#and sometimes i just need an escape from you know

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel and you have broken up towards the end of your pregnancy until Sarah convinces you to come to Tommy’s annual Christmas party.]

A Christmas baby

“I’m not arguing with you like this god dammit, I ain’t trynna upset you”

Fluff jealousy childbirth angst

“Please come tonight, I really want to see you” Sarah spoke on the other end of the phone. You sighed brushing your hand over your nine month belly, the last thing you wanted to do was attend Tommy’s annual Christmas party.

You knew how much Sarah cared for you and how much she wanted you to be there but after having broken up with Joel just two months prior, it felt strange.

“My dad misses you” she spoke softly.

“I don’t know Sarah, there’s a lot-“

“Please just think about it, it’s Christmas. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

How were you suppose to resist? Besides Tommy inviting most of the neighbors and having nosey eyes on you, it couldn’t be that bad…right?

Since breaking up with Joel, you had seen him twice. You remembered coming out of your OB appointment and Joel sitting at the bottom step outside waiting for you. You hadn’t expected to see him there, especially being that he never made it to any appointments, constantly over booking himself at work. You remembered the arguments the two of you would have, sometimes you felt he overbooked himself on purpose to not deal with anything that had to do with the baby.

Maybe he had cold feet you thought, whatever it was it didn’t go well mixed with your hormones, your sensitivity at an all time high.

When you moved in with your sister Abby, Joel constantly called her to make sure you were ok. Every night you’d hear your sister on the phone repeating the same things over and over.

“She’s ok”

“I swear I’ll call you if anything”

“No shes not lifting anything heavy, Joel”

Sometimes you couldn’t help but crack a smile, Joel was always invested in making sure you had everything you needed but what you wanted more was his time.

Pulling up in front Joel’s house you could see the guests from the front window. A part of you second guessing what you were doing there, almost tempted to turn back. Then there it was again, a slow pain that kept coming and going from your lower back. This must be what Braxton hicks contraction’s were as the doctor had explained a week piror.

“You made it!” You suddenly heard from outside your car. One of the neighbors, Tilly spotted you just as she was about to go inside with her older brother Jim. Jim was a good friend of Tommy’s, Joel never seemed to be a fan of his, you never knew why.

“Guess I can’t escape now” you whispered to yourself before opening your car door.

“Here, let me give you a hand” Jim gave you his arm as you stepped out the car.

“You look amazing” Jim uttered low as you grabbed onto him. Not expecting his compliment you smiled.

“Thanks”

“That red dress looks great on you” Tilly exclaimed.

“Joel’s gonna be so happy to see you” she chuckled.

Anxiously walking to the front door, you stopped at the steps to adjust your dress.

“Don’t worry Jim won’t let you fall” Tilly whispered, excitement in her voice for her favorite day of the year. Just as you began to walk up the steps the front door opened, to your surprise Joel stepped out. Caught off guard he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you, not expecting you to show up, much less holding onto Jim. You watched his eyes immediately turn to him, a stern look he couldn’t hide until Tilly’s high pitched voice distracted him.

“Joel! So good to see you!” He looked to her and gave her a nod, you could still see the disapproval he felt.

“Tommy’s makin’ drinks, ya got here just in time”

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice” Jim made his way up the stairs with you before you thanked him and held your hands together awkwardly. Taking a quick glance at Joel you noticed him looking at you but you didn’t say a word, neither did he, until you were alone.

“I’ve been callin’ you” he stood against the door, cheers and laughter could be heard in the background.

“Abby told me” you spoke softly. His tongue sliding against his inner cheek, there was so much more he wanted to say, you could see it.

“How have you been feelin’?

His question making you finally look up directly at him. He wore a red and black flannel shirt, the one he knew you loved.

“Um-it’s getting harder to walk in certain shoes now” you chuckled showing off that you wore flip flops with your dress. Joel smiled, something he hadn’t done much of since you left.

“Oh my gosh you came!” Sarah’s voice made you both turn her way.

“Hey Sarah,” you smiled.

“Oh my- that red dress is so cute on your baby bump” she grinned with excitement.

“Thank you” you smiled brushing your hand over your bump making Joel’s eyes soften as he looked at you.

“Oh uh- I’m sorry for interrupting dad. I just-“

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m glad to see you excited” he assured her.

“Well, if you guys don’t mind I really need to use the restroom. I’m going every ten minutes now” you laughed before quickly and awkwardly excusing yourself to the back.

Coming out of the bathroom you gave Sarah your sweater and purse as you looked around the room to all the guests there, you honestly didn’t know where to put yourself.

“Look at you, I’m glad you showed up!” Tommy approached you with a Santa hat and beer in hand.

“How are you feelin’?” Tommy asked as Joel appeared beside him.

“Well my ankles are killing me, my back feels on fire, she’s constantly kicking me“ you chuckled.

“but other than that I’m fine” you sighed.

“Aw she’s just excited to meet her uncle” Tommy laughed as he leaned towards your belly.

“Ain’t that right lil’ niece?”

“Tommy” Joel uttered giving him a side eye.

“What? Just a few more weeks till we meet, I’m excited” he took a sip from his beer before being pulled away to dance. Joel and you stood beside each other, his arms crossed as he laughed at his brother before looking over at you.

“How about we get you a seat,”

“Um, it’s fine, I’d rather stay here plus all the seats are taken”

“So, I’ll get somebody up” Joel looked back at the full room quickly eyeing who he’d get the seat from.

“No, no it’s fine” as much as your ankles hurt, you’d rather have stayed away from everyone asking you dozens of questions.

“You wanna lay down in our room for a bit?” His question catching you off guard.

Our room.

“Thanks, Joel. I’ll be fine. I’ll just take some water though, I am thirsty”

He nodded, his eyes remained on you longer than he meant to, drifting down to your dress laying perfectly over your baby bump.

“You look beautiful by the way”

Your heart skipping a beat from his words, you looked over at him.

“Thank you” you whispered before he walked into the kitchen.

Soon you noticed Mary and Lisa heading your way, two of the most nosiest neighbors you had dying to ask questions the moment you walked in. Those two women never seemed to know when to stop talking. Quickly turning towards the kitchen you walked off doing your best to avoid them when you heard a woman laughing in the kitchen. Silently stopping at the doorway you saw Maria with Joel, she was known for many things with men around the area, especially married men. Her hand on Joel’s shoulder as he held your glass of water in hand, you felt a jealousy you had never felt before.

“If it wasn’t for you driving me home that night, who knows where I would’ve ended up” she laughed as your heart sunk. It couldn’t be, Joel spent a night with Maria? Although you and Joel weren’t together, it was crushing to hear.

“Maybe you can drive me home tonight again…?” She spoke with a flirtatious voice as her hand creeped to back of his neck when you accidentally knocked something down beside you. Both of them quickly looking up, Joel realized you had heard everything but before he could say a word you quickly walked out rushing to grab your belongings from down the hall. Joel quickly put the glass down and pushed past Maria following you out as your heart raced with disbelief and hurt.

“Sarah where’s my stuff?” Your voice cracked as she looked up at you confused.

“In the room, are you okay?” You couldn’t respond rushing toward the bedroom as Joel quickly followed behind calling your name.

“It ain’t what you think-“ Joel appeared at the doorway slightly out of breath as you grabbed your sweater.

“Hey, hey-listen to me, baby” he rushed towards you trying to get you to understand him, desperation in his eyes, his hand attempted to grab your face.

“Don’t!” You screamed, tears building up in your eyes.

“The neighborhood whore huh?”

“No, dammit, listen to me!”

“No, you would-“ you suddenly stopped speaking as a sharp cramping like sensation took over you. Leaning forward you winced grabbing your belly, Joels expression instantly changing.

“What? What’s wrong?” He whispered, his hand reaching for your belly just as the wave of pain passed.

“Don’t” you shoved his hand away and took a deep breath. Getting yourself together you put your sweater on and grabbed your purse. Trying to walk past him he blocked your way, a look of concern he couldn’t hide if he tried.

“I’m not lettin’ you leave like this”

“Like hell you’re not!” You screamed, the music and the guests so loud nobody could hear you arguing.

“You can go continue your fun-“

“I’m not arguing with you like this god dammit, I ain’t trynna upset you”

“Too late for that” you aggressively put on your sweater.

“I didn’t do nothin’ with her! She was with Tommy, he passed out drunk in the car I was the only sober one so I drove. She got out the car went home and that was it, nothin’ happened between me and her”

“I don’t believe you” you shook your head as a tear fell from your eyes. You attempted to push past him but he wouldn’t budge.

“I ain’t lettin’ you drive like this-“

“What the hell do you care?! Go talk with Maria since obviously you have time for her but not our baby-“

“You know damn well that’s not true” he grabbed your wrists stopping you from pushing him aside.

“Let go of me!” You pulled your arms back just as another wave of pain took over. Quickly turning away you leaned against the wall.

“Ow-“ you cried out. The pain more intense than you had been feeling earlier.

Joel quickly coming behind you making sure you were okay, his hands on your waist.

“Come sit down”

“No, no…it’ll go away like it did earlier” you whispered in between breaths.

“What do you mean earlier?”

You stood silent as you slowly turned to him.

“What do you mean earlier?” He repeated himself sternly.

“It’s Braxton hicks, I had felt them last week and the doctor told me it was normal. I’m not dilated-“

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was nothing to tell!” You winced again from yet another wave of pain.

“I don’t think these are Braxton hicks, you’re getting them to close together, you’re having contractions“

“No I am not. Just leave me alone” you squeezed your eyes shut unable to speak.

“Stop being so damn stubborn, we’re gettin’ you to a hospital”

“No!” You whispered with a gasp just as Sarah ran in.

“Oh my god-“

“Sarah, tell uncle Tommy we’re goin’ to the hospital” he called out to her.

“Is she-“

“Yes” his voice somehow calm as he had you hold onto him.

“Oh my g- it’s getting worse” you whimpered.

“I know, honey. We’re gonna get in the truck now” he caressed your face.

“Is this actually happening right now” you whispered to yourself.

“I think so, baby”

Tommy ran to the truck with his Santa hat still on, opening the doors for you and Joel as the guests all watched on in shock.

“I don’t have my bag! My bag, Joel!”

“I’ll tell your sister to bring it” he buckled your seatbelt and closed the door rushing to the other side. Everyone watched as Joel sped off, each contraction becoming more intense you screamed in agony as Joel kept beeping the horn. If you weren’t so distracted with the pain you felt you would’ve seen how desperate Joel became with each sound you made.

“We’re here, baby. We’re here” the tires screeched as he made a hard turn into the lot.

Everything happened so fast, next thing you knew you were on the hospital bed being instructed to push. Joel holding your leg up, you cried feeling as if you couldn’t get through this.

“I can’t-“ you shook your head as Joel stood beside you, gently turning your head to face him.

“Look at me, yes you can. I’m right here and I ain’t goin’ no where, count with me” Joel began to instruct you with breathing and counting as the doctor prepped for the arrival of your baby.

After all the pain and chaos that occurred, it was all worth it. After the end of it all, you had fallen asleep and awoke to Joel humming Silent Night. Still feeling weak, you turned to see him looking out the window as it snowed. You smiled just as he turned and caught your eyes on him.

“I think she likes this song” he whispered making you laugh.

“You read the book” you spoke softly as he looked at you confused.

“The book I gave you about dads during birth”

He smiled with a nod.

“How else would I had known how to help you breathe through all that pushin’” turns out he listened much more than you thought he did.

“Mhm” your eyes began to uncontrollably close, you were exhausted.

“Get your rest, baby. I got her” without a word you quickly fell back to sleep as Joel looked down at his daughter with tearful eyes.

“The best Christmas gift I’ve ever been given” he kissed her forehead and continued humming the song..

Tags

@moonpascal @katmoonz @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @bambisweethearts @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @manuymesut @katiemarieeee @unknownomgg @secretcheesecakenacho @missladym1981 @xmaykeca @dendulinka6 @wintersquirrel @malfoycassimalfoy @scorpio-echo @orcasoul @mysteryhexgirl @locaparapedrito @alloftheimagines @mystickittytaco

@ashleyfilm @justajoelsreader @ashleyfilm

[babejinxy]

In love with you - part 3

Pairing: Powder x fem!reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, SMUT, kissing, fluff

Synopsis: Powder had been your best friend for years, the two of you met when she was running from the cops when she and her brothers broke into and blew up an apartment in Piltover and you helped them escape. What you never imagined, is that the love of your life was always right there in front of you…

A/N: This is a fic about Powder from the alternate universe, it has nothing to do with Jinx.

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

Part 1 Part 2

💙 @brocoliisscared @bbybubbles @cattjull

You went after Powder who was leaving the last drop, “hey Powder, wait a minute”, you called her and she stopped looking at you with a frown and crossed her arms. “Look, I'm sorry okay? I should have told you, I know you're mad but…”, you didn't have time to finish because she interrupted you, “I'm not just mad, I'm upset too… why...Why her Y/n?”. She actually wanted to ask, “Why anyone else and not me?”, but she held herself back, she wasn’t ready for that, maybe she was too scared for that.

What would you tell her? That you still loved Cait? Maybe you did, or did you think so? Would you say that you were confused and didn't really know how you felt, or would you just say that you couldn't be alone for too long? Yes, your best friend knew all of this, she knew about your potential to easily give yourself to anyone because... because you had this fear of ending up alone, this fear of not being good for anyone, the fucking fear that no one would ever be able to love you.

“I went out with her last week, we went out to dinner and then we went to her house, it’s just… a casual encounter is no big deal.” If you knew how you were breaking Powder’s heart into a million little pieces at that moment, you would definitely condemn yourself.

