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merxcywritesthings · 11 days ago

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𝐹𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑆𝑘𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐵𝑙𝑢𝑒

A/N: I am filled with angsty ideas, you guys to need recommend me some fluff! Anyway, I figured I would write about Jinx next, since i wrote about Vi.

TW: Death, Hallucinations, Guns, Accidental Murder.

Word Count: 1.4k

Reader is Female

You were always there for Powder.

From the moment you two stumbled into each other’s lives as kids, scuffing your knees and laughing through the grime of Zaun, you knew she was special. Powder, with her bright blue hair, endless dreams, and that mischievous light in her eyes—she made you believe in something more. Maybe it was the way she rambled on about her silly inventions, or the way her hands danced when she explained her wildest ideas, her voice full of hope. Or maybe it was because you saw her as she saw you: someone who wanted to belong.

You loved her. Even as kids, it was there, silent but true. Not that you ever said anything. How could you? She was Powder, your Powder. The girl who wanted to ride a blimp and touch the clouds. The girl who dreamed of the topside skies.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Then it all fell apart.

You remembered the smoke, the shouting, the chaos that swallowed your home whole. Vander was gone. Vi was gone. And Powder…

No, Jinx.

They said she vanished. They whispered about the girl with the bombs, the one who burned bright like a firework and destroyed everything in her wake. The Zaunites called her a ghost, a demon, Silco’s pet monster.

But you couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t believe it.

You spent weeks wandering through the debris-strewn streets of the Lanes. Every alley, every shadow seemed to hold a trace of her. You heard whispers of Silco, of strange explosions, but none of it led you to her. The places you once played together—the old sewer tunnel, the abandoned warehouses—were empty now, silent ruins filled with ghosts.

The nights were the worst. You’d sit under the broken pipes of your hideout, staring at the dim glow of Piltover above, wondering if Powder was watching the same light. You whispered to the darkness, hoping she might hear you. “Come back, Powder. Please.”

But there was only silence.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Months became years, and time changed you. The streets taught you how to survive, how to scrape by when the world turned cold. You worked odd jobs, scavenging parts from scrap heaps, running errands for merchants who barely paid you a coin. But you never stopped dreaming for something better—not for yourself, but for her.

You still saw her sometimes, in glimpses. A flash of blue down a crowded street. A laugh that sounded just like hers, only to turn into static when you followed. You knew it wasn’t real. She was a ghost now, the ghost of your Powder.

And yet, you pressed on. You worked harder, pushing yourself through the grime and the hunger. You told yourself it was what Powder would’ve wanted. We’ll go live topside with Vi and Vander, we’ll make something of ourselves she would say tinkering with her latest invention. And you tried.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Eventually, you saved enough to get out of Zaun—even just for a little while. The topside was everything Powder once described to you, from the clean cobblestone streets to the strange, humming machines in Piltover’s marketplace. You marveled at it all, feeling out of place yet unable to tear your gaze away. And that was when you saw it: a blimp soaring high above the streets, its silver hull gleaming in the sunlight.

You’d promised her once. We’ll ride one together someday.

It hurt, but you paid what little you had for a single ride.

When you stepped onto the deck, your heart pounded. The wind whipped through your hair as the blimp climbed higher and higher, leaving the city behind. Below, the sprawling streets of Piltover gave way to clouds, soft and endless.

It was beautiful.

You closed your eyes and let yourself imagine that she was there beside you, her small hand in yours, her face full of wonder. “See, Powder? I made it. Just like you wanted.”

The words were stolen by the wind, but you hoped she heard them wherever she was.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It happened on a day like any other.

You were wandering through an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the Lanes, searching for scrap to sell. The air smelled like rust and smoke, and the metal creaked beneath your boots. It was late in the evening, the shadows long and the silence unnerving. You had learned to tune it out over the years—the way Zaun felt like it was always waiting to swallow you whole.

Then you saw her.

A flash of blue.

You froze in place, your heart slamming against your ribs. At first, you thought it was just another hallucination, a cruel trick of the fading light. But then she moved, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing across the concrete.

Your voice caught in your throat. “Powder?”

She turned, slowly, and for a moment, your world stopped.

It was her—and yet it wasn’t. The girl you remembered, the girl you loved, had changed. Her hair, once braided carefully with your help, now hung in wild, tangled strands. Her clothes were a chaotic patchwork of leather and belts, torn and smeared with soot. Her eyes… they weren’t the soft blue you remembered. They glowed pink, sharp and unnatural, like embers left too long in the fire.

Her gaze settled on you, and she tilted her head, smiling in a way that didn’t feel quite right. “Haven’t heard that name in a while,” she said, her voice sing-songy, almost mocking.

Your chest tightened. “It’s you,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s really you. I thought you were gone.”

The smile widened. “I’m not gone. I’m just… better.”

“Powder,” you stepped closer, ignoring the alarm bells going off in your mind. You had to be sure. “It’s me. I’m here. I looked for you. I never stopped looking.”

Something flickered in her gaze—a hesitation, like she recognized you. But it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

“Jinx,” she corrected. “That’s my name now. Jinx.”

The word made your stomach drop. You’d heard the name whispered in hushed voices across the Lanes. The girl with the bombs. Silco’s girl. But this wasn’t Jinx. This was Powder. It had to be.

“Powder, please,” you begged softly. “It’s me. Remember? I… I love you.”

Her smile faltered, and for the briefest moment, you saw her. Powder. The girl you shared everything with. The girl who promised you both would touch the sky one day.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around her trembling frame. “You’re okay,” you whispered against her shoulder. “You’re safe. You’re home now.”

Then it snapped.

Her body went rigid, and suddenly you were shoved back, her strength far greater than you remembered. You stumbled, confusion turning into panic as you saw the wild look in her eyes—eyes darting around like they were chasing something you couldn’t see.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, hands clutching at her temples. “You’re not real. You’re not real.”

“Powder, it’s me!” you cried. “I’m right here! Look at me, please!”

Her gaze snapped back to you, sharp as glass. “Liar,” she hissed. “You’re one of them. You’re just like them!”

You opened your mouth to plead again… and that’s when you saw it.

The gun in her hand.

Your heart stopped. “Powder…”

“Jinx! It’s Jinx now!” she screamed, her finger trembling on the trigger. Her pink eyes flickered, caught between recognition and madness. For a moment, you swore you saw tears there, too.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward. “I love you, Powder. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and fleeting.

Her expression broke—just for a second.

Then… Bang.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The world was quiet.

The pain was immediate and blinding, burning through your chest as you fell to your knees. You gasped for breath, your vision swimming with spots of color.

Jinx—Powder—stared at you, her eyes wide, her hands shaking around the smoking gun. The grin had vanished. In its place was horror, her lips quivering as she dropped the weapon to the ground.

“No… no, no, no…” she whispered, stumbling forward. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to!”

You tried to speak, but nothing came. The air was too thin, too far away. All you could do was look at her—the girl you’d loved since you were kids. The girl who dreamed of touching the sky.

Your vision blurred, and as the darkness crept in, you thought of the blimp. The sunlight. The clouds stretching out forever.

“For you, Powder,” you mouthed, your lips barely moving.

And then… nothing.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Jinx sat there for a long time, cradling your lifeless body.

In the silence, the hallucinations whispered their cruel mockery. But for once, Jinx didn’t listen. She just stared at you, the only person who ever loved her, truly loved her, and wondered if she had finally broken something she couldn’t fix.

The sky, somewhere above Zaun, remained blue.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 💙

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦: @𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

#arcane x reader #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x you #arcane

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ohdeerfully · 9 months ago

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hii! i just read everything you've posted and am obsessed. can you possibly write an alastor x fallen angel!reader? i would just love to see the interactions! -🐈‍⬛ anon

HIII 🐈‍⬛ im sorry this took one hundred thousand days to write. but at least its fairly long!!!!!! 4k words

honestly i cant imagine alastor warming up to an angel very quickly, like he would probably haaate reader for a long time before being like "actually u know what <3"

though that being said this can definitely be read as a platonic story since theres no romance (though maybe ill write a romantic fallen!reader someday)

anyway hope u enjoy!! mwah!

Welcome to Hell

alastor x reader TW: heavy descriptions of gore WITH the reader, reader is heavily wounded, alastors a dick, cursing obviously, thats it i think join my discord!

PLS READ: im putting the story immediately under a read more because it jumps really quickly into gore, so if ur uncomfy with that please dont read on!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

“Hey, bitch,” A dangerously whispered voice spoke in your ear after you shooed away a small demon, sending all the warning bells in your body ringing. You stood and braced yourself to run, but—

The sensation of bone and arteries being savagely torn from your shoulder blades sent flaming, white hot pain through your body, setting every nerve ablaze and prompting a scream of agony through your lips. Your throat quickly became sore with the intensity of your cries as you crumpled over yourself, tightening your arms around yourself in a useless attempt at comforting the pain away.

Knife-like sensations rolled through your body, leaving you struggling to catch your breath and see through tears. You lifted your gaze from your trembling, bloody-gold hand onto the two who stood above you, one looking down with a twisted smirk and the other a disgusted sneer. The man still held your ripped wings between his claws. You could barely hear the ambience of terrified screaming that surrounded you through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Angels like you sicken me,” Lute said, chin tilted up in superiority. “You don’t even deserve that title.” She brought a foot up and then down onto your shoulder, shoving you onto your chest. The movement made you scream as another flash of pain ignited in your back. You balled your hands into fists, pulling them against your chest as you pressed your forehead against the hot ground, trying to catch your breath once again.

You sat, hunched, for what felt like hours. Maybe it was hours, as when you finally came to your senses the atmosphere was eerily silent. Adam and Lute were long gone. You only heard the faint noise of cannibalistic demons tearing apart bodies, and the occasional rustle of trash or paper being thrown in the wind across a deserted street. The recognition made you sit up—oh, shit, too fast. Your vision practically vanished as your head became light. You tried to catch yourself with your hands before you fell backwards, but considering the nature of your wound; ripped flesh directly over your shoulder blades… your elbows buckled at the intense sting.

I’m so fucking stupid, you cursed yourself as you contemplated your situation, deciding that it would be better to not try to stand up and walk around right now. Honestly, you’d be surprised if bloodloss didn’t kill you, considering the glistening puddle that had formed around you. You had managed to slowly scoot into a somewhat secluded corner and rested your head against the brick wall. Uncomfortable, but all things considered… it might as well be a five star hotel bed to you. Your eyes shut.

“Come on—...never know-”

“If you think— unpredictable—”

The two things you noticed when you came to were a broken conversation and an uncomfortable prickling sensation on your skin. You struggled to crack open your eyes, dried blood nearly pasting your left eye together. When you finally managed, you still had trouble focusing.

Two blurry, tall demons stood in front of you. Despite the fact they were demons, it felt considerably less imposing than the two that were in front of you earlier that day—was it still the same day? Still, you were on high alert and grabbed for where you thought you had left your weapon. You palmed at empty concrete. You cursed both at the lack of your tool for self defense and at the fact the two noticed you were now conscious.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” An amused bark of laughter erupted from the taller of the two, which forced your gaze back towards them. “We confiscated your little prong for our safety.” You blinked rapidly, squinting slightly till you could finally focus your eyes and actually get a good look at them. Surely enough, your trusty spear was held tightly between red claws.

To your right was an oddly friendly looking girl with blond hair and the reddest cheeks you had ever seen, who stood with a slight bend at the hip and hands on her knees as she peered down at you. Her brows were turned up and furrowed with what you guessed was worry, although the thought was shocking considering… the circumstances, you mused gravely when another rush of throbbing pain coursed through your body, reminding you of the giant wound on your back. You hadn’t noticed yourself wince, but the woman in front of you did, what with the way her hand shot forward as if wanting to help you. She paused, unsure.

You turned your head to the voice, taking in the demon next to her. He was just a bit taller, and incredibly… red. Red coat, red hair, red eyes… a little excessive, maybe—though, it didn’t really matter what you thought of his fashion choices, because the overwhelming and ominous feeling of dread ensnared your thoughts. He bent at the hip in a similar manner to the girl next to him, though the movement seemed somehow much less natural. The ever-present radio noise in the air increased in volume as his face inched closer. Meeting his gaze seemed to cause your mind to fill with a buzzing emptiness, prickling your entire being and causing your skin to tickle with goosebumps. Although you’ve never met him before, you knew by aura alone the power he held, especially over you in this situation. It was frankly obvious that he knew, too, for he stood with practiced leisure, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand as he fidgeted curiously with your spear in the other. You immediately switched your gaze towards the friendlier of the two, who still seemed to be fighting a mental war, her still outstretched hand twitching as she considered her next move.

With a brief, sideways look towards her companion, she smiled gently and outstretched her hand in your direction. You eyed it suspiciously, gaze flicking between her and her hand. She had to have ulterior motives, right? Maybe she was just leading you somewhere where you could be finished off. Or something. Adam always insisted that the demons were far to “fucking stupid” to know how to hurt, let alone kill an angel, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to various strange experiments and tests. They were demons, after all. In Hell.

Though, you had to admit to yourself with a sigh, at this point, I’m not any different than them. You figured “fallen angel” could even be a worse title than demon, because how horrible of a being do you have to be to fall from holy stature? Was saving the life of a demon, a child, at that, so evil?

