you allow him to enter you.

To say you are dazed afterwards would be an understatement. The events of the past few hours have been persistently erratic. If Morpheus feels the same then it isn't apparent. The colour of his eyes are as clear and stable as the weather above, hand warming his favoured spot on your chest.

Your own hands wander up and down his body, running smoothly over his enticing skin.

"You have not touched your food," he comments quietly.

One of your palms moves absentmindedly to trail lazily across your abdomen. "If I'm being honest, I've been struggling to eat since I got here. For some reason I have no appetite or thirst."

"That would be a result of the immortality."

Your hands freeze up, brain doing the opposite as it spins out in a hundred directions.

"W-what did you say?" You stammer, praying you have misheard him.

"The immortality," he clarifies. "My power is within you and with it, comes certain endurances."

You sit up and put some space between you both. This was a serious matter. Despite your empty stomach you feel like you are going to vomit.

"How long have you known that?"

"It does not matter."

Red rag to a bull doesn't come close to covering what his dismissive reply makes you feel. The set of your jaw is so tight that a section on the left side begins to feather. You talk through gritted teeth, levelling a furious glare at him - making it transparent that you are not going to tolerate his evasiveness any longer:

"Tell me how long."

He makes the smart decision to pause to select his reply, though you decipher from the suddenly overcast sky that it is not going to be one that you will like.

"Since our souls joined."

Your hand flies to your chest, to your soul as tears start to brew.

"That was days ago!"

Morpheus simply looks at you.

"Did you not think that I had a right to know about something as life changing as that?"

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can issue a syllable.

"Please can you give me some time alone?"

Morpheus' intense stare - the one that had gone from intimidating to exhilarating - has now become distressing and you need to get out from under it.

To his credit, he does what you asked and the moment the door is closed, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely. The ceiling sky is so crowded with dark clouds that you are convinced that it's going to do the same as your eyes.

You feel like you've been tricked. You didn't ask for this, nor were you consulted.

The gilding has fully tarnished now, revealing that things were too good to be true. And had been from the very beginning. You had been swept up in the haze of sexual satisfaction, too blinded by the soul bond to see clearly. The nightmare had spelled it out flawlessly: gullible, debased and without logical reasoning.

The previous success in derailing your self-loathing falls short now. You are bolting down the path of internal admonishment.

How could you have been so naïve?

The answer is your hubris. It had felt good to be finally wanted, chosen to be a part of something bigger than yourself by making a difference to the Dreaming. Unless you had misunderstood.

No, the Fates had told you it in no uncertain terms. What they hadn't done however was provide a time frame. You had stupidly assumed it would be effective immediately. Instead you could be looking at decades, centuries even with this newfound information.

Even with the promise of eventual fulfilment, there was little chance that you would last for years in this room with your sanity intact.

You need distraction from the demoralising thought so you bluster through your bathroom routine like a whirlwind, slamming containers down where possible and huffing out exasperated sounds.

While the gown has re-materialised on the hook by the shower, you are dead set against putting it back on. You go to the bedside table and dive into the drawers to find your clothes from the night of the award ceremony, uncovering the cigarettes and lighter you forgot had been hidden there.

You don't even think before lighting one up, hoping that the nicotine will take the edge off your despair. You are quick to finish it and the clarity it brings encourages you to have a second. And then a third.

From the combination of your reclined position on the sheets and the dainty way you hold each cigarette, you can't help but feel like a 1940s starlet. It injects a bit of delirious humour, and also gumption into the mix.

"You are not at fault here," you whisper out loud. "He is the one who has an understanding of how soulmates work. He withheld that. You are allowed to be pissed off with him and you should let him see it."

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

By the time Morpheus returns, you are in full possession of your wits and sit perched at the foot of the bed. You regard each other; he appears a touch drawn out, eyes subdued and a small line marking the space between his eyebrows.

"You have been smoking," he states flatly.

Buoyed by the confidence gifted to you by said activity, you inhale the scent of the lingering bluish fog, flashing a sardonic smile as you audibly breathe out, labouring the point with the pleasurable sigh.

"What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to come back?" You cross your legs and smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in the bedclothes you meticulously rearranged.

The effects of your sarcasm are immediate; the air is becoming ominously dense, threatening to unleash a storm of epic proportions. Morpheus' fists clench and the pressure is dampened a fraction.

"Give them to me," he asks in a monotone.

"No."

Your connection is so devoid of dissonance at this point. Morpheus is stone carved. The kind of impenetrable that would shred and destroy finger nails; there is no point in trying to claw your way to the being beneath. The apathy sends your anger to new heights, compelling that shamefully vindictive part of you into lashing out. You want to hurt him just as he has hurt you.

"They're the only thing I have left from my real life."

A lethal quality seeps into his reply, "That life ended the moment you stepped out onto that street."

"Well then I should have run from you that night," you provoke further, tone biting as glacial ice on exposed skin.

The same shadows from before are crowding about his person, settling in his eyes - a tell that you have unleashed the nightmare form. You have to actively remind yourself to breathe at an even pace. All things you had queued up to say to him are long gone as you gaze upon his dark majesty.

"Even if you had been able to evade me, hide your physical body, I would have found you the moment you fell asleep."

The tether on his control slips as a single bolt of lightning turns the room to a white-out. The thunder never comes, instead the rumble of his voice.

"Do not think that I had not anticipated a refusal. I was more than prepared to use force to get what I wanted. What I was promised. I will not share you with anyone. You are mine. My soulmate. You -"

He stops unexpectedly and head snapping to look at the door.

You roll your eyes. "Let me guess, something requires your attention."

He takes in a deep breath. "I will return shortly."

You watch sullenly as he leaves you behind yet again, about to resume smoking when you feel an urge to re-examine the door. It is as pointless as before; no handle nor locks. Your fists hit the mahogany once, then twice before your composure fully deteriorates and you begin to hammer on it. Not because you are hoping to snag someone's awareness, for you heard it from Morpheus that no one could find this place. Sadly, you do it because you are losing hope.

Dejection momentarily quelled, you resort to staring at the door with such concentration that you fear it may trigger another headache.

"How the fuck do you work?" You ask it.

If there is no tangible way of holding it then that left the metaphysical as its locking mechanism. Metaphysical power that came from him - that now resided in you.

Maybe you could use it to break out...

You huff out a laugh at your optimism. There is no harm in trying.

Decision made, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to get the ruby ring you put by the sink. There's no chance you're escaping and leaving a beloved family heirloom behind.

You walk confidently to the door and plant yourself a forearm's length from it. The gold of the ring glimmers on your right hand as your press your palm to the glossy wood.

You do not want to be the person you were in the nightmare; forced into a box-encased void and cut off from the universe. You want to learn, to experience, to love. You want to have dreams and you're willing to make them with or without their master.

You are going to get out of here.

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

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the borderline of the edge, and where I walk alone."

[whatudottu]

Welcome one and all to my version of the party's loopified designs, featuring my many broken bones and blood stains I especially put into Odile who I tackled second unlike the alphabetical order that I have presented here! I'll have in-depth discussions on each designs and matching practice portraits under the cut but before that-

Siffrin 'barely taller than a preteen' no middle name no last name Loop is still barely taller than a preteen but now that preteen can claim fire to their height!

Alphabetical order GO!

Bonnie, who I've been calling Bonfire (which if that ends up being their name I can imagine Bonnie calling them 'Fire' while they call Bonnie 'Face' to match), was the last of my designs because frankly I knew from the start what their design was going to take influence from and also knew I was going to draw fire :P They were based on bonfires (of course) and also specifically the Burning Man effigies just for a humanoid figure, plus being a chef cooker and a campfire and also a very heated expressive person.

Their flames are hot but not actual wood burning so the Favour Tree (and Mirabelle in the height chart) are not at risk of combusting, they're just incredibly bright-

Isabeau my first design, with influences from @basilpaste 's Lock (with a dressform body) and @nullapophenia 's original version of Husk (the faceless identityless sketch), I have combined them both to make a mannequin it/its loopified design that finally gets to be capital T Tall all for the low low price of being Changed against its will and suffering another bout of body dysphoria that it can't fix anymore :) :) :) When I was referencing mannequins I actually noticed how long their legs actually were let alone how they were perma-stuck in that Barbie-like highheel pose and thought why don't I just curse Isa with something he previously wanted :P

Something something Isabeau actively Changed not only his body but his personality to become someone he wouldn't be ashamed of, yada yada Loopsabeau is back to hating itself and has started to become a person it despises to match (also like a mannequin it's head and arms are technically painlessly removeable :P)

Third in order and third in design is Mirabelle, who technically is the only loopified design with technically hair and clothes, but the hair are the tangled roots of the Favour Tree and the clothes are like the carved hardstone statues of religious figures :P Initially my Idea for Mirabelle was to make her kinda like her statue, with the wonky expression of someone who made it without much mastery over details, not to pit anything against Mira, no, no. Thought about maybe abstract statue design but I couldn't find a version I liked but I did always imagine her statue being weathered in some way, there was a reason why I saved her for third I couldn't pick what I wanted. But then I remembered the broken Change God statues, thought about the 'blessing' that ended up being a curse, and then thought about overgrown weathering and gave her the roots.

I actually looked up Black hairstyles and mostly wondered what specific hair texture Mirabelle had (she wears it in a fro of course, but she has flyaways that aren't coils, but she described her own hair as kinky and :P) so that if I were to mimic hair with tree roots I can get an appropriate matching hairstyle (settled on megatwists). Hah, if Mira has 4C hair, considering how long her hair actually looks, if she to wear her hair in twists she might actually have elbow length hair :P

I spent 8 non-consecutive hours on Odile can you tell? Can you see my hands bleeding my wrist breaking my eyes drooping? Yeah so Odile was again, my second design and it took me a week to recover, and she's a combination of gem and mirror suit with all the little fragments floating around her the 'diamonds' that represent all her family members party plus the ones she originally had in sets of 2. I also put geodes where parts of her body have broken off (inspired by how when the King strikes she can't move, plus also being a glass canon) where when I was actually drawing those geodes that they kinda use the Change symbol?

Circle within a circle within a circle, regardless of how wiggly it is, and at the centre is a cluster of crystals. That was an accidental reference to Odile's mixed heritage but hoo boy what a connection! Her missing pieces are a combination of 'being too old for this' fragility and also 'i didn't want to render more mirrors sue me'

Anyway I am going to put my wrist in a cast and imagine loopified party members with their pre-wish counterparts :P

[chuuyrr]

SAY MY NAME AND EVERYTHING JUST STOPS — NAKAHARA CHUUYA

=͟͟͞♡ CW(s): NSFW, MDNI, f! reader, tummy bulging, oral (f! receiving) slight overstimulation, soft! chuuya constantly calls you nicknames like good girl, sweetheart, and baby

=͟͟͞♡ SYNOPSIS: in which you and chuuya share a secret moment together that's a bit closer than usual

=͟͟͞♡ INSPIRED BY: dress and false god by taylor swift !

before you read: i wrote this as a part two of i can see you in mind, but i think this can be read as a stand alone

it was nearly midnight when the gala ended.

since the event was being conducted by a powerful and high-class organization, the armed detective agency and the port mafia sent you and chuuya there for intel purposes, but you couldn't help but take the tie-up assignment a little too far.

you and your partner had already gotten what you needed, but you took advantage of the opportunity to let loose and have some fun as you drank your third drink of the night, and the fact that you were dressed up so beautifully for the occasion didn't help chuuya either.

you looked so stunning in your sweetheart neckline dress with a slit showing off the soft and tender flesh of your left leg, matching shoes and jewelries, and hair and make-up that would make anyone swoon.

chuuya felt hot and bothered as he watched from afar while sipping his own glass of wine as your face gradually became flushed from all the beverages you were drinking while you smiled and danced on the floor. one of his hands was tugging at his own collar, his suit felt unreasonably thick for some reason.

chuuya sighs and checks his watch as he finishes his last glass of wine. it was becoming late, and he didn't want you to come home in a drunken stupor.

chuuya always felt so different whenever he was with you, especially right now, with all the banters, drinks, and conversations he had with you, as well as the intimate moments you spent as you two belonged to different organizations.

it warms his heart to see how far you two have come. chuuya could still remember the first time you two met, how he used to become upset with you fooling with him and snatching his knife, but now you have taken his heart and he had entirely given it up to you.

but right now, chuuya wants you more than he has ever desired you before.

chuuya shakes his head and approaches you in the middle of the room, gently taking your arm in his hand and saying, "hey, pretty. don't you think it's becoming late?

"chuuya, hey," you turn your head to face him, half-lidded eyes on him, before wrapping your arms around his suit-clad torso, your cheek against his chest, "there you are pretty boy.

chuuya feels his heart skipping a beat. even when you're somewhat tipsy, the way you say his name makes his heart flutter and warm inside his chest, and it was enough to make everything around him stop and his universe revolve around you, and only you.

"yeah, sweetheart? i'm right here," chuuya whispers quietly, in a rather husky and deep tone of voice.

his hands were trembling with anticipation as one of them moved to your cheek to caress it, while the other trailed from your arm to wrap around your back to hold you as well.

chuuya draws the two of you away from the crowded room, his back against the hallway wall, while he passionately plants a kiss on the crown of your head.

truth be told, you were the only one he was like this to. chuuya was never this gentle with his coworkers. you were different, as you had always been, and no one knew about you and him.

you were the only one who got to see this side of him, and no one else did, without even having to try. everyone only sees the unyielding, intimidating, and short-tempered side of him, never this one.

"chuuya," you softly murmur again, looking up at him with a small pout.

"hmm?" chuuya struggles to keep his breath from hitching. you look so damn beautiful in this angle, with your body pressed against his and your face resting on his chest.

the alcohol was starting to seep into your systems, making you a little more honest than usual as you say with a cheeky little smirk that he admires, "i have a secret to tell you."

chuuya could feel your heart beating against his chest. you seem a bit nervous for the first time despite your playful display, despite the fact that you're typically so upbeat and confident with him, especially at work.

"and what's that?" chuuya blinks, his hand still softly caressing your cheek, and he can't help but chuckle as you look up at him.

you straighten up and stand on the tips of your heels, your lips just a few inches away from his, your cherry wine breath teasing him as you say, "i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

"fuck," chuuya whispers quietly as he feels the blood rush to his cheeks, as well as the alcohol in his system from all the wine he's been drinking from this occasion.

he finds himself gripping your waist a little tighter now as he softly says again and tries to gather himself, "don't say things like that, [name]. people could hear you, baby."