“It’s not a big deal?”, she said perplexedly opening her arms, “Y/n we’re talking about the girl who cheated on you, she hurt your feelings, if you don’t remember how you felt at the time I do, I comforted you… your whole life I was the one who was by your side and not her, I’m the person who would never leave you alone, never”.

You approached her and held her hands, “I know and that’s why I’m so grateful to have you in my life, you’re my best friend Pow Pow, I love you and I don’t know what I would do without you.” She squeezed your hands in hers, knowing that you loved her in some way meant a lot to her. “I just want to see you happy, I don't like Caitlyn sorry honey, but I don't like her especially after what she did to you.” You started to wonder, “why is it so hard to find someone like Powder?”, someone like her would never hurt you, she was wonderful, but she was your best friend.

“You know Y/n, you deserve someone who likes you just the way you are, someone who knows how to value you, someone who knows how lucky they are to have you, you know someone who… who wakes up every fucking day and says “holy shit, I’m dating Y/n and no one else in the world is that lucky only me”, do you understand that?”.

You felt like crying. Powder always made you feel special. She was the only person who made you see your own worth. You held back your tears and pulled her into a tight hug. You felt her wrap her arms around your waist and hold you close. She was so close to your face, she just needed to move a little more and her lips would be on yours.

You pulled away from her, “Thank you for that, sometimes I need someone to remind me of that.”

“Yes, I know… and I’ll always be here to make sure you don’t forget.” She smiled and caressed your cheek with her thumb. fuck she wanted so badly to drag you to the dark corner and kiss you right now, maybe you would kiss her back, maybe you two would reveal your feelings, then she would take you to her house and taste you, maybe she would…

“Oh there you are,” Ekko’s voice took her out of her reverie and you looked at him - who you soon noticed was sad - Powder rolled her eyes and put her hands on her waist, he always appeared to interrupt the moment and that was already making her irritated.

Ekko approached you and held out his hand handing you a piece of paper folded in half. “Someone wants me to give this to you,” he said, his voice still dejected, he didn’t look at Powder once. You took the paper and frowned, “what is this?” you asked. “I have no idea, a guy asked me to give this to you, and before you ask, I don’t know who the guy is either, I’ve never seen him around here before.”

You were a little confused, curious and at the same time worried that this could be something serious, but Powder knew exactly what it was, some guy at the bar flirting with you and wanting to buy you a drink, how she wished she could tell all of them that you were not available because you were hers. “Well, good night girls,” Ekko walked away from you two and continued on his way with his head down.

You ignored the note for a second and looked at your friend, “You dumped him, right?” You were referring to Ekko. She shrugged, “Sort of… but he wasn’t like this when we got here.” You curled your lips, “So what happened?” She had a hunch that maybe he noticed her advances on you, but she couldn’t tell you that.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” you asked curiously. “He’s just my friend, the fact that I went out with him once doesn’t change anything… wouldn’t you go out with any of your friends?” You didn’t quite understand the question, you didn’t know if she wanted you to answer or if it was just a rhetorical question. In fact this was just a way to know what you would say even though she was afraid of the answer.

You thought for a second, you never went out with any of your friends, maybe because you liked them just as friends, maybe you just needed to think a little more or just look at Powder right in front of you before saying what you said. “I wouldn’t go on a date with any of my friends, those things rub the friendship”.

Powder felt a tightness in her heart, maybe after that the best thing to do was for her to try to get over you and have you just as her best friend, but how would that be possible when you were her dream? And every day that passed, this passion for you only grew and took over her every second she spent by your side. “Well, I guess it depends on how both feel about each other,” she said finally.

“Yeah, maybe… I mean… no,” you closed your eyes, getting confused about your words, “I don’t think it’s that simple… anyway, let’s see what’s here?” you said, opening the piece of paper in your hands as quickly as possible, ignoring your heart beating erratically once again. Of course you blamed it on your anxiety to read what was written on the note Ekko handed you.

You unfolded the paper and Powder approached you to read what was written, you read it out loud, “Hey pretty girl, I've been eyeing you all night, can I buy you a drink?”, you were holding back from laughing, Powder on the other hand, wasn't very comfortable with it, “if you accept, I'm the guy sitting alone at the table on the right corner, I'll wait for you”.

You looked at your friend and laughed, “These guys don’t know when to stop,” she said crossing her arms. “Oh come on, you’re just jealous because I got the note and you didn’t,” you laughed, mocking her. “Pssh, as if,” she said, pushing your arm away slowly. “He might be cute,” you said, looking at the note. Powder felt her body boil with jealousy, but she held herself back. “Do you want to go back there and see if he’s still there? If he is, I won’t judge him.” As she said this, her eyes widened and she looked at you from the corner of her eyes, a chill ran down her spine, how could she have let that out loud?

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, “Of course not,” you said, crumpling the note and throwing it behind you somewhere. “Tonight I want to have fun with my best friend, without any disloyal ex-girlfriends or barflirts, just you and me… our sleepover, remember?” You held out your hand to her. Surely if she could, she would grab you and kiss you right now. But instead, she took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

“Part three of the night: braids in your hair,” you said laughing. “Okay, you’re silly,” she said pulling you closer to her, wrapping her arms around your waist…

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

It's been three days since the day you went to the movies with Powder and Ekko. You've had time to think about what Powder had said about Cait and you've been ignoring her calls ever since. Today was Saturday, the day of the party in Zaun at The Last Drop. You got ahead on your academy work and told your parents that you couldn't attend their party because you had work to finish.

It was night and you were finishing getting ready for the party when your hexphone vibrated and it was a message from Cait, you read it in the notification bar,

“Hey princess, sorry to be insistent, but I'm not going to give up on you... I'm sorry for what I did to you, I can fix things, give me a chance to change everything. Please give us a second chance. Are you going to your parents' party? I hope so! I need to see you! I still love you baby, don't forget that.”

You couldn’t say it didn’t affect you. Powder was right in what she said before, but what if Cait had changed? What if she really still loved you? People make mistakes and fuck things up, but they’re also capable of change, aren’t they?

For a minute you thought you could go to your parents’ party to talk to Cait. But then you looked at the picture frame on your dresser that held a picture of you and Powder and you knew in that exact moment that she was the one you were supposed to be with tonight. You didn’t know why you felt this way, or why your heart was beating so fast inside your chest. You and Powder had been friends for years and you had been with her countless times, but tonight felt different. You didn’t know why, but you felt like you had to be with her.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

You went to Powder's workshop - where you knew she would be - and found her in front of the mirror grumbling about not being able to get her eyeliner right, she didn't even notice you had come in.

“Do you need help with that?” She immediately looked in your direction and glanced at your short white layered mini skirt and your low-cut silver top that really showed off your beautiful round breasts. “Damn,” she thought.

You approached her and took the eyeliner pen from her hand, “ok, head up, eyes closed,” you said standing between her legs - she was sitting on a stool in front of the mirror - she did as you said and you held her face while you applied the eyeliner to her right eye.

She was clasping her hands together, she wanted to hold your waist, in fact she wanted you to sit on her lap while you fixed her makeup, she had dreamed about this so many times. Your soft tickle on her skin, your scent taking over the entire space, fuck she just couldn't take it anymore. Then she raised her hands and held your waist and you didn't care at all.

“Ok, I think this is good, you like it?”, you got out from between her legs and she took her hands off your waist, turning on the stool to look at herself in the mirror. “I couldn’t have done it better,” she said, admiring her eyeliner—now perfect—thanks to you.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

Arriving at the party, you two joined Claggor and Mylo. ​​“Hey, Y/n, I’m glad you came,” Mylo said, laughing awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck. “So��� do you want to dance? Or have a drink?” Before you could answer, Claggor elbowed him and then looked at Powder furtively. Mylo had irritated her, in every way, since they were kids. Of course she loved him, but to her he was a jerk and she knew he had no chance with you, so she wasn't bothered by his advances towards you. “Maybe later,” you finally replied.

You looked around and saw Gert passing by carrying a tray with drinks, your gaze met hers and she gave you a mischievous smile, you smiled back and looked down, you thought she was a very pretty girl.

After a while, Powder went to talk to Vender and you were alone for only half a minute until you heard a female voice behind you, “I thought it was impossible for a girl like you to not be accompanied, but since you're not, lucky for me then”, you turned around and came face to face with Gert. “Be careful, I might be alone for a reason,” you said smiling. “What reason?” she asked, tilting her head and looking from your lips to your eyes. “I might be a heartless lunatic who hurts everyone I come into contact with,” you joked. She curled her lips, “You’re worth the risk, doll,” she said, grabbing a strand of your hair.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

While you flirted with Gert, Powder leaned against the counter and watched you smiling and letting Gert touch your arms, hair, hands... every party ended like this, you met someone, started dating that person and it wouldn't last more than three months and you would suffer from the lack of someone you didn't even like that much just to make up for the lack of self-love that you should have and didn't have or for the fear of ending up alone.

She wished didn't love you so much, she wanted to see you as just her best friend, but you were so much more than that and it hurt her every day. If you only knew that these people would never love you like she does...

Powder was so distracted looking at you that she didn't notice when Vender leaned next to her on the counter, but he was inside. "Why don't you ask her to dance?" he asked, making the blue-haired girl jump in fright. “What? No! Why would I do that?”, she said, frowning in an attempt to hide it. Vender smiled, “I know that look, you like her.” Powder’s heart could jump out of her mouth at any moment. “She’s my best friend, of course I like her,” she laughed nervously. “Powder…”, she took a deep breath, she knew there was no point in denying it, Vender knew.

“Is it that obvious?”, she asked, still looking at you. “Why don’t you tell her?”, she took her eyes off you and looked at Vender with a frown, “Are you crazy?” Vender she is my best friend, if I tell her she’ll get weird and we won’t be friends anymore, I can’t lose her.” Vender sighed, looked at you and then said, “Look Powder, if she really is your friend nothing will change that. Nothing is more important than a friendship and you not wanting to tell her that you love her for fear of losing the friendship between you proves that. But I still think she should know, you should know… she might feel the same way about you, isn’t she worth it? Isn’t she worth the risk?” Powder didn’t answer, she just remained thoughtful and looked back at you.

She thought that maybe Vender was right, it was time to tell you. And seeing Gert getting closer and closer to you encouraged her even more. “Vender, give me a drink,” she said without taking her eyes off you. Vender smiled and handed her a glass of alcohol. She drank it all in one gulp and then looked at Vender smiling, he patted her arm encouragingly, “now go talk to her…”

Leave comments, my loves!

Happy New Year, everyone 🌟🥂

[thelaundrybitch]

Bangin'

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TURTLE DOVES!!!!

Have a little ditty I scraped together for shits and giggles.

Love yas! 🫶🏼🫵🏼💖

I'm gonna go ahead and deem this an 18+ story.

🔥A Dirty Laundry Fic🔥

And as always, my ninja turts are aged up to 30+ years. Don't be weird.

Please don't steal my work. Reblogging for others to enjoy is highly encouraged, though🤩

Bangin'

You’ve had the hots for Leo for as long as you’ve known the turts. Don knows your dirty little secret because he’s your BFF, and you tell him everything. You’ve made it quite clear to him that if you are ever caught with Leo alone, to come save you. You don’t want to say anything stupid and ruin friendships or lair visiting privileges by confessing your undying love for the eldest turt. So, you do your best to keep your distance because you fear your mouth will commit mutiny, always keeping your interactions with the blue bara fairly short and always ensuring one of his brothers is in the same room in case you need an emergency evacuation.

Leo, however, keeps trying to herd you away from his brothers or catch you alone so he can use that irresistible charm of his, to win your heart. He’s had a big fat crush on you for just as long and has actively been trying to get some alone time with you.

But it’s always thwarted. Whenever he thinks he’s got the upper hand, Donnie appears and whisks you away to the lab to help him with something. Eventually, he gives up, thinking that you and Don have something going on, and tries to occupy his time with additional training, meditating, or reading whenever you come to visit.

This certainly gets your attention.

Effectively crushing your blue-terrapin-loving heart.

A few months go by as you try to tell yourself that his lack of attention and interaction is for the best, and you almost have yourself to that ‘ok’ point.

Until…

The dreams start

Hot, horny, and hella realistic. You dream about honor boy pinning you to every surface of the lair. You swear you can almost feel his mouth on your skin. You can even smell that bergamotty goodness that is Leonardo, right as you’re waking up. 

Sometimes, the dreams are so realistic you have to walk around your apartment to make sure he’s not actually there.

It’s at this point you decide you need to avoid him altogether. Otherwise, you’re going to end up mauling him and begging him to make your dreams come true.

Leo, on the other hand, has been in absolute agony. And still IS in agony. He can’t get you out of his head no matter what he does. Your scent always seems to linger in the air for days after you’ve visited, no matter what room he walks into. Your voice echoes in his mind as he reads, that sweet laughter clouding his focus, rendering his imaginary escape impossible. 

Pretty sounds slipping from your pretty lips, with your small form fitting perfectly under his much bigger one, taking him so well every time he closes his eyes. Both asleep and awake.

It’s fucking torture.

Then it happens.

You walk into Don’s lab one day on a rampage. You’re tired. You’re sexually frustrated. And it’s all Leonardo’s fault.

Now, Don already knows about these dreams - because, of course, you told him. So, the moment you slam his lab door open, he puts down what he’s working on and gives you his undivided attention as you start spewing about your latest dreamland tryst. 

As you're talking very animatedly with Don about said adult activities you are going into great detail about positions, and kinks, and all kinds of risque dialogue.

Little do you know that Leonardo is present. He is over behind the lab table, squatting down and looking for a book that Don recommended on focusing through distractions.

