#and then it turns out they were shattered into dust; lost to time; AND taken by the diamonds to be tortured.

[andy-15-07]

Ashes and Hope

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count: 1295

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The town had settled into a rhythm of quiet survival under Tommy’s watchful eye. Jackson, Wyoming, was a rare pocket of normalcy in a shattered world. Snow dusted the tops of cabins, and the soft hum of generators filled the air. The occasional bark of a dog or the chatter of kids playing in the snow hinted at something close to life before the outbreak.

Joel leaned against the wooden railing of the porch, staring out at the quiet street, lost in thought.

“Hey,” Y/n’s voice broke through the crisp air. She stepped out, her boots crunching against the snow, a mug of coffee in her hands. “You’ve been out here a while.”

Joel glanced her way, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. “Just thinkin’.”

Y/n sat on the porch swing, setting her mug down on the small side table. “About them?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed ahead. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand over his graying beard. “Always.”

Y/n nodded, the weight of their shared grief pressing on her chest. “Me too.”

They didn’t have to say their daughters’ names. Sarah and Lily. The pain of losing them was as raw now as it had been the night the world fell apart. Sarah, Joel’s light, his reason for everything, gone in a single gunshot. And Lily, Y/n’s fiery, curious little girl, taken by the chaos and violence of the outbreak.

The cabin door creaked open behind them, and Ellie stepped out, pulling her jacket tight against the cold. “Are we brooding again?” she teased, her tone light but her eyes watchful.

Joel turned to look at her, his expression softening slightly. “What do you need, kid?”

Ellie shrugged. “Just bored. Thought maybe we could do something that doesn’t involve sitting around.”

Y/n smiled faintly, gesturing for Ellie to join them. “Come here, kiddo.”

Ellie plopped down on the swing next to Y/n, her legs swinging idly. “This place is so weird,” she muttered. “People just… live here? Like it’s normal?”

Joel crossed his arms. “It’s as normal as it gets these days.”

“Yeah, well, it’s freaking me out,” Ellie said. She looked at Y/n. “You ever think about what it’d be like if things didn’t go to shit?”

Y/n’s smile faded, and she glanced at Joel. “Every day,” she said quietly.

Ellie tilted her head, sensing the heaviness in the air. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Joel interrupted. He leaned against the railing, looking at Ellie. “Sometimes it helps to talk about ‘em. The ones we lost.”

Ellie hesitated. “Do you want to talk about them? Your daughters?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might shut her down. But then Y/n reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Maybe it’s time,” she said softly.

Joel exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cold air. “Sarah… she was smart. Funny. Always had a way of makin’ me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. She loved soccer. And she had this… stubborn streak. Always had to have the last word.”

Y/n smiled faintly. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Joel shot her a look, but there was no real bite in it.

“What about Lily?” Ellie asked, looking at Y/n.

Y/n’s eyes glistened as she spoke. “Lily was… a firecracker. She never sat still. Always asking questions, always exploring. She loved animals. She used to say she wanted to be a vet when she grew up. I used to think she’d save the world someday.”

Ellie’s expression softened. “They sound amazing.”

“They were,” Joel said quietly.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the past hanging over them. But then Ellie broke the quiet. “You know, you guys are like… the worst at being sad. It’s depressing.”

Y/n chuckled, ruffling Ellie’s hair. “Thanks, kid. Real subtle.”

Ellie grinned. “I try.”

Joel shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

The cabin’s small kitchen was warm and cozy, the soft glow of candles flickering on the table. Joel and Y/n sat on one side, Ellie across from them, leaning over her bowl of stew. She was talking animatedly about some of the kids she’d seen playing outside earlier, her hands flailing as she described their snowball fight.

“And this one kid—he was, like, half my size—nailed this other kid right in the face. It was hilarious,” Ellie said, grinning.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Did you join in?”

“Nah,” Ellie said, shrugging. “Didn’t want to show them up. Gotta let the little ones win sometimes, you know?”

Y/n chuckled, resting her chin in her hand. “You? Holding back? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Ellie smirked. “Yeah, well, I’m maturing. Becoming a better person.”

Joel snorted. “Sure you are, kid.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clinking of spoons against bowls the only sound. After a moment, Ellie looked up, her brow furrowed. “Did you guys ever, like… think about having more kids? Before, I mean.”

Y/n glanced at Joel, caught off guard by the question. Joel leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “I think… after Sarah, I didn’t really see it happenin’ again,” he said quietly. “Felt like she was enough. And after… well, it wasn’t somethin’ I could even think about.”

Y/n nodded, her voice soft. “I always wanted more. Lily used to ask me for a little brother or sister all the time. But life got in the way. Then, after everything… I couldn’t imagine bringing a kid into a world like this.”

Ellie’s expression softened. “Yeah, I get that. But you guys are, like, really good at this whole parent thing. Even with me.”

Y/n smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, kiddo.”

Ellie grinned, but her eyelids were drooping. “Okay, that’s enough heart-to-heart for one night. I’m going to bed before you two start crying or something.”

Joel smirked. “Goodnight, Ellie.”

“‘Night, old man. ‘Night, Y/n,” Ellie called over her shoulder as she shuffled off to her room.

The cabin grew quiet again, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire. Joel stood and began clearing the table, but Y/n reached out, grabbing his wrist. “Leave it,” she said softly. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, then sat back down, his eyes searching hers.

“You ever think about what she said?” Y/n asked.

Joel frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“Having more kids,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel leaned back, his arms crossed. “Y/n…”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupted. “The world’s too dangerous. It’s selfish. But Joel, look at where we are. This town… it’s safe. We have people. We have each other. Maybe it’s not so crazy to think about it.”

Joel was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the fire. “It’s not just the world that scares me,” he admitted. “It’s losin’ them. Again. I don’t know if I could survive that.”

Y/n reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. “I’m scared too. But isn’t it worth it? To have something good? Something that’s ours?”

Joel’s grip on her hand tightened. He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said everything.

Y/n smiled softly. “Just think about it, okay?”

He nodded, his voice low. “I’ll think about it.”

They sat there together, the weight of the past still heavy on their shoulders, but for the first time in years, the possibility of a future didn’t feel so far away.

[swagging-back-to]

and then of course you have garnet's breakdown... which is always heartbreaking.

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 1: Guilty as Sin

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it's up to you to help her.

To say you and Agatha had parted on bad terms would be an understatement of the century.

You'd forgiven her a lot of things, and could forgive so much more, but the one thing you just couldn't get past was her forgetting your anniversary because she was too busy draining some random witch that wasn't even powerful enough to justify leaving you hanging.

You'd exploded. It was like someone had pulled a switch, and an atomic bomb had gone off, turning everything in its path to dust. You'd unleashed all the things you'd been holding back; centuries of pent up rage, of resentment pouring out of your mouth. Raging and burning. Stinging its target's flesh like lava dripping on skin.

Things you couldn't believe could ever come out of your mouth shot out, bitter, venomous. Bullets aiming for the heart.

You'd called Agatha selfish. Had accused her of not caring about you, of valuing power over you. Had said she'd never loved you, and, if she'd thought she had, you'd certainly never felt it. Had told her other witches were right to have never trusted her for not an ounce of her was worthy of being trusted.

"I can't look at you right now. I don't wanna look at you," were your final words before you'd summoned your magic and had taken off for the sky. Far, far away from her.

It wasn't exactly a breakup. The two of you had had periods of separation throughout the centuries, usually brought on by one of you wanting to travel and the other preferring to cozy up somewhere for a few months. In the end, you would always find your way back to each other. The few times you had parted on bad terms, you were back in each other's arms within days.

You could never stay apart for too long.

Until now.

Three months and counting. No calls. No texts. Both of you were too stubborn, too proud to pick up the phone and make the first move.

Not that it would do much.

You doubted there was coming back from this fight.

If someone had said those things to you, you wouldn't want to see their face, either. Not for a very long time. Possibly not ever again.

You didn't even mean what you'd said. You were just so angry, and Agatha had made a mistake, and you'd wanted to punish her. You'd wanted to hurt her. You'd wanted her to feel how you were feeling. Wanted her to feel worse. You'd wanted to shove a knife in her gut and twist it.

What you'd actually done was aim for the heart and shatter it until it was nothing but specks of dirt under your feet.

Every day since that fateful night had been hell.

You weren't sure how you were able to survive; guilt had been eating you alive, bit by fleshy bit. The words you'd said echoed in your head. Had kept you up at night. Had brought tears to your eyes every time you'd replayed them.

Agatha was no angel, far from it, but she didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve a fraction of the venom you'd spewed in her face.

Maybe that had been a breakup, after all.

You didn't see her forgiving you that kind of cruelty.

You certainly would never forgive yourself.

Loud banging shook you back to the present, to your lonesome reality. Someone — something — was at your front door, insistent, desperate to get inside. The hinges squeaked under the force of the blows.

Blood ran cold in your veins.

You lived in the middle of nowhere; a deliberate choice, as your kind historically didn't fare well among people. Or each other. Experience had taught you that witches could be as treacherous as humans, even more so. Miles and miles of trees surrounded your home, cocooning it, shielding it. Hiding it and you from the world.

Who could possibly be at your door this late in the evening?

A lost or injured hiker? A runaway kid seeking help?

Someone who meant you harm?

The prospect didn't worry you too much; you'd made sure the entrance to your home was spelled so that nobody and nothing could get in without your explicit permission. Hunters and rogue witches, as well as regular, run of the mill thieves, had raided too many spaces you'd thought were safe over the centuries.

When you'd acquired this house, you were determined it was never going to happen again.

It was Agatha who had suggested protection like that. She knew how much it meant to you to have a place to call yours, to call a home, so she'd flipped through the pages of that dark magic book of hers that you weren't allowed to come near (with good reason: you'd avoided that thing like the plague) and had found a spell that would protect you from unwanted guests 

It had worked wonders so far.

Still, as you cautiously padded to the door, one of your hands lit up with magic; a witch could never be too careful. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, then wide as your eyes fell upon the familiar dark brown hair.

Agatha.

Your heart raced, first with excitement at seeing her again, then with concern as the condition she was in settled in.

Her clothes were ripped. Her hair was a mess, as if she hadn't brushed it in days. Blood ran down her mouth, down her chapped lips. Deep, purple bruises marred her face, painted it dark and painful.

"Oh, my god," you gasped, in disbelief at the sight before you. This had to have been some kind of an illusion. The Agatha you knew could never get hurt like this. No matter what the situation was, she would find her feet. She would never allow for it to get this far.

Her power was too grand for even a remote possibility of something like this.

Then why was she standing at your door, bruised and bloody?

Why was she shivering?

Why did she look so fucking scared that it broke your heart all over again, as your own cruel words had the night that you'd abandoned her?