"but i want you to, chuuya," your eyes meet and you speak in a language that only you two understand as you say, "and i want you too."

chuuya trails the hand he was using to caress your cheek and slides it to grab your waist before shakily moving both of his hands to your hips.

he moves in closer, your faces practically touching as he traces your temple with his nose before pressing his lips lovingly on your cheek and pulling you closer against his body.

"i want you too, baby. i've always had, and you've always seen that i have, no?" he murmurs huskily with a smirk before pressing his lips on yours, eliciting a soft moan from you.

chuuya is honestly surprised that he was able to drive you both back to his penthouse after you had been almost all over each other since the gala, practically in each other's tongues and making out in the hallway in secret.

as you made your way inside place, you and chuuya were nearly tripping over each other.

"up," chuuya whispers a delicate request on your lips before kissing them for the nth time tonight, his hands carressing the side of your thighs over the fabric of your pretty dress.

you jump obediently, urging him to carry you as such with his hands firmly beneath your thighs, and it doesn't take long for the two of you to end up in his bed.

chuuya hovers over your body, biting his bottom lip and groaning at the sight of you on his sheets, looking so ethereal with your hair undone and lipstick smudged from all the passionate kisses, while you look up at him with those pretty eyes, admiring the lipstick stains you've peppered on his face and neck.

despite the intense and desperate tension in the air, chuuya's hands were warm and soft, but yet quick as they roamed your body, feeling you up through your clothes.

as your arms wrap around his neck, he grinds his knee into your clothed pussy and kisses you passionately on the lips. the weight of you and him causes the mattress to dent and creak.

chuuya pulls away a little after the kiss, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek as he looks down at you with a chuckle, "shall we take this further? i wanna make sure my sweetheart wants this as much as i do, and also to make sure i'm not dreaming either."

"mhm," you nod swiftly before turning your head to kiss his palm cupping your cheek and smile at him.

chuuya nods his head as well when he receives your consent before he carefully removes your dress, his hands sensually working their way to unzip your dress from you and get rid of the rest.

your arms wrap around his neck again as he takes off his own clothes with you helping him unbutton and unzip everything, drawing him closer as his warm lips plant feathery kisses on your neck and his hands delicately carress your hips, worshiping them.

"chuuya, i need you right now. please," you moan out his name quietly, and the way you say it always gets the best of him. it always makes his heart skip a beat.

"i know, baby. i know," chuuya kisses your ear before gently nibbling it, causing a soft but sweet little whine to escape your lips.

chuuya kisses you from your ear to your neck, delicately tracing your body all the way to your abdomen and, eventually, your inner thighs. as he holds your thighs firmly apart just to bury his face in between your legs, your chest heaves up and down, your breathing hitching.

you shudder and moan softly as he kisses your inner thighs, nibbling on the tender flesh before slowly trailing his lips to your pussy. as you feel his tongue prod at your clit, you let out a stifled but sweet little whine as your body arches.

your leg trembles as you squirm, but he only pulls your thighs more apart to keep you in place and make an easier access for him.

"stay still for me, pretty girl," chuuya's smile and breath brush up against your dripping wet cunt, which was practically demanding to be licked, fingered, and fucked by him.

chuuya kisses your clit once more, and kitten licks your pussy until he begins to lap at it, probing it inside while stuffing his face between your thighs as if he wants to suffocate himself in them.

"a-ahh, mmh!" the wet muscle repeatedly lapped at your cunt. as chuuya deeply plunges and swipes his tongue in between your folds, your eyes began to water with ecstasy.

chuuya pushes his tongue inside you as deeply as he can, and you let out a quiet cry of pleasure as you come undone, and the way you say his name and moan always sounded like heaven to his ears.

chuuya places a soft kiss on your sweet cunt before gently taking a hold of your hips to carress it meticulously as you lay there on his sheets, a shuddering mess with tearful eyes.

ge then adjusts both of your positions in bed, causing you to squirm as he properly lays you on your back with a pillow propping you up as he positions in between your legs, hovering you.

his cock was now just in between your folds, and you could feel his pre-cum seeping from his tip, wetting your folds even more as your arousal increased. you whimper softly at the position, but chuuya softly hushes you as he gently thrusts in.

you cry soft yet choked moans beneath him, wriggling at the sensation of being packed by his girthy cock. you could feel it reach every inch of your inner walls, and chuuya grunts as they tighten around him.

"fuck. you feel so good, pretty girl," chuuya grunts in pleasure as he starts to thrust and grip your hips in place.

you and chuuya have never been this close before. it was always just a simple makeout with a few carresses here and there, but tonight was different.

right now, all you could do was lie there while he rowed his hips against you, making you moan and whimper out his name in pleasure, and to him? hearing you say his name like that just makes everything stop.

when one of his hands trails from your hips to your tummy, you moan out, shuddering a little more intensely than earlier, "chuuya, a-ah!~"

he bites his lower lip, groaning as he presses his hand on the bulge on your tummy. he stares down at you with a loving gaze before his gaze fixes on the bulge that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts his cock so deeply into you.

it was quite a sight to behold, along with the way your legs shook with each sensation of being stuffed by his girthy cock.

"chuuya, please! w-wait," you say in between your moans as he starts to intensify his thrusts, which makes you squirm beneath him.

"shh, shh~ it's okay, baby," chuuya says in a hushed tone, pressing you down further im bed by putting his weight on you so you couldn't pull or squirm away from him.

he was now gripping your hips to hold you more firmly in place as he continues row his hips back and forth, harder and faster now with his lips right against the spot behind your ear. chuuya does it over and over again, intending to fill you up and make you feel good just as you deserve.

sounds of pleasure filled the bedroom and were followed by the slaps of skin.

you shudder and cry as your pussy clenches around him hard and tightly when his cock twitches inside you and fills your walls with his hot, thick cum.

you laid in his sheets, panting softly and trying to catch your breath, but chuuya wasn't finished yet. he refuses to pull out and hovers over you with a breathy smile.

"chuuya?" you feel your cheeks grow warm as you call out his name.

"i'm not yet done, sweetheart," chuuya chuckles deeply as he finally pulls out, but leaves in just the tip of his girthy cock between your folds.

before you can say anything else, he thrusts his cock back into your sodden and sensitive cunt, easily gliding in with his cum and yours serving as a lubricant. you arch your back and let out a small broken moan of pleasure.

"c-chuuya!~" you gasp softly as he rocks back and forth inside you, thrusting deeply that you could feel the tip bulge your tummy again.

"shh, it's okay. you can take one more, yes? i just wanna make my good girl feel so good," chuuya murmurs in a hushed tone as he kisses you deeply for the umpteenth time, muffling your moans.

his warm body presses you down the matress once more, and at this rate, he could almost carve your shape and name in his bed.

you continue to moan, your hands reaching for his back, only to dig your nails into his back and your heels into the mattress as you kicked them reflexively from the intense pleasure.

"almost there my good girl. just a bit more, okay? hold onto me tight," chuuya whispers in between his passionate kisses on your lips with one of his hands gripping your hips in place even more firmly now, intensifying his thrusts.

he moves frantically now, burrowing himself deeply inside you, simply wanting to feel you and himself bulge on the same spot on your tummy with his other hand. he massages his fingers on your tummy, addicted to the way it emerges and re-emerges with each thrust.

your hear was hazy, and every inch of your body was sensitive, especially your sodden and squelching cunt, with the overwhelming pleasure overstimulating you with each deep and furious thrust so that you couldn't construct any proper words and only moan.

"chuuya!~" he breaks the kiss just on cue, just as you moan again, your body arching against him at his final deep thrust into you.

chuuya can't help but admire how you sound so lovely and how he feels your tummy bulge from his deep thrusts as his cum fills up your inner walls for the second time, stuffing you full that some of it was rolling down your inner thighs and on the sheets.

his heart flutters at the thought of being this close to you with your nails deep into his back, painting it with your love marks.

"good girl, pretty," chuuya breathily says to you, chuckling before pressing a kiss on your lips, his tongue intertwining with yours as you wrap your arms around his neck once again.

you two share a few more kisses as you feel his hands that were gripping your hips loosen up and trail to your waist instead, caressing you delicately to easen you as you come down from your high.

chuuya does this a couple of more times before pulling away just a bit, now carressing your face tenderly with one of his hands and a smile.

you return the loving smile he gives you and he wraps his arms around you this time, hugging you closely to his chest as he falls back in his bed. he presses another kiss, this time on the top of your head, as he cups your face.

"i love you," he whispers as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek with his breath tickling your skin.

you cuddle up to chuuya, feeling warm and comfortable in his arms just like this, and you softly murmur in response, "i love you too."

chuuya exhales softly, a smile tugging on his lips as he closes his eyes and continues to hold you, running his fingers through your hair.

you two may have been enemies owing to your respective reputations and organizations, but only you and chuuya knew you two were so much more than that.

you were each other's secret mission, and today you two had never been closer than ever.

[i-heart-hxh]

Hey! This is purely me and my morbid curiosity asking, but you mentioned you buy in to the pregnancy stone oops baby Gon origin story more than an actual mother. Can you elaborate, even if it falls with what others may have already brought up? I'd love to get your take! (also, I sent a review of your chapter 4 hxhbb fic, but I think it might've been eaten!)

Hi!

So, I do buy into it, somewhat! I think, for the time being, it's the best theory we have on Gon's parentage. There are a few interesting details related to it.

First off, Togashi included this woman with Ging in some of his early HxH concept drawings, from November 1997:

People have speculated that the woman next to Ging might be Gon's mother, however there isn't actually conclusive evidence of this--it's just a theory. It could also be an early design concept for Mito, Menchi, or one of the other female characters from the series, as the drawing isn't labeled with a name or description like some of the others. Or, she could be a scrapped concept even if she was intended at the time to be Gon's mother, as clearly this isn't finalized in any way.

You can read about this drawing a bit more here!

However, of course within the series itself we have no info on who Gon's mother might be, and Togashi did bother to include the Pregnancy Stone card:

Now, an interesting connection with this is that Togashi is known to have read the BL manga Patalliro!, as he based Hiei's hair off one of the characters, Scunky:

(From a doujinshi Togashi released, Yoshirin de Pon!)

There is also an unconfirmed but very reasonable theory that Killua may have been based in part of the character Maraich from Patalliro!, as the basis of both characters is similar and we know for a fact from the above image Togashi has read Patalliro!.

Now, how does this connect to the Pregnancy Stone theory? Well, Patalliro! also has mpreg as part of its storyline (with biologically male Maraich getting pregnant twice through unexplained means, with one of these pregnancies leading to a son), and considering Togashi may have used other elements from Patalliro! as inspiration... You can see where I'm going with this. I do think it's interesting he put the Pregnancy Stone card in the series to begin with, and there's also the Panda Maid card ("excellent at taking care of human children"), and Ging has used a panda plush as a substitute for himself in the Election arc. Coincidence? Hmmm...

Image taken from this post, explaining more about the Pregnancy Stone theory.

My personal feelings now that I've laid all this info out are basically... I've talked a lot about how intentional Togashi's storytelling is and how much attention he pays to things, so I think he planted this knowing people would consider it a possibility, at the very least. We don't have any other theories about Gon's mom that have this much to go off of. It's possible he will reveal more info eventually and either make this more likely or explain Gon's origin in some other, totally different way, but for now I think this is compelling--there are enough pieces that it is a legitimate possibility.

I'm not someone who is interested in mpreg (or any kind of preg, for that matter, LOL), so I don't spend a lot of time thinking about this whole situation or the mechanics behind it, but I do think it would be pretty hilarious if this does canonically end up being Gon's origin story after all. Just such a wild way for Gon to come into existence. It'll be interesting to see if we ever get answers with regards to who/where Gon came from, whether it's by Pregnancy Stone or not.

It's a fun topic because it seems so goofy and farfetched initially, but the more you look at it, the more it's like, "Actually..." 🤔

(And thanks again for the review, my apologies that it took me a while to reply!)

[arminsumi]

OUR LAST SUMMER.

五夏 ⋅ reader

PART OF THE 2k SPECIAL: ur fave duos!!

NOTE: yuh this hurt to write 🥹 was solely inspired by that one abba song i'm ngl i listened to it one night and related it to satosugu and cried like a bitch

SUMMARY — You, Suguru and Satoru shared one summer of bliss before everything fell apart

WARNINGS — fluff to angst 👍, love triangle, i think it's gn reader but lmk if there's something not gn thank u!!

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1k

PLAY ME ♪ Our Last Summer

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

It had been a blisteringly hot summer. Sweat beaded at Suguru’s forehead. The sun forced Satoru’s eyes into a perpetual squint. And you took shelter in the shade of a palm tree – the two boys met you there, when they too decided to take shelter in the shade. The chemistry between you three was explosive, truly chemical; that one of a kind, once in a lifetime kind of friendship that blooms instantly like a timelapse of a flower, that artists and poets try their hand at capturing but mostly fail.

Beach walks were impossible at midday – the sand was so hot that it burned the soles of your feet. If you were riskily treading barefoot, then the boys would take turns carrying you. Satoru carried you bridal style. Suguru carried you on his back. The prior liked to pretend that he was going to throw you into the ocean (and he did a few times…) and the latter liked to steal romantic glances at you.

Come night, you three crammed together in one hotel room. Conversations, debates, arguments, flirting… those all easily carried past the midnight hour. Satoru was the first to pass out, but Suguru being the insomniac of the group managed to stay awake even longer with you. Usually, you fell asleep in the middle of expressing a thought to Suguru, and then woke up the next morning to two bleary blue eyes blinking awake on your left and abyssal black eyes blinking awake on your right. Satoru rolled on top of you and refused to let you leave bed. Suguru smiled and told him to stop crushing you to death.

Breakfasts were met with late attendance – thanks to Satoru taking his sweet time in the bathroom getting ready. Plates piled and spilled with hotel buffet food; Satoru’s plate consisted solely of sweet pastries. The custard Danishes were his favourite. The three of you broke down laughing at your inside joke about him being the custard Danish robber; the three of you couldn’t catch your breaths from how hard you laughed at your own stupid jokes. “He’s at it again!” Suguru snorted, body falling into yours, eyes reduced to strips of pure joy.