He’s getting ready to stand up and leave when he hears your upset voice but freezes the moment you start talking about your latest dream. Because all of a sudden, out from your perfect, pretty little mouth comes all these words. Talking about all these physically untried ✨positions✨ accompanied by some over-exaggerated, very real-sounding… noises.

And he just—

Flatlines.

Zero brain activity.

He stands up so fucking fast that he slams his head on the shelf; the shelf dislodges and catapults the contents ALL over the place.

And he is mortified.

You're mortified.

Because you were absolutely reenacting some of said positions with a stool from the lab table.

And the way he's looking at you?

He's gotta fucking know.

But he doesn't.

And that secret crush he's had on you for years is about to be blown.

Holding your breath, you carefully stand the stool back to an upright position, giving Don the hairy eyeball before looking back at Leo for his response. 

Good God, you’re gorgeous.

His eyes are glued to you, and he’s watching every little move you make. Leo hasn’t seen you this close in months.  

Sure, he’s seen you from afar and in every dream, but being less than twenty feet from you is doing unmentionable things to him.

The way your v-neck tee is hugging all your curves in all the right places has his head spinning. You look good enough to eat.

He’s not sure what comes over him (quite possibly the oncoming concussion), but his legs move on their own accord and bring him around the lab table to where you’re standing with your face hotter than lava and wishing the Earth would open up and swallow you whole.

He stands almost on top of you, looking down into those enchanting eyes of yours, his own baby blues flicking back and forth from your eyes to your lips and back again.

He’s as silent as the calm before a storm, with waves of intensity rolling off of him like a tsunami and threatening the existence of your panties.

It’s too much. The looming. His intimidating presence. You know he knows, and you need to explain yourself before he hurls your ass out of the lair for good.

Stuttering out his name, you tell him you can explain and proceed to put your foot directly in your mouth as the verbal vomit gives away your position. They’re just dreams! You can’t help what your brain thinks about while you’re asleep! As a matter of fact, it’s his fault! Yeah! You can’t help that he’s the one-

“Me?” If Leonardo had eyebrows, they would’ve flown clean off his face. “I’m in these dreams?”

Eyes rivaling the size of Jupiter you glance at Don, who has nearly bitten off his tongue trying not to laugh, and just shrugs at you. Swallowing hard, you look back at Leo, whose irises are barely visible with how big his pupils are blown.

Trembling, you swallow hard and nod slowly. 

Without a second thought, he squats down, scoops you up like a princess, and growls out, “You need to come with me.”

“Wha- why?!” you panic, your hands moving around his neck to steady yourself in his arms.

He brings you in closer to his face, and in a husky voice, he tells you, "Because we need to go somewhere with thick walls… Those delicious noises and screams? They're all mine. No one else gets to hear those."

And that's the story of how you became part of Leonardo's mattress.

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[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

The Sonic Movie Franchise and The Found Family Trope

A personal request by my dear moot and friend @writer--in--theory, which I am entirely happy to deliver on.

Feel free to point out inconsistencies or anything you think I can improve on in my analysis.

Alright, so, the Found Family trope. Extremely popular and very well done, along with one of the tropes I find the most fulfilling to write in to fanfiction.

As I, and I believe most people in fandom, consider the Sonic movies to be an AU, I’m not going to be comparing specific relationships or characterization to any other games or media, other than that the familial aspect is more apparent in these films than in most games, and I haven’t read enough of the comics, either Archie or IDW to develop opinions as to those.

The Sonic movies do a fascinating job at truly displaying and fleshing out that found family trope that is more of a notion or behavioral quirk between characters in most games. They aren’t given as much concrete development in games as the movies have allowed, since the Sonic games focused more on the gameplay aspect rather than a more slice-of-life/slower storyline (a story that takes its time to create relationships between characters) that found families are most often found in.

I'm going to go by specific character relationships, and connect them as needed.

Sonic's Characterization

The first Sonic movie begins with Sonic losing his only parental figure, an extremely traumatic event that leaves a hole in him for the rest of the series and leaves him to fend for himself during his most formative years. He grows up alone, but retains the sassy, care-free demeanor.

I believe the reason he's still so outwardly unaffected by that trauma is that he coped for much of the unseen years between Longclaw's death and formally meeting the Wachowskis through exploring the world. He finds a home in Green Hill because he sees a home in the Wachowskis. We know that he had already been "spying" on them for a while and hanging around their house without them knowing. And he feels that longing for a home, a family, for what he had with Longclaw, and he wants that back.

But he is still aware of what he is, of how they might see him, as only an alien. And that is what keeps him away, that fear of the possibility and being rejected again, being alone again. So he's content with just viewing their life, imagining himself with Tom and Maddie.

I think that's one of my favorite parts of Movie!Sonic. Despite many of his characterizations by the fandom is as an emotionally unavailable character, Movie!Sonic is emotionally intelligent, whether already or as a result of having to grow up too soon. To take care of himself early on, and as much as he may boast or pride that he is totally fine having fun and running around the world, he is, in the end, running to escape the possibility of standing still and realizing that he is still incredibly lonely. While he may not explicitly say it, much of that initial montage in his cave and at Tom and Maddie's movie night, from the outside always looking in, he is aware of what he feels. However, that fear keeps him away.

It pushes him to the baseball diamond, and him running to escape the emotions, the memories, and his imagination, creates that very first outburst of incredible energy and power that alerts the real danger (GUN).

It's only the possibility of being found out by an unknown danger, being attacked and forced out of his cave, out of his home yet again, that forces him to finally act. Not quite meet the Wachowskis yet, as that isn't his intention.

But he does knowingly go to the only other place he feels safe at. The Wachowski's home.

He realizes that he needs to run to escape this danger, doing what Longclaw's last words bade him do before she sacrificed herself for him, but is found by Tom (and promptly shot with a tranquilizer, but, y'know, it starts rocky sometimes!!).

As for the Wachowski's, as original characters we have nothing to expect of them. But they are immediately charming and unique and, while understandably wary of Sonic at first, immediately realize the danger he's in and want to help him.

Sonic and Tom Wachowski

An obvious father-son relationship within the overarching found family (which will eventually include Tails and Knuckles, but I'll get to them later). However, Tom's interactions with Sonic are written in a way that feels incredibly sincere and I think their believability together made my skepticism for humans being related to Sonic (as a character and as a story) disappear.

Tom is obviously skeptical as well at first, especially after finding out that Sonic had just been spying on them for years. But when he learns of Sonic’s past and how he’s been alone for all of the years after that, he understands. He wants to protect Sonic from whoever is hunting him, from experiencing that loneliness again, and after getting to know that little blue blur, is willing to do anything to make sure that Sonic is safe, that he has a home.

And Sonic is bracing for the inevitable rejection again, after he chooses to stay in Green Hill and not escape to a new world, near the end of the movie.

But they surprise him by showing him that they want him to stay, setting up a whole room for him, and allowing him to be a kid!! He doesn’t have to be alone anymore, because he has a family who wants to take care of him, who cares about him and would literally throw the rest of their life to the side to care for this little hedgehog who crashed into their life one day.

There isn’t enough content between Maddie and Sonic only for me to give her a section as well, but she definitely feels the same. The protectiveness she feels is just as strong.

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles

Sonic and Tails

Now, for the even better found family relationship. Sorry, as much as I love Tom and Sonic, these two will forever be my heart.

Tails, in the movie, is also coming from another planet, bullied and ostracized from his village most of his life for the mutation causing his double tails. He hears news of a blue speedster and, beginning to practically idolize him, uses his capability with technology to track Sonic down. While it’s barely explained why Tails is looking for Sonic in the first place, he is clearly expecting for something to happen to Sonic, saying that he hopes he “isn’t too late.” What exactly, he’s worried about, isn’t explained either, and he and Sonic are pulled into the race to find the Master Emerald against Robotnik and Knuckles.

Tails is, thankfully, not characterized as naive or too young to be responsible, which I am glad for, as I was initially worried that they’d infantilize him as a result of him just being a younger kid. He wants to prove himself, rather, and shows his skills through his gadgetry and eagerness to help Sonic, and his initial adoration and interest in Sonic changes into something more brotherly. Tails was inspired by Sonic and saw someone who was clearly different, other. Just like him. And he thought that if Sonic could be great, then maybe he could too, and his otherness didn’t have to stop him.

My favorite scene for this is when they’re in the inn in Siberia, and both of them are finally able to see a more relaxed, actual child-like version of the other.

Sonic is told that he’s Tails’ first real friend, the first person to truly care about him, and to not judge him for his appearance or his interest in tech. And Tails is surprised by this fact, not sure at first if Sonic is being genuine, but once realizing that he is, hugs Sonic and reveals the parts of himself, the feelings and his past, that he hid and felt shame for for so long.

Sonic and Knuckles

Sonic and Knuckles have a classic rivals to friends relationship and it was probably one of my favorite parts of the movie besides Sonic and Tails being absolutely adorable.

Knuckles is another character who is alone, the last of his kind, a race of fierce warriors and protectors, who value loyalty, strength, and honor above all. He’s seemingly destined for a solitary life, much like Sonic assumed himself to be, from the beginning of the movie, and his lack of knowledge of the world he is adjusting to allows him to be taken advantage of by Robotnik so easily.

(Christ, loneliness and loss is a really reoccurring theme, and I haven’t even gotten to Shadow yet)

Knuckles is only able to truly interact with and talk with Sonic after he is betrayed by Robotnik, breaking one of his key values and shattering his worldview and who he believed was the right side. However, he fully expects Sonic to leave him behind as well after the temple battle, the flood overtaking him. But Sonic, seeing only someone who was taken advantage of and who also lost everything he loved, chooses to save him, nearly sacrificing himself in the process. Knuckles also saves Sonic as well, after realizing that Sonic didn’t swim to the surface with him.

Sonic chooses to deliberately ignore that Knuckles was apart of the tribe that killed Longclaw, letting it bring them together in grief instead of driving them apart, and doesn’t care that Knuckles has been attacking him since they met, as Sonic understands why and forgives him for that. Knuckles doesn’t understand, at first, why Sonic saved him in the first place, but when Sonic explains his hero concept and that he needs to take responsibility for others and couldn’t just let Knuckles die, Knuckles sees who Sonic is.

And a mutual respect is gained.

Knuckles, while he is incredibly blunt, deliberate, and honest, understands this. He sees a pure will that he admires in Sonic.

Altogether . .

The third movie only strengthens their bond, as both Tails and Knuckles have been accepted into the family, as the Wachowski’s are happy to adopt another couple of super powered alien kids.

Tails and Knuckles, while still sidelined due to Shadow’s storyline, are key factors in how their team functions and they work the best together. This is a result of the familial relationship formed in the time between movies 2 and 3, as they, during that time, are able to live together and learn from each other.

While they do have a 3rd act separation that I was worried about, it’s established that it’s only allowed through the trust formed between Sonic and Knuckles. Which they handled perfectly, as it wasn’t out of character and wasn’t even malicious, it was a result of the trust between all three of them. They all suffered when Tom was critically injured, they all watched the ambulance drive off with the same, devastated look. They had become so close over these few months together.

Their relationship becomes the most adorable and genuine of sibling relationships, as they are all able to bond over discovering the world, learning and playing and being allowed to be kids. I know I emphasized this before but I will do it again: What makes this found family so incredibly strong is that all of them are able to learn from each other, to build and grow alongside each other and they have all greatly affected each other’s lives in ways that changed them for the better.

Their shared experiences of otherness, of loss, of grief, brought them together into warmer emotions of family, of friendship, of trust.

That is the basis of a found family. People brought together through mutual respect, understanding, and love.

Outside of Sonic-related relationships . . .

Shadow and Maria

Shadow crashed into Earth from a meteorite and supposedly spent the first moments of his life on Earth in a lab, in a tube, isolated but for scientists who would stare and write and run tests and treat him as, honestly, less than a being with a conscience.

The time before Maria was probably extremely lonely, despite him being surrounded by people, setting a precedent that Shadow would assume that humans wouldn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t care about him aside for his powers.

But when he meets Maria, she immediately interacts with him, smiles and mocks him playfully, not for the purpose of analyzing him, but just because he was another kid in the lab, and she wanted to be friends out of pure interest for who Shadow was, not his alien blood.

The montages of their time together in the lab, spent having fun running around the halls, Maria introducing Shadow to dancing and music and sweets and movies and everything he would never have gotten to experience if not for her, only reinforce their close bond, the family he found with her. She was the only one who could understand him in the lab, probably in his whole life, as we have no clue what happened before he crashed to Earth.

The rooftop scene is my personal favorite, as Shadow feels comfortable, safe enough, to confide in Maria about his self-consciousness, his fear that his power will make him only terrifying, only a monster.

Maria comforts him, telling him that he can choose who he wants to be for himself, that he’ll know who he wants to be in his heart. She teaches him that his purpose and life doesn’t have to be dictated by what he possesses or what he appears to be, as his actions and decisions are what truly matter.

That even when a star has long since faded, their light still shines.

This barely concealed metaphor for the effect your life can have on the people you know is beautifully poetic, and reminds Shadow, near the end, of what his true goal should’ve been.

That Maria would have never wanted him to hurt others, to destroy the world, in order to avenge her. Because she loved the world. And Shadow would never want to destroy what she loved.

They make me hurt in the best way. Maria’s line about a star’s light still shining even after it’s long since faded breaks me every time.

Agent Stone and Ivo Robotnik

I know that this isn’t necessarily found family in the familial sense, but if you don’t ship them or believe them to be romantic, don’t worry, this further analysis is purely from a non-shipping perspective.