"Y/N, please, let me in," she said. There was no usual snark in her tone, no humor. No playfulness that you'd come to miss in the months since you'd last seen her. Her voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk. As if it was taking the last remnants of the strength she had left to push the words out. "Please." There was a pause, a pained one, then she said, completely and utterly weak, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

She didn't even have to ask.

"Come here," you said, reaching for her. It was an instinct you'd grown into over the centuries of being with her. When she needed you — when she was cold or sad or injured — you were at her side with arms wide open. No questions asked. No demands made. All that mattered was getting her well. Making the pain she was in go away.

Hands on her shoulders, you gently coaxed her inside, and then locked the door behind her.

She didn't have to ask to be let in. Didn't have to cower and beg for mercy.

Even with the protection spell, Agatha had been welcome here from the very start. This was her home as much as it was yours. No matter how angry you were at her, you would never deny her access. Had never denied it.

What you had done, you remembered, chills running down your spine like ants, was tell her you couldn't look at her.

Was that why she was in this condition? Did she think you wouldn't help her if she called? Did she think you didn't care about her anymore — that you didn't care whether she lived or died?

Did she think you would slam the door in her face and leave her to tend to herself?

Swallowing the guilt that pressed on your chest like an ill-fitted corset, you helped Agatha to the couch. She walked with a limp, one hand pressed to her side, each breath she took a labor, a chore. Whoever had harmed her had done a number on her.

You'd seen her lose fights before. You'd seen her beg for mercy. But it had never been this bad. Not even close.

Whoever had done this to her had better leave the country, had better leave the fucking planet if they wanted to live for another day. Once you found them, they would wish they were dead.

That was a promise, and you always kept those when it came to Agatha.

"Is this okay?" you asked. "Do you need a blanket, or a pillow, or—"

"It's fine," she said, taking a few breaths to steady herself, each more painful than the other.

It shattered your heart into a million pieces.

She didn't deserve this. No matter what she did or whom she managed to piss off, she didn't deserve to be in this kind of pain.

As tenderly as you could, you laid your hands over hers. Agatha stiffened, startled, confirming your suspicions — she didn't think you care about her, not after the things you'd said.

All the witches in her life had ended up betraying her, turning their backs on her, abandoning her. It was only natural that you would do the same.

It was only life.

She didn't know anything different, anything better.

And you, the asshole that you were, had poured salt over the wound.

You'd told her she'd deserved it.

"It's okay," you said softly, caressing her hands. Letting her know that she was safe, that the danger had passed. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

But you had, hadn't you? You'd promised you would never, but you'd done what everyone else had. You'd turned your back on her. You'd spewed the vilest things you could think of, things you didn't even mean, to hurt her, all because you were hurt and had wanted her to feel the same — had wanted her to feel worse. You'd thrown her mistakes in her face, and had left her. You'd never looked back. And, no matter how much the guilt was eating you up, niggling at your insides like acid, you didn't have the nerve to apologize, to make it right.

You were no better than her coven. Than her bitch of a mother.

Agatha nodded, then lowered her eyes to her lap, to her dirty, bloodied clothes. Everywhere and anywhere but your face.

She might as well have slapped you.

Not that you wouldn't have deserved it.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, trying your hardest to hold back an explosion that threatened to erupt inside you.

You couldn't hurt yourself, not much more than you already have, but you could make sure that the one who'd done this to her paid with their life.

They'd been living on borrowed time since the second they'd decided to lay their hands on her.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Hunters." She spit the word like it was poison, like the mere act of saying it befouled her mouth. "They injected me with something that's been blocking my power."

You raised an eyebrow, confused. "A drug of some sort?"

"Try potion."

Now that was interesting. "They're working with a witch?"

Agatha nodded. "A powerful one. It's been two days, and this thing's still alive and kicking."

"Two days?"

They'd had her for two days?

They'd been hitting her, beating her, torturing her for two days?

A few tears escaped your containment, your cheeks burning in their wake.

"Oh, please, it's nothing I can't take. I could go for two more weeks," Agatha said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. Acting as if what she'd gone through didn't bother her a single bit.

You knew better.

That smile on her mouth was the same one she always hid behind. The one she used when she wanted to hide the pain, the turmoil, despite knowing damn well it didn't fool you. It never did.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry," you said, on the brink of falling apart.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

That was the problem.

You didn't do anything.

She was tortured for two days, and you were none the wiser.

"I should've been there."

You would have burned those monsters alive. You would've made them beg for mercy, given them hope that it would come, and then you would've taken it away at the last minute. You would've made the punishment fit the crime.

You would do it.

They had no idea what was coming to them.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Save your pity."

"It's not pity, and you know it," you told her in your most earnest tone. She had no reason to believe you — you'd certainly given her plenty of reasons not to — but you hoped she would find it in her heart to look past that. To give you the smallest benefit of the doubt, a chance to make what you broke whole again.

"Isn't it?" It was her turn to twist the knife, and she knew how to make it hurt without trying too hard.

You deserved it.

As much as it hurt, as much as it bruised and broke you, you had every word of doubt coming.

You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, welcoming the pain. Accepting it as penance. "No."

Standing up on shaky legs, you walked to the adjoining kitchen and started rummaging through cupboards in search of supplies. You didn't have a first aid kit, so a makeshift one would have to do. Some old bandages, a rag, a bowl of warm water. Simple, yet efficient.

Agatha could think what she wanted — she could think the worst of you, and she certainly had that right — but you would still help her. You would still do your best for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting supplies," you said, picking up the softest rag you had. "We need to get you cleaned up."

A moment of tense silence passed. "I can do it myself."

You looked her in the eyes like you always did when she was being difficult. "Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly.

If she didn't, she wouldn't have shown up at your door and begged to be let in. She wouldn't have let you hold her hands.

"Agatha," you said with a sigh. Don't do this, you thought. Don't play these games. Not now.

"You don't have to pretend you want me here. I'm only here because I had nowhere else to go," she reiterated.

"I'm not pretending."

"Aren't you? You made it pretty clear you didn't wanna look at me." Her eyes, so blue and sad, filled with tears. Her injured lips trembled. "I'm selfish, remember? I never loved you. I'm not trustworthy. I deserve everything that's ever happened to me. I deserve this."

"No. No, you don't."

But you did. You deserved to have your words thrown back at you. You deserved every jab, every painful poke.

You laid the bowl on the coffee table and sat back down by Agatha's side. "I know I'll never be able to take back all those horrible things I said. For what it's worth, I didn't mean any of it."

"Why'd you say it, then?" Agatha asked pointedly. No pleasantries. No nonsense.

"Because I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt you." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but you owed it to her to be honest. She deserved to know the truth. "All this time, I've been trying to think of ways to apologize. Nothing seemed good enough. You deserve better, and I just couldn't give it to you. So, I left you alone."

You reached for her hand. Momentary relief flooded your veins as she allowed you to twine your fingers with hers. This time she welcomed your touch. Welcomed you.

"I really am sorry," you said. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't. I just ask that you let me try to make up for it."

Agatha swallowed. Her eyes fell to your linked hands. You thought she would push you away. That she would tell you where you can shove your apology. That she would tell you that it was too late — she didn't love you anymore. That she wanted nothing to do with you.

Instead, her fingers squeezed yours.

A tiny, silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

She hadn't given up on you.

She was willing to give you a chance.

She still loved you.

Just like that, a spark lit up inside you. A sliver of hope, tiny but still there, bright in the turmoil of your mind.

It was more than you could have asked for.

You promised to yourself — to Agatha — that you wouldn't squander it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

*****

Next chapter.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 99)

She pulls herself out of the console feeling dazed, N has his tail wrapped around her, and the scorching heat of his flamethrowers filled the room as the ground itself rumbled around them.

The ground had been disturbed…

Tendrils of black surrounded them on all sides, inching closer despite N's best efforts. On his visor was displayed an ‘X', a gradient of red and yellow as he protected Uzi with his life.

Uzi yanked out the linking cable, stuffing it back into her pocket and allowed a feral hiss to claw out her throat. Using the solver, she manipulated a sharp peice of metal to spin rapidly, chopping up whatever it came into contact with into tiny black peices.

N and Uzi were back to back, tails coiled around each other to ensure their other half was still there. She grabbed onto his shoulder.

“Fly!” She shouted, a command that registered instantly in N's system and had him taking off before she could even finish the word. Ignoring the ceiling, he burst through it. Throwing dust, snow, and shards of concrete flying in every direction as he rocketed upwards, a flood of angry tentacles followed him up, climbing and squirming on top of each other to see which of them could reach him first.

Uzi grunted, feeling her body strain as she threw the spinning metal down, slicing up the pursuing appendages even as they continued to reach for them.

N growled as he aimed an arm downward, firing off a missile that finished them off- by turning them to mist. He covered Uzi's mouth and clamped his own shut just in case.

There was no time to rejoice however, the ground groaned and shifted, opening up to swallow the building they were just in as well as the rest of the communication dishes.

As N watched, he noticed yellow light deep within the planet, shifting in waves, arching with primal energy, filling the flesh surrounding it with a hunger that couldn't be satisfied- and a deep, untamed rage.

They looked at each other, trying to find comfort as the sinkhole continued to grow, new, blackened appendages were spat out to replace the one's they'd just destroyed.

“L-Lets get out of here…” Uzi said after a prolonged period of silence, well after the last of the building was lost underneath the hungering flesh.

N nodded, tucking her into his shoulder before taking off in the direction of the bunker.

Deep down below, something watched them…

The sun was coming up quickly, and despite how fast N was flying, he knew they weren't going to make it to the nest in time, much less the bunker.

He dove into some long forgotten apartment, just in time for the early and deadly light of the morning to break over the horizon.

His arms remained looped around his girlfriend as the snow melted off both their frames, panting from the stress of the day.

“Did you get what we needed?” He asked after a moment of recovery, looking into purple eyelights, still refusing to let her go just yet.

“Yeah, I mean, it's not the best choice… probably gonna have issues with wildlife but… it's what we got.” She replied, leaning into the warmth he gave off in contrast to the freezing atmosphere around them.

“It'll have to do. I'm just glad you got something.”

He finally let her go, allowing them both to look around the room they'd taken shelter in.

Everything was covered in dust, and sharp shards of glass covered the floor from where the windows had shattered. There was a full sized bed in the center of the room- well made and completely untouched by anything other then the forces of nature.

A wooden chair, a closet, and a two bedside tables also inhabited the room, though the light and subsequent fan on the ceiling had long ceased functioning.

“Guess we're spending the night here…” Uzi sighed, rubbing a hand over her distended stomach- mostly because the rubber had become thin and slightly painful and she was trying to soothe it.

N's hand hovered over her own as he held her from behind, resting his chin on her head and swaying them softly.

“Really the time to do this after we just got chased?”

“Perfect time to do it. We're safe now, and we have to relax.”

“You have to relax" He amended, wrapping his tail around her and nuzzling into her shoulder, his purr was a given.

