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azrielbrainrot · 3 months ago

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: You struggle to come to terms with your supposed death, everything you've had and everything you've lost, all the blood that stains your hands, a mating bond, and most importantly, finding your place in the world after all of it.

Warnings: Feelings of depression, suicide ideation, a hint of social anxiety and agoraphobia, awful self image, all around angst sorry, some depictions of violence

Word Count: 6860

Notes: I actually got a little too lost in my head writing this chapter but it ended up being somewhat cathartic writing my feelings through someone else's. It ended up taking me longer than expected to finish this part though, I'm sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

Part 7

You can feel him sitting by your door. Even if the deafening mating bond weren't screaming in elation at his proximity, the enhanced senses you've exhausted yourself training for in that Gods forsaken guild would have let you know. You don't deserve any of it. Not his worry, not his loyalty or his love, certainly not the bond. Maybe you had, a long time ago, but that female was ripped away from you, from him.

The shadowsinger probably paints a tragic picture. Sitting on the cold floor, back against the closed, heavy door, hunched over his own body, powerful wings laying by his sides, waiting for a selfish mate who will not open the door no matter how much he pleads or how long he waits, who can barely bring herself to get out of bed, let alone face the male whose life she brought nothing but ruin and heartache.

Ever since Rhys tore down the walls keeping your memories away, there has been a war raging inside you, one in which there will be no victors. It has been eating you away from the inside. You feel like two people have lived in this body before, led completely different lives, and have now abandoned it for you to deal with the scraps and somehow put the pieces back together.

It's almost impossible to keep up with the passing of time as you are. Weeks, maybe even months could have passed since that day. There was a sense of relief when the walls first came crumbling down, even happiness when you saw Azriel and recognized him as the male you loved beyond words, but everything else rushed into your mind the next moment and rendered you speechless.

One moment you had been sitting in Azriel's lap, and in the next the breath was knocked out of your lungs, and a deep ache spread over your body. It felt like your entire being was on fire and drowning at the same time as you saw numerous people die at your hands. It felt foreign, you felt foreign. You started clawing at your own skin, trying to get that hateful person out, ripping your flesh apart desperately. You don't remember what happened next, though you vaguely recall Azriel's anguished screams. Rhys had probably come and rendered you unconscious, effectively calming you down and giving you what must have been the last peaceful night of sleep since then.

You don't know who you are anymore. You can't be sure if you ever did. All those years ago, when you married Azriel, you thought you knew exactly who you were, what your values and aspirations were, how you'd spend your life. You had plans and dreams. It all feels like one giant, heartbreakingly realistic fantasy now, like that life in itself was an idealistic dream.

Looking back now, you know you had simply been sheltered. You had led a privileged life, protected by your parents when they were alive and then by Azriel. Because the person you so easily became when Norris took you had to be living under your skin all along, waiting for an opportunity to show her claws. Someone can't do even half of the things you've done if they had been truly good to begin with. Norris had simply coaxed this hateful, bloodthirsty monster out of you.

Perhaps you should have thanked him before you killed him, if it weren't for him you would have kept living that lie until your last breath. You would have tried tampering it down until you couldn't anymore, until that vile thing ripped open your skin, escaped its bounds and destroyed everything in its path. Would you have hurt Azriel if you had stayed? Killed his entire family in cold blood? The family who took you in like you were one of their own, who were there for you to show you love and happiness when you thought you had lost everything with your parents' deaths.

And what now? Which one were you now, if any at all? You know you're far from the starry eyed female who walked these halls a century ago, arm looped into her loving husband's, who was ready to face any challenge that was put in front of her so long as he stayed by her side. Who dreamt of buying a house and decorating it to both of their tastes, who planned a life by his side down to the last detail. In sickness and in health, in life and in death. What a joke.

The fearless killer was a stranger to you as well. She'd committed atrocities with this body, soaked your hands in blood, but she at least had a purpose, even if she hadn't been the one to find it for herself. The guild trained her, made her strong, and gave her missions. Her life had some sort of meaning, one even she wasn't proud of, no matter how many times she forced herself to emulate her handler, swallow down the guilt that threatened to eat her whole, but a meaning nonetheless. When she eventually snapped she would become one of the few who had been stupid enough to try and escape the guild, maybe even try to paint her blade with Norris' blood. That alone would have meant something, if only a whispered rumor across the guild's low ranks in between missions.

All you were now was a ghost. Slowly fading into the wallpaper, sinking into the bed. Spending your days staring into space, consumed by your own betraying thoughts, suffering through your nights as nightmares reigned free inside your brain. The worst part is they weren't simply nightmares. They were memories, your memories. You had lived through every single haunting image being shown to you. The blood coating your body, covering you in a sickenly metallic smell, had been spilled by your masterful blade, and you had walked away from every single one of those lifeless bodies, leaving them behind without a care as you searched for your handler once more, giving him news of yet another successful mission and awaiting a new one, a new life for you to take.

A sudden knock on the door brings you back to the present, somewhat. Your head turning to face the door, the first movement in a while judging by the ache that follows it. The knock had been soft, careful not to startle you - he's always so careful with you, even after everything, - but in the deafening silence of the room, it still echoed, making your headache worse.

Azriel calls your name, the way the syllables escape his lips sending a shiver down your spine. Even in this state the bond finds a way to make itself known, reminding you of the connection between the two of you, as if you could ever forget.

“I know you can hear me,” he murmurs. You can hear how defeated he is, how sad you've made him once again. It's all your fault, it's always your fault. “Like I told you yesterday, I'm here for you. I will help you through anything as long as you let me, as long as you want me by your side.”

He pauses for a moment, in case you'll give him a response for once. You envy his hope. If you had the courage to hope for even a second maybe you would have called out his name and invited him in, let him hold you in his warm embrace, and make it better, but hope had died along with you and you didn't know how to get it back, didn't know if you wanted to.

A pained sigh escapes him, resigning himself, for the night at least. “I'll come back tomorrow, and every day after that. I promise I will be here when you need me.” You hear him swallow, can feel him trying to steady his voice and keep strong for you in a time when you can't find any strength in yourself. “I love you, more than anything.”

His soft steps retreat, slowly dragging his body away from your door so he can go into his own room and lay in his own empty bed, far away from the wife who he thought he had just gotten back after a century but can't bring herself to even look at him.

The bond screams in your chest, a piercing sound that could make your ears bleed at its intensity. A tear escapes your unblinking eye, running down your skin until it loses its path as it reaches your ear, ultimately falling into the mattress. And still you don't move.

You study the lifeless body in front of you, inspecting the female's beautiful kohl lined brown eyes as they stare right at you unblinking. Listening for the sound of her breath or heartbeat, a sound you know will not come, never again. She had on an elegant silk dress, it was once a shade of green, now tainted with red. She was probably going to meet someone - her friends or her lover, maybe her family. Whoever it was wouldn't see her again, would only be left with bittersweet memories.

Reaching over her, you pull the blade still stuck in her chest out in one smooth, heartless movement. As you go to clean the blood off so you can put it away and escape, you take note of the knife in your hand, frowning down at it as you study the hilt, too intricate to belong to your standard knives. There was even a blue gem encrusted on it, you had never seen let alone owned anything like this.

Looking up, you find strangely familiar hazel eyes staring at you, unblinking as that female's had been. Your eyes travel to the knife in your hand once again as your brain races to keep up with the situation. It's coated in blood, you hadn't wiped it yet, so were your hands, there was so much blood. Your breath catches in your throat when you find a wedding ring around your finger, the blue gem shining under the moonlight.

The knife falls from your hands. Tears cloud your vision, a broken sob escaping you. Azriel. The corpse in front of you belonged to Azriel. You killed him. You killed your husband, your mate. It was all your fault.

You open your eyes with a gasping breath as if you'd been stuck under water. The image of your dead mate refusing to leave your mind as tears keep running down your cheeks, chest rising and falling as if you'd been physically running from this nightmare. It takes you quite a while to fully come to and realize where you were - sitting up in your bed, and not in an empty alley with a dead body at your feet.

It takes you even longer to notice you were not alone anymore. Wide eyes find teary, hazel ones searching your face frantically. As soon as you see him, it becomes impossible to ignore the way his rough hands hold you up, the soothing words he whispers even when he himself looks terrified

Unlike in that awful nightmare, Azriel stood before you breathing. He was blinking, and his heart was beating. Azriel was alive. He was right in front of you and he was alive. You hadn't killed him. The realization finally allows you to catch your breath, the weight at the base of your skull subsiding as you repeat the words over and over in your mind, counting the beats of his heart as you did.

The relief was short-lived though. The reminder that you had stabbed him in real life not so differently from how it happened in your dream making you reel back, back crashing into the headboard hard enough that it almost knocked the wind out of you, his hands dropping from their comforting grip on your head, the heartbroken expression on his face intensifying.

You're both frozen like that for a few seconds, your wide eyes watching his every movement as he stood kneeling down in front of you, hands stuck in the same place like you hadn't moved from under them. Even in the midst of all the chaos taking your mind hostage, you noticed the fear in his eyes. Was he afraid of you? He should be. Though you're not so sure that was the case since he tried reaching for you again as soon as he was pulled out of his stupor.

It makes you recoil even further into the headboard, a sob escaping you, recalling the image of his lifeless body playing in your dream and the way his blood stained your skin in the townhouse only a few weeks ago.

Tears flow down your cheeks with a new vigor when he calls out your name, an heartbreaking sound. You remember how much you loved to hear him whisper your name in that low, sweet timbre of his. It makes your chest tighten uncomfortably, until you can barely breathe now.

“Please leave,” you manage to push out.

“Wait.”

“You can't be here.”

Wrapping your arms around your legs, you hope he listens. You can't hurt him anymore than you already have, couldn't bear to live with yourself if you did, and for that you need him to go, need him to be out of your tainting reach.

“Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he begs, his own tears escaping freely now.

My love. The way he says it so carefully, so sure of himself makes you sob harder. You don't deserve his love, his attention or care, you never did. And he doesn't deserve any of this pain, so you need him to go, you have to push him away.

“I can't…” Why are the words so hard to say? Why can't you just tell him to go and never come back? “Please,” you manage through a sob, an ugly sound in the back of your throat, hiding your face in your knees.

Azriel closes his eyes, salty tears running down his heartbroken face. He tightens his grip on the sheets for a moment, hard enough that his knuckles turn white. Telling himself to stay, or maybe forcing himself to accept your dismissal.

“I'll go,” he whispers out after a while, opening his eyes at last, defeated, “but if you need me just call out and I'll be back in a heartbeat, alright?”

You don't answer him, your entire concentration going into keeping your eyes off him. Trying desperately to push not only the haunting nightmare down, but also the mating bond, who demanded you seek comfort from your mate while you were trying so hard to push him away.

He gets up slowly, dragging his feet as he walks to the door, looking back at you multiple times as if he can't bear to leave you alone like this, as if begging you to call him back, but you've made your decision and you won't call out to him no matter how desperate you are.

“I was thinking it would be a good idea to bring you up to Rhys' cabin for a few days. You can stay in your room or go outside on your own, and I promise you won't even have to see me if you don't want to,” Azriel explains tentatively through the closed door. “It wouldn't be much different from being here except you could take in the fresh air of the mountain. You always used to love it up there, said it helped you think more clearly.”

This conversation hadn't come out of nowhere and it certainly wasn't entirely about a simple change of scenery - though you wouldn't be surprised if it doubled as a way of trying to get out of this room if nothing else. They were unsure about keeping you in this house, in Velaris even. You overheard part of their discussion on the subject, the tricks you've learned at the guild proving themselves useful at least as you approached the room without them noticing.

You had been curious when you felt most of the inner circle's presence in the house. For a moment, you had even panicked, thinking they would try to talk to you, maybe a form of intervention, but when it was clear they would all keep their distance, you couldn't stop yourself from eavesdropping on their conversation. You had already known it would be about you, or maybe the guild, for them to gather up in the House of Wind.

Given your current apathy and insistence on distancing yourself from everyone, they were worried about keeping you so high up in the mountain. No one had actually said the words, but the implication was clear, - if you so wished, all you had to do was open the window and let yourself fall through the wind, finding your sweet release as you crashed into the ground. And, even with some of their vehement denials, it was painfully obvious that they were all scared of it becoming a reality.

They had moved onto the topic of moving you off Velaris as well, almost at Azriel's insistence. They thought the city could be too suffocating for you since you seemed to want to be alone with your thoughts. And so the idea of moving you to the cabin for a while came up at Feyre's suggestion. You zoned out when they started trying to decide on the best way to bring it up to you, knowing you would refuse the offer no matter how it was brought up. The thought of making the trip there was exhausting on its own.

Azriel's shadows had definitely noticed you spying on the inner circle. You saw them swirling by your hiding spot in the hallway multiple times, lingering for a moment before moving closer to the door. You can't be sure if they had not alerted their singer out of their own volition, or if he had chosen to let you hear the conversation.

