#but eventually you mention something off hand to another person who lives down the street

[peachesofteal]

At work just thinking about you buying the creepiest house on the block and inheriting Simon as your neighbor. The house creaks, the basement light never stays, the attic is damp, and you’re pretty sure there’s a ghost.

Not to mention there’s something not quite right about the man next door.

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces (Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Part 1 of who knows how many parts :)

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

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The heavy sound of rain flood the streets of Nueva York. The dim street lights felt faded as the mist blocked their glow. Despite the downpour that washed the streets, the stench of blood still lingered. A foul odor that could never truly be cleaned from this city.

Nueva York was riddled with crime. Each part of the city was owned and govern by their own mafia. Drugs, alcohol and fights were always a topic and always a cause to stay indoors. Only the smart stayed away from the mafia. They were the ones to survive this city unscathed. They were the ones to avoid trouble.

You had just moved into the city, unaware of its true face, nor did you really have a choice. You were desperate to get away from your old life. Despite for a fresh start. So much so, that you landed in one of the worst parts of the city. The place you rented was small, but it was enough to keep you hidden.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you near cried at the sight of a roach. Tears threaten to spill as you sprayed the roach spray against the foul creature for dear life. You had just moved into the place. You were warned by your friends and family of the filth of the city, but they didn't know anything. They didn't know the pain you were in.

"Ew, ew!" You whined as you grabbed the broom, throwing the roach away.

Once you were freed from that horrid task, you continued to clean and unpack. You double checked everything for roaches and mice, wanting to sleep soundly for once. You shuddered at the thought as you pulled out old photographs of your high school days. Within those pictures was the cause of your depature.

Your ex.

You had fled your hometown due to your abusive ex-boyfriend, Eddie Brock. The man was so kind to you at first, treating you well until you officially started dating. Your college life was cut short due to his beatings and yelling. You were always at fault. You could never be good enough for him. You were always the problem.

The thought made you sob. You moved to this city on a whim thanks to your small job. You just wanted to stop living in that hell. Everyone loved your ex. They never truly saw what he was. They never even asked how you were.

"I-I need to s-stop crying." You whispered to yourself as you looked out the window, "I-I have work tomorrow. I...I need to be ready."

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Meanwhile, a few blocks over, Miguel was sitting before his large patio, watching the rain. He held a glass of vodka in his hand, watching the lightening brighten the sky more than the city lights itself. He inhaled to the loud roar of thunder before being interrupted by a knock at his door.

"Que? (What)" He hissed lowly. Lyla smiled as she walked over with a folder, placing them on his desk,

"Just something for the morning." She chirped and approached the door, "There's another one waiting outside. Shall I send her in?"

"Ha, and get some fake praises. She can only come in if she wants a quick fuck. I won't deal with gold diggers." Miguel grumbled.

Lyla just hummed in response before shutting the door. Miguel could only groan in annoyance as he placed his glass down. His night would have been better off alone. Closing the blinds to his patio, Miguel approached his desk to the file. It was going to be another long day tomorrow.

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There was a scurry to your step as you tried to please your new boss. It was your first day working in the chain supermarket, and you were stressed. This version of your old job was far busier, louder and ruder than what you were used to. You were a shy and quiet person, so having so many people yell and pull you around was breaking you.

"(Y/N)! Deli needs a hand, you ever did that?" One of your coworkers asked. You flinched at the sudden yell,

"I-I have helped packaged an-"

"Good enough, go help and put a kick in it!"

You just agreed and hurried to the deli. You grabbed a hair net and gasped lowly at your fellow coworkers there. They were all so tall and mean looking. You were like a deer in headlights the moment they saw you enter their kitchen. You just bowed your head slightly and quietly made your way to the meat wrapping station.

"Why'd they put her here? She don't know anything yet," One of the taller men whispered. You're ears perked up since whispers weren't exactly in their volcabulary,

"She's a scaredy cat. Ain't nothing comin' outta her mouth. Same like the rest of us,"

You wanted to ask them what they were talking about, but you were too scared to find out. That, and you learned the harsh lesson of minding your own business. Dear ol' Eddie gave you that cruel lesson. Shaking your head at the thought, you didn't want to be known as the employee who cried on their first day.

"Hey, new kid," One of your coworkers called out, approaching you, "Yer new here, so let me warn you. We got three freezers in the deli. One is full of the fresh meat we get. Leave that to us big guys. You can enter the second freezer with the small cuts for the customers. The third freezer, you never enter. Don't ask questions about it. Don't peak into it. Just pretend it never exists. Oh, and don't make eye contact with those who enter it."

"Okay,"

Hell fucking no. You were going to stay far away from dear freezer number three. That was a lot more information than you even wanted to hear. Hell, you weren't a fan of entering freezer number two. Once your coworkers were reassured by your understanding, they returned to work.

Your hands trembled over your station as you tried to focus on your job with the seven men yelling around you. This was your sad new life. You had to get used to this. You were either going to make it in the city or die trying.

--------

Miguel lazily glanced out his window seat, spotting the upcoming supermarket. There was a rumble in his throat as he leaned back in his seat. His men tailing behind him in different cars. Miguel told his driver to stop, wanting to walk the rest of the way while his men parked around back.

"Peter, take our guest into the freezer. I'm going to make a pit stop at the deli," Miguel said over the phone.

"Miguel, we talked about this. You're the boss, let us handle the work." Peter tried reasoning over the phone.

Miguel wasn't even paying attention. He hung up and proceeded to enter the supermarket. His presence alone made the managers cower and the workers silent. Of course, none of the regular customers knew anything. None of them suspected that he, Miguel O'Hara, CEO of Alchemax, was the leader of the Spider Mafia. One of the biggest and ruthless mafia in town.

"The usual?" One of the deli men questioned. Miguel glanced over his shoulder, noticing you shaking like a leaf while avoiding your coworkers,

"And they say I'm cruel. New hire?"

"Transfer from out of town," The man replied.

Miguel raised a brow towards you. You were pale in the face as you apologized for getting in people's way. Miguel couldn't help but snort. It was cute. Something he was not used too. Returning his attention to the deli worker, Miguel could only smirk as he watched his men drag their guest into freezer number three.

"The bird needs to be plucked." Was all Miguel said for the man to understand.

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You whimpered softly as you moved away from everyone's path. It had gotten far too busy for your liking. Once you caught a break, you noticed the deli supervisor talking to a handsome man. You tilted your head, stealing a glance. The man was tall and gorgeous. He wore a slick all black suit. Something very fancy for this part of town.

The man took notice of you and smiled. Your cheeks immediately started to heat up as you quickly returned to your job. As you did, you noticed some men enter the third freezer. You paled instantly. It was your first day! Biting you lower lip, you tried to focus on your work. Right as you did, you noticed the handsome man from earlier walk by you and towards the freezer,

"Keep up the good work, conejita (bunny)." He whispered.

You felt your heart race as the door shut. His voice was so deep and low. If only he hadn't entered the freezer. Perhaps, you would have gotten to know him as a regular.

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Next Chapter!

[andshesaidwhat]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay Beresford was one of Manhattan’s most notorious playboys. His name, and the money that came with it, garnered him a big reputation. Bored of the spotlight and in need of a distraction, Clay ventures to a hole-in-the-wall strip club in the Lower East Side. When he sees you walk out on that stage, he knows at once that you could be the one to rewrite his story.

Warnings: stripper!reader, playboy!Clay, reader works at a strip club and a lot of the story takes place there, descriptions of sex work, reader has a tragic backstory, mentions of abuse, mentions of homelessness, alcohol consumption, Clay doesn’t have heart problems, eventual smut, pining, angst, Clay has a savior complex, reader doesn’t know how to have non-transactional relationships.

Playlist / Masterlist

Clay Beresford nursed a glass of whiskey as he tried to tune out the droning of yet another young entrepreneur giving him a business pitch.

He went through the motions — nodding and humming, asking the occasional question, taking the knock-off business card — in hopes that they would be satisfied and leave him to his night.

All he wanted was to have a drink and relax, but everywhere he went he was bombarded by people who saw him as an opportunity instead of a person.

He supposed it came with the territory of carrying the Beresford name. He’d inherited an empire from his father, vile as he was, and essentially walked around with dollar signs flashing above his head.

He wasn’t ungrateful for his life, nor did he stray away from the benefits it gave him, he was just…frustrated. He never knew if the people in his life were there because they wanted to know him or because they wanted to know his money. More often than not, it was the latter.

He needed a distraction — something that made him feel a sense of normalcy for once. He finished the last of his whiskey, setting the empty glass down on the marble bar top. He offered a polite goodbye to the bartender and the scrambling businessman before grabbing his coat and walking out of the building.

His driver was already waiting for him outside and he climbed into the backseat of the black SUV, mumbling vague directions as he rubbed at his temples. The driver gave him an odd look in the rear view mirror, but didn’t question it as he drove off toward the Lower East Side.

Clay didn’t venture to this area of Manhattan often — hardly ever, actually — but, when he did, nobody ever noticed him. They had their own lives to deal with and didn’t need to be obsessed with his.

Maybe that was what was drawing him here this time. He wanted to be able to slink into the shadows, just for a little while.

As they drove, Clay watched the city pass from the car window. He cocked his head in interest as they passed a joint with a bright red sign flashing above it.

The Silk Rose.

A gentleman’s club. He snorted, doubting there were any gentlemen in there at all. Still, his interest was piqued. Maybe a night in a sleazy club watching girls dance around in lingerie was exactly what he needed.

He told his driver to park up the street a bit, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. With his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he made his way over to the entrance.

The windows and doors were blacked out, preventing any prying eyes from peeking in.

Perfect, he thought. This was just the kind of privacy he was looking for.

He grabbed the door handle, glancing up at the tagline written above his head.

Come on in and see Sal’s Dancing Girls!

The night had been slower for you than usual.

There were the regulars, sitting in their normal spots, but you’d barely broken $250 and hadn’t gotten a single private room booking. Granted, private dances certainly weren’t your favorite part of the job, but they were what made the big bucks. You could handle a creep or two if it meant your bills were paid.

You sat in the dressing room backstage, touching up your makeup and rubbing at your feet that were from the tall heels you wore as you waited for your next set. The area was bustling with the other dancers, all in different states of undress and disarray.

You didn’t mind what you did. You liked dancing — although you’d thought you’d be pursuing dance in a different direction than where you’d ended up. You weren’t forced into this life, like some of the others. You were here by choice. It just maybe wasn’t your first choice.

You were confident in it, though. You knew how to work a room. You knew how to manipulate sleazy men into emptying their wallets. You were always in control.

You certainly didn’t need anyone to save you.

You heard the last song of the previous dancer’s set end and took one more look in the mirror. You removed your robe and adjusted the skimpy costume before taking a deep breath and walking toward the back of the stage.

Showtime.

Clay sat at the bar, prying his glass up from the sticky table and taking a sip as one of the dancers exited the stage. He watched as the workers swept up the money that had been thrown, gathering it into a bag before bringing it to the back.

She’d been fine. Her set was pretty par for the course as far as Clay could expect. He’d still found himself zoning out or focusing more on his drink than her dancing.

After the stage was fully cleared off, the lights dimmed to a deep red as a new song started. It was like the energy in the room shifted. Suddenly, everyone was waiting with bated breath as the next dancer took the stage.

Clay sat up straighter in his seat, setting his glass down as the spotlight hit the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was captivated, mesmerized. Even the way you walked was enticing. He leaned forward, hanging on to every move you made.

He wasn’t the only one, either. You had the entire room wrapped around your finger.

Clay watched as you worked the stage, feeling the energy from the crowd. Then, you began to dance.

He felt breathless. His heart was pounding beneath his chest. The way you moved was like a song in and of itself. You were the music. Your movements told a story and he was very, very curious to unravel it.

You fell into the rhythmic routine, working the stage like you owned it — and, in that moment, you did. The lights warmed your skin as you moved your body to the sensual beat of the music, putting on a tantalizing show of removing bits of your costume until you were left in lingerie.

You scanned the audience, as you normally did, looking for anyone who seemed easy to reel in. People would be surprised at how many extra tips you get when the lonely people in the crowd think you’ve noticed them. However, this time, your eyes landed on one man in particular.

You hadn’t seen him at this club before, but he looked vaguely familiar — and devilishly handsome. He seemed to be transfixed on you, so you let your eyes stay locked with his.

The crystalline blue pulled you in, but there was something else about the way he was looking at you. You were used to stares of lust, envy, even ownership — but he was gazing at you with pure interest. The kind of interest that went beyond physical attraction. He wasn’t just watching you take your clothes off. He was watching you dance.

As the music of your last song faded out you gave the crowd a grin and a wave, winking at the handsome stranger before exiting the stage.

You walked back to your vanity, plopping down in the chair with a tired huff. One of the staff members brought you the bag with your tips and you sorted through it, counting the bills. It wasn’t bad, but it could’ve been better.

You groaned, tired of the slow night, and glanced at the clock. There was only a little over an hour left in your shift.

“What’s wrong, babycakes?”

You turned your head to face the dancer whose vanity was next to yours. She had her chin propped on her hand as she looked at you, her bright pink hair pinned to the top of her head.

Frenchie was the name she went by. She was the only dancer that ever had actual conversations with you. She was nice, if a bit eccentric, and you were grateful for the friendly face.

“Just a slow night, French,” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

She scoffed, taking a drag of a cigarette as she said, “Shit, doll. If it’s a slow night for you then it’s a wasteland for the rest of us.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please,” Frenchie sigh, playfully rolling her eyes. “You’re the fan favorite, babes. Everyone here knows it. That’s why I’m the only one who talks to you.”

You swatted your hand at her with a laugh, shaking your head as you smiled. You spotted your boss, Sal, walking up behind you in your mirror and you tilted your head back to look at him.

“Someone’s requesting you,” he said, gruff as always.

“See?” Frenchie said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You stuck your tongue out back at her before turning back to Sal. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter? He’s paying,” he grunted, shrugging as he rolled his eyes. “It’s room four.”

Sal walked out of the dressing room as you touched up your hair and makeup, glancing over at Frenchie as she prepared to go do her set on stage.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said, smacking your ass as she walked past you.

“Knock ‘em dead, French,” you called out after her, laughing softly.

You took a deep, steadying breath as you walked down the long hallway, readying yourself to face whatever greaseball would be waiting for you. This was where you made the most money, it just also happened to be the part you hated the most.

You stopped outside of the door labeled with the big number 4 and gave a silent plea to whatever was out there that this would go by smoothly.

To your delight, you didn’t see any of the sleazy regulars when you opened the door. Instead, you saw the handsome stranger who had been watching you so intently during your set.

A sultry smile pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t supposed to enjoy these sessions — this was work, after all, and you were doing a job — but it didn’t hurt when the clients looked this pretty.

“I was hoping it was you that requested me,” you said, walking into the room with a sway of your hips.

It was true, but you would’ve said it regardless. That was the job. Make them feel seen and important so that they handed over more money.

The handsome stranger’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you, seeming to relax into the moment.

“I’m happy not to let you down, then,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Please, join me.”

He gestured over to a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice by the plush leather couch. His gaze lingered on you as you walked into the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He felt a sense of excitement building within him — an anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes almost widened. Champagne? You were lucky to get so much as a polite introduction when you worked these rooms. You hadn’t ever had a customer provide refreshments. By the looks of the bottle, it wasn’t the cheap kind either.

Who was this man and why did he feel so familiar?