She hummed in contentment, closing her eyes and letting N rub small circles into her belly- it was a comforting feeling. Right up until the baby kicked their hands and made a pained whine escape Uzi's mouth.

“I felt that too. You good?”

“I want this little shit out…” She whines.

He laughs, “They just wanted to say hi.”

Uzi just growls in response, “So do I! In person! With them out of me!”

N just chuckled, walking off to remove the several years worth of dust from the bed so that they could sleep comfortably…

A few hours later they were curled up on the bed, N taking to running his fingers through her hair, satisfying the urge to preen.

“Mm. Athena.” Uzi said, they had been brainstorming names while trying to fall asleep.

“Oooh, I like that one, definitely. If they're a girl.” He replied, his tail wagging behind him as Uzi sat in his lap.

“You have a boy name?”

He thought for a moment, turning over his thoughts in his head.

“Bishop? Like the chess peice? We played all the time at the manor.” He explained. “I always lost, but I liked it.”

“I like it. It's also a tank, so you know I'm down.” She snickered mischievously.

“Of course you know that.” He replied lovingly, kissing her cheek as he settled down to sleep. ���I think that's it then.”

“Yeah. Athena if it's a girl, Bishop if it's a boy.” Uzi agreed, shifting down to lay against him, happily absorbing his warmth.

“Tera says boy.” N hummed, wrapping himself tightly around his mate, protective pride rising in his core.

“Tera isn't even a year old.” Uzi snapped back; resting her hands on his chest and burying her head in his coat fluff.

“Still, she said it. There's gotta be a reason.”

“She wants a brother?”

They both laugh, N nuzzles the top of her head, taking in her scent. Her lovely, citrus scent… and… apples.

The apple portion was new, and he somehow subconsciously knew that it was his child that he was sensing, so he nuzzled deeper.

…

The next dusk they were off again. Neither one noticing the strange figure following them home…

Next ->

[beansmack2021]

Oooh idea if you’re interested! Husk taking in Alastor’s daughter reader when Alastor leaves for 7 years?

He Stayed (Platonic!Husk x Alastor's Daughter)

She was 10 when she'd been dropped off at Aunt Rosie's one night. Alastor told her he'd be back soon, and that she needed to behave herself and be a respectful young lady.

"Okay! I love you, Daddy!"

He was gone quickly, swept away by his own shadow. Y/N hummed a happy tune that she'd heard on her father's broadcast earlier in the day while she played with her stuffed raccoon. She played for hours, not really grasping how late it had gotten until she heard a knock at Rosie's door.

She assumed it would be her father, ready to whisk her away and take her back home. Instead, she rushed to open it and greet him, and was met with the face of her father's servant, Husk.

"Oh! Hi, Husk! Is Daddy here, too?"

Husk shook his head, clearing his throat.

"Listen, kid. Your old man asked me to look after you for a little while. Why don't we go back to my place?"

Young Y/N tried not to get too upset. Surely a little while just meant a few more hours, maybe a couple of days, right?

Wrong. Y/N didn't see her father for another 7 years after he'd left her in Cannibaltown. She'd spent her time with Husk, who taught her how to keep her poker face from wavering. She'd clean the bar for him occasionally, but he usually took that task on by himself.

"Oh no. Your old man would kill me if you even went near the stuff on that shelf. Sorry, kid."

Y/N stiffened whenever he'd mention her father. She really didn't care much for the man who chose to abandon her. She'd do whatever she wanted, including chugging the most expensive bottle on the shelf, but she worried too much about her father finding out and punishing Husk for her own decisions.

Late at night, she'd wonder what her father would think of her now. She'd mourn the time lost before she realized that he'd chosen to rip that time away from them, and then she'd just get angry. She'd be angry for a while. She threw the framed photo of the two of them on the ground and watched the shattered glass fly across the floor. Then she'd pick up the frame, dust it off, and hold it close to her chest as she cried.

Alastor was terrible. She hated him for leaving her. Still, she couldn't help loving the man she'd known before he abandoned her.

When Husk would hear her sobs through the walls of their home, he'd knock on the door of her bedroom and come in with a bag of chips from the bar and a few cans of soda.

"Hey, kid. What's all this crying about, huh? Why don't we play some blackjack?"

He always knew how to cheer her up. Sometimes, he'd show her some neat tricks that he could do with just a bit of magic and a deck of cards.

During one of their later nights, Husk was simply holding Y/N as she cried. Then, out of nowhere, they appeared in this rustic looking room. Directly before them stood none other than Alastor, her father.

His ears perked up a bit and his pupils narrowed as he saw his daughter's tear streaked face for the first time in nearly a decade.

"Husker, I trust that you're not the reason my little girl is crying right now. It would be very unfortunate for you if you were."

Alastor's head turned at an odd angle and his sound was filled with more static by the second. Y/N stepped between her father and the man who'd taken care of her for seven years, anger clear as day on her face.

"You can't hurt him. I won't let you."

Alastor perked up again.

"Oh come now, dear. He's merely the help."

Y/N's back straightened, and her expression changed to one of defiance.

"No, Alastor. He's not just the help. He's the one person I care about most in Hell."

Alastor's permanent smile widened.

"Oh, Y/N, even more than dear old dad?"

"Much more, because unlike "dear old dad", Husk stayed."

Alastor hadn't really been prepared to be hit by such a damaging statement. His smile almost faltered. Almost. Y/N's rage didn't, though. Not even a bit.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Since it's taking me a million years to finish the batch of WIPs that I have right now, I went ahead and put previews of five of them over on Kofi! If you want to read the full previews, you can check it out there at the Companion or Co-Pilot tiers. Those previews are closer to 2-3k (with the exception of one that had to be cut off at 1.8k before a much longer scene). But here on Tumblr, I have for thee the first paragraph or so of each under the cut!

I don't know when these pieces will be finished, but I am having fun working on them alongside 2 new commissions! Thank you all for your patience!

101 Kinks: Bondage

Dabi has spent most of his life wandering through the forest. He was supposed to be a hunter, that's what his father told him he would be when he was young, a revered hunter who would surpass him and the current Grand Hunter in their village. But then he got sick. It was an illness that was rare in this day and age and one that left his body weakened, his fur falling out in places before growing back in dark and his skin taking on dark patches of pigment that look like perpetual bruises along his whole body. He had gotten sick and weak like his mother, but unlike her, he had no purpose when he was sick and weak. He couldn't be useful, so he was discarded as his father attended to his other littermates, and it was one day when he had tried to go out to train alone anyway, that he had pushed his body too hard and collapsed. He almost wishes that he'd died back then, but Natsuo knew where his secret training ground was and he'd gone to find him when he didn't come home on time. He brought him home and Toya slept for years before he had woken up, saw that any hope of his future as a hunter had been turned to ashes, and had taken on the name 'Dabi'. 

101 Kinks: Sadomasochism

Tomura doesn't tell anyone how the moment that he's standing, looking down at Re-Destro, the echoes of Decay having radiated out and destroyed everything around them, he stops feeling the pain in his hand or foot. He doesn't feel anything at all except his heart... stop. It stills in his chest. The next breath that he takes, and the one after that, doesn't seem to do anything for him, because when he stops breathing after he's asked if the CEO can fund the League's future success, he doesn't turn blue.  When they go to see the doctor after the fight, he has Ujiko see to Toga and Twice first. They need it more than him, because whatever is wrong with him, must be permanent. It must be bad, but not bad the way that Twice must feel when both of his arms are shattered, and not bad like Toga who really did nearly die. He would rather his party see their healer first than have him waste his time trying to revive him when he's pretty sure that he's a lost cause.  It takes a couple of hours for him to get in to see the doctor, having trusted Compress and Dabi to keep an eye on things with the PLF. Mister Compress's arm is destroyed, but he and Dabi are smart and inventive with their quirks. They'll handle anything that happens if something does. 

Turn It All (To Ash and Dust) Ch. 2

By the time he actually turns eighteen, nineteen on his false documents, the apartment finally looks more like a real home. For the first three months they were here, they were still sleeping in sleeping bags and only had a cooler and ice packs to keep their food cold. But then he'd been able to get a job at a nearby convenience store part time, Shigaraki had been offering his services online as a translator for Japanese, English, and French, and Giran had gotten a good look at his abilities as an arsonist and started giving him more work. Between those three streams of revenue, they had been able to buy a second-hand couch that acted as Shig's bed most nights while he and Shoto shared a bed in the single bedroom of the apartment. The fridge they'd bought was second-hand as well and was broken on one side, the cooling going way, way too cold and freezing anything put there solid. They got a microwave, but a stove and oven are still on the wish list, the three of them making due with a hot plate and electric kettle instead. They have a shitty ancient TV and an even older gaming console that Shigaraki has been playing with Shoto when he's finished with his studying. Dabi is out during the day most of the time, and while he's gone, Shigaraki is teaching Shoto around his work. Not villain shit, as far as he's aware, but making sure that he's keeping up with what would be expected of him if he were still able to go to school. At night, when he doesn't have an arson gig, Shigaraki makes him learn the same things. He's supposed to be going to take some kind of test in a month or two to get a high school diploma even though he hasn't been to school since before he burned. Whatever. He keeps up with what Shig wants him to for the most part, but a lot of what they're doing right now just feels like they're working towards normal lives. He certainly doesn't think that they're going to be bringing Japan to its knees out of this shitty little apartment.

Mindbreak Part 2

When they eventually get out of bed, Dabi walks to the bathroom and locks the other man out as he uses the toilet, though the other easily unlocks the door from the other side when he hears the shower start to go. He comes in and has absolutely no shame or qualms about coming right into, the admittedly, large enough, stall for the both of them. They bathe in silence, though Dabi's fur is bristling because he doesn't know what he's actually allowed. He said he would keep up appearances, but Shigaraki said he wouldn't hurt him. He wants to know how far he can push that. Though as he washes his body, his face burns as he sees his cock again,  "Is this--"  "No. If you're out of your cage for long enough you'll go back to normal." Which that, at least, is a genuine relief, given he has no intentions of putting that back on. Shigaraki still ends up being the one to decide that they're finished, and Dabi is embarrassed when, as soon as they start to get out, the other man grabs his towel again and starts to dry him off.  "I can--"  "I said I would take care of my puppy," Shigaraki tells him, running the soft cloth over his skin. "You said that you would behave. Go sit down and I'll bring your breakfast in a few minutes." 

101 Kinks: Free Use

He doesn't remember the experiments that they did on him. He thinks that's something he should probably be grateful about. He doesn't remember the experiments, but he remembers who he was before he was this, and his brain isn't actually fried. He has swaths of skin as black as night across his body that contrasts sharply with his natural skin tone, with thin lines of silver that separate each section, and he's older now. At first he just thought that they'd made him bigger, but no. He is older. Lots of time passed from when he was Toya Todoroki who burned alive on a mountain. The doctor definitely did shit to his head, because he doesn't feel like a child in an adult's body when he wakes up. He just wakes, knows that he's supposed to follow orders, knows that he has other abilities layered onto his body that he didn't before he burned, and he knows, immediately, that he needs to bide his time. That All For One and his monster maker created him to ensure that they have more soldiers for their upcoming war against the heroes. And if he's a good soldier, if he's the best, then he'll be on the frontlines. He'll have a chance of being up against Endeavor. 