While the power dynamic is clearly tilted towards Ivo, and I think this acknowledgement of the relationship is very one-sided in the way that Stone is very aware of how he feels towards Ivo, with his devotion and willingness to do whatever it takes for Ivo, while Ivo does not outwardly admit how attached he’d become to his agent, his presence and intelligence, and that he appreciates and needs Stone’s company. Ivo has never spoken his feelings aloud while Stone has practically worn them on his sleeve.

My point is that the third movie, in terms of Ivo’s plot, outlines the choice between blood relations and your chosen family.

Ivo has a chosen family, which consists of only Stone. He’s never had a true family before, no blood relatives, no parents to speak of, and when he discovers Gerald, who may be the first blood family he’s ever had, he begins to value blood over chosen, leaving Stone to pursue a life with his grandpappy over him.

However, when it’s revealed that Gerald never cared about Ivo in the first place, only needing him to be able to achieve his goal of destroying the world in order to avenge Maria, even going far enough to say that Ivo could never be Maria. Could never be what Maria was to Gerald. Ivo realizes the mistake he’s made.

Ivo has his hero moment, to attempt to redirect the Eclipse Cannon’s impending explosion, that “if he can’t rule the world, he might as well save it.” He is still, as much as he may say he hates it, affected by his humanity.

And when giving his final livestream, he finally speaks aloud the feelings, the effect Stone has had on him, in his own words that he knew Stone would know the true, sincere meaning of. That he truly did value him and care about him (“I love the way you make them”), which wasn’t even just about the work Stone did for him, but also what Stone brought to his life, that consolation and trust.

Ivo said that Stone was the only person in his life he could trust. That he was the only person who truly cared about him. As tragic as that sentiment is, he’s right. Stone loved Ivo unconditionally, and Ivo didn’t realize this, didn’t realize that he also cared for Stone, until it was too late for him, but not too late for him to make sure that Stone lived.

——————————————————————————

All in all, the Found Family dynamic, in all of its forms, from parental to siblings to a weird boss-employee relationship, is practically perfect.

These relationships are well-built, developed by shared experiences that characters bond and heal over, mutual respect for each other, a strong trust, and an unconditional love between them.

Oh, the unconditional love is the most important part. Because that is what brings so many people into the found family trope.

Those who are experienced with not getting that constant trust and unbreakable bond from blood, seek that love from others. Build their own family. And the families crafted in these films are beautiful.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hey, there. Can you help me with this? I am stuck on creating with this motivation for my WIP.

Those who seek death shall live, and those who seek lives shall die How do you create a character with this type of character motivation? either is an important side character, villain, mentor, or even main character?

Hi! Some writers like to use character tropes as inspiration when they get stuck with a certain idea. Here are some examples I found for you that you can use as a guide. And alter as needed for your story:

"Death Seeker" Trope

At some point in the past, some characters have had a traumatic experience, found themselves dishonored, committed a crime they could not repay, lost everything worth living for, caught an incurable disease or just became bored with continued existence.

For whatever reason, rather than turning to suicide, they went off seeking battles to fight, hoping to find an enemy who would kill them, and achieve an honorable, heroic, awesome, or otherwise acceptable death, sometimes going as far as outright surrendering and offering their life to their enemies. 

Martyrdom Cultures may regard such a character as a role model, even if upon closer examination they might seem like a Martyr Without a Cause.

In cases of cruel Irony, the characters who snap out of it and find something to live for often end up dying or getting killed shortly afterwards anyway.

A real life example:

Jeffrey Dahmer frequently expressed his wish to die for his crimes while in prison. When he was attacked by another prisoner who attempted to slit his throat, he refused to press charges and requested to be returned to the general prison population. Only a few months later, he was beaten to death by another prisoner. His last words were, reportedly: "I don't care if I live or die — go ahead and kill me."

"I Cannot Self-Terminate" Trope

Perhaps they've just been wounded in a vital area and know they are going to die slowly and in agony, and just want to die with dignity/end the pain quickly. Perhaps they are prisoners and being tortured, and the hero cannot break them free but could shoot them.

In any case, while they're ready or even eager to die, they cannot do it on their own. This can also count as a Heroic Sacrifice, sometimes.

If the character is robotic, this may occur due to influence from Asimov's Laws. Specifically, the Third Law states that a robot may not harm itself, or through inaction allow itself to be harmed, unless doing so is required to uphold the First or Second Law. Even when not following the hierarchical laws of robotics, it could still occur if a robot is simply programmed for self-preservation.

The victim may plead for death even when it is possible for them to be saved, owing to the pain. The hero is likely to override that, often saying No One Gets Left Behind.

Accidental Murder: Occurs when a situation that wasn't intended to be lethal ends with the death of someone anyway.

Anyone Can Die: This is easily defined as definite Truth in Television, because all living organisms are mortal and are bound to, by statistics at least, eventually die for any number of reasons, with no fiction writers to determine how it happens. When used poorly or too frequently, this trope can cause Too Bleak, Stopped Caring, possibly with audiences uttering the Eight Deadly Words, as the audience won't see any point in getting attached to characters that they expect to die sooner or later. A good way to check if this trope applies is to see if who survives is an important plot point, rather than only how they survive.

Cheated Death, Died Anyway: When a character narrowly escapes death on occasion (and perhaps more than one occasion), only to die shortly thereafter anyway…in a completely different way. Exactly how close the two incidents have to be varies, so the important factor in this trope is the presence of irony. This can apply in a matter of minutes, months, or even (in rare cases) years; the deciding factor is the Bait-and-Switch element of the death.

Death Is the Only Option: The only way to achieve victory is to die.

Forgiveness Requires Death: In order to be forgiven of their crimes, the character must die.

Heroic Sacrifice: Sacrificing your own life for the greater good.

Jumping on a Grenade: Sacrificing oneself by using one's own body as a shield against a deadly threat in hopes of sparing others.

Metaphorical Suicide: A despondent character willingly resigns themself to a fate similar to death without actually dying.

The Problem with Fighting Death: …is that even if you win, you'll still eventually lose. Killing or imprisoning Death might not offer protection either, as his sister Entropy goes around making everyone grow old and wish to die while Death Takes a Holiday or cause a plague of ghosts as the souls of the dead get stuck on Earth. This is the problem with fighting Death, Hades, The Devil, Psychopomps, Anthropomorphic Personifications or even God; you just can't win. However, a draw may be possible with creativity. If all that matters is that there be a Death, then replacing him with someone friendlier or someone with whom deals can be struck and honored can be a way to go. This can be done by appealing to someone higher on the divinity ladder, getting someone else to kill and replace Death (or doing so yourself, if you're willing to accept the job for the rest of eternity), and flying out of Hell are all possibilities. In this way, one can say Living Forever Is Awesome.

Who Wants to Live Forever?: If an immortal being grows so sick of eternal life that they just want it to end already.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hope this helps inspire your writing! You can look through the sources for more information on each trope.

[devotion-disorder]

ok but i feel the bailey brainrot... when i first got into the game they annoyed me bc bitch why they hell do you need so much damn money from orphans but now i fear i've fallen for all the sexy bailey propaganda 😔

like the devlog said seducing them will need to involve a lot more so they're definitely not immune to PC but that just made my brainrot worse thinking about all the various scenarios of bailey being extremely horny for the PC but refusing the cave in and PC just keeps pushing their buttons....

(that being said they still piss me off sometimes like wdym you want £4,000 right after i get discharged from the hospital)

SAME.........I am not immune to sexy old man propaganda.........

iirc they are still planning to implement a bailey seduction scene in the future that is more properly in-character...!!! so im v v excited for that. I loooooveee the idea of PC and bailey having a super messy and toxic relationship that is not necessarily even romantic. From Vrel's QnA it seems Bailey does have a slight fixation on PC, probably because PC is the best moneymaker, but there are points that are like???👀??? wdym bailey has had possibly plot-spoilery dreams about PC. wdym bailey would not let PC go even if they've paid all their debts. explain yourself old man!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!!!!!!!

Maybe this is the terminal stage brainrot delulu speaking but, sometimes i wonder if Bailey is the way he is only because he knows PC can handle it (eg. Bailey sends PC to Eden betting that PC can and will escape, according to the QnA). I wonder if he's deliberately or unconsciously trying to pass down his intensely mercenary mindset onto PC (and ostensibly all the orphans) because he understands first hand that's the only way you can survive in rapechestershire? I like that he's principled and holds a certain degree of respect for PC - cause if he really wanted to extort PC to the fullest he could've been a lot crueler, like not allowing PC to defend themselves when people pay to fuck PC at night. ok the real answer probably is still just so he can make more money but RAGUUUGJHHHHGHGH LET ME HAVE MY SECRETLY-KIND-OF-A-SOFTIE BAILEY DELUSIONS

also i just wanna put this here

Higher than Whitney? the dude licking PC's face in public at 10 am every school day?

[wrathofrats]

Super late night Christmas gift for @purlty23

700 word of t4t Dewther scissoring featuring weed, intox kink (kinda), squirting, creampies (kinda), being weird about body hair, yeah. It’s just high Dewther scissoring as god intended

“Take what you need droplet” aether practically cooed, letting out a stream of smoke from his lips. One hand rested on dews hip, the other carefully bringing the joint up to dews mouth trying to coax him to inhale once again.

The fire ghoul was already probably considered fucked up. Eyes drooping, vision blurred and tunneled, solely focused on rutting his hips as hard as he could into aethers, dragging his cunt along his little tdick as if it were a grinder. His hands looked almost small on aethers waist, palms digging into his soft flesh while he tried to keep upright.

“Shit-“ dew coughed, sputtering a bit on the exhale and waving the joint away from his lips. Aether could feel the way his cunt spasmed around his cock, fluttering as he moaned with every bit of friction. Slick dripped down his skin, inevitably soaking the sheets below them. Dew still had that small amount of water magic in his system, impossibly wet when touched the right way.

Neither knew how long they had been at it, aether took another deep inhale letting his head fall back against the pillows. The rhythmic pleasure in dews movements were almost hypnotic as he let him use aethers cunt till his heart was content. One of Aethers thighs shoved against his torso with dew leaning against his leg to get the perfect angle to make his eyes cross.

Dew let out a pathetic whine, smoke making his brain feel like a pool of static electricity. His memory came and went with what he was doing, accidentally edging himself as he tried to stay focused long enough to make himself cum, before inevitably forgetting and letting himself leak more onto the sheets. Aether was no help, simply watching the show in front of him and only lifting a finger to feed dew more to see how useless he could really make him.

“Suck firefly, come on and finish it off” aether held what little was left to his mouth, trying to avoid flicking ash on to their skin or the sheets. Dew inhaled deeply with a small whimper, eyes fluttering closed as he let the smoke linger before exhaling it to the side. He wobbled slightly, nails digging into aethers flesh so he wouldn’t topple over completely.

“Gotta- aeth I need to cum please”

“Well I’m not stopping you am i?” Aether chuckled, smashing the joint into the ashtray. Dew looked like he could cry, tired and sensitive as he tried to chase his high with clumsy uncoordinated movements.

“Help me” dew whined, strung out and needy. Sometimes if he complained enough aether would just take the situation into his own hands, calling him dumb and useless in such a sweet voice the degrading barely registered in dews brain. But there was something more fun about this, about watching him hopelessly struggle against his own lower tolerance.

“You can do it baby, so close aren’t you? Or do you even know anymore?”

Aethers voice was soft and condescending, something made dews stomach tie up in a tight coil of heat as he grinded his cunt down further. Part of him thought he could feel aethers cock Inside of him if he moved just right, slippery folds sliding against each other with such debauched wet sounds that if dew was any more sober he would be blushing.

“Think so” dew was shaking, desperation fueling his movements as he thought more and more he could tip over the edge “need it aether please- tell me to cum”

“Cum inside me droplet,”

Dews eyes rolled back as a gut punched whimper escaped the back of his throat. His jaw shook, breathing heavy as he rode out his orgasm. Slick gushed from his cunt, coating aethers cock and running down his folds from where they were still punched together. Dews hips rolled as if he were actually trying to fuck it into him, almost instinctual in nature.

When he finally came back enough to swing his legs off of aether he noticed the mess that he left on him. Hair that littered his cunt and thighs stuck down and shiny with dews release, enough that enough was easily running his fingers through it, using it to pull at his own little cock.

[cheynovak]

Shadows and Songs 2

Azriel x Y/N female Illyrian

Summary: Azriel saved Y/N. Her wings where taken from her. She barely survived, the only thing she remembers during recovering is hearing a voice sing.

Warnings: Nothing explicit, build up tension, fight, anger, ...

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome.

The days that followed were quiet, but not in the way they’d been when I first came to the House of Wind. Back then, the silence had been suffocating—too thick to breathe through, heavy with memories I wanted to escape. Now, it was… strange.

The inner circle seemed to envelop me almost overnight. Whether it was pity or something else, I didn’t know. Rhysand especially seemed determined to make me feel like I belonged. He’d offered me a job, his tone so charming it nearly had me agreeing on instinct. But I’d declined, respectfully but firmly. A job meant staying close, and I couldn’t. Not with Azriel still looming in the shadows of my mind.

Still, I accepted Rhysand’s offer for a small rental apartment on the outskirts of Velaris. It was cozy, not far from the river. Small enough to feel manageable, and with just enough space to let me breathe on my own. Moving there meant I wouldn’t have to see Azriel anymore—not by chance, not in passing, not in the ways that tied me up in knots.

I thought about telling Rhys the truth of why I needed to move, why staying wasn’t an option. But when his easy grin softened into something warm and understanding, I decided not to explain. Maybe he knew anyway. Maybe all of them knew.

***

In the weeks that followed, I adjusted to my new normal. Mor dragged me into town a handful of times, her unyielding enthusiasm pulling me along even when I resisted. Amren stopped by the apartment once, bringing a book I hadn’t asked for but found myself engrossed in that same night.