It wasn’t worth thinking about, you decided. You were here. In Hell. Fuck.

You raised an embarrassingly trembling hand and cautiously received her own, and fought yourself to keep from ripping away as her slender fingers wrapped over yours. You were watching her movements sharply, nearly flinching when her black manicured nails glinted as they caught a light. Even still, her expression regarded you with so much undeserved compassion, a softness in the subtle curve of her eye, that you let your shoulders relax. She pulled you gingerly to your feet, and caught you against her steady shoulder when you nearly fell.

“I’m Charlie, by the way,” She said. Although she seemed hesitant earlier, every minute that passed seemed to confirm some unknown idea in her head as she slowly grew more vibrant and excited. Even still, she remained otherwise calm and gentle, her body holding strong to support nearly your full weight. She shot a look at the other demon.

“Oh! I apologize for my manners,” You weren’t even lookin at him—his voice alone sent a weird feeling down your back. You turned to look. “Alastor! A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure!”

You finally turned to look, and noticed he didn’t hold his hand out, but rather the blunt end of your spear. When you reached to grab it, maybe to yank it away from him—not that you had any intention of fighting back at this point—you found that he still held a vice-like grip to it. When your fingers closed around the stick, he merely shook it, as if the weapon was an extension of his own hand. You weren’t really sure whether or not to take it as an insult.

Charlie seemed indifferent to Alastor’s antics, and you started a bit when she seemed unable to control herself any longer, and began blabbering about some hotel and some plan she had. She spoke with such a furious speed that you wondered if anybody could decode her words. She paused, suddenly, to take in a long breath, but the other demon interrupted her before she could begin again.

“Charlie, while I love watching you try so desperately, I’m not sure beings of their ilk are fit for your idea.”

Ilk? Sure, you understood him holding caution to your presence, considering you were an angel, but come on! Circumstances have changed for you! You opened your mouth, planning to make some retort (that you had not yet planned out) but Charlie quickly beat you to it.

“No! Alastor, come on, I know they’re… was one of them, but that gives them all the more reason to want to follow my plan… right..?” She looked down at you, where you still leaned heavily on her shoulder as the three of you slowly walked down the street. You honestly weren’t sure what they were talking about—you barely managed to catch a single word she rattled about earlier. You gave a weak shrug and a nod, just to be agreeable.

Alastor only gave a dismissive ‘hmm’ in return, and picked up his pace to walk in front of Charlie and you. In fact, he kept his pace and just continued walking away, down the sidewalk, around a corner, and gone. Personally, you didn’t mind. The air was noticeably lighter without his presence.

Charlie sighed in defeat, but didn’t mention it. She seemed accustomed to his behavior. You silently expressed your sorrows for her; even if he was nicer than he appeared, which you doubted heavily, he was likely still an exhausting guy to be around.

The walk was long and unbearably painful for you, each labored step sending pulses of sore pain through your body, and your back occasionally exploding in needles that would halt you in your tracks. Charlie was incredibly patient, and you couldn’t even begin to word how thankful you were for her. Being one of two demons you had encountered since falling, you began wondering what else was in store for you down here for what you assumed may be the rest of your eternity.

You didn’t have long to ponder, as it seemed enough time passed since the extermination for demons to start their usual routines. And man, what routines they had. If you weren’t in imminent danger, you would find the scene almost comically chaotic. There were projectiles smashing through windows, sending shards everywhere, and fires erupting from said windows. Your eye caught the glinting of weapons in the hands of various demons, which some were… actively using to stab another demon. And, of course, when bodies fell there were at least two pit-eyed cannibalistic creatures that would descend on the corpse like starved dogs. You clung close to Charlie, who seemed unnervingly calm in the situation. Surprisingly, even with the lack of a weapon or any means of self-defense, nothing came at you.

Seeming to sense your unease, she looked at you with a calming smile. “Charming, huh?” She joked lightly. She grimaced slightly at the sound of a scream being cut short by a loud bang. “It’s not usually… this bad. They’re just worked up after extermination. That’s when the crazies hit.”

Yeah, you silently mocked. Yeah, starting fires and murdering people is being ‘worked up.’ Cool. You only nodded in response, not really finding anything nice to say. And, honestly, anything you said would probably seem hypocritical given the fact you were an exterminator mere hours ago. Luckily for you, she seemed content enough at that. She started to talk again about where she was taking you, a bit slower this time, obviously half focused on keeping you supported.

“So, my Hotel kind of just started, and Alastor is in the process of making a commercial to get some attention. I think he said it would be done today.”

You nodded wordlessly. Part of you felt a little guilty, not having much to say despite Charlie’s efforts to welcome you and take care of you, especially compared to her constant rambling. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

She re-explained her whole idea, undeniably proud of her plan. Sinners working on themselves to get redeemed? To leave Hell and climb those glittering steps to Heaven?

Absolutely unheard of.

Maybe it was your internal biases talking, but you could not imagine the possibility. If it was possible, why hadn’t somebody showed up at the gates from Hell before? You held back a roll of your eyes, feigning support and interest to the best of your ability.

After an achingly long journey, you finally reached the stone path that led to a rather plain, but tall building. It looked sleek and well built, but you couldn’t help but notice the tacky blinking lightbulbs that formed arrow shapes towards the entrance and the huge, spelled out name of the hotel.

Hazbin Hotel.

You stifled a laugh as you looked up at the signage.

“Well! We’re here!” Charlie announced, brandishing her arm forward and sweeping it in a ‘viola’ motion. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of the property, noticing how many windows lined every wall. Were there that many demons here?

You were answered nearly immediately when Charlie opened the door to the hotel and you found yourself in a nearly empty lobby. It was kind of sad, honestly. There was a cat-like bartender and a long-limbed pink demon splayed across the couch, but other than that…

The demon next to you scratched the back of her head, and gave you a light smile. She jerked her head towards the door as if inviting you, but to be fair you didn’t really have any choice but to go wherever she led you.

“Ooh, fresh meat,” The pink-ish demon with a striped top shot upright, eyeing you wryly with a cocked brow. He stood and took long strides forward, one pair of arms on his hips and the other crossed under his rather… voluptuous chest.

“Eyes up here, toots,” He snapped a finger, but when you met his eyes you could tell he was all jokes. You gave him a tight smile in response.

You heard the sound of quick steps and an already aggravated looking face appeared from the upper level, quickly descending the steps. You felt an ice-cold feeling of familiarity when you saw a gray-skinned, white haired angel—or, well, fallen angel at this point—stop in front of you. She apparently felt a similar feeling, though her response was much more rapidly aggressive. With a narrowed eye and tense shoulders, she manifested an angelic spear and held it at the ready. You tried to remove yourself from Charlie’s hold, desperate to be able to defend yourself even in your sorry state, but her protective grip held you fast against herself. You struggled only for a moment, but the exhaustion coursing through every vein stopped you. Man was she strong.

“What is someone like them doing here,” The other questioned in a hiss, her lips curled in a sneer. She eyed you up and down suspiciously, likely analyzing your capacity of harming anybody in the room. Admittedly you couldn’t blame her caution.

When your lips parted, planning to shoot an accusatory in retort, the tip of her spear shot to your lips, effectively shutting you up. There was a look in her eye, behind the rage and caution, that you somehow recognized as a silent plea. A plea for what? To stay quiet? Not state the obvious recognition you two shared? Did the others somehow not know she was an angel? Whatever it was, you obliged and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Vaggie, please,” Charlie spoke in a tumble, rushing her free hand to press the point of ‘Vaggie’s weapon away from your face. “She’s practically one of us now. Don’t go threatening my new guests every time they walk through the door! We can’t scare them away…”

“Angels aren’t guests Charlie,” Vaggie’s voice seemed strained as she held pinched fingers on the bridge of her nose. “We literally just had an extermination.”

“I know,” Charlie pressed, the tone of her voice conveying some sort of desperate ‘just go with it and calm down.’ “But… obviously she was an outcast, unwanted by Heaven. Just like us, right?”

You furrowed your brows and looked at her through the corner of your eye, but decided not to fight for your dignity. She wasn’t even wrong.

Vaggie seemed easily defeated by Charlie’s words, yielding quickly to her words and putting her spear away. You briefly wondered where your own was. Charlie gave Vaggie a thankful smile, a light kiss on the cheek—to which the angel blushed—and led you carefully into a nearby room.

It seemed to be some type of medical room, and Charlie quickly got to work dragging a warm rag over the dried blood that left streaks down your skin. You grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at you, a little confused.

“I can wash myself, I’m not that useless,” You argued, using your other hand to pull at the rag.

“But, you can barely—”

“Charlie,” You said, more stern than you meant to, which you immediately regretted after the taken aback expression on her face. Considering you barely spoke a word since meeting her, it was no wonder she seemed surprised at your sudden brash tone. You tried to speak more gently. “Please, just let me wash myself off. I’ll need your help dressing my wounds, anyway, it’s the least I could do.”

She pondered for a moment, but nodded, smiled, and left you to it. She left the room with a quick ‘call me when you’re’ done, closing the door with a gentle click. You sighed, finally enjoying a moment of privacy. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a sick feeling churning in your stomach.

It was still you, staring back, but it somehow at the same time wasn’t. Golden streaks tainted your gray skin, crusts of blood still grabbing at the corners of your eye and matting your hair. You briefly brushed a hand through the strands, but promptly gave up after your fingers caught on multiple knots. You’d have to wash it out.

For now you focused on just wiping the blood and grime off of your skin, especially around the wounds. You were incredibly tender when you reached your back, elbow bent awkwardly over your face as you tried to reach the marred flesh. You tried positioning your arm under your armpit, hoping for a better angle, but it was still no use. Even when you managed to get close to the wound, every touch sent stinging pain down your back. On top of all that, you could barely see where you were dragging the damp cloth, neck struggling to crane enough to look in the mirror.

The door opened suddenly, and with it a sense of impending doom and static sensations encased you. You froze, eyes darting towards the entrance. Even though you knew exactly who would stand there, you still couldn’t help the sick surprise that twisted your gut.

Alastor stood in the entrance, eyes half open and brows raised as he examined you bent in so many awkward ways.

“How’s our new vulture doing,” He asked suddenly, eyes lighting up in an overly cheerful manner. He entered the room without much invitation, circling you. You felt like prey being stalked and toyed with by a wolf. Your eyes diligently followed until he took up a spot behind you. “Charlie got caught up in something, so she asked me to help you.”

You watched him in the mirror as he looked down at the torn flesh of your back, his long, clawed finger tapping at his chin while his other hand thrummed against the head of his cane.

“A ghastly sight you are,” He commented, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hand pointed down at your back. “That wound of yours is rather unpleasant, too.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to shoot something back, though you didn’t know if you wanted to throw curses or insults back at him. Any words you may have said died on your tongue as the look in his eyes darkened, and his smile curled impossibly higher, more sinister.

He leaned down, positioning his head just next to yours, still meeting your eyes in the mirror. Every inch of proximity caused the prickling on your skin to increase, and the static in your ears to grow louder.

“Let’s patch you up, then!” He straightened himself out, walking towards a cabinet and quickly grabbing various tools from different shelves. “While I’m not in the business of playing doctor to someone like you, I can’t deny the Princess.” His voice seemed all too cheery for the rude words he spoke, and that smile on his face never faltered. You briefly thought about him referring to Charlie as “princess,” but quickly dismissed it. You’d think about it later—right now, you had to be ready to make a run for it in case that feeling of doom that loomed over you came to fruition.

Alastor approached you again with a small tray of medical supplies, and pulled thin gloves over his hands with a brief snap, saying something about the importance of being sanitary, but part of you wondered if he was just making more jabs at you regarding his disdain for angels.

Surprisingly he seemed to know what he was doing, working quickly with different types of wipes and stitches and gauze. He was being rougher than likely necessary, pretending to accidentally poke a claw into your open wound and pressing his tools far too firm against your sore skin. You bore it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of putting you through a miserably painful half hour.

After it was finally over you drew out a long sigh and watched as he discarded the gloves and washed his hands. And washed his hands. And washed his hands. And… still he’s washing his hands. You began to wish you counted the seconds.

He turned to you after finally finishing up, shaking water off his hands. He didn’t seem to recognize that he was flicking droplets directly on you. If you weren’t in such a weak state and absolutely terrified of him, you probably would’ve made some effort to stop him, but now… you opted to let him get away with it. For now.

“Now, if that’s all…” He turned, waving a hand at you dismissively. “I’d prefer you keep out of my business from here on.”

No fucking problem, you agreed to yourself. He didn’t even have to ask. You couldn’t imagine bearing to be around him unless absolutely necessary. Though, in an effort to maintain pleasantries…

“Thanks, though,” You called, not trying to hide the hint of dislike in your tone. Your words made him stop, hand just barely hovering over the knob to the door. After a brief moment, his head turned slightly, just enough for him to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Although it was brief, you saw a glint of what you assumed was malice in his eye as his lips twitched and curled, momentarily revealing the black of his gums. His face quickly returned to his regular facade of cheer. He opened the door, not saying anything in return, and quickly took his leave, slamming the door behind him.

You drug your hands down your eyes, looking at yourself once again in the mirror. Cleaner now, but still rough. You thought deeply about what your future here would be like, especially around Alastor. If he was truly Charlie’s right-hand-man, you doubted avoiding him would be easy, despite how desperately you wanted to.