Butterflies liked Suguru for some reason. It was awful for him – he was terrified of butterflies, they really creeped him out. During walks around Okinawa, you struggled to keep up with the two giants; Satoru never missed a beat when walking in sync with his best friend. And he also never missed the opportunity to pick on your slowness or size. Suguru would patch up your bruised ego with a well-timed compliment.

When your holiday in Okinawa was drawing to a close, you three decided to cram as much exploration as possible into those three last days. Pulling all-nighters, stargazing, joking around, sharing secrets, kissing as friends until those kisses became something more. The final day of your holiday was spent ascending a hill that overlooked the glittering beaches. Such a picturesque view. One you didn’t dare to capture in a photograph, because that felt disrespectful. It was a beautiful landscape that deserved to live only in the rich world of your memories.

On that grassy hill, in that briny wind, you three thought that the present moment would never end. You held hands. You kissed. Your hands felt warm. Your lips felt tingly. They both looked at you meaningfully.

“Come back to Jujutsu High with us.” You didn’t hesitate to agree, a sparkle in your eyes. No one in your life had ever accepted you as a sorcerer until they came along.

Summer ended…

And the school year began.

In the far future, when you and Satoru would reminisce together as old Jujutsu High teachers to your students, you two would summarize your high school days with very specific memories.

“Remember when we always got caught making out in the classroom, and Yaga chased us down the corridors?”

“ – and we’d loiter around the vending machines. You know, Yuji, Satoru had such a bad sweet tooth even back then. And! He! Stole! My! Lunches! He was a menace!! Don’t deny it, Satoru.”

“What I stole from you in food I repaid in saving your ass. Remember when you almost died? No joke, Megumi, Y/n almost died during that Alleyway Incident – you know that one we talked about? Yeah, that was Y/n. Suguru and I were stronger than Y/n so we always helped – heyyy! I’m just telling the truth!”

“Who was Suguru?”

The smiles dropped from yours and Satoru’s faces. The color drained out of them, too. Just one little name, six little letters, devastated the atmosphere. That’s when the reminiscing ceased abruptly, and Satoru stood up and excused himself to a quiet place. You and him never cried together, only separately – except for on that day.

That day was the first and only day you and Satoru broke down sobbing into each other. Snot dribbled out of your noses. Your eyes puffed up. Your faces felt tightened with the dried tears.

“Suguru, don’t leave. Come back with us to Jujutsu High, we can sort all of this out.”

But he turned and walked away from you and Satoru, disappearing into the crowd of people. You yelled so loudly that you hurt your lungs, “Did our last summer mean nothing to you! What about the memories we’ve made at school together?! Suguru, don’t you walk away from us! Don’t – leave us behind, S-Suguru did it all mean nothing to you?!”

Just like that, three reduced to two. Just you and Satoru. Sat on the steps in heavy, impenetrable silence. Faces planted into your palms. Back curved because you had no energy to sit up straight after such an exhausting cry. You never thought you’d look into Satoru’s eyes and see no light. Over the years, he lightened up – especially when he became a teacher. But you could tell he masked his true expression; a deadpan. The real emotions were forcefully forgotten.

[jesncin]

Lil' musing about Public Domain, AI theft and Transformative creativity

Old essay originally written on Cohost in February 2024. With additions.

I'm putting my thoughts here because I don't want to risk going viral for subtweeting discourse again, here we go! So with the Steamboat Willie Variant of Mickey Mouse going to public domain I've seen the usual cynical pushback over transformative art. Particularly in response to overplayed EDGY DARK WINNIE THE POOH and EDGY DARK STEAMBOAT MICKEY and YOUR CHILDHOOD THING DARK NOW that inevitably happens around this time.

But to group all transformative art as derivative, soul-less, profit-driven, lazy and "reliant on past successes" is frankly just...really silly? I saw a notable concept artist making this over-simplified talking point, and I find it odd that someone can look at the most visible (by being formulaic, provocative and made by rich people) examples of public domain adaptations and just generalize all art ever inspired by a thing as uninventive and compare artists who do that to being "ai-like". It feels like the false dichotomy constantly set between "real books" and fanfiction.

We've seen marginalized people reclaim cosmic horror from Lovecraftian fiction. I've seen queer people reckon with and reclaim the queer history of Peter Pan. There's something special about taking a familiar thing and informing it with a perspective that wasn't present in its original iteration. It takes a whole other part of your creative brain muscles to adapt and reimagine something that already exists. And it can be just as creatively fulfilling as making original stuff.

While it's important to recognize and remember the origin of archetypes in stories or movements in art, I think there's sometimes a misplaced reverence put towards the original version of something. Whenever I talk about how Asian writers like Gene Yang and Sarah Kuhn have more thoroughly integrated Superman's immigrant themes in their re-imaginings of his mythos than their white peers have, I get hit with the constant "hey remember Superman's creators were the sons of Jewish immigrants (who made racist jokes about Chinese people)" and "hey remember, Gene Yang and Gurihiru's Superman Smashes the Klan was based on a radio show arc made by WHITE people first (who made the story about a binary of Good white people vs Bad white people, along with centering how white people feel about racism)".

Especially if it's a means of centering white creatives, people love to dismiss the transformative contributions of marginalized people, but especially that of people of color. It took until 2016 for the World Fantasy Award to change their statuette to not be based after the face of renown racist H.P Lovecraft, after all.

Last year I gave myself the goal to do something "unnecessarily ambitious" with no plan of pitching/printing/selling it. Just "art for art's sake", something really not-algorithm-friendly. And yeah, that ended up being a fully rendered, 40-page martian manhunter fan comic. I did it for no other reason than being a huge fan of a severely unpopular character and feeling like there was a new story I really wanted to tell about the character that would never happen in canon with how little there's been written about him. I don't think it's fair to call writing 40 pages of a new origin story, drawing fully colored pages with unique re-designs, reading hours of martian manhunter comics to tie different aspects of his lore into coherent worldbuilding, putting that comic up for free for the few other Green Justice League Guy fans to read, as lazy, profit-driven, and soul-less.

There's tons of artists who do stuff like this all the time. It just comes off as being very out of touch to view true creativity as only existing one way. That transformative media must inherently be "less". One time a white guy pitched to me some ideas he had for Superman if he ever had a chance to write him, and I said "that sounds cool, you should write a fanfic about it" and another white guy (who felt the need to come to the first one's defense), viewed what I said as an insult. There's something about doing fanart because you enjoy it and don't need to profit out of everything you make that's seen as lesser than having the seal of canonicity from a company.

My motto with making needlessly ambitious fancomics is "You don't need to work for DC Comics to make DC comics". Because canonicity has nothing to do with what makes art special.

To bring this back to edgy Mickey Mouse spin offs, even if you do just want to make cliche mascot-horrified stuff because you enjoy it, then by all means go ahead! I always go back to this video Sagan Hawkes did about petscop-inspired video series. There's a running theme about grappling with the concept of Originality in Art in relation to youtube horror projects (the thesis comes around at 2:04:10), and some valuable words are shared in the collected interviews with web series creatives (2:18:47) in the end. SeireaSong (creator behind Diminish) talks about how misguided conversations surrounding "originality" can be (2:29:43). It's so worth it to watch when you have the time.

Anyway happy 2024! Be good to each other.

[queenofspades6]

Greatest Investment | Kaz Brekker x reader

Summary: You eavesdrop on Kaz and Inej, you watched as they get closer, and well, it doesn’t go as planned…

Based on this request I received:

”Hiii! I haven't watched the second season yet, but I saw a Gif of a kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and I was wondering if you would write about the reader having feelings for Kaz since they met, but she doesn't have the courage to talk, so at some point in the day she goes to check if Kaz needs anything and ends up witnessing the kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and the reader feels like the silliest person in the world after that.”

Warnings: Angst. (Sorry…)

A/N: Hi! I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote, I took some liberties since I was so inspired by the request!! I love some good angst! Did I use again in a Kaz Brekker fic title the word ‘investment’? Oops…I think meeting Freddy and Amita made me that way! They are so incredible!

———

Being Ketterdam’s most famous assassin wasn’t an easy life. You were one of Kaz Brekker’s Crows, always here if needed. Since you were part of the Crows, there was something unspoken between Kaz and you. There was some sort of tension from the beginning, even Nina and Jesper had noticed.

”How is the most beautiful woman in Ketterdam doing?“ Jesper asked, taking place to the bar counter next to you.

You rolled your eyes and repressed a grin.

“What do you want, Jesper?“

“Can’t I just compliment you without needing a reason?”

You stared at him meticulously, but Jesper couldn’t look back. Interesting. He needed to ask you something then...

“Fine! Fine! I need your help.“

You sighed but smiled.

”What? It’s not my fault, Y/N, if you give good advice! Don’t blame me!”

”Jesper, what do you need me for?“ You questioned, taking a sip at your drink.

“You see...“

Jesper was trying to avoid your gaze.

”Jesper. My patience has its limits.”

“Alright! Fine! I want to prepare a date for Wylan and I need your help.” He spitted, playing with his gun on his hand.

You nodded.

”I’ll help you. What do you need me for?“

”I don’t know what to plan. Maybe something he’ll like.”

You laughed, thinking about your previous conversation with Wylan about a sweet and wonderful place you both wanted to go to escape for once the cold streets of Ketterdam.

“Jes. You know what? Bring him to Butterfly’s Heaven, you declared, a smile already drawing on your lips at the thought, it’s a greenhouse where all the species of butterfly can fly freely. There’s also an endearing cafe there to drink something while watching the butterflies.” You replied, stars already dancing in your eyes thinking about all the marvelous butterflies.

“Do you think Wylan will love it?”

”Definitely! We talked about it all week, and he was desperate to go. You should bring him. He’ll love it. And buy him a stuffed toy, he’ll marry you right after.”

Jesper was smiling at the thought of Wylan asking his hand in marriage.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“You and Wylan deserve to be happy.“

“What if it’s not enough, Y/N? What if I am not enough?” He opened up, not caring if he was vulnerable in front of you.

“You are enough, Jesper, you always have.”

You looked at him and smiled, hoping one day you’ll find someone that will care for you as much as Jesper wants Wylan.

“Wylan thinks you are enough, he loves you, Jes. And even Kaz knows it, even if he won’t ever admit it.”

You took another sip of the whisky in front of you and heard someone giggling.

”Hi Y/N!”

Wylan was embracing Jesper with his hands around his shoulders.

“Hi you.” Wylan said to Jesper.

Jesper didn’t even reply and kissed him tenderly as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And at that moment, you swore he were. They broke the kiss, and Wylan blinked several times as if to recover from the intensity of the kiss. It warmed your heart, even if you said nothing.

“What were you talking about?” Wylan asked, coming back to his senses.

Jesper almost jumped off his seat.

”We were talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz!“ Jesper answered spontaneously, too scared to reveal what he had planned.

”What? We were?” You almost spitted your drink on the counter of the bar. Now you were facing Jesper and Wylan. How dare he expose you like that?

”Oh seems interesting.” Wylan said, waiting for you to say more.

“There’s nothing between me and Kaz.”

Wylan looked at you wide-eyed, and Jesper sighed, before saying:

”Lie, Y/N. Haven’t you noticed how Kaz always checks on you after a heist, how you always have dresses, jewels, food, everything you want given to you for nothing in shops, you think it’s because of your fine looks? No. Even if you’re beautiful, Y/N, no offense! It’s Kaz’s doing. He made me went with him to each shop, each café, each place in Ketterdam you would want to go to pay, or should I say ‘bribe’ them for you to always have what’s best, no matter the cost.”

”That’s not true, that’s-”

”And what about this time you almost died, and he stayed at your bed an entire week, ordering every Dreg not to disturb him, and how you always have your tea and waffles ready for you every morning? Even Nina is jealous!” He confessed.

”I thought it was you or Wylan who was making me breakfast every morning!”

”It’s not.“ He muttered.

”He’s right, Y/N.” Wylan nodded. ”Even Nina told me last time about how his heartbeat jumped when you are in the same place, and how irritating it was for her to feel both of your heartbeats jumping when you’re together.”

“You should tell him how you feel, Y/N. You are the one who encouraged me to be with Wylan, because life is short, and in Ketterdam, death is always near. He cares about you, more than he’ll ever admit.”

”I don’t have feelings for Kaz fucking Brekker!” You almost screamed and avoided Wylan and Jesper’s gazes.

You took your glass of whisky and finished it all. The feeling of alcohol burning your throat almost soothed you.

”You do.” Jesper smiled and teased you.

”No, I don’t!”

Wylan rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’stuborness.

”Y/N! There you are, I thought you were with Kaz!”

You jumped off your seat. Fortunately for you, it was only Nina and not Dirtyhands himself.

”Nina, you scared the hell out of me.”

She grinned as if she had planned it all along.

”What are the three of you up to?“ She questioned, eyebrows raised.

"We are talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz.” Wylan answered before you could even speak.

”Not you too, Wylan!”

He smirked, almost shyly, and even if you wanted to blame him, you couldn’t blame his cute silly face.

”Hmmm, you and Waffles are not so discreet with your feelings.”

You sighed and tried to ignore Nina’s voice. You knew that if you listened to them, you would probably end up in Kaz’s office confessing your feelings for him, because on some missions, it became unbearable. The need to protect him, to check on him, how he could make you feel powerful and useless at the same time.

“Y/N. Heartbeats don’t lie.” Nina whispered to you, and you were sure Wylan and Jesper would not hear.

”Stop Nina. I- I- He’s not in love with me. Kaz Brekker can’t be in love. Love is a weakness, and I am only his latest investment.” You repeated, only to convince yourself of it.

“So how do you explain how his heartbeat go faster when you’re here, how I can feel his heart trying to get out of his chest when you’re injured. He cares. He tries to hide it, but the heart doesn’t lie. Never.”

You looked at her blue ocean eyes, and she caressed your shoulder in encouragement.

”Try to tell him, try to tell him you care, if only that. Love is a fragile thing, cherish it while it lasts.”

You swore you saw an ounce of sadness and regret flashing in her eyes as she remembered Matthias.

“I think you can help him with his past.” Nina muttered.

You looked at your empty glass, and noticed how your hands were trembling. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for you to tell him, that at least you cared for him. More than him being just your Boss.

You stood up, levelled up your chin, and took several steps towards Kaz’s office.

You were Ketterdam’s most notorious assassin, and you would not be afraid.*

You advanced towards the door slowly, you wanted to knock but the door was already ajar.