“So, tell me,” he said, pouring some of the champagne into a glass and offering it to you, “what’s your name?”

You kept up your performance facade, taking the glass from him and batting your lashes.

“It’s in poor form to ask personal details of the dancers,” you tutted, a teasing smile adorning your lips. “You can call me Cherry.”

All of the dancers had names that you went by. Yours just so happened to be Cherry. The name held a certain significance to you and you were grateful for the protection of identity — in more ways than one.

“Ah, Cherry,” he smiled, the name sitting nicely on his tongue. “I like that. I’m Clay.”

He paused for a moment, studying you as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he nodded with a small smile and relaxed into the couch.

“I hope you enjoy the champagne,” he said, bringing his own glass to his lips. “I thought it might make you more comfortable while we…talk.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taking a sip of the delicious bubbles. People who rented these rooms didn’t usually want to talk. They wanted you to dance and wanted to see how far they could bend the rules.

There were certain rules that you and the customers had to follow. Neither the dancers nor the customers could be fully nude, the customers and the dancers could not touch each other, and under no circumstances could the dancers maintain personal or intimate relationships with the customers.

Clay seemed…different. He was tempting in all of the wrong ways. You knew you had to tread carefully.

“So, Cherry,” Clay began, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, “what do you like to do for fun?”

A playful smirk pulled at your lips as you asked, “Is this not fun?”

Clay’s eyes lit up at your question and he laughed — a deep, rich sound.

“Oh, it’s definitely fun,” he said, smiling, “but I was thinking more along the lines of getting to know you. I’d love to learn more about you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “If you’re willing to share, of course.”

Getting to know you? This guy books a stripper to get to know her?

“Respectable,” you nodded. “Most people just book me to see how close they can get to touching me. You can’t, by the way. Touch me, that is. It’s strictly against the rules.”

You set your champagne glass down on the table and walked over to the stereo to turn on some slow, sensual music.

“You paid for an hour long dance, so I’d be doing a poor job if I didn’t comply,” you said, sauntering back over to him.

You should’ve just started dancing and stuck to your job, but his pretty eyes were so intrigued that you couldn’t say no to him.

“How about this,” you offered, “you ask questions while I dance. Deal?”

Clay’s eyes gleamed with delight as he nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Oh, and Cherry?”

He set his glass down before leaning back into the couch with a grin.

“I have to warn you, I’m not very good at following rules.”

You placed your hands on the cushion behind his head, leaning over him as you swayed your hips.

“If you want to keep the session going, you’d better be,” you whispered, warning in your tone. “Otherwise, the fun would be over. So keep your hands by your sides, pretty boy.”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, but he obediently placed his hands at his sides.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he promised. “I wouldn’t want the fun to stop.”

He trailed his gaze over your figure, watching as you danced.

“Back to my original question, Cherry,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to yours. “What do you like to do when you aren’t…dancing?”

You stood up again, seductively twirling and swaying to the beat as you thought about the question.

You weren’t sure how much you wanted to reveal to him. He was still just a pretty face — a very tempting pretty face. He wasn’t the first person to come in here with delusions of grandeur. You didn’t want him to reel you in.

“I like to read,” you said, rolling your hips. “I like to watch cheesy romance movies, and I’m a damn good cook.”

His eyes sparkled with interest as you answered, his gaze never leaving yours.

“A woman of many talents,” he murmured, a soft smile on his face. He leaned forward slightly as he asked, “What kind of romance movies do you like to watch?”

“The ones with every cliche in the book,” you grinned, swirling around to the music. “I want the sappy love confessions, the angsty miscommunication, and the big fight that leads to the romantic kiss in the rain.”

You leaned over him again, rotating your hips as you bent down to whisper in his ear, “and it’s gotta have a good sex scene.”

Clay’s gaze darkened at your words, his breathing quickening. He felt a surge of desire course through his veins and he had to force himself to remain still, to not reach out and touch you.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laughed softly in his ear, leaning back up as you continued dancing.

“That kind of thing only exists in fiction, pretty boy,” you said, trying not to sound bitter.

He smiled, cocking his head to the side with a small laugh.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice dripping with skepticism, “but I think there’s something to be said for the idea that two people can just click, you know?”

He leaned toward, his eyes locked onto yours as he said, “I think maybe we click, Cherry.”

You scoffed, an amused smile etched into your features as you rolled your eyes.

“Do you know how many people come here and claim they fell in love with me? People pay me to give them a show, and I deliver. It’s all transactional. I’m in the business of temporarily filling the vacant holes in people’s lives.”

Clay’s eyes never left yours, his expression tense with something that bordered understanding.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m not naive enough to think that we’re anything more than what we are here tonight…but sometimes, Cherry, I think people need a little bit of fantasy. Just for tonight, let’s forget about life and reality outside of these walls. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company, okay?”

A pretty face that spoke pretty words.

Damn him.

“Fine,” you obliged, smiling despite yourself. “Still, no touching, but you can carry on with your questions.”

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes sparkling with triumph as his mouth curled into a satisfied grin. “What’s the most memorable performance you’ve ever given?”

You smiled, playfully, and responded, “Seventh grade ballet recital, hands down. Not a dry eye in the house.”

“Seventh grade, huh?” Clay chuckled. “I never would’ve guessed. What made it so memorable?”

A fond smile graced your lips as you let your mind reminisce on a memory you didn’t usually let yourself wander to.

“I used to have really terrible stage fright. I’d get under the lights and I’d just freeze. I had been working really hard all year on this solo and I got selected to perform in the recital. Right as I went on stage, I forgot every piece of choreography. I was so panicked, I wanted to run off the stage and hide. Then, I heard the music start and I just…danced. I let the music move me. To this day, it’s still the freest I’ve ever felt.”

You shook your head, instantly regretting the vulnerability.

“Never mind that, though,” you laughed. “You think everything is world changing when you’re that age.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his expression becoming more contemplative. “I think that’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “The fact that you were able to find freedom in that moment, despite your fears and doubts…it’s truly inspiring.” He paused, his gaze lingering on yours. “I think that’s what makes human connection so powerful. We can be ourselves, without apology, and find freedom in that vulnerability.” The skin by his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “Speaking of which, Cherry…do you believe everyone has a story worth telling?”

“I think there are stories to be found everywhere, if you look hard enough,” you shrugged, refilling his champagne glass.

“Ah, a philosopher, too,” he smirked, his voice ripe with amusement. “I think you might be the most fascinating person I’ve met in a very long time.”

He thought for a moment as he took the champagne glass, then said, “Would you like to hear a story, Cherry?”

“A dance for a story,” you pondered. “I think that’s a fair transaction.”

Clay’s eyes lit up with excitement as he sipped his drink. “Excellent,” he grinned, settling back into the couch. “I’ve always loved the story of Romeo and Juliet. The passion, the tragedy, the love that consumed them both. Imagine if Romeo and Juliet lived in modern times, Cherry. Would they still fall in love? Would they still meet the same fate?”

“I think Romeo and Juliet were two horny teenagers, too naive for their own good,” you smirked, swaying to the music.

Your movements absentmindedly transitioned from sensual to holding the essence of his storytelling as he spoke.

“Ah, but that’s what makes their story so tragic,” he countered, shaking his head. “Their naivety is what drives them to take such reckless risks, to chase after a love that seems impossible. Yet, despite the danger, despite the obstacles, despite the fact that they come from different worlds…they still manage to find each other, to connect on a deeper level. Don’t you think that’s what makes love so intoxicating?”

He paused, his gaze searching yours before he laughed softly and said, “Or am I just a hopeless romantic?”

“You’re hopeless, alright,” you joked, despite the fact that his words managed to pang your heart.

You did not fall in love. You didn’t even think about love. One stranger’s pretty words weren’t going to change that. This was transactional.

His stories were so compelling, though…

You leaned over him again, bringing your face as close to his as you could without making contact.

“You know what I think?” You whispered, glancing down at his lips. “I think our time is up.”

The clock rang, signaling that the hour was over. You straightened up and stepped back, giving him one last wink.

“Thanks for the story, pretty boy.”

Clay’s face seemed to fall with disappointment as you pulled away from him, but his voice remained smooth and charming.

“Until next time, Cherry.”

As you left the room and returned to your vanity, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. His words lingered with you, throwing you off balance.

You gathered your things and changed into your regular clothing, clocking out at the back door. As you were about to leave, Sal stopped you and handed you a wad of cash.

“Here,” he said, “for the private room.”

You’d been so caught up in the moment with Clay that you hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that you didn’t get a single dollar from him.

You thumbed through the cash, expecting to see the usual earnings of maybe $50 or so. Your eyes widened as you counted out $1,000.

He’d tipped you that much? What kind of man was he?

Normally, you didn’t any of the customers a second thought once you were away from work, but this one wouldn’t worm his way out of your head.

Damn these men and their pretty words and ideas of love and fate. That was a life you had left behind.

Once you’d returned home to your apartment, you showered the day off of your skin and changed into more comfortable clothing. You made yourself a quick dinner before settling into your couch and flicking the television on.

The screen lit up in the middle of some story on a celebrity gossip channel. You were only half listening as you ate your food, your mind still reeling from the events that had occurred with the handsome stranger. You couldn’t shake that something still felt so familiar about him.

Your ears perked up at the sound of a name that struck a chord deep within you. Your jaw dropped as you glanced up at the screen, seeing those dazzling blue eyes and his crinkled smile.

The reporters voice rang out about the youngest CEO Manhattan had ever seen as your heart sank to your feet.

Holy shit.

The handsome stranger was Clay fucking Beresford.

[fairyrcts]

THINKIN BOUT YOU, C.S.

by fairyrcts contents - angst, cursing, intended lowercase, use of y/n, 3rd person, mentions of depression

an - i love chris angst

taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274 (header by @issysh3ll )

it was 2 am in new york and y/n was just getting home. her day was exhausting to say the least. the struggle of being a full time college student with a job and rent to pay in new york is something that was unimaginable.

she fiddled with her keys, eventually finding her apartment key. she unlocked her door to her roomate, aleah, sat on the couch watching some cheesy rom-com on her laptop. y/n dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes at the door.

"hey hey." aleah waved.

"hey, girl. watcha watchin?" y/n's voice rang as she walked to the open kitchen, grabbing a cup and poaring ice water.

"27 dresses. literally never seen this dumb shit before but evangeline wants me to see it."

aleah was the definition of a stud. she was gorgeous, too. dark complexion, curly hair that hung in front of her face and piercings on her plump lips and nose.

evangeline was her girlfriend, who y/n's only met a few times. usually in the mornings after getting very little sleep from their noises filling the small apartment.

"man, that movie's so mid. did we get any mail?" y/n chuckled as she walked back in the living room, sitting in the opposing sofa.

"any mail?"

"uh, one from some credit card company and someone left a note in the crack of the door. said to y/n from chris sturnolo." she spoke, her eyes not leaving the computer.

y/n stopped in her tracks. "christopher sturniolo?" her voice was slightly shooken.

christopher was her childhood bestfriend. they were in almost every class together since kindergarten. they were inseparable. they did sports together, went to prom together, went to get their drivers license together (guess who didn't pass). they were family, at this point.

after college, she never heard from him again. happy birthdays and merry christmases every year or likes on every post, but not a single text, call, email, anything. she talked to nick and matt regularly, but not chris.

she'd ask how he was and they'd give short, vague, one-word answers. it was unfair, really. because there wasn't another soul on earth that knew her better than chris did, and all that time was wasted.

it's been 3 years without a word. and just now he's contacting her. her mind rambled as to what might have gone wrong, otherwise, there wasn't a reason to speak to her. now, especially. she'd been such a mess after leaving for cornell, and she debated not going to stay with chris. but he convinced her, saying he'll stay in touch and talk to her every day.

so much for that promise.

"uh, yeah, chris sturniolo, sturnolo, stromboli, all the same to me." her roomate shook her out of her thoughts.

"aleah, where's the damn letter?" y/n's voice sounded scared almost, not understanding what's going on.

"over on the bookshelf." aleah pointed to the letter wrapped with a little bow and a stamp in the corner of the boston streets.

her hands hurried and undid the bow, ripping the envelope open and unfolding the letter.

Dear Y/n

There seriously isn't an explanation for my distance. After you left for college I fell into such a state of depression and I don't know why but I was scared to contact you. I mean, you're out doing great big things, NYU and detective criminal type stuff. Meanwhile, I'm still here in Massachusetts, I just moved out of my parents house a year and a half ago and my career is making videos on the internet. I guess it was the jealousy that stopped me from speaking to you or some kind of fear. But all I know is that I miss you, dearly. And I guess this is kind of me asking do you think about me still? Because I haven't stopped thinkin about you.

(p.s. i know i couldve sent this over text but i didnt know if you blocked me or not)

just his handwriting caused tears to stream down y/n's face. the note itself, the words and his explanation made her sob.

she made her way to her room, shutting the door behind her. she reached for her phone in her back pocket and called chris's contact.

it rang three times before he answered. there was silence on his end, soft sobs on hers.

"chris, where the hell are you and why did you answer so late?" she said through sniffles and cries.

"i'm uh, in syracuse right now. we're here with nate for his birthday. i asked matt for your address and uhm, i was waiting for you to call." chris's voice sounded nervous almost.

"so you're.. able to come see me?" she asked to which chris affirmed.

"give me the name of your hotel. i'm coming over." she spoke. her tone wasn't demanding, but chris knew it was a demand.

chris told her the name and room number, y/n writing down each letter. after he had explained the whole thing she hung up without warning. she walked out of her room, her movements were fast as she wiped tears off her cheeks.

"woah, what's up?" aleah asked, concerned.

"i'll tell you when i'm back." y/n brushed her off, grabbing her keys, leaving and shutting the door quite harshly.

she jogged down the stairs, her hand grazing the railings and the other jingling the keys with each step.

she pushed the door that so clearly said pull. the frustration just added to her unexplainable feelings.

"why the fuck won't this shit open!?" she shouted. the small, teenage boy at the front desk squeaked out a few words.

"it's uhm. it's pull. y-you're pushing it." y/n looked down at the sign.

"shut the fuck up, curtis!" she yelled once more, yanking the door and storming out of it.

"dumb ass name." y/n mumbled to herself. she walked hurriedly to her car, clicking the unlock button on her keeys and jumping in the drivers seat.

she turned it on, putting the ignition in reverse. she internally conflicted wether or not to put on music. of course, there was no need for it. buttt to make the whole event more dramatic, she turned on her playlist, thinkin bout you by frank ocean coming in through the speakers.

the music made tears swell up in her eyes. the whole situation was just fucked.

her car sped, running through red lights here and there, honking at any car that was slow or in front of her.

when she arrived at the hotel, she shut off her music and her car, locking it as she slammed the door of it behind her. she pulled the door to the entrance to the entrence of the large hotel, the door refusing to open.

"it's a push door!" the lady at the front desk yelled loud enough to be heard.

"oh, fuck me." y/n groaned, finally opening the door. she stormed inro the elevator, the front desk lady attempting to stop her by shouting 'miss'.

as if that was gonna stop her. y/n pressed the 4 button aggressively, multiple times.

"hurry the fuck up!" she was so out of it, she was yelling at an inanimate button.

when the door started opening, she squeezed herself through the space, looking at the numbers on each door until she found the 103 in a big font.

she knocked hard and loud continuously until the door opening interrupted her.

and now, she was faced with the man who made her, and broke her.

the two stared into one anothers eyes momentarily before y/n brought a hand up and smacked the side of his face.

a 'youch' came out of chris's mouth. he rubbed the side of his face that was now red while y/n began rambling.