You knew he would be more than happy for you to step into the office and speak for yourself, but you barely had to give it any thought to decide against it. You didn't see the point in it. They were right about your lack of will to be alive. You genuinely couldn't bring yourself to care if you were in this house or the next, in Velaris or on the other side of the world, if they were the ones to decide it or not so long as they left you alone.

Truthfully, you didn't quite see the point in living either, and at the same time killing yourself felt like too much of a hassle. Not to mention that Azriel wouldn't survive your death this time, and hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. Just the thought sent the bond into disarray, a weight growing in your chest and taking your breath away.

You hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to Azriel in all the weeks you've been here so you obviously haven't told him about the bond. The downside of that is that you don't know if he's felt it himself either. He has been devoted to you to say the least, but he always had, even before you died. Azriel always treated you like you were his entire world.

As if processing all your memories wasn't enough, the bond had somehow made things even more complicated. Every happy memory of the two of you together sent the bond almost vibrating with joy, pushing you to go and see him when all you wanted to do was disappear in this room. It makes you feel like you're not fully in charge of your body, just as it felt like watching back your memories at the guild.

“What do you think?”

His voice brings you back to the present once more. Your eyes finding the closed door, imagining him leaning against it on the other side, forehead leaning against the dark, carved wood, praying for an answer he knows won't come.

You consider saying something, to at least let him know you wanted to stay here just as you were, but your body wasn't agreeing with you, refusing to move or form out the words even if you were asking it to. You knew it would be better to refuse his offer, not only because you knew he wouldn't force you to leave if you told him you didn't want to, but also because hearing you speak after so long could lessen their worries, his worries. Still, you couldn't force yourself to even move your mouth.

Azriel lets out a sigh, that heartbreakingly defeated sound you've grown so used to, taking your silence as an answer. You hear him swallow, pushing back the tears and the heaviness you could almost feel in your own heart.

“It's alright,” he breathes out, “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Alright. You were starting to grow a distaste for the word. How could it be alright when you've done nothing but hurt him? You disappeared on him for decades on decades, making him think you were dead while you were off killing people for money. Only to come back and try to steal from Rhys, stab him and then ignore him after they helped you recover your memories. He has been sitting at your doorstep multiple hours a day for weeks without getting as much as an answer. How is any of this alright?

You wish he would just forget about you. Maybe then you wouldn't feel so guilty for all you've done.

If it weren't for the magic pumping through this house your bath would have been freezing cold by now. The perfectly warm, lavender scented water the House provided almost pissed you off, and so did the oils and balms it presented you, urging you to take care of yourself when it was the last thing on your mind.

You've spent hours in the ostentatious tub, scrubbing your skin raw. Desperately trying to get rid of the disgust you felt every time you looked down at your own hands, always finding them covered in blood no matter how many times you washed them. Some things can't be washed out with anything, and you can't undo the things you've done.

After wishing to recover your memories so fiercely, you can't believe you find yourself wishing you could forget everything all over again, the happy and awful ones alike. Every time you remember your short marriage with Azriel, you end up reminding yourself of all the things you've done, of how much you didn't deserve even a second of the happiness he brought you during those years.

You remember when Azriel confided in you about the guilt he felt for the things he's done. You'd always soothe him as best as you could, thinking you could understand how he feels, telling him you'd always love him no matter what. It makes you cringe just to think how naive you were.

Everything Azriel had done had been by the High Lord's orders - unfortunately including Rhysand's father - but, whether it was the best solution or not, it was all for the good of the Night Court and its people. And even then you couldn't have imagined what that burden felt like on his back. You had fought before, helped them keep the court safe, but had hardly ever killed anyone, only getting that far when it was strictly necessary.

Now you had lost count of how many people's lives had ended by your hand, or you wish you had at least. Your nightmares insist on showing you every single person, one after the other playing incessantly in your mind. Now you know what it felt like to be on the other end of the conversation.

Letting out a sigh, you submerge yourself underwater, hoping to drown out your thoughts for even a moment. You almost felt bored today, which shouldn't come as a surprise since you've done virtually nothing in weeks, but given your current disposition it certainly was something new. It almost makes you wish you had accepted Azriel's offer of taking you up to Rhys' cabin though you still weren't sure you could make the trip there. The only way to leave this house was by having someone fly you down, which is probably why they keep you here in the first place.

It could be completely unrelated to your mood, but Azriel hadn't come by today. He warned you there was something important he needed to do when he left the night before. He rarely leaves your side these days, always sitting by your door or in the room next to yours, keeping his promise of being a simple shout away, so you know it had to be about the guild or the general safety of Velaris for Rhys to actually manage to convince him to stay longer than a few hours away from you.

Curiosity got the best of you, asking the question out loud while he was informing you through the door before you could stop yourself. He didn't answer right away, probably too surprised at hearing your voice after weeks of silence, so you didn't even realize you had asked it out loud at first.

When the shock wore off, he told you there were some suspicious movements close to the Hewn City, the smile noticeable in his voice despite the safety threat he was describing. Routine checks like these never took him too long, and with the added situation you were in, he would likely be back by the early hours of the morning.

You couldn't call them conversations at all, but hearing Azriel talk to you, sometimes to tell you about his day, telling you old stories or even new ones, the important moments you've missed in recent years, helped you not feel so empty somehow. As much as you were desperately trying to distance yourself and lay forgotten alone in this room, the fact that he wouldn't allow you to do it brought you a sense of relief.

These feelings were too confusing, wanting complete opposite things like this. You needed to be alone, were always just shy of a panic attack when you so much as caught a glimpse of anyone or heard their voice, but it was starting to feel like you still wanted them to reach out a hand dispute it all.

Your lungs start to burn after being left with no air for so long. You consider just letting it run out, put yourself out of this misery, but your hands reach for the sides of the tub, pulling yourself out of the water, air filling your lungs once again, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Even this you couldn't do right.

Getting out of the tub and cleaning yourself off with a fluffy towel, you move to walk out into the bedroom, but hesitate for a moment, glancing at the calming oils the house left you on top of the counter. You've scrubbed at your skin so much it's irritated and slightly itchy, the oil could help soothe it so you didn't end up scratching at yourself all night.

One of the oils smelled like lavender too, so maybe with a little luck and nothing else disturbing you, it would help you relax enough for you to get at least a few hours of sleep without any unwanted nightmares waking you up right away. You felt exhausted down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than a little dreamless peace, so you picked up the oil for once.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you search through the closet, finding it full of your old things. There was more than what Azriel had shown you before, when you still couldn't recognize any of them, a lot more in fact, it looked like he hardly got rid of anything. There were also things the rest of your friends must have saved from that time.

You hadn't stopped to think about what happened to everything you owned when you died, too consumed with every other thought. It seems everyone ended up keeping a piece of you for themselves, Azriel keeping as much as he could, desperately so.

Rummaging through the boxes, you pick up a necklace Cassian had bought for you as a Solstice present. It was simple in nature, but the blue stone hanging from it was absolutely gorgeous. He had been very proud of this find, and later that night Azriel had told you all about how he had begged Mor to help him get something special for you, since he wasn't too good at buying gifts for people but wanted your first Solstice with Azriel to go without a single misstep.

The necklace holds a nostalgic weight as you put it around your neck, letting it sit as you look through the rest of your things. There was a lot more jewelry in these boxes since you always had a love for shiny things, and Rhysand didn't have any sort of restraint when it came to his money. Once he had bought you an entire collection of gold, sapphire encrusted jewelry for Solstice, one that would have embarrassed you had you not given him an extremely rare cologne that same night. You even had to employ the help of Azriel's shadows to find it. Finding gifts for the High Lord was always an adventure.

Picking up one of the many decorated daggers the inner circle, including your mate, had gifted you over the years, you find it's the first dagger Amren gave you. It hadn't been a solstice or birthday gift, she had simply decided you needed it after an attack. You had more than enough daggers, even more if you went through Azriel's collection, but her giving it to you was a sign that she cared, in her own way. You had almost started crying in Azriel's arms when you realized the ancient, terrifying creature cared about you later that night.

Most of your expensive clothes seemed to be hanging in this closet as well, and almost all had either been gifted by Mor or you had bought them when you were shopping together. You wonder for a second if any of the old stores you used to visit were still open. You're also not entirely sure if you'd like any of the things you used to, dressing in color felt foreign to you now.

Even from your position on the ground, you knew the carefully wrapped dress hanging in the closet had to be your wedding dress, the thought making your mouth go dry. You thumb at your ring finger unconsciously, finding it empty. You had lost your wedding ring, Azriel couldn't have kept it since you had it on when you died. You find yourself wishing you still had it, as undeserving as you were of something so special.

Memories of the ceremony rush into your head, bringing tears to your eyes, it truly had been the happiest day of your life. You wonder if you would have still married him if you had known what was to come. Selfishly, you think you would.

You have to tear your eyes away from the garment, making your way through the boxes sitting at the bottom of the dresser once more to distract yourself. There were so many random things in here, even bookmarks and cookie cutters. He truly has kept anything that reminded him of you.

In the middle of it is sitting a dandelion preserved in resin. Azriel had given it to you when you told him you missed looking at the fields full of them as you sat under the trees when you were a child, finding the most comfortable looking one to take a nap. You used to keep it by your bedside, and looking over to the empty nightstand you think you might start doing it again.

At the bottom of the box were a few letters, a copy of your contract with Rhysand, letters your parents had written, and a few you wrote for Azriel. There was one in particular that came to mind. You search for it, knowing the inscription and date written on the envelope by heart. When you find it among the others, you open it slowly, hands shaking as you do.

You had written this letter for Azriel after he proposed to you, leaving it on his pillow for him to find one night. It had always been easier for you to write your feelings rather than saying them out loud, and so you had decided to do just that, pouring your heart out into the pages.

Reading through it brought tears to your eyes, sobbing silently at her precious feelings. No matter how naive or innocent she was, one thing you can't deny was that her love for Azriel was always real, your love for Azriel. You find yourself agreeing with every word you had written all those years ago, even when you felt unworthy of it. You still loved him as much as you did before, there's no point in denying that.

You don't know how many times you read the letter or for how long you sit on that floor, holding onto the dandelion Azriel immortalized for you, crying at everything you've lost, and everything you still have.

When Azriel comes by that night you find yourself opening the door, only wide enough for you to be able to reach your hand out, but it sets his heart beating dangerously fast nonetheless, the rush of happiness traveling through the bond somehow. You hand him the letter silently, and almost thank the gods when he carefully accepts it without touching you, without question, before closing the door back up.

You've never been good at explaining your feelings, much less when your head is as messy as it is now, but you hope he understands what you want to say with this gesture, you want him to know you still love him, that you always will. Judging by the way he starts audibly crying, much like you had been hours prior, you think he does, and, for the first time in weeks, those sounded like happy tears.

It's hard to say where the sudden courage came from, but your body moves before you have the chance to ignore it or talk yourself out of it. Getting out of bed and almost throwing yourself into the bath, letting the scented wash take away all the lingering cold sweats left behind by yet another nightmare.

Drying yourself off, and throwing on one of the dresses Mor had left for you quickly. She truly knew you well, even this warped version of you. The black dress was simple enough, although somehow too intricate for the dinner you were about to interrupt at the time, but it was beautiful.

She had come by your room not long ago, calling out your name softly, but unfortunately still scaring you in the process, unused to company as you were. The obvious panic shown by your heartbeat made her pause for a moment but it didn't completely deter her as she left a bag full of new clothes at your door, lingering only long enough to write out a note explaining she wanted you to have some updated clothes before going on her way, understanding you didn't wish to see or talk to anyone while holding out hope that you would one day.

You had waited for her to leave the house entirely before opening the door hesitatingly, and picking up the bag quickly, reading the note as well back in the comfort of your room. The kiss she left on the note, marked by her red lipstick, was so much like Mor that it made you cry.

That was the last time you had opened this door, and as your hand finds the doorknob you hesitate, heart beating so loud you think it might jump out of your chest. It takes you entirely too long to go through with it, but a loud, boisterous laugh coming from downstairs allows some of your courage to return.

Descending the stairs slowly, step by step, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, simultaneously trying to not make any noise and telling yourself you could do this. When you get closer to the dining room, close enough that you could hear them talking and find Azriel's shadows lazing around along the walls, you hesitate once more.

They sounded happy and you would only ruin the mood with your presence. Those thoughts quickly consume you, and almost make you turn around, but as one of his shadows suddenly passes you, sliding into the room to warn Azriel of your arrival, you round the corner and take the last few steps, walking into the room and facing the other three residents of this house.

Cassian stands up immediately at your presence, your name leaving his lips in surprise as he studies you with wide eyes. His familiar lack of subtlety almost brings a smile to your lips. You think it did at first, only to raise your hand and find your mouth set in the same line it had been stuck in for weeks, the muscles still unused, but you still stayed.

They were all frozen in place, as if scared that if they made any sudden movement it would send you back running to your room, and, truthfully, it probably would. Everyone's eyes are now on you, every single one of your instincts is telling you to turn back around, and you're still here. Maybe you can actually do this.