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

We'll Meet Again - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 1933>

warnings: dead body (kinda)

The day the world ended.

It wasn't a day you, or anyone else, thought you'd have to live through, but here you were. Here you were, sitting amidst it all, unsure of what to do with yourself, or how to move on from the position you were in.  

There wasn't much left, as you looked around. There was the crackle of broken electronics and the faint buzzing of the neon signs that were still lit in shop windows. How long they'd stay illuminated? Only time would tell. 

Well, when I say not much left, I mean of human society. The minute the sky had turned cloudy, almost dusty in colour, and the ground had started to shake, you thought that you'd be lost to the disaster like everyone else around you was. 

Yet here you were. 

The world looked like something straight out of a futuristic movie or video game, but it was as real as it could be for you right now. You had wished you could move your head from the screen, and you had naively tried it, but it was all the same. 

The worst part was, surprisingly, the stillness. There was no breeze, intensifying the clingy summer humidity. Nothing moved, nothing stirred, nothing shifted apart from the rise and fall of your chest and the occasional blink of your eyelids. 

The ground was set still, just like it was before the earth practically caved in. There were a lot of things still the same, but they all looked vastly different as you sat on that park bench. 

The sky was a dusky yellowish-cream colour, but you couldn't tell whether it was actually the sky, or dust kicked up from the disaster, or oddly coloured clouds that you had just never noticed before. Nevertheless, it made the whole scene seem more sombre somehow. 

Rubble collected in piles all around, some bits crunching under your feet as you moved them every so often, just to check that you were actually alive and you could still move. A few of the taller buildings were cracked in half, since they were demolished nearly as easily as a twig underfoot. 

The top halves had come crashing down to the floor, their bricks and blocks shattered and smashed. There were a few still standing, poking up from the ground like they were breaking through the horizon.  

Their once prominent lines and features now blurred by the nearly smog-like haze that had taken the place of the clear, sunny day that you were once living in. The clear sunny day that had turned into the day of calamity.  

How long it had been since that very cataclysm? You didn't quite know. It could've been minutes, it could have been hours since you had been sat there, on that same park bench that you had hid under as a final attempt at survival. 

All you knew was that there was no way out of it. In some ways, you wished you had gone with everyone else, so you'd be able to escape the feeling of pure lostness that you were experiencing. 

You didn't know if there was anyone else out there, or if there was anyone else that you could even find. Was it just where you were? Or was it the whole globe? You'd probably never know. 

You cast your mind back to the day that you were having, trying to forget about the monstrous aftermath. You and Charles were going on a walk, a light stroll in the sun. Maybe you'd stop off for some lunch while you were out, maybe you wouldn't.

It was one of those kinds of days. A day with no set purpose, but you'd make one along the way and be fulfilled with it. But that day did have a set purpose, and you were living that purpose as you sat there, on that park bench. 

You'd lost Charles as you were both running hand in hand to try and find some semblance of safety, which didn't befall him as it did you. You remembered the exact moment you felt his hand slip from yours, your head darting around the crowds to find him. 

But, you lost his in a thousand other faces of strangers. You lost the eyes of the man you loved between the countless others you were seeing terror in. 

Your vision became hazy, but not from the mist that you were surrounded by. A few salty tears dripped down your face as you thought about him. About the man you adored and everyone else who you held near and dear. 

Everyone who you'd lost. 

In the distance, you heard a voice. Well, you thought you did. You looked to your right, and you could have sworn you'd seen a figure in the shadows of a building. What more did you have to lose? 

That was what you thought as you stood from your space on that park bench and soldiered over to the building. There was no need to use the door as you stepped over the small level of wall that was the base to the gaping hole in the side of said building. 

There it was again, the shadow. To your right. The door to the room you were approaching was hanging off its hinges, and you could hear a faint noise coming from the other side. You also thought you heard footsteps. 

Peering around the split doorframe, you saw the shadow of the figure cast onto the crumbling wall. But, the most prominent thing was the old record player, on the floor after sliding off a table that had lost two of its legs. 

It was still quietly playing, on loop somehow. You couldn't make out the tune, but it skipped out every now and then. You couldn't quite make out the tune at first, until it clocked in your head and more tears barraged your eyes. 

'We'll Meet Again', Vera Lynn. How ironic. The only other human voice you were probably going to ever hear again, and it was telling you how you'd meet again, but she didn't know where, and she didn't know when. 

Your attention quickly focused back onto the silhouette on the wall. It stayed still, like a statue. Stuck to its place and firmly rooted in like stone. Just as you were going to walk around the door to see what it was, you heard something, and your blood ran cold. 

"Darling?" 

That was... his voice. Charles' voice. He was here? He was stood behind the door? But why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't he coming to scoop you up in his arms and tell you that he was here now, and everything was going to be alright?

"Charles?" you quietly said, voice so faint it was like a whisper that could have easily been carried away by any kind of breeze. Your ears were greeted with the same silence you had been coping with all day, bar the still playing record on the floor. 

You frantically looked around, hoping to see him somewhere, standing and waiting for you to notice him. But, the scene around you was frustratingly the same as it had been for the past God knows how long, and how it would be for the rest of time, presumably. 

"Charles?" you said again, this time slightly louder as your voice cracked. Radio silence. Bar the still playing record on the floor. "Charles? Please? Say something, Charles. God, please, anything!" you cried, your voice slightly echoing around you. 

You kept repeating similar demands over and over, like saying his name was going to bring him back. Like his name was a prayer, as if someone out there would hear it and give him back to you. 

Rounding the door frame, it was like the shadow disappeared, and it twisted into a black smudge on the wall. Just ash and dirt and dust from the days events. No Charles, no other person, no hope. 

"Charles, this isn't funny," you sobbed, sinking to your knees onto the floor, clutching at your heart as it hurt. You wished that this was all some big, practical joke and everything was fine and this was just a prank. 

But that wasn't reality. Your mind was showing you what you wanted to see, producing what you wanted to hear. And he never responded to your calls. And he never would. All there was was silence.��Bar the still playing record on the floor.

You didn't want to hear the damn record anymore, you already had the lyrics burned onto your brain with a branding iron, but it was the only time you'd ever get to hear someone else's voice apart from your own. 

"Charles, please... I don't want to be alone..." you choked out between sporadic sobs. Out of the corner of your eye, through the tears, you saw something else. A pinkish, fleshy something else. 

Wiping your eyes, you saw a dusty hand jutting out of the rubble. You had already seen enough dead bodies to last a few lifetimes, so it didn't strike you as any different. But, something inside you told you to go closer. 

Now that was when the world really ended. It didn't take long for you to notice the watch on the wrist connecting to the hand. The face was smashed and cracked, the hands no longer ticking in perfect harmony. 

It was reflective of the earth, in some ways. Unbalanced and broken. 

The watch hands were frozen, supposedly at the time he'd left you. You knew those hands so well, you'd be able to tell them apart from any others at any given time. And now was no different.

Those were the same hands that played the piano in your apartment to perfection, the same hands that held his trophies and hoisted them in the air, the same hands that ran through your hair when you were in search of some comfort. 

But now they were dusty, a few small cuts littered about the surface. Tainting the perfection. Skewing the precision. Ruining the purity. 

This time, you only had the one, but that was more than enough for you. In some ways, it felt wrong to touch it, but your hand was already brushing against it before you had the chance to think it over. 

Cold was what it was. Cold and lifeless. Nothing running through his veins, no blood under the surface that stirred. Completely lifeless. 

The rest of him was there somewhere, hidden under the debris. You wanted to see him, but you knew it would scar you for life. More than this ordeal could ever. He'd be mangled, bruised, damaged to a point of no return. 

Entwining your fingers with his, clasping both of your hands around the one you had, you felt at home for a moment. They still fit together perfectly at the minute, and you weren't going to take it for granted like you had so many times. 

Without realising, you'd began to hum along to the tune that was still playing on the old record player on the floor. That was the only sound you could hear as you leant your back against the pile of rubble, still tightly holding onto Charles' hand. 

It wasn't just a song anymore, it felt like a promise. You'd meet him again, even if you didn't know where or when. But you would, some sunny day. 

And that was how you stayed. Humming along to the last song you'd ever hear, holding the hand of the love of your life on the day the world ended. 

A/N - This is the second of this kinda series, and I've already broken the rule of less than a thousand words. I kinda got carried away, so bear with me. This is based off of this version of 'We'll Meet Again', which is a song I loved anyway and this version makes it a little more melancholy.

Also... CAN I GET A BOOP OR TWO PLEASE?!

Anyway, thank you for reading, drop any requests in my inbox, love you loads, sorry for being so inactive recently, I have been a very busy gal and I hate it 😭💖

|masterlist|this made me feel something|

[lakeofflowerss]

micro fic - 594 words.

My sweet boy

As you know, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes.

She was kneeling beside him, caressing his sleeping face as she had done so many times before. She arranged the tousled hair that fell over his forehead. It was dirty, he had cuts she hadn't seen the previous time, dust was all over him and the trail of a dried tear ran in a line down his skin until it got lost in his ear.

His eyes closed, firmly sealed, his skin losing all traces of color, his lips turning a terrifying gray, a gray that dictated the sentence. Never again would those lips part, never again would they release the most shameful profanities in the days before the full moon, never again would they release the heartbreaking wails that accompanied the pain and anguish that followed each transformation. Those lips would never be portals to the sweetest words a mother could hear from her son. For yes, he was her son. She loved him and had taken care of everything as a mother would her little boy.

She took his hand, cold at this point, and wrapped it between her own in a vain attempt to provide warmth. Her surroundings were completely silent, only she was left with the sea of memories brought back by the familiar faces of those fallen.

She looked down again and a tear of her own fell on her boy's cheek. She would never have allowed it but the truth is that she could not even feel the burning in his eyes flooded with painful tears that struggled to break through the windows of anguish without any permission.

She wiped away the adventurous tear and without being able to help herself she leaned towards the man. Man who used to be her boy, her child, her little son. She pulled him to her and cradled him to her chest. This time she didn't feel his arms around her body, she didn't feel the tremors of crying or laughing, she didn't hear him murmuring and the most painful thing was that she didn't feel him breathing.

She was a fool, she knew it. But even the hearts of the wisest people hold out hope for miracles. She began humming a sweet melody but now, filled with pain, it felt so bitter.

She closed her eyes and her mind took her to relive the same situation but in a different circumstance. One of the last transformations of the boy in his first year at Hogwarts. He was a very thin and tall boy, yet he let himself be lulled by her as if he were a baby. He was crying, she felt him sobbing under her embrace. His arms were around her as she combed the messy hair, covered with dirt and dried blood. There were cuts on his face that she didn't see the previous time, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, his breathing was ragged from crying.