Cassian, dropped by regularly, he helped me learning how to walk properly, with an insufferable grin and stories that always left me laughing despite feeling bad. Losing my wings meant also losing my balance.

But he also to talked about Nesta. The way he spoke about the older sister made my heart warm. That man was in deep and I was all for it!

He sounded like my brother, and I started to feel at ease with him around. Just like my brother he didn't need much from me to understand how I felt and what I needed to cheer me up.

Feyre, even convinced me to sit by the river with her one afternoon, painting the rolling hills beyond while I listened to the hum of Velaris around us.

Well, she painted I watched quietly.

They’d all seemed to adopt me in their own ways, the warmth of their camaraderie spilling into the cracks I’d been hiding in. For once, it didn’t feel suffocating to let someone in.

But Azriel?

He didn’t come.

At least, not directly.

I could feel him lingering—watching from a distance even when I couldn’t see him. Sometimes it was a shadow I swore moved unnaturally as I walked through the city.

A pull in my chest while I lay in bed at night, a push whenever I was insecure about going outside. An emotion that wasn't mine popped up when I was alone.

Or the faint feeling of being watched just before I looked over my shoulder. He wasn’t there in person, but I wasn’t free of him either.

He didn’t say a word after the night he’d rejected me, though. Didn’t explain, didn’t try to mend the rift growing between us. And I didn’t ask.

Distance, I told myself, was for the best. Yet no amount of distance dulled the memory of that kiss, the ghost of his touch on my skin.

Some nights, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into nothingness as my mind replayed the way he’d kissed me—soft at first, then desperate, like I was the air he needed to breathe.

And the way he’d pulled back. Shut me out.

“You’re hurt.”

“I can’t take advantage of you.”

The words played on an endless loop, twisting into something bitter no matter how hard I tried to let them go.

Azriel didn’t see me as more than broken, and I couldn’t stop wishing he did.

***

The knock at my door startled me, sharp against the quiet of my small apartment. I glanced at the clock, sighing. It was early—too early. My immediate thought was that Cassian had come to drag me to some ridiculous training session with Nesta and her friends.

Rubbing at my eyes, I pulled the door open, preparing a playful excuse to avoid the day. But the words died on my tongue as I saw who it was.

Azriel.

His presence filled the small hallway like a shadow curling at the edges of the room. He wasn’t armored like he usually was for his missions. Instead, he wore a simple shirt and dark pants that did nothing to downplay his quiet strength. His wings were tucked behind him, the faint light from outside framing him in a way that made me momentarily forget how to speak.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice low and even, yet there was a slight hesitation there.

I froze, swallowing hard, trying to muster a response. Anything. But his gaze held mine, the weight of it making the words stick in my throat.

After what felt like an eternity, Azriel cleared his throat and spoke again, “It’s the Winter Solstice.” His tone was gentle, like he was testing how I might react. “I came to… invite you to join us. At the House of Wind.”

I blinked at him, and he quickly added, “Rhys is already half-expecting you.”

The mention of Rhysand made the offer feel less intimidating, like there was no way I could refuse even if every nerve in my body screamed to keep my distance.

Azriel waited, his expression unreadable except for the faintest flicker of unease in his hazel eyes. As though he didn’t know whether I’d slam the door in his face.

“I… okay,” I finally said, stumbling over the single word. “I’ll come.”

His shoulders seemed to relax just slightly, a subtle shift most people might not even notice. “Good,” he said after a beat. “We’ll have dinner, with friends."

He nodded once, almost as if reassuring himself. And without another word, he turned and left, disappearing down the stairs before I could respond or second-guess my agreement.

I closed the door, pressing my back against it, my heart racing.

Azriel. Inviting me.

Just the memory of his eyes on mine—soft and distant but unmistakably steady—left me mesmerized. Solstice at the House of Wind.

This was going to be… complicated.

***

Dinner at the House of Wind was far more tense than I could have ever imagined.

The Inner Circle was warm and welcoming, laughing and teasing over wine and a beautifully prepared feast. But beneath the surface, tension churned—its source unmistakable to anyone paying attention.

My gaze flickered to Elain, Feyre’s sister, who sat poised and ethereal, the picture of soft beauty. Her eyes, however, were daggers as they locked on another female at the table. Gwyn.

Gwyn had just thanked Azriel for her Solstice gift, her fingers brushing the delicate jewel hanging at her neck. It caught the light, shimmering beautifully, though not nearly as brightly as the gratitude in her smile.

Elain didn’t share that gratitude.

Her posture stiffened, her lips tightening just enough to make her disapproval clear. She hadn’t even tried to mask her reaction, the jealousy rolling off her in subtle, tense waves.

Azriel, meanwhile, seemed caught between them, his hazel eyes flickering nervously to Elain as though bracing for whatever venom she might spill.

And it was then, watching that exchange, that it all hit me.

He was in love. Or at least it was complicated. No matter the moments we’d shared, no matter the way my heart pounded every time I was near him, Azriel already had two stunningly beautiful women vying for his attention. Both of them more suitable, more radiant, more... everything I wasn’t.

I wasn’t a fool. I didn’t belong in this game, not with Elain looking like she belonged in a painting and Gwyn glowing with confidence and kindness. Showing up every morning training with them, showing him what she's worth.

The meal continued, but the knot in my chest only grew tighter. Every time Gwyn glanced at Azriel with a soft smile or Elain shot him a look of thinly veiled hurt, my stomach churned.

Eventually, the tension in the room became suffocating.

I set my wine glass down carefully, the noise of it meeting the table louder than I’d intended. All eyes flicked to me as I stood, smoothing the skirt of my dress. “Cassian,” I said, my tone steady despite the emotions warring inside me, “would you mind flying me back down? I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Cassian frowned slightly, the humor slipping from his expression, but before he could answer, Azriel stood abruptly. “I’ll do it.”

I turned to face him, a smirk playing on my lips—one laced with bitterness I couldn’t fully hide. “Sorry, Azriel,” I said, “but it seems you invited a few too many girlfriends tonight, I think your occupied.”

My words landed like a slap.

The entire table froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackling fire behind us.

And then Elain spoke.

Her voice was sweet, but the bite underneath it was impossible to miss. “Her too?"she asked sharply, her gaze narrowing at me. “What, you first try Mor then me, Gwyn and now her, placing a bet on more than one horse, are you?”

The weight of the room shifted as everyone turned their attention to her. "Trust me he's not interested in me." I spat out. "He made that very clear."

Azriel looked as though we'd struck him. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, shadows flickering darkly around his feet. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and tightly controlled. “You handed me the necklace back, Elain. That was a clear sign to me ."

It took a moment for her to respond, but the hurt simmering in her eyes didn’t waver. “And you immediately ran to someone else?”

Gwyn, sitting on the other side of Azriel, looked stunned—her hand hovering over the jewel at her neck, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

Gwyn said, her voice soft but firm. “I didn’t even know—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish.

“Cassian?” I asked again, pulling everyone’s attention back to me as I ignored the thick, stifling tension brewing at the table. I wasn’t part of this, didn’t want to be part of it. “Please?”

Cassian shot Azriel a curious glance, his hazel eyes narrowing as though weighing some unspoken argument, but when Azriel said nothing, Cassian nodded once. “Of course.”

Without another word, I turned on my heel and strode toward the door, willing myself not to look back.

The burn of humiliation followed me as I left, but I didn’t falter. I didn’t dare let them see how much it hurt—how small I’d felt sitting at that table, surrounded by people who saw each other but somehow never truly saw me.

And yet… as Cassian led me toward the balcony, I felt the faint, familiar brush of shadows curling near my feet.

“Y/N, don’t go.”

Azriel’s voice cut through the cool night air like a blade, sharp and desperate.

I froze mid-step on the balcony, Cassian stopping beside me. I glanced at him, his brow raised as he looked between me and Azriel. He seemed torn between stepping aside and staying to protect me from whatever this was.

“Give us a moment?” Azriel asked, though his tone was more of a command than a question.

Cassian looked to me, silently asking for reassurance. I gave him a small nod, forcing down the lump rising in my throat. Without a word, Cassian stepped back inside, leaving Azriel and me alone in the moonlit quiet.

Azriel turned to me, his wings flexing slightly as though he couldn’t quite settle. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that left me breathless. “How is your back?” he asked softly.

My anger flared.

“Really!? That’s what you have to say to me?” I snapped, my voice rising. “How’s your back?” I gave a bitter laugh, stepping closer and glaring up at him

"After everything. Y-you turned me down, Azriel. You acted like I didn’t matter. And yet you’ve been spying on me, haven’t you? You damn well know how my back is! It's horrible, I can't proper walk, I miss flying, there are days I try to walk around my tiny apartment afraid I bump then into my furniture."

"Other days I wish you just left me there."

"You would have died!" He snapped at me.

"Good! Then I wouldn't have been such an inconvenience to you!"

Frustration bubbled over, and I shoved his chest. It was like hitting a brick wall, my push barely moving him as I stumbled back from the force of my own anger.

"Well, it's you who made a fool out of me in there." His expression didn’t waver, though his jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you think there is between us,” he said quietly, shadows shifting at his feet, “but it’s just you… falling for the guy who saved you.”

“No!” I shouted, my hands trembling as I clenched them into fists. “I know what there is, Azriel! You’re just too damn afraid to admit it!”

He didn’t move, his hazel eyes locked on mine, his expression inscrutable. But he was listening—I could see it in the way his shadows stilled, the way his wings tightened against his back.

I stepped closer, my chest heaving with each breath. “I feel you when you’re near,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Even when I can’t see you, I feel the pull. And I know you feel mine, too. I see it in the way you watch me. I feel it in every step you take toward me only to stop yourself before you cross some line you made up.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to my lips for the barest moment before he caught himself. "That's not..."

“You’re just too scared to admit it,” I continued, my voice softer but no less raw. We were toe to toe now, the air between us crackling like lightning. “And you know what, that’s fine, Azriel. You don’t have to accept it. But don’t you dare deny it. We’re ma…”

The words caught in my throat, but before I could finish the sentence, two strong hands wrapped around my cheeks.

Azriel pulled me against him with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs, and his lips crashed down on mine.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t tentative—it was full of unspoken words, of frustration and longing. His hands anchored me to him, one sliding up to tangle in my hair as if I might vanish if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

I melted into him, every thought, every doubt evaporating under the weight of his kiss. The world around us blurred until there was nothing but him—his touch, his lips, but the raw intensity of the moment was quickly over shadowed by my pride and anger.

The anger churned hot in my veins as I tilted my head back and slammed it forward, cracking my forehead against Azriel’s nose. The resounding *crack* echoed in the air, and Azriel stumbled back, a startled shout escaping him.

“Fuck!" he hissed, his hand flying to his face. He pressed against his nose, wincing as he pushed it back into place, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Why the hell did you do that?”

I ignored him completely. My eyes locked onto Cassian, who stood near the doorway, accompanied by the rest of the guests, his brows lifted in stunned amusement. “Listen, Cassian,” I ground out, “if you don’t take me down right now—”

“No!” Azriel roared behind me, his shadows swirling angrily at his feet. “You stay right here, we're not done!”

I didn’t even flinch at his command. I kept my focus on Cassian, who looked at me with something close to apology and pity. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said, hands raised in surrender. “He’s still my brother. Can’t interfere.”

My lips twitched in irritation as I snapped, “Fine! I’ll take the fucking stairs."

I stormed toward the staircase, but before I could so much as take two steps, strong hands grabbed me by the waist.

“What the hell, Azriel?” I shrieked as he lifted me clear off the ground and tossed me gently back onto the balcony.

“You’re not walking down those stairs in this state, you can't even walk them when you're calm and you know it!” he muttered, his voice clipped. “I’ll take you home—once you cool down.”

"C-cool down?!" I repeated, my voice going shrill as I whirled to face him.

Behind Azriel, Rhysand let out a low whistle, his violet eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh-oh…” he murmured, clearly entertained. “Azriel, I think you forget who you’re dealing with here. She’s still Illyrian, you know.” Feyre bumped her elbow in his side, mouthing "not helping!"

Cassian laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, Az, even I know better than to tell a female to ‘cool off.’”

Azriel’s lips twitched, as though suppressing the urge to snap back at them, but his gaze stayed focused on me. He shifted slightly, trying to block my path, but I wasn’t having it.

“Move,” I ordered, pushing past him toward the stairs again. But before I could make it even a single step this time, he was faster.

Azriel’s arms scooped me up in one swift motion, his wings flaring wide as he stepped off the balcony and into the open sky.

I didn’t have time to protest before we were airborne, my apartment coming into view below us. My anger surged, words tumbling from my mouth without thought. “Put me down, Azriel! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Making sure you get home in one piece,” he said calmly, though I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“By manhandling me?” I snapped, my fists pounding against his chest in frustration. “You don’t get to decide how I leave, or when, or who takes me home—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted firmly, his voice low but unwavering. “When you’re so mad you can barely think straight, and when the stairs would leave you pacing for hours, yes, I do.”

"I can barely think straight!? You kissed me while all your girlfriends are in the other room." But as much as I hated to admit it, some small, quiet part of me knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. I still wasn't fully recovered.

Still, I glared up at him. “You’re infuriating.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his mouth twitching as though holding back a smile. The tension between us hung heavy in the air as he descended, landing softly in front of my apartment. Without a word, he set me down on my feet, steadying me with a hand on my arm.

But he didn’t pull back immediately. Instead, he held me there, his gaze lingering on my face, searching for… something.

My breath hitched at the weight of those words. I should have said it. Should have walked into my apartment and slammed the door in his face.