Yeah. This is Hell.

#ohdeerfully #🐈‍⬛#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x you #charlie morningstar #alastor x reader platonic #platonic x reader #cutely adds one million tags #gore #tw: gore

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sage-green-matcha · 1 year ago

Text

WHAT WAS I MADE FOR? - ETHAN LANDRY ✨

“Cause I, I don't know how to feel. But I wanna try. I don't know how to feel, but someday I might” - Billie Eilish

Content includes: Reader with depression, Ethan Fluff! Ethan helping you heal! Angst ig?

A/n: I’m so excited for the Barbie movie! I rlly wanted to write something with Billies song, just because she means so much to me! My first fanfic ever was a Billie one, it was horrible! Anyways, to anyone who feels stuck or in a slump just know you’ll be okay. There’s people who love and appreciate you even if you don’t feel it. I’ll always be here if any of you guys wanna talk! My request box is always open! ILY guys sm 💛

You felt horrible. You had fallen into a deep hole that you couldn't get out of. You didn't even attempt to try. You missed many classes, your friends becoming concerned for you. You didn’t know what to do with life anymore. It had all collapsed down on you, you just couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t know your purpose in life. You were mentally stuck and you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t communicate your feelings because you didn’t understand them anymore.

You were happy, and you knew you could be happy again. You wanted to go back in time, fix everything and anything that went wrong. Just so you could save yourself from feeling this way.

Ethan Landry was the only one who could get you out of your slump. He knew exactly what to say, even if it didn’t always come out perfectly. “It’s okay…to feel like that. I mean you don’t always have to be perfect, Y/n. We love you for you” his shirt would soak up your tears, keeping you company as you cried. You felt safe with him. He didn’t judge or ignore you. He actually listened and gave his opinion on things. He was helping you heal and you didn’t know how. It was just Ethan being his usual self that helped you.

“Wanna go out on a drive?” Ethan stood at your room door with keys in hand, a baggy of your favorite snacks in the other. “Yea” your smile was brittle but it was still for him, and it made him melt every time you showed it.

“How’d you feel today?” You played with the strings of your hoodie, head laid back on the car seat. “Okay, I think? Sam and Tara were fighting all day, which made me annoyed. And then I was sad I think, or frustrated because they literally wouldn’t shut up” he was amazed at how trusting you were with him. You vocalized your feelings way better than before.

“I think I forgot how to be happy” a small frown was on your face, heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. Ethan looked at you with concern, closing his laptop so all attention would be on you. “You can talk to me about whatever, okay…? I understand how you feel. I’ve been there before Y/n. It’s not easy to get out of but you can do it. I know you can” his words made you melt, providing comfort and warmth with each one.

You told him everything about yourself, he collected all the information and stored it in his heart. “Why were they fighting? I’m assuming Tara’s therapy?” “Mhm, she’s been acting different” you mumbled, your arm holding up your head as you looked out the window. The air blew through your hair, the warm New York air bringing you comfort.

“Can I take you somewhere?” You could tell he was nervous when he asked you. “Depends on where you’re taking me” “You’ll see” Next thing you knew he had you climbing up some sort of small mountain, taking a look at your surroundings once you got to the top. “The Hollywood sign? Real original, Landry” he smiled as you teased him, sitting down on the dead grass below.

“I like it up here. You can see everything” Your head rested on his shoulder, Ethan placing his jacket around you. He was blushing as you looked up at him, a thankful expression on your face. “How long have you been coming here for?” “Maybe a year now, since we started talking” Your curiosity got the best of you, having to ask why.

“I needed to like…I guess remember you. How pretty you are and…uh, stuff” You held back a giggle, watching as he stumbled over his words. “Cause you know! The view from here is so pretty…it’s pretty. Like you” he cleared his throat, thankful that the lights were off. If they were on you would’ve been able to see his red face, embarrassed at what he has just told you.

You found it so cute, pushing yourself closer to him, his arm gently wrapping around your waist. “Thanks, Eth, for everything. You’ve helped me so much…I” you held back on your words. You knew it was weird, to confess your love to him. Especially now, you had found someone who understood every part of you and you didn’t wanna risk getting that taken away.

“You…you what?” He gulped and you shook your head, trying to avoid the question. “Oh come on Y/n, you have to tell me now” “I can’t, it’s weird” he knew nothing you could say was weird. Even if it was a little, he would still validate you with his opinion.

“Just tell me” You shook your head, hiding your smile in his chest. “Okay, how about this? I’ll tell you something first?” “Okay, but it’s probably not as weird as my thing” he scoffed, his nose taking in the soft scent of your shampoo.

The silence killed you, even if it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Your heart pounded harder with each second that went by, hoping it was the same thing you wanted to say. “I love you, Y/n. I know I do” his eyes were closed tightly, looking at him in amusement.

"You do?" "Yea, I'm sorry" A scoff fell from your lips, pulling him by his collar down to yours. He followed your rhythm, lips latching on perfectly to each other. He tasted so sweet, and gentle. like his personality.

"I love you too" he scanned your face with a smile, grabbing your jaw gently before taking you in for another kiss. "How do you feel now?" you bit back your lip, holding a smile. "I'm happy Eth, you make me happy"

“Think I forgot, how to be happy. Something I’m not, but something I can be. Something I wait for, what was I made for?” - Billie Eilish <33

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mustangbby · 9 months ago

Note

I once started playing Star Honkai and now, remembering the initial moment of the game, I can propose this idea

What if the Reader was a child or teenager who considered Kafka, the Blade, and the Silver Wolf to be family?

The Reader's real family might not be the nicest ones, so they might have run away from them at some point and bumped into these guys. Or maybe their real family is fine, they just happened to become friends with these characters and started to see them as more family figures

Just an idea based on thoughts about Kafka's mother, who I didn't want to let go of when she said goodbye to us at the beginning of the game. I don’t know, it just really got to me so emotionally. That yes, I could be just a vessel with a weapon for you, not a real person, but you are the first person I see and that makes you my parent, right? You shouldn't leave me

Perhaps someday I myself will write something in more detail about these thoughts. In the meantime, a small request for family relationships or communication between the Reader and the characters, yeah

(if you don't write for this game or these characters, that's fine)

🍞 anon

FOUND FAMILY - blade, kafka, silverwolf x reader (platonic)

- you meet these three, and you instantly click!!! they enjoy your presence alot, and start treating you like family...

- HI MY FAVORITE (only, but still favorite) ANON!!!!!! i'm sorry this is so late but i love this request huhuhuhu 😛 so i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this!!!!!

- might be ooc for them.... (it's 10 at night and i'm sleepy today was so busy ME AND MY FAMILY ADOPTED A CAT TODAY SHES SO CUTE WHO WANTS A PHOTO ahem anyways...) reader doesn't have a good homelife, wc 1.6k

Everything started when you ran from home.

You’ve always resented your homelife; your parents were always yelling and/or fighting, your siblings have all moved out to fulfill their dreams and career paths, and you didn’t go to school very often, leaving you with few friends.

To say you lived a lonely life was an understatement.

You were running through the rain, not giving a piece of mind to where you were going and where you may end up. You looked through the windows of other houses as you were walking down the sidewalks of the xianzhou loufu, seeing families coming together, spending time together, etc. You didn’t necessarily feel like thinking about your situation right now, so you kept going, focused on the path in front of you.

As soon as you got into the Exalting Sanctum, you sat down and took a break. It felt nice to get off your feet, taking the time to scroll on your phone.

As you were about to get up to buy yourself a cup of tea, you heard someone's voice behind you.

“Psst, you, child with the h/c hair,” a woman had said, looking straight at you when you turned around to see who she was talking to. “Come here.”

You do as you say, thinking about what could happen the whole time. She didn’t look like she was from around here, and she didn’t sound like she spoke the native language.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice. She chuckled in response to your question.

“Save the questions for later. I have one for you though,” she took a seat at your table, motioning for you to sit back down. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you’ve left home. You seem troubled.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, harshly setting your phone on the table in front of you. “It’s a long story that I’d prefer not to talk about right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand, before she got up and took your hand.

“Do you need a place to stay? If so, I am willing to provide one.”

Your eyes slightly widened at her offer, and you hesitantly nodded.

“By the way, what's your name?” she asked, starting to walk, giving you the hint to start following her. “You can just call me Kafka for now.”

“Call me… y/n,” you grinned, and she grinned back at you. You two stood shoulder to shoulder, despite the slight height difference. She seemed comfortable to you.

“Well, hello there, y/n, it’s nice to properly meet you,” she extended her arm, silently telling you to shake her hand. You do, and she pulls away rather quickly before picking up her pace. “I’m going to take you to meet a few other people, if you don’t mind.”

You stayed silent, and followed her to the destination she had in mind.

You don’t know what you expected, but it sure wasn’t what was presented in front of you.

You must have been slow, you thought, to not know Kafka was an enemy, a stellaron hunter, and she’s brought you back to the headquarters. You didn’t know if you wanted to run and shout for help or continue following her, but your feet kept stepping in the direction she was going.

“Your face makes it look like you know where we are,” she stops at last, turning around to face you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You nod slowly, trying to force a small grin. She laughed at your efforts, continuing her path down a long hallway with one hell of a staircase. The first office you popped into was a gray haired womans, wearing a really intricate- maybe cyberpunk outfit with a pair of blue and purple sunglasses balancing on the top of her head.

You step inside to see her feet resting on the table, a game controller in hand. Kafka knocks twice before entering, taking the controller from the woman before setting it down on the bookshelf.

“Kafka, who have you brought now?” she blew a gum bubble, rolling her eyes slightly.

“This is y/n. They’ve run from home, and I feel generous today, so I’m letting them stay temporarily,” she took a seat on the leather sofa on the other side of the room, taking some warm water from the pot in front of her, and plopping a teabag into the mug. “Would you two like any?” You shook your head, and the woman just looked at Kafka.

“So, what's your name?” you ask, and the woman goes a little wide-eyed at your question. She settles before answering.

“Silverwolf. I am Silverwolf.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled slightly, and she admired your boldness. Talking so casually in front of a stellaron hunter? Do you even know who she is? Yes, yes you do, and you felt incredibly intimidated.

Kafka soon led you out of the room, taking you to meet one other person, who she claims isn’t the greatest communicator and will likely not speak very much. She told you not to take it to heart, and he might warm up after a few weeks.

“Am I even going to be here for a few weeks?” you tilt your head, and she chuckles once more.

“I don’t know, it’s up to you.”

She stepped right into the other person's office- this person looked a lot different from the other one you just met. Instead of seeing colors and hearing clicking noises, the room was dead silent with a coat of dark paint on the walls. Everything seemed so bland in this room, and a man sat in the grand leather chair behind the desk in the middle of the room, completely ignoring your entrance. He looks up at Kafka, his eyes saying it all.

“This is y/n. I found them outside in the Exalting Sanctum and I decided to bring them back. They ran away from home.”

He nodded.

“Awh, is someone shy?” Kafka lightly teased the man, making him get out of his seat and come over to where the both of you were standing. “Get used to their presence, because I don’t know how long they’re staying. Oh, y/n, this man's name is Blade.”

“Hello,” you say carefully, not wanting to pinch a nerve. This man looked capable of aggression, and he most certainly was.

He nodded back at you, and that was the last communication you’ve had with him that night.

The days seemed to continue that way. You’d occasionally stay with them, but you’d go back home when they were on missions. They’d explain how dangerous they could be, and Silverwolf would provide you with stories from her travels.

“And you’ll never guess what. The Trailblazer had to fight Kafka, and they won! I won’t let her live this one down…”

“Look, I found this in Penacony. It’s a really cool place, I think you’d like it.”

She’d sometimes bring you back little souvenirs. You’d always accept them with so much gratitude, and, depending on how important they are to your or how expensive they were, they’d either stay at your home or your room in the headquarters.

Though, to say it took a long, long time for them to warm up to you in such a way is an understatement. We’re talking around 6 months, or whatever amount of time that adds up to in their universe.

But once they did, they seemed to really enjoy your company. They treated you like they were your biological parents, they’d always have so much adoration and care in their eyes when they’d look at you, and they loved to spoil you.

Considering they’re stellaron hunters, they probably make a good sum of money. Silverwolf has tried to make you take on her interest in video games, so you two could play together and have something in common, and it’s kind of working! She starts you off with a cheaper console, but she ends up upgrading yours when you show more liking and interest into the games she also likes.

Kafka likes to just have little gossip sessions with you!! Or at least I feel like she would. Oh god she so would.

She’d get so into it, especially if you were a girl. Boy drama? She wants to hear every single thing about it! But if you’re a boy and you have girl drama, she wants to hear too! But she’ll try to give more advice on how to get the girl you want (and it almost always works).

And with friendship drama, she’ll always be the one to step in if necessary. She’s not gonna be one of those people who just step into their kids drama (those people absolutely suck) but she’ll get in if she needs to. She wants to hear all about it though.

Blade is a little bit different with his ways of showing his appreciation and adoration towards you. Usually, you understand that even being in his presence is enough, and him allowing you to talk his ear off is a pretty big feat in itself.