“I…” Your voice falters, you couldn't be sure when it was the last time you had used it. “I thought I could join you for dinner today.”

No one answers right away, still watching you as if they couldn't believe you were really standing there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, closing your hands into fists, hard enough that your nails bite into the palms of your hands, the pain keeping you present in the moment. You wanted to approach the table, but felt entirely too exposed.

Nesta is the first to break out of the spell, grabbing onto Cassian's arm and pulling him back down into his chair, making you let out a sigh of relief. As soon as his butt finds the chair, Azriel also shakes himself out of his surprise, a blinding smile trying to fight its way into his lips while he attempts to act normally. His shadows all disperse to different corners of the room as he lets out a breath, one that seems to come from deep within him.

“Of course you can,” he answers at last. He comes up to your room and talks to you every day, but hearing it unmuffled by the door, his eyes locked on yours, makes goosebumps appear in your arms. It also sends you walking to the table, choosing the seat at the top instead of the empty one next to Azriel. One step at a time.

A bowl of soup appears in front of you as soon as you sit down. The worst part was over, you reminded yourself. Now you just have to sit and eat, let them get lost in their conversations and just push through. It takes them a moment to understand your feelings, but once again Nesta seems to read you like an open book, starting their conversation back up and forcing them to follow.

You hadn't eaten all day if you remembered correctly, but your appetite was the last thing on your mind, having to almost force yourself to finish the soup, as was the usual these days. It was also hard to keep track of their conversation as you kept repeating encouraging words in your head and ordered your limbs to keep moving, entirely too aware of your every movement.

They tried to be subtle, but every once in a while you could also feel their side glances at you. You never met their eyes though, staring into your soup as if it was the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life.

Azriel's shadows seemed to be your biggest supporters, lazing around under your feet as if reminding you that you weren't alone. They were easier to deal with that Azriel himself for now, but as an extension of him, it felt like having him close.

You hardly say another word during the whole ordeal, the air so awkward it almost made you want run away multiple times, but you stay until you finish your food, and when you go back to your room, excusing yourself quickly, you're incredibly proud of yourself. Azriel tells you as much when he visits one last time before sleep as well, a warmth spreading in your chest at the words. Maybe all wasn't completely lost yet.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader

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another-lost-mc · 1 year ago

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I come to share an idea with you in case luck is on my side and you interested to expand it-

I can't stop thinking about the MC who has a crush on Lucifer but somehow ends up moaning his name while making out with Mephisto 🤔🫢 (I don't think MC and Mephisto have a romantic relationship yet, maybe it's more like ons or something similar???)

To be honest, your name somehow popped to my mind when I thought of this idea 😆 Maybe because I read your smut fic too much lol—

Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you have a fantastic day 🤍

give me time, I'll change your mind

pairing: mephistopheles x gn!reader

content: nsfw. smut. friends (frenemies?) with benefits. jealousy, teasing, cursing, degradation, slut-shaming. reader has unresolved feelings for lucifer (one-sided).

word count: 1.3k

Groans and whimpered curses spill effortlessly from your lips as long, dexterous fingers graze the spot inside you that makes you tremble. Your body feels like a livewire, overwhelmed by the barest touch of leather against your bare skin and little nips of teeth against your throat. He nudges your head back for better access and you tip your head back with a sigh. It feels so good and your mind is lost in a blissful daze of his creation.

You don't realize something is wrong until there's a sharp intake of breath, and the gloved hand stretching you open suddenly grows still. Mephisto lifts his head from where he was trailing kisses along the curve of your neck, and he narrows his eyes angrily at you.

"I'm knuckle-deep inside your greedy little hole and you can't remember my name, pet?"

Your mouth falls open in mortification when you realize what you've done.

This isn't the first time you've gone to him for relief. He accepted your casual physical arrangement and you both agreed discretion was best. He obliged when you were in the mood, even though more often lately he was the one that initiated first.

He was always careful about coming up with flimsy excuses for you to stay behind after class and help him with the school paper. He fucked you across any available surface in the newspaper club office—bent over the arm of the sofa, against the door, flat on your back against his desk. He was generous with his attention without asking why you chose him, and maybe that was his mistake.

What would you tell him if he did? That he was a handsome distraction, someone to satisfy your needs while you tried to unravel your complicated feelings for the Avatar of Pride?

"I'm sorry, I—I don't know why..."

You're a terrible liar, and he doesn't fall for your blubbering excuses. His expression is cold, calculating, and he's piecing together the little secrets you've kept from him all this time.

"How many others do you turn to for a quick fuck because you can't have your precious Lucifer?" He practically spits his name like a curse as he pulls his fingers from your body with an obscene squelch. He continues stoking around your entrance lazily, taunting you so you don't forget that you were nearly begging for him to fuck your brains out—until you ruined it, that is.

His tongue is sharp and his words drip with scorn. He's trying to hurt you for hurting him. "Tell me, little human. Was I the only one willing to touch you? Was I your last resort, pet? Lucky me." He chuckles but it's a bitter sound, and he bares his fangs when his lips curl into a cold smile.

You're rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing uselessly when you struggle to think of something to say.

How could you be so stupid?

Stray tears trickle from the corner of your eyes when you blink. You can't even imagine how pathetic you must look in his eyes: your lips quivering pitifully as more tears threaten to fall, your legs spread wide on the desk where he stands between them, your pants and underwear tugged down to your ankles from earlier when he was too eager to undress you properly.

He startles you when his fingers press against your entrance and slide back in effortlessly. He adds another and begins stretching you again around his fingers, but it's different now than it was before. His movements are faster now, roughened by his frustration and some primal instinct to claim you. He had you first. Perhaps he just needs to remind you of what you can have with him instead of whatever fantasy you've imagined with Lucifer, that pompous prick—he doesn't deserve you.

Desire pools deep in your belly and you bite your lip to stifle your moans as he strokes you in all the right places. It feels wrong to enjoy this when you insulted him so cruelly. You feel guilty because you still want him—no one's ever touched you the way he has. You have a feeling that he knows that too, even if you won't admit it.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth; he licks at a stray tear clinging to your cheek before he pulls away. "Don't worry, pet. I'll still take care of you, even if no one else will."

There's a soft zip and a metallic clink as he undoes his belt with his free hand. Once he frees his cock, he moves lightning quick—his fingers slip from your body so he can grip your waist with both his hands. He drags you forward until the only thing keeping you from falling off the edge of the desk is his hips pressed against yours.

You barely manage to grip the edge of the desk to brace yourself before he thrusts inside you with one deep stroke. He gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch, panting lightly while he watches you squirm on his cock. His hair falls carelessly over his face and sticks to the light sheen of sweat trickling down his temples.

It feels like the calm before the storm: he looks fierce but determined. "Let's see if you can still moan his name by the time I'm done with you," he sneers, groaning deep in his chest when he pulls back, teasing your entrance with the fat tip of his cock. He slams back inside, fucking you like he's trying to tear you asunder with the rough, punishing pace of his thrusts. His filthy praise about how well you take him and how perfect you feel around his cock puts you back together again.

The desk rattles underneath you and the desperate, feral noises you're both making can probably be heard down the hall, but he doesn't stop until you come on his cock with a broken cry. He fucks you through your release and hisses when you clench around him, and he finally grunts as he empties himself into you.

After he catches his breath, he groans quietly as his softening cock slips from your body. He tucks himself away, fastening his belt while he stares at the tantalizing sight of his cum trickling from your hole. Usually he fetches a damp cloth for you to clean yourself with, but he doesn't do that tonight. He helps you off the desk and slides your clothes back into place. His hands are surprisingly gentle and you realize he's not trying to mock you—there's something possessive in his gaze instead. Your underwear and pants are sticky from the mess he's made of you, and he can already see little wet spots forming where it soaks into the fabric.

By the time he leads you outside where his chauffeur is waiting, it's as if nothing unusual happened between you tonight. His car pulls up at the House of Lamentation to drop you off, and like all the times before, watches to make sure you make it inside safely. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back until you close the door behind you.

The others must be busy because no one comes to your room to bother you, and you're grateful that you don't have to make excuses for your wrinkled appearance and musky smell. You take a warm bath before bed to soothe the dull ache between your legs. The lingering scent of his sweat and cologne on your skin has faded by the time you put on your pajamas, and you leave your D.D.D. on your desk so you're not tempted to call him. You toss and turn, mind racing with memories of what happened tonight and the fleeting sense of uncertainty and anticipation about what to expect when you see him tomorrow.

Eventually you fall into a restless sleep, but the crimson eyes you normally dream about are murky-green instead.

read more: mephistopheles masterlist | obey me! masterlist

#obey me #obey me mephistopheles #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me mephisto x reader #mephistopheles x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #mephistopheles smut #obey me mephisto x mc #mephistopheles x mc #obey me mephisto x you #mephistopheles x you #obey me fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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gelenka-daria · 2 months ago

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melkor and manwe and heavy angst plz? <33333

i remembered that there was a passage about melkor ripping manwë's eagles' wings off so i made it worse

Manwë won’t forgive this.

Melkor hesitates, his grip tight around the eagle’s throat as it struggles to free itself from his hold. He remembers his brother’s fondness for his winged creatures, the caresses, the loving looks, the pride. Had Melkor himself not harbored affection towards them given that they’re an extension of his little brother? What he’s about to do would cause Manwë such pain.

Good, he squashes the uncertainty like a worthless insect as his face hardens, disdain deposes the sinking feeling in his gut, coiling with thorny sharpness around his heart and striking a horrible, burning heat into the dark folds of his mind. Has he not been cast aside? Been made a fool and his right forsworn? Has he not been hurt? I don’t need his forgiveness. Let him hurt.

His fingers squeeze and he pulls, tearing feather, skin, flesh and bone asunder, blood and viscera splashing haphazardly, slashing across his face as he shreds the eagle in half and the damned thing ceases its shrieking at last.

He drops the carcass at his feet without a spare glance before turning to his quivering vassals, bidding them to hand him the next one, flexing his fingers to hide their shaking.

“Don’t waste your breath,” he tells the writhing, screeching creature, and it takes all his might to keep the breathlessness out of his voice, because he feels like he’s being choked, invisible hands closing violently around his throat, “your coward of a master won’t come to save you.”

Melkor pointedly ignores the vicious chorus inside his own mind telling him that he’s the coward, how he can never bring himself to harm Manwë so this is what he stoops to.

It doesn’t matter.

They’ve captured five in total, and he’s going to rip them all apart, sans one, so it could carry the pieces back to his little brother.

There is rising hysteria punching its way up from the depth of Manwë's body.

He’d retired to his chambers briefly after countless meetings had left him weary and in need of some much-needed peace and quiet. He’d only been able to enjoy a few moments of repose before an eagle had shot through his balcony and crashed into the floor, looking haggard, a large red mass of— something dangling from its claws.

Manwë didn’t know what he was looking at, at first, until he realized that the putrid pile of flesh was none other than the remains of some of his own eagles, torn to smithereens and stuck together in a tableau of death.

The understanding zapped through him like a bolt of lightning, splintering him down the middle like a crack in a solid tree, and he found that he, the breath of Arda, could hardly manage to draw breath.

“Highest!” Eönwë bursts through the doors, the look of alarm on his face only intensifying once he spots the body parts. “It’s—highest!” He bolts to where his king has kneeled to cradle the worn-out bird as it struggles to breathe, his wide eyes stuck to the lump of flesh and bone his eagles had been rendered to. “Are you alright, highest?”

Manwë can do nothing but nod, before he stands to inch closer to the heap of dead eagle parts, heedless of Eönwë's attempts to keep him away.

“It’s him.” His herald hisses. Manwë doesn’t grace him with a reply, it doesn’t take a genius to know who he is. “Do not get closer, Highest, I beg, lest it be a trick.”

“Send for the others,” Manwë tells him absentmindedly, continuing his advance until the hems of his pale, pristine robes brush over the pooling blood.

“Highest–”

“Now, Eönwë.” Please, he pleads internally, leave me be.

Eönwë concedes, retreating in hurried steps from the chambers as Manwë sinks to his knees and finally lets the pain of it, the shock of it, settle in, grief weaving across his face. He can’t even tell them apart, doesn’t know which is which and something dies a little inside him, a small piece of his heart flaking away from the rest of it.

Eru. Why? He’d cared for them, too, once. Held them, fed them, flown with them. The Melkor he knew wouldn’t do this, the Melkor he knew recognized how much the eagles meant to Manwë, but the Melkor he knew is nothing but a mirage of fireshine and shadow now, born of memory and instinct. And in his place is this…this…this—

Manwë stifles a sob and covers his face with bloody hands. The tears are pouring and he’s helpless against them, he wants to scream, to spark the ozone infested air and put shape to his dismay, make his sorrows into something tangible. He’s so tired, but he is so solidly in his body right now, so prey to its whims and emotions, so desperate to let it out.

“Pull yourself together,” his voice catches pathetically and he shakes his head as though he’ll be able to rattle the hurt out.