But I couldn’t. He walked me back inside and we stood in front of my door. Waiting for one of us to say something... anything.

--

Taglist:

@mich0731 @winchesterwild78 @paintedbyshadows @lilah-asteria @nancymcl @hobby27 @kindollss @shadysoulangel @tele86

[ang3lc]

a little depressed right now. my coping mechanism is to make people cry through writing. enjoy a blurb about pieceofshit!simon x reader

cw: emotional abuse, manipulation, cheating, stream of consciousness blurb, angst (duh)

You remember his birthday like it was yesterday, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. The way he kissed her—warm and familiar, pressing into her like you never existed. You weren’t even a thought in his mind, just a shadow in the background of a scene you had no place in.

It was a second of nothingness for him, but for you, it felt like a year of every mistake you’d ever made. It wasn’t me, you tell yourself, over and over, but it feels like a lie you can’t escape. It wasn’t me. You want to scream it, to tear yourself apart for not being enough for him.

But he’s a winner, right? Simon’s always been a winner. It doesn’t matter what happens, what he does, or how far he goes—he’ll always be the one that gets his way, always the one who walks away unscathed. You wonder, How much more can I give before there’s nothing left to take? You wonder if he’ll notice when you’re wrung dry.

Sometimes, he cries about feeling empty, about needing more, but not from you. Not in the way you needed him. Why is everything about you, Simon? Why does it always have to come back to you?

Even when it’s just the two of you, the silence between you louder than anything he’s ever said, it’s always about him. His anger. His confusion. His need for control. His coldness. His distance. You think you can fix it, but you can’t. You can’t fix him. You can’t fix yourself.

You watch him walk too close to the road, just like you always have. He walks on the edge like he’s daring you to stop him, daring you to save him from an inevitable fate. But you never stop him. You wonder if he even wants to be saved. You wonder if he’s just waiting for you to give up, waiting for you to walk away so he can be the one who lets go first. And God, how much longer can you stand here, loving someone who doesn’t want know how to love you back?

You feel sick when he touches you now. His hands, once so soft, now feel like needles in your skin, pulling at your soul until it’s raw. But you crave it anyway. You crave it because it’s all you have left. You don’t even know if he’s angry with you, if he’s disappointed in you, if you’ve pushed him too far. What did I ever do to make him so fucking angry?

Where’s your heart at, Simon, you want to scream, When your hands are all over me? But you’re scared to ask. Scared to hear the answer. What if it’s true? That he never cared? That you were just something to pass the time, something to fill the silence?

You feel cold, so cold, like he’s already gone and you’re still here, stuck in this room, stuck in this memory, wondering where it all went wrong.

You can’t stop thinking about how he made you believe. He made you believe you were enough. He made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could fix him. But he was lying. Lying about who he was, who he wanted, and what he needed. He lied to you until you were empty, and now you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of everything you thought you had with him.

You still hear them in your mind—whispers of promises he made, of the things he swore he’d do, the love he said he’d give you. He claimed his palms would hold a feast, but when he opened them, they held mere crumbs. You licked them clean anyway because you couldn't bite the hand that fed.

The truth is so fucking cruel, isn’t it? Is it something I did? Did I ruin it? You’ve asked yourself that question a thousand times, and you’re no closer to an answer.

Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because you’re here and he’s gone.

And you’re still lapping at the crumbs he left on his way out the door. Starving.

mlist

[commander-gloryforge]

OKAY HERE WE GO! this year i've created 13 characters which is normal and not a lot (seriously i created more last year)

Here are all 13 new characters!

Starting with NA:

Wynn Steelmade, Norn Engineer. She once discovered an old iron legion blueprint for a prosthetic arm when she just so happened to need one. Followed said blueprint and created a brand new arm that happened to set free the spirit of the original creator of the blueprint. now she's got a cat ghost in her arm!

Noura Mirrorblade, Human(?) Mesmer. Kind of a fave design wise. A masterful spy working for.... well... who is she working for, actually? She has many forms to infiltrate different groups and governments, and her human form is... assumed to be the real one. But who knows.

Adelaide Blackstone, Human Warrior. Lady Blackstone, childhood friend of Demmi Beetlestone, a noble human girl with a cruel fate. She was sacrificed by her White Mantle husband. Oh rip! She died! Then she came back. Worse. You know, because of bloodstone.

Kassii Heartburn, Asura Necromancer. A knight with no master. She roams alone for now.

Corvid Pyrevoice, Asura Elementalist. Designated badboy of a famous boyband, lyricist of the worlds most heterosexual songs. He doesn't do "emotions" or "gentleness" or "love" or anything like that. Looks at his bandmember in longing ways sometimes.

Zia Promisebreaker, Human Revenant. Another character inspired by a kpop song :) Part of a small cult, meant to be a future leader, she then started a rebellion and managed to escape, leaving her home and her friends behind. Will she go back for the sake of her loved ones or will he pretend to live in freedom?

Chroma Stormstrike, Charr Elementalist. I forgot their exact story but they're a flame legion escapee. god damn thats what i get for making ocs with vague ass lore that i never work out again. She's really cool though.

Nona Blightsoul, Charr Necromancer. YOU KNOW HER BABY! The commander of the pact. Ash Trash, Commander of Death, minion Champion of Aurene. My perfect girl. I love her. MWAH MWAH mmmwwwahhh.

Candeyn "Candy", Sylvari Engineer. I haven't talked about him yet but he's a ... uh.... valuable asset to the inquest. For sure. They don't just keep him as a pet because he's kinda unkillable slash moans when tortured. Don't mind that. Also he loves halloween :3

Miyeon Nightshade, Human Ranger. A former noble woman inspired by the crimes of a certain bloodsucking criminal, stabbed her arranged husband and ran away to start killing cops. There's a lorepost somewhere I've been wanting to make for her.

NOW to the EU characters, of which there are only a few this year:

Israa The Lone, Largos Thief. The fish :) Deep Sea largos that ran away from her house "for good" one too many times- They came back one last time to see that noone was left.

Mistwarrior Hala, Norn Guardian. Wow another character inspired by an Ateez song! She's been leading the mist wars for a while, fighting for what she considers to be right. Again and again and over and over again.

Glen Spectresun, Norn Thief. Another new commander, who is co commanders with my dear friend oasis :) Norn raised by Asura, with a sibling who 100% absolutely also is a Norn dont worry about that. Died and came back worse and died again and died again and died again and died again and died again and

I did this last year and it was pretty fun. So let's do it again.

Not that you need a reason to talk about your characters, but I know some people can be a little bit shy about holding their kids up to the sun and going "Look what I made!". Reblog and show off any characters you made this year. Tell us their story, why you made em, where they fit in to your Tyria!

<3

[fenrelmercar]

Rook and Regret

“Rook has nothing to regret, and that’s why they have escaped Prison of Regret.” Is a shit take and I’m going to tell you why.

Let’s start with the definition of what actually is regret. Oxford dictionary tells us that “Regret is a sad feeling because of something that has happened or something that you have done or not done”. The obvious perceived failings of Rook greet us when they land in Solas’ cage: the leader of the second team, the person chosen to undo the wards, and, of course, Varric. Hot takes igniting my need to write this post often claim that Rook bears no fault, so they cannot regret those sacrifices. It happened because of a narrative, fate, “they couldn’t have known”.

Well, let me just lay it out for you–not being guilty of something does not make you less regretful.

Rook can condemn their own actions or not–they can regret not doing something else; not finding another way to stop the ritual, not picking another person or thinking of another plan. Most people regret things they haven’t actually done, and Rook is no different.  

Regret follows Rook even before story of Veilguard starts to unfold. They are a member of a faction on a mission and face a choice — do something reckless and save people, or adhere to your faction’s mode of operation. They throw caution to the wind and it bites their ass, sometimes to the point where their faction wants nothing to do with them, like Shadow Dragon Rook meeting Tarquin after a year and being greeted with “I thought you’d be gone for good.” Upon first arriving at Lighthouse, Rook recalls that moment when they ‘failed’ the mission, and they do have options to admit that they were reckless and their faction was correct for kicking them out, even if they saved people. Does that mean that Rook regrets saving those people? No. They wish they have found a better way, one that did not end up with them being thrown out of their home.

“B-but Varric’s death wasn’t their fault!” you scream at me through the screen. Wasn’t it? As they approached the ritual site, Neve warned the group that the ritual was connected to the statues, and they had to reach it before the last statue activated. Rook made a choice to bring the statue down. Even if Varric says it was an accident, when Solas himself admits that he was losing control of his ritual and didn’t mean for it to happen (he says it during The Last Gambit in banter with Neve)–Rook was the catalyst. Rook brought down the statues, ruined the ritual and threw Solas off balance enough for things to end up this way, hurting themselves and Harding/Neve. Even worse so, if Rook was the one who encouraged Varric to go talk to Solas in the first place. Rook’s regret goes so deep that it gives the means for Solas to blood-magic project Varric into their head and tune out any mentions of his death, and Rook knows this–“Deep down I knew you were dead” they say to Varric in regret prison.

Okay, let’s move on to other possible regrets of Rook in chronological order:

Minrathous or Treviso–I don’t know if I really need to explain this, but. It doesn’t matter that Rook sent another team to the city they didn’t choose, or that they did it without enough information, or maybe they chose their home (because who wouldn’t?). Remember how you felt seeing blighted Treviso, or Shadow Dragons hung in streets of Minrathous? Didn’t you have a feeling of “this is my fault”? Imagine if it’s a Shadow Dragon or Antivan Crow Rook? What if they sacrifice their city? What if they save their city but doom the other? Circumstances forced even Rooks from other factions to sacrifice countless lives for others. There is no climbing out untouched from this morality hole.

The Siege of Weisshaupt–not convincing the First Warden in time. Winging the entire operation while Grey Wardens were dying en masse around them. Shit getting shittier every goddamn second because Rook did not have a team good enough for it. Rook did not plan for any of this. They charged right into the slaughter and lost more than they had gained. That first conversation with the First Warden must be haunting Rook in their sleep. What if they were more convincing? What if they brought proof? Maybe more Wardens would still be fighting today.

Companions–despite Rook already drowning in never ending tasks of trying to get their allied forces ready for the big showdown they are also stuck in a never-ending cycle of helping out their companions, often making world altering decisions for them, because they trust Rook to make the correct choices.

Should Griffons go to the Wardens or to Arlathan? Rook can regret taking away hope from already broken Grey Wardens. They have lost so much–their fortress, their leader, their friends. It just keeps on coming. But if Rook gives griffons to them, are they not denying a better future of griffons and Arlathan? Denying a chance for a better future of the forest and species? They might not regret doing either, but the thought of what could’ve been will haunt them, aka Rook will be regretting what they haven’t done.

Destroy or keep the archive? Do you tell elves to forget and move on or let them reclaim their past, even if it’s potentially dangerous? If you tell Bellara to let it go, Bellara’s voiced regret haunts Rook—she wonders if she should have kept it. Who is she to deny her people their past? But if they keep it, what could the consequences of such knowledge be?

And the list just goes on and on…

In the prison of regrets, Solas tells Rook, “You are not ready to make sacrifices leadership requires”. But they are. They have been doing them since day one. They were thrown into this role and shit just kept piling up and everyone looked at Rook to solve everything, decide everything. Solas molded Rook into someone who could take his place in prison of regrets by inadvertently putting Rook in a position of leadership, by encouraging them to bolster their allies and help their team.

Rook is like Solas, because they were willing to make decisions no one else was willing to do or could do. Rook is a reflection of Solas in his rebellion days–it’s just them and their wits against the world, except that Rook, unlike Solas, was not granted luxury of time. Rook couldn’t sit on their regrets. They did not have a millennium to overthink their decisions. They couldn’t drown themselves in questions of what could have been as deeply as Solas could. It does not mean that Rooks has nothing to regret. It means that Rook acknowledges their regret, faces it and moves on. Because Thedas will not stop falling into ruin and wait for Rook to catch up.

Rook escapes the prison of regret not because they have no regrets, they escape it because they are willing to live with them and move forward instead of going backwards to fix the unfixable.

[kefiteria]

💌 Mess and Mellow Moments

• Rafayel, though he grumbles about chores, ends up showing his affection in the simplest way after a long day of cleaning.

💌 Sylus 💌 Zayne 💌 Xavier

It was a lazy afternoon, and you had decided that it was finally time to clean the house. The clutter from the past few days had accumulated, and there was no escaping it. Rafayel, however, was not thrilled by the idea.

“Cleaning? Ugh, I thought we were supposed to be relaxing today.” Rafayel groaned and flopping dramatically onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if the very thought of tidying up was a personal betrayal.

You chuckled and grabbed the cleaning supplies. “It’s not like we can leave the house a mess. You do live here, you know.”

Rafayel still lounging on the couch, gave you a sidelong glance, his trademark smug grin making an appearance. “I live here alone, and you just… exist here~” he shot back, raising an eyebrow as he stretched dramatically. “But fine, if you insist on doing chores, I’ll supervise. It’s what I pay you for, right?”

“Oh, you’ll supervise? How very helpful of you.” You raised an eyebrow at his antics.

“Exactly~” he said, leaning back and striking a pose with his hands behind his head. “Now get to work.”

“You know…" you said slowly glancing over at him, “don’t blame me if I end up throwing out some things you really need.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened for a split second before he quickly recovered with a pout. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” you replied with a grin tugging at your lips.

As you dusted the shelves, Rafayel half-heartedly picked up a broom, holding it awkwardly like it was some foreign object. He gave it an experimental twirl before putting it down with a huff.

“This is so beneath me…" he muttered, though you could tell he was mostly just being dramatic.