He likes to hear you talk, and especially likes to have deep conversations, me thinks. He’s the type of person to not as easily be engaged in small talk, so very deep, detailed conversations pull his attention right away.

Overall, the three of them care for you like you’re their blood. And at this point, they’re more like parents than yours are, so you can talk about them as if they really were your blood without any hesitations. At the end of the day, you’re lucky to have such people surrounding you.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #silver wolf #silver wolf x reader #kafka #kafka x reader #blade #blade x reader #platonic

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cloudcountry · 2 years ago

Text

i'll never be sick of you.

Genre/Tropes: Sick fic!!

Summary: Cater Diamond is sick and doesn't want anyone to worry about him, least of all you.

Author's Comments: So I read his Lab Wear vignettes and I wanted to explore the side of Cater that's very much "I want to make everyone happy." I might write something less angsty for him someday but for now this is where my brain took me!!

~~~~~

Cater hated this. Whatever force had given him a nasty stomach bug was totally blocked and reported. This was so unfair. He couldn’t move an inch from his bed, leaving his poor underclassmen to paint the roses for today’s unbirthday party without him. Ugh, what a fail. He even had plans to sit next to you during the party, and despite his dislike of sweets, all he wanted to do was see you enjoying yourself. It wasn’t a date or anything, because thinking about a date planned by Riddle was not something Cater wanted to subscribe to, but it’d be time spent with you. That was valuable no matter what.

Right now, though...Cater really hoped nobody told you about his current condition. You shouldn’t have to see him like this—if he wasn’t making you happy then he shouldn’t be around you at all, and Cater was content with that.

Humming, Cater reached for his phone again to scroll through Magicam. He posted a selfie he’d taken the day before to cover up his lack of presence on the app. There was no need to make his followers concerned because he was failing at the moment!

He sighed, setting his phone down on his nightstand again. The bright light was making his head pound, but he was so bored. Being sick wasn’t fun or making anyone happy, so why did it have to hit him first?

Cater turned over on his side, shutting his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep. Sleeping meant less boredom and that meant—

A knock brought him back to reality and he groaned. You and Trey should have been at the unbirthday, so who could possibly be bothering him?

He decided to stay silent. It’s not like anyone would want to see him in this state anyway.

The door opened.

Cater jumped, his head whipping towards the now open door and your face poking through the doorway. A relieved smile found its way onto your lips as Cater panicked, diving under the sheets.

Why did it have to be you of all people? You were going to find him gross and be disappointed and what was he supposed to do if he wasn’t happy and beautiful?

“Cater?” your voice called out to him, the door shutting behind you.

He didn’t respond. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Trey told me about your illness. I brought you some soup. It’s not spicy like you like it, but I didn’t want to leave you up here alone.”

Silence.

“Cater, is everything alright? I know you’re not feeling the best so if you want me to leave I can.”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Honey...”

He heard you pull a chair up to his bedside as you set the soup down on his nightstand. Your hand pressed into the blanket where his shoulder was, rubbing gentle circles into the fabric.

“Why aren’t you at the unbirthday party?” he whispered, not trusting his voice enough to speak at his normal volume.

“You weren’t there.” you answered immediately, “I only go to those things for you, dummy.”

“You’d have more fun down there, don’t you think?” he forced a laugh, “I don’t want to keep you up here. I probably stink and I doubt—”

“Cater. I’m here because I want to take care of you.” you felt around for his head, beginning to pet his hair once you found it, “I would like you to come out from those blankets so I can feed you, but I won’t make you. I want to be with you even if you aren’t feeling your best. I’ll stay here until you tell me to get out, but I can’t bear leaving you up here alone.”

Cater swallowed.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe that you’d still think of him the same if he showed you how he looked when he wasn’t smiling. There was an idealistic part of him that whispered that he didn’t need to be carefree all the time, especially with you. There was a more serious side of him that told him your relationship was still relatively brand new, and that you could leave at any minute if he showed you that side of him.

What was he supposed to do?

“Cater...do you not want me to see you? Is that what it is?” you murmured.

How did you see through him so easily?

“I don’t think anyone would want to see me like this.” he laughed again, hoping you’d laugh too.

You didn’t.

“Sweetheart.” you leaned back, moving your hand back down to his shoulder, “I think you’re the prettiest boy on campus. You being sick isn’t going to bother me. I know that might be hard to believe, but I want to see you from every angle, you know? I want to know you. And I’m gathering that this is deeper than just you not liking how you look when you’re sick.”

Cater swallowed, his dry throat screaming at him. It was scary how convincingly you talked, making him almost believe that you wouldn’t care if he wasn’t as shiny as he was on his Magicam profile. You were making him think about the facade he’d perfected. You were making him seriously consider taking it down.

He poked his head out of the blankets.

Your expression was soft as you smiled, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from his eyes.

“Hello, pretty boy.” you hummed, rising from your seat.

Cater could only watch as you descended upon him, pressing a single kiss to his forehead. He was feverish and sweaty and hot and his hair was greasy and he probably smelled really bad—but you let it linger, smoothing back his hair as you pulled away.

You sat back down and grabbed the container of soup, the insides fogged up from the contained heat. Cater pulled the blankets a little lower, allowing you to see his nose and lips. You weren’t paying attention to him anymore, your attention focused on the plastic lid on the container and the soup you brought with you.

“Do you think you could sit up? I probably should have asked before I brought you soup, but...” you looked up, making eye contact with him.

Cater’s heart leapt into his throat as you eyes examined him, the corners of your lips once again twitching into a soft smile.

“Don’t look so scared, honey. You’re really pretty. It’s sort of charming, seeing your hair all messed up and your eyes all bleary.” you teased, reaching out to cup his cheek, “You look cute.”

He had to say something back, something to make you laugh. Something to make you smile. Something that would make you stay a bit longer.

“Cay-Cay is always cute!” he teased back, coughing at the end of his sentence.

“Yes you are. But really, thank you. We can work through whatever was bothering you whenever you’re ready. Whatever it was, I can assure you, it won’t change the way I look at you.” you pinched his cheek gently, stirring the spoon with the spoon, “I’ll only like you more.”

“Pinky promise?” Cater joked again, secretly hoping you’d see through him like you always did.

“Pinky promise, my pretty diamond. I’ll never get sick of you.” you snickered.

Ugh, you were so cute. Maybe someday, he’d find the strength to open up to you. Maybe someday he could believe he was worthy of you, and maybe he’d be able to let everything out with you.

But for now, he’d take baby steps.

Maybe being more Cater for a while...wouldn’t be so bad.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #sick fic #angst #fluff #cater x reader #heartslabyul #heartslabyul x reader #cater diamond propaganda #thsi was written before i really knew the characters #so if theres any characterization flaws #oopsie

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subway-boss-jericho · 8 days ago

Note

(hammer anon- I hope you don’t mind me poking at other random aus)

I was thinking about Befriend My Reflection to Find My Shadow and!! I’m really curious to what the differences are between the two Emmets. Why does Emmet (1) search for Ingo with such desperation while Emmet (2) is happy to ride the rails and make sure the other takes care of himself? Do they have different hobbies? Get their pokemon team in different ways? Did their siblings disappear in the same way?

I’m so curious about their relationship and how it evolves! Like- maybe Emmet (1) is a little bitter about his brother not being there, and gets annoyed at Emmet (2) for bugging him with “self care” but how does that change into something like family? Is it slow? Is there an event that puts everything in perspective for him? (You don’t have to answer obviously- I’m just doing my own rambling now djdnbsjsbsb)

I just keep thinking how odd (and possibly awful or discombobulating) it is to see your face- but it’s not the person that shares your face that you’re looking for. Out of uniform they just see each other in the corner of their eye and there’s this heart stoping moment of hope-!

and then reality sits in.

anyway I freaking. Love this idea so much.

First of all I'd die for you so write that down

Second of all I have GREAT NEWS I had a few days at the end of november where I fixated on reflection AU (this is why writing steady tracks is so hard btw) and I wrote a oneshot that directly answers a lot of the questions you're asking here. I couldn't figure out how to approach posting it, but hey look! A perfect reason to share it! So you're getting that now. I'm going to put it at the bottom of this post, but I want a chance to answer some other things first

I’m really curious to what the differences are between the two Emmets. Why does Emmet (1) search for Ingo with such desperation while Emmet (2) is happy to ride the rails and make sure the other takes care of himself?

The two Emmets in Reflection AU are still the same person, but have ultimately made different decisions/taken different paths in regards to how they are coping with the loss of Ingo. That has formatively shaped who they are as people, and so now there are differences between them.

While he does his best to be positive and uplifting, Emmet (2) (Aka "This Emmet") is also struggling with the loss. He's expressed that and explored that in very different ways from Emmet (1) (Aka "Other Emmet"). Part of the nuance here is that while Other Emmet is very desperate to find Ingo, This Emmet has been trying to come to terms with his disappearance. But now, with Other Emmet's arrival, there's a small hope that they might both get their twins back someday. An extension of This Emmet's grief and complex feelings is that he wants to take care of Other Emmet, not because he feels great and happy and is just on standby ready to spring into action, but because he misses his own twin and it's easy for him to feel very strongly compelled to help this Other Emmet that shares his face.

Their dynamic comes from the various fandom takes on how Emmet handles Ingo's disappearance. The "He finds a way to cope" take (example: Steady tracks) and the "He finds a way to get him back" take. I wanted to see what would happen if I put those different branches of how Emmet could react to Ingo's disappearance in the same place.

Worth noting, both of their twins DID disappear in the same way. This AU uses ultra wormholes, specifically because of their propensity to chuck people across into other dimensions. This Emmet didn't know how or why Ingo disappeared until Other Emmet showed up and explained. Other Emmet sought out the answer himself.

(You don’t have to answer obviously- I’m just doing my own rambling now djdnbsjsbsb)

Jokes on you I'm about to answer the curiosities in those last two paragraphs to the fucking letter and I'm so glad you brought it up. I am so thrilled that I get to share this because I wasn't sure how to post it without context before. Surprise! Your ask just helped give everyone the needed context!!!

As always, thank you so much for the ask! 🌟

Heads up, I write the word Emmet in this so many times. I intentionally wanted it to be a liiiiittle hard to read, but at the same time, I tried to give enough context that you can tell which of the Emmets is doing something when the name comes up. This Emmet's words are in italics, and Other Emmet's words are normal. I also mention two of Emmet's pokemon by nickname in here and I don't feel like rewriting it, so I am gonna clarify that Bull is Conkeldurr and Axle is Haxorus.

You/I Know Me/You Too Well

TWs: (Minor) Confrontation, (Minor) Argument. Someone's wrist is grabbed but that's as physical as anything gets. ~3,000 Words (10-12 minutes) They weren't always on good terms.

He had been doing his best to help provide for him until now. He knew he didn't want to be seen in public. Of course he didn't. There would be too many questions and not enough privacy. Better to not be seen at all, than make both of their lives a living hell.

He can't imagine he likes it, though. He thinks, there's probably even a chance that he's shutting himself away so forcibly because of him. That, maybe he doesn't want to ruin his life, disappear, and leave him to pick up the mess he left behind.

Emmet softly raps two knuckles against the metal shutter of the abandoned shipping container.

It could also very easily be that he hates him. He's always frustrated. He always glares at him with so much hatred, like the heat of a thousand volcarona and a thousand more darmanitan for good measure. But he never frowns. He always has a pinched, impatient, dismissive, smile or snarl on his lips. He didn't want him to draw any kind of comparison. He's sure he's doing it on purpose when he's around. Whether that's to be kind and spare his feelings, or to stop him from getting emotionally attached, it's hard for him to say.

He doesn't think he likes being alone here. If he was at least at his own place, he would have the support of his friends and family. Presumably. It didn't sound like any of them had died or gone missing. But here, he has no one. The only person who even knows to check on him is Emmet.

Maybe it would have been kinder if he'd been completely alone. He'll have to keep wondering. He can't stand by and let him waste away. Even if he doesn't want to see him, he wants to help. If that's by finding a spare shipping container to move off the tracks or by bringing food and supplies for him, it's got to count for something.

He hopes, at least.

"Emmet?" He mumbles, trying to avoid getting on his bad side by being annoying or overbearing. "Are you in there?" There's some shuffling and typing that stops when he speaks. He is here, yes.

Whether or not he wants to be bothered is a different question that Emmet can't answer.

"um. Well, if you are home, I brought you some more food. Some canned fruits and soups. Things like that. I thought you might want some stuff that keeps well. Stuff that will not take more electricity to store."

There's some more shuffling. He's never told him that he can hear him through the door.

"If you are not here I will leave them at the door." He starts to lower the gift bag to the ground, looking away out at the cave around them. It's very beautiful. He wishes he had more excuses to visit Chargestone.

"Okay. I am— leaving! Good bye."

He takes a hesitant step back, and turns to leave the way he came.

He door of the container creaks open behind him. It startles him a little- he flinches, a bit. He's quick to fall back into step, keeping his eyes fixed onto the ground ahead of him.

"Why are you here." His gravelly, exhausted, terse accusation is the only thing that makes him stop.

He stays facing away, although tilts his head back up to hold a hand to the brim of his cap. "I am, here to deliver food. I said this, yep."

"Why are you here."