"My little Remus, my sweet boy, it's time to rest. Everything will stop hurting soon. I will take care of you."

So she had said at the time, and now she repeated it softly though the calm was already a fact that would last forever. Eternal rest and the cessation of pain had come for her son. Son who would live on in her heart even as it was forever shattered.

Madame Pomfrey wept inconsolably in the privacy of her office once the bodies were removed. She had always cared for and protected him, this time it had been too late but at least peace had come to her son.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Wolverine x m!reader who’s mutation is able to control any kind of metals out there. So, during a mission, when the reader tries to use his mutation, he accidentally controls or throws Logan because of his adamantium skeleton?

Magnetic Mayhem

The mission had gone sideways, as most of them tended to. You and Logan had been tasked with taking out a hidden lab in the middle of nowhere — the kind of place where bad things always seemed to happen. It should have been a simple smash-and-grab: destroy the lab, take the intel, and get out. But, as usual, things had gotten complicated.

Explosions rocked the facility, and the air was thick with dust and smoke. You ducked behind a piece of broken machinery, feeling the familiar pull of adrenaline as your mutation flared to life. Your ability to control metal had always been a powerful asset in battle, and you were ready to use it to finish this mission once and for all.

But something wasn’t right.

"Logan, where the hell are you?" you shouted, scanning the chaotic battlefield for any sign of him.

Logan’s growl echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinctive voice muffled by the chaos around you. "Workin’ on it, kid! Gotta deal with this piece of—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you raised your hand, focusing on the shattered metal debris scattered across the floor. Your mutation surged forward, your control over the metal tightening as you prepared to fling a massive piece of it at the last remaining enemy.

But as you released your power, you felt something else — something heavier, something that wasn’t just broken machinery or discarded weapons.

Suddenly, Logan shot across the room like a bullet, yanked by an unseen force.

"Whoa, whoa!" Logan barked, his gruff voice filled with surprise as he hurtled through the air toward you.

Your eyes widened in horror. "Oh, shit—Logan!"

In a split second, you tried to pull back, to stop the force that had taken hold of him, but it was too late. Logan crashed into a stack of crates beside you, his adamantium-laced body slamming into the metal with a resounding clang.

The crates toppled over, and Logan groaned, pushing himself up from the wreckage. "What the hell was that?"

You scrambled over to him, wide-eyed and panicked. "I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t realize your skeleton—"

Logan shook his head, dusting himself off and shooting you a look that was equal parts amused and irritated. "Yeah, well, now ya know."

He stood up, his muscles tensing as he stretched, clearly uninjured but annoyed by the unexpected flight. "Y’know, most folks would just toss the scrap metal at the bad guys, not their teammates."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. "I wasn’t trying to! It’s just... your adamantium, it reacts to my power. I must’ve lost focus."

Logan smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Guess I’ll have to watch my back more around you."

You huffed, still feeling a little guilty despite Logan’s obvious lack of injury. "Next time I’ll aim better."

Logan chuckled, a rough, gravelly sound that was surprisingly warm. "Don’t worry ‘bout it, kid. We’ll figure it out."

He clapped a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring, before turning his attention back to the fight. "Now, let’s finish this up before you start throwin’ me around again."

You nodded, still flustered, but grateful that Logan wasn’t holding it against you. As the battle raged on, you kept a tighter grip on your mutation, focusing your power more carefully, making sure to keep Logan out of your metallic range.

But despite the chaos of the mission, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Of course, only you would accidentally use your power on Wolverine — a man literally made of metal — in the middle of a fight.

As the last of the enemies fell, Logan looked back at you with a grin, clearly having shaken off any lingering annoyance. "Not bad, kid. Just maybe next time, leave me outta the metal-slingin’, yeah?"

You laughed, relieved that the mission was finally over. "Yeah, I’ll do my best."

Logan’s smile lingered for a moment longer before he turned to head back to the Blackbird. And as you followed behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a little more confident, knowing that despite the mishap, you and Logan made a damn good team.

Even if you did accidentally throw him across the room

[lady-eris]

Thank you for answering my question, so obviously my request will have manga spoilers. But if you wouldn’t mind, could you do readers reaction to when Sukuna takes over megumis body and eventually (or most likely) kills megumi.

Now, I don’t know if you knew about that, and if you didn’t I’m extremely sorry you had to find out this way😭

BIG MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD, Spoilers about his sister also angst.

TW: slightly Descriptive writing about death? Manga spoilers, tells you about Tsumiki? Reader is hinted to die

do not worry as i had already known about this, as well as about his sister and ect. (All the character's i love are just Rengokued)

also Me, as i try and find some music: Searches "Playlist your lover is dead"

Does anyone recognise, the inspiration for this?

The smell of death, was thick. You knew it was bad if you could smell it so strongly, after Having gotten used to it with curses, It was almost a common occurrence to ignore the deceased; For some strange reason, however you couldn't. The tension was so thick, every time you tried to inhale it was as if you were choking?

"MEGUMI!" Shouting a loud, frantically trying to find him. Everyone else, you had lost them all. Your friends, Your mentors, Everyone you cared for they had all died. Nobara and Nanami, Mai and Gojo. Kokichi Muta. They had all Died, or were unknown. You couldn't let hi go, not Megumi. Anyone but him.

Dust appeared, as you halted running scraping your shoes as you spotted the familiar black hair. What was odd however, that instead of having a similar hair style to Gojo, it seemed to defy gravity. Pausing, as you took the back of his appearance in. You could tell from the depths of your soul, the man you was looking at wasn't Megumi

"You're not Megumi"

The Man turned around, a sick and cruel expression on his face. One Megumi would of never had. It was one a sadism, clearly enjoying the enraged and desperate expressions, you made as you quickly came to the conclusion what had happened. Sukuna Ryomen had taken, over the body of Megumi.

It hit's You, The fast realisation. The tear's stinging your eyes, as you secretly pray that it's a cruel nightmare. That it'll be over, and you'll wake up with him kissing you.

It wasn't real.

"Finally"

His gruff voice makes you look up, The denial slowly chipping away. Megumi Fushiguro was gone, Sukuna; The King of Curses had taken what you held the most dear.

"Perhap's i'll keep you for a bit, Then when The brat's at his lowest kill. Properly Shatter his spirits, after I kill his sister. Or would you rather I kill you first?" He asked His hand reaching to your face.

[the-kr8tor]

Katy....forgive me Daily Hobie HC! ...I unfortunately have to...angst-ify zombie puppy hobie Although most people wouldn't want to live with a zombie husband, as you've started calling him, even though he's oblivious to it. You did, and you currently were. However, it had been a couple years since the outbreak, and apparently cures have been coming out now. The news spread rapidly, and amongst the dead, rotting bodies, there were battered, bruised, alive humans. The hospital's lights were dim, but still painfully bright. Hobie winced upon the harsh light hitting his eyes, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You gently pat the back of his neck reassuringly, the silver ring he gave you glistening in the light. Upon seeing the clingy zombie, people were backing away, even holding up guns, but you managed to back them back down by raising your own, instinctively pulling Hobie closer to you. You hoped this cure really worked. Someone had approached you, redirecting both you and Hobie to a free room with the machine to inject the cure. The person had asked a few questions about Hobie's life before turning, which you were surprised yourself that you remembered. He didn't have anything too medically serious, just a minor dust allergy, and now he was still somewhat able to comprehend human emotions. He would hug you when you felt sad, or tilt his head like an adorable puppy when you would smile at him, like his way of smiling back. Hobie 'kissed' you many times on the forehead to reassure you, and the tip of your nose to tell you he loved you. The rings on both his and your fingers. You press your thumb against it, the smooth texture reminding you of the day. As the final question came out, if you wanted him to be cured, you hesitated. Hobie spoke for you, nodding his head unstably with muffled grumbles behind the muzzle. He 'kissed' your forehead, then the tip of your nose, before stumbling into the machine, shaped like a tube. As the person started the injection process, a puff of smoke was released, making him barely visible. After a few moments, you watched a needle come down and stab him. Your heart ached upon seeing the silhouette of his body flinch at the harsh injection, before he grew still. Unhappily still. Hobie felt the last strands of his life ebb away as the cure flooded his veins, the smoke making it more easier to close his eyes due to how much it stung. You screamed in panic, running up to the tube and throwing a fist at the glass, wanting to break Hobie free before it was too late. Before the person behind all this could stop you, you shattered the tube. Hobie fell limply into your lap. He wasn't waking up. You let out a sob, holding his limp body close to yourself, mourning the second, and final death of your lover. How could life be so cruel? Your sorrow was taken over by anger as you heard the voice of the third person in the room. The one who caused all of this. Without even thinking, you pulled out your gun and killed them immediately, not removing your eyes from the face of Hobie. Your lover. Your husband. Your everything. He loved you after his first death, as a zombie. And he loved you until the end. Until now. You now truly lost everyone. -🐦‍⬛

NOOO WHAT DID U DO

Daily Hobie HC ❤️❤️❤️

Yay zombie puppy au— dear god no

Me the whole time while reading this

Why did I think that there was an actual cure 😭😭😭 and here I thought you were just fucking with me with that angst tag 😭

Nooooo the way he wanted to be cured too for R's sake 😭 When I catch you 🐦‍⬛ anon!! Go to your corner now!!

Then R wakes up and it was just a dream! ☺️☺️

[awkwardgtace]

Dancing Hug

back in the universe where borrowers meet their perfect partner in a dream. I need to update my master list, but this is a little follow up to Mira and Corus meeting each other.

Corus wants to dance with Mira.

Dancing Hug

Mira and Corus stood close together in a ballroom. The spotlight on them as Corus led them in a waltz. Music crescendoed in time with each step. The light of the chandelier hanging over them changed colors as they moved. Red, blue, purple, and more. A scene that he’d created just for her. Where the dance lessons he’d taken as a child could finally be used. A thing Mira could-

“Ow!” Corus lost his thoughts as he winced. They’d been at this for hours, maybe hours. He hadn’t gotten a good idea of how time passed in the dreams yet. Mira always seemed to know.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s ok, you’re getting better.” He smiled down at her. Continuing to try and lead her steps to the music that played from nothing. “Just follow my lead, we’ll get this.”

“You’ve said that every time we do this.” Mira’s hold on his hands tightened. A glint in her eyes followed by a huff only solidified her annoyance. “I don’t get this. Dancing is just weird. How are you leading me when I can’t even look down at your feet? All of this is just too…”

The silence hung heavy. Corus leaned his forehead against hers. “Too human?”

The pink of her eyes disappeared behind pale eyelids. She didn’t speak, merely let her tight hold on his hands ebb. Eventually her arms fell to her sides and Corus stood with his arms kept up in their poor attempt to waltz. Mira pulled away, creating the distance refused to close. Everything he tried to show her failed. Each time she wound up confused… The worst times she didn’t talk to him, barely slept, for days.