“Then why don’t you go sit back down?” you teased, still working on wiping down the counters.

“Who said I was sitting?” He looked at you with an exaggerated pout, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just waiting for you to finish so I can admire how clean you’ve made everything. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Sure, Rafayel. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never get anything done~” you said with a grin, knowing how much he secretly loved the attention.

After a while, you both got caught up in the task. Rafayel, despite all his grumbling, ended up vacuuming while scrolling on his phone with one hand. Sometimes, he’d toss in a sarcastic remark, but it wasn’t long before he started to take it a little more seriously.

You caught him trying to clean a shelf with a rag… but the rag was completely dry. “You’re not supposed to clean with a dry cloth, Rafayel.” you pointed out, chuckling at his effort.

“Who needs a wet cloth?” he snapped, looking defensive. “I’m just… um, air-dusting.”

“Fine, I’ll fix it. Happy?” He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at being caught, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. Though you can't help but burst out laughing at his attempt to cover up his mistake.

“Very.” you said while wiping a tear from your eye. “But I think you’re the one who needs cleaning now.”

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Look at your hands.” you pointed out, and with a mock gasp then added, “Oh no, you have dust on your fingers! Whatever shall we do?”

He glanced down at his hands in mock horror, only to realize he’d gotten dust on his fingers from handling the rag. “I knew this was a bad idea!” he whined, dramatically rubbing his hands together, trying to get rid of the evidence.

“Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before handling cleaning supplies.” You crossed your arms with a smirk, watching his theatrics.

Rafayel froze and his expression faltering. “W-what?” he stammered, his face turning slightly flustered.

“Admit it~” you grinned, leaning in playfully and pinching his cheek. “You secretly love being a little messy, don’t you?”

He pouted, holding up his now-dusty hands with a groan. “Great, now I look like some pathetic excuse of a person who can’t even clean up without making a mess…" he muttered, shaking his hands in the air dramatically. “How am I supposed to look dashing now?”

You stifled a laugh, watching his exaggerated pout. “You’re just full of complaints today, aren’t you?”

“I look like a disaster!” he complained, wiping his hands on his shirt in a futile attempt to clean them. “How is this supposed to be charming? You’re lucky I’m handsome or this would be a catastrophe!”

He crossed his arms and turned his head, pretending to be unimpressed, but the small flush on his face said otherwise. “Pfft, whatever. Don’t get all smug about it,” he muttered, but his grin betrayed him. “We’re done now, right?”

“You bet. But just remember, you're not as perfect as you think~” you teased, picking up the last of the supplies with a mischievous grin.

“Not perfect? ME? Clearly, you don’t appreciate genius when you see it.” He gave you his usual exaggerated and dramatic sigh, his lips forming a small pout as if you’d just insulted his very existence.

“Sure, sure, Rafayel. You can keep pretending you're perfect.” You chuckled with raising an eyebrow.

He stuck his tongue out at you and made a face, his pout deepening. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. You already know I’m right!” he grumbled, though there was a playful edge to his tone.

Before you could respond, Rafayel suddenly moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug. His head rested gently on your shoulder, and his pout turned into a soft grumble. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I’m not perfect. But I’m still better than everyone else.” he muttered against your neck, his voice laced with that familiar mix of arrogance and affection.

Feeling his arms around, you decide to leaning back into his embrace “That’s the Rafayel I know.”

With the house now clean and the teasing settled, the two of you simply sat there, wrapped in each other's arms. The chores were forgotten, the day winding down to its perfect, quiet end.

[whumpcave]

Crawling

Cw: minor? knee gore

This was originally posted on ao3 in fandom

Whumpee sat propped against the musky brick wall. No matter how much he shifted he couldn't get comfortable. The cuffs on his hands bit into his wrists and made it hard to maneuver. He shifted a little more until he heard footsteps. 

Footsteps. 

Shit 

Whumpee sat upright and tried to hide his anguish, he couldn't give whumper the satisfaction of seeing him scared, No, he wouldn't give up. 

Whumper approached whumpee slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“What do you want this time?” 

Whumper didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, he pulled out a hammer.  

Whumpee's eyes widened. 

“Going to test my reflexes, are you?” 

Whumper chuckles. “You could say so.” 

He kneeled next to whumpee, who started scrambling to get away. 

“I recommend you stay still. Wouldn't want you to break any more bones than necessary.” 

Whumpee faltered. He didn’t know what whumper had planned, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to go home. 

Whumper holds the hammer over whumpee's knees. The realization sinks in. 

He’s going to break my fucking knees.

Whumpee squirms and writhes. He needs his knees! How would he walk? How would he escape?

Whumper lifts the hammer, his eyes filled with glee. 

“Wa-wait. H-ho-hold on. Wait-stop you don't- you d-don't have to- please- Wait! STOP!” 

The hammer came crashing down, whumpee's jaw fell open, a silent scream clawing out. A wave of agony washed over him. His heart stuttered as he bit into his lip, attempting not to cry.  

“Got a good kick out of that knee, lets test the other.” 

Fuck no. 

“You really don’t have to. I assure you, please, just stop- WAIT! PLEASE!” 

***

Whumper stood up, proud of his work. 

Whumpee babbled a string of curses, his throat bobbing as tears trickled down his cheeks.  

“Stand.” 

Whumpee looked up, lip quivering. 

“What?” 

“I said stand.” 

“You can't possibly think-” 

“I suggest you try standing if you know what's good for you.” 

Whumpee whimpered, he couldn't, he can't- 

“Here I'll uncuff you to make it easier.” 

Whumperwas doing this on purpose. He had been cuffed for however long whumper had him down here, days, weeks, he couldn’t tell. Any other day he would fight back, use this to advantage. Now, however, he couldn’t even think of standing, let alone escaping. It made whumpee feel utterly hopeless. 

“Go on then. Stand” 

Whumpee gave it his all, he really did, but as he pushed himself up, his legs buckled beneath him. He fell, again and again and again. 

Tears pricked his eyes, threatening to spill once more. 

Whumper stood there silently, expressionless. Whumpee couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he was probably giving him quite the show. His face flushed at the thought.  

“You’re going to have to follow me somehow, if you want food of course.” 

Food. 

He just said food. 

Whumpee couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual meal. Whumper sometimes tossed him a fruit or some water to keep him going, but he was yet to give him an actual meal. 

Whumpee swallowed; his throat scratchy from the screaming.  

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to follow me to the dinner table, unless you don't want too of course.” 

“No, no I want to, I do.” 

“Well then, if you can't stand you can always try crawling.” 

So, this was his plan. To humiliate him, make him feel less of a man. Make him feel inferior. The worst part is that it was working. He was embarrassed beyond belief. If caretaker could see him now, what would he think? Could he still love such a pitiful man?  

His train of thought was interrupted by the echo of footsteps growing quieter. 

Whumper had left the room, leaving the door open. 

Whumpee would follow him. 

He tried to get in a position that would cause the least harm to his knees, that were still throbbing in pain. He decided on keeping his legs tilted to the side, pushing himself up and forward with his hands, doing whatever he could with his feet. He slowly made his way out the door where whumper was waiting, he kneeled down and cupped whumpee's face, who flinched away in turn. 

“Wasn’t so hard, was it? I could've broken both your legs instead, but I settled on your knees. You should be thankful.” 

Whumpee couldn’t believe him; how could anybody be so insane? So morally deluded? So wrong? How could he enjoy making people suffer? 

Whumper got up, letting go of whumpee's face harshly. He then walked down the corridor. Whumpee crawled behind. He didn’t know what was worse; his swollen knees or the pure shame in his core. He wanted to crawl through the floor. Away from the world, away from the pain, away from him. 

But he was hungry, oh so hungry. His mouth twitched at the fantasy of food, it kept him going, kept him crawling. 

Whumper walked into a room with a round table and two chairs.  

“Sit down there.” He beckoned, pointing at a chair. 

Whumpee crawled to the chair’s legs, bracing himself, he lifted himself up with the chair and table as support. After a minute of struggle, he managed to sit down. He was exhausted. To think an hour ago this would’ve been the easiest of tasks.

Whumper left the room and came back with two bowls of soup. He set them down on the table and sat down himself. Whumpee squirmed in his seat, eyeing his food. 

“There isn’t poison in this, right?” 

“Of course not, I wouldn't want to cut our time short, I want to see you break first.” 

Whumpee's stomach dropped; he began to eat. 

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Science of Loss

Dexter Morgan and Reader

Part Two: Dexter’s Perspective

Summary: Even in death you hold a great impact in Dexter Morgan's life.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) character death, clinical descriptions of death/crime scenes, mentions of violence, grief/loss, secondary trauma (Deb), and murder/references to

Notes: Although this is a part two, it can be read separately from Deb's perspective. This is a platonic Dexter and Reader fic, let me know if I should do more

Debra's Perspective

You were one of the few people who never made Dexter feel like he needed to perform humanity. Your interactions in the lab had a comfortable precision – you'd both speak the language of blood patterns, trajectory analysis, victim positioning. He didn't have to manufacture the appropriate emotional responses because you never demanded them. You understood silence.

Now he stands in the lab where you used to work, and the silence feels different. Heavy. He touches the microscope you'd use to analyze trace evidence, remembers how you'd explain your findings without the theatrical flourish Masuka employed. Just clean, methodical observations. You'd been easier to understand than most humans.

"The blood pool indicates they were conscious for approximately two minutes after the shot," he tells Deb, because these are the facts he knows how to process. His sister stares at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he recognizes that this information isn't helpful. You would have known how to translate between his analytical approach and Deb's raw emotion. You'd done it countless times before.

The security footage plays on his laptop. He's analyzed it like any other crime scene: entrance angle, shooter position, blood spatter direction. But something uncomfortable shifts in his chest when he watches you step in front of the teenage clerk. A protective instinct that doesn't align with efficient survival. It's the kind of human behavior he's always struggled to understand, but somehow made sense when you did it.

"You know what's fucked up?" Deb's voice cracks. "They would have fucking loved analyzing their own crime scene. All that blood spatter data."

Dexter nods, because you would have. You shared his fascination with the technical aspects of death, though yours came from a place of justice rather than necessity. You'd once spent three hours explaining to him how different blood pattern classifications could reveal a victim's final moments. Not because it was relevant to a case, but because you recognized his genuine interest.

He finds himself in the morgue at night, standing where your body had been. The metal table reflects the fluorescent lights, and he remembers how you used to joke that the morgue had better lighting than your apartment. Dark humor that made others uncomfortable but made perfect sense to him.

"I don't know how to help her," he tells the empty table. Deb is spinning out, breaking down, and his usual scripts for performing brotherly comfort feel inadequate. You would have known what to say. You always knew how to reach her when she retreated behind her walls.

The irony doesn't escape him – seeking advice from a memory of someone who helped him understand human connection. But you had been different. You didn't try to fix his peculiarities or demand conventional emotional responses. Instead, you'd simply included him in your understanding of human variation. "Different wavelengths," you'd called it, "but still on the spectrum."

He keeps your last case file. Not for sentimental reasons – he doesn't do sentimental – but because your analysis was always impeccable. Sometimes he reads your notes, appreciating the logical progression of your thoughts. The way you could look at violence and find patterns, meaning, justice.

The young shooter is caught three weeks after your death. Dexter sits in the observation room during the interrogation, studying the teenager's body language, the tremor in his hands. His Dark Passenger whispers familiar suggestions, but he remembers your voice during late-night lab discussions:

"Justice isn't always about punishment, Dexter. Sometimes it's about understanding why."

You'd said that after a particularly brutal case, your gloved hands steady as you processed evidence. He hadn't understood then – his own sense of justice had always been more… direct. But watching the terrified kid break down during questioning, he thinks maybe he's beginning to grasp what you meant.

Deb finds him organizing blood slides one night. Not his special collection – just routine case evidence. But he's doing it the way you taught him, with that extra level of precision you always insisted on.

"You miss them too, don't you?" she asks, her voice rough. "In your own way."

He considers this. Misses your predictable presence in the lab? Yes. Misses how you helped him navigate complicated social situations? Also yes. But there's something else – an unfamiliar discomfort when he passes your empty workstation. A hesitation before using your favorite microscope.

"Yes," he says simply, because you appreciated when he didn't elaborate unnecessarily.

Harrison asks about you sometimes. You'd been good with him, patient in a way that matched Dexter's own careful approach to fatherhood. You'd explained complex forensic concepts to Harrison in ways that satisfied his curiosity without disturbing his innocence. A balance Dexter often struggled to find.

"Where did Y/N go?" Harrison asks one evening.

Dexter remembers your discussions about death, how you'd emphasized the importance of being honest with children while respecting their developmental stage. He tries to channel your measured approach.

"They died," he says carefully. "Someone made a very bad choice with a gun, and Y/N tried to protect another person."

"Like a hero?"

Dexter thinks about your final moments on the security footage. The calculated risk, the protective instinct, the technical perfection of the blood spatter you left behind. "Yes," he says. "Like a hero."

He helps Deb pack up your apartment because that's what siblings do, according to the social scripts he's learned. Your forensics journals are organized by date and subject matter. Your case files are meticulously labeled. Even in death, you maintain the order that made you comprehensible to him.

"Fuck," Deb chokes out, finding one of your hair ties. She crumples, and Dexter moves to support her weight, remembering how you'd coached him through similar situations.

"Let her feel it," you'd advised during one of Deb's previous crises. "You don't have to fix it. Just be there."

So he is. He holds his sister while she breaks apart, and though he can't fully understand her grief, he recognizes its patterns. The way it spreads like blood spatter – predictable trajectories, measurable impact points, analyzable distribution.