He asks again, no change in his tone or inflection. Not that either of them were especially good at that. He can hear him checking the contents of his delivery.

"D-" "Delivering food. I wanted to make sure you had enough." He swallows the lump that threatens to gag him.

"It has barely been two days." "You know I have food." "You brought it."

Emmet tightens his grip on his cap. It's the only thing he can hold onto that won't be immediately obvious. He's scrambling for something to say, but his words don't come fast enough.

"You are a shit lier." "You would not have your back turned to me if you were telling the truth." He sounds like he doesn't have time for this. That's such a fair way to feel about him.

"I am sorry to bother you. Again." "I will go now."

He manages to take three much longer strides forward before much faster, much more angry sounding footsteps catch up to him. He grabs his wrist, forcing him to stop. Emmet glances over his shoulder, but is quick to snap back away. "What are you hiding from me." He sounds angry and upset.

"I am sorry." He's quiet and small.

"Stop giving me apologies and start giving me answers."

The words are dying in his throat. "I-I'm sorry. I should l-leave." "I will leave you alone." He won't let go of his wrist and he can't pull out of his hold.

"Why won't you look at me?" He says with an extra dose of venom. He pulls on his arm, twisting him around to face him.

He manages to rein in any surprise and fear pretty quickly, but not quick enough that the other wouldn't notice.

Emmet stares him down, face to face, scrutinizing him and judging him. All at once, Emmet can see his puffy red eyes and quivering smile. He can see where the tear tracks have dried on his cheeks. He can see the way that his gloves hands shake weakly in his grip.

That anger turns to confusion, and then immediately into discomfort. "...What... Happened to you?"

His voice doesn't feel like it will serve him anymore. His throat feels dry and scratchy. "I am sorry. I should leave."

He pulls at his wrist again, but while his grip is looser, he won't let go of him. His hand is warm. Maybe it would be a little sweaty if he had caught his wrist instead of his dress shirt. Emmet can't tell, though.

He looks so uncomfortable. That instant when bottled wrath shifted to discomfort said everything it needed to.

"G-go. I should go."

"...Are you okay?" He asks him with intense hesitation.

"sorry, I- I am sorry to bother you!" He won't let go of his wrist. Tugging again and again, but he won't let go. He's going to tear up again. He needs to leave. Please, let him go. He shouldn't have come and it was so stupid, he-

"Emmet." "...What happened?"

He starts to cry again. His breath stuttering and growing faster. His words are still stolen for several seconds more. His eyes flick across Emmet's face, wishing that anger would come back.

He gets a hold of his words. "Closed."

Emmet only levels him a more confused and uncomfortable expression, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"The investigation." "His investigation was" "Closed."

Emmet's expression darkens. "Oh."

Emmet shrivels, pulling his hand out. Emmet lets go of him. "I am going to leave. I am sorry." He doesn't have time to turn around. "Stop."

Emmet stares him in the eyes, scowling now, but still with the disquieted look of a stranger that doesn't want to deal with his emotions.

"Why did you come here?"

Emmet manages a false start, then another. He tears his eyes away to find comfort in the crystal walls instead as he covers his mouth with a gloved hand. He blinks through another wave of tears. "i d on't kno w."

They both know he's lying. He can't meet his eyes.

He turns abruptly to run away. His boots scuff on the rocky earth. "I'm sorry. I'm leaving." He can only get one step in. Emmet does not grab him. "-Do you want to come in."

They're at a stand still. It's the only thing he could have said that would make Emmet pause again.

"Would you like to come inside?" He offers again. Emmet can't miss it this time, it was emphatic and clear and absolutely directed at him. Even if his voice was empty and tense.

"Can I?"

"Yes."

Emmet keeps his eyes averted, hat pulled down to cover his eyes as he undoes his turn away. He puts his hand back down.

"Okay."

Emmet turns around to walk back to the door. Emmet follows him silently, several steps behind.

He leads him inside, closing the door behind him and dragging the grocery bag through the door for good measure. He's only been inside a small handful of times, and never for long enough to get comfortable. There is a giant computer set up on the far end, and several cables have been strung through the whole container. They travel along the floor or are tied to the walls with zip ties, before finding deliberate holes punched in the walls that lead to the natural electricity outside.

"Do not touch anything." "Do not touch the computers or the cables."

Emmet says nothing, but nods quickly. He finds a seat presented to him- an old used couch he had dragged all the way out here with Bull's and Axle's help. The other yanks some blankets off the cushions, tossing them behind it and gesturing briefly to the seat.

"Here."

Emmet takes a seat on the end furthest from the high-tech-looking machines.

"I am doing important work." "Right." Don't interrupt me goes unspoken but loud and clear.

He must be sleeping on the couch. Of course. Where else would be sleeping? Emmet hadn't given him anything else. After the offer for him to stay in Ingo's old room went harshly rejected, he hadn't remembered to find another. Maybe if he had brought his bed like he did with the couch and didn't tell him who's it was, he would have accepted it. It's probably too late for that now, he'd be able to tell he was hiding something.

He sits quietly on the couch with his head down, legs stitched together and hands on his knees as he leans into the back and the arm. He sniffles once. He doesn't like how noses get all runny when people are sad, it's really gross and annoying. His arms are shaking. A couple more tears fall from his eyes, and he keeps his head down.

He could cry as many tears as he wanted to here, and no one would bat an eye. No one would stop to ask him how he's doing, there wouldn't be any croons or coos of upset pokemon. He didn't have to worry about PR or the media or anyone else from across the region judging him.

Just him and his tears. He could finally just cry.

He had gotten so caught up in his thoughts that he stopped paying attention to what was happening around him. He flinches when a weight shifts the couch cushions. Emmet has taken the spot on the other side of the couch, one cushion's worth of space between them.

He holds something in Emmet's direction, and it takes him a few seconds to catch up with what it is.

It's a lemonade. Emmet is looking at him expectantly. He's holding his own drink in his other hand. Emmet takes it carefully but appreciatively. His fingers are so warm. He brushes past them quick, taking it. They'd be warmer if he wasn't wearing his gloves. They leave a tiny impression on the can, a barely lingering heat.

"Stop masking."

Emmet, who's eyes had been fixed downward on the can in his lap, look up to meet his somewhat uncertain. "Huh?"

"Stop masking. I know you are doing it. I am you. I know what it looks like." Emmet sits up just a little straighter. The other cracks open his drink, before turning to look at him again. "Just cry. Talk about it. Whatever."

He takes a sip of his drink, averting his eyes to look at his computers.

Emmet cracks open his own drink, unraveling with a hitched breath as he loosens up and doesn't curl on himself so tightly. The lemonade is very sweet, but just the right amount of tangy. He doesn't say much at all, but there isn't really silence between the sniffles and occasional sobs.

"...I knew it would happen."

"...Did it..." "...For you, too?"

"...No."

"No?"

Emmet must've picked up on the watery hope in his tone. "The day was coming up fast." "I did not stick around long enough to find out."

There's a longer silence between them, broken up by wet hiccups.

Emmet never bought him any lemonade. He must have risked a trip to one of the less populated stations in the subway. The vending machines were still diligently stocked. After another hiccup, he licks some of the tears off his face. Gross. Salty. That's what the gloves were for, silly. He daubs at his cheeks.

"How much do I owe you?" "What?" The reply is so fast and he sounds so confused, it makes him laugh quietly to himself. Emmet is looking over at him, genuinely lost. Emmet holds up his can, still trying to get a persistent dew out of one eye.

He looks at him like he's just told an especially stupid pun. Like Elesa. "Are you kidding me?" It does crack him up again, the sound of his voice and the look on his face. More real this time. "You do not owe me anything. Take one look around this room and ask again." He supplies, sounding incredulous.

"Haha- Okay- Okay."

"That is so- Stupid." He says, and there's something in hearing it that stings- He's running a hand through his hair, though. Emmet can see stress woven through every fiber of his body language. "That is so selfless- and totally unnecessary! It is so stupid!" "So-"

He falters.

"Kind."

"You have been so kind to me." He avoids the surprise in Emmet's eyes by hunching forward, curling onto himself with his lips resting on the rim of his can.

Emmet takes a sip of his own drink to buy him time to find words that were just stolen off his tongue. "You would have done the same."

He doesn't reply, turning his head away. "I am you. You are me."

The pause in between is punctuated by another sniffle.

"I do not think we are the same person any more." His eyes are fixated on one of the endless loading circles on the computer screen across the room, electronic light bathing him a blue shade.

"...You are still you."

He sits up straighter, looking down as he fiddles with the can's tab. "I am not the same as you." "I have spent so long. Searching for him." "I have learned so much crazy stuff and tried so many different things."

"I was just trying to get him back. I think I lost something to do it."

The silence drags on for a while. Emmet sounds resigned, and tired. He doesn't seem to expect him to have anything to say, but he does. He just needs to think of the right way to say it, first.

"You bought me a lemonade."

He scoffs. "That is barely-" "You let me inside."

He looks conflicted, finally meeting his eyes again. "Well-" "Well?"

"I- There have been plenty of times I did not." "Maybe. But I was not crying those times."

"I have left you at the door. All the time." "All the time- And just waited for you to leave me alone." Emmet is somewhat surprised he admitted to that, but doesn't let it show.

"I know." "But you let me in today." He seems to be struggling to come up with another rebuttal.

"You are still honest." "You are still kind. Even if it is not as easy as you want."

"It is never easy to be kind."

Emmet is now the one avoiding the other's eyes. He's found a spot on the wall where the wires don't fully block the hole up, letting him catch a glimpse of a blue crystal.

His couch buddy was finding that sentiment especially sobering right now.

"...Sorry."

"It is okay."

"It, really is not..." He corrects him hesitantly. "But I forgive you, so it is."

He doesn't have a comeback for that one.

He was expecting by this point in the conversation that there wouldn't be anything else that could surprise him, but Emmet does have one last trick he isn't prepared for. He sets his can down on the floor.

"Do-"

He trips over his own tongue and has to start again, except now he's silently cursing himself, because he now has Emmet's undivided attention.

"You. You came all the way out here." "Oh- Right, I should get going-" He starts to pick himself up, quickly making another attempt to dry his eyes- "DO- YOU! WAnt a hug!"

He's stopped mid crouch, failing his attempt to stand and you'd think he never tried to leave his chair.

Emmet panics, throwing out both his arms in his direction but refusing to look at him.

Emmet isn't, exactly sure how to respond. "...Do you want to give me a hug?"

The other falters. His arms twitch. "You do not have to! I wanted to offer." "You are sad. And upset." "And you came all this way-"

"But do you actually want to?" He measures his tone carefully... The hurt in his voice is small, but present.

"Or do you just feel like you need to?"

He flinches, arms curling back to himself until he's tied himself smaller, holding his upper arms tightly. Emmet can immediately read and recognize that tell, want, and he's immediately regretting reading into the offer. It's more obvious how tightly he's caught his own grip because he isn't wearing his gloves. He's fully turned away from him, now. Emmet's heart sinks like a hard stone. "Right- Sorry! I shouldn't have asked!" "It is rude to disrespect personal space!"

His heart wrenches into a violent knot, twisting at the familiar phrase. The amount of times he's had to remind himself of that since Ingo disappeared, he could never count.

"I- Didn't mean to- Sorry-! I-!" Emmet has cleared the paltry space between them before the other can finish another stammering sentence. He holds onto Emmet fiercely tight, looping his hands under his far arm so he can pull himself into Emmet's shoulder. Any conversation is sharply silenced as his arms untangle from their self-soothing spots to loop around his torso instead.

He's actually quite cold to the touch, after Emmet picks his gloves off. His rolled up sleeves and foregone coat must not keep the heat in very well, and the thin walls of the shipping container aren't insulating the chill from deep underground.

Any shared tears past that point are between them and the computers.

"I'm sorry-" "I'm sorry." "It's going to be okay." "I'm going to make it okay again." "I promise." "But you don't have to do it alone, do you?"

"No." "And I don't- I don't want to."

"I do not want to anymore."

"Perfect!" "Then I will not let you be alone."

Reflection AU Masterpost

#Submas #Pokemon Emmet #Emmet #Subway Boss Emmet #AUs #Reflection AU #Befriend My Reflection #TwoLeftHands #Writing #Oneshot #Ramble #Ask #Killing Me With Hammers anon #this is how we do found family to enemies to found family again /lh /joke

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dandelion-wings · 1 year ago

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Saw a post today that gave me Thoughts about Kaeya and trust and signifiers thereof. Some of them very conflicting thoughts (I have multiple conflicting but all very concrete versions of, at minimum, how easily he might sleep around Jean and Diluc), but I picked some individual ones and decided to try a writing exercise.

ETA: now cleaned up and available on AO3!

---

Crepus sits and watches the boy he's found pretend to sleep. He has the soft, steady breathing, and the still relaxation of his muscles, and occasional little snorts and snuffles and shifts. But there's always a pause in his breathing right before he moves, and that gives him away.

Someday, Crepus hopes, he'll trust them enough that he won't have to pretend.

---

Adelinde pushes the door open, quietly as she can, just a crack, and peers into the young master's room. There Kaeya is, Diluc curled protectively around him, grip tight even in his sleep. Kaeya cracks his eye open to meet hers, quietly assessing. One hand is tucked under the pillow in a deliberate fashion.

She nods to Kaeya, closes the door, and goes to reassure Master Crepus that his young charge hasn't run back off to Sumeru again.

---

Jean sits at Kaeya's bedside, turning everything he's told her over in her head. She'll have to tell Varka, and there will have to be more follow-up; even kept secret to them, this will mean questions, plans, failsafes, because Kaeya can't promise that he's safe.

But that can wait. He'd stayed awake barely long enough to let her tend to his eye, the one he has good reason not to let anyone see, and then collapsed in her room like a puppet with his strings cut. Whatever might come next, the least Jean can do for him is guard his rest, and let him set his fears aside until morning.

---