"now, what the fuck is wrong with you! i mean, you know better! christopher, holy fuck, where do i even begin with you!?" her voice rang through the halls as she pushed herself into the room.

"i- i don't know." chris's tone was sorrowful, but that wasn't necessarily something she cared about right now.

"you are such a douchebag! i fucking can't believe you. ignoring my calls, texts, letters, everything! the only information i ever got about you was through 10 picture slideshows on instagram and your brothers, who werent much of a help! you can say whatever all you want, but chris, i was so mentally fucked up! i was so behind in my classes, that you know i put a humongous amount of effort into getting into, i was rude and emotional all the time and pushed away people i love and adore because i was so hung up on the thought that you stopped caring and you stopped loving me! you know how terrible of a feeling that is? to believe that the one person you love most in the world doesn't give two damn shits about what you're doing now? do you?!"

she yelled and yelled and yelled as her eyes didn't just shed tears, but boy, they poured.

"n-no, no i don't know how that feels." christopher mumbled as water welled up in his own eyes.

"yeah, and that's because you know i'm incapable of unloving you! you're aware of my love for you, because i reminded you every day. you know i wear my heart on my sleeve and you still pulled this dumb shit! i don't even know how you managed to do such thing! i was at such a terrible place, chris."

her words were less aggressive now as she cried tears of sadness rather than anger. she sat herself on one of the two hotel beds while chris sat beside her. he awkwardly pulled her into a hug, y/n leaning into it immediately.

her head laid in his lap as he rubbed her back, whispering small shushes every now and then while she kept bawling.

"y'know. i've been thinkin' bout you. i never stopped, really. i just- i don't even have an excuse. and you can keep yelling at me, and i'll keep listening, but i can't explain as to why i didn't. i just don't know, y/n." his voice was calm and gentle and his hands glided up and down her side.

once she finally stopped crying, she sat up and wiped her tears. "I'm sorry." chris stated, his eyes meaningful along with his voice.

that's all she wanted to hear.

he pulled her into an embrace once more, engulfing himself in the girl he missed so deeply.

"i was thinkin' bout you, too, y'know." she mumbled into his neck.

and that's all he wanted to hear.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢

↳ summary: another day with the turtles in which you get dragged behind and have your worst fear materialize in front of you. or; a reader insert of season two episode ten, fungus humongous

↳ warnings: unreality, body horror, mentions of gore, reader is a bitch, reader can't express their feelings, 2012 april (that's a warning in itself)

↳ notes: hinted at the reader having a thing for donnie, but it's left up to interpretation. could be read as platonic or for any other turtle/character. also i kind of hate this verson of april from the show, so apologies. i made the reader a bit passive aggressive to her when i could sneak it in there. could just be viewed at jealousy for donnie liking her. also, reader is gn and hinted at being autistic

↳ song: never—mag.lo & o super

next part! | masterlist! | commisions! | carrd

New York City was a strange place.

You'd learned that from a young age. Instead of watching a mother skip down the sidewalk with her chubby cheeked child in hand, you'd grown up around men with the same faces filing down side walks and inside of vans. Arms filled to the bring with glowing canisters and talking in the third person. Sometimes, in the place of cute stray cats or pigeons that you'd scramble off to feed bread to at the park, you'd see montserous shadows. Humans with the bodies of animals, making noises that would bring you to have nightmares for weeks to come.

Adults never believed you, writing it off as an imaginary friend, or simply the smoke in the air getting to you. And why should they belive anything else? It was as bizarre as it sounded, even to you.

Still, with all this weirdness, there were somethings you'd never get over. Like the fact those men that used to terrify you were actually robot powered aliens. Or that your best friends lived in the sewers, taught ancient ninjistu by their rat sensei.

But more importantly, you'd never get over how Casey Jones was absolutely demolishing this gyro right now.

With black and white facepaint smuged all over your friends cheeks and nose, you had the pleasure of sitting on the arm of a wooden street bench, watching with a blank expression as one of your two human friends tore into the street food, getting a bit of meat on April's shirt. Who by now had begun to regret sitting so close to him.

"You know Jones, I think this is the most disturbing thing I've seen all week." You grimaced. The hockey player had now moved onto licking the juice off his fingers, something you mimed violently vomiting at. April just rolled her eyes as she continued to listen to music.

"Ouch man!" Casey smirked as he pretended to be hurt by your words, crumbling up the left over paper from his meal and haphazardly tossing it on the ground below him.

"There's literally a trashcan right next to us." April sighed and looked up from her phone shaped like a turtles shell; or t-phone as you had come to know it. So generously gifted to her by the one and only Donatello.

You looked over to where she had gestured, holding one hand up to block the afternoons sun as it beat down upon you all. Sure enough, there was a rusty little bucket not far from the bench all of you had taken refuge on. Posters of all sorts of faded colors and advertisements were plastered on the cylinders sides. More lay fluttering in the hot wind on the pavement.

With a groan screaming of false annoyance, Casey stood up and meandered over to the litter, eventually tossing it with a swoosh into the basket.

"He shoots and he scores! Ten points for Jones." He pumped his fist in the air triumphantly, not caring that passerbys were now staring. Both you and April were subjected to an extremely bad victory dance as he celebrated.

"Now only if you could do that on the actual ice, Case." You grinned slyly. Casey frowned back at you, abruptly stopping his little celebration.

"I told you to stop calling me that. And whatever. Like you'd know the first thing about hockey." He said sourly. "Maybe if Red here gave me a good luck kiss before my games, I'd score more goals."

"And that's our cue to go." April stood up with a huff, pocketing her odd shaped phone. You stood up not far behind her, adjusting the strings on your hoodie. You knew April wasn't actually that upset by Casey's comment, in fact sometimes you thought she rather enjoyed the extra attention, but anything to stop his incessant flirting was a win for you.

"How about we head on down to the lair?" You suggested, noticing that the three of you were already making your way over to the nearest secluded manhole. "It has been a while since I've visited."

"Don't remind me." April smiled as she struggled to lift the solid peice of metal separating New York from its sewer sytem. "Mikey asks me where you are everytime I come down. He's even started pestering me for your address at this point."

"As much as I love the guys, I'm not sure my heart could take it if they started showing up on my fire escape every night. I don't need any more visits from Dr. Prankenstien than I already get." You snickered, following after Casey as he dropped down the ladder. He nodded along with your statement, holding his gloved hand out for a fistbump which you happily returned, albeit with a bit more force than necessary.

"Ooh, was that a challenge I just felt?" He grinned misheviously.

"Come on you guys." April scoffed, rolling her eyes at how both you and Casey punched each other in the arms and snickered.

"Just because you don't know how to have fun Red, doesn't mean we cant." Casey slung an arm around your shoulders with a toothy grin, yelping seconds later as you shoved him off of you with a frown.

"Right. Fun. That's exactly what I think of when I think Casey Jones April O'Neal and a stinky sewer." You parried.

"Hey! I thought you were on my side!" Casey frowned, jumping back up and rubbing the place you'd pushed him sorely. You stuck your tongue out at him and responded that he should know better than to touch you, then.

"Lay off guys." April chided you, missing the way your lips downturned at her words. "Besides. It's not like this place stinks that bad. You just have to get used to it."

You sniffed the air for a moment, immediately recoiling in disgust. Yeah. Definitely not.

"Sick dude."

"Actually," April halted in her speed walking to let the two of you catch up to her. As soon as you reached her side, you noticed the redhead was pinching her nose with a confused expression.

"Something does smell weird. Like— moldy cheese and puke."

You would've responded to her, probably with some sort of quipy comment, but the shrill sounds of a scream stopped you.

It didn't take long for the source of it to pass by you, what looked to be a sewer worker blubbering nonsense about a giant squirell. You were quickly reminded of a day a few months ago in which a mutated squirell clawed itself into your stoumach and reproduced. You shut down that memory with a shiver, jogging after an equally as panicked Casey and April to catch the stranger.

It only took a few turns around the place before all of you stood to a hault in a more open tunnel, no longer hearing the deep thump of the guys boots as he ran away from an unidentified source.

"Should we call out for him." You whispered, not really liking yourself for suggesting such a thing.

"Yeah. Go ahead Casey." April whispered right back, shoving the boy forward and shushing his protests. With a huff he started forward into the wet cavern.

"Hello? Crazy dude?" He sang. After looking around a tunnel opening for a few moments, Casey turned back to the two of you, gesturing harshly to follow him. You begrudgingly stepped forward, refusing to be at the end of the group where something could sneak up behind you. That privilege would have to be left to April.

"Somethings not right." She murmered. You turned to supply her with a sarcastic 'no, really?' but instead paused as she was sprayed in the face with a yellow substance. Blinking, you watched as she coughed in the powdery looking material. Another blink, and wherever it had came from was gone.

"April? You alright? What'd you see?" A hand was placed on her shoulder now. You felt the presence of Casey next to you now. Both of you were now watching as she began to shake, and you were staring to think that the scared worker might have actually seen something.

April's eyes opened suddenly, snapping to your face ferociously. You got one good look at her eyes, the whites of them tinged with yellow and red veins, before she let out the louded scream you'd ever heard. With a sudden speed you had no idea that she even had, April clawed at your hand wildly. You yelped, bringing it to your chest and scrambling back. Casey looked at you with wide eyes before turning back to April, catching the back of her just as she began to sprint away.

"April? April!!" He yelled, not making a move to chase after her. You did no such thing either, cradling your hand to your chest in shock. You didn't notice the little bit of blood trickling down from the moon shaped scratches. It stained your shirt, fading into a rust type color.

The two of you looked at each other in shock before speaking.

"What the fuck?"

Your lungs were screaming at you to stop by the time you'd reached the lair. You and Casey had both almost taken several breaks on your run along the abandoned railroad tracks, but once either of you got a look at your now less bloody hand— curtousy of a makeshift towel you called your shirt —the running would start again.

You thanked whatever god lied above for turnstiles as you flopped onto the cool metal of one, not even caring that Casey had to jump over both you and it to reach sight of the turtles. Who, from the sounds of it, we're watching a very loud episode of that old anime again.

"Oh hey guys. What's up?"

Before Casey could even open his mouth to respond to Raphael, a blur of orange and green was pouncing on you.

From his place sitting on your chest, Mikey yelled your name and smiled, clearly very happy to see you.

"Where have you been dude!" He laughed, getting off of you. Instead of allowing you to stand up or even explain yourself, he was suddenly grabbing you by your shoulders and bringing you into a spinning hug. Any other time you would have yelled at him to let you down and stop touching you, but now you were just yelling at him to shut up.

"Hey! You're here!" You heard Donatello call from afar, most likely waving. Maybe you did need to start visiting more if this is how they reacted to not seeing you for a month. Then again, anytime you came down here bad things happened. Like crushing hugs from a very strong mutant. Or best friends going insane.

"Guys! Stop!" Casey wheezed while waving his arms around wildly, succeeding in getting their attention. In turn Mikey let you down. Much to the appreciation of both you and your throbbing hand.

"April— sewers— gone crazy! Hurry!" He puffed, bending over to rest his hands on his knees.

The brothers all looked at each other with cocked eyebrows— save for Mikey; who was just now noticing the source of your discomfort.

"Woah, hey hey hey what happened to you?" He gasped with an overdramatic flair, picking your arm up by your wrist and pouting at the now dry blood on your hand. You smacked his own hand away from you, only feeling a bit regretful when he flashed a pair of sad puppy dog eyes at you.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you!" Casey groaned, extreamly annoyed at this point. "April attacked them! She went crazy! We were just on our way here, and next thing I know she starts acting all weird and runs off! She's gone!"

"Don't phrase it like that Case. Now Donnie's gonna—"

"You just lost April!?" You watched as the popcorn Donnie had been holding flew everywhere with the effort of him standing up. Well, standing up was a bit of an understatement. More like lept up.

With a sigh you watched Casey pale slightly, holding his hands up in preparation to defend the both of you.

"Relax!" Mikey sticks his tounge out at Donatello from next to you, still making grabby hands at you despite your efforts to keep him away. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation! Like she was eaten by a giant sewer snake or something. That's what you probably got bit by too." He turns to you at the last part and smiles. You resist the urge to smack him on the head.

"April clawed me you doofus. I didn't get bitten by a snake."

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth, you witnessed Casey get absolutely steamrolled by Donnie, yelling about how everyone needs to go find April. The action put a bit of a grimace on your face. Why, you had no idea, but you found yourself following after him anyway, grumbling that you better get free pizza for life after all you put up with for them.

Water splashed around your now ruined shoes as you followed after the turtles, occasionally kicking at a stray rock.

The sewers were much darker than earlier now. The dim light was no doubt provided by the setting sun outside. It was surely getting late now, and your body ached with the pang of hunger you normally got around dinner time. It would've bothered you, but you were more focused on not tripping over concrete and landing face first in shit right now.

You came to a sudden stop behind Casey, faintly recognizing your surroundings. One of his hockey sticks poked you in the forehead as he turned to adress everyone, and you rubbed at the spot.

"I think this is where we lost her." His voice was punctured with a little stammer, clearly a lot more bothered than he let on. A quick glance up confirmed that this was the spot the three of you had climbed down from a bit ago. You couldn't help but imagine the people on the streets above. Walking around without a care in the world. Certainly not thinking about kids loose down in the sewage.

"You think!? Oh well thats not vauge or anything." Donatello's angry voice called from behind you. It was enough to make you jump, something you'd deny if pointed out.

"Back of stick-master!" Casey snapped.

"Who you calling stick-master, puck-head!"

"Shut up Donnie." Any other day, and their bickering would have amused you. But right now just wasn't the time— if the look on your face wasn't evident enough.

The purple clad turtle turned to look at you in slight confusion, not expecting backlash from anyone that wasn't Casey. The others shared his look, too. At least before Casey let out a smug laugh, crossing his arms and stancing up before Donnie.

"You too, Jones. We need to get moving." You glared at the both of them icily, shouldering forward without a care. You missed the way the turtles exchanged glances with each other behind your back as they followed after.

"You alright?" Leo had called your name, water rippling around the both of you as he sped up to touch your shoulder tentivley. It wasn't a surprise when you shrugged it off. You always did that.

"Yes, Leo. I'm fine. I'd just like to find April and get a bandaid before I need another tetanus shot. Or whatever bacteria comes with human fingernails."

"She really did that to you, huh?" He pursed his lips with thought. Or whatever turtles have in replacement of lips.

You looked back at him, a harsh response sitting on your tounge. It was only the curious look he gave you that stopped it from becoming a reality.

"Yeah. It's whatever, I'll just patch it up when this is all done." You sighed through your nose.

"I think Master Splinter might have some bandages somewhere." Leo supplied, a hand on his chin as he thought about it. "If not, I'm sure Donnie has some medical supplies laying around—"

"If it's fine with you guys, I think I'll just go home and do it myself. Yeah?" You turned, walking in an awkward sideways position to keep the conversation going while looking at him.

Leo's furrowed his brow, flitting his eyes around your face in favor of ignoring Mikey from behind, who was saying something about rats while Casey retched.

"It's nothing against you, I just—"

You stopped suddenly, attention drawing itself to something over Leo's shoulder.

He turned his head quickly, hand twitching in the direction of his katanas hilts as he looked for what you were eyeing. All he saw was Casey stumbling around, coughing while waving a hand in front of his face.

You brushed past Leo, making your way to the back of the group to approach Casey. To quote April from earlier, something didn't feel right.