You could do it, you had done so much worse. You took a deep breath before-

You heard voices in his office. You heard him first, talking with a female voice, a voice you didn’t not recogn-

it was Inej’s.

Kaz and Inej were in his office talking. Your instinct was screaming at you to leave and come back later, but curiosity got the better of you.

You stayed, you tried to understand what they were saying, but you couldn’t. Slowly the most slowly possible you pushed the door and waited. Kaz and Inej were still talking, you took it as a sign they didn’t hear your presence. You weren’t Ketterdam’s best assassin for nothing. You took a silent step and looked at Kaz’s office.

You didn’t expect what you saw.

Kaz and Inej were close, too close for your liking, dangerously close. Too close that any of them could bear. So how was it they were here, almost touching each other. You swore Kaz could feel Inej’s breathing on his chin.

Watching them so close together made your heart beating faster. You wanted to scream but no sound came. No explanation came to your mind. Why was Inej here? You tried to focus on the words you heard, but none of them made sense. You were near but you couldn’t hear them clearly, it was as if your brain didn’t want you to eavesdrop. You heard some words like ‘crows’ and ‘family’.

You pushed the door again, without a sound. You leaned on the door and focused on the voices.

“Inej.”

You heard Kaz’s voice as it broke, and you needed to take a glimpse at what was going on right now. You took a deep breath and looked at them. Kaz’s gloved hand was on Inej’s shoulder. They were staring at each other like nothing else mattered in the entire world. Even if you were not close, you could decipher Inej’s surprise at Kaz’s sudden touch.

”Let me go, Kaz.”

Kaz removed his hand, and an ounce of sadness and rejection passed on his face.

“We need you, here.“

You watched as Inej shooked her head.

“Stay, Inej. Stay. Please.”

Her name sounded as a prayer in Kaz’s lips.

”I can’t, Kaz, and you know why.“ She whispered.

“We need you, Inej, please. We- I... I need you.“

Without noticing, Kaz caught Inej’s arm with his gloved hand, preventing her from leaving.

You couldn’t see them clearly; the door was blocking your path. You tried to lean on a bit further but failed miserably. Why did you push your luck? Your whole body had been trembling the whole time, even with the multiple tries to steady your heartbeat and calm yourself. The door opened slightly, and your face was greeted by the floor.

All you felt was numbness, shock and realization. Kaz and Inej were staring at you in wonder. You could already feel Kaz’s grave gaze at you.

“What? Did you never see someone fall before?“ You questioned, trying to hide your discomfort.

Feeling ashamed, you stood up awkwardly and crossed Kaz’s eyes.

“Y/N.“ Kaz declared.

You nodded.

“It’s not what you think.” Inej replied immediately, trying to maintain her composure.

Kaz was leaning on his cane, and his eyes never left your form.

”Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything. I won’t tell a soul. Keep going. I am leaving right now.” You gestured to the door and fled.

”Y/N, wait.“ Kaz said.

You ran through the Crow Club, not caring what the Dregs thought.

”Y/N!” Jesper screamed, hoping to catch your attention.

Why were you running?

Kaz followed after you, even if his leg hurt. He tried to, but you were too fast for him. After all, you were an assassin. A clumsy one at that...

You didn’t care. You ran until your lungs couldn’t bear the feeling, until your knees broke under the weight of your exhausted body. But where could you go in Ketterdam? A place where no Dreg could ever find you.

You knew the perfect place.

Months ago the Crows had gone on an heist with your help. The goal was simple, Kaz had said: ‘we enter, we take the painting, and we leave unnoticed’. He had insisted on the word ‘unnoticed’ looking specifically at Jesper. You had agreed to help them steal the damn painting if it pleases them. Truth be told you couldn’t say no to more Kruge. When you entered the grim manor Kaz had depicted, you noticed how silent and peaceful it was. No soul lived here. Was it the place where the painting was hidden? Maybe Kaz had made a mistake. But he had confirmed it was here. The manor was abandoned long ago by a duke trying to escape his demons. That’s all Kaz had told you, and you hadn’t asked for more at the time. Now you wished you had, because you were headed towards the old manor. A place where just the ghosts could disturb you. Ghosts were better than men, right? Better than some Bastard of the Barrel.

It could be the only place where you could scream and cry without someone noticing Ketterdam’s best assassin being vulnerable. Sometimes being the greatest assassin was a weakness, a weakness you couldn’t afford. It meant never showing too much emotion, never crying in front of your enemies... Wait. Was Kaz your enemy?

You didn’t know anymore. Falling in love was a weakness. Something not allowed in the dangerous streets of Ketterdam, a feeling that would destroy everything if not careful. In fact, love was a weapon, and if not used with parsimony and care, it could kill you.

You broke in the manor, remembering the precise path you used last time and found the closest room, the one you had discovered and found surprisingly pleasing. And strangely peaceful.

You closed the door, and sat on the floor, your body curled up, hands around your knees. You tried to forget the memories with the Crows and Kaz, but it was too much. You remembered your times with Jesper talking about guns, the hours eating waffles and ice cream with Nina, the walks with Wylan, the looks of approval coming from Matthias, and this cane... The cane you would never forget, even if you wanted to. You remembered the day when you had ended up wounded after eliminating a slaver. You were injured, sitting on the cold pavement. You were trying to catch your breath before escaping, but you had felt a soft but firm tap on your thigh. And without looking, you knew who it belonged to.

It was the Bastard of the Barrel.

He wanted you to think he was invisible, and unpredictable, but what he didn’t know was that long before killing the man, you knew Dirtyhands had followed you.

“Enjoyed the show, didn’t you?” You had questioned, showing your white teeth that must have been covered in blood.

That was the day when he had asked you to join the Crows, and since you had nothing more to do, you had accepted, already thinking about the free drinks you would benefit at the Crow Club.

You also remembered the day when you had wanted to leave the Crows because of some decision Kaz had made. You were angry and had prepared everything to leave in the morning. However, Kaz had watched you wrapping your clothes with a spectacular meticulousness, and had whispered:

“Stay. Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me, Y/N.”

And you had stayed. Of course. When Dirtyhands asked you to stay, you stay. The morning he had woken up at dawn in case you wanted to leave without saying goodbye. He had found you in your usual attire, your knives and guns on your waist.

“You did not leave?”

He had asked, almost as a prayer.

”No. Something keeps me in Ketterdam.”

Kaz had said nothing, but you swore you had seen a grin on his lips this day.

You also remembered the day when you had been badly injured to save Nina from a fatal injury. You had been severely hurt; you weren’t even able to stand up. You remember watching the pitiful looks of the Crows at your broken body sprawled on the ground. Deep down you knew you were now a liability for the Crows, and especially for Kaz, so you had told them to leave you here, and escape before the men you had stolen from were back. You knew the risks and costs of each heist, and already accepted your fate.

Kaz had none of it. He had ordered Matthias to carry you, while Nina would tend to your wound as much as she could and control your heartbeat. Jesper would protect your backs, while Inej was sent to scan the path, and look for any danger. You would never forget the look Kaz had given you when he told you to rest for months if needed and had given you a room close to his own in the Crow Club.

Later, you had asked him why he had saved you instead of leaving you to perish. He had said with conviction:

”We are Crows, Y/N, we never leave our own behind.”

That was all of his qualities and flaws that made you love Kaz Brekker. He was broken, but you had always been a sucker for broken things to tend to. You had offered him everything an assassin could possess: your loyalty, your weapons, your ability to kill, and your heart, ready for the taking...

But now you remembered the sentence Dirtyhands had told you a week ago, telling you all you had to know about what you were to him, and what you could be.

”You’re my greatest investment, Y/N. Don’t fail me. “

He had told you once what you were to him, but you hadn’t listened, you had fallen in love, and now you knew. You knew you had always been an expensive investment, but only that, nothing more.

You had been his greatest investment, and that was all...

———-

Tell me what you thought about this one! I am seriously considering writing a part 2! Likes, shares and comments are appreciated, it makes my day, I really need it!

———

If you liked this fanfiction, you’ll love this one, it also has the word ‘investment’ in the title like this one:

⬇️ ⬇️

[golden-ariess]

To The Moon & Back

Pairing: Stalker!Artist Steve

Warnings: Stalking, Manipulation 18+

His Muse Masterlist

| A/N: Surprise, surprise. I had inspiration for the first time in nearly two years. I hope y'all enjoy this ✨

-

You read the message again, each word feeling like it was scraping against your skin. How could the person you once loved so deeply become the one you feared most? It didn’t seem possible. You had thought, once, that your love was invincible, that it could weather anything. But Steve’s darkness was something you never anticipated, something that grew in the shadows of his mind until it took over everything else.

You folded the note in half, then again, and tucked it into the side pocket of your bag. You told yourself you’d throw it away later, but a part of you knew you wouldn’t. Even now, when you felt nothing but dread at the thought of him, the memory of who he used to be still clung to you, haunting like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just the notes, or the roses, or even the sketches—each one more haunting than the last. It was the feeling that he was always there, watching from the distance, just out of sight. You’d feel the prickling of eyes on your back as you walked through the parking lot at night, or the faint rustling of leaves outside your window when you knew no one should be there.

But the worst were the dreams. Dreams where his face would change, morphing into something unrecognizable—twisted, desperate. He’d reach for you, and you’d wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs as you fought to break free from the memory.

Once, you had believed in soulmates. Now, you were just trying to find a way to break the ties that bound you to him.

The police had told you that there wasn’t enough evidence to issue a restraining order. The flowers, the notes—none of it was explicitly threatening. “He’s just trying to get your attention,” they’d said. But they didn’t understand the fear that twisted inside you, the sense that each day brought him closer to crossing a line you couldn’t come back from.

You forced yourself to stand, trying to shake the unease that had settled deep in your bones. You had a life to live, a life that no longer included him. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over your apartment, and you decided it was time to draw the curtains, close the door, and block out the past.

But as you pulled the blinds shut, you caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye—just a flash, a movement on the sidewalk. Your breath hitched, your hands froze on the fabric. You peered through the slats, your heart hammering. Was it him, watching again? Or was it just your imagination, playing tricks on you?

You told yourself to let it go. You shut the blinds tight, locked the door, and turned on every light in the apartment. But even then, the shadows seemed to press in, whispering that he was still out there, waiting.

And somewhere deep inside, you knew that the storm wasn’t over yet.

Night settled in, and the apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in as you paced from room to room, checking the locks and glancing at the windows for any sign of movement. You told yourself it was just nerves. It had to be. You couldn’t let him control your life like this, not when you’d fought so hard to get away.

You had left everything behind changed your number, moved to a new city, even deleted your social media accounts. You told yourself that a fresh start was all you needed. But Steve was a shadow that clung to you, no matter how far you ran.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, and you jumped, your heart leaping to your throat. You grabbed it, hands shaking. It was only a text from Rachel, your best friend and the one person who had stood by you when everything with Steve fell apart. She’d always been the voice of reason, the one to remind you of who you were before him.

"Hey, how’s everything? You good?"

You wanted to lie, to say that everything was fine and you were settling in perfectly. But Rachel knew you too well.

"Just another night, I guess. I thought I saw him again. I’m probably overreacting."

She replied almost instantly.

"You know you’re not. He’s dangerous, and he’s obsessed. Just stay safe, okay?"

You typed out a quick response, feeling the familiar ache of longing for a time when things were simple, when you didn’t have to think about locking your doors or feeling your stomach twist every time your phone buzzed. Rachel was right; you couldn’t let your guard down. But the weight of it all felt heavier than ever.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence of the room. You tried to distract yourself, turning on the TV, scrolling through channels until you settled on an old sitcom—one you’d watched a million times before, back when laughter came easy and life felt normal. The familiar characters played out their scripted lives, oblivious to the messiness of the real world.

You lost yourself in it for a while, the laughter and the bright colors a brief reprieve. But when you reached for your glass of water, you noticed your hands were still shaking. The fear sat there, right under your skin, and no amount of sitcoms or bright lights could chase it away.

Then, there was a noise. It was soft—just a slight scraping sound, barely audible over the TV. You paused, holding your breath, the room suddenly too quiet. There it was again, like metal against metal. You strained to listen, every nerve in your body on edge.

It was coming from the door.

You felt the cold rush of fear, your body going rigid. You knew better than to ignore it. Slowly, you crept toward the door, your footsteps silent on the carpet. The peephole felt too small, like it couldn’t possibly show you the truth of what lay beyond. You hesitated, hand hovering just above the doorknob.

The scraping stopped.

And then, there was a knock.

Three slow, deliberate taps. Each one sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts crashing together. Was it him? Could he really have found you?

“Hello?” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would invite something in. No answer. Just silence, heavy and pressing.

You pressed your eye to the peephole, holding your breath. At first, you saw nothing but darkness—just the dim glow of the hallway light. Then, slowly, a figure came into view. A man, standing still, his face obscured by shadows. You couldn’t make out any details, but you knew.

It was him.

Panic surged through you, and you stumbled back, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Your mind screamed at you to call someone—anyone—but your fingers fumbled with the phone, the screen slick in your sweaty grip.

Then, the knocking started again. Louder this time, more insistent. And you knew, deep down, that Steve wasn’t going to leave.

With a trembling hand, you typed a message to Rachel. He’s here. You pressed send, praying she’d answer, praying she’d know what to do, because you were out of options.

The door rattled as the handle turned, and you backed away, feeling the walls press in, the fear tightening like a noose around your throat. Steve’s voice, quiet and low, drifted through the door.

“I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”

You felt the world narrow to that single point, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there was nowhere to go. You were trapped. And as his voice filled the silence, you knew this wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

You bolted to the kitchen, clutching your phone as you moved. You fumbled to find the knife drawer, hands shaking as you yanked it open and grabbed the first one your fingers touched. It wasn’t much—a small paring knife, its blade reflecting the overhead light—but it felt like a lifeline, a piece of steel against the terror thrumming in your veins.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down. It was Rachel. Call the police. I’m on my way. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly replaced by dread as Steve’s voice echoed again from the hallway.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked, his tone soft, almost pleading, as if you were the one being unreasonable. “You know I just want to talk, right? We need to fix this. I love you.”

The words felt like poison, winding through your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning against the counter for support. You’d heard those words so many times before, when he still had a hold on you, when you still believed they meant something real. But now they sounded like a threat..

You dialed 911, your fingers trembling as you pressed the phone to your ear. The operator’s voice was calm, clinical, as you whispered, “There’s someone outside my door. I think he’s trying to get in.”