Klee never wakes up before Kaeya does, no matter how hard she tries. He'll seem to fall asleep with her if she curls up with him on the couch, but the moment she stirs he's blinking sleepily at her. Even when she sleeps over at his house, he's always awake in the living room when she tries to creep out of the bedroom to make toast before he gets up.

He'll let her make the toast herself anyway, though, so Klee doesn't mind that she hasn't managed to sneak past him yet.

---

Lisa is almost certain that Kaeya was napping on-duty in the library. Almost, because when she catches him sprawled on her couch he has a book in hand and a lazy smile of greeting, but he looks a little too rumpled to have simply been reading, and he's holding the book upside down.

Lisa considers evicting him, but only for a moment. She installed the couch there for a reason, after all. Instead she sits down and starts a pot of tea boiling for them both.

---

Amber hates going on overnight missions with Kaeya. He barely sleeps during her watches, sitting up at every noise like he doesn't trust her to stand guard. Even though she'd actually caught the one time hilichurls tried to sneak up on them all on her own!

This time, though, she finds a good defensible spot, and Kaeya drops off to sleep for real and doesn't wake once. Amber is pleased about that until she has to make breakfast all by herself the next morning, and when he finally wakes up he gives her a hard time about her coffee.

---

Eula strides into Jean's office, and Kaeya rolls off the couch, still half-tangled in a blanket, hand on the hilt of his sword. He blinks at her blearily and then sits back on the couch, straightening the blanket.

She only nods at him before turning to Jean. By now, Eula knows it isn't her family name that makes him wary. She's not going to take offense to reflexes that he can't help.

---

Rosaria rarely volunteers to monitor the cathedral's patients, but if Kaeya has to stay the night, it's because he needs to actually rest. He won't do that on his own. So she sits by his bed and lets him talk his nerves out until he finally drifts off.

He returns the favor a week later, not even chiding her for her carelessness in getting injured, just slipping into the cathedral and settling in by her bed. Rosaria lets his empty chatter fade into the background and drowses, secure in the knowledge that they each have the other to watch their back.

---

Diluc doesn't expect Kaeya to actually take him up on the offer of a bed, and when he does, Diluc doesn't expect him to sleep. What's the deluge outside against sharing a room with the man who once tried to kill him?

But Kaeya accepts, and when Diluc returns from his evening ablutions, he finds his brother already asleep. Or seeming to be; Diluc studies him a long time, looking for any sign that it's feigned. He settles into bed still uncertain, but with a tiny spark of warmth in his chest, the hope that maybe this means the trust broken between them is starting to be regained.

#kaeya is a bundle of knives behind a smile #ascended fic

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hn-undercover-9503 · 4 months ago

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aaaand one more before I go to bed (it's 2am) this one was a lil character study I was doing for pirates smp Cleo because I found her character there incredibly fascinating (I still do), I remember having a ton of fun writing this one; the actual document is a little bit longer but I never found a good end point for it so it probably won't see the light of day...so I share :)

When Cleo first washed up on the shores of the Faction Isles, the very first thing they were greeted with was a stone axe heading straight for her head.

Reacting on pure instinct, her arm shot out and grasped onto the blade just before it was about to cleave her skull in half. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, now! I don't think that's a great way to wake up, now, is it?"

The blade began to shake in her hands, but not because of her. With a frown, she cast her gaze downwards and blinked at what they saw in front of them. It was a child–just a regular old human child, a boy by the looks of it. A child who happened to be wielding an axe larger than him.

"Oh, now what are you doing with this, then?" Cleo gently tugged the handle from the child's shaking hands and lowered it to the sand. "Honestly, who'd let a kid have an axe anyway? Some people…"

The kid, she realized, was still shaking, and seemed to be frozen in place. She frowned, crouching down to get on his level. "Are you alright?"

The child scooted backward when they moved closer, looking around behind him as though searching for a way out. "S-Stay back, monster!"

"Monster…?" Cleo tilted her head to the side, but then it hit them–she was dead. Of course people who weren't used to her would be scared of her. They couldn't help but laugh a bit, lowering themself down to sit in the sand. "I get it now. Don't worry, I'm not going to attack you."

"Y-You…what?"

She giggled. "I know I'm a zombie, but I'm not brainless."

The kid blinked at them, seemingly confused. "But…zombies aren't…they don't talk."

"Well, maybe here they don't." She smirked. "But I'm different."

The kid frowned, sitting up and straightening his back quickly. "Um, well, sorry I guess. For…trying to kill you."

"Hm. I forgive you." Cleo smiled. "But you can really make it up to me by answering a few questions for me, yeah?"

"Uh, sure." The kid pushed a lock of ginger hair from his face. His hair was only a couple of shades darker than Cleo's own, but his was much tamer. "I know everything about this island. Ask me anything."

"Is that so?" Cleo hummed, tapping her chin as though thinking really hard. "Tell me then, what exactly is this place?"

"This is the Faction Isles!"

"Oh, I see." Cleo hummed again, this time actually thinking. She'd heard of this place before but had never really been sure if it was the right place for them. They'd been adventuring on her own for so long that the idea of joining a group seemed strange, even if she knew that so-called rogue pirates tended to be viewed as lesser. "And who are you exactly? What does a kid have to do with all these pirates?"

"Oh, I live here!" The kid leaned forward excitedly, a gleam in his eyes that spoke volumes. "My name is Scott, and my parents are both really important pirates! They're in the Herons–the best faction–and they've sailed all over these waters! They've explored so much and discovered so many places and things! Someday, I'm going to be just like them! I'm going to set out on my own adventures and stake my own claim on this world. I won't just be the Denholms' son, I'll be Scott Denholm, a legendary adventurer."

Cleo nodded to herself, already feeling an odd stirring in her heart. "Right. Well, Scott–I'm Cleo. I'm a pirate, too, I suppose."

"Really? What faction are you in? I definitely would have remembered seeing you around here."

"I'm not in a faction." Scott gasped, scooting closer and whispering like their next words were a secret.

"Are you a…rogue?"

Cleo laughed and shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I might want to join one of these factions and see what all the fuss is about."

Something glinted in the kid's eyes, and he was on his feet in the next second. He extended a hand to Cleo, who took it even though she didn't need it. The kid was surprisingly tall, although not as tall as her. "Come with me!" He said confidently, turning and heading up the beach to the docks.

"Where are we going?" Cleo asked.

"I'm going to show you the Isles!" He looked back and smiled at them, hands on his hips like he had all the confidence in the world. Then he turned around and kept walking, and Cleo watched him for another few seconds before eventually following him.

#zombiecleo #pirates smp #pirate smp #pow creations #zombie cleo #pirate cleo #p!cleo #mcyt #scott smajor #smajor mcyt #smajor1995 #smajor

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newtonsheffield · 2 years ago

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Molly i dont know if you have a request already for spicy sunday but im here with mine, can we please have something hot and fluff during kate pregnancy in TFFA???

I had a few requests for Spicy Sunday this week, But I'm going with this one!

Anthony couldn't stop staring at her. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he should look away and move his gaze instead to the autumn leaves that were floating down around them as they sat on the picnic blanket in their tiny backyard, no one around for miles. He shouldn't be staring at his wife like this, nearly a year after their marriage.

He'd never been able to stop looking away from her. Not from the second he'd seen her, sitting across the village hall, her hair pinned up neatly, her lipstick bright red, and it felt like he hadn't stopped staring at her since. Well, at least, he hadn't stopped thinking about her, he hadn't even been able to shake the guilt in his chest after she'd stormed away from him, long before Daphne had stormed over to him and hissed like an angry goose.

"What on earth did you say to her, Anthony?!"

The guilt had carried him through to writing that letter to her, his cheeks stinging, and he'd almost laughed when he'd received her curt reply, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, that woman!"

Something had sunk in his chest when he'd woken up in hospital and seen her there, something sunk in him even further when he'd realised he was stuck here. With Kate looking after him. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was shaving him, holding a basin while his stomach refused to hold down food, and wiping the sweat from his brow. She'd had to bathe him. Wash the sweat off his body and he'd hated every second of it. He'd always been so independent, so strong, and having to rely on her for everything had been such a change. Not to mention the fact that every time her hands touched his chest he had to fight the fact that his spine might have been bruised and his legs broken, but there were absolutely no concerns regarding his ability to... remain at attention.

But one day it had all been different, She'd wheeled him out onto the lawn and looked absolutely furious as she berated him for the fact that he was mourning his life. A life he still had, when others weren't even half so lucky. And he'd never looked away from her.

Not when he stood and her eyes lit with joy and her lips brushed his.

Not when she'd blushed as she'd snuck into the hospital when he'd asked her to show him her dress for the village dance and she'd rolled her eyes when he said.

"Do a little spin for me, Nurse Sharma."

But she'd done it anyway. She'd twirled and the skirt of her dress had spun out and all he'd been able to think was God, I love you so goddamned much.

He'd thought that when they'd danced together on the lawn of Thriplow House as he'd hummed in her ear because they had no gramophone or wireless.

And He'd thought that on their wedding day as well, when he'd seen her walking down the aisle towards him, and his heart had swelled in his chest and he'd thought he'd never breathe easy again.

He couldn't breathe easy now, not with her hair floating in the breeze and her hand resting on the tiny swell of her stomach, just beginning to show through her dress. And that only made things so much worse.

He hadn't been able to think about anything else since she'd whispered it in his ear as they lay in bed together. Anthony, you're going to be a Papa.

He hadn't stopped thinking about the fact she was nurturing their child, that there would be a baby someday soon, born into a world like this one, but still, a life with no mistakes in it. A fresh life, a new start, and his child would never know hardship, would never know anything but the happiness of life in this village. With Kate working at the hospital, and Anthony in his shop. He would make a life for all of them, celebrating every single day.

"I can feel you staring at me, Darling."

Anthony raised his eyebrow, "Is a man not allowed to stare at his wife? Was that not what buying you a ring was about?"

She chuckled, kissing his cheek, "I think that it was about promising to love one another forever, actually."

Anthony scoffed, shifting closer to her, "I think you might have missed the part of the ceremony where the priest told everyone I was allowed to stare at you forever."

"Did I?" There was a smirk making its way onto her lips as she leaned towards him. "That seems awfully lax of me."

"It does." He sighed gravely, "But I can think of a way you can make it up to me."

"Oh? And how's that?"

He didn't answer her, leaning forward to brush their lips together, deepening the kiss as she sighed against his lips. He moved closer towards her, until his hands rested either side of her, their lips still moving together in the warm sunshine. He leaned forward again, pressing himself against her until she slid back against the blanket with a tortured moan.

He swallowed it with his tongue, letting it swirl around hers, the taste of her thick around him. He took a shuddering breath as his lips fell to her neck, nipping at the soft skin there, his tongue soothing it as he moved on.

"I don't think we should be doing this here."

Anthony groaned, letting his eyes slide to hers, "But this is a perfectly nice place."

"It's also outside." She chuckled, her fingernails scratching against his scalp in a motion that always had his eyes rolling back in his head, his thigh nudging hers apart. "I'll let you have your wicked way with me if you can still carry your whale of a wife inside."

Anthony rolled his eyes, "You happen to be the most beautiful woman on this planet, even more beautiful now, and I'll prove it to you."

he slid his hand up her thigh, smiling smugly as her eyes fluttered closed and her legs fell open,

"Well," Kate said, her breath shuddering, "Maybe if you're very quick."

He chuckled, capturing her lips again as his hand slipped into her underwear the warmth of her spreading over his fingertips and he couldn't look away from her.

She was stunning, like this, her fingernails biting into his shoulders as she held him closer, her chest heaving already as her hips rolled against his fingers and he pushed her to the edge, desperate for her to find it, desperate for her to feel it, and she did. He felt her body tighten around him as she found release and shuddered against him.

He kissed her softly as her eyes opened, burning against his skin. "Was that quick enough?"

She rolled her eyes, tugging him until her hips nestled his softly and her hands were already fumbling with his belt pushing his trousers down.

Her lips were soft on his as his breathing stuttered in his chest, his jaw clenched against the feel of her against him, both of them savouring the moment just before.

She nodded gently, her hands on his hips encouraging him forward and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

Oh god, Kate, I love you.

He couldn't hold it in when he let his hips roll forward against hers and they joined together.

Kate was soft and warm underneath him, their child cradled between them as their hips ground slowly together, finding one another, clinging to one another desperately.

The sun was warming his back as he moved against her, shielding her from the light and her touch burned his skin pulling him in closer but there wasn't anything but her.

There wasn't anything but the feel of her fingers in his hair and her legs tightening around his waist and the slide of their skin together and their hearts pounding in their chests, perfectly in sync.

I love you, God, I love you, Kate

His name fell from her chest agains and again like a hoarse prayer and he could feel his entire body tightening in time with hers and the feeling in the pit of his stomach coiled tighter and tighter until-

Fuck!

They fell over the edge together shuddering against one another in the autumn afternoon until everything went still.

"You have twigs in your hair." He could barely get the words out, exhausted as he lay against her chest, shifting his weight off the baby.

"Well, I wonder whose fault that is." He could hear the sarcasm in her voice. "You're supposed to give your pregnant wife some rest."

He grinned up at her, "Oh come on, did you not tell Daphne that you'd never marry me because I was a randy dog? I'm only trying to live up to your expectations, love."