"Dude? You ok?"

"Yeah." He sniffed loudly. Like he had a cold. You watched cautiously as he avoided looking at you, instead focused on a nearby tunnel that split off from the main one you all were standing in. "I just. Just thought I saw—"

You were sent backward with an omph as Casey jumped back, yelping like a wounded dog. Your eyes locked with his for one moment, and your own widened as you noticed the same yellowy-red veins as before. Only this time, they were in the edges of Casey's eyes. Not April's.

"Demon rat!" He yelled. Hockey gloves pawed for purchase against the concrete wall he had pressed himself against as Casey scrambled to get a hold of something. He looked crazed. As if he could see and hear something you all couldn't.

It only worsened. You watched in a combination of confusion and horror as he began to dance around, hitting at himself like he had just walked through the world's biggest cobweb; screaming at you all to get them off him.

With a nod of affirmation from Leonardo, Donnie and Raph slammed Casey into the wall opposite he had just been clinging to. You caught a bit of satisfaction on Donatello's face as he did so, something that made you sober up for a moment to roll your eyes.

"What is your malfunction?" Raph scoffed before letting Casey's left arm go. Donnie followed, backing up with his hands on his hips sourly.

All Casey could do was let out a sob. He dropped to his knees on the ground, unscathed hockey stick clattering next to him.

"Guys, I think I have an idea of what's going on." One more look at Casey's distraught gaze sold it for you, and you leaned over to tell the others.

Right as they turned to you, a shrill screamed pierced the air, setting itself apart from Casey's defeated moaning.

"That's her!" You heard Donatello gasp. "April!"

And then Donnie was off, sprinting in the nearest direction of the sound without a care. It was like everything else was background noise to him. Your eye twitched as everyone else filed after the tall turtle, not once stopping to take in anything else. You grit your teeth, looking down at Casey's slumped figure before deciding to follow after them, cursing silently under your labored breathing.

By the time you'd caught up with them, they were all surrounding the newly found April in a semi circle, with Donnie crouching down to gently touch her leg. You could hear words of comfort floating from him to her at a rapid rate, and you might have said something snappy under different circumstances.

"Do you guys hear that?" Leo's hand came up for a moment to silence everyone. The remaining turtles standing all turned to look behind them and were met with the sight of you.

"Just me guys. No monster." You sarcastically spread your arms out.

"No. That!" Leo's finger pointed to something below you, and you turned on your heel to observe.

There was a strange blue sphere on the ground at your feet. It bumped into you once before stilling and flattening to the ground. Strange white stripes patterned it, and you all watched as it transformed into a mushroom looking shape.

You were quick to fall back towards April, who was still screaming and grunting in horror, as the others surrounded it curiously.

"It's a mutant mushroom! With feet!" Mikey cooed, clasping his hands together. That only solidified your worries.

"I'd get away from that if I were you!" You called out. Donnie, Leo, and Raph all looked at you for an explanation while Mikey continued to gush over the thing.

"Listen, something weird is going on with April and Casey's eyes, and I think it has something to do with, like, spores—"

You were shut down as the small glowing mushroom attacked Mikey, attaching itself to his face. The youngest turtle screamed and clawed at his face whilst running in circles. His sounds of distress only increased as the organism appeared to suck at his face. For a moment your brain made the connection between Mikey jumping on you earlier, and the fungi gluing itself to his head. You blinked and got rid of that thought as soon as possible.

The boys immediately jumped into action, weapons coming out as soon as Mikey threw the thing off his face and at the nearest wall. It was times like these you really wished you'd taken up Splinters offer to learn martial arts, but you'd convinced yourself you already had too much on your plate for that. At least you knew how to wield a tazer well enough.

"Fascinating!" You heard Donatello grunt inbetween swings of his bo staff. "Evolved fungi!"

All it took was a few more jabs from Raph before a yellow haze drifted his way, emerging from the flaps underneath the mushrooms umbrella.

Without missing so much as a beat, the thing rose into the air and flew in your direction, looking as if to make a home on your face now. With a quick unholstering of the only defense mechanism you had, you produced your cheap tazer, nailing the thing straight between the eyes. Er, did it even have eyes. Either way, it dropped to the floor, and the air began to smell less like piss and more like sautéed shrooms.

"Just stab the damn thing next time!" You yelled, hands shaking and still holding out the tazer at arms length. All the turtles but Raph looked at your trembling arms with wide eyes, and you crossed your arms stiffly to cover it up. They didn't need to see how upset you were getting right now.

You would never understand why they all went for blunt force trauma instead of using the edges of their weapons to slice stuff. Maybe it was a ninja thing. A really, really stupid ninja thing.

"Are you alright?" Leo stepped forward with his arm outreached, voice soft with what you hoped to god was not pity. Donnie followed suit, and for a moment you though he might be the slightest bit worried about you. At least, until he brushed right past your shoulder to go cradle April again.

"Just peachy Leonardo." You growled at him, and he retracted at the use of his full name. "It's not like I've been trying to explain what I think has been going on for the past— oh come on."

You were immediately cut off as Raph began to scream at the sight of you all. With each passing second, the urge to bash your head into the wall was getting stronger and stronger. Now you remember why you stopped coming down here so often— if this tension headache you were getting was proof enough for that.

With a few more unintelligible shouts, Raph jumped at Leo with a battle cry, looking like he was out for blood. Leo simply crouched down, letting Raph fly over him and land plastron first on the ground.

"Donnie, explination?" Mikey shouted. He was now brandishing his own nunchucks and swirling them around hesitantly.

"Wish is knew!"

"I smashed you once roach and I'll smash you again!" By now Raphael was up again. This time he was ready to attack with more than just his bare fists, and was gunning right for Leo.

"Roach?"

That clicked it all into place for you. With one more look around the tunnel, sounds of fighting echoing off the walls, you cupped your hands around your mouth.

"The mushrooms are spreading a fear toxin!" You shouted with the risk of losing your voice th next day. If you even stuck around long enough to see the next day.

"Thats why everyones eyes are turning different colors and they're acting so weird! The plants are making them see their worst fears!" This time you thought you might explode if the turtles didn't hear you. Thankfully, you watched as a bit of recognition creeped into Donatello's face at your words as he dodged another attack from Raph.

"Its fungi, not plants, but they're right!" He yelled over all the noise. With a yell, he caught one end of Mikeys nunchucks in his hand and wrapped it around Raph's torso, watching as Mikey did the same with his end. By the time they were done, Raphael was now a squirming mess on the ground, looking just as terrified as Casey and April did. Only he was more dangerous than them. A lot more dangerous.

"So what, you're telling me that that tiny little guy is causing all of this?" Leonardo huffed while standing to his full height. Mikey was the sole one restraining Raph now as you approached them all.

"That's what I've been trying to say for the past ten minutes when you keep inturrupting me!!" You seethed. Leo was the only one who had the chance to look sympathetic. That didn't stop you from hitting him on the top of his shell in frustration.

"Ow! We're sorry, we're sorry!" He winced.

"Good." You sighed, already starting to feel a little better about this situation. The hollow feeling of behind over looked still lingered, but you were focused on other more important things now. Like finding out how to counteract whatevers being sprayed around.

"Donnie, do you think if we got back to your lab you could test this for a solution?" You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was busy fawning over April, instead just amplifying your voice so he was sure to hear.

"Maybe—" He mused, bringing his hand up to rub at his chin thoughtfully. You'd been in his lab enough times to know what he was about to go off on a tangent, "—but it's more likely that there's an easier solution to this problem. Fungi normally spawn from a bigger sorce, and since there seems to be a cluster around here infecting our friends, there must be the orgins of it nearby."

"So we find it, and do some gardening." Leo smiled from beside you, bringing out his blades in a gaudy move. You just gave him a blank stare.

"What? It was a good line!"

"You need to work on your improv skills, Leo."

He sighed and lowered his weapons. Cocking one side of his hip up in the way that he does when he goes into leader mode, Leonardo went to say something else to you—probably that you all should get a move on—when a flash of neon blue entered your peripheral.

"Oh shit!"

A mouthful of nasty tasting yellow dust spread all over the bottom half of your face in a fine mist. It settled on your tongue, feeling like partials of a cotton ball had been sprinkled on it. Coughing, you stuttered in your stance to heave forward. This felt different than what you thought it would be like. You didn't think that the ground was supposed to be swirling like that.

The last thing you saw before the world flipped on it's axis was a bo staff cutting the mushroom above you in two.

You woke up with your head feeling like someone had used it as a drum in a marching band.

"Did any of you get the number of that bus that completely fucked me over?" You groaned out sardonically, not willing to open your eyes and subject yourself to the light of the world just yet.

When no one responded, you reluctantly pried your eyelids open.

You were in a different tunnel now. It looked like it belonged to the same one connecting your friends lair to anywhere else in the city, but what did you know. It wasn't like you knew anyone who lived down here or anything.

Hauling yourself up took more strength than you wanted to admit. Half of your face felt numb, and the other hald itched something awful. The sensation was killing you almost as much as this silence was. Almost.

Standing all but a few meters away from you were six figures. They looked to be your friends, but something was off. They were all motionless with their backs faced to you, and covered in a thick layer of what looked like black goo. It dripped off of them and to the ground, pooling between their feet and leaking in your direction.

"Guys?"

As soon as you take a step in their direction, all their heads snap toward you at an unnatural angle. You half expect a cracking of bones to follow the movement, but all you hear is the sound of your heart drop.

"What's going on." This time you take a step back, not forward.

It's at this point that you notice your surrounding changing. It never stays the same for more than a second, constantly twisting into something more frightening than the last; all plucked from your worst memories. The kraang cell you had been thrown in once. The pool you had been forced to take swimming lessons in as a child. Your eigth grade classroom, watching as your teacher explained to your parent that you'd never amount to anything.

Finally it settled on the lair.

You refused to be backed into a corner like all those horror flicks you'd seen with the boys. With each step the figures of your friends took, you took one back, shuffling around in circles to avoid getting trapped.

You were starting to get lightheaded with how fast you were breathing at this point.

"What?" You eventually murmered, your pupils pinpricks at this point. Your ears strained to pick up what sounded like words in response.

"Leave." Was what you eventually heard come from the clone of Raphael. Because that's what he was. A clone. Not the real thing. He couldn't be. The Raph you know wouldn't tell you to leave.

The more you thought about it, the less true that seemed.

"Leave?" You echoed. The back of your foot hit one of the arcade machines lying around before you scrambled to get around it.

"We don't need you anymore." This time your eyes snapped to the clone of Mikey. His eyes were nothing but static in that eerie black goo. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it for more than a second.

"I don't understand." Words were becoming harder and harder to pronounce. You tripped over them as your footsteps slowed.

"They never valued you. Even as a human, I could see that." The verson of Casey hissed through his distorted mask. It looked more like an actual skull than the crude spray painted verson you had grown so accustomed to.

"Why did you think we'd ever like you, when you've never even tried to like us." Leo was the second closest to you and approaching slowly. His speed should have reassured you, but something about the unrelenting and unchanging pace only made you want to hurl.

"I do like you guys!" Instead of a fierce cry coming from your throat, it was a pathetic whine. A round of hissing laughter passed through the ranks of your friends. Wait, your fake friends. These weren't the real ones. You knew that. You felt like you were supposed to know that.

"Pathetic." April's voice sounded like it came from a scratched record. Her teeth sharpened with each syllable. "I was here first. And I'll be here long after you."

"Shut up!" It was your turn to yell. You didn't mean for it to be so loud, you really didn't, but the words tore itself from you like a scream. You didn't scream. You really didn't. Not in front of other people. Not like this.

Your feet had stopped moving now. They felt like lead. Incapable of moving any further without the force of a hundered men. When you looked down, you discovered they were ensnared in metal cuffs that tightened the more you hyperventilated. Twelve chains lead away from them. You followed each with your eyes, eventually finding yourself staring right back at the soupy expanse of your six former friends. Twelve chains. Two for each of them. One in each hand.

You were brought to the floor and dragged forward. Your pants tore against the floor, leaving what was sure to be a plethora of holes if you were to check.

Fingernails broke off and bled as you desperately tried to clawed away. You reached at the hem of your pants to look for your tazer, only to come up holding a ripped picture.

It was the one you had taken of everyone after defeating the kraang. It had been a celebration. A time to bathe and relax in the fact that you all had won. Everyone had smiled as you set the five second timer on your phone, Mikey even sticking a pair of bunny ears over Raphs head without him noticing.

You looked at the spot where you were supposed to be, only met with the sight of a cut out hole.

"Out of all the delusions that have run through your head—" You looked up at the only one that had yet to speak yet. Donatello's gap toothed grin sneered down at you from your spot on the floor, your mouth drying at the mere sight of it.

"From us actually caring about you—" The chains around your legs were only spreading higher along your body now, growing past your hips.

"To thinking that we actually cared when you'd visit again—"

Donatello crouched down. The black ooze around his face parted for just a moment. Instead of the cool tint of his green skin being revealed, or that purple bandana you had hidden many times in a playful manner, all you saw were tissue sinew and blood. Flesh peeled away and drooped down his face like sad wallpaper. You choked on your own bile as he grinned at you without skin around his mouth, making a grotesque clicking sound with his teeth.

The only thing that remained normal was his reddish brown eyes. They looked at you, locking you in place with a liquid hate you had only seen from him in your nightmares.

"The funniest delusion of all, was believing that I could possibly like a person like you."

Your eyebrows pulled together in terrified confusion. Sweat dripped down your head and trickled uncomfortably to the ends of your earlobes. Your chest felt the tightest it had in your life; heartbeat practically nonexistent.

You wanted to say you had no idea what he was talking about. That he was being insane. More insane that what was already going on. But the way you reacted to his words, your ears ringing with hurt and eyes pricking with acidic tears, you knew there was some truth to it. Why you were constantly put out with his efforts to pursue April. How your face dropped at each lovestruck look he tossed at the back of her head. All those jokes you'd made about Donnie being insufferable when your friend was around; maybe not being as much of a joke as you'd thought.

You don't think you'd ever realized your ulterior motives in all those acts yourself. Maybe you wouldn't have ever if it hadn't been pointed out.

Nothing more was said, because nothing else had to be. Donatello's face sewed itself back up with a sick slurping noise, returning to fuzzy gray eyes and a black exterior. With prolonged movements, he reached for the staff on his back. It was also dripping with goo, a few droplets splattering on your already ruined clothes as he hovered one end over your face. You recognized it as the end a blade was set to come out of.

Looking back up at all of them, the chains in their hands were all gone. They didn't need them anymore. It's not like you would be going anywhere. After all, everything below your head was encased in metal. Set to rot for all eternity.

A flash a silver and the snap of a button being clicked was what sent you into darkness for a second time

"I think they're waking up!"

"Get off my table Mikey. You'll break something again!"

"Is it too late to punch his face in?"

"Guys shut up. They're awake."

Taking a moment to steel your nerves against all of the elements suddenly attacking your senses, you inhaled with a hiss, an earthquake of deja vu sweeping over you with its delightful aftershock know as nausea.

The feeling of a cold metal slab underneath you alerted you that you were in Donnies lab. Most likely lying face up on his makeshift opperating table he'd crafted out of a d.i.y welding set and spare metal slab. And if any of the very poorly concealed whispering told you anything, there were going to be quite a few mutant turtles staring down at you when you opened your eyes.

You decided to peak one open to check.

Yep. Definitely a few of them.