"Pull yourself together." He repeats more firmly as he rises to his feet and wipes the blood from his face and breathes in, breathes out. his brethren are fast approaching.

He gives a bodily shudder and feels the tremor carry to his ribs, to his heart. Manwë feels rattled, like he would be blown apart, scattered across the seven corners of the universe if someone doesn’t hold on to him and keep him grounded.

What does it says about him, he wonders, that the only one who can do that, the one he wants, is the one who'd done this to him to begin with?

#probably not the angst you're looking for anon but this is what my mood dictated i'm so sorry :'D #manwë x melkor #tolkien

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alivingmel · 1 year ago

Text

Apologies, reasons, c-c-cancer?!?, future plans, etc.

HELLO FRIENDS, it's Mel. It's been a very long time since I've posted here, and I feel I owe all you lovely folks who supported me in years past an explanation (whether or not you even remember me because it has been years now) SO, let me tell you what's been going on (under the cut):

Back in 2017, my mental health hit an all-time low that resulted a suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization. Thankfully, my time in the hospital set me on a path that led me to receiving the care and medication I needed! I started on a mood stabilizer that truly changed my life around. . .

But, because my period of positive self-growth coincided with staying offline and not drawing as frequently as I used to, a misguided part of my brain began associating these things with that awful mental state that almost killed me. I never, ever wanted to feel that awful again, so I started to shy away from sharing and making art until avoiding it completely.

Furthermore, many of my pieces had been fueled by pure mental anguish and, once that pain was alleviated by the proper medication, I found myself struggling to find the motivation to create anything. . . My mind was so much clearer and I could come up with concepts for stories and characters better than ever, but actually getting these ideas down on paper became difficult. For most of my life, I had overrelied on frantic emotions and the idea that my life was not worth anything beyond what I created whenever I made art.

Now that I've realized that yes, my life is valuable and yes, I want to live it, my old approach to art was rendered defunct. I became distracted by new hobbies, since I was able to actually Enjoy Things properly for the first time in my adult life. . . And also because I was avoiding art, which had become a source of frustration and embarrassment for me. I felt like I was a different person than I was before, and the old me was a mess but DAMN they could draw.

I believe it's possible for me to rekindle my passion for creating stuff and discover a reason to draw that isn't unhealthy! But it will require a LOT of focus and energy from me, involving a lot of aggravation and disappointment because FUN FACT when you don't draw for months at a time, you get rusty as hell.

Thus far, I haven't been able to manage the sustained effort required to remember how to draw because, despite being far more mentally stable nowadays, the the last six years have been very. . . Unstable. . . I've lost beloved pets and family members, had to support both parents with major surgeries on several occasions, deal with multiple drawn out court cases (one involving a police officer with a vendetta against my brother trying to get him put in jail, LONG STORY. . .), keep my house from falling apart without having nearly enough money to properly fix the staggering amount of things wrong with it, the persistent cold (and sometimes very hot) war between my immediate family members, and so on. . . My minds been so preoccupied with a constant stream of disasters in my household that it's been VERY EASY to justify a continuing avoidance of art.

I was hoping this year would be the one where I'd get back on track, but instead it turned out to be the year where the old track violently explodes and now I have to build a WHOLE NEW TRACK. So, for now, I have to focus on preventing the derailed train that is my life from jettisoning off a cliff.

Back in December 2022, I discovered a lump in one of my breasts. Considering my age and the fact that it was actually causing me discomfort, I figured it was a benign cyst. Got a mammogram and a biopsy to make sure! IT WAS NOT A CYST. I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer, which tends to be the type of breast cancer that folks under 40 get. It's often connected to genetics, but I tested negative for all relevant gene mutations and no one else in my family has even had breast cancer. IT FELT LIKE A VERY SOAP OPERA-ESQUE TURN OF EVENTS AFTER EVERYTHING ELSE THAT'S HAPPENED, not very realistic plot progression on Life's part, 0/5 stars.

Triple negative is unfortunately one of the most aggressive types of breast cancer and, since the "triple negative" refers to the tumors lack of hormone receptors and the HER2 protein, it does not respond to most targeted breast cancer treatments. But because triple negative tumors are nasty, fast-growing little fuckers, Classic™ chemotherapy works wonders on 'em!

Thankfully, despite all the doctors suspecting otherwise, my nearest lymph node tested negative! Makes a huge difference in treatment, likelihood of recurrence and metastasis, and my chance of surviving this ordeal. The amount of chemo I have had to endure has sucked hardcore and will continue to suck. I finished 12 weekly infusions at the end of May, and I started the last 4 bi-weekly infusions in June. The last four doses include a very friendly, fun-loving drug nicknamed "the red devil". :’)

The silver lining of this whole mess is that I FINALLY GET THESE TITS TAKEN OFF AND I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO PAY OUT OF POCKET. . . As you may or may not know, I'm nonbinary. I've never had any desire for HRT, but god, GOD, my boobs have given me hardcore dysphoria since puberty willed them into existence. I'm not very comfortable talking about my identity with family and acquaintances irl, so the fact that I don't have to explain myself to nosy relatives now is a relief. WOULD HAVE DEFINITELY PREFERRED HAVING SOME AWKWARD CONVERSATIONS INSTEAD OF FUCKING CANCER, but at least I get some kind of reward at the end of all this.

As someone that's been (physically lol) healthy their whole life, this has been a difficult journey. And, this is wicked cheesy, but the amount of strength I've been able to scrounge up? SHOCKING. I'm proud of how I've managed to grow as a person since 2017. Back then, I could've never pulled this shit off. 2023 MEL IS THE MOST POWERFUL MEL YET, BUT. . . THIS MEL NEEDS TO CHANNEL THEIR NEWFOUND TEMPERANCE INTO THEIR ART AFTER GETTING THROUGH THIS. . .

I actually had this fairytale idea that I'd draw during my chemo sessions and ~rediscover my passion~. . . But I qualified for a cooling cap program (helps with the hair loss, trying to retain as many follicles as I can cuz they play the lead role in my physical presence ok!!!) and the headache you get from encasing your skull with ice is not exactly conducive to productivity.

SO, for now, I need to focus on beating the shit out of cancer and recovering from the treatment beating the shit out of me. But because this experience has made me hyper aware of the fact that we do not get an infinite amount of years to do all the things that we want to do in life, I WILL RETURN. . . Because I have stories to tell! With shitty characters that have shittier lives! I didn't devote 30% of my grey matter to this stuff just to take it with me to the grave, man!!!

ALSO, A REMINDER: if you ever feel like there's something off with yourself, health-wise, do not hesitate to get yourself checked out by a doctor. Whether it's a tiny lump, a persistent dull pain, or anything else. . . Find out what, exactly, it is. I caught this cancer right in time! At this stage, the survival rate for triple negative breast cancer is a little over 90%. Had I waited to get checked out, had I given it enough time to matastize to a distant part of my body. . . My chances of surviving would've dipped to about 12%. That period where I was waiting on tests to confirm whether the cancer had gone anyplace else was absolutely terrifying. SO PLEASE, DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH YOUR HEALTH (OR YOU MIGHT FIND OUT).

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totallynotandie · 8 months ago

Text

Writing Prompt #1

Characters reaction to being kidnapped.

I wrote this like, two years ago and was going to post it when I finished it’s sister piece (my ocs reaction to being kidnapped) it was supposed to represent a proxy who has dealt with the operator for years and is comfortable enough to know what is and what isn’t it’s influence and my oc was supposed to represent someone newer to all of this, not yet realizing the thoughts they can’t control aren’t their own.

Let me know if you want to see that sister piece! I need motivation lol

Anyway! Enjoy reading

————————————————————————

Brain woke up with a headache worse than it usually was, trying his best to figure out what the fuck exactly happened and why he was tied to a chair with a bag over his head. The last thing he remembered was that he was out on a simple mission, surveying the forest and getting rid of trespassers to appease the Operator. It had been a quiet night with the only interesting thing being the cabin he found. He previously remembered it to have been abandoned, however there was clearly light coming from inside. He didn’t waste time giving thought to it, figuring it was too late for any camper to be awake. He’ll make this job quick so he can get back sooner.

The first step in and he didn’t have time to react to the harsh hit to the back of the head, hard enough to make his vision blur but not enough to knock him out. The masked man whipped around to attack his attacker back only for the same pipe to hit him across the forehead. This time rendering him unconscious but catching a glimpse of a striped hoodie that he could almost remember. Of course the one time he doesn’t make a plan he gets the shit knocked out of him.

Lost in the dark with his pounding headache all that was left was to try and wiggle out of the ropes. Alone with his thoughts of how much of an idiot he is for actually being able to get caught like that, only to feel more like an idiot after struggling for 20 minutes and getting nowhere. At least he was alone and no one could see how stupid probably looked.

“You look like a fuckin’ idiot. Would you give up already?” The familiar voice causes him to freeze in his seat out of disbelief. Becoming very aware of the other breathing in the room. How was he breathing? Brian watched the tapes after everything- he watched Tim kill him. There was no way he could come back. Yet here both of them are. Two dead men sitting in the same room occupying the living world once again. Brian’s shock wears off after remembering his own untimely demise.

“Wow Alex.. you knew I always wanted a surprise party. Unfortunately..it ain’t my birthday yet’ “ Brian dryly chuckles at his poor attempt at humor, flinching at the sudden light hitting his eyes when the bag is ripped off. Alex’s angry face stares down at him, reminding Brian just how real all of this is.

“Shut the fuck up. You- you’re supposed to be dead!” His tone is stern but clearly Alex hasn’t accepted this as quickly as Brian. It's enough to keep the grin on Brian's face despite the fact he probably has a concussion. This’ll be interesting.

“I’m supposed to be dead? What about you?” He raised an eyebrow while tiling his head to the side to mock him. He squinted his eyes to try and make out any wounds on the others neck to no avail. There was nothing, like it never even happened. Just like Brian’s head.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that, asshole.” Alex stumbled out, running a hand through his hair while he paced in front of Brian. “I- I had your fucking body.” He crazily gestures with his hands, “And now you’re here? Are the rest of you alive too? How many times do I have to kill all of you??” His voice cracks into something broken, catching Brian off guard and causing him to refrain from calling Alex a creep for holding onto his body. Alex slumps against a wall, looking utterly defeated.

“...uh” Brain starts, not really sure how to comfort the guy who tried killing him for 6 years and currently has him tied up in a chair. “Maybe give up on the whole…killing us thing? Clearly it’s not working.” He continued to fidget with the knots around his wrist while Alex wasn’t paying attention. He had recognized the knot from rock climbing and now that he could see he could possibly undo it.

“Very funny.” Alex practically growls at him but he isn’t on the verge of tears anymore, instead he is fidgeting with a familiar looking gun. Of course even after dying he kept a cold hard clutch to the gun, Brian almost laughs but he doesn’t want to get shot at. He has plans with Tim that he doesn’t want to miss so he’ll have to try and survive this.

“I wasn’t joking. Do you really wanna waste the rest of your life re-killing all of us? You know IT can bring us all back whenever’. I don’t know how but- Hell! You’re a perfect example of that. Video proof of you bleedin’ out and not a single scar from it on ya.” Brain rambles on, holding in a sigh of relief when he feels the ropes around his wrist come undone. He holds onto the rope and keeps his hands behind his back. Waiting for a moment where he’ll be able to free the rest of himself and get away from his old friend.

“I forgot that you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” Alex holds onto his head like it's going to split but he makes no other attempt to show that he's in pain. “When did you get so annoying anyway? It’s like you want me to kill you.” His voice shakes and Brian wonders if he can feel it yet too, the distaint buzz in the air. This will be over soon.

“You can avoid it all you want, Alex.” He takes the moment that Alex is vulnerable to sneak his pocket knife and start sawing at the rope around his ankles. “You can’t do anything to stop him..believe me, we all tried.” A clicking of a gun causes him to freeze while he was still looking down at his shoes, heart sinking into his chest while he started considering how this might all end.

“What did you get from ‘YOU TALK TO MUCH!’ It wasn’t a fuckin’ invatation, Bri.” He sat in his same spot only now he was aiming his gun at him. Casual from doing this so much, from killing them all before- everyone but him. Brian finished his job before he got the chance. Was that why he was so mad? Or was it the ever increasing headache that made him want to tear his own head off, one that was all to familiar. Brian slowly looked up at him to watch his face switch to realization and back to anger. “Did- DID YOU FUCKING SUMMON IT OR SOMETHING??”

As if on cue IT stood between the two of them but ITS attention was all on Alex, leaving Brian so he could think clearly enough to get out of the restraints. He grabs his stuff that Alex took off him, just his masks and gun that thankfully were easy to find with the chaos. Brian turns to leave the cabin, squinting a little due to most likely having a concussion. He was almost out and was content with leaving Alex alone in the woods. Alex’s screams wracked his brain until he was halfway out the door, he was alone with the static but he felt as if he could understand it.