"Well, I do hate to be disappointed."

#till forever falls apart au #spicy sunday🌶#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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autumnslance · 2 years ago

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Writing To Yourself

(Mileage may vary, I'm not your mom nor your teacher--unless you're working for a specific state healthcare service, anyway.)

That's how you garden. Tend the plot. Plant a million seeds, reap a thousand blooms. The rest? Compost for the next crop. -@biot08 / @driftward

During a Discord convo, I thought about why so many fandom writers catch “writer’s block”, and some of it goes back to self-care and taking in new media, getting inspiration and knowledge, covered in this post. But much of it?

People think everything they create has to be publishable for others’ consumption. That is Not True. Too often we don't want to write things just for the sake of writing them, falling into the trap of thinking it needs to be perfectly polished and shared, but No It Really Doesn't.

Folks talk about “writing for oneself” but in terms of posting finished pieces of the kinds they want to see. If everything feels like it “has to be” publishable, it can start to put too much pressure on oneself. And then there’s your block, especially if the type to worry about how others Perceive you and your art.

Try simply writing anything and deciding later if it's something you want to share. I have pieces I wrote cuz my brain suddenly said it wanted to, but that writing isn't posted anywhere. Usually it’s random lines; out of context sentences, scenes, or bits of dialogue. Sometimes just incoherent character rambling. Ideas for situations and what ifs. Misspelled, typos, not grammatical, redundant wording, passive voice, bad POV, too many adverbs, not enough active verbs, not enough description, too much description, etc. All in notebooks or doc files. I’ve shared the (now out-dated) deep nests of my WIPs folders and the multiple, unfinished, unpolished pieces within them. Most will never be completed nor seen by the public.

For instance, I've a random smut fic of a Highlander Warrior of Light and the popular antagonist of Shadowbringers. I'm not usually a villain liker, but one day it hit my brain, so I wrote it. I have notes and outlines for the rest of their story and how it plays out, though I'll probably never write more. I scratched the writing itch, stretched some skills, considered things from a different angle, and now it sits in drafts (I did post a couple decent-ish smut lines to my private Twitter once).

Mostly, it's practice. Even if it's junk and janky.

“But I have (professionally) published X or Y…”

Still gotta exercise the writing muscles! Still gotta scrawl off something utterly unusable now and again for the heck of it!

All those random lines, descriptions, scenes, rambles? Maybe I'll use them someday. I wrote them down to feel the pen in my hand or keys clacking under my fingers, to see the words pop onto the page or screen, to play with word choice, sentence structures, and “how would they say that?” For my own satisfaction, no one else’s.

When I get bored or stuck, or need a screenshot or writing prompt response, I might poke at those lines, pages, rambles, and see if they hit now or spin off to something else. They often don’t. But sometimes they help inform other things I do post to the public later. Even if that’s just a Question of the Day prompt response on Twitter.

(That also counts as writing and creating btw; you’re still coming up with something to share about your characters and I think that’s very creative of you.)

If the mood strikes, write. Even if it's just a vague idea--especially if it's any bits of dialogue or description, if it's something you think that you actually do want to write when off work or out of bed or whatever.

Even if you never post it anywhere public. Even if it never gets out of crummy first draft, unfinished pages form. It might feel like pulling teeth and look rough, especially if it’s been awhile.

But still write it. No one else has to know or see. Not until you want them to.

Maybe parts of it will inform something you do finish later. Maybe two years from now another prompt will hit just right and you’ll dig out that draft and finish it for posting. Maybe you’ll cannibalize aspects of it for an entirely different piece. Maybe you’ll even use it in a few more years to see how far you’ve come as a writer.

In many cases? That's how you actually keep writer's block away. Keeping ideas around to steal from yourself, letting yourself write nonsense, unpublishable bits and pieces, maybe even whole pages, just for the heck of it, if writing is something one enjoys and wants to stick with as a hobby (or professionally). If you don’t enjoy writing for fun? Don’t force it; do little character prompts and blurbs as they feel right, and find the ways to share creativity that work for you.

And seriously, don’t forget to take in new media, experiences, and information. This is How You Lose the Time War got me writing on an original story I shelved last autumn. The stories aren't at all alike! But seeing new words in new ways helped shake something loose in my brain. So try to make some time for that, too.

Write to yourself, not for others’ consumption. Public posting is great for validation and encouragement, for when we feel the urge to share due to pride or just wanting to gush about our faves. But also let yourself remember why you liked creating worlds, making up stuff about your characters, and writing at all to begin with, without the pressure of public posting. Give yourself some grace, and let it all be messy, unhinged, misspelled, ungrammatical, incomplete, and make no narrative sense.

Write to yourself, for yourself. Then let the rest follow.

#Writing #Blogging #Creativity #Posting #Self-Care

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stargazer-sims · 11 months ago

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out of all of your creative processes -- even things you don't consider part of-- what part is the most tedious? the one that makes you go 😫?

This is an interesting question, and I'm going to put the answer under a cut due to there being some potentially triggering things in it.

First off, I'm not sure any part of my creative process frustrates or upsets me that much, to be honest. All my writing related frustration is post-creation. Thinking it up and actually writing it is the "easy" part, and even when it isn't easy I still like it because I enjoy challenges and I enjoy seeing a finished product. I don't even mind editing, probably because I'm meticulous.

What frustrates me the most is that no matter how much I enjoy creating something, no matter how much effort I put into it, and no matter how much I love it in the moment, I will inevitably end up not liking it, whether that's five seconds after I release it into the wild or some longer period of time later. At the end of the day, I'm convinced everything I create isn't worthy of positive attention, and I don't even have to fall into the trap of comparing myself to others to feel that way; I just feel it's all objectively bad. Sometimes I even have this feeling of shame and embarrassment for liking it. I know a lot of this probably relates back to my mental illness and to past real-life psychological and emotional abuse and trauma and my resulting nonexistent self-confidence & self-esteem, and it's always going to be an issue no matter what I do.

I was raised in a very strict religious environment, which I would classify as a cult now that I've learned a thing or two about religious abuse. As a child and teen, I usually had to write in secret because I was told that not only were creative endeavours a pointless waste of time but that fiction writing was a sin and led to an "impure thought life". (This was supposedly one of the ways the devil would get you and corrupt you). It was also not okay to be proud of anything I'd done because pride is a sin too, of course. The fact that I felt like a rebel because I hid under a stairwell at school to write during lunch and that had a hiding spot for my notebooks at home says a lot, considering other kids were sneakily drinking and smoking and having intimate relations.

Lack of encouragement and positive feedback (that I don't have to figurately get down on my knees and beg for) also contributes, but I'm not going to sit here and blame random internet strangers for something that's essentially a "me" problem.

I think I'd have no frustrations at all with my creative process if I didn't ever share anything. I could just keep it all as my own little secret, and it'd be all good. I might not even get the associated shame, and I know this because I still love my most secret unreleased writings, even years later. But, for me, sharing is actually necessary. As anxiety-producing as it is each time I click the post button, and as paralyzing my guilt and shame can be sometimes, I feel like it's also important to put my work out there, as bad as it is. My stuff might be absolute cringe material, but it also represents a kind of victory and freedom, even if I can't always see it that way. I have to keep doing it in the hope that someday I'll actually believe that it's okay to create AND share AND allow myself to be proud of it.

I have no idea if that actually answered your question, but anyway... there you go.

#sapphire notes #sapphire answers

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starstrucklighttimemachine · 11 months ago

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So, this is for an ex-friend. My therapist just said it would be nice to share it, something about helping me let go... Anyway, it's a sad attempt of poetry <3

The saddest thing about all this is that my door will still be open for you. For any of the others that had walked away from it. Stubborn is the human heart that denies itself a closure. Because under all that scarring, under all that crying, under all that hurting anger, a part of me is still yours, and a part of you is still mine.

Do you remember? Do you remember me when you hear a laugh similar at mine? Do you think of me when you see someone with my same hairstyle? Do you smile as you remember a joke I said once? Do you cry when you realize we are no longer the same? We are no longer mirrors of each other. We don't keep the same images, the same time, the same looks. Do you feel as if a part of you is missing? I do. Every time I believe I hear you laugh, every time I hear someone talk about a series you liked, every time my mother asks how you are.

Why did we change? Why did we grow up? I still remember our positions on that table on the corner, how we shared a salt container because of how awful the food was. How we would play and talk and laugh. We would have philosophical talks. We would discuss the human and divine. We had all the answers and, at the same time, none. We were something and nothing.

Do the walls remember us? Does that table still remember which place each girl took? Do you think they would remember how we laughed? How we cried? How we would stress about simple things?

When life was simpler, when we were still great and proud. When we were infinite, star dust playing with other stars. When we believed in everything and how we would, someday, be great, and together, we would be unstoppable and uncontrollable. When there were four of us. When we were alive. When you were here.

Maybe it's just the human experience to break something so pure and leave it tainted. Split. On the verge of dying but not giving the final blow.

How do I explain it? How do I say to you how much it hurts? How do I tell you how mad it made me when you beg for me to squeeze back into my old self even though I grew out of it? I did it anyway. Because I believed you. Because I loved you. Because I thought, if I squeeze back, everything would be the same. And we would laugh, and we would sit back on that corner table that was ours and share our glorious days again.

I was wrong. I was mistaken. I was cheated. I squeezed back on my sheded skin only to find that you didn't care if I did. I felt a joke. I felt stupid. I feel mad and uncontrollably taunted.

What's worse, I still wait. Sheded skin on hand, I still wait. My mind sits back on our corner table, and I still wait. I wait for the other three glorious girls that I once called sisters. The girls that grew up with me and I believed would stay until I part this world. My life line. My home.

My home is broken. There's nothing that I can do to fix it. I weep. I've lost something too, and it is not coming back. It's gone with the sea and its powerful waves. I long for it, even though deep down I know, it won't come back.

I write this thinking of you, thinking of me, thinking of her, and thinking of she. Thinking of how we are now a past thing. A "used to". A picture hidden on the back of a closet. A faint brush of the past. I think of times when we were interwoven, so closely that others could barely perceive one without the others.

I weep a lost. I cry a missing star. I crave a hint that you are still you, that you still see me every time you close your eyes. I pray that you still feel them, how they used to laugh, how they used to talk, how they used to walk. I don't hate you, no matter what you think, I am mad, that much I will admit.

But I still have space for you, if you ever need a place to stay. The rooms of my heart might have been left, might have been forgotten, but they do not close. I'm too fond of them to tear them apart. Others may say I'm stupid for denying myself the satisfaction of closing the door and forbidden entry again, but I believe there's a certain charm on how the light still hits every spot you used to touch.

I find lovely the way the place fills of cobwebs and dust takes it seat in the places you hang out. How the room is still filled with your scent but now is old and feels cold. I might be stupid, but that hasn't stopped me before.

If you hear this, if you see this, if the wind or the moon is so gentle as to let you know I wrote this for you, please just know, you still have a room in my heart. Sure, now it's cold and dusty and full of melancholic cobwebs. But it's yours. No one, but you will use it. No one, but you can close it.

#ex friends #plz dont read it #my therapist would be so proud

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searching-for-synpathy · 2 years ago

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I’m supposed to be working, but how could I work when everything is coming to an end like this? I’m sitting on the grass and the sun is shining and it’s finally a lovely day, and I still feel like everything is being swallowed up by an eternal doom. I only have so many days left here and as much as I am At Peace about it I’m spending them feeling like a ghost. I drift through this campus which I do love, and I watch people interact and I finally feel happy rather than jealous for them, and I might see someone I know and wave, and then I drift somewhere else and open up my laptop and quietly sit and worry and sigh and look at the sun and clouds. I believe I have things to share with people. I believe I can be a good person and a good friend. I’m not sure why I haven’t gotten the chance to really explore that yet. Yes, I am more unbending than some people. But I’m loyal, and straightforward, and I think I even have some interesting passions and ideas. I just want people to share those things with. And, obviously, selfishly, humanly, I want a place to put my own hurt, too, as well as my joys. Am I really so on the outside? Is this just a weird quirk of my life story that God wrote in the fact that I would be a wanderer for so much of my life? At least I’m saying “wanderer” now rather than “outcast;” perhaps it’s a journey. A long and slow journey. And this is one place I will sit and think about it; and there will be another place; and another and another. And I will have the same thoughts at different times and places and hopefully I will be able to look back at myself and say, it’s okay. you’re doing good. you’re doing the things that made things just a tiny, little bit better for me. And that’s what I keep going for. Even when things seem doomed. Even when I drift through and feel invisible, and even when I feel like people let me down and toss me to the margins of their lives, and even when I don’t and can’t understand why. I was insulted yesterday by someone I thought I might be able to trust for the rest of my life. It wasn’t a big insult and I understand why it was said but it has been knocking around my brain all day, forming a deep circular groove in the dirt of my brain. I keep thinking, was it me? did i bring it on myself? do I deserve it in return for my own guilty actions? is this karmic punishment? am i overly sensitive? do I need to trust and let it go? I’m leaning towards no for the first several questions and yes for the last two, because that’s just how life is. All the same I wish I could return to that child’s fantasy where nothing and no-one will ever hurt you, insult you, and toss you aside. I am a sensitive person and I try to make space for that. I’m a sensitive person because I’ve seen the horrors that resentment, entitlement and callousness can cause and I would rather be a ghost than go through that. And anyway. I’m trying to trust and love myself without writing off the possibility of support like I did in the past. I’m trying to nurse my wounds while still opening them up to the outside world and that’s hard. It’s not something I do. But I can try for me. And someday I will be like the people I see.