"I saw that! Hey, did you guys see that! Their eye moved!" You heard what was most likely Mikey flail around somewhere on your left side. A few frustrated voices snapped at him to calm down, resulting in what you guessed was a raspberry to be blown back at them.

"We know you're awake." Raphael called your name blandly. You answered with what you thought was going to be a coherent string of curses, but instead was just a really scratchy sounding groan.

"I think they said, Michelangelo is the bestest turtle of all time. And also the handsomest." You felt three giant fingers grab onto the flesh of your jaw and move your mouth up and down as Mikey did a horrible impression of your voice. Treating you almost like you were a life sized ventriloquist dummy. With a grunt and a strain of your neck, you garnered enough strength to reach up and bite at his finger, inwardly pumping your fist in the air as you heard him yelp and the feeling of fingers left your face.

"Ok now we know for sure you're awake sleepy head." You felt another finger poke the side of your head, retracting fast enough so you didn't have to chance to bite them too.

Finally giving into the curse known as getting out of bed, you opened both your eyes and tilted your head down to stare at seven sets of separate eyes.

Even Master Splinter was here. You must have been out for a while.

"How long." Was all you could manage as you propped yourself up on your elbow.

"Ten years."

"How long, Donatello." You enunciated Donnies name this time, glaring at Casey who looked very amused at his own joke.

"Fourteen hours." He barely glanced up from something he was tinkering with in his lap, looking rather focused. "It's almost noon."

That was enough to shock you up, looking around to land on April's figure as you sputtered.

"Our presentation was due today." You coughed out. She nodded, bringing her t-phone out and gesturing to it.

"I already called the school. Said we had both spent the night together and got sick. They bought it like a charm."

"What about you Casey?"

"Eh. I never show up to class anyways." He shrugged. "What's another absent day for the Jones?"

"That might explain the lack of intelligence." You heard Donnie whisper. It was followed by a soft crack and him yelping in surprise. You looked and saw nothing but a faint red mark forming on Donnies arm. If you glanced at Splinter long enough, his tail twitched once as he smiled.

"Well that's good to know." You nodded at April. "Now can someone tell me why I'm surrounded by everyone I know this side of the Hudson?"

"Like Donnie said, you were out for fourteen hours dude! That's, like a whole day! We were worried." Mikey waved his arms in the air wildly and spun around in a rolly chair. You weren't sure where he got it from, but Donatello didn't look to happy about it.

"My sons told me about what happened." Splinter interjected. Everyone turned to look at him as he leaned on his emerald cane, eyes sparkling with a fierce emotion you couldn't place.

"You were all very brave in your mission. For that I comend you. But it seems that out of everyone, you were hit the hardest by the fungus." He ended his statement in your direction with a calm tone, doing nothing to ease your worries. Breaking eye contact with him was harder than you would have liked.

"So you guys figured out how to stop it then?"

"More like Leo did." April smiled. "We found him passed out and surrounded in shriveled mushrooms, looking like he had the fight of his life."

"Against a colony of shrooms?"

"The biggest one was at least fifteen feet tall."

"I take it all back. Leo you're the best." You snickered as you carefully slid off the table, feeling confident enough to stand now. You did your best to ignore the feeling of so many sets of eyes as you did so.

"So. What was your hallucination about?" Raph was the one to break the ice, scouring your face for any sort of hint. You barely held back a wince at the question. Maybe if the memory had come back to you in bits and pieces like it did to people in the movies, the question wouldn't have off put you that bad. But instead, you'd woken up and found yourself already remembering each and every bit of the nightmarish hell you'd been trapped in.

"Raph's was about cockroaches!" Mikey sang, laughing as he poked fun at his older brother. Raphael just growled and curled his fists into balls, probably holding himself back because Splinter was standing right next to him.

"Yeah? Well Mikey's was about alien squirells!" He pointed a finger at his brother angrily. And offended gasp punctuated his accusatory tone.

"It's squirellanoids! And they are much scarier than cockroaches or rats!" Mikey whined back.

"Rats?" You question, tossing a split second glance to Splinter. Somewhere next to you Casey groaned, clearly the culprit of what you assumed had been the fur induced visions.

"Can we go back to what your thing was now?" Casey said with hot ears, clearly not appreciating his fear being put on blast while April was in the room.

You pursed your lips and directed your gaze to the lab wall behind everyone. Peeling skin and puddles of oil looking sludge flashed behind your lids each time you blinked. With it left the stabbing sensation of tears. Something you despised; especially while in the presence of others.

"Nothing much." Was what you settled on, moving forward before anyone could say anything else. "What about you, Donnie? Did you end up getting sprayed?" It was almost ironic how you immediately chose to single him out after replaying the events of your nightmare in your head. A part of you scoffed at it.

"I uh—" His face grew warm at your query and he refused to met your gaze, "—I don't want to talk about it."

With a shrug you dropped the topic.

"Mind if I go get something to eat? I, uh, kind of feel like I'm dying here." You nodded toward the door nearest the kitchen, once again changing the subject. Mikey immediately ran to it at the mention of food, screaming about pizza. According to the others, he had been waiting all day to crack open a pizza to eat with you. And you weren't about to deny him now.

As everyone filed out into the common room, a light hand placed itself on your shoulder. Without even looking back you knew who it belonged to and only confirmed it once locking eyes with Master Splinter.

"My child," He began softly. "I know we do not have the bond you do with my sons, but if you ever feel troubled, my dojo is always open for you. The mind is your most powerful weapon, and it would be a mistake to let it stew in its own treachery."

You didn't make a move to shrug his hand away or even leave. Instead you looked at him curiously, searching for even a hint of insincerity. When you found none, you just nodded.

"Now go. I know you are eager to join the others."

Splinter watched as you retreated to the playful shouting coming from the other room, hands coming to rest on the peak of his cane once more. You reminded him of his sons. Too much of his sons.

He was just glad that you'd all found each other. He might have gone insane if he had to entertain those boys the rest of his life.

[mlmxreader]

Tell Me One Thing | Holland March x gn!reader

anonymous asked: hello hello i hope you’re doing as well as you can :) i was wondering if i could request some holland march x gn!reader with the prompts: “hey, hey, look at me c’mon” and “for what it’s worth, i’m proud of you”. where basically holland’s on a case and someone recognises him as the reader’s boyfriend but they have some very strong opinions about them being together and say kinda nasty things. he gets home before the reader and the latter finds him curled in upon himself like overthinking and stuff and comforts him. thank you! :)

summary: March has a habit of letting certain things get under his skin a bit too much, but thankfully, his partner comforts him when he needs it.

tws: swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of injury, mentions of alcoholism

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

It seemed like a normal enough day.

Healy was chatting to people in the busy street while Holland waited by the car and smoked; they were just looking for some old lady's lost dog, but money was money, and private investigators like Healy and March couldn't afford to turn down a job.

Holland did think, though, that he might be able to escape to the nearest payphone and call you; Holly was at school - hopefully - by now, which meant that the chances were, you were at home for a little while before your shift started.

He debated it, and when he saw that Healy was still chatting, he made his mind up; his bandaged fingers thumbled with the numbers, but he got there in the end and lit another cigarette.

But as it was ringing, someone knocked on the booth. Figuring that they probably just wanted to use it, he opened the door, and clenched his jaw.

"Can't you fucking see it's in use?"

The stranger looked him up and down for a moment. "Aren't you dating the person that used to live on Foxtrot Street?"

Holland quirked a brow. "Y/N?"

"Yeah," they nodded. "You're the new boyfriend, right?"

Holland shrugged as he scoffed. "The fuck do you wanna know for? Go on, get lost, pal."

The stranger didn't budge, folding their arms across their chest. "Y'know, I think it's absolutely sickening. A nice person like that, with scum like you - it's a surprise they haven't crawled into the bottom of a bottle, as well."

He rolled his eyes, attempting to close the door on them, but they put their hand on the frame. "Just fucking let me make a call."

"Please," they huffed. "Leave them alone. They deserve better than some P.I who drinks too much to even care about his own kid. You're gonna fuck them over, just like you fuck everybody else over. Leave them alone."

They only backed off once Healy approached, and although he wanted to talk about it, Holland couldn't find the energy to do so; he got in the car, hardly spoke but swigged from his flask like there was no tomorrow.

When Healy dropped him off, Holland had only one thing in mind: bed.

He flopped down onto the soft mattress, face buried against the pillows as he closed his eyes; maybe they were right. They did have a point, but he had been working on his drinking. But he was also useless - he fell off of several balconies that day, all on the ground floor at least unlike last time.

Maybe he would fuck you over. He didn't want to, but maybe he would. He spent what felt like eternity laid there, but eventually moved onto his side, cuddling into a pillow as he brought his knees to his chest, staring out at nothing.

He hoped Holly wouldn't be home any time soon, she didn't need to see her father worrying so badly about something that a stranger had said.

But Holly didn't come home first.

Holland knew it wasn't her when he heard the door lock from the inside, a muttering voice listing out all the chores to do throughout the house; familiar footprints slowly approaching along with the scent of his cologne, like the wearer had stolen one of his shirts.

He usually smiled, but not today. He just sighed and cuddled into the pillow even more.

"Hey, baby," you hummed, not thinking much at first as you shrugged your jacket off and hung it up on the corner of the wardrobe. Sweat trickling down your back and clinging to your forehead. "How was your day?"

Holland grumbled. "Why are you still here?"

You furrowed your brows as you turned around, shoving your hands into your pockets. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just gonna fuck you up," he sighed. "I fuck everything up and you… deserve better."

"Oh, Holland," you sighed, squatting down so that your eyes were on the same level as his. "Holland, Holland, Holland… you're not gonna fuck me up. I mean, you do give me really bad fright every time you go out, but that's because I know you - I know you're not exactly great with balconies."

Holland sighed.

But you wouldn't relent. "Hey, hey, look at me, c'mon… atta boy. Listen to me, baby - do you really think I'd leave?"

He shrugged. "You should."

"I'm not going to," you said softly. "No one, and I mean no one, has made me laugh as much as you can. You think I'd give all that up?"

"I make you laugh?"

"Yes," you leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead. "And that means everything to me, you know that… you wanna tell me what happened?"

"Someone approached me while we were working," he said quietly. "Said some pretty shitty things."

"And you let them get under your skin," you hummed, nodding. "Y'know, this is only like the window incident."

Usually, he smiled at the reminder.

When he had been playfully bickering with you at a party and he had thought that a window was shut, only to lean back and fall right through it, landing on a buffet table crowded by people.You laughed the entire way to the hospital, and he had never heard something so wonderful.

But he had allowed one of the doctors comments about you to get under his skin, just as he had now.

"Y'know, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you," you told him. "I really am."

Slowly, Holland dared to sit upright, spreading his legs so that you were between them, looking up at him with your head leaning on his thigh, a small smile on your lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirmed, gently pushing him back until his back hit the mattress, straddling his waist. "You gonna let go of the pillow?"

He threw it, and ignored whatever went crashing down with it as he eagerly gripped at your sides. "Better?"

"Much," you nodded. laughing loudly when he moved to pin you onto your back beneath him, your wrists in his hands as he pinned them above your head. "Don't start something that you can't finish, mind, March."

"I can finish it," he murmured. "Just… tell me one thing."

"Anything."

"Tell me you love me."

[kromaticglass]

I've been sitting on this for a while because I'm not usually one for writing out my thoughts on characters in media that I like but honestly I need to yell about just how much I love Wriothesley as a character and how his story is written.

Don't get me wrong, I love Scaramouche, and I love his story arc, but there's something about this absolutely horrific past that Wriothesley grew up in and despite everything that should have made him a bitter person, he's so selfless. Selfless to the point of completely overturning a system that had been working in it's own horrific manner for hundreds of years as a teenager/young adult in order to make it better and actively work on fixing people, not just let them fall between the cracks of a society that sent them away to be forgotten.

Putting this under a read more because I'm going to yell about this a lot.

When we're first learning about Wriothesley we're introduced to the fact that he was an orphan. This brings up questions to start with; how was he first orphaned? By the sounds of things he wasn't willingly given away to the foster family that he ended up living with, he was on the streets or at the very least was on his own for a time before he ended up there. The first thing that my mind goes to is that this means either his parents abandoned him or they died/were killed, which may also be the reason he seemingly was desensitized to death as a kid - I'll get to that point later, it's important.

Just how long he was on the streets before he was taken in by his foster family isn't mentioned, but I'd expect it was at least a year or so, just from some context clues we got from both his story quest and his character stories that you unlock with friendship. When in his foster home, things were supposedly a picture perfect family, a dollhouse where people looking in would only see the perfect picture but as soon as curtains closed it was something very different.

Households like that are traumatising, it's no wonder that Wriothesley's ability to trust in people is shot. The people who were supposed to care for him after promising a good life were nothing but a front and in his eyes he once more was on his own. For a child to decide to willingly orphan themselves a second time is so taxing on the mind, I could only imagine the stress he would've been under.

But what really gets me is the fact that he eventually came to the conclusion that in order to stop the cycle of picking up kids and selling them off to the highest bidder and killing the ones that didn't sell, Wriothesley didn't think about contacting gardes, didn't go to anyone else about it, he took matters into his own hands.

Not just that, but that he had to kill them.

It takes a lot for someone to work themselves up into killing another person. If you've never taken a life before, most people will hesitate, they'll be sick, or they'll completely shut down and remove themselves mentally from the situation, there's a very visceral reaction that happens in the human brain when you're pushed so far into stress responses that you'll take another life, and this was a teenager. This is why I feel like he would've been desensitized to death or at the very least gruesome scenes like this from a much younger age.

One can only wonder just what was going through his mind during the time he was away, taking the odd jobs to create that first prototype of his gauntlets that he used to shoot nails at his parents. It may not be as personal as taking a knife to someone, but using a nailgun is a bloody affair, the wounds needed to make that fatal are grievous if done by an inexperienced hand. And from what we're told in the character story, it sounds like his parents fought back, hard enough that it very nearly killed Wriothesley as well.

It makes me wonder just what he was thinking, or feeling in that moment, was it fear? Anger? A mix of many things? Or was he simply numb to it until he woke up in the hospital bed later? From what we hear in his tone during the story quest, he sounds apathetic about retelling the story, but that could be a result of trying to compartmentalize the renewed trauma that was rekindled thanks to the gem he touched.

And the trial, lets not forget that. On the day he wakes up from his injuries, he's served papers to face in court, and given a timeline for his recovery. The character story says the trial went with little fanfare and that he accepted the charges with little to no protest, it makes me think about just what could've gone through his head during the time he was recovering.

Wriothesley states that he knew he was guilty in the eyes of the law, and that his methods were extreme and he knows that. Because he survived his injuries when he expected to die from them, it makes me think that he knew he would be going to the Fortress of Meropide once he got to the trial. Given how much of a lawless land the Fortress was back then, I wonder if this was Wriothesley's own way of putting himself back into the hands of fate again, or maybe in some way, taking it back into his own hands.

Character Story 2 and his Vision story tells us more about his time in Meropide before taking it over, and how chaotic it sounded. He arrived in the Fortress and found his Vision in his pockets when being processed, and the first thing he's told is "hide it well". This was the only warning he got from anyone about how life in the Fortress was at that time, and he took that to heart in order to not lose anything precious to him.

Meropide was a place you could pay for someone to die in back then, among other things like drugs and probably far more things that Hoyoverse wouldn't mention for the sake of keeping things PG. It certainly doesn't seem like a place a teenager would be safe in and yet despite all odds, Wriothesley thrived and amassed a massive collection of credit coupons in order to make his name known.