“Mira, I just wanted to show you something I had been taught,” he whispered. That didn’t change the distance. Mira’s hesitance reflected in the world. The music stuttered, constant stops and starts. The nice ballroom filled with cracks. Plaster fell to the ground, even the chandelier shattered into a glittering dust.

“It’s just a human thing. It wouldn’t matter in the real world,” she said while wrapping her arms around herself. A tight hug that closed off the progress the two were making. The life Corus wouldn’t stop trying to build. Times like this she looked as small as her true height.

“It’s not a human thing, it’s a me thing. I have another idea.”

Corus stepped forward and offered his hand. Mira stared at him, but the ballroom continued to fall apart. Eventually it even grew. Shadows came to tower over them. Turning their private dance into a spectacle. The spotlight on them burned his skin.

“Corus I don’t… I’m not going to get it. There’s just too much and I don’t-”

He closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her and placing his lips against her ear. “Wake up with me.”

Corus blinked, happy to see the real world again. The world where Mira slept on the pillow next to him. The precious seconds he could watch her sleep had no match. He’d never give them up. At these times, the stern look on her face disappeared. A soft smile, her brow relaxed, her posture calm. No hint of the nerves she held inside constantly.

Those same signs told him when she started to wake up. Slowly her posture tensed, making her look smaller. A crease he doubted made sense for him to see appeared on her brow. The smile changed into a thin line. Finally the pink eyes blinked open, adjusting to the world before landing on him. Corus used a finger to pet the hair splayed out around her. It caused a spark of fear until she realized it was just him, just the human she trusted… The one who loved her.

“So what’s the plan?” she croaked. The tiny voice always had an edge to it. A warning that she couldn’t be taken advantage of. Corus loved that edge, loved everything about her.

“Give me a second,” he whispered.

He reached over the pillow Mira laid upon to his desk. A few taps woke up the screen of his phone. He purposely left it leaning against the wall so he could do this, just in case. A swipe of his password and the music app appeared. One quick tap to hit play and the same waltz music from the dream started. The small noise from Mira made him smile.

Next he sat up. A few movements to bounce Mira, each made her glare at him. Each made him smirk at her. He climbed to his feet then placed his hand down next to her. If she couldn’t make dancing work in the dream world, he’d make it work in reality.

“May I have this dance?” he asked. Mira shook her head, he knew all the objections racing through her mind. “Trust me, give this dance a try.”

Mira huffed before climbing to her feet. Slow, stiff steps forward until she reached his fingers. A nervous glance followed by, “You may.” Then her miniscule weight landed on his palm.

Corus wasted no time in bringing her up from the bed. He placed her tiny body against his neck, hugging her tightly to himself. His other arm spread wide as though he had a partner. Then he danced, a simple one two movement. Mira stayed frozen for a short period, not long enough for the song to end.

“Corus, what are you doing?” she squirmed as she spoke.

“I’m dancing with you,” he hummed. The song stayed as the only noise for a minute. As it faded to a new one she squirmed more.

“This is ridiculous, you’re just dancing with yourself.”

“No, you’re my partner. Leaning against my neck. It’s the same as when I tried to slow dance with you and held you close.”

“It’s not the same!”

“Is it different because you can’t try to break my toes anymore?”

“No! Just…” The squirming stopped. Corus slowed his own steps. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around Mira and pulled her into his view. The damp spots on her face were almost too painful. “If anyone saw you they’d say you’re crazy. This… Maybe we shouldn’t be pushing this. We can both walk away still, a borrower will enter my dreams and you can forget about me. Meet someone the human way.”

“Mira, I don’t care what others see, what someone might say. The second we met I knew you were the only person I could love. I don’t plan to walk away from you.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

“Don’t say it.” He brought his hand up to his eyes. A quick tilt of his palm left her sitting in the open. Just his fingers beneath her prone form. “Whatever it is, I know you’re wrong. You’re the only one I care about. I want to dance with you, the same dances I had been taught. The ones we will share in the dreams as I take you to all the things I want us to experience together.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Corus smiled. The smile turned to a smirk as he pulled his hand close. Mira’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t stop him. She had about one second to object before he made his decision. The hand holding her pressed against his cheek. As much pressure as she could handle. The strongest hug he could give her.

“What are you doing!?” she shouted. No squirms, no fighting, she wasn’t trying to get away.

“Hugging the best woman I’ve ever met,” he laughed. They stayed quietly like that. Corus knew if anyone walked in they’d see him holding his hand against his face. A strange sight for an outsider. That would never matter to him. Mira was more than he could have ever hoped to find.

She knew him. Knew the things he could do. Saw the darkest parts of humans. Even then she gave him a chance. She trusted his words about his anger. Slept next to him without fear. Blushed when he let his own steps grow heavier than they had to be. Worried about his own view of their relationship.

“...do you still want to dance?” she mumbled. Corus moved her away and smiled at her.

“If you’ll be my partner.”

“...I will.”

This time Corus moved slower. Carefully cupping his hand against his heart. Leaving her space to move a bit more, but still hugging her to him. Mira was perfect. That was the only thought in his head as he started to waltz once more with his tiny girlfriend hugged against his heart.

[littlemissvenom0]

Title: "When the Dust Settles" pt2 of “For the sake of survival” Peeta Mellark

The rebellion had torn through Panem, leaving the Capitol in ruins and the Games—those twisted, deadly Games—in the past. You had watched from the sidelines as the rebellion raged on, a war fought not only for freedom but for the souls of those trapped by the Capitol’s grip.

And now it was over.

The Mockingjay had taken flight, and Katniss Everdeen had become the symbol of a new world. But through it all, you had only been able to think of one person.

Peeta.

It had been months since you last saw him, since you told him that you couldn’t be with him anymore. The pain of watching him and Katniss in their Capitol love story, even knowing it was fake, had been too much to bear. You had tried to move on, to focus on anything other than the ache in your chest where Peeta’s love had once been.

But when you heard he had been captured by the Capitol, tortured, and used as a pawn in Snow’s games, something inside you shattered. You realized that no matter how far you had tried to distance yourself, you still loved him. You always had.

And now, as the dust settled and the rebellion was over, you found yourself wondering if it was too late to try again. If you had lost him forever.

You were standing in front of your small home in District 12, your hands covered in dirt as you worked in the garden. The world was quieter now, eerily peaceful after so much violence. Rebuilding was slow, but life was returning to your district, piece by piece.

The sound of footsteps on the path behind you made you freeze. Your heart raced in your chest, and you slowly stood, wiping the dirt off your hands as you turned around.

And there he was.

Peeta stood a few feet away, his blue eyes locked onto yours. His face was thinner, pale from the time spent as a prisoner, and there were faint scars along his jawline. But he was still Peeta—your Peeta. The boy with the kind heart and steady hands. The boy who had once loved you more than anything.

You felt a lump form in your throat as you met his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you standing in the ruins of everything you had lost.

“Y/N,” Peeta said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Your mind raced with everything you wanted to say—everything you should have said months ago. But all you could manage was his name. “Peeta.”

He took a slow step toward you, his expression full of raw vulnerability. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as he closed the distance between you. “I didn’t know if you would come back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know if... if you would want to see me.”

Peeta shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve never stopped wanting to see you, Y/N. Even when you left, even when I was trapped in the Capitol. You were the one thing that kept me going.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, trying to stay strong. “Peeta, I thought I lost you,” you said, your voice breaking. “I thought after everything with Katniss... after everything that happened, I thought you moved on.”

Peeta’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch was warm, familiar, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I never moved on,” he said quietly. “Everything with Katniss... it was for survival. It was never real. You’re the one I love. You always have been.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “But you and Katniss, you went through so much together. I thought... I thought maybe that changed things.”

Peeta shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow. “Katniss and I have an understanding now. She knows... she knows what we had was never what I have with you. I couldn’t have made it this far without thinking of you, Y/N. I came back for you.”

His words cut through the lingering doubt in your heart, but the pain of the past still clung to you. “Peeta, I... I pushed you away. I didn’t think I could handle it. And now, after everything, I don’t even know if we can go back to the way things were.”

Peeta stepped closer, his hands cupping your face gently as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze. “We don’t have to go back,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “We can start over. We’ve both changed, but what I feel for you hasn’t. I love you, Y/N. I always have. And I’m not going to let anything take that away again.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and fear. Could it really be this simple? After everything you’d been through, could you truly have him back?

Before you could speak, Peeta reached into his pocket, pulling out something small and silver. Your breath caught in your throat as he opened his hand, revealing a simple, delicate ring resting on his palm.

“I wanted to give this to you before the Games,” he said softly, his voice shaking slightly. “But I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance. And then everything happened with Katniss, and I thought I’d lost you for good. But I’m standing here now, and I’m not going to waste another second.”

He looked into your eyes, his expression filled with a hope that made your heart ache. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The world seemed to stop in that moment. The years of pain, of separation, of doubt—they all melted away under the weight of Peeta’s words. You felt your chest tighten, not with fear, but with love. Love for the boy who had never given up on you, even when you had given up on yourself.

You nodded, your tears falling freely now as you whispered, “Yes.”

Peeta’s face broke into a relieved, shaky smile, and he gently slipped the ring onto your finger. His hands trembled as he did so, and you realized that even now, after everything, he was still afraid you might slip away.

But you wouldn’t. Not this time.

The moment the ring was in place, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around Peeta as he pulled you into a kiss. It was soft and tender, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid but deeply understood. His lips were warm against yours, and you clung to him as if you were afraid he might vanish.

But he didn’t. He was real, and he was here.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against one another as the world settled around you. The war was over. The Games were behind you. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you had a future—a future with Peeta.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart full. “I love you too, Peeta. I always have.”

And this time, you knew you would never have to let him go.

End.

[sortanonymous]

Meta Knightmare AU Stuff: How Max Found Susie (plus general Haltmann family stuff)

Basically the story of the Haltmann family in my Meta Knightmare series, specifically Max's up to the very beginning of MKMIII.