A voice that he always mistook for his own internal dialogue told him what to do, like it was his own thought. But he knew that was ITS influence yet he couldn’t help but follow. Take him. The longer he stalls the louder he gets. He’s one of us. Even if Brian didn’t agree he couldn’t put up a fight, he was too tired to fight back anymore.

He left after throwing the unconscious Alex over his shoulder, avoiding ITS glaze while draping the mask over his head. His midnight plans were definitely ruined now.

#marble hornets fanfic #marble hornets #brian thomas #mh hoody #mh hoodie #tim wright #alex kralie #writing prompt #creepypasta #angst #deflecting with comedy

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shiyorin · 2 years ago

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An old wip for an old request. I still don't remember why I abandoned it.

The Angel gazed down upon the battlefield, as always seeing beauty even in carnage. But his eyes kept wandering to one figure in particular, gliding through the fray with grace.

You moved with a peculiar precision and enthusiasm, each kill becoming another piece in a game only you could see the rules of. There was a dark and sinister to you methods that Sanguinius found himself pondering, when he should have been contemplating strategy or the lives under his command.

Guilt would come later, for now there was only the strange thrill of watching you at "work." Not mere lethality but a art, service rendered almost as play. Each death a new toy to amuse himself with before moving on.

Sanguinius had condemned such attitudes time and again, as was his duty as a son of the Emperor and primarch of the legion. Yet watching you in battle stoked another fire altogether, one best left unexamined. A terrible fascination and forbidden interest the Angel feared he could never wholly escape.

You moved with a grace that seemed utterly at odds with the carnage you made, yet somehow made it more sinister. Every gesture andortal gait becoming another petty cruelty. A playfulness that saw nothing and no one as escaping becoming a pawn in your dark games.

When at last the battle was won, Sanguinius found himself scanning the battlefield for another glimpse of you. Hoping for a chance to speak, or perhaps more. Until he recalled himself, and the great wound that would be to his honor and legion should such dalliance ever come to light.

Guilt and self-loathing emerged, as always, yet still he believed he would find himself pondering you again on the morrow. A temptation too grand to fully escape, no matter the cost. The Angel, now as much a prisoner of dirty fantasies as he was a champion of the light.

Some sins were not so easily forgiven, no matter the justifications or rolled of fate's dice. Honoring the path of virtue meant sometimes resisting most perilous of dark muses. Yet your memory would not so easily be cast aside, becoming another shadow to haunt weary nights and guilty conscience alike.

When next their paths crossed, Sanguinius found himself making excuse to speak privately with you. His reasoning seemed pleasing enough, questions of strategy, requests for information on threats against the Imperium, and so on.

Yet his true purpose was merely getting you alone, and discovering what might transpire. Such sins he knew he could never truly justify, yet still his will seemed forever out of his keeping where this about you was concerned.

You appeared utterly unbothered by the Angel’s attentions and requests, moving through them with a grace that seemed almost mocking. Always a smile hovering, dark and knowing. As if privy to thoughts better kept concealed.

As conversation wound on, Sanguinius found himself leaning closer, pondering those full lips and how they might feel against his own. The warmth of your body, pressed against his. Wandering where sinful hands might roam, were propriety and virtue cast aside.

He shuddered, struggling to compose himself, and your smile only grew. A terrible, cunning beauty. No judgement or disgust evident, only a strange, twisted fascination with the Angel’s undoing.

No reprieve would be found here, he realized. And so, the Angel leaned in close. Any blow to honor or reputation a small price to pay, for a chance to know what dark delights might be found in your embrace. Virtue and duty meant little, set against the thrill of sin.

For now, there were no piercing cries to be heard. No witnesses to scandal and moral ruin. Here there were only two souls, lost to all lights save the black flame of corrupt passion. Guilt would come, but for now there were lips and hands and roaming touches to discover. Strange poetry of perversity to be written, upon their flesh and in moments that seemed fated to haunt.

The Angel had fallen, and for him, here in your arms, even the darkness seemed a welcoming bed.

#shiyorin's writer

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astarab1aze · 8 months ago

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❛ i'll take good care of you, i promise. ❜ Roy for Sortia

Roy was trying too hard in all the pretentiously romantic ways he could muster, whether by whispering sweet promises against her skin or by gathering her into his arms, holding, pressing affections into her collar, shoulder, throat. Little white lies, falsehoods scraping into distrustful nerves - vague anxieties feeding into the uncertainty of his ability to even touch her in the first place. What should cause him not to recoil, but to keep on, his skin against her own without the life being sapped from his very bones in an instant-- No, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and she couldn't bear to struggle against him, a warmth she'd not felt in years in his touch. The bunching of her dress, blackened heart all but thrumming in her chest, crimson eyes fluttering and wide as teeth drug between her bones, along her pulse, ever so careful in lingering touches that drew a hushed sigh.

Strange enough that she would resign herself to him now, fitting so effortlessly against him, arrested in amazement that she should feel his yearning on her skin, so deep and so vulnerable it seemed to tear her apart - overwhelming, so achingly miserable, yet she couldn't turn away from him, basking in what precious, minscule shreds of heat and passion she may ever experience again, surrendering to a man who stood beside her regardless of her vilest intentions. Who saw something more than festering rage and sneering sinistry, what personhood she may yet still have claim to, spreading her apart and slipping inside as if to grasp at tenderest nerves and show her with care and boyish eagerness, reawakening some long lost piece of herself she never thought she'd have again - somehow, some way, it rendered her speechless.

Slender fingers found a hold on Roy's jacket, thigh propped up on his hip, and still he surprised her again the minute her back had been pressed against a wall, a hand curling around her face, thumb easing along red-stained lips and parting them. But it was in these moments, Sortia had remembered something important - that perhaps Roy hadn't been himself, at first tentatively than all at once diving into the hunger at long last, no doubt nervous despite this swell of confidence. In the end, he was gentle, slow and sensual, taking his time to rethink some of his actions and sweep her off her feet properly. Woe to prepare, but she was charmed even still.

The smile of a viper, no less dripping with sweetest poison, of such that belied her covetous enjoyment of his attention. Unwilling to see him try too hard in favor of simply allowing himself the opportunity, charmed, again. Ever so, by his pointlessly human bashfulness. Lo, what made him so nervous now as to touch her? To follow through on such promises to take care of her freshly vulnerable body, so tingling with newfound intensity that she could discernedly feel his intent in the tips of his fingers - tangibly, and not in metaphor. What aches, what pains, what unfathomable guilt and despair, how crumpled to his knees-- She held him then, in warmest embrace, guided by some wistful misjudgment, entranced by a memory and the potential for something new.

#☿ || Asks.#✘ // Woe to a Man Who Loves the Devil; Roy.#gyofukuki #nsft /#/ i imagine them both maybe getting caught up at least once the second they're able and i think that's beautiful #/ maybe from her perspective specifically #/ conflicted but indulgent because /wow/

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found-wings · 1 year ago

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"[ There‘s a small, almost strained chuckle from Etoiles. ]" blocked blocked BLOCKED AND REPORTEDDDDDD HES IN SO MUCH PAIN the way that the feds know that there's no way that even their best men can overpower etoiles in a fight as he even toughs out the attacks from the workers who can't even be hit untill he can escape or trap them- so they're using the people close to him to break him down because God in this au he goes through So. Much. Pain. every emotional battle he fights with phil ends up with phils recovery being reset over and over again and he had to watch his friend loose himself piece by piece. but at least phil was still Himself- the only instances where he was far gone was durring dissociative episodes that could be dealt with, or when the feds fucked him up and rendered him feral. but at least he partially recognized people, he was more comfortable around etoiles and fit and kept many aspects of his avian lineage that couldn't quite go away as easily as any human characteristics he gained. and everytime he was reeled back to reality- but here? there's just Nothing.

now when rebooted back to zero, he has to watch a shell of his friend work for the very people who harmed him in the past and by some of the indicators in the conversation ('experiments . . . again?') that they're Still hurting him. but in the last instances, phil knew who he could turn to. in times of need he had people like fit, forever, etoiles, hell even tubbo or cellbit. but now- even if any member of the island would be there for him in a heartbeat when he eventually cracks- he can't remember that. there's some people he seems to trust more then others but he doesn't know why and can't know why as long as he's under the feds thumb and it HURTSSSSSSS. CUCURUCHO WHEN I CATCH YOU. - 💿

JAJSJAJAHSH

I‘m the most normal person about this (LIE)

PLEASE

I need Etoiles to crack with this. To feel like there is no getting back this time, because all the other times even with Phils messed up memories and struggles in staying connected with reality, struggling to cope with all the fixings and breakings and so much more, there was still always this little hope. This little point they cold build up on and secure Phil back.

But this time? There is nothing.

I need Etoiles to not just crack, I need him to break. Will they ever get Phil back out of this? How many more times do they have to go through this? How many more times does he need to face the fact that the Federation always comes back, always makes sure to put them through something yet worse than the last thing?

Phil doesn‘t know him, Phil doesn’t know anyone and that’s yet the hardest fight he has to face. Not even Death is worse than the fact he lost Phil like this.

There‘s no going back.

#i need for if they ever get Phil back that Etoiles clings to him so badly. he can‘t lose Phil again #not like this not ever again #i need people to want to speak to Phil and cheer for him being back and question everything and talk but for some of them to go.#no #let Etoiles and Phil just be for now #give them both this moment to just exist and be with each other & forget about the entire world just for a moment #I need Etoiles‘ embrace to a hug this time to be tight as he holds Phil #for Phils hug in return to be so gentle and soft #whether out of exhaustion or just because he‘s afraid of hurting Etoiles or god knows the reason #let them have this moment #RAAAAH #my sillies :(((((((#code philza <3 #💿 anon #winged.rambles

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bozo-boy · 2 years ago

Text

a retrospective of my art of 2022

i love that you can tell what i’m hyperfixating on judging by the art. more detailed explanations below the cut!

january

i started off 2022 with a redraw of a piece from april of 2021. for christmas of last year, i got an ipad and apple pencil, so this was largely me exploring procreate and the feel of a new way of drawing. there’s a lot about this one that i still like, particular chat noirs cute lil face, but there’s so much i would do differently now that i’m more comfortable with the medium.

february

i was still finding my footing with this one. i was really into fnaf, and naturally, monty. the shine on the ass was using one of the in-app stamp brushes, which was quite fun to play with. honestly, going back, i would just add more depth and complexity to this one. i stand by the bones of this one.

march

this one was done so i could have a fancy new pfp. to be completely honest, i’m not a fan of this one. it’s a redraw of a screenshot from the show itself, and even at the time i was unsatisfied with how this turned out. in retrospect, i would’ve started the sketch small and then scaled it up so it would look a bit more,, normal. i find my art comes out much better when i start small.

april

this drawing is for a worldbuilding project i like to work on when i’m not obsessed with anything else at the time. in this world, there’s a city with a whole festival for phoenixes, and a legend involving a raven falling in love with the sun, but i won’t get into that right now. if i’m remembering correctly, one of my references for this one was a swallow. i still like the way the sun shines through the feathers and the more painterly style. i still stand by this one 100%.

may

oh boy may. this was when my apple pencil broke, and lined up with me getting into sonic, after watching the movie. one of my friends sent me a picrew, birthing this little nameless character. i’m still quite happy with this one, i think i got the style really good while still making it a little bit my own. my short lived sonic hyperfixation is still visible in the way i draw eyes while sketching, which i think it pretty neat. i wonder if, had my apple pencil not broken, i would’ve gotten more into the franchise.

june

AHHHHHH. sorry, this is from when i got back into a set of my ocs, affectionately dubbed “the sin boyz”. they’re all based on the seven deadly sins, and this is asmodeus, embodiment of lust. he’s definitely the most fun to draw because of him being quite high energy, and i’d love to come back to these characters once again. i don’t have much to say about the drawing itself, other than still liking how cartoony it is.

july

i’m not entirely sure what sparked this, but i got really back into the arcana, a game which i’ve been into for years now. this little fella is my character for the game, named zephyr! this piece is actually based on a sketch from i think a few months earlier. i still like this one, with his cute little face. i adore how his eyes turned out, and i’d love to try returning to that style, even just to experiment.

august

this is actually a reference photo for zephyr, but i wanted to fully render it to try to demonstrate some of the fabric textures. i still adore just about everything about this, aside from how his face turned out. i’ve always struggled a little with placing eyebrows too close to the hairline, dating back to my art from when i was like,, 12, where the eyebrows would actually float above the head. aside from that, i still love this.

september

when i made this, i was actually rereading lucio’s route (i’m obsessed with it in a train-wreck way) and found the imagery of the player investigating his abandoned room super compelling. the background from this is actually from the game itself, which is something i had never done before. i even slightly edited the background the reflect some of his magical light! this one is much less colourful and saturated than my other stuff, and i have mixed feelings about it. still though, i’m proud of it, and i think this style of lighting is reflected in what i make today, even if the colours are out of my comfort zone.

october

this is probably one of my favourite pieces of ghost fanart i’ve made. the lighting is a little unpolished in relation to the smoke, but i couldn’t care less cause i just think it looks so freaking cool. i was directly inspired by mummy dust, both in the vision in my head when he growls “duuuuustl, but also in the green stage lighting when it’s performed on stage. i love how swirly the smoke looks, and even now, i’m obsessed with drawing characters lit from below. it’s one of my favourite things i’ve ever made.

november

so uh,, i was a very passionate voter in the american music awards, and the news of ghosts win was so wonderful. i, like many others, was and still am obsessed with the outfit tobias forge wore, and found it super inspiring. i was really worried about this one, cause i basically never draw real people and really wanted it to actually look like him while still being my art style, and i think i did pretty good. this was also new for me because it has two light sources! this presented a really fun challenge and i’m still so proud of this, aside from the lighting on the glass part of the award itself. also, three.

december

i got a new apple pencil for christmas! i immediately had to make something with it and the wonderful pressure sensitivity. i was mostly just playing around with this one, and doing back i’d change a few things, even if it’s only from a few days ago. nonetheless, i had a lot of fun here and really like the colours.

summary

oh boy i sure did draw this year! i think i’ve improved a lot, specifically in shading and rendering. i went outside of my comfort zone a lot with lighting, like things with multiple light sources and coloured light. next year, i wanna go outside of my comfort zone in different ways, particularly with things like backgrounds and character interactions. if you’ve read this far, i hope you enjoyed my self-analysis, and i hope 2023 brings you joy!