It doesn't say much about what a feat that is, especially the line where it mentions that he amassed more coupons than anyone else in the Fortress combined. He figured out how the place ticked and made it sing to his own tempo instead of simply falling in line, that's such an impressive feat for anyone to do, let alone someone who would've had to fight tooth and nail to even get the respect needed for people to see him with as much power as he seemed to gain by the time he took over.

When he challenged the former administrator to a duel, the story mentions how Wriothesley was saved from having to get another person’s blood on his hands because he fled from the Fortress instead of showing up. And sure we could gloss over this as he was glad about not needing to fight him in the end, but this also implies that if the fight had've gone on instead of what happened, Wriothesley would've either beaten that man within an inch of his life or taken it. He would've taken another life for the sake of other people, once again.

This is something I've noticed is a theme with Wriothesley. He has either little regard for or at the very least places his own safety below others, so long as it's doing what he thinks is right or protects other people. During his story quest when he's being shot at, Wriothesley does little to protect himself aside from some minimal protection with his cryo vision against the bullets shot at him, but the moment that the gun is turned to the Traveler, he spent absolutely no time in very nearly killing Dougier (if the Traveler hadn't been there, I think there would've been a 75%-85% chance that he would've killed Dougier) and putting him in his place.

We see this again with the Archon quest where Wriothesley and Clorinde fight back the Primordial Sea. He spend his own safety and energy icing over the doors in order to save people in the Fortress from the Primordial Sea until Neuvillette could get there, at the risk of his own safety and very nearly getting trapped and dissolved by the waters.

That's not even taking into consideration the work he did on the Wingalet. We saw so little of it in the 4.2 Archon Quest, I was almost disappointed, but the fact that instead of staying idle about the prophecy, he spent so much time and energy making a ship like that and keeping it a secret from most parties until the time came all for the reason of saving as many Fontainians as possible just kills me.

Wriothesley has been through so much, and instead of that horrible backstory and all that trauma turning him into a bitter and hateful person, he instead uses it to give others a better life than he had just crushes me. He took over Meropide and reformed it into a place where not only does it help people now, but is such a nice place to be that inmates want to stay afterwards warms my heart. Like, for sure there's the fact that people staying down there reintegrating into society would be a challenge but I love the fact that there's even the choice to stay down there after the term is over instead of simply turning people lose and risking them returning back down after repeating crimes.

Anyway what I'm trying to get at here is that Wriothesley is such a well written character and I want Hoyoverse to give us more characters like this. I'm rambling way too much and I'm sure like 80% is incoherent bullshit but I needed to get my feelings off my chest about this lol.

If you made it this far thanks for putting up with my rambling LMAO.

[cookiesupplier]

Hell Ain’t So Bad - Part Five

pairing: Noah Sebastian x ofc (Ellie), 

warnings/tropes: slow burn, smut (eventually), angst, fluff, mentions of death, mentions of torture, thoughts of religious ideology, violence and swearing.

summary: Ellie was lost in the world, homeless with no idea what to do and nowhere to go.. Who would have thought that one day, she’d end up working in hell itself.. And what does this even mean?

author’s note: Unbetaed, readers beware.. if you want to chat with me about ideas/theories for this story I'm open to it, my asks are always open as well.

because I struggled to find an image I liked for this part, and I enjoy the little image I made, I'ma start using it.. Noah will be showing up soon.. maybe.. lol

tags: @spicywhenspeaking @bngurngheart @cncohshit @valiantroeagleangel @blackveilomens @dominuslunae

Tags are open, ask if you'd like to be added, to this list specifically or in general.

The next morning, not only did she have the blessing of the most blissful shower, and brand new clothes, making her feel like a living breathing new person for once. Ellie decided that after spending the last day and a half of the boys providing food for her one after another, she was going to at least try to do something nice for the two she knew she was going to see this morning.

She didn’t have much she could do.. But she had noticed that the kitchen had a semi decent coffee machine, and some basic groceries, including paper cups.

Whoever lived here before either didn’t like washing up, or understood the transition of Hell, oh who was she kidding, you didn’t have to be in hell to hate having to deal with worrying about food and washing up after the stress of moving. Not that she’d had anything to move yesterday, but she wasn’t sure the person that had left them here had known that. Everything here was basic, to get her on her feet. It made sense.

Either way. It worked for her.

So, she made the guys coffee. Just basic coffee, and sure it wasn’t much, it was just a cup of boring coffee in a paper cup that might taste absolutely feral, but it was hot, and it was something she knew how to do.

Who didn’t enjoy coffee?

She at least knew Folio did after yesterday morning.

So carrying the cups of coffee downstairs to the foyer where Jolly had told her they’d meet her to see her to work, and while he had a small smile in greeting, Folio, that earned her a wide grin,

“Coffee!”

Nevermind that he already had his own travel mug in hand. That just made her laugh.

“Not that you don’t already have one, sure you want another?”

Folio scoffed,

“Too much caffeine? Never.”

Swiping the cup from her, taking a sip with a hum before just adding the contents of the paper cup to his travel mug with his grin,

“Thanks, I knew you’d be a kindred coffee fiend.”

Planting a kiss on her cheek without hesitation he was off ahead of them just racing away and Ellie shook her head.

“Does he ever stop?”

She said as she looked to Jolly, who thanked her as he took a sip of his cup of coffee.

“Not unless you tie him down.”

Where they were working was sort of an office similar to the one she’d started in yesterday, which was surprising to Ellie. Only unlike her experience of walking in off the street, homeless, the people that walked in here, were dead. That was an entirely different type of trauma.

They were spirits. There was no other side of the doorway. There was no outside world for them right now. She knew because while they’d walked in through one door, they came in through another, and when she opened that door to see where they came through.. She saw nothing.

It was a completely empty space. A void.

Their souls just seem to materialize out of nothing into the doorway and walk into the office space where they could deal with where they were supposed to do.

Most of them didn’t want to be here, which, considering they were dead, Ellie completely understood. There was also the fact that a lot of them, more than she would like to consider right now, were rather, well, they were disgusting people with some of the things that their files said about the things they did in their lives.

“Fucking hell, the guy that is supposed to be coming through next apparently hunted people for sport? Who does that?”

Looking up from the laptop towards Folio and the Jolly as if either of them could explain what was going on here. This was the third soul this morning that was some sort of murder.

“Man, they are going to a field day with him in his hell, I might grab some popcorn and go watch sometimes.”

He laughed, spinning in his chair across the room. Ellie just rolled her eyes at his antics before looking back towards Jolly.

“We probably should have told you, we tend to get the more, darker spectrum of souls in this office. I think they think we can handle it, maybe? I don't know why. Take no shit, prisoners, whatever.”

Jolly crossed his arms as Ellie looked back to the screen, which she supposed made sense. The fact she could still see the disgust in his eyes at the fact that the man that they were waiting for hunted other people and enjoyed it, made her feel better that they were stuck waiting for him.

“Me, I just like making fun of the assholes before sending them on their way. They always squirm trying to get out of going to their hell, to their punishment and shit. This guy, hundred bucks says he’ll have a million excuses as to why these people deserved to be hunted.”

Folio nodded as he stopped spinning his chair by grabbing onto one of the desks long enough to talk.

“Or, he was even worse and just wanted to see if he could get away with it.”

Ellie cringed as Jolly added his opinion, but she didn’t know which take was worse. Thinking someone deserved to be hunted, or not having a reason aside from wanting to kill just for the sake of the thrill of getting away with it.

Either way, this asshole was a monster, and she hoped his punishment to learn his lesson before he could be reincarnated as Jolly had explained to her, was a fucking long and painful process.

She personally wouldn’t want to be back in the world with him any time soon at all.

So far that morning, they’d already dealt with a teacher that took advantage of her students, she’d tried to argue that none of the boys had ever been disappointed with being involved with her. She had just given Ellie such the ick. Of course they hadn’t, they were teenage boys, she was their teacher. Not to mention, at that age, not everyone thought they could say NO. Fucking cunt. Took everything in her not to fucking break her nose. She’d be tempted. Folio promised her she’d get hers in her little personal bubble of hell. That was where they were sending them off to, they were sort of a weigh station while their personal pockets of hell, were prepared, as Jolly said, they got more of the darker souls there.

The next soul had been a man that had run down a bunch of kids in a drunken rage and didn’t even bother to stop and check to see if any of them were alive. Unlike the woman though, he hadn’t tried to argue what he’d done was right, if anything, she thought he was still a little drunk.

Neither soul had been all that pleasant to her, nor the ones that followed after, but this one, she really wished she could leave, escape the thought of if entirely. At the same time, she didn’t want to walk out on the first job that had taken a risk on her in a long time.

Not to mention, being here with Jolly and Folio, actually seemed kind of fun so far.

“How about a distraction then?”

Folio got this look in his eyes when he stopped his chair from spinning and by his hands reaching out and grabbing the desk she was sitting up, his grin infectious even if the look in his eyes made her wonder what was going through that head of his. Raising an eyebrow as she looked towards him,

“Strip Poker!”

“No!”

The snort that came from Jolly told her that he knew exactly how likely she had been to agree to that idea from the other man,

“Are you kidding me Folio, first day at work, and you are suggesting to try and get me naked?”

The man’s grin just turned devilish then

“Are you sure the plan isn’t for you to get me naked here, Sexy?”

With that smirk, and the waggle of his eyebrows, it was safe to say, she was sufficiently distracted from the topic of the soul at hand that they were waiting for. Ellie actually believed him though, that he was willing to keep losing and strip naked, because after months of being almost starved, she really didn’t think she was much to look at under her clothes, but give her a couple of weeks, and this steady supply of food, and hopefully she could fix that. She already felt more likely every moment.

Joking around and teasing each other could only get them so far before the darkness of the 'Death Gate', that was how she thought of the door into the office, swirled. In stepped the bastard whose information she had already been so disgusted with. There he was. The man that had hunted other people, for sport.

“Welcome to Hell, Asshole.”

Ellie tried not to laugh at the greeting Folio gave him, he might not yell and scream, but he certainly sounded cheery enough about the way he said it. Kind of perfect actually. The Asshole in question went a bit red in the face in turn,

“Excuse me, I should not be here.. I did nothing wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong?”

While Ellie had let Jolly and Folio mostly take the lead with the last two souls, she found herself speaking up this time without thinking. As she questioned the asshole soul’s comment about the whether his actions were right or wrong in his eyes.

“You hunted and killed other human beings for sport.”

She couldn’t find any valid justification in that, no matter what he said, but the man just rolled his eyes as he looked at her and kept going just the same.

“Well, it’s not like anyone was going to miss them, they were homeless after all.”

Just like that, it was like she just snapped. Ellie’s eyes went wide when she realized just what kind of monster this bastard really was, and she knew she’d met this kind of man before. Friends of hers had gone missing on the streets before and she’d never known what had happened to them, and yes, there were days she wondered if they had come across a man like this in a dark alley. This, fucking bastard.

Ellie didn’t quite remembered what happened next, because the next thing she did consciously remember was Jolly having to pull her off of him as Folio dragged his barely conscious prone form towards the soul exit and literally kicked him out and on his way to his personal torment.

From the amount of blood spatter on her though…

They’d let her wail on him for a little bit before they’d decided to intervene.

After she’d calmed down a little and Jolly handed her a bottle of water,

“That, sweetheart, is why we go for lunch, and we only take one shift at a time. Admittedly, it’s not always that bad. You got a raging asshole your first day, but it can get bad, thankfully, you should have time to clean up before lunch.. We should do that, let’s go.”

Folio was grinning wide as they left the office, starting a commentary on her boxing skills and how she’d taking that asshole down like a fucking sack of potatoes. Man, if he’d hunted her… Jolly had glared at him bringing him to a grinding halt when the colour had drained from her face with that comment, oh fuck, was that too soon? Shit..

She needed a subject change.. Anything.. Absolutely anything..

Then she remembered something she had been thinking about earlier..

“What brought you both to hell? I mean, I was homeless, and now I’m not, I guess that's a trigger for me. Obviously. How about you guys? How long have you guys been working here?”

Folio just grinned,

“Oh I don’t work here, I’m DEAD! Dead as a doornail.”

He just kept walking, completely unaware of her shock as she followed, Jolly falling silent himself beside her.

“I died like, ages ago, it’s been years actually, in a motorcycle accident. Wrecked it, my fault. I just don’t want to be reincarnated yet.”

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[cloudyko0kie]

I See Something Red (preview)

⟶🥀Title: I See Something Red

⟶🥀Pairing : scream!jungkook x student!reader

⟶🥀Genre: romance, enemies/friends to lovers (friendly banter not really tbh), eventual smut, established relationship, reader is shy, angst, jungkook is most popular guy in school, jungkooks kind of a dick, kind of yandre jungkook tbh.

⟶🥀Warnings: cursing, bullying, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, future smut, spitting, choking, degrading, lip biting, blood.

In Sherman Oaks High School, Jungkook is the popular guy that’s enemies with Yuna. They are part of a close-knit group of friends. However, unbeknownst to Yuna, Jungkook leads a double life as the masked Scream Murderer, responsible for a series of killings in their town.

I pouted cutely as I approached Jungkook, my test paper tightly clutched in my hands. "Seriously, Jungkook," I playfully complained, lightly tapping his arm. "You always have to get a perfect score. It's like you're trying to show off!"

Jungkook chuckled, clearly enjoying our playful banter. "Come on, Yuna," he teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You were so close this time. Just two points away from perfection. That's impressive!"

Crossing my arms, I couldn't help but feel determined. "Well, next time, I'm going to knock you off your perfect-score pedestal, Jungkook. Prepare to be dethroned!"

Raising an eyebrow, Jungkook's smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Is that a challenge, Yuna? You're on! Let's see who can claim the title of the ultimate math genius. Game on!"

My heart raced with excitement as we continued our talking. Little did I know that beneath our playful competition, a secret admiration for Jungkook blossomed within me. He was always someone I liked, even when we were kids wearing diapers together.

Engrossed in our conversation about skittles, we strolled down the street, our laughter filling the air. Jungkook thinks the red skittles are the best, however i oppose to his opinion; i personally think that the green ones have a unique taste. As we passed by a nearby electronics store, a television display caught our attention. Breaking news flashed across the screen, announcing another murder in town. The cheerful atmosphere instantly turned somber, and a hushed silence fell over us.

“Did you see that, Yuna?” Jungkook asked, his voice laced with concern. “Another murder… It’s really unsettling.”

I nodded, my heart sinking with a mix of fear and disbelief. “Yeah, it’s hard to believe that something so terrible could happen in our town. I hope they catch the person responsible soon.”

We exchanged worried glances, the weight of the situation casting a shadow over us. In that moment, the reality of the world around us felt much darker than our friendly competition, and we couldn’t help but wonder if our lives would be affected in ways we never could have imagined.

���Anyways Yuna, red skittles are better right? Don’t fight me now, you know I’m right” jungkook smirks slightly. His face comes closer to mine; I could feel his breath.

“Wear your red dress at the school dance tonight…you know I like red” he whispers.