“Stay calm, ma’am. Can you confirm your address for me?” You rattled off your location, the words spilling out in a rush. “We’re sending a unit now. Stay on the line.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, clutching the phone tighter as you crouched down behind the kitchen counter. Steve was still at the door, his voice a low murmur, like he was talking to himself now. You strained to catch the words.

“…always trying to push me away… like I’m the bad guy…”

You felt the burn of tears in your eyes, but you forced them back. You couldn’t let him see you cry. That was what he wanted—to see you break, to know he still had power over you. But you were done giving him that.

Minutes dragged by, each one feeling like an eternity. You clung to the operator’s voice, her calm instructions grounding you in the reality of the moment. You were no longer the person who used to cling to Steve’s words, hoping he would change, hoping he’d be the man you once thought he was. You were someone different now—someone who had learned to survive.

The pounding at the door grew louder, and you felt the kitchen walls closing in as Steve’s patience ran out. “Open the door!” he shouted, and the sound of his fist slamming against the wood made you flinch. “You can’t keep ignoring me!”

You gripped the knife tighter, crouched down as small as you could, the sound of his rage vibrating through you. You tried to focus on the operator’s voice, the promise that help was coming, that you weren’t alone. But Steve’s shouts filled the apartment, drowning everything out.

A loud crash came from the door, and your heart leapt to your throat. You peeked around the corner, just in time to see the wood splintering under his weight as he slammed his shoulder into it. Fear surged, your mind screaming at you to run, but there was nowhere left to go. You were trapped.

“Ma’am, are you still there?” the operator’s voice cut through the chaos. “Officers are only a few minutes away. Stay with me.”

The door buckled again, the wood cracking. You knew you didn’t have minutes. You had seconds. Steve’s shouts were growing louder, more frantic. You backed up, knife in hand, feeling the walls press in.

Then, a sudden burst of noise—a new sound. Sirens. You heard them faintly at first, then louder, echoing down the street. You watched as Steve paused, his face twisted in frustration as he realized what was happening.

“No,” he muttered, his hands still pressed against the door. “No, this isn’t over.”

But you could see the shift in him, the way he hesitated, caught between his anger and the fear of being caught. The sirens were louder now, and you heard the slam of car doors, voices shouting orders.

Steve turned, and you watched through the peephole as he fled down the hallway. Relief crashed over you, so strong you almost collapsed. You stayed where you were, heart still racing, until you heard the knock on your door—a different knock this time, firm and authoritative.

“Police! Ma’am, are you in there?”

You scrambled to your feet, rushing to the door and fumbling with the locks. You pulled it open, and the sight of the officers standing there—two of them, their hands resting on their weapons—made you sag with relief.

“He was here,” you breathed, feeling the tears finally spill over. “He was trying to get in.”

One officer nodded, stepping forward to guide you out of the apartment. “We’ll take care of it. We need you to stay with us for a moment, okay?”

You nodded, letting them lead you out into the hallway, your legs shaky beneath you. As you stepped out, you caught sight of Rachel rushing through the lobby doors, her face pale with worry. She sprinted toward you, pulling you into a tight hug.

For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of safety, like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. But even as Rachel held you, her voice soothing in your ear, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end.

Because as you looked back at your apartment door, the wood still splintered and broken, you knew Steve was out there. And he wasn’t going to stop.

Long time no see💛. I have so much to catch y'all up on. But in the meantime hit up my ask inbox. I would love to chat ✨

[blackswan446]

partyisntover.

→ pairing: yan!kth x reader

→ "we could still dance"

→ wc: 1556

→ cws: drugging, kidnapping, slight sexual innuendos

→ notes: this is inspired by one of my favorite songs, specifically the first part "PartyIsntOver", it's by tyler, the creator, and i would recommend listening to (the whole song obviously cus its fire) but specifically PartyIsntOver before/while reading :) enjoy!

parties were like your safe space. it was a strange thing to say, but it was true. for some odd reason, you always felt more at home at a bustling party than your actual house. maybe it was something about the anonymity of parties, how for one night, you could become whoever you wanted, hide the vulnerable parts of yourself within the dim lights and use the alcohol as an excuse if things were to get out of hand.

or perhaps, you just liked the chaos. raised to be a good, studious girl, you didn't get out much for your entire childhood. everything was meticulous, planned out, by-the-book. there was no room for spontaneity, or a new adventure, or even a happy accident. it was nice for a while, having the assurance that nothing would ever go wrong, but after so many years of it, you grew sick of the blandness. it was then, you realized that describing your life as "calm" and "peaceful" was masking the sad reality of it: that your life was dull.

so, the second you left the house, (literally, the minute your parents drove away from your college), you went out and found something to do. that is, you walked into the first random celebration you happened upon while strolling, and you were hooked. now your life revolved around parties, and gatherings, and events, and any excuse to throw on a nice dress and do something fun with new people. and honestly? you wouldn't have it any other way. in a way, it felt as if your inner child was being healed, like you were finally fulfilling the dreams of a little girl who just wanted to have fun.

taehyung, on the other hand, hated parties. he despised the loud music, the drunk people and their sweaty bodies, thrashing around in a closed off space, forming a pit of body odor and bad decisions. not to mention the feeling of social inferiority that he felt when he was there, and the way he just stood around, drinking whatever poison was shoved into his hand by a drunk rando didn't help his case. yet he kept showing up, every single time, he always came back, for one reason.

you.

he couldn't explain it, but the two of you, you completed each other. the yin to his yang. and the two of you, together, would create the perfect balance that you needed, that he needed. hell, just looking at you, his heart was relieved of the negative emotions that came with the social ostracization. like the confidence and happiness that bloomed in your heart was sent to his, traveling by a long, invisible string connecting the two. he knew that it would take work, and the very type of meticulous planning that you grew to hate. he wasn't someone you'd even look at. but he had determination, a drive to achieve lifelong joy, the same type he felt whenever he looked at you.

of course, he had already started by removing the obvious disturbances to fate. he tore them up, burned some of them, dissolved others, and some of them he just buried. it didn't matter where they wound up, as long as they weren't stepping on the string, he didn't care. but they were all gone now, and he could undo the final loop, the one that stopped the string from drawing a straight line from you to him, the one that would finally make things so much clearer. of course, it was a little extreme, but taehyung always took precautions. he couldn't risk the string tangling up again, and how would that happen if there was nothing for it to get caught on?

spying you from across the packed room, you were holding a drink, in your element. somehow, the painful colored lights did wonders for you, the reds and blues giving your skin a purple hue. all he could do was look from the shadows, and wait to catch your eyes. and catch they did, as it was only a few minutes before they met, and with a smirk, approached you.

you could talk later, after all, you'd have all the time in the world to talk and get to know each other after tonight. for now, he just wanted to do what he had to do and get you both out of there. you smiled at him, giving him a shouted greeting. he smiled back and leaned down towards your ear. "the party isn't over yet. want to dance?" he offered, reaching out his hand to lead you to the dance floor.

you nodded, since it was too loud to give him an actual response, and took his hand. he smiled, and weaved through the mass of people holding you tight as he did so. you found yourself in a small corner of the dance floor, away from the large crowd of people in the center. you were surprised at him, since you had seen him around at a few parties, and never saw him dance or even talk to other people. but he wasted no time in grabbing your hips and swaying the both of you along with the music. not that you didn't appreciate his forwardness, you actually enjoyed it, and it didn't take long for you to follow his lead.

"good song, hm?" he asked, leaning down so far that his head was basically in the crook of your neck. you nodded shyly, the heat in your face hopefully being hidden by the colored lights. he gave a short, husky laugh in your ear, as his feet twisted up with yours. "sorry about that, i'm not the best dancer." he apologized. you smirked, turning around to face him. standing up to talk into his ear, you laughed back. "if you're such a bad dancer, then why am i out here with you?" you asked cheekily, smiling as you took a sip of your drink.

what a shame you were facing backwards that whole time. if you weren't, maybe you would've seen the little bag of white powder taehyung dumped into your drink. maybe you could've thrown out the drink, slapped him in the face, and gone home. what a damn shame.

he shrugged his shoulders. "you're taking a chance, i guess." he shouted back, grabbing your waist again and pulling you in closer to him. as your head hit his chest, you felt the room spin violently, too violently to match the level of alcohol you had drank that night. suddenly, the music felt too loud yet muffled and far away. the strobing lights were giving you a migraine, and your legs felt like wet spaghetti.

taehyung picked up on your weakness, right away, almost as if he were expecting it. "woah, okay. have a few too many, princess?" he joked, clasping his arms around you tighter. you shook your head, the idea of forming words and annunciating them too much for you to stomach. he laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "come on, you, let's get you out of here. come on." he told you, reaching his arm under your knees and scooping you off your legs, your drink falling from your limp hands and its contents spilling out onto the floor.

you tried to shake your head more, tell him you were okay, but your movement was too weak as everything in your line of vision began to bleed into one another. he laughed again, as he moved his way through the crowd, you heard the noise of the party fade away, the sound of his voice now amplified in your ears. it was only now that you could hear the darkness in his voice, finally being unveiled as the street lights shined above you.

"god, i can't wait to get you home. we're going to have some fun, aren't we?" he murmured, hands digging further into your legs as he struggled to open the door to his car. that was enough to send you into an adrenaline overdrive, shooting your head up as he laid you gently on the car seats. "huh?!" you sputtered, trying to grab for anything you could to fight back.

"i said, 'your night out is done'. you're drunk, sweetheart, you need to go to sleep, okay? just shut your eyes." he pleaded, standing in between your legs as he stroked your cheek softly. you shook your head, weakly, but you still did it, trying to kick your legs to get him away. he grabbed your calves, stilling the thrashing motions. "stop it. i need to bring you home." he growled, "i'm doing this because i love you."

you looked around helplessly as you struggled to comprehend what he said. "what?" you choked, as he shut the back door and got into the driver's seat. "nothing, princess. just go to sleep. it'll all be good when you wake up, okay?" he comforted, starting the ignition and driving away from the bustling house.

you could feel the strands of consciousness slip out of your hands, and felt yourself falling into the abyss of something deeper than sleep. the last remnants of a thought that you could piece together were ones of panic, and the last thing you could see as your eyes fell shut, was taehyung's glare in the rearview mirror.

[dbnightingale24]

The Dog House Isn’t The Best, But It Can Still Be Our Home

Final installment to 'Pavlov's Dog'

~~

Part 3

~~

I told you guys I'd post it at some point 🥴 I'm honestly so sorry this took so long to post, but last year got really dark for me and everything just kind of took a backseat. Thank you so much for your patience, and thank you to all of you who checked up on me. It means more than I'll ever be able to express. Thank you @fuckingbye for being an amazing friend, and for also making this amazing moodboard. You are a saint and I love to the ends of the earth. Without further ado, here's the final chapter!

Word Count: 71,942 (yes, you read that correctly)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY), Public Sex, Semi Public Sex, Drinking, Smoking, Swearing, Daddy Kink, Angst, Heartbreak, Mild Violence, FLUFF, Lying, Betrayal...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: Will You Take Me Back In The Morning If I Promise To Never Act This Way Again?

I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

~~

“You can’t keep going on like this, babe,” Daisy sighs sympathetically as she takes a seat next to the bathtub.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you take a drag of your cigarette, “none of it fucking matters.”

“Babe, it’s been two weeks. You do the same thing every day. You get up, eat the smallest bit of food, you sit out on your back deck and smoke until you decide to start drinking, then you draw yourself a bath and drink and smoke in it until you decide it’s too cold, or I come and get you. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I don’t even have a reason to be mad at him, do I?” you scoff incredulously before taking a drag from your cigarette, “it’s not like he lied. He didn’t even know, so I have no reason to be this upset, do I?”

“He was a complete and total asshole,” she states firmly, “and you have every reason to be upset with his actions. Yeah, it was a shit show, but he definitely could’ve handled it better.”

“The shit he said right in front of that child, even if it isn’t his, were so fucking cruel! No child deserves to be spoken to like that, and he of all people should know that!”

“Babe-”

“After everything we talked about on that trip...it’s like it didn’t even matter to him. He didn’t even care.”

“I’m sure he was just shocked-”

“That’s not an excuse, Dais.”

“I never said it was, but c’mon: it’s Ransom. You really think he was thinking clearly? Linda and Marta were there and I’m more than sure he was afraid of losing you, then Marta drops a fucking bomb on him, and it sounds like she did it on purpose, if I’m honest. Just to fuck him over.”

“Daisy, I just-”

“BABY, PLEASE ANSWER THE DOOR AND TALK TO ME!” Ransom calls desperately as he bangs on your front door.

Like clockwork.

“Why can’t he understand that I need time? I don’t owe him shit,” you start to sniffle as your tears fall, and you grab the bottle of tequila that lives by the bathtub now, and take a long drink from it.

“I’ll get rid of him, just please...please get up and do something,” Daisy begs desperately.

“Ya know, you’re wrong,” you say as she reaches the doorway, finally looking at her, “I put on makeup today,” you smile weakly.

She lets out a humorless laugh before disappearing and you hear her footsteps quickly making their way downstairs.

Since everything that took place on his doorstep, you haven’t spoken to or seen him. You don’t know what to say or how to handle the situation. He’s been calling and texting non-stop since it all happened, and every two days he comes by to visit, and Daisy tells him to leave you alone every time.

But you can’t keep avoiding him.

No, you don’t know what the right thing to do is, but you know that avoiding him is the wrong thing, and you can’t keep letting Daisy handle these issues for you. You have to at least speak to him, but say what? Do what? It’s not like you have any real right to be mad at him. It’s not like he cheated on Marta with you, he didn’t cheat on you with her, he clearly didn’t know he had a child so he didn’t keep it from you, and he did defend you to Linda. However, that doesn’t change the things he said to that child.

Possibly his child.

“He’s not my son and this isn’t fucking funny!”

“We can take a test if you want, but he is your son!”

“Well, I don’t want him! You wait...however many years to tell me about him, and you sure as shit don’t need any money, so why now?!”

“He deserves to know who his Father is, Ransom! He’s a Drysdale and-”

“Watch it,” Ransom warns with a foreboding tone.”

God, how could he be so cruel to a child, after all of the talks you two have had? He’s always cruel though, isn’t he? To you, to Marta, his own son (the resemblance is too strong for that boy to not to be his child), and fuck it, even Jack. He can’t ever seem to control his temper and, if he can’t do that, what chance do you two have together?