Later, he finds your notes on his own blood spatter analysis. Margins filled with observations, questions, suggestions for improvement. You'd approached his work with the same detailed attention he gave to his… extracurricular activities. Not questioning, just analyzing. Seeking to understand.

"Your brother processes things differently," he overhears you telling Deb once. "It's not wrong, just different. Like how blood spatter can tell different stories depending on the angle you view it from."

The metaphor had been oddly perfect, much like your presence in his carefully constructed world. You didn't disrupt his patterns or expose his secrets. You simply observed, analyzed, and accepted the evidence before you.

He keeps your forensics kit in his lab. Not out of sentiment – Dexter Morgan doesn't do sentiment – but because your organizational system was superior to the department standard. At least, that's what he tells himself when he finds his hands lingering on the latches, remembering how you'd walk him through your processing methods.

"Evidence tells stories," you'd say, "but only if we listen carefully."

He's listening now, in his own way. To the stories told by your absence. The way Deb's grief spreads like high-velocity spatter. The void you left in the lab's carefully calibrated ecosystem. The subtle changes in his own patterns since you've been gone.

It's not grief as others experience it. He knows this, just as he knows he processes everything differently. But it's something. A disruption in his carefully maintained routine. A gap in his understanding of human interaction. A missing data point in his ongoing study of normal behavior.

You would have appreciated the analytical approach to processing your loss. Would have helped him categorize these unfamiliar reactions with the same precision you brought to blood spatter analysis. Would have understood that his version of missing you would manifest in reorganized evidence boxes and late nights reviewing your case files.

The science of loss, he discovers, is messier than other sciences. Less predictable than blood spatter. Harder to categorize than DNA evidence. But he continues to study it, methodically documenting its effects on Deb, on the department, on his own carefully structured world.

Because that's what you would have done. You would have looked at the evidence, analyzed the patterns, and accepted the conclusions – even the uncomfortable ones. Even the ones that suggest that maybe, in his own unique way, Dexter Morgan is capable of missing someone who made his world more comprehensible.

The security footage plays one last time. He watches you make the statistically illogical choice to step in front of danger. Watches the blood pattern bloom across your chest – medium-velocity spatter, consistent with a single gunshot wound. Watches you break protocol to protect another person.

And something in his carefully ordered mind shifts, just slightly. A new pattern emerging from familiar data. A different way of understanding sacrifice, justice, connection.

You would have appreciated the symmetry of that – teaching him something new, even after you're gone.

-----------

[schattenmagier]

" Vell... Zhere is nothing vrong to let a friend know a little more how much you appreciate zhem! It doesn't seems to me zhat you haven't done it at all or not enough zhough. "

Because what is 'not enough' appreciation of a friend? Bill is obviously thinking about Leofric a lot. He is preparing treats for him when he visits. He is caring about his health. It doesn't looks like to her that he wasn't appreciating the black shuck not enough.

The mages almost falters then, as he offered her to vent to him as well. She is not... used to vent to anyone. Neither does she ever share any deep thoughts or what's bothering her. It's just... not natural for her to do these things. For various reasons. And still, Lilli smiles at Bill's offer.

" Zhank you, Bill. I really appreciate zhe offer! And don't vorry about not being able to give advice. Sometimes just an open ear is enough. "

The woman was a tiny bit disappointed though when she heard that this hunter had been able to escape, and Bill had suffered under the blood he had taken from that guy. At least that hunter didn't leave all unscathed. A small chuckle also left her even. And she can't but joke a little.

" Imagine you start a fight vith a freaking vampire vhen you got a blood deficiency, heh. Kinda stupid, to be quite honest. But a shame he got away zhough. "

" Vell, again. Nothing vrong vith showing it a bit more, even zhough I believe you do show it already a lot to him. "

Lilli then smiles at the vampire. It's good to see him smile again as well. She had already been worried. But it seems like he simply needed to talk about all this.

" I'm glad I could help! Even if it was just me listening to you. Are you uh... feeling better? "

"Oh, I would," Bill said, "But sometimes it just feels like I don't let him know how much I appreciate him enough, you know. I probably should to be honest."

But he was giving Lilli a small smile on hearing that.

"The same goes for you as well. I care about how you feel too, Lilli, and you're always welcome to share anything that's bothering you with me as well," Bill said, "I may not always be able to give advice, but I can listen. As a bartender, it comes with the territory."

But jokes aside, he had said he was going to try and a bit more open about things that were going on.

"Sadly no," Bill said, "I tried to bite him and drink all of his blood for the things he had done, but it turns out his poison magic goes all the way down to his blood. All I could do was let go of him, fall down and vomit, and he ran away while I couldn't move. Had some mooks in a car waiting to pick him up. But we did learn that he bleeds easily. He's got some kind of deficiency."

Bill nodded.

"I would have. But I feel like I ought to be showing how much I appreciate him more. And we do plan to take that guy down next time we see him," Bill said, before he smiled, "Thank you, Lilli, it felt good to get that off my chest to be honest."

[defectivevillain]

chatterbox

pairing: Deadpool/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: You get threatened at gunpoint, meet a vigilante clad in red spandex, and get a concussion all in the same day. At this point, it seems like the universe is spiting you.

word count: 1.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, robbery, murder, etc; hospitals, suggestive remarks

You’re having a relatively uneventful day… until you find yourself being held at gunpoint in the nearby convenience store. You’re nothing more than an innocent bystander—you just wanted to buy some snacks before you left. It appears the universe had other plans for you, though. The robber—a guy dressed in all-black—yanks you towards him by the collar and holds a gun to your head, demanding the cashier hand him all the money in the register. For a moment, you’re terrified that they won’t give it to him. Then they snap out of it and shakily hand him the money. 

Somehow, that’s not enough for the intruder—as he proceeds to slam your head against the counter in frustration. You immediately feel a jarring pain searing through your temple and traveling down your face. Suddenly bolstered with a renewed fear for your life, you manage to stun him with a harsh elbow to the gut and escape his grip. Head spinning and heart racing, you run away from the register and duck down one of the aisles, frantically looking around for something that could help you survive this encounter. Unfortunately, the gas station is painfully small and the robber catches you quickly. You’re scrambling backwards through hazy vision as the guy points his gun at you… And you come to the unfortunate conclusion that this is it. You’re going to die here, in the candy aisle of this cramped and grimy store.   

It happens in a blur. There’s suddenly a katana impaled through the robber’s chest, making him drop his gun and fall to the floor as he gurgles in pain. The newcomer is wearing red and black spandex, with numerous weapons scattered across their form. Somehow, you’re on the ground now—your back to the wall as you stare at your savior in disbelief. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sounding concerned. You stare at the man in shock, still struggling to process everything that just happened. You think the robber’s blood may be splattered across your face. And despite this new guy’s seemingly kind demeanor, you can’t bring yourself to trust him. Your adrenaline is still pumping, leaving you breathing hard and staring at him warily. “I know this is probably a lot, getting saved by a sexy vigilante and all.” You’re entirely unable to comprehend what he’s saying, through the ringing in your ears and throbbing in your temple. 

“Do you normally talk?” He continues, tilting his head curiously. “You need a throat lozenge? Just cough a few times, get the frogs out of your throat. Or maybe some water? Don’t sweat it, even I get shell-shocked sometimes. You should’ve seen me when I came across-”

“You talk a lot.” You interject before you can stop yourself. This guy’s constant rambling isn’t helping your growing headache. Not to mention, he’s speaking so fast that it’s impossible to comprehend what he’s saying. 

“Oh, so you can talk!” The man exclaims. “And wow, rude. I guess that means you’re fine, then.” He huffs, actually seeming a bit offended. You immediately feel guilty for the remark; you’re about to apologize when another bolt of pain runs through your forehead and down your cheekbone, breaking you from your thoughts. 

You wince and bring a hand to your aching head, frowning as you find blood splattered across your skin. “Need a hand?” The masked guy asks. You take his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet, surprised at how easy the feat seems to be for him. “Easy does it.” He warns, evidently noticing your unsteady footing. Your vision spins tauntingly around you as the walls of the store twist and morph in unnatural patterns. Something doesn’t feel right. You blink and suddenly your knees are crumpling under you. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is a crimson blur. 

You wake to find yourself surrounded by nondescript beige walls. There’s something digging into your arm and you frown, reaching out in an attempt to remove it. You’re stopped by a nurse, who introduces themself and explains the situation. You’ve been unconscious for several hours now, on account of everything you experienced at the convenience store. You don’t have any serious injuries, aside from a concussion. 

As for the man who saved you… his identity remains a complete mystery. You attempt to ask the nursing staff, but they all seem to be just as confused as you are. They claim that the paramedics who arrived on the scene didn’t see anyone who matched his description: red and black suit, katanas… Safe to say, they think your head wound conjured up some mystery hero who saved you. But you know what—or more accurately, who—you saw. After all, your imagination isn’t that inventive or creative. You can vividly remember the gruesome sight of the katana piercing through the robber’s chest; and the rapid-fire sarcasm of the man who wielded it. 

As if summoned by your thoughts alone, you hear a familiar surprised voice. “You’re awake.”

“Jesus!” You instinctively hiss, your chest lurching as you look around the empty room. The heart monitor at your side is beeping like crazy. You have to squint in the dim lighting; then you catch a glimpse of a familiar crimson suit and your panic begins to subside. It’s the guy who saved you—he’s crouching in the window. Isn’t this room pretty high up? You frown. 

“Nope, just me,” he responds cheekily.

“I don’t even know who you are,” is somehow the first thing that falls from your lips. Perhaps you should’ve asked why he’s here… or how he got here. 

“I’m Deadpool, obviously,” he answers, breaking you from your thoughts. “Remember? The convenience store? I saved your ass; then you fainted into my arms. It was pretty embarrassing for you, but it made me look badass. So… thanks, I guess.”

“…What are you doing here?” You decide to ask, your voice slightly raspy. You cough a few times; in the blink of an eye, the guy is standing at your bedside and handing you a glass of water. You thank him and take a few sips, before he places it back on the nightstand. 

“Making sure you don’t snitch,” he says sincerely. “Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches. We clear?” You’re staring at him in disbelief, struggling to process everything that’s happening. The guy speaks almost inhumanly fast and it’s hard to keep up. 

“I won’t say anything.” It takes you a few moments to utter the words, your tongue feeling strangely thick in your mouth. The guy—Deadpool—looks relieved, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Good.” He huffs, crossing his arms. 

“Also, I’m sorry,” you say. The vigilante stares at you in evident confusion. You’ve given up on trying to rationalize what’s happening, or the words that are coming out of your mouth. Blame it on the concussion. “For earlier.” You supplement. He had been kind enough to save you and inquire about your wellbeing… and you returned that kindness with an insult, and then promptly fainted in his arms. Embarrassing. 

“No prob.” He brushes you off. “I’m annoying, I get it. Not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last.” And maybe you’re imagining things, but you swear you can hear the slightest hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not annoying,” you reassure him. “You saved my life. I just couldn’t really process anything you were saying.”

“Oh.” He remarks. You can’t discern his facial expression through his mask, but he sounds a bit surprised. “Oh! Okay then.”

A very awkward silence suffocates the room. “Thank you.” You hear yourself say. Because despite the absurdity of the situation and the man standing in front of you, you are truly grateful. “For… you know.” You struggle to say the words. 

Deadpool seems to understand regardless. “Don’t mention it,” he says easily. Then his tone turns more sincere. “Seriously, don’t.” He looks at you pointedly.

“I won’t,” you promise. “But thanks. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. You’re… a pretty good guy.” And wow, you must’ve gotten hit harder than you thought. 

“God, how can you just say those things?” Deadpool mutters to himself, almost sounding embarrassed. Your suspicions are confirmed as you watch him awkwardly climb out the window, the movement far more stilted and clumsy than the previous stealth he’s displayed. He remains crouched in the frame, regarding you for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay though. Just… let me know if you ever find trouble again. I’ll stab a bitch. Or several bitches. And I mean bitch in the gender neutral, non-misogynistic sense. Obviously. Okay, I really need to go now. See ya!” He blows you a kiss and promptly leans back as he dives out of the window. You stare in disbelief, admittedly a bit concerned for his safety. But judging from the fading sound of footsteps, he landed just fine. 

You suppress a laugh at his dramatic exit, before thinking back to what he just said. “Let me know if you find trouble again.” You appreciate the offer, and you can only hope you won’t have to use it. But… How are you supposed to find Deadpool, if something ever were to happen?

You muse on the thought as you stare at the open window, before sighing and pushing yourself to your feet. The effort is laborious and takes a bit longer than it should, but before long you’re able to walk over to the window and close it. On your way back to the bed, something on the nightstand catches your eye. It’s a card. You frown and grab it, opening it to find a simple message written in unmistakeable red ink: 

Get well soon! Signed,  Your Favorite Mercenary  PS: Here’s my number.  PSPS: Not in a weird way. Just in a friendly, heroic way. I mean, not heroic… I’m not a hero. And I know I said not in a weird way, but I also wouldn’t be opposed…?  Jesus, what am I saying? Right, contact me if you’re ever in trouble.  PSPSPS: Is “PSPS” a real acronym? Probably not. It sounds like something I’d say to a cat to get it to come closer. Anyways, bye! :P

You stare down at the card for several moments, before finding yourself laughing in disbelief. Moments later, you’re saving his phone number under a new contact named “DP⚔️” and smiling foolishly. 

Deadpool is quite the interesting guy, to say the least. You almost hope that, as time passes, you’ll get to know him better. Although, at the same time, you hope you don’t ever need to contact him for his work. But regardless, you’re overwhelmingly grateful to the talkative, sarcastic vigilante who saved you.

author's notes: I have a bad headache as I post this, which feels like poetic justice somehow. lol.

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