[peachsayshi]

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minors & ageless blogs dni

tags: au; kishibe x female reader; cam girl! reader;  retired hit man! kishibe; mentions of killing and blood; age gap (reader in late twenties - kishibe is fifty); daddy kink; masturbation

I’m thinking about...

retired hit man kishibe who officially paid off his debts after making a career out of such a dangerous job. he was barely a man when he slit the throat of his first victim, but none of that matters now when he has the blood of so many on his hands. he’s relieved that he no longer has to think about crimson stains or begging screams. he happily moved into his new apartment, even though it’s much smaller than his old bachelor pad. he has enough money to retire at fifty and adopted the stray kitten that hangs around his street. every night he goes to sleep with his head feeling light thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s finally earned some peace.

retired hit man kishibe is in a dry spell. he is resisting falling back into old habits even though it was so much easier to slip his dick inside one pussy after another without thinking about it. a series of endless hook ups with faces and names blurring into one another - he justified this behavior due to his unlawful line of work and knew that a putting down roots was unrealistic. he didn’t have these excuses anymore, and promised himself that he is going to start changing for the better. he just needed to find a new way to relieve his urges.

retired hit man kishibe never gave technology much thought until he resorted to watching porn online. he is particrularly obsessed with your content.  you only ever revealed yourself from the mouth down but he loved the sound of pretty voice and admired your body covered in such scant clothing. the way you teasingly modeled off your outfits drove him wild, while your fingers played with the the only signature item you wore which was a tiny pink choker that had a little heart dangling in center.

retired hit man kishibe blows extra cash just to have a private session with you once a month. he loves watching you fuck yourself, loves the way you spread your wet lips in front of the camera while whining that it’s all for him. the tip of his cock leaks with cum when you start stripping for him, seductively laughing while asking: “like what you see, old man?”.  he starts enjoying the fact that you taunt him for being almost two decades older than you, and grows fond of the silly pet name you’ve given him. Then there was the time where the conversation got so heated, kishibe wound up watching you bounce on a pink dildo as you moaned “daddy” over and over again. He came so hard that night, his vision went white.

retired hit man kishibe sees you unlocking the door to your apartment. you live right across from him and he recognizes the uniform you’re wearing - a short brown skirt with a fitted black shirt tucked inside. He pinpointed the outfit, and immediately knew that you worked as a waitress at the bakery across the street. he doesn’t stop himself from checking you out, immediately acknowledging how attractive you are. despite what his personal life revealed, kishibe still can’t bring himself to approach a woman much younger than him. instead he greets you with a polite hello, and you give him a pretty smile that makes his brain light up. there was something about you he finds oddly familiar. he just can’t place it yet...

retired hit man kishibe eventually becomes the “helpful” neighbor. he carries your heavy groceries up the stairs when he sees you struggling. he always offers to fix the leaky pipe in your kitchen sink. he keeps your packages safe whenever the mailman drops it off to the wrong door. he gives you leftover foods on special holidays to make sure you have something to eat. eventually you offer to return the favor by promising to pet sit for his cat which he happily accepts. 

sometimes he forgets that his life wasn’t always like this. 

sometimes he forgets that most people only ever looked at him with fear in their eyes.

retired hit man kishibe spent the earlier part of his evening revisiting old connections. he hates that these people think they can lure him back into his past life by throwing numbers at his face. it was all about the money for them, but that’s exactly what put him in this terrible predicament in the first place. he stops by your apartment to pick up taro, but as you open the door he feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. you are holding taro in your arms, wearing an oversized hoodie with fitted boy shorts and a pink choker that he instantly recognizes.

retired hit man kishibe thinks it’s a coincidence - but you prove him wrong only two hours later when he sees you on the screen of his laptop with your hoodie discarded on the floor. you’re wearing the skimpiest tank top that barley fits, one hand slipped underneath to tweak your hard nipple while the other was hidden under the thin fabric of your shorts. he watches you with dumbstruck eyes as you whimper how close you are to your orgasm.

for the first time since he’s known you, retired hit man kishibe considers if it’s worth crossing the line that he’s drawn. 

[hmshermitcraft]

Enemies to lovers don’t mind if I do!

Gem hated Pearl she hated everything about her from the fact her family took over the grimm lands, outlawed obsidian magic, and worst of all turned her kind Wither Hybrids into supposed “demons” it. Made. Her. Sick! Her home was turned into a bastardized version of what it was while she was barely surviving on the streets high and mighty Pearl was eating out of the lap of luxury.

Pearl hates her family she stays in the castle ninety percent of the time never getting the chance to leave to actually see the kingdom she’s supposed to rule one day. Hell it wasn’t even originally their kingdom they took it over! Not to mention that was before she was even born. And now she’s being taught that her family were right and just rulers when Pearl knew in reality they were maniacal and egotistical she never understood why they outlawed so many of the kingdoms naturally occurring forms of magic or labeled an entire native group of people as demons it made no sense and she was gonna get to the bottom of it!

Today was the day Gem was gonna end the supposed “royal line” once and for all magic loaded, obsidian knives ready, hungry for souls and ready to devour some. The plan was simple go in kill the queen, king, and princess then pin the blame on some other noble asshole…at least that was the plan until she was caught and thrown into the dungeon. She was shackled and hungry she needed to eat something anything but nope these people called her a demon and we’re gonna treat her like one.

When Pearl heard they had a new prisoner in the dungeons a Wither hybrid no less she immediately rushed down there after the guards were gone for the night to see frankly the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life. Gorgeous sunset orange hair, emerald green eyes, tanned freckled skin, twice her height by all accounts , a rack of antlers made of crying obsidian with beads and jewels hanging from them, and beautiful wither roses growing from her neck in a bush safe to say Pearl had fallen for this woman…now if only gem could say the same.

Right in front of her was the bane of her existence the person who caused her family, her people, her home to suffer! And she was just standing there like she was some sorta animal in a zoo growling before saying “so what do you want wanna see me beg? Because if so then screw off!” Gem didn’t care if this was the end of the line but she didn’t expect for her hands to suddenly be free via the pull of a lever as she looked up to see Pearl crying saying “I’m so sorry what my family has done…” and from there things only got more interesting and complicated

Over the months of Gem’s imprisonment Pearl visited every single day bringing food, water, and even a few pillows and blankets for Gem granted the first few weeks gem nearly tried to gore Pearl with her antlers or claw her. But eventually Gem realized she was just trying to help and the two started talking…and talking…and talking. Both learning things about the others life and culture that both were hooked on. Gem was legitimately surprised at how Pearl hanged onto every word of her explaining the intricacies of obsidian magic and its ties to the grimmlands. And Pearl didn’t expect Gem to cry when she described what’s normally a very boring royal ball.

And one thing led to another and a very passionate night one evening…*ahem* that made Gem realize she loved Pearl with all her heart. With the following day Pearl freeing her and the two of them throwing a Coupe against her parents with a bright future in mind for the kingdom. Well after the wedding of course.

They discovered they had... A lot more in common than they first thought. Gem, like Pearl, was born after the Grimmlands was overthrown by Pearl's family. And, if it hadn't happened, Gem would have been second in line to rule.

Instead, she and her people are demonised and live in poverty all because some assholes decided they wanted to take over the kingdom and then not even use the resources the kingdom offers! Not even try to understand its people. Then her attempt at freedom immediately fails, and she's left only with the pity of somebody she hates.

It took her a long time to come around to Pearl. She'd lived in a castle she had no rights to her entire life. It was hard for Gem to feel like she wasn't looking at her like a curiosity. Maybe it was her own prejudice, but she thinks it's a fair assumption to make.

Pearl was the one to realise Gem's links to the original royal family, though. It was by complete accident! Talking to Gem made Pearl want to learn more about the Grimmlands in its prime. This led to her researching the royal family and... Gem's name was scribbled onto the page with red ink, alongside a name Pearl didn't recognise. She asked Gem about it. Though reluctant to answer, Gem eventually tells her that's her brother.

The coup wasn't easy to accomplish. Pearl's parents have ruled with an iron fist, including their children. She isn't sad to see them lose their power. With Gem by her side, it's easy to gain the support of the people. Gaining their respect is harder, but with a plan ahead to integrate those of Pearl's people that remain whilst bringing the Grimmlands back to its technological glory - they think they've got a pretty good chance.

[babiesdreams]

The Hunger Games Au.

This is gonna be a serie, there would be multiple idols throught the story. It's a first person fic and the main character is an OC. This is a project that means a lot to me since I'm a big fan of the hunger games myself, please be kind and enjoy <3

WARNINGS: There are obviously mentions of blood, kills, and death. For it to be easier for you to read, if you're sensible to tis topics DO NOT READ THE RED PARTS.

Chapter One: The Reaping

I wake up with a loud mooing sound, my eyebrows frown trying hard to keep my eyes shut, to sleep further. I blink repeatedly until my eyes get used to the bright light that enters inside the barn. I feel the soft touch of the cow’s fur against my skin, it’s like a soft pillow, one of those that only exists in the Capitol. “Did you sleep well Lola?” She’s a slow light brown and white cow, with pink ears and nose, and big eyelashes. She answers with another moo, I chuckle. “You’re the cutest one you know?” I tell her while I pat her head. 

“Taura!” I hear Antonio yelling my name in the distance. “Are you awake yet?” He asks from the barn’s door. “I’m awake old man” I shout back with a smile. He opens the door and looks at me, laying on the floor, hair probably still messy and full of straw. Still patting Lola’s head instead of getting ready for work. “We have a lot to do today. The Capitol needs a lot of meat for their parties” I look at him with contained anger. “Oh they love to celebrate death” I comment to myself, referring to the animals we’ll have to kill because of them. My eyes lock of the floor.

“I told you not to get attached to them. They’re animals Taura, they have to die eventually” I look directly into Lola’s eyes. “I know” My words get invaded with a sudden dark tone. Toni sighs while he helps himself sit on a bundle of hay.

“You know I'd do it if I could, but my hands are weak. We are just like them, we have to die eventually. And I feel like my expiration day is near, kid” I look at him with a lifted brow. “You still have a lot to live, Toni” I say with a smile. He makes old man’s sounds while he gets out of the barn. 

I get up and tidy my overall, getting all the dirt off it. A long sigh escapes my lips, I’m definitely tired of this routine. The Capitol is always demanding things from the districts, as if we had anything to give at all. They get to eat meat and nice bread loafs, while all we can ever taste are dry cereal that sentences us to death. I put on my gloves and go to the killing building. Since I got into Toni’s farm, I’ve called it that way, though he insisted on calling it a slaughterhouse. 

I wish I could remember how my life was when my mother was alive, so I’d have something to compare my current life with, but truth is I only remember her face, and it’s just a blurry memory. I grab the big knife and crack my neck and back bones. As nice as it could seem to sleep over bundles of hay, it really messes with your spine. Last winter I had to stay lying down because of the pain. It almost cost both of our lives. Our story was a common one in 10. I was a helpless toddler, an orphan who would’ve died starving in the streets if it weren’t for him. And Toni, he was an old man who needed tesserae to survive. We helped each other. He taught me how to work, to not starve once I reach adulthood. In exchange, I risk my life every year, increasing the chances to be reaped for the hunger games.

I take deep breaths to prepare myself. The helpless goat is tied to a table, my eyes fixed on the floor, trying not to look at its face. It’s always harder when you look into their eyes. With one hand I hold its body, pinning it to the wooden material. With the other I make an incision over its neckline. Blood squirts onto my face. It showers me with death. My hands are red, full of guilt. With my fingers I close its eyes and whisper “I’m sorry” I knew the goat was old, probably sick, but it never feels right to take life out of another living creature. I chop its head off and start preparing the meat to be sent. The Capitol was only interested in high quality meat, so the head, neck and legs usually stayed in the district, as part of the black market. I get the gloves off, my hands are covered in blood under them, it probably dripped down my arms long ago, it’s almost dry. “Did you finish?” Toni asks from behind me, I simply nod.

“We still got a couple of pigs and a cow to go” He announces. My whole body react inmediately, turning to face him. Horror takes over me. “A cow?” I ask in shock. “It’s what they requested, Taura” Tears fill my eyes once I realize what he really means. It will be Lola, she’s the oldest. “Right” I whisper, looking down. “I can ask the neighbor to do it if you can't.” Tears fall down my cheeks, imagining the rough hands of Tim slaying Lola. I shake my head “I want to make sure it’s fast” He nods in agreement. “I’ll be feeding the sheeps if you need me” I nod and put the gloves back on. The neighbor, Tim, usually ties our animals to the tables. He’s strong, rude and loud, I’ve seen him carry full grown cows over his shoulders. Victor’s meat, that's what we call it. 

“I heard you’re gonna kill the cow” He groans while lifting the struggling pig. “Yeah” I mumble. “Did you name this one too?” I sigh, I’m tired of the same old speech. Since he taught me how to kill, he hasn’t shut up about getting attached to the animals. “I sleep with them, Tim. I talk to them more than I talk to humans” He chuckles, his voice is deep as always, his tone cocky and braggy. “Don’t say that kid. People might get the wrong impression” 

I lift the knife in a threatening gesture, then stab the pig that was lying on the other table. A loud high pitched scream fills the room. He groans, dropping the pig on the bloody table where the goat was before. “I’ll go get the cow” He mutters but I stop him with my hand. “I’ll bring her after. Go back to your farm” He leaves, with a mouthful of protests. 

The sun sets right before I finish preparing all the meat for the delivery. Flies are invading every corner of the building, buzzing beside my ear, landing over my bloody skin. I try to scare them away with hand movements, but they always come back. They’re addicted to the smell. The smell of death. I don’t clean myself up. It’s pointless. A cow like Lola has so much blood that I could take two full baths on it. She’s waiting for me when I open the door to the barn. Tears start falling down my cheeks once again. Every time reality hits it’s like the world is about to collapse and I can’t escape. 

She walks towards the door and rubs her face against my body, I pat her as usual. Just when I’m about to lead her to the killing building I hear him. He’s by the lake. Mark, Tim’s son. Tim had always tried to teach him how to be a good farmer, but he was sick. An artist to the bone. The worst of the illnesses. He liked to escape to the lake every night to sing his ballads. Sometimes I sang along with him. The animals loved the sound of his soothing voice, it calmed them. I just liked the feeling of his company. We were several feet apart, but I could feel him close to my heart.

“What a lovely song for a farewell” I muttered to myself, well maybe to Lola. It might be weird, but sometimes I could feel she understood what I was telling her. The melody of the song was melancholic. The words, depressing. Something about love dying. I take advantage of his calming melody to kill Lola as fast as I can. 

I wake up after a couple hours of sleep. I stayed up all night preparing Lola’s meat to be sent away. Today is the reaping, which means every kid from the district will dress up as if they weren’t miserable. Some will cry. Two will be selected to a certain death and the rest will be able to breathe normally again. Continue with their miserable lives. 

The tears I cried last night have dried, leaving itchiness on my skin. I get up fast and wash my face with the remaining water from last night’s bath. There’s still a bit of blood turning it red. “I have something prepared for you” Toni says from behind me. I take my bandana off and dry my face with it. When I turn around he’s holding a beautiful white dress. It looks old but it’s so well tailored that it makes me frown. “Where did you get that?” I ask in disbelief. “It was my wife’s wedding dress. I have paid the lady that lives two streets away to clean it up”

“Capri? But why did you do this?” He smiles and hands me the dress. “You can’t go to the reaping wearing my old overalls. You deserve to be like the rest of the kids” I shake my head “I can't toni. I shouldn't…”

“Kid, she'd loved to have a daughter like you. I'm sure she would have done this years ago if she was still alive. C'mon try it on” He could be really persuasive when he wanted. “Okay” I finally agree. “But I'll wear my bandana. You know I'm not me without it” he nods. “Yeah yeah of course” 

The dress fits me to perfection. It's simple and not too tight but it almost looked like it was made for me. When I walk into the house Toni stands up and takes a look at me. I can see tears forming in his eyes. “Try not to get chosen” he says, sobbing. “If I'm chosen, Tim will take care of you” I assure him.