Still, he owns your heart and you don’t know how to get it back at this point. You don’t know and you don’t wanna know.

“Ransom, you have to stop coming around!” you hear Daisy yell, and you sigh before taking another drink from the bottle.

“You can’t stop me from me seeing her, Daisy! She’s my girlfriend!” 

“Bullshit! You two never made it official-”

“Daisy, stay out of it! Let me see her!”

“No! She’s not ready to see you and you can’t force-”

“I’m not forcing anything-”

“What do you think this is?! Showing up because she won’t answer your calls or texts, and demanding to see her?! Leave her alone!”

“You can’t stop me-”

“Let him in!” you call, lighting a cigarette as you use your tip toes to turn the water back on, and heat up your water just a bit.

Who the hell knows how this is gonna go?

You hear the both of them speedily stomping up the steps, but Daisy get there first and says, “are you sure? You don’t have to-”

“I can’t keep letting you fight my battles,” you smile weakly at her as you turn the water off.

“Babe-”

“I have to deal with this at some point. I can do this,” you all but mumble not believing yourself as you take a drag of your cigarette.

“I’ll be in the room over,” she sighs softly before turning, “fuck you Drysdale!”

“Fuck you!”

You hear her slap him and shake your head. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

“Sweet Thing, please-” he starts as soon as he makes his way into your bathroom.

“Ransom...don’t,” you quickly interrupt. “This isn’t just some small disagreement.”

“I didn’t even know I had a child!”

“I could’ve dealt with that, Ransom! It would’ve taken some time, but I honestly could’ve dealt with that! It’s the way you spoke about him in front of him!”

“I don’t want him!”

“You didn’t have to say it in front of him! Jesus, it’s not his fault that you’re a selfish bastard! He didn’t ask to be born, and Marta-”

“She did this out of spite! Not because she wants me to be apart the child’s-”

“Be that as it may, he didn’t do anything! Basically telling her that she has no right calling him a Drysdale, when he is in fact a Drysdale! Ransom, I know you’re rough around the edges, but for fucks sake! All the talks we’ve had about our own fucked up childhoods and you do this?! You just...I don't fucking get it with you, Ransom!”

“What is there to get?! We fucking talked about this, Y/N! I’m not-”

“That’s no excuse for this! You took it too far and I...Ransom, I can’t-”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” he warns as his eyes start welling up with tears. “Don’t you fucking say that to me!”

“Ransom...I love you, but I can’t be the only good thing in your life. The only person you like,” you sob, sitting up and ashing your cigarette in the ash tray resting on the little table near by.

“WHY NOT?!”

“It’s too much fucking pressure! It’s too much pressure, and I can’t keep watching you be terrible to people because you had a rough childhood! You having a rough go of it doesn’t mean you get to walk all over people for the rest of your life!”

“Listen, give it a few days and you’ll see-”

“No, Ransom. This is done. I can’t do this with you anymore. You have to grow up at some point, and I refuse to mother you.”

“Y/N...you’ll see...you don’t mean it. You always say you’re done and you come back-”

“I can’t anymore. All of this just hurts too much. You keep finding new ways to hurt me, even when you don’t mean to, and I just...you’re cruel, Ransom. You’re cruel, you’re a bully, and you will hurt anyone by doing anything. I know there’s good in you, because you’ve let me see it time and time again, but you refuse to let others in, even in the slightest and I just...please don’t call me anymore,” you sob pathetically. “Don’t call, don’t text, don’t come by...we’re done.”

“You don’t mean this-”

“Don’t make it harder than it has to be, please. Just let me go,” you beg softly as you wipe your eyes.

“You’ll see. In a week or so, you’ll see and I’ll be waiting. I’ll wait and everything will be as it should, again,” he smiles weakly, wiping his own eyes.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll call you in a few weeks, okay, Sweet Thing,” he promises, making his way over to the bathtub. “I love you and I’ll talk to you.”

He cups your face and kisses you passionately and you’re so tempted to pull him into the tub with you, but you know you’ve got to stop. You left one toxic relationship just to jump into a different type of toxic relationship.

“Ransom,” you breathe once you two break apart, “please-”

“I’ll talk to you in a few weeks,” he promises with a sniffle before standing up and walking out.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he repeats, his voice cracking as he continues on his way out.

Daisy is back inside and by your side instantly, climbing into the tub and holding you close as you cry uncontrollably, as you try to come to terms with the choice you’ve just made. Yeah, he’s right in saying that you always come back, but that’s not the case this time.

You need to stay away from him for good.

The fact that he has it in his head that all of this will be sorted out in a few weeks, lets you know that this is only the calm before the storm. As both you and Daisy lean back into the tub, and she holds you close while you cry into her shoulder, there’s only one question going through your head:

How the hell are you supposed to quit the love of your life?

**

4 Years Later...

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You can read the rest of the story here

~~

taglist: @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, @companionjones, @autumnrose40, @fuckingbye, @pono-pura-vida, @nomadstucky, @mazda098, @chemtrails-club, @bree-lyrie, @mjey12, @charlottiedawson, @fenixstar , @thickania

[goose-on-the-loose]

The Darkest Hour - Styracosaurs in a Wildfire Paleoart Process Breakdown

It’s been a long time since I’ve shared my art on this account (at some point years ago I just forgot to), but I thought that this might be a great opportunity to start posting my art again! This is my first attempt at paleoart, and I think it’s worthy of sharing. It’s for my showcase at my art school, so there were time restraints that stopped me from adding elements that I would’ve liked, but ultimately I’m quite satisfied with it.

For any budding paleoartist (or anybody really) who’d like to see my process, I put it all below the read more! @a-dinosaur-a-day (hope you don’t mind me @/ing you, i originally meant for this post to be an ask but it got too long haha)

I started off knowing that I wanted to depict some kind of ornithischian for a number of reasons. Two of the biggest reasons were that 1) I simply like them more than theropods and sauropods and 2) My senior showcase is all about showing animals in ways that the viewer hasn’t seen them before, and most people don’t really think about ornithischians except for if they’re being preyed on by a theropod.

I then narrowed my choices further by looking at different formations and what species they have. I looked up what formations parasaurolophus was in (since it’s one of my fav dinosaurs and I was thinking of making it my subject) and I saw the dinosaur park formation. Looking at the different species found there and the type of environment they lived in, I knew this formation was going to be my choice. 

I couldn’t narrow it down to one species yet, so I decided to think of some scenarios ornithischians might find themselves in first. I thought, “Oooh, what about some dinosaurs escaping from a wildfire?”, since the storyline could easily be conveyed, the lighting would be interesting, and I could get creative with the composition (flames and burning debris can create arcs to guide the viewer’s eye).

I did some very quick simple thumbnails and sketches to get the feeling and flow of the lines. I saw some paleoart by Marzio Mereggia and I remembered one of his parasaurolophus pieces that I really liked. I also looked at the composition of the fire scene from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron for inspiration. (the tiger doodle had nothing to do with it, i just wanted to draw a tiger) The shapes and silhouettes of these species weren’t really clicking for me, so I looked back on the list and saw styracosaurus. I looked at some paleoart and realized that the silhouette and shapes of their frill and horns could really draw the viewer’s attention.

So, I drew the top thumbnails and showed them to my teacher. He liked all of them, but especially liked the middle one, so I drew a larger version of it, making sure to elevate the best parts and communicate the story. I like to use highlighters when thumb-nailing because it helps me break down the background, middleground, and foreground while also giving attention to the focal points. I was satisfied with this layout, so I drew an even larger version of it that would be the same size as the piece of wood I would be painting on.

I wanted to add more dimension so I changed the placement a bit. I don’t have much to say on this one, except for the final project has less background detail because each piece in our showcase has to be finished within a certain amount of time, this is also why the adult styracosaurus doesn’t have scale detail. I would’ve liked to add it, but I have to be realistic with my time.

I then drew the sketch on the piece of wood, and then my teacher cut the excess wood off.

Painted the background and also changed the shape of the face horn to be more accurate. I believe that styracosaurus’ horns changed with age and each individual’s grew in their own slightly different way. I do regret not pushing the dark ground colors further back.

Started trying to figure out the colors in class here.

Did this all the next day, took about 6-7 hours. 3 during class and the rest in my dorm. I changed/added to the rest of the face colors later, but the beak stays the same. I still really like the way I painted the beak.

This was after 3 more hours of class time. I changed the face horn color and made the frill horns match it. I also started focusing more on highlights and shadows. This is the last photo I took during the process.

With the final version, you can see that I warmed up the highlights to match the fire and I dulled them out too (adding yellow to purple desaturates it). I also went over the background again, making the colors more vivid and adding a glow to the fire. Ngl I do regret not adding that glow to the fire on the trees, but oh well. Live and learn ig.

[silviaflowers]

Hi chat I'm back back again with more epic sketches!

All writing is in the alt text! I'm trying my best to provide image ids but I often forget 😭

ok so short thoughts and then we'll get into some longer ones under the cut!!

I subscribe to both "Athena lived actually" theory and "Ares assisted Odysseus" theory,, I just think they're the silliest siblings fr Argos' design is purely on vibes and i did NOT have a reference for the boar. this is why both of them look slightly weird. The last two drawings are heavily based on the cut song Your Light! I am so normal about it. (More on this below the cut)

The penelope design was heavily inspired by @gigizetz's, and Aeolus was directly lifted from gigi's design as well <3 Telemachus was inspired by Duvetbox's Telemachus but much less heavily lol (Athena was also inspired by Duvetbox)

OK. LONG THOUGHT TIME. STRAP IN

I have some personal siren headcanons that i actually really wanna share SO. I like to think that Sirenelope did not actually look accurate to Penelope. I have two reasons for this, one of which is that one of my big siren headcanons is that they rely mostly on visual memory to disguise themselves. They can tap into words and such usually but what they most rely on is the visuals. Its much less important to act like the wife than to look like her, after all, the siren song usually does the heavy lifting.

But in the same way that Sirenelope makes the mistake of saying "daughter," the visual memories can be corrupted through the beeswax in the crew's ears. So she can't pin down Penelope's appearance as easily as she might with someone with clear ears. Ergo, she makes mistakes (neglecting her beauty mark/mole, making her look younger, etc etc.)

The OTHER reason is that I like to think that sirens try to make their forms more beautiful to appeal to the sailors. For example, Sirenelope tries to smooth out Penelope's wrinkles and make her more conventionally attractive. A little like a snapchat filter.

ok Siren rant over NOW TO TALK ABOUT YOUR LIGHT. So if any of you guys don't know, Your Light was essentially beta Open Arms, Polites cheering up Odysseus right before something awful happens, etc etc. However, it goes more into detail about the interaction between Odysseus and Athena's boar. Polites mentions that they took the boar on together, he was frozen in terror when the boar lunged for him. Odysseus takes the blow, forcing the boar down, and that's when he beats it.

Now im insane about this for other reasons but the MAIN part in relation to the art is like. What if Your Light and Warrior of the Mind coexisted? (this isn't necessarily canon DIVERGENT its just kind of a stretch) So the timeline here is basically that Polites and Odysseus go to face off against the boar, Ody beats it but takes on heavy damage, ("I only took the blow so you could live.") so Polites goes to find something to get him to Not Die Hopefully. and that's when something strange happens and he realizes Athena is there yadda yadda Warrior of the Mind stuff. Then Polites comes back with bandages and they make it back home where Eurylochus is waiting and is like. WHAT??? HELLO??? The "What happened to you!?" is a reference to Puppeteer btw i think thats silly and i like references.

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

Tinderbox

Dewdrop/Sodo ghoul x demon!fem!reader smut

WC: 5100

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus ty for being my inspiration during these times of turmoil. Also - set in the roaring Twenties… for no reason other than fun.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, biting, rough sex, marking, kn!fe play, kn!fe k!nk, blood play (towards the end) and consumption. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

The evening sparkled, there was no other way to describe it. Men in suits, women in sequins, feathers, and fringe-trimmed dresses.

You had one last evening to celebrate after gathering necessary intel on the earthly plane for the devious devils down below who employed you. Everything could have been perfect, had it not been for your choice of company and his complete and utter determination to ruin the evening.

You had spent the entire afternoon doing up your hair, placing the curls just so. Your horns were hidden perfectly beneath the human glamour you had chosen. The dress you chose was as low cut as you could get without being confused for a prostitute. You still had to look your part, after all. You shimmered like an effervescent glass of champagne, all golden and gorgeous from head to toe. The color complimented your human-shade skin so nicely. Even the undergarments you chose were golden, the garter belt holding your hosiery up and the unlined bra doing the same to your soft breasts.

Only one problem.

Dewdrop would not stop reaching under the table towards you. He couldn’t stop fidgeting since you left the hotel room, rather. First it was his shoes, dragging up and down your stocking-clad calves to get your attention, then he switched seats at the four-top, so he would be right next to you. Hands, feet, the backs of your knees, everything was on the table apparently. 

His tail snaking its way up the skirt of your dress was the final straw. You were at a nice restaurant trying - failing - to enjoy a nice dinner. Just one teensy weensy thing in your temporary masquerade among the humans. For fucks sake, the place had white linen tablecloths. 

Thankfully you were sitting at a corner table.

“Dew.” You said through a forced smile, “I’m being serious this time.” 

You took a purposeful sip of your white wine, narrowing your eyes over the rim of the glass. The crisp, dry taste of the chilled beverage kept you from completely scowling at him. At least it did until you felt his tail curling up the edge of your dress again.

You scolded him again, “You know you shouldn’t be doing that, ghoul.”

His face was smug, “I can do whatever I want.” 

“Just not whenever you want.” You shot back.

“You can’t deny me.” His gaze was intense, fuck, you wanted to give in to his whims so badly. You couldn’t though, not now. No matter how much you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you on top of this perfectly white cloth-covered table.

“I can, and I am.” Your resolve was firm, but for how much longer it would stay that way, you hadn’t a clue.

The two of you stared intensely at each other, his irises started shifting beneath his glamour, blood-red cutting through. 

“Hah!” You exclaimed, though not loud enough to draw any untoward attention, “Sloppy, as usual, Dew. As soon as you get your mind in the gutter you start slipping.”

“As long as you’re there to catch me.” He grinned devilishly, and you could see his fangs poking through.