#bozo dtawings #bozo babbles #my art #digital art #for future reference #cw assless chaps

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casspurrjoybell-27 · 5 months ago

Text

Our Hearts Collide - Chapter 4 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Simon

The incredibly bright screen of my messages remained unchanged. It wasn't uncommon for Vince to not respond to any of my messages but this had been the one time I wanted him to. Even a simple 'okay' or 'hello' would have sufficed.

I stared at the last message I sent him.

'Rowan loved your gift.'

Above it was a photo of Rowan clutching the brown bear tightly to his face.

It had been a few hours since we got back to Sam's place and in hindsight, that was a fairly short amount of time to respond, after all, Vince has his own life and is doing his own thing.

Yet I knew when it came to Rowan, Jonah or Lilah, Vince enjoyed their company.

He wouldn't dare admit that, according to Xavier but even Aspen had noticed.

Hence why we thought the adorable photo would've rendered a reaction.

For that reason, I had hesitated on sending the message typed up.

I could have said Rowan missed him or myself but in reality, I think we all did that night.

Sarah and Aspen had planned for him to attend and the rest of us thought it'd be a great idea, especially with how much Rowan adored him.

Out of everyone, I felt the most excited for him to be there, wanting him to enjoy a real birthday party for once even if it wasn't for his birthday butut it wasn't just me that missed him that day, so I sent the next message.

'We missed you at the party.'

I waited, hoping to see those three little dots. But still...

"Nothing?" Sam had returned with a bowl of popcorn, resuming the television show we were watching.

He tilted the bowl toward me.

"Popcorn?"

Tilting my cell-phone in his direction, I grabbed a handful of popcorn.

After seeing Vince didn't respond to the messages, he pursed his lips.

"That's a bummer. I thought the picture would get him to cave in."

"Yeah, well, we should've figured he wouldn't."

I thrummed through the past text history I had with Vince, out of all the photos and texts and even a couple of videos of his nephew and niece with Rowan, he had maybe sent a reply two or three times at best.

All of which were one to two words.

He shovelled some popcorn down before mumbling...

"For someone who writes beautifully in letters, you would think he'd be well-versed with texts."

Biting back my laugh, I threw a piece of popcorn at him.

"Whatever. Besides, I remember a certain someone struggling to text a certain Alpha about a meet up."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, mockingly.

"You know how Xavier gets, can't boost his ego too much or he'll be a blubbering mess during one of those meetings, beet-red and all. One little compliment and he'll think I'm flirting."

Reaching over to pause the show we had completely ignored, I looked at him curiously.

"So is that why you called him adorable? Wanted to boost his ego in front of me? A little flirt?"

He scoffed.

"I was just messing with you, trying to get you out of your pretty little overthinking head. Did it bother you?"

"No," I reassured teasingly.

"I'm messing with you. Everyone thinks he's adorable, you think I'd be jealous over that?"

He shook his head before taking another scoop of popcorn.

"No, you aren't like that but if you were jealous, you could tell me and I'd stop but in all seriousness, it is difficult to text Xavier. He ain't the brightest tool in the shed when it comes to simple things. Gets flustered when you're too blunt and too oblivious to anything subtle."

"That is true."

He grinned before bopping me on the nose gently.

"Besides, I couldn't do that to you. 'Meeting up' with another guy behind your back? Now that would be presumptuous on my part."

Scrunching my nose at him, I rolled my eyes.

"We've talked about this, about us or whatever we plan on calling 'this' anymore. You're free to see anybody if you want, Sam. Don't feel obligated to hold back."

"I know but people make assumptions, Simon. I don't want people to think bad things about you when they think we're a couple."

I sighed.

"I know you don't but it's none of their business, anyways. Love and relationships are complicated as all shit. Let them say what they want, you're free to see or love anyone you'd like."

He smiled before snaking his hand through mine.

"You know, you're too kind sometimes. Sweet and adorable too."

"You love to inflate my ego too, don't you?"

He chuckled.

"Of course."

"I love that about you."

"But..." he stopped short, his eyes flicking to the screen before mumbling under his breath...

"You love him more."

"Sam."

"It's the truth."

Searching his face, there wasn't an ounce of hurt in those eyes, something I found hard to believe.

He was even smiling.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air as his words set in as I looked past him.

How could I possibly deny that his words were false?

Breathily, I replied...

"Why can't I love both?"

"We both know it's different."

"Sam..."

He let out a breath as I looked up at him.

Noticing the worry and concern on my face his smile dropped slightly.

"We talked about this, remember? You said it yourself that it's different, we realized it that night. What you feel with him versus me, the bond makes it totally different."

A half-hearted, almost timid smile graced his face, for once, his strong, unassuming nature had cracked just a bit.

I wanted to tell him it was false at that very moment, tell him that with him, it was different.

That I did feel more for Sam but it would just be a lie.

I liked Sam, liked him a 'lot' but with Vince, Sam was right.

It was different and bond or no bond, it was evident where my heart leaned more toward.

Even if I wanted to give it all to Sam to see him happy in the moment.

Squeezing his hand tighter, I sent him a firm look.

"You know that I care about you. That I love you, even if it's not like that. I do, Sam."

"I know," he said with those calm reassuring eyes like he always did.

"I know, Simon but like I told you that day and many times after, you know where you belong and what you need. Chase after what you want."

'If only it was that easy,' I almost told him.

Vince couldn't even answer a text or phone call.

Instead, I nodded and leaned my head against his shoulder, taking another handful of popcorn.

Like clockwork, he resumed the show, knowing exactly what I wanted, a distraction from this conversation about Vince and bonds and everything in between but of course, my mind was too fixated on what he had said instead of the show.

Even with subtitles, I was totally not paying attention, repeating Vince's look in his eyes before fleeing from Rowan's birthday party.

Then to the concern that laced everyone's words when realizing he had chickened out from joining us.

Internally, I was right up there with Rowan, throwing a mental tantrum.

Was it too much to ask for us to be in the same room for an hour?

To be okay with seeing each other?

All those letters and things Xavier had told me about his progress, yet Vince still felt like he didn't belong there, that he couldn't face me or any of us there?

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evanthenerd83 · 1 year ago

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Songs & Scissors

I witnessed a miracle. That is the only way I can describe what happened the night of July 4, 1988. A miracle.

A brief moment in which the universe, long suffering, had finally given, breaking under the weight of things none have seen. Have felt. Have heard inside their hollow chests and heads.

The memories were scattered the morning after. Flying away from my mind’s eye, centerpiece of consciousness. It took years to take hold of one. It took decades to piece them all together. Even now, they struggle against the bonds.

Pills have helped, but only a little. Doctors fared less so. Only through the nightmares. Only through the screaming dark, the trembling hands, are they solid.

Read.

Read and know of the miracle.

There was a concert going on. In the middle of town, at the old Clemont Rec Center. Under its roof, nearly everyone joined hands, sang along to something. The band’s name cannot be grasped so easily. Nor what its members looked like. I only remember the Miracle itself.

Hundreds of people were there. Shelly. Miss Clairborne. The Dudleys. Men, women, and children gathered around a stage, lights blazing, stars trapped by our gravity.

It was the entire town. Firemen. Officers. The mayor stood near the stage, closest as any of us.

Why was he there? Why were any of us there?

We were there because of the music.

The Music.

I can only describe it as Music. Simply Music. Not the instruments from which it was being torn, or the genre it so desperately defied. One cannot pigeonhole this Music. It would not allow it.

Music of countless stars dying in an orgy of fire and ice, worlds rendered ash. Space stretched along a curve, the curve, the line which time had been penciled in. The line that once, before our Music was trapped by gravity, molded by His hands, God’s hands, flowed past the End towards the Forever and the Unknown waiting beyond all symphonies.

Music tugging on the trailing silence of our Notes. Tearing them free of blasphemous flesh and blood and that which makes not a peep, not a screech. There was no pain to be felt. We had already shed our prisons. Our heads were pulled back, fell back, our mouths opening as wide as they could go, beyond limits.

But hearing.

Hearing was all we could do. All we could do.

Hearing our jaws all pop, all open, break open to release the Music inside ourselves. I can still hear my jaws come undone.

I hear it when I am awake.

I hear it when I am asleep.

The Music flowed freely. Balloon tails. Serpents.

We were empty. The air was not.

The Music was a moan. The Music was a groan. The Music was a whisper and a gasp and a mumbling and a shriek, screams loud as any God, the screams for Freedom. For flight. Orbits around Their Fingers.

An eternal conduction. A dance lasting for all time. The expenditure of us, me, Miss Clairborne, the Dudleys, the mayor, those firemen, those officers, and those children who so blindly followed their parents towards such a miraculous celebration.

I do not remember how long we were like that. If time had existed during the Miracle, could have exerted its infantile power, days might have passed. Years. Maybe only a few hours shredded by.

All I remember is His Attendance, unnoticed by eyes. Yet glimpsed nonetheless in shadows and gaps, a figure darting between the bodies no longer ours. A movement caught fleetingly. Sparingly witnessed.

I saw Him. I was the only one, as far as I can tell. No-one seemed to be aware.

He went from person to person. A man tall and thin. With one hand He gripped a pair of scissors plated in bone, and the other caressed our faces. He would whisper something. I do not know what.

I was too far away. He never reached me.

But He would whisper. And He would gently use those scissors, ever so gently. Down they went, up they would go.

I must have blacked out. Maybe the cracking was too much.

I awoke on the floor, the rec center quiet, the stage bare. Bodies had been piled high. They were gray and limp. Blood had been dragged by fingers in circles and hexagons within pentagrams and shapes that did not resemble shapes.

I was buried in them.

Then the men in black arrived.

Not the police, because the entire police department had been in attendance. These men were strangers. They came from out of town. They came and took the bodies away. They soon took me away too.

To here. This asylum for troubled souls, asylum for troubled society.

I’d later learn that some of us had winked out that night. The older ones, mostly. The sick. The dying who did not yet know they were dying.

For those who still lived, they wouldn’t for long. The men in black stopped by the hospital from time to time. They still have questions.

Dr. King sits in the room while they show me the pictures.

Those who were healthy have gone.

Some died in their sleep. Others were awake, walking one moment, then stiff the next. Nobody can figure out how or why. Everyone thinks it’s spontaneous infant death syndrome. But for teenagers.

But I know.

And Dr. King knows that I know. The men in black do too. They still don’t believe me, of course. They claim I suffer from maladies of the brain.

Schizophrenia. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I might still be affected by whatever we’d taken. Drugs can cause hallucinations. Or somebody must have exposed us to something, either spiking the town reservoir or releasing gas. Biological terrorism.

At least they don’t suspect me of being involved.

Dr. King and the men in black pity me. For I am alone. No friends in town. No next of kin to notify. The last remaining adult survivor of East Resiville, which suffered an unprecedented case of mass hysteria on July 4, 1988.

But I know.

I know that there was no concert. The band was not really a band. They were something else, nobody else.

I know they follow Him like flies. A bunch of flies buzzing over a piece of rotting flesh. Or ticks that jump not from dog to dog.

But from town to town. Every century or so.

I know they are attendants. Helpers of something older than mankind, than time and space, than Themselves.

Something with only one purpose in His heart. If He even has a heart.

Needs one.

I know that the Miracle has never truly ended.

My chest hurts when I sleep. A longing pulls me beyond the ceiling, past the stars slowly winking out. Deep into the dark.

From that darkness, something calls out.

It begs me to join it.

To be reunited with it.

I’m still wrapped around a Finger.

And I know those scissors are still coming. Ever slowly, they are coming. Ever closer. Ever slower. Building up to that final moment. The final Note of my own symphony.

They will finally meet my own Music, my String, my Life.