BIG SPOILERS FOR META KNIGHTMARES I-II BELOW (Mostly II)

Just for some background, as a kid, Susie was happily raised by her loving parents in a giant bunker on Shiver Star, where they led a top tech company (one considerably more ethical than the canon HWC to say the least). Those parents were Beatrice, her bubbly mother, and Max, her somewhat goofy father who loved both his wife and his daughter with all his soul and had long promised that he would put himself through whatever he needed to to protect them. (Btw Beatrice was an important magical Ancient and Max an important technological/scientific Ancient, but that's a different story.) On her seventh birthday, Susie was reluctantly allowed to witness a big test of Star Dream, only for its portal to go haywire, and while Max was trapped in the corner of the room, Susie was left clinging for dear life onto the hand of Beatrice, who herself was left clinging onto the railing with her other hand. As Max could only watch in horror, Beatrice gave a look of combined fear, heartbreak, and love to Susie before letting go, putting Susie in a protective bubble, and letting her fall in (sacrificing any chance she herself had at survival in the process in order to save her daughter) just as the portal exploded with herself and her husband still on the other side. As the dust settled, Max was badly injured, but still tried crying out to his family as he crawled across the room. He then found a far-worse-hurt Beatrice in the rubble, who told him that she could sense that Susie was alive and being taken care of in Another Dimension. As Max tried to tell her that he was going to fly out and save their little girl, Beatrice told him that she loved him with all her heart before slipping away into death. Believing he was dying too, Max held onto his wife's hand, lay on the ground, and passed out as he waited to join his beloved Beatrice in death.

When he woke up, however, he was alive, albeit now turned into a cyborg by his Haltworkers to keep him alive. One of his eyes and half of his body (not most of his face) were mechanized in order to keep him alive. As soon as he realized what was going on, he got up and stumbled to where Beatrice's body was being laid before picking her up and sobbing as he cradled the love of his life. Had Susie died in that incident, or even if he was merely unaware of if she initially survived, he likely would have completely fallen into despair and lost all will to live. But with how his wife had spent some of her final seconds telling him that Susie was alright, he was so determined to make sure that he could find a way to rescue her that despite how shattered and shell-shocked he was emotionally by Beatrice's death, he barely gave himself any time to grieve before quickly searching for ways to reunite with Susie. A year of fruitless research followed, culminating in him getting so frustrated that he reluctantly tried Star Dream one more time, this time by using its control helmet. But as if the computer had it out for him, it quickly tried overrunning his mind in agonizing fashion, and he only barely managed to get it shut off in time before his mind was completely consumed. So at that point, Max decided he'd had enough. After commanding his Haltworkers to scrap Star Dream and leave it in the middle of the frozen tundra, he abandoned his home, wealth, and company by flying off in a small ship to find some way to reunite with Susie and get her to safety. All he took with him was all the pictures he could of the past, including a pocket watch with a picture of him, Beatrice, and Susie from that fateful day; the watch had been broken in the incident.

What followed was over 11 years of slowly traveling across the galaxy to several planets in hopes of at least finding something. He'd end up everywhere from Neo Star to Aqua Star to even Ripple Star right after the 02 crisis (probably should have gotten there just a tad earlier). Any time he'd start to lose hope and question if it was worth it and if it would work, he remembered the promise he had always made to protect his family, no matter what it took. If he couldn't protect his wife, then he at least needed to make sure their daughter was okay. That all came to a head on Rock Star, eleven and a half years into his search, when his ship broke down (he had already used up several ships in his search) and as he kept walking and looking for a way to move on, both his organic and robotic halves were struggling in the desert. After also sustaining a hip injury while searching through a junkyard, he nearly gave up right there. But he again remembered the promise he had made as he held newborn Susie in his arms for the first time over 19 years earlier and just kept limping on. Fortunately, not only did he find another ship at the end of that junkyard, but it was a darn good one with the ability to detect the location of Susie through his DNA. Hardly able to comprehend that his years of searching were about to come to a satisfying conclusion, Max began flying his new ship over to Royal Road, Floralia, where Susie somehow was.

Perhaps now is the time to (very slowly) breeze through Susie's side of the story (conveniently starting at the end of Meta Knightmare I). After landing in Another Dimension, she was immediately greeted by a horde of Doomers trying to kill her and a four-year-old Sirica, who had fallen into this place alongside her mother Garlude via separate escape pods as the Halberd was sunk. Susie was left having to run for her life while dragging Sirica away from the horde until Garlude came to shoo them away and lead them to an old base lying around. Susie had immediately started to block out some details of the traumatic incident, but still broke down and needed to be comforted by Garlude as she relayed that her parents may have gotten hurt and that she wasn't sure if she'd ever get home. Garlude immediately decided to take care of both of them as much as she could in Another Dimension, and a few days later, they somehow managed to call Meta and Mikey (Garlude's best friends and fellow Knights) and found out not only that a giant portal to the dimension opens every 8-ish years, but that the base they were in was, in fact, an abandoned Ancient ship - the "base ship", as they'd all call it - that needed a lot of repairing to fly again. With that, the three waited around in AD for eight years while Meta and Mikey picked up all of their other crewmates who had been scattered across Popstar after the Halberd crashed. Then that time came (start of Meta Knightmare II), and long story short, the base ship was up and running at the perfect time and Susie joined the Meta-Knights as they went on adventures and went onto making their comeback. (Also she more or less became sisters with Sirica, but that's for another day.) Even as she missed her old life, things were mostly calm until the mission to salvage the Halberd two years in, when she was in a scary water pod crash. While she was uninjured and Meta was able to save her, the crash suddenly reminded her of every bit of the portal disaster that had happened eight years earlier to the day, and while Meta was able to comfort her about it, she still believed that both her parents were killed in the incident. A couple years after that, while her father was one drive away from ending his quest, she was in Royal Road for the second time since leaving AD alongside the Knights to help Sectonia with a bit of growing corruption. (That one's definitely a story for another day.)

It was in the middle of the night after that was resolved when Max finally landed in the royal family's garden, with Susie quickly recognizing him and frantically stopping the guards from shooting him out of the sky. As soon as he walked out with a makeshift walking stick in hand, the two of them immediately ran to each other and embraced, just crying for a while as a truly miraculous reunion took place. Among many other things said in the moment, Max briefly explained how he had gotten here and told her that her mother would be so proud of her for getting out. Susie, meanwhile, explained how she got here and how much the Knights meant to her. Seeing how much the Knights meant to her and how much she had grown up in the past twelve years, Max allowed her to stay on that crew. But with the Knights seeing that he clearly had nothing left to return to, they allowed him to join the team and live close to his daughter, although instead of living with them, he chose to live in a chintzy little dome-shack on the shore right across from Halberd Island. After so many grueling years reeling from that tragic incident, Max, now reunited with his daughter and being part of a whole new family in the Knights, would become a key member of the team within the next few years (aka by the start of Meta Knightmare III), and they all lived happily ever after. Well, at least until MKMIII actually began, but for the last time, that's a story for another day.

[a-chapter-a-week]

Chapter 4: Dark Experiments

Eli’s hand trembled as he stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror of his cramped bathroom. He barely recognised the man staring back. The face was gaunt, skin sagging with unnatural pallor. His hair, once a dark and youthful chestnut, was now streaked with brittle strands of grey. The crow’s feet etched beside his eyes had grown deeper, creeping like ivy down his cheeks. No longer could he convince himself that he was just tired or overworked. No, this was something far worse, something creeping up on him from within, feeding off each stolen moment in the frozen world.

He touched his face with a mixture of disbelief and anger. He and Micah should have been identical, but now his brother looked a decade younger. Eli’s twin, with his vibrant eyes and smooth skin, was the spitting image of what Eli used to be. Eli hadn’t seen Micah in months, avoiding him, avoiding everyone—angry, embarrassed, afraid. He’d lost track of how many days or weeks he’d spent slipping in and out of frozen time, indulging every impulse, every twisted urge.

“None of it should matter,” he hissed at his reflection, his hands curling into fists. “I can do anything. I can take anything. I shouldn’t have to pay for this.”

But the anger only ate away at him more. The power, the intoxicating thrill of it, had opened doors to dark places he’d never known existed within himself. His experiments had gone from harmless thrills to petty crimes, from petty crimes to something far worse.

Now, his thoughts turned in directions that would have once made him recoil in disgust. Tonight, he didn’t bother to question it.

He stood on the edge of an Olympic track, where he’d slipped into frozen time during a 100-meter sprint. The runners were frozen mid-air, muscles taut and faces contorted with exertion. Eli scanned the runners, noting the fierce concentration etched into each of their expressions. To be the fastest human, he thought, you would have to give everything—every fibre of muscle, every cell, every heartbeat—dedicated to victory.

With a detached curiosity, Eli approached the front runner, studying his powerful, defined legs. Eli crouched, pulling a hunting knife from his pocket, and rested it just above the runner’s knee. With a flick of his wrist, he slashed cleanly, severing the man’s leg in a single, brutal motion. He moved back to observe his work, almost fascinated by the surreal sight of the leg hanging mid-air, blood droplets suspended like rubies in the sunlight. In the quiet, frozen world, Eli allowed himself a grim smile, the thrill outweighing the faint pang of guilt that lingered in the back of his mind.

He let time resume.

The runner’s scream echoed across the stadium, blending with the shocked gasps of the crowd, horrified onlookers rising to their feet. The man crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony, his dreams shattered in an instant. Eli watched from the sidelines, a cold satisfaction settling in his gut.

But it didn’t stop there. Eli had grown addicted to pushing boundaries, to the thrill of bending time to his will. The things he did became darker, crueler, driven by a desperate urge to feel something beyond the anger and emptiness gnawing at him.

He waltzed into a high-end restaurant one evening, the diners frozen mid-bite, laughter and conversation paused mid-breath. Eli moved through the tables, injecting each frozen diner with a dose of heroin. It was another twisted experiment, an indulgence to see how they’d react, to prove his power over life itself. He watched as time resumed and the scene devolved into chaos, the patrons collapsing, twitching, or slumping forward, unaware of what had happened.

Eli withdrew to his crumbling apartment, now a fortress of isolation. The blinds were perpetually drawn, the room cluttered with the spoils of his plundering and hoarding—stacks of money, valuables, trophies taken from his twisted games. Dust settled over everything, mirroring the decay spreading through his soul.

But even as he filled his life with stolen goods and dark thrills, he felt hollow. There was no escape from the relentless, suffocating ache gnawing at him. He had taken and taken, yet still felt starved, like a man devouring his own flesh just to feel something.

One evening, as he paced his dingy apartment, the shadows in the room shifted. Eli paused, every hair on his neck prickling. The air grew dense, weighted, and the shadows seemed to darken, twisting until a familiar figure emerged from them.

The stranger.

He stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped casually behind his back, his eyes as cold and unreadable as ever. The same dark suit, the same air of quiet menace. He regarded Eli with an expression that bordered on pity, though there was no sympathy in his gaze.

“Eli,” the stranger said, his voice like smoke curling through the room, filling it with a dark, unsettling calm. “I see you’ve taken to the gift… eagerly.”

Eli’s heart hammered in his chest. Anger rose in him like bile. “Who are you?” he snarled, fists clenching. “What did you do to me?”

The stranger’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I merely gave you a key. What you chose to unlock… was entirely up to you.”

Eli took a step forward, fury tightening his features. “You never said there’d be a price. Look at me!” He gestured wildly to his aging face, his hunched shoulders, the wear that had transformed him into someone decades older than he was. “I didn’t ask for this!”