“I’ll catch you alright.” You sneered, “Right between my teeth I’ll catch you, honeydew.” You ended the sentence calling him your favorite term of endearment while simultaneously dragging your tongue across the top row of your even teeth. The action pointedly reminded him how your glamour was perfectly intact.

What was meant to douse the flames only added fuel to the fire ghoul. But that was the nature of your, rather explosive, relationship. 

You opened your folding fan, the air in the room suddenly feeling stale and hot. As you fanned yourself his greedy, ghoulish hands made their way back to your thigh under the table. 

You struck his offending hand reflexively before your brain could catch up. Perfectly in time for the runners to bring your appetizers out. 

“Thank you.” You smiled graciously, Dew scowled, staring at the human food in front of you both. “Don’t even start now.” You warned him.

“Fine.” He sighed, looking around before scooping up his food and shoveling it down without tasting it. He sat back in his seat as you brought the first bite to your wine-red lips. “I want to play a game.”

“What did you have in mind?” You said absently, glancing around sharply to make sure no one was watching his abhorrent display of table manners.

“If anyone looks too long at you -”

You interrupted him, “Too broad, be specific.” You had another bite of the tangy appetizer. 

“Fine.” He huffed, looking around the room before a wicked grin crept over his face. “If that waiter comes over here for no reason again, I get to spank you.”

Touché, that was specific enough. “Oh, I see, and if he comes over here with a purpose?”

“Your choice then.”

“Nah, too boring.” He let out an irritated noise, but you ignored him, “How about this, if you get jealous of him flirting with me, I get at least one more orgasm than you.”

“That’s assuming he will flirt with you, which there’s no way he will do that with me here.” He seemed overly confident. “The human men respect each other way more than they respect women.”

The match was set. “Then you shouldn’t be afraid of being jealous.”

“I’m never jealous.”

“We’ll see about that.” A smirk touched your lips before you finished your plate of food.

You enjoy the rest of your meal, each course exciting your taste buds more than the last. Finally, it was time for dessert. Out came the most decadent looking chocolate frosted cake on a silver platter. The waiter, whose name you learned was Liam after you asked and batted your eyelashes, promptly served you a slice of the checkerboard cake. 

You took a huge bite, savoring the sweetness. Vanilla and chocolate, perfect for your indecisive self.

The waiter serves Dewdrop a slice as well before his watchful eyes look at your face again

“Miss, you have some, er, frosting on your cheek.”

“Oh, do I?” You played so innocently. “Be a dear and get it for me, would you?”

“With pleasure.” He plucks a dark napkin from the inside of an otherwise empty wine glass. The man leans in and dabs the cloth on your cheek, the side of his finger brushing your skin excited you. You didn’t break eye contact until you felt the whole table rattle as Dewdrop kicked it.

Moment over.

The waiter straightened and motioned to the bottle of champagne you ordered, averting his eyes from you. He picks up the bottle and begins to tear the gold foil from the top but Dew snatches it out of his hand. His chair makes a scraping squeak as he practically jumps out of it, commanding the room.

You watch wide-eyed as couples conversations at the few surrounding tables begin to die out, their attention turned to the two devils in disguise. Dewdrop removes the fastener with one hand and easily manhandles the bottle with the other. 

Damn those perfect hands of his. 

You thought he meant to pop the cork barehanded but he surprised you, as well as earned a couple light gasps from nearby tables, as he picked up a knife. He ran it along the seam of the champagne bottle and with a swipe of the blade he sliced the bottle open. It let out a loud pop, and the contents inside bubbled but no liquid spilled, rather, combined with the air in a hiss and left it like a smoking gun. 

The scattered applause in the space was no match for Dew’s smirk at you. 

Oh he had you. He had you so well. Who would have thought that sabrage could be so sexy? 

There was no point in flirting with the human anymore, but you did it anyway. You were already traversing a rocky path, but you wanted to set off a few more traps along the way. So you made sure Dew caught you looking the waiter up and down, raking your gaze over him as he handed you the glass of champagne.

The two of you sat in silence while you finished your beverage and cake. Then you reached for your purse, opening it to find the dark lipstick that needed reapplying. 

The waiter came back to your table as you brazenly applied your lipstick in front of the dining room. You did one of your signature moves, sweeping your eyes to look up at him, your lashes batting ever-so-slightly in that way that made mortal men fall to their knees.

“Can I interest you in anything else this evening?” His voice deepened, “Perhaps something off the menu?”

“Oh?” You played up your sweetness to tooth-rotting levels, “What did you have in mind?”

The waiter went to open his mouth and promptly closed it, his expression turning to icy fear. You turned your head to look at Dewdrop just as he hissed at the poor mortal, his eyes glowed red as he purposefully dropped his glamour.

You hit him with your fan again. 

It was well past time to leave. You didn’t want the mortal getting in any real trouble with your fire ghoul, so you collected your wits and coat and left promptly, dragging Dew behind you by his necktie. 

-

You both got in the lift to go up to your shared hotel room. Of course, you had to tell the clerk at the check-in desk that you were “Mr. And Mrs.” since this establishment was more on the high end and yet still cared that a woman couldn’t rent her own room by herself. 

Eye roll.

As soon as the doors closed on the lift, the energy changed. The light bulbs dimmed, the panel on the wall containing the floor numbers blinking and flickering before stabilizing. The liftman blinked and shook his head furiously, not understanding what had happened. But you knew, Dewdrop was absorbing power. But for what, you had not the faintest.

As if to prove a point, he snuck his hand behind you, running up the inside of your thigh closest to him and shocking you with static electricity. You tried not to jump, not to give him the satisfaction, but your body betrayed you. 

He snickered, causing the elevator operator to glance back over his shoulder, prying eyes turning to see what was happening. Dew growled at him, eliciting the same nasty behavior as he had at the dinner table.

You swatted him with your fan in the ribs, only to get no response. He was locked in a death stare with the poor soul. 

There’s only one way to remedy this.

You darted your hand out, nimble fingers digging into Dew’s side to tickle him. He made a high pitched sound that almost made you laugh aloud, turning his red eyes at you. You weren’t intimidated by his glare at all, at least not until the threat spilled like thick poison from between his clenched teeth.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Your stomach squeezed. Dewdrop made more threats than a hellhound has teeth, but this felt like a promise. It was the way he said it that sealed the deal. But you wouldn’t let him win, not yet at least.

“You don’t scare me honeydew.” You let your glamour slip slightly, baring your sharp fangs at him.

The elevator clanged and let out a ding. 

“Uh, e- enjoy your evening.” The liftman tripped over his words and opened the door. He was surely too eager to be rid of the both of you.

You slid the metal key from your tiny purse, unlocking the door. Dew grabbed you and opened the door, slamming it loudly behind you. The hotel room was a coffin now, and you were about to be buried alive. Your only warning was his heavy panting breaths and the tight grip on your arm.

Payback time.

He shoved you into the wall roughly, your shoulders taking the brunt of the impact. Dewdrop grabbed you, his claws creating divots in your glamoured skin, and planted his lips on yours. The kiss you shared was equally matched in ferocity and need, sending tingles to the very tips of your fingers. You felt your lust bubbling to the surface, equivalent only to your dark urge to mark him too.

Your hands went up to his cheeks immediately and from there to tangle in his silken white-blonde hair, not letting him go for a second. You couldn’t, holding him close to you was your greatest desire. His kisses smothered you in warmth and his scent of smoke and ash.

He kissed you fervently and rambled as his lips traveled to your face and neck, his right hand moving to the small of your back, long fingers pulling you flush against him while the other knotted itself in your hair. “I’ve wanted to have you since the second you stepped out in that dress. I know you put it on just to tempt me, to tease me.”

“Dewdrop, listen to yourself, I had to wear something. I can’t just go out in public naked.”

You could tell he was picturing it from the way his breath stalled, his teeth freezing over your quickening pulse. Gripping his tie and unfastening it, you broke him out of his wild imagination, snapping it as you tore it from beneath his shirt and jacket.

“No, no you couldn’t.” He managed breathily.

Your breath was just as tremulous, “Tell me why, my ghoul.” Your fingers tugged on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back in. You were already lust-drunk from just kissing him, but you needed more. 

“Because you’re mine.” His gruff voice, the rushed kisses, and the scrapes of his fangs at your throat felt like a drug being injected directly into your bloodstream, and you felt your rational thoughts slipping away into nothingness. All that was left was him. Him and you. The two of you against the world in a time you didn’t belong to. 

His left hand grasped the inside of your thigh, which made you eternally grateful for the high-sitting fringe on the dress. You gasped, his warm, long fingers dug into your flesh almost possessively. His desire to mark you as his was as intense as your need to be claimed by him. And you needed to be claimed by him, completely. 

He played with the garter straps laying innocently against your legs and traced the seams of your stockings. You stripped his jacket off his shoulders, glad to be ridding him of the superfluous clothing but wincing when his hands left your skin.

His fingers continued to travel upwards, nearing the apex between your thighs. Now he was stalling, those digits you craved so much just hovered, occasionally tickling the crease of your leg. Dewdrop loved to tease you, it was all to get you back for teasing him so much. You knew you earned this, but you wanted him so badly to cross that threshold and touch you where you ached.

He moved his face back from your neck, meeting your eye line, watching you unravel before he’s even done anything to you. That smug look on his face made you unruly, and you flashed your fangs to urge him to get on with it. Dewdrop kissed you as his fingers slid under the seam of your panties. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, greedily biting at his lip. He growled in response as he stroked against your slit.

“So fucking wet for me.” He said in the midst of messy kisses, then he bit at your bottom lip, trapping it prisoner between his sharp teeth before drawing back. His eyes were dark as the void itself, “Or is this for him?”

That human? He couldn’t be serious.

“No, Dewdrop, only for you.”

“Fucking better be.” He pressed two fingers inside your aching center. 

He tilted your head with his free hand, kissing up your neck and ear again. Your ear which was now pointed, the skin he was kissing melting from an illusory human tone to a color wholly unnatural for a person.

Dewdrop pulled back again, admiring his handiwork. “Now who’s glamour is slipping?” He curled his fingers to punctuate the question, making your thighs fight to close.

Smug bastard.

“Show me.” His eyes glowed intensely. “Let me see you.”

“Are you -” a moan interrupted your question as he added a third finger inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders. “A-are you sure?” He hadn’t seen you completely without your glamour before, and you felt nervous about bringing it out. 

He planted a passionate kiss for assurance to your lips, “Fuck yes.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, debating whether you should. Then, you realized you could make it a game and a wicked, seductive smile had you goading him, “Make me cum and I will.”

“How can I say no to that?”

You had no warning as his thumb pressed against your clit. His fingers, fuck, they felt too good inside you. It was a curse, as they made it so yours could never measure up. 

He kept up his pace, and the stimulation between his fingers and thumb was making you weak. You felt your knees sagging slightly, but he kept you right where he wanted you against that wall. Dew didn’t let up for a moment, giving you all that you craved with the ministrations of his hand and kissed you deeply. You swear even your scalp tingled; you felt lightheaded already. And all the tension between you two earlier? That was the real foreplay. 

His fingers kept up their movements, in and out, in and out, giving you that sensation that had you at the end of a rope, hanging on a rope by a thread. Then he curled his fingers and you became flaming cinders burning the rope to ash. Your claws dug into his shoulders as your body tensed, teetering on the precipice of your orgasm. 

“Dew -” you whined, trying to hold on.

“Let go for me.” He whispered into your skin before sucking hard on the flesh of your neck.

You cried out in rapture as you shattered. His long fingers stroked you through the fluttering waves of your climax. You thought he would give you more time to come down from your high, but you were wrong. A moan escaped your lips as his fingers left your dripping sex and you looked at him. 

Dewdrop’s red eyes were intimidating, and filled with desire. You knew he wouldn’t wait any second longer. He gave you what you wanted, now it was your turn to sate him.

“Turn around.”

You did as you were told, obedient only for him. 

He brushed your fallen hair from the back of your neck to expose the top of your dress. His fingers hesitated with the zipper for a second too long before he let go of you. You were about to complain when you felt the cold press of metal skate up the back of your thigh. Your veins turned icy and made you go rigid as the metal glided up and under the hem of your dress. Far too close to your heat. Dewdrop grabbed the bottom of your dress in his other hand and with a swipe, shredded the garment from your body. 

“Dew! I liked that dress!” The shorn pieces lay in tatters at your feet along with the knife you recognized from dinner earlier. He must have pocketed it after popping open the champagne bottle.

“I’ll get you another one.” He sized you up, looking you up and down. “Drop your glamour. Now.”

You wanted to protest, but you knew he was just like you in this regard: Stubborn to a fault. It was his turn to get his way, and you had to give in.

You rolled your shoulders, removing your bra, then unclipping the garter belt from your middle. Concentrating, you closed your eyes, shifting into your true form, your hellish form. Your twin horns sprouting from beneath your thick hair, your tail appearing behind you, and your skin turning an inhuman shade somewhere between dusk and dawn. Your nails lengthened into claws and your teeth did the same, became sharper and deadly. 

Used to seeing so many parts of Dewdrop, it wasn’t anything new per se to have him do the same, but at the same time - it was. The air changed, it felt thick as you inhaled, taking him all in. Showing yourselves to each other shouldn’t have mattered so much. But this added a layer of intimacy to your tryst. Two demons in their true forms, finding temporary solace in each other's arms in this isolating earthly plane.

Ironically, it was a slice of heaven.

“You’re perfect like this.” He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He kissed you again, deeply, with a depth of lust you couldn’t place yet. His voice dropped low, “Now I think I might die if I’m not inside you. Get up there.” He ended the sentence with a chaste pinch on your exposed ass cheek.

You knew better at this point than to ask him if he wanted you face up or down.

It was a face down kind of night.

He didn’t waste a breath, no sooner had you “assumed the position” and he was behind you, bare, and pressing against your rear. 

An embarrassingly needy sound escaped you, but you couldn’t help it. You were like Pavlov’s dog and Dewdrop trained you exceedingly well. 

And he rewarded you even better.

He fisted your hair with one hand, pulling you back so you felt him right there. His thick cock rested perfectly against your wet cunt, and you wiggled your ass back and forth to coat his length with your juices. He twitched, hand reaching out to line himself up with your entrance.