I just wish it’ll happen when I’m asleep.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #short story #weird fiction #creative writing #original writing #psychological horror #lovecraftian horror #October 2023

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scarasun · 2 years ago

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per aspera ad astra – through hardships, to the stars

{ pairing } arlecchino x gn!reader

{ word count } 2k

{ summary } there is nothing arlecchino fears more than losing you, but after you get injured on a mission trying to protect her, she realizes that there is nothing she won't do to keep you safe.

{ genre/warnings } slight angst, with a tinge of fluff. arlecchino is kind of demanding and overprotective. reader has a shitty background. established (secret) relationship between reader and arlecchino. mentions of blood and injury. reader calls arlecchino 'arle' as a nickname.

{ a/n } i wrote this for @ghostly-march's 600 followers event, based on the prompt, "heliotrope" (the determination to do anything for their loved one). ngl i actually felt like giving up on this piece a few times, but i promised myself i would write something for arlecchino since i saw her in the fatui trailer + i couldn't really think of any other plot line that fit the prompt. anyways i think this turned out pretty good despite the struggle, and i am honored to finally bless the arlecchino x reader tag on tumblr 🙏🙏🙏 reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!!

THE FIRST THING you’re aware of when you regain consciousness is the blizzard howling outside. It rages, the glacial wind sweeping the dried branches of dead trees across the small window. Even with the fire blazing in the hearth and the thick blanket slung across your shoulders, you can feel the cold seeping into your bones, rendering you even more helpless than you already are. The presence of such a furious winter could only mean one thing – you were back in Snezhnaya.

You couldn’t remember exactly what had happened before you blacked out, only that things had gone south when you were sent on a confidential mission for the Fatui abroad, with the company of a certain harbinger. In the throes of a fight, you had gotten injured, blood staining the walls and floors – not only the enemy’s blood, but yours. The memory sent a shiver crawling up your spine, one completely unrelated to the cold.

You knew working for the Fatui came with its dangers, and yet it still felt surreal. If it weren’t for the thick bandage wrapped over your throbbing side, you would have just palmed it off as some twisted dream. But it wasn’t. What happened when you went down? Did Arlecchino escape? Did she get injured too? That was as far as you allowed your mind to go, not entertaining the thought of the only other awful possibility. No, if you were back in Snezhnaya, then it had to mean that she had made it too.

Over the roaring wind, you could make out the faint sound of unhurried footsteps. It came from outside your ward, and as much as you tried to crane your neck to see, the pain was too overwhelming for you to even move an inch. The door creaked open, harsh light cutting into the mellow darkness of your room. Shutting the door behind them, the individual made their way inside the room, heels clicking – until they looked over at your bed and paused.

“Y/N? Are you awake?”

Arlecchino. If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve pinched yourself. Was this a dream? You tried once again to get up, only succeeding in hurting yourself further. Her footsteps quickened when she noticed your painful squirming, and she made her way towards your bed, her face coming into view.

Even in the weak light, you could tell that she had changed drastically since the last time you saw her. Her cheeks were more hollow, and the life in her eyes had dimmed significantly. In her haste, some of her hair had fallen into her eyes, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush the strands away.

She busies herself by adjusting the pillows behind you, but the way she avoids your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. Without saying anything, she helps you to the glass of water at your bedside table, the coolness easing the drought in your throat.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, taking a seat at the chair by your bedside. You had seen her in the Fatui meeting room countless times before; she was commanding and ruthless, living up to her name as one of the most powerful Fatui Harbingers. It always amazed you when she talked to you so softly, with enough care to soothe a spooked cat. With her title and formidable clothing stripped away, she could have passed for a regular person.

“I’m okay.” When you speak, your voice feels ancient, almost like an archaeological relic that had been buried for centuries.

“You’ve been unconscious for one week now,” she says, answering the question lingering at the tip of your tongue. “The medics say you’ll recover completely, you just need some rest.”

At the statement, she releases a sigh, almost like she had been comforted by the fact. You notice the way she still seems to be avoiding your eyes, and a sinking feeling crawls into your stomach. Why was she acting like this?

“Did you get hurt, Arle? What happened?” In the time that you had known her, Arlecchino was always secretive about the things she thought could hurt you. She hid those ugly truths from you, with the intention of protecting you from harm. It was one of the things that you both loved and hated about her, and you knew that she wouldn’t reveal the truth of what she was hiding without a little prodding.

You can see the hesitation in her eyes when she opens her mouth to speak, choosing and mincing her words carefully to ensure that they were appropriate.

“We were attacked by some armed treasure hoarders. It seemed like their only intention was to steal, but they still had the nerve to intercept the Fatui, much less a Fatui Harbinger.” Her gaze is cast downwards, but you can see the moment when her mood suddenly turns from one of anger to sadness. “You saved me, you know. They didn’t hesitate to attack us, and if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve gotten hit by one of their arrows.”

Almost like she could see through your thin nightclothes, her gaze travels straight to the place where the bandage had been wrapped around your body. “It was only my duty,” you say.

“No, I can’t let this happen again. I was supposed to protect you.”

“It’s okay, Arle. I’m fine now.”

“But what if your injury was worse?” For the first time since she entered your room, she looks straight into your eyes. Her gaze is filled with a kind of pain that pierces your heart, the kind only derived from being a hair’s breadth away from losing someone you love. “What if we hadn’t made it back to Snezhnaya in time? What would have happened to you then?”

A long silence settles above the two of you - Arlecchino with her head in her hands, and you staring at her in disbelief. You’re almost ashamed at how much you’ve caused her to hurt. You want to reach out and hold her hand, but there’s a palpable wall of tension between the both of you, and you suppress the urge.

“It won’t happen again, so you don’t need to worry. I’ll be more careful in the future,” you whispered, the only other sound in the room the crackling of wood in the hearth.

“It certainly won’t happen again,” Arlecchino says, with a kind of finality that sends a chill up your spine. You could tell there was something else she was hiding, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“What are you thinking about, Arle?”

“Do you know how long it took me to rise to my station as a Fatui Harbinger?” she asks. Since you had known her, she had kept her past hidden under a layer of secrecy. You shake your head, eager to hear where she was going with her statement.

“Years. It took years. But I was determined to make my way to the top, and no one dared stand in my way. And when I finally reached where I wanted to be...I discovered that it was quite lonely. Until I met you.” She smiles and takes your hand with enough love to heal a withering plant. She puts your hand on her chest, and through her black shirt, you could feel her heart beating.

Your relationship with her had begun to progress soon after you had been assigned to her team. Your initial impression of her was that she was just as cold and demeaning as the other Harbingers. She was beautiful, but deadly, and the mystery that surrounded her made her all the more chilling. You were determined to stay on track with your duties and not attract any unnecessary attention to yourself, but for some reason she took an interest in you.

The time you spent poring through documents together and chatting about attack strategy soon turned into idle conversations and lingering touches, and you learnt the heart that was buried under all that ice. The heart that you felt beating under your palm now.

“When you’re a part of the Fatui, what we have…doesn’t come without a price, Y/N. It’s dangerous, especially for you. The Tsaritsa and the other Harbingers have spies planted everywhere in Snezhnaya, and if word were to get out about our relationship…” she squeezes your hand, the possibility hanging over your heads like sharp icicles.

“It won’t be pretty,” you finished. Her silence was all the closure you needed. Her post as a Fatui Harbinger obviously meant a lot, and if your relationship was forbidden, you could only come to one conclusion.

You pull your hand back from hers, as if you had been stung. “Arle, are you breaking up with me?”

She looks up at you with such shock, that you almost retract your words. “No, I would never. I’ve considered the possibility, but the thought of actually going through with it is painful.” She shakes her head, and you release a sigh of relief.

“Then what is it that you’re planning to do?”

“I’m giving up my title as a Fatui Harbinger.”

It’s your turn to stare at her in shock. She was giving up everything she earned…for you? She gazed at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something, before continuing. “And I want you to come with me.”

“No, I won’t let you do that. You worked so hard-”

“We don’t have any other choice, Y/N. The Fatui is too dangerous for you, and if I stay, you’ll only be roped into more nonsense. I’ve already heard rumors flying around about the way I carried you back here, instead of leaving you to die like I was expected to. To them, you and the other subordinates are simply disposable pawns used to do their dirty work.”

You shake your head, refusing to hear out anything she has to say – but she persists.

“As a Harbinger, cruelty is expected of me, but I can’t find it within myself to act like that when you’re around.”

“But how would it feel suddenly giving up everything you’ve worked so hard for?”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been wanting to leave for the longest time – you getting hurt just sealed the deal.” She speaks with more resolve, as though your reaction hadn’t wavered her.

You felt that having her leave the Fatui on your behalf was selfish, but if it meant that the both of you could turn over a brand new leaf together, was it really all that bad of a decision?

The more you thought about it, the more leaving behind this life appealed to you. The Fatui was no place for someone who wanted to lead a normal life. You had been forcibly enlisted into their ranks when you were younger, by parents who labeled you as nothing more than a ruffian who needed to learn their place in the world. You had thought of them as cruel, but as it turned out, they were nothing compared to the ones who ruled over Snezhnaya. In the Tsaritsa’s quest to be the most pure, she had fed poison into the four corners of Teyvat. You had witnessed the damage firsthand, and it wasn’t something you would ever want to see again.

But after all your woes and misfortune, it seemed like a blessing when you finally found your solace in Arlecchino. You were sure that there was more to the world than just evil – she was proof of that – and you wanted to see it, with her by your side.

“I’ve made my decision,” you say, taking a steadying breath.

Arlecchino looks up at you, her eyes expectant. “Tell me.”

“I’ll leave with you.”

She smiles a genuine smile, one that crinkles the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. It was a sight you knew you wanted to behold for the rest of your life, one you would never get tired of.

She takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “I promise I’ll make you happy – till the very end of our days.”

And just like that, a new chapter had dawned upon you, the ruins of the old chapter crumbling behind you. It was never promised that the future would be easy, but with Arlecchino by your side, you knew you could push through anything.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x gn!reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader angst #genshin impact imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin impact

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pvri-more · 2 years ago

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The Ghost of You (One Shot)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader.

Warnings: Mentions of drugging, grief, overall very emotional and dark theme.

Word Count: 3,398

Summary: Instead of destroying the darkhold, Wanda is captured by S.H.I.E.L.D and taken to the Raft prison where she undergoes a series of mental and physical torture. Under the influence of sedatives, she starts developing hallucinations that become so blurred in reality that she can no longer tell what’s real and what’s fake. So when you, her girlfriend who is presumed dead, appears inside her cell, causes Wanda to have a difficult time deciphering whether you are really there. Are you real or just another figment of her lonely imagination?

A/N: I can’t believe it took me just about a year to finally finish a piece of work! But here we are! I hope you like it, I hope it’s good & I hope you like them to pull at your heart strings hehe. And if you’d like some songs to go along with this just like I did with my fic, listen to the two songs that inspired this one shot: “Hallucinate” by The Devil Wears Prada and “Fever Dream” by Hurtwave! xx

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The darkhold had infected Wanda’s body like an incurable virus. It flowed through her veins so cunningly, so quietly. As if it were sentient. It lurked in the corners of her bones, waiting for her to become too exhausted to fight it off. Until it enveloped her completely, until she wanted it ... until she wanted it to kill her.

So in the throes of her infection, Wanda reigned terror across anyone & anything that dared to get in her way. Her endless pits of depression remolded into tall mountains of rage. Her eyes were glazed over with evil’s cloak, her mind infected with it’s seductive spell and her veins intoxicated with the addictive elixir only wickedness could sell.

Eventually, there was no more Wanda. Only the vengeful Scarlet Witch.

If she couldn’t be happy, nobody could. And as her malevolence grew, so did her body count. She snapped superheroes in half like they were pencils, manipulated minds and distorted reality in any way that would satisfy and took innocent lives in the process.

It went on and on, until a moment of humanity breached through Wanda’s sick and poisoned mind. A moment where she finally got a glimpse of what she’d done, of the ones she’s lost and what they’d think of her now. Her vulnerable state was only a flash but it was long enough for S.H.E.I.L.D to finally reach her, after struggling for some time now, and take her into captivity.

The last thing she remembered was a pinch in her neck & the world going dark.

The silence rang through Wanda’s ears in the similar way it did when the bomb went off that peaceful night in Sokovia.

The incessant, mind numbing high pitched hum of loneliness's lullaby was the only sound she had heard since the last time one of the guards opened the door, dropped a tray of food and left. Even so, that eerie ringing was better than the voices in her head.

It had been quiet for so long. So long that she had no recollection of how much time had gone by since she was first placed here. All she knew was that she was in this dark cement room at the Raft prison and the only reason she even knew where she was was because she had been here before. Same song and dance of being kept under surveillance, sedated and trapped. When she first got here she noticed how cold it was, but now, she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

In the time that she had been here, the daily shots they administered to render her powers useless were taking their toll. Fighting through it got harder with each injection. They even went as far as to place a shock collar around her neck, just like they did before, like she was some kind of animal ... a beast. After all, the darkhold was, for all intents and purposes, a beast. It made her forget her good side, it made her a shell of who she used to be and it was determined to do everything to remain in control. It didn’t matter anymore how much she missed her old self, vengeance tasted too good and Wanda was unwilling to part with the one thing left that made her feel alive. Revenge.