#adrian.txt #introspective #it's getting cold so I'm going inside

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novafire-is-thinking · 2 years ago

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@onewingedsparrow 😆 Um, kind of. Okay, yes—I suppose Wheeljack deserves to let it go. And depending on how you see the dichotomy of deserved/undeserved, Prowl may or may not have deserved what he got here.

I don’t know if you’ve seen much of Prowl in your IDW 2 reading, but I’m fairly certain you have yet to properly meet IDW 1 Prowl. They might be similar, but I wouldn’t know for sure since I’ve only seen a few panels of him in IDW 2. Anyway, consider this your official introduction to IDW 1 Prowl. (I feel like his unofficial PR manager. Lol)

Think of IDW 1 Prowl as having the strategic genius of Megatron (IDW and maybe TFP, if you squint), the foresight of Optimus, the strictness of Ultra Magnus, and the blackmailing capabilities of Soundwave, all wrapped up in a nice, morally gray package.

There are those who will burn down the world for the good of the few that they love and there are those who will sacrifice those they care about for the good of the world (figuratively or literally). Prowl falls into the latter category.

Prowl logic is: Anything is morally justifiable as long as it helps end the war and save the most Cybertronian lives as possible in the long run. He’s pushed away friends and ruined countless lives in the name of his objective: End the war as fast as possible.

However, he’s unwilling to get too involved himself and often makes others do his dirty work for him. That’s where Arcee and the Wreckers come in, at least in IDW. See, Prowl is the master of escaping any negative consequences that come about as a result of his scheming/strategizing. However, someone always pays the price, and Arcee and the Wreckers are his most notable “victims.”

That’s why, in my little half scene here, Wheeljack is enraged by the very sight of Prowl. There’s some nasty history between the Wreckers and the Chief Strategist in IDW, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like if that were also the case in the TFP-verse.

If, by some miracle, I do turn this into a full fic someday, it’ll be canon-divergent since Aligned Prowl was on the Ark with Optimus and his original crew. The questions I’d like to answer in the story are:

What if Prowl had never gotten on the Ark?

Or, what if he had, but got separated during one of their planetary stops for some reason? That would explain why he (and many others) weren’t on earth in TFP.

Either way, what did he get up to while he was separated from Optimus and Team Prime?

What if his past caught up with him in a similar way to how it did in IDW 1? How could he make amends?

How could Prowl change? What would cause his internal scale to tip from “the good of the many outweighs the good of the few” to “the good of the few outweighs the good of the many” (or at least balance it)?

How could his gifts be used to build a better future for post-war Cybertron or even earth?

All these questions, and I already have the answers to a few of them worked out in my head. I just don’t currently have the skills, time, or patience to sit down and write everything out in story form. Plus, I haven’t read all of IDW 1 yet, so I mostly just have an aerial view of Prowl’s story thanks to MTMTE, Sins of the Wreckers, and a bunch of TFwiki pages.

At the end of the day, the thing that intrigues me most about IDW Prowl (and my TFP-ish version of him) is that I see him as a fusion of the seemingly opposite, yet complementary natures of TFP Optimus and most versions of Megatron (also, a fusion of two of the thirteen Primes—Prima and Megatronus). In essence: the embodiment of the concept of Yin-Yang. And I see so much potential in him that it hurts to know I lack the skills to do him justice in writing.

@karlyanalora I’m tagging you too since I think you’ll be interested in where I would take this/how I see my favorite black-and-white idiot (affectionate).

Thanks for tagging me in Six Sentence Sunday, @karlyanalora! I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ve never officially written anything for this fandom (or any fandom, for that matter), but it appears you’ve motivated me to change that today. :)

I’ve thought about what it might be like if Aligned Continuity Prowl had been given more aspects of IDW Prowl’s personality and history and had shown up in the TFP-verse, so have a not-so-friendly reunion moment:

Prowl’s recent return to Cybertron had gone as expected. No one was excited to see him, least of all Arcee and Bulkhead, but Ultra Magnus respected him enough to allow him to oversee some of the rebuilding efforts. The Autobots’ former chief strategist had learned long ago that bad things happen when he lets his guard down, and he would once again be proven right.

Upon returning from a lengthy assignment on the outskirts of what would become New Iacon City, Wheeljack strode into headquarters covered in Primus-knows-what, ready to report his progress to Ultra Magnus. In the middle of reading a report, Prowl had barely registered Wheeljack’s arrival before he felt the impact of a fist meeting his jaw and crashed to the floor. Unable to react fast enough, he found himself pinned to the ground as the Wrecker landed blow after blow, screaming insult after insult.

There. 6 long sentences that took me all evening to formulate and piece together.

Tagging: @onewingedsparrow @lets-try-some-writing @shockwavve and anyone else who wishes to join!

#the wolf of petrex #the wolf of praxus #nova’s nerding out again #novafire is writing

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lovelyleclercs · 2 years ago

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Chapter Two- You Can't Hide This Forever

Arthur Leclerc x Sofia Sine

-> Sofia doesn't want to tell Arthur the truth, especially after he gets emotional over a movie scene.

word count: 1581

warnings: Mentions of cancer + I wrote this at like 3am and didn't read through it so I'm sorry if its complete chaos lol

A/N: This is a small little baby chapter that wasn't apart of the original storyline, however I wanted to write something about Charlotte finding out that Sofia is sick.

Sofia had seven days to figure out how she was going to bring up her diagnosis to her sister Charlotte. Seven whole days to figure out what the proper way to tell her would be. Seven days of bracing herself for the emotions that might overtake her the moment she says the three words she dreaded the most for the first time. Yet all she could do was hand her the paperwork from her doctor’s visit.

Charlotte took the paperwork from Sofia’s hands and glanced through the first couple of pages before landing on the fourth page where the word cancer caught her eye. She paused for a moment, reading the sentence over and over again. After nearly five minutes of silence, she finally put the paperwork down on the counter and looked up at you. “How are you feeling about this?”

Charlotte’s words hit Sofia like a truck. As she picked at the skin around her finger nail, she looked at the window and sighed. “Devastated, confused, scared, stressed, sick… I don’t know” she said quietly as she felt tears well in her eyes. “I’ve been sitting alone in this apartment for the past seven days trying to understand how this could happen to me. How I have done everything possible in my lifetime to be as healthy as possible and yet here I am, twenty years old getting diagnosed with cancer…”

Charlotte sighed and sat down beside Sofia, not really knowing how to respond to her comments. “Life just sucks sometimes, sissy. It’s the way it goes…”

Sofia nodded and wiped her tears away. “Dr. M wants me to start treatment immediately so my first appointment is tomorrow.”

Charlotte sighed and looked at Sofia with sorrow written all over her face. “I fly out to Italy early tomorrow morning with Charles for a sponsorship event, but maybe Arthur could go with you?”

Sofia smiled sadly and shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather go alone.”

Charlotte looked at Sofia and sighed, knowing all too well that the real reason she didn’t want Arthur to tag along is because she didn’t want to tell Arthur her diagnosis. “You can’t hide this from him forever, Sof. He deserves to know, he is your best friend…”

“I understand that, Char but if I tell him he is going to want to quit racing to be by my side 24/7 and I can’t have him do that. Not when he finally got to F2, not when he promised Herve he would race in F1 someday, not when my diagnosis is so similar to Herve’s…”

Just as she was about to continue her sentence, she noticed Charles was standing behind her. She had no idea that he had somehow managed to sneak in without notice, but she knew that he had heard everything she just said.

“You have cancer?” he asked quietly, almost in disbelief that someone he loved was going through this all over again. Charles had already lost two important people at a young age, he couldn’t bear the idea of losing a third.

Sofia nodded slightly, unable to make eye contact with him anymore. “I found out last week”

Charles sat down in the empty chair next to Charlotte and put his hand on her thigh, knowing that this was probably hard on her too. “When does your treatment start?”

“Tomorrow”

“Arthur can take you, he wanted to come visit you tomorrow anyways”

“No. I don’t want arthur to know i’m sick”

“Sof, you two never keep anything from each other… if he finds out that you’re hiding this from him, he’s going to be devastated…”

Sofia stared out the window. Everything that both Charles and Charlotte had said were true. Arthur was your best friend, he would in fact be devastated if he found out you were hiding this from him and yes indeed he deserved to know. The whole conversation was making your head spin. That familiar dizziness came back as your mind continued to repeat Charlotte’s words.

You can’t hide this from him forever, Sof.

He’ll be devastated if he finds out you kept this from him.

He deserves to know the truth.

He’s your best friend.

When Sofia felt two familiar arms wrap around her, she practically burst into tears. It was Arthur, she could tell without even opening her eyes. She knew his hugs like the back of her hand. Arthur looked at both Charlotte and Charles, extremely confused as to why Sofia was sobbing in his arms. The two of them shrugged at Arthur, knowing that it wasn’t their place to tell him what was going on. “Sof? Are you ok?”

Sofia wrapped her arms around him tightly and buried her face into the crook of his neck. She had no idea how badly she needed his comfort all week until this moment. He was the only person who could comfort her during her worst moments, and the only person who could make her laugh until she cried in her best moments. She knew that she needed to tell him- that going through this healing journey would be impossible without him- but was telling him going to be the right decision?

Arthur’s voice very quickly snapped Sofia out of her thoughts. “Come on, Sof. Let’s get you upstairs and into bed, ok? I’ll order us a pizza and we can watch a movie and eat some pizza like we used to do back in our karting days.”

Sofia nodded, knowing that spending some time with Arthur was much needed. Arthur grabbed her hand and walked with her up the stairs, opening the door to her room, allowing her to go in first like he always did. When Sofia stepped into her room, she very quickly realized how messy it was. Tissues everywhere, clothes thrown around, and a few plates and cups from the few meals she had eaten throughout the week were scattered around her room. It was very unusual of her to have such a messy room as she was usually a neat freak, but this past week had proved to be too exhausting for her to even care.

Without any hesitation, Arthur began picking up her room while she changed. He knew where everything went as she had watched her clean her room several times. When Sofia had finished getting changed, she came out of her bathroom and found her bedroom to be completely spotless with no signs of Arthur anywhere. Sofia couldn’t help but smile a little, relieved that she got to go to sleep in a clean room for the first time in eight days. She climbed into bed, tucking herself in under the covers while she waited for Arthur.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed and part of her wondered if he was even coming back. However only a few more minutes had passed before Arthur walked into her bedroom with a pizza box, two plates and napkins, as well as two coca-colas. Sofia sat up a little and smiled at him. “Thank you for cleaning up in here, you really didn’t have to do that. You also didn’t have to buy pizza, so thanks for doing that too.”

Arthur smiled and sat down beside you, pulling the covers over himself before opening the pizza box. “You’ve clearly had a rough week, it was the least I could do for you. How many slices do you want?”

“Just one, please. I’m not that hungry right now”

Arthur nodded and placed a piece onto both of your plates before setting the box on the nightstand. Sofia handed Arthur the remote, indicating to him that she wanted him to choose the movie. Sofia watched as he scrolled through several movies before finally landing on one.

A Walk to Remember.

Sofia leaned back, knowing very well that this movie used to be one of her absolute favorites, however right now, it was probably the one movie on their list that she didn’t want to watch. Sofia had made it through the first part of the movie just fine, eventually she had cuddled up to Arthur like she typically did during a movie. Arthur wrapped his arm around her, not taking his eyes off the screen once.

The scene where Jamie tells Landon that she was sick had started and Sofia felt like it was a punch to the stomach. Soon enough, she was going to have to do what Jamie did and tell the one person that mattered most to her in this world that she was sick. She heard Arthur sniffle, making her look up at him. There were tears in his eyes. Arthur had never cried at this movie before, he always would make fun of Sofia for balling her eyes out, so when she noticed his tears, she grew confused. “Art? Are you ok?”

“I’m sorry it’s just… I can’t imagine if you ever… got sick like that you know?”

“Art I-”

“I know I know. The chances of you getting cancer are very slim and you’re ok, you’ll be fine. It's just.. What if? You know?”

Without saying another word, Sofia just nodded and rested her head back onto his chest. Every part of her wanted to tell Arthur that she was sick, that she did have cancer and she was scared. Seeing Arthur’s reaction to even just the idea of her being sick absolutely broke her. There was no way she could tell him now, right?

Chapter Three

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