This was always the part that made your toes curl and your breath stall. The calm before the storm with the tip of his hard dick against your lips. Every muscle tensed, your demon body roaring internally, needing to be taken by him, demanding to be claimed.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he pressed himself inside you, and you felt that familiar burning stretch. Your nails dug into the sheets for leverage, and you arched your back further, pressing back to ensure he buried himself to the hilt on the first go. Your mouth hung open as he bottomed out, then he immediately withdrew, leaving only the tip inside you before slamming his hips back against yours. His grip on your waist tightened as he started a rhythm that had you crying out for gods you didn’t believe in.

“You think that stupid, human, waiter could fuck you as good as me?” He was relentless, rutting into you like an unbridled animal. If there was one thing about Dewdrop you could always count on, it was that he would put all of his rage into fucking you. He held onto his emotions from the day and completely let go, only for you.

“Is that, fuck, is that jealousy I hear?”

“Maybe it is.” You felt his claws coming out, digging into your soft hips. 

You growled, the feeling of your ass cheeks vibrating with every thrust of his hips meeting yours was spurring you on more. Just then, an idea in the heat of the moment hit you. You craned your neck to rake your gaze over him, distracting him with your pleading eyes. “Give me more, please Dew. I need more.”

He took the bait. His dark eyes locked on yours, “You’ll take whatever I give you, harlot.”

You used his distraction to snake your tail up and behind his back, careful to avoid his in the process. The spaded end of the appendage dragged itself underneath his arm, running along his ribs with a feather-light touch.

He jolted, not hesitating to give you a hard smack on your right ass cheek before pulling out of you. The feeling of being empty made you clench, alarm sounds ringing in your feverish brain. You sat up, playing innocent even though he would never buy it, “It was an accident.”

“I don’t care.” He shifted himself so his back was against the pillows along the headboard.  “You want to misbehave then you’re going to have to work for it.” His red eyes flicked downward before landing back on your nude frame and he crossed his arms. 

“With pleasure.” You purred, mocking the sentence the waiter had said to you earlier. Only now, it was to further goad the fire ghoul. Moving to straddle him, you kept your gaze on him, your throne to sit and satisfy yourself upon. Just you wait, ghoul, I’ll make you scream for me.

Your shoulders moved like a feline predator stalking its prey as you crawled up onto his lap. You rose up on your knees. He remained in his unhelpful posture, arms crossed. That’s fine. He never could keep himself from touching you for long. Your hand touched his length, stroking him lazily several times while watching his face closely, his only reaction being a slight purse of his lips. You knew he was probably biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself so stoic.

You moved to be above him, lining his cock up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You bit your lip to keep from moaning and Dewdrop hissed in response. Fuck. It didn’t matter how many times you did this, it felt so fucking good every time.

You lifted yourself back up, wanting to start slow, but Dew had other ideas. He swiftly grabbed your hips and forced you back down on him hard, punching the air from your lungs with the strength of his thrust. A cry escaped from your lips.

He was never able to help himself from manhandling you, especially when you were on top. But, it was unusual for him to lose his patience so quickly. He bucked his hips up into you as you tried and failed to establish a pace. He wouldn’t let you go, his claws digging into the plush skin at your waist possessively.

“Dew!” You gasped his name as he claimed the flesh of your neck, biting and sucking everywhere he could. 

Frustration and pleasure hit you right in your middle. No movement was your own. He was relentless. And he was not loosening his grip on you for a second. He was so out of control it seemed, like some part of him had woken up and seized authority over his brain. 

It was because you dropped your glamour.

The realization hit you right as you began to see stars once more. It was so good. Too good. Just his cock inside you and you felt yourself barreling towards another orgasm. His pace was almost cruel, dragging you up and pulling you back down, feeling every inch of him.

Another heavy breath escaped you before you could speak, “Dewdrop?”

He cursed again, “What?” His hand fisted your hair, catching your lip between his fangs and tasted you. 

You broke the kiss, biting the inside of your cheek to ground you. The pain helped you find your words, “You want me to be yours?”

“Yes.” He growled, “Fuck.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now as you fought harder to stave off your climax, “All yours?”

“Yes.”

You snaked your tail up again, this time caressing the side of his neck with the spaded end. You dragged it back, brushing his long hair away from his neck, exposing the skin peppered by smudges of your lipstick. 

“Then let me mark you.”

A sound escaped him that was between a breathy laugh and a scoff. “I knew that’s what you wanted.” His pupils nearly completely enveloped his red eyes, and you knew yours were blown just as wide. “Take your pleasure from me, temptress.”

Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the pale grey flesh of his neck as you reach ecstasy. You taste him in your mouth, then everywhere all at once. His blood is a liquid inferno on your tongue, igniting your senses. Your cries are muffled as you feel every muscle in your strong demonic body clench simultaneously. You hold him tight, claws taking root in his skin, as though he is your very life force as you ride the waves of your pleasure. 

Feeling your orgasm is more than enough to put him over the edge with you. You felt his dick twitching as he spilled himself deep inside of you and filthy words of lust leave his lips.

“Fuck. You’re all mine. Now and fucking forever.”

You release your mouth from his neck to allow him his turn, admiring for a slim moment the mark worth your canines. A breath barely passes your lips before he yanks your hair to the side and bites down on your neck, marking you back, his cock still pulsing inside you. 

Your eyes close tightly and you roll your hips, following the rhythm of each lap of his tongue on your neck until he breaks his hold on you. Both of you groan from the overstimulation, but your body fails you, feeling too spent to go another round right now.

You don’t waste time. Dewdrop is not one for cuddles, usually, but neither are you. A discomfort fills your body when you pull yourself off him, but you brush it off as the true nature of your hellish form overstaying its welcome.

Standing from the bed, you made your way to the vanity. Spying your glamourless self was not new, but it stirred something within you. Seeing the bite marks, hickies, and scratches he left gave you a tingling feeling.

You never came out from a tryst with Dew looking unscathed, but this was different. You brought a hand to your swollen bottom lip and ran your other hand through your hair, touching your pointed ears. Sighing, you went to change back, concentrating on changing your skin, your patterning back to human-like.

Dewdrop seized your wrist, “No.”

You jumped, whirling towards him. You hadn’t realized he even got out of bed. “No?”

“Just stay yourself a little longer.” His fiery gaze dropped almost timidly to the floor, “Please. I like you like this.”

Words failed you. But how could you possibly ignore his plea?

The answer?

You couldn’t. 

Anything for your fire ghoul.

[project-changeling-zero]

things i wish the sonic franchise brought back or implement.

.

Dark Sonic

seriously, i love imagining a fight between Dark Sonic and Eggman inspired by Korra vs. Zaheer ( when she was poisoned ). where he loses the cool attitude, the smile, everything, and goes in with full power, charging himself left and right at Eggman. it'd be even more fascinating to still have Dark Sonic lose. not because of his lack of power, not because of lack of skill, even when blinded by rage, but because of Eggman's ingenuity.

a lot of people, to this day, misinterpret Dark Sonic as a murderous, rampaging monster, but that completely misses the purpose of why he exists to begin with. i believe this is a case of people not exactly knowing where he comes from, or just a lot of fans drawing a murderous Sonic and it took the internet by storm one day, but just in case you don't know:

Dark Sonic is from Sonic X, a TV show that is sort of an expansion on Sonic Adventure 2, adding more lore, character arcs, and overall meaning to the game's original plot. Dark Sonic was revealed in the episode "Teasing Time" in s3, and the reason he appeared is because he discovered his friends ( Cosmo and Chris ) were injured and that one of them ( Chris ) was unconscious.

the whole reason this form exists is Sonic's love for his friends essentially fueling his rage. it's like Darkspine Sonic from SATSR, or has similar formula. Dark Sonic isn't inspired by any bloodlust or desire to kill, but rather by burning anger at seeing his friends be put in harm's way.

Dark Sonic is made from the strong desire to protect his friends.

2. An Actual Arc For Shadow

you guys might be confused, especially if you consider some of my previous posts, but lemme explain.

for a long time, it's never felt like Shadow has actually recovered from his trauma, atone for his actions ( yes, i understand he saved Earth ), or live life really at all. it doesn't help that, to this day, SEGA continues to make Shadow relive the past.

i don't consider the movies to be a part of the problem, as Shadow being introduced to the plot was basically a given, and you can't introduce him in your own take without his general backstory ( unless you're Boom or Prime, i guess ). i believe the movie will be doing taking some creative liberties to his story, as they did so with Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, and i see no reason that they should stop.

the reason why i have an issue with this is because it's an ongoing issue within the games, specifically. Shadow the Hedgehog ( 2005 ) was a disservice to his setup and the 'first arc' ( considering he's still alive after the fans demanded his return ) to his story.

aside from it just giving 'early 2010s deviantart edge', it's just so...

childishly handled.

for one, you're immediately given a Hero or Dark route, like in SA2, which i feel completely misses the point of SA2's true ending. Shadow has redeemed himself ( or began to ), so to give him complete reign to just become an antagonist all over again defeats the whole purpose of a redemption.

it's like what Prime did with Dread, giving him an already established redemption arc ( sort of ), but then corrupting him again for no real reason other than just because.

another issue i have is Shadow's amnesia and attitude in general within the game. technically speaking, yes, it does make sense for him to suffer memory and // or physical issues from his fall from space, but to completely wipe out every single thing he did just to give him the opportunity to relearn his past, do some fucked up shit, do some less fucked up shit, then throw away everything in the past, Maria and her wish included, is...

amazingly obtuse, for lack of a better word.

again, while it's technically not out of bounds, i feel like giving Shadow complete and total amnesia just disrespects SA2's vision and execution of the story. it's redundant, it's lazy, and overall just really damn frustrating to watch.

Shadow deserves to have a story that allows him to heal from his trauma, discover who he is, and respecting Maria's wish along the way. a lot of people seem to think it's either he forgets about his past ( or buries it ) or full-on dedicates his entire life and doesn't bother picking up a life lesson or two, but it doesn't have to be that way.

Shadow can heal, grow, and change. SEGA just won't let him.

3. The Echidna Tribe & Knuckles' Story

Knuckles is one of my favorite characters in the entire franchise as a whole, but his character and story is sorely dismissed. while Shadow has the issue of repetition, Knuckles suffers from being dropped on the head multiple times and played for a joke ( i think Frontiers is one of the more recent games that didn't do this, but i might be wrong ).

one of the reasons why i love Knuckles is how straightforward, yet reluctant he was about finding out his past. at the end of Sonic Adventure 1, he says something to the extent of:

"maybe i'm better off not knowing the meaning behind all of this. because i feel something terrible will happen if i do."

he is content being ignorant for the sake of his own peace of mind.

but in SA2, he's more or less forced to start facing his fear and learn more about the past. unfortunately, though, we don't actually get to see much after this game, because the tribe is almost entirely forgotten. instead, it's brought up in comics that are more or less canon ( i think ), but not fully aligning with the games. i think it's safe to say the comics are their own canon?

like with Shadow, i would've loved to see an actual conclusion on this arc of Knuckles' story. to see more of the tribe in the past, of their wrongdoings, character moments, more of Tikal or Chaos or the little Chao, and how it all ties together.

but instead, we have lots of media repeatedly insulting Knuckles' intelligence, ignoring his tribe and // or his job entirely ( i guess they forget the Master Emerald is portable? ), and just generally dumbing him down to be a hotheaded moron that apparently doesn't care about being the Guardian!

Knuckles is one of the most relatable characters in this series for me, as there's a lot of things i would rather not know and stay ignorant to, but have to face head on in order to fully move past it and grow to be better.

he was completely isolated on Angel Island for so long, yet people still make fun of him to this day for being manipulated by Eggman in SA1 ( even though he didn't even fully believe Eggman, it was just a precaution, but who cares about the details- ). he's not just a hothead, he's strong, he's kind, he's pretty blunt and, honestly, really fucking adorable, i love this echidna.

look at him, just standing there. i love him.

anyway, Knuckles deserves a proper story surrounding his tribe, his identity as the Guardian of Angel Island, his relationships, and to have a satisfying conclusion. or, at the very least, more games or media in general not dumbing him down to an angry hothead with nothing better to do but to yell and ignore his responsibilities.

3. Sonic

"what're you talking about, ashe? sonic's meant to be a flat character! what could be wrong with him?"

yeah, but after frontiers, i want more mentally ill sonic that needs to be concerned for by his friends, okay, that's all i want-

4. Storybook Era

now, now, i know a lot of people don't like the storybook games because of their shoddy gameplay and all that, but i genuinely love these games, their flaws included.

i do believe satbk has a better story than satsr, but i still have an attachment to the latter game, so suck it.

it'd be really nice to see a storybook game with switch, xbox, ps, or similar controls. as the era has Sonic diving into different worlds, maybe a world like Alice and Wonderland could be an interesting game. several elements to work with, locations turning into creative levels or even hub worlds. this is sort of a long shot dream that will probably never exist, but i wanna see an adventure-style storybook game one day.

i'll probably die before that idea is even considered, but it's a fun thought and that's all that matters at the end of the day.

there's no real big reason as to why these matter or anything, as i don't believe you need a storybook in order to send off the messages these games try to give, but they're just really charming to me and i love to see how this type of game could be implemented into video games today, with all the new engines and whatnot.

5. Teams

oof, okay, um-

there's a few games that have teams in them, and i guess you can count sonic forces as one of those games, so i should be more specific here.

i like SA1's flexibility with the roulette-like system, where you could play as any character you wished, but i also like SA2's team system, where they all had a close-knit role within the story from a similar perspective ( hero vs. dark ).

SA1 served multiple perspectives, all giving you pieces of the same puzzle that you have to figure out as you go. by the final story, all of the characters ( except Big, but idc, i love him ) have their character arcs and it's with their changes that the story is fully complete.

SA2 served the entirety of two perspectives and merged them together for the final story, heroes and villains having to work together to fight off the greater evil at hand.

overall, i want more games having the characters work together, having different details // information or even moral differences ( it depends on which system they go with, though ) on the situation at large, but maybe still having to come together.

whether or not they use official teams, i want the sonic franchise to bring back using other characters as necessary plot points with their own individual arcs.

it may not be needed, per say, as there's still a few games that work and don't have either of these systems, but i really miss the adventure games and wish for more of their elements to be implemented in future games.

6. CHAO!!!

BRING THESE LITTLE CREATURES BACK, GODDAMN, WHY ONLY TWO GAMES?!

.

anyway, that's all i can currently think of. i think these would serve either character or charm to the franchise, but maybe you have some other ideas of what the games could give! maybe proper returns of characters, other forgotten stories, or even new ideas!

lemme know what you think.