So for god only knows how long, Wanda’s mind, body & soul were laced with a conflicting cocktail of tranquilizing liquids and stimulating magic. No amount of sedation could numb the ache yet it was efficient enough to keep her powers at bay.

It drove her mad. Writhing in pain as her mind switched back and forth between good and evil. Twitching like a television losing it’s signal. Every jerk, every scream, every violent urge... it was destroying her.

She was losing.

As the drugs penetrate into Wanda’s brain, slowly deteriorating whatever control she had left, she developed hallucinations. Her once physical battle now manifests mentally & it was getting harder & harder for her tell what was real & what was fake.

In these hallucinations, sometimes all of her horrors would mutate & create one terrifying scene that she couldn’t escape from. They preyed on her over & over again. Those moments were unbearable to the point she swore they would kill her. The pain, the guilt, the hopelessness, it was causing physiological symptoms.

She was in the depths of agony.

But other times, things weren’t always so bad. Some of the hallucinations brought her brief moments of peace and it was those moments that she believed kept her alive.

Precious moments would grace themselves into her lonely world. Visions of laughter, warmth and love. All the things she had forgotten.

She’d see home outside the one tiny window just below the ceiling. Gathering the strength to get up and look, she’d see her Sokovia in springtime. All the beauty it had to offer, including a young Wanda & Pietro running in the swaying meadows. She’d watch as the sun would kiss their skin so delicately that it felt like a comforting hug. The hallucinations were so real she could feel the warmth, smell the wildflowers and hear the sweet, tenor voice of her brother again.

Other days the barren room she withered away in would transform into her bedroom at the Avengers tower where she’d be laying contently on her bed. In the glow of a sunset afternoon, she’d turn her head and there you’d be, right next to her laughing along as you shared a memory. In these visions Wanda could never recall what the stories were about but it didn’t matter. Your mere presence was enough to pump the blood through her veins again. She just wished it could do the same for you. To bring you back to her so she didn’t have to watch you dissolve in the mist, slipping through her hands in the sunrise.

Wanda missed you so much.

You had died a year ago, caught in the crossfire of a senseless battle just like her brother. Except she was away on a mission, not there to protect you like she always promised. She didn’t get to say goodbye. And with the world only getting worse despite these battles for justice, you had died for nothing. Your death was her final straw and subsequently what lead her to the place she is now.

Wanda couldn’t let go of you. All the unfinished business and the moments you never got to have ate her alive. She needed you. Even when her mind was clear, she’d close her eyes & see you there. You always saw the good in her. You saw past her troubled mind to see the heart that ached to feel anything other than pain. Inside this powerful being was a little girl screaming for relief. A little girl who lost everything, and lost herself along the way. Even when she didn’t deserve it, you always stood by her. And now here she was, imprisoned for her unforgivable crimes. The same kind that took you from her.

You were the only thing that made me good, Wanda thought as she looked down to her blackened finger tips.

Completely overcome with grief, Wanda crumbled in misery, crying herself into exhaustion. With her head dropped down in front of her, her drowsy eyes began to flutter closed. Succumbing to the desire for rest, Wanda let her mind fly away.

“Wanda?” She heard your voice quiver from the corner of the room. “What happened to you?”

Wanda jolted at the sound & her eyes immediately searched for the angelic sound of your voice.

There you were, right here in front of her.

Wanda had enough hallucinations to make her lose count, and she had admittedly used her powers to mold you out of the mist before, but this was different. None of them were as real and as tangible as you are right now.

“Y/n?” Wanda’s voice cracked in awe. Her tear stained eyes traced over you feverishly, as if you’d disappear any second, just like you always did at the end of all her previous dreams.

You rushed over to Wanda’s weakened body with that familiar urge to protect her. Crouching down in front of her so you were at eye level, your eyes finally met after what felt like a million years.

Wanda immediately lifted her shaking hands to your face. Cupping it gently, as not to turn you back to dust. She brushed her thumbs across your cheek before running her fingers through your hair, pushing both sides behind your ears and stopping to cradle the back of your head. Her touch was as loving as it was inquisitive. She was in disbelief. In all her other hallucinations she could never feel you as solid matter the way she could now. She needed to feel your skin, to feel your bones, to ensure that you were in fact really here.

“You’re real” she whispered, bewildered. “How are you here? How did you get in here?” Wanda couldn’t understand. You were dead.

As Wanda’s infected mind wandered trying to solve this mystery, it dawned on her ... she wasn’t there when you supposedly died. She didn’t see it happen. What if Hydra had taken you the way they’d taken others? What if you were alive the whole time? A glimmer of hope had pumped it’s way through her veins, reviving her.

“Don’t worry about that now. Wanda, tell me what happened? What are you doing here?” You dodged her question, it was irrelevant in comparison to the Wanda you saw in front of you.

“I-”, feeling overwhelmed by reality of what she’d done once again, Wanda let out a sob, “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was weak & raspy from the lack of use.

“For what baby?” You pleaded. Your eyes scanned over her trying to make sense of it all.

Wanda looked thin, you thought, almost concave. Her skin was pale and her eyes were sunken and almost completely void of life. You noticed the collar and the track marks from needles on her skin and as you came to the realization, your body became weak.

“What are they doing to you?” you asked softly.

There was a pause while Wanda’s mind scrambled to take in this moment, while also debating whether to explain what she had done. Eventually, she did just that. She traced back every ugly act, desperate to try and release herself of the pain. You just sat there and listened.

“I didn’t mean to” Wanda begged. Her voice was tightening with emotion. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” You watched as the water flowed from her eyes like waterfalls. Her eyes were drawn to the floor in shame, causing you to fall apart with her.

Instinctually, you leaned forward onto your knees and whisked her into your arms, placing one hand around her body and the other to the back of her head, leading it into the crook of your neck.

“I know” you whispered to her comfortingly.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t astounded—disturbed even, by what Wanda shared with you. It was chilling and scary and completely uncharacteristic of the Wanda you fell in love with. Sure, Wanda had a dark side and she wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t evil. She was just a little girl who lost her way. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what Wanda did, the longer you sat here watching her dissolve into nothing, made you unable to see her as anything other than the woman you knew ... incapable of seeing her as anything but your Wanda. You knew her, because she was a part of you. In this life and in every life. The two of you were connected so firmly that it was as if you were feeling every inch of her sorrow with her.

As Wanda’s tears subsided and her body regained stability, you separated yourself from her in order to look at her once again.

Wanda held on to your hands tightly, unwilling to let them leave her again. “I’m not a monster y/n.” she kept saying these things as if you ever thought differently.

“I know” you reassured her, brushing your hand lovingly against her cheek.

There was a slight pause before you spoke again, an idea coming to mind. “Come here.”

Lifting to your feet, you tugged Wanda’s hands upwards, signaling for her to follow your action. Wanda stood up, her eyes looking into yours and flickering back and forth with curiosity.

In another short pause, you stayed there looking into her eyes. You looked beyond their surface and noticed the way they flashed subtly between a Wanda green and a Scarlet red. It was as if two souls lived inside her and each one was fighting for dominance.

She was in complete inner turmoil. Powerless to the torture of her mind.

You couldn’t stand to see her like this, killing herself slowly.

“Show me “Wanda”” you finally spoke. If she was ever going to heal from this, she needed to find herself again.

And like a moth to a flame, Wanda did exactly as you asked. With alluring swirls of red, she brought life into this desolate room. Instead of waking nightmares, she formed wonders of beauty. A speckling of stars graced the ceiling and the ground turned from solid plaster to a soft bed of grass. A blanket appeared beneath both of your feet and in one swift movement, Wanda took your hand and laid you down beside her. In that moment, it was Wanda and you as you were before it all went bad. Before you disappeared from her world.

The sceneries continued to change. From a peaceful beachfront sunrise to a cozy autumn date. Where you talked and talked, never seeming to run out of things to share. From both of you cuddled in a chair at a Christmas party, watching the blizzard blow outside the window, to a night-in cooking dinner together. You laughed and laughed, until your stomach’s burned with such joyful pain.

Wanda was making up for lost time. Recreating all the things you had done and creating all the things that should’ve been. Wanda showed you her light, her humor, her chivalry, her heart. All the good she had lost. You wanted her to see that she still had her humanity. You wanted her to see that she didn’t die with the darkhold.

Then, Wanda took you to this abandoned ballroom in Sokovia. Back before the war, when her home still breathed with life.

Hand-in-hand, you both looked up and around at the elegance of Elizabethan Baroque architecture. Although run down and forgotten, it still beamed with a beauty you were in awe of. The interior was palace-like. White marble walls adorned with dainty patterns and detailed carvings. All housed within a ceiling so high it felt like a cathedral. Massive windows had been broken, leaving the room feeling like it was half enclosed, half outdoors. And as you walked through, your footsteps crunched over scattered rubble which echoed loudly with every step.

“I used to sneak away and come here when I was a kid.” Wanda told you as she watched the memories play out in front of her.

“Little mischievous Wanda” you laughed, poking fun at her rebellious ways starting so young. She chuckled back, unable to deny it.

“Why’d you come here?” You added, genuinely curious to know more about her younger self.

“I don’t know. I stumbled upon it one day. Even though it’s massive, it was tucked away in an area I rarely ventured out to. I snuck through the window one day and just kept coming back. It was my hideout.” There was a break in her answer as she continued to look around. “I liked the grandeur of it all. The silence. The way people and their moments used to exist here and now it’s just a symbol for the passage of time.” You knew exactly what she meant.

Wanda guided you to the center of the ballroom floor and wrapped her arms around your neck before the flick of her finger caused a gentle sway of notes to reverberate off these forsaken walls.

Rocking your body slowly, her eyes lingered on yours. In the same way you did with her, Wanda noticed something missing in your eyes. Existence. Like they were becoming see through. And with it, her rose colored veil begins to fall and a piece of her heart crumbling with it once again.

This may not have been completely a hallucination, but it wasn’t completely real either. The drugs had caused illusions similar to dreams but this... this was her own magical doing. She wasn’t sure how she did it but she figured her chaotic mind had made for chaos magic. That her desperation reached it’s peak and stretched her powers to a place they’d never gone before.

She continued, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form. “But I think now I see, it was the way that beauty still existed in it’s sorrow that made me love this place.” You wrapped your arms around her waist and rested your head against her chest, hugging her tightly, knowing this was bigger than the temple you danced in.

You felt her body deflate in your arms as she came to terms with something you didn’t know.

Then she spoke again.

“And how the dead still live in the air that we breathe.” her voice tightened. “they live on in the memories, in the energy of the places they once stood.”

“That they’re never really gone.” you finished for her. In that moment you started to feel funny. Your body felt phantom but your mind was still sharp and that’s when you too had realized that your job here was done. That this wasn’t “real” but instead, a temporary moment existing again. The pieces started fall into place. How you couldn’t remember why or how you were here. It’s because Wanda formed you from her agony, bringing you back to life, just for a moment.

Gradually, the setting you were in begins to disintegrate in thin air and you were back in Wanda’s lonesome cell.

Keeping your position, you both swayed slowly in a painful silence. Both aware of what comes next, but both unwilling to accept it quite yet.

“Is it peaceful in the afterlife?” Wanda asked, almost too quietly to hear, finally speaking her realization out loud. She yearned for some sort of solace.

“Not as peaceful without you.” You paused, trying to console yourself. “But it’s not your time baby.” But just like that, the tears were back and it felt hard to breathe. “You have to let it go. You have to let me go.”

Like a child latching on to their mother, Wanda manages to speak through her choked up state, “Let me go with you.” She knew you were right, that she had to let go of the guilt and at least try to fill endless chasm that came with losing you. She knew you were right about needing to let go of the darkhold so she could live again. But she would still rather be with you.

“I love you Wanda.” is all you could muster. You whispered it into her ear and then kissed her with an ache you can’t describe. It felt like floating, it felt like dying all over again, yet it felt like a first breath.

Wanda knew it was impossible. That no matter how powerful she was, she couldn’t be with you now. She knew that as always, you knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say. Even in the afterlife, you could save her.

She knew that she had to destroy the darkhold. No amount of black magic could make her right inside but there was a world of good that she could do with her gift. This world needed her good. You had always told her that.

“I’m here whenever you need me.” You said, taking one last look into her eyes and placing your hand above her heart to indicate where you’ll be in the meantime.

Placing a chaste kiss to her cheek, you whispered, “I’ll see you again, love.” before fading back into the place between.

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Tag list: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @wandavisionmoot , @alexia-rmks, @impossibleliv1031

#elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x female reader #fanfic #one shot #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #marvel #mcu #dark #emotional #ghosts

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luveline · 3 years ago

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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