The stranger tilted his head, eyes darkening. “No, you didn’t ask. But you took, all the same. You indulged, you squandered, you corrupted everything that lay before you. All you had to do was learn the value of time, Eli. The one thing we’re each given, the one thing you now realise has slipped through your fingers.”

Eli’s breathing grew ragged, desperation mingling with fury. “I won’t let you take it from me. I’ll keep it as long as I want!”

The stranger’s smile faded. “Time was never yours to own. It’s a gift, Eli, and a gift taken for granted always carries a cost.”

Eli felt a strange ripple in the air, like something was tightening around him, pulling him in. A deep, instinctual fear surged through him. He couldn’t lose the device. It was all he had left. If he lost it, he’d be nothing, no one, swallowed by time, left to rot.

With a surge of desperation, he flicked the device, freezing time around them. The stranger’s form remained, solid and unmoved, his dark eyes locked onto Eli’s with an unyielding gaze.

Panicked, Eli stumbled back, the walls seeming to close in on him. He turned and fled, racing down the stairs and out onto the street, leaving his apartment behind, his heart pounding as he weaved through the frozen world outside. He looked back once, half-expecting to see the stranger following, but there was no one. Just the stillness, the eerie silence of a world in pause.

He pushed forward, sprinting until his lungs burned, his face twisted in grim determination. He would run. He would keep running. He wouldn’t let the stranger take from him what he’d claimed. This power was his—his, no matter the cost.

But as he staggered through the frozen streets, the aching hollowness within him grew. His reflection in the shop windows was a stranger’s—a man with wild eyes and skin that sagged with age, his own face a shadow of the youth he’d once taken for granted. He pushed forward anyway, desperate to escape the invisible threat looming over him, the gnawing knowledge that time was slipping through his fingers even faster than he could run.

And somewhere, in the depths of the frozen world, Eli knew the stranger was watching, waiting. The hunter had been set loose.

[bunny-rambles]

hii theree! for the event, how about scaramouche with 13? it could be fluff or hurt/comfort, whatever you feel like doing if that's okay:>

13 - “I can’t deal with you right now.”

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characters; Scaramouche, Tartaglia/Childe, (cheerful) gn reader

cw/tw; it’s kind of vague but Scara is extremely overworked and he grabs your wrist to stop you from touching him but he thinks you’re an enemy? He’s kind of delusional when he does it (he feels really, really bad about it), Tartaglia being a lil shit, swearing, hurt/comfort, Scara is trying his best, let me know if I missed anything.

word count; 1.8k

notes; Hi !! My original idea was to do fluff but two characters have now had the fluffy 13, so I thought ’d try to give you the best of both with the angstier 13, but made it fluffy hurt/comfort. I hope you enjoy it !! So sorry it’s taken so long !!

Please reblog if you like this!!

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“Scara!”

It was a daily routine. You would barge into his office, plop yourself down on his desk or his lap and ‘bother’ him. On and on, you could talk for hours without stopping. And most of the time that was okay, the harbinger didn’t actually mind you, even if he did mumble how ‘irritating’ you were under his breath while his lips were pressed against your forehead.

However, today was not one of those days.

Really, you should’ve known that when his head didn’t even turn in your direction, or when his fists tightened around the documents he was reading.

“Yoohoo! Anyone home?” You sang out, with not a care in the world.

“Get lost.”

“Aw, that’s not a very nice way to treat your partner! Where’s my hugs and kisses?” A stupid decision, really; to ignore an all powerful harbinger’s warning was a death sentence for some. Forgetting that was careless.

“I said get lost.” His voice was clearer, much louder, yet he still hadn’t raised his head to look at you.

“You don’t really mean that!” You laughed gleefully, about to snatch away the papers in his hand, when suddenly his hand flew out and grabbed your wrist out of instinct.

“What did I just say?!”

“Ow! S-Scara-“

His grip tightened on your wrist, your bones feeling like glass under his hold. One wrong move and they could shatter. He glowered at you as he raised from his seat. His stature was miniature, but the way he was towering over you now as you lowered to your knees from the searing pain his small hand was inflicting, he seemed no less intimidating than the fatui guards patrolling around the area on your way in. Perhaps even more so.

The pain didn’t last long, and neither did the overpowering dominance he had over you. Your lover was not cruel (to you). When he finally realised what he was doing, he dropped his trembling hand. Both of you were shocked from what had just happened, and it served as a painful reminder as to just how powerful he really was. Clearly he saw you as an enemy, instead of his lover at that moment.

You drew your hand to your chest immediately, your spare hand cradling the reddened flesh on your wrist.

“Just go.”

“But-“

“I can’t deal with you right now.”

Your wrist hurt, but the pain beginning to tear through your chest was unbearable. Wordlessly, you stood, your joyful mood turning into dust as you got to your feet. With that, you left.

The quiet man sighed, lifting his gaze from the endless pile of papers in his hands. The room was dark, the only light coming from the slither of moonlight peeking through the closed window. Ah. He’d been here the whole day. It was… Eerily quiet without you. His eyebrow furrowed at the memory of your panic stricken face, how your hand turned stiff when he gripped your wrist.

He ran a hand down his face, cursing himself internally. It wasn’t your fault he was stressed. You were anything but stressful, actually. The way he treated you when you were just trying to cheer him up… It just wasn’t fair.

He groaned quietly, muffled by the hand still on his face. “You…” You really did make him go soft after all, didn’t you? Never in a million years did he think he would be apologising to someone, let alone feeling bad about hurting someone else’s feelings. His gaze peaked out from the gaps in his fingers, checking the time from the clock on his desk. It wasn’t too late to fix this. But… How? He wasn’t very good with the whole… ‘Feelings’ thing.

Down the corridor, he could faintly hear the sound of hearty laughter, and an annoyingly loud, familiar voice boasting about a mission they had just completed successfully. Next were the sounds of thundering footsteps, directly approaching his office. Only one person was stupid enough to enter his room without knocking.

“Good evening, comrade! Did you finish the papers I left you this morning?”

The shorter male let out a low, heavy exhale. “No.”

“Aw, that’s not very nice!” ‘Now where’s my hugs and kisses?’ Even now, he could hear your words. Unfortunately they were now in Childe’s voice. Scaramouche shuddered with disgust at the thought of that.

“I’m not doing your work for you.”

“Not even if I offer my help in return?” His colleagues' voice had a playful lilt, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

“What could I possibly need help with from you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe… Helping your partner feel better?”

The harbinger paused in his action of putting his papers to the side of the desk, his head raising stiffly to face the taller man’s smug face. His fists clenched at his sides tightly, his knuckles going white before he let his hands release.

“What do you want?”

“Sparring for a month, you do my half papers and… Hm…” The ginger's fingers snapped, his eyes lighting up. “New weapons!”

This was for you. He was doing it for you. Even admitting he needed help was embarrassing enough.

“Deal.” He mumbled through gritted teeth.

I’m doing this for you.

-

He had expected you to ignore him when he came home, but he didn’t expect the house to be shrouded in darkness, nor the eerie silence that followed it. The only reason Scaramouche knew you were home was due to your discarded boots near the door. Trailing up the stairs, he could also see your haphazardly discarded clothes. Good - you weren’t downstairs. He needed all the time he could get if he was going to make this work.

Your nose twitched still the aroma emanating around the room, tired, heavy eyes fluttering open. When you got home, all you did was undress, put on a comfy outfit and go to bed; you had a feeling you’d be sleeping alone that night, so there was no need to make an effort or expect to be awoken. A muffled curse resounded from downstairs, and in your hazy, half-asleep mind, you could just about tell who that voice belonged to. You let out a tired groan as you sat up slowly, silently making your way out of your room and down the stairs. “Scara?” You asked through a yawn, rubbing one of your eyes.

“Shit.” You heard a crash of pans, making you flinch.

“Are you o-“

“-M’fine! Just… Stay there a minute!”

“Oh… Okay…” Another yawn made its way out of your mouth, your voice quiet both because you were tired and in fear of making him mad at you again. You didn’t realise he was that bothered by your cheerfulness. While you were deep in thought about the situation, you hadn’t even realised he was standing right in front of you. You certainly didn’t notice the stains decorating his usual attire either, or the streak of flour smeared across one of his cheeks.

“You’re home?” You asked quietly, tilting your head in confusion.

He nodded slowly, his arms folding across his chest, most likely to hide the evidence of what he had been doing. “Yeah.”

“But I thought…”

“Go into the kitchen. There’s something for you there.” Oh? Curious, you stepped past the worn out man, the slump of his shoulders being missed by you entirely.

In the middle of your kitchen table was a large cake. It wasn’t the best you had seen - the icing covering the whole thing had patches showing the body underneath and you were sure the whole thing was leaning to one side. But that didn’t matter, not when you saw what was written in the middle.

With a stark contrast to the messy presentation, in the neatest handwriting, you saw the word ‘Sorry.’ Next to the dessert was some sort of pink flower, shimmering with violet streaks coating the petals. Sakura blooms.

“Tartaglia said that this would help.” The balladeer mumbled from behind you, but it was oddly quiet. When you turned to face him, you saw that he was looking away from you, the tips of his ears a deep scarlet. “So… Do you like this kind of stuff or was this just that ginger trying to make me look stupid?” You could tell he was trying his best to sound annoyed, but there was no bite in his voice. When you didn’t reply, he was forced to look back at you. His breath caught in his throat when he saw glistening tears roll down your reddened cheeks.

“Wait, hey- stop crying…” Did I do something wrong? The question went unspoken.

“Sorry…” You sniffled, wiping your tears away quickly. “Do you… Do you mean it?”

“Yeah.” His foot shifted, stepping in front of you to cup one of your cheeks, his thumb rubbing the damp skin tenderly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never done that…” Vibrant eyes shifted down to your wrist and looked away in shame. It’s not like it was bruised or even swollen, but it should’ve never happened in the first place. i“I’ll never forgive myself…” Even if at the time he didn’t see you, but instead one of his enemies, it was still inexcusable.

“I forgive you, though.”

“You… You do?”

You nod slowly. It was wrong, and you both knew that, but he gave up his pride for you by apologising. You knew he meant it when he said sorry, as it was a word not even in his vocabulary at the best of times.

“I will never do it again.”

“Good. Or I won’t forgive you next time.”

A rare smile spread across his lips. There wouldn’t be a next time, he would make sure of that. “You better not.” He didn’t deserve you, or the kindness you continuously showed to him, but he was ever so thankful for it.

“Did you really make that cake yourself?”

His lips pursed, the hues of crimson spreading across his cheeks. “… Yeah. Sorry if it’s not good…”

His warning came too late, you already helping yourself to a slice and taking s bite before he could finish. He stood rigidly, watching you in anticipation.

“It’s delicious!”

He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his body going lax. It didn’t last long however, as you pressed your lips against his cheek. “Thank you…”

You heard a grumble, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you in closer.

“Yeah… Whatever.” In ‘Balladeer’, you were sure that meant;

I love you.