“And depend on that lazy kid of his. No lord” he chuckles at his own joke and I do too. “You should get used to the idea that one day I'll be picked” I say, bringing a dark mood back to the conversation. “You haven't been picked yet. In a couple of years you won't be a part of the reaping”

“Toni” I say with a sigh. “I've picked tesserae since I was 12 for you and me. And before mark was 12 I asked for three extras. My name's there more times than I could count” he paused for a second and looks at me with a tilted expression. “What are you implying?” I can sense fear in his voice as if he could know what my plan was. 

“I'm implying that it's not fair for kids who starve themselves just to avoid getting their name in there to be selected anyway and die” he sighs and turns away from me. “You're talking about Laura”

Somehow hearing her name makes me even more angry. “Yeah, I'm talking about Laura. And I'm also talking about Chris, Aurora, I'm talking about all of them” his eyes feel like knives stabbing mine. “So what are you gonna do?” I can see tears in his eyes.

“I can't live with this Toni. How many deaths are gonna live in my conscience?” As my voice gets louder, my eyes get filled with tears. “What the hell you mean Taura?” 

“I saw Lola be born. I've raised her. She was like a sister. And I had to fucking kill her for them. I can't- I can't get the smell of her blood off my nose. I can't get the images out of my head. I can't live like this. I just can't” he tilts his head out of desperation. “They're animals”

“And so are we” I reply fastly. “I want things to change Toni. I can only do that going to the games” his eyes close, letting the tears flow down his cheeks “You're gonna volunteer” i walk closer to him and grab his hands. “This way I can save a child too” he looks like he's trying not to hear me. “Tim will take care of you Toni. He owes it to us” 

“I don't care about that. I don't want you to die. You are like a daughter to me Taura” Tears fill my eyes, making everything blurry. “I'll always be with you. My soul will remain in the barn, sleeping every night. I'll never leave your side Toni. But I've got to do this”

“When did you decide?” His question makes me sigh. “Did you decide last night? Was it because of the cow?” Every word he says makes me feel more and more misunderstood. “I decided last year. Because of Laura” his eyes keep looking into mine, searching for any sign of weakness. “You know how much I cared about her. And in the reaping, I just couldn't… move. I felt helpless. And the way she died. It's so unfair” Toni walks away from me for a few seconds. 

“Do what you gotta do. But I won't watch you kill yourself like that” he walks outside the house, probably to avoid crying in my presence. I never quite understood the urge of men to hide their emotions like it’s the worst thing to feel something. It reminded me about the games. Everything in Panem seems to be related to them. The way the Capitol forced families to keep quiet while their children were brutally murdered was a new kind of oppression. An emotional one.I’m sure Toni would’ve taken any physical torture without crying a single tear. But somehow a child that was not entirely his, hurted more than that. They knew what children meant to society. This is their twisted way of saying We control you.

I walk towards the lake in a desperate attempt to feel something nice. As if I was trying to convince myself not to volunteer. I look at my reflection. It’s not usual for us to look at ourselves really, so I don’t quite recognize me at first. My fingers brush over the water, twirling my reflection. I’m mesmerized by the way the water flows, and then it hits. I see Carina’s face, screaming and crying for help. She died on the second day of the games. She had managed to keep herself hidden in the forest, until the girl from 1 saw her. They’re trained to kill and I get that, but she made her suffer every second of it. That girl had no humanity left on herself.

I put myself together after a few seconds and stand, decided to end all this. I’m the last one to arrive at the town hall square. The guards prick my finger with the needle to get my name on the system. My mind controls my body to stand right on the girls’ side. The capitol’s host starts speaking. Some nonsense I don’t even care about actually listening to. “Let’s begin the reaping. And as always. May the odds be ever in your favor” 

There’s a loud silence, invading the streets. “Are there any volunteers?” I lift my hand in the air, standing out from the crowd. The rest of the girls move, making a path for me to go up the stage. I walk towards the stage, until I'm standing next to the man announcing the reaping. "What's your name dear?" He asks with a smile. "Taura" I answer. "I'm Taura" "well Samantha you have nothing to fear, you have a 24.60 percent chance of survival, as usual may the odds be ever in your favor" the man smiles as the crowd stays silent, shocked at my decision. 

"Now let's reap the male tribute" he says, taking a piece of paper from the big bowl. "Mark lee" he calls out loudly. The boys around him step away. I look shocked at the crowd, thinking to myself this is not real. This must be a dream. Mark walks slowly, eyes fixed on mine, looking for answers I suppose. Every step he takes, makes it feel more and more real. My breaths struggle, getting messy and fast. 

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

Masterlist

[simp-ly-writes]

Personal Hell: Prologue

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x GN!demon overlord!Reader

Summary: You were one of the first demons in hell, doing your best to survive you gain quite the reputation- so much so that the royalty of hell demands your presence before them. What will come of this meeting and more importantly, will you survive?

Warnings: mentions of violence and mental health, possible gore and death. Ending to be a Cliffhanger? (it ends where the s1 ends)... maybe a book 2 for season 2.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Hazbin Hotel- I do not know too much about it, a friend got me to watch the show recently and I just felt the need to write at least something about it :) ALL of my "reader" characters are GN unless otherwise specified.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

In the early stages of Hell's development, you were of the first to have fallen into its pits and established yourself within the first ring. You started off listening and keeping to the shadows as you studied up on who you would eventually have to face in order to survive. You noted down your opponents histories, their routines, ticks and pleasures. You stalked till waiting at the ready to battle tooth and nail against opponents largely bigger than your own stature.

Those days you ran solely for your drive to live through this second life- collecting the fallen’s souls that stared back at you with dead eyes or lifeless ones. And it would only be then when you had to murder someone so seemingly similar to yourself, a reflection just younger than you that a mask made its way across your face, one of shadows and souls alike- concealing the pain you faced in having to slay in order for yourself to feel safe even walking out into the street.

This endless cycle of death, murder, and collection continued into the decades, your name to be spread even into the farthest corners of Hell, you were an overlord and with such notoriety. The newly framed royal estate welcomed you through its doors for a meeting with the resident King and Queen of hell.

You wished, thinking back now, for that to be the only meeting you had with the royals- how different your life would have been now if you defied their blood-inked letters but you always found yourself walking back through those tall oak doors and kneeling in front of their thrones.

Every meeting you established with the royals was different- they each demanded a different sacrifice of yourself even if unintended on their doings. They asked to hear of your first-person perspectives on the horrors you slayed, the offhand meetings with bruised angels and the thousands of contracts that drifted around you in a hidden void yet through praises and clapping hands. They demanded most to hear of your knowledge- impressed to find you were nearly as old as they. You knew of their history, Hell's history and of every noteworthy name that held a sibilance of power all the way out to the outer rings.

And that was only the first meeting, the second you were called back it was only Lilith that sat on the throne and to your shock she moved to stand beside you, wanting to hear more of your stories- your adventures and conquests. There was a certain sad glint in her eye, one you read to be of loss- she missed adventure, the adrenaline of discovery and the edge of uncertainty.

You could only shake your head at these observations, holding back in the presence of the Queen- keeping these judgements to yourself within the provided guest suite. The Queen of Hell had everything you had ever been working towards, peace and safety in a land that always demanded otherwise.

On the last night of your stay there, the Queen gifted you a raven- requesting that you write your tales to her no matter the cost as you bowed to her orders. Racing out of the palace walls and back onto the city streets where yet another battle was waged that night.

–

As time continued, you wrote to the Queen as demanded and by every month you had received a request back to the palace- it felt as if you were working a job, one that you had yet to discover the importance of.

With every monthly visit, it came less about reports like a general to the army head but more of tea sessions in the garden while trying to knit a sweater together. You began as the Queen's confidant, her greatest friend and this was not privately observed but the King, Lucifer saw this as well. It was with great strides that he warmed up to you in the years of knowing one another. He started to often join you and Lilith for your walks around the garden together- confessing that he read the letters you shared to one another in his own study.

He asked you about your life aboveground, surprised to find that you lived a reserved and peaceful life as an artist. You watched as he held onto this information with a sweet smile coating his features, a glass of wine swirling around his fingertips as he called for yours to be filled once more. Lilith would join you both later that evening, gossiping about her meeting with the angels once more.

You nodded your head along, taking notes on the situation as you felt the King's eyes stare into the side of your head. Lilith quietly observed her husband's actions with a smile coating her own features as a ghost of her power whispered into his ear, like them- my dear?

They brighten my day just as they do yours- a wonderful friend we have chosen, the King replies back in a breathy tone as you sit there unknowing, murmuring on about your experiences with angels and the devils of it all. 

--

Centuries went by, and you had expanded from the mere title of overlord to the most beloved member of Hells court. You were the royals confidant, their historian and greatest general, you offered them both advice and didn't even realize when you handed them over your heart as well.

It would be a few days after your meeting with Hell's royalty and court that the official exterminations would become all the more prominent and it would be with the heaviest of hearts that Hell would not partake in the sadistic pleasure of killing one another but of the thought to be angels instead.

Once returning to your office from within the estate, you were surprised to find a more than distraught Lilith teleporting through your door. You watched as her head had fallen atop your desk, her crown presented towards your chest as you eyed her cautiously, your years of observations and killings coming into full effect as you analyzed the Queen.

She took one deep breath in before collecting herself- as if the mere image of her helpless form was only a spark of your imagination. "I am pregnant." Is all she stated, looking at you deeply in the eyes as she watched you process this information with stoic eyes and your mask-covered face.

You snap your eyes to the Queen, a slight shock courses through her features- you rarely if ever demand eye-contact as you state, "then you are to be protected at all costs." Yet what would anyone know surrounding that room, even as the guards were told not to eavesdrop that in the following nine-months one life would be given for another to fall.

--

An attack had been placed while on a public outing- the announcement of the future Princess of Hell was about to be public as you set-free your powers and hundreds of thousands year long training.

Screams erupted from the crowds, weapons drawn and guns firing widely throughout the air as your shadows caught each stray headed for the royalty. The King tackled Lilith down- teleporting them both from the scene as blood dripped down our nose and from your ears, the ground shook from underneath you as you raised your arms- firing yourself into the air as thousands of spears were summoned. Damming another in their way.

It was only when you had the overlord attacker in your vice grip that a spike of pleasure coursed through your veins with the destruction you caused. A new self emerged from you that day- full of pride for the protection and service you provided- you felt lost internally as disgust eventually washed over you and the actions you made.

Hundreds of thousands of dead bodies covered the streets, their souls joining your powers, you felt that with a mere snap, you could vanish this demon's existence from every plane of existence. A cold shiver ran down your spine, your eyes conflicting only to feel pain erupting from your centre. A poisoned tentacle of theirs created a hole through your very being.

The pain came in waves as you waved your arm, slashing it through the air as you heard their body be sliced in half, blood dripping onto your skin from a flick of your wrist. You threw up upon the various courses that created a deathbed you would soon join. Your eyes fluttering, your breathing steadying once more as you looked up into the red sky as it flickered blue for the faintest second.

Your body laid limp in that pile- you did not feel time pass nor the gateway to an after-afterlife- no. You stared into the void, the blackness coating every part of your existence in an equally suffocating and reassuring embrace. You could not panic, scream, nor enjoy its embrace for it plagued every crevice of your mind as you rested- unknowing of time.

–

While the King and Queen were ordered around protection from the royal guard you created. They trusted each of your soldiers like extensions of yourself- accepting that these were your orders to them no matter how many times their King pleaded to help you on the front lines. To pray that you were still breathing- Lililth hoped the same as guilt  and grief swirled in her like a toxic hurricane.

Days after when they were allowed out once more, Lilith had the child named Charlie- after your middle name- they couldn't wait to surprise you with the news. The royal couple waited for your return from war, waited to find your raven making its way into the quarters, waited for you to teleport into their garden yet you never did.

The royal guard was sent out to retrieve you no matter dead or alive- they were not to return without you. Lilith refused to look anyone in the eyes- the last time she saw you, when you looked into her own with such determination. She couldn't bear to see anyone else's otherwise.

Lucifer turned cold, he loved his family, his wife and daughter to heaven and back yet in any room outside of their company he became cruel, unlistening to any word but your own. He hates to admit to himself but he read your journals- needing a piece of you to guide him once more.

And when the royal guard turned back, lacking in numbers and empty handed, the King of Hell showed true power, grief and overwhelming anger that he slaughtered the room and all Lilith could do was clap at the sight while holding a baby Charlie in her lap.

–

As Charlie grew up, becoming a budding demon, so did her parents' emotions as they began to stir against one another as time went on. Without you by their side, ruling was yet another continuous learning curve only made more difficult with a curious child.

Charlie held reminders of your determination, a feature both her parents look on to her with bittersweet smiles adorning their faces. There were constant reminders of you everywhere in the palace- at times it felt like you were still alive with them. The thought of you dead has Lucifer struggling for control once more and Lilith had been stretched thin. The couple blew up on one another, words being thrown at one another like tipped blades and bleeding arrows. 

Lilith had become increasingly conflicted, though overtime she missed you in waves- she ultimately moved past you, knowing that you would never return and became annoyed when her supposed husband did not. She started to feel neglected in your imagine- even when she was the most powerful being in Hell.

The Queen of Hell expressed these feelings, she was becoming increasingly angered by these constant reminders of you everywhere now- she had decided to carry forward, with or without them and that would be the last straw for Lucifer who refused to give up hope. This stemmed into Charlie's personality as well, which only furthered Liliths resentment. That look even in her own child's eyes had her signing the papers as the King fell even deeper into his depression from yet another person dear to him leaving so soon after the other.

He made no moves to chase the Queen of Hell. They agreed that she would keep her political title yet she was her own figurehead now- choosing to stay away and go off on her own adventures. A motive to spite you- to become you in what others would write about was her transition from love to jealousy. A thin line to cross between passions.

–

In the following weeks, the King would close the estate- sending all the staff back into the void or to other jobs around Hell for the meanwhile. He raised Charlie alone with the help of a few well-mannered tutors. She had only the best education, reading also from your letters and journals- she was always so inquisitive about you. Asking to know more, begging to meet you. Only to find out as she went into her teen years- that would never be possible.

A sadness coated her adolescence, the lack of interaction with the public, the lack of a motherly figure and as she watched her dad slip further and further away mentally as it appeared. She could only wish to have someone strong like you in her life once more, someone who would know just what to say.

In her first public appearance back, she noted quotes from your book, the History of Hell, she watched as her father smiled happily for a distance as he leaned more on his cane- top hat slipping to cover more of his face as that smile gradually fell. 

The public loved the quotes, remembering all the things you did for Hell, they respected you- adored you even (against your wishes). Charlie dreamed of getting to be someone like you one day, helping others even if it goes against yourself.

As she finished up her speech and returned inside. She felt as her father hugged her, little did they know for the last time in a while as Charlie discovered what Extermination day is and became disgusted when she found you were there to help create the modernization of it. A person like you that openly disliked killing yet stood for the mass cultivation of it.

A whiplash of emotions had Charlie reeling back as she could only think to run away from it all. She ran to a rundown hotel- she needed to invoke change, she couldn't care to think about anything going on at home anymore- no. Charlie was going to distract herself by helping others, there had to be another way to this life- and maybe she could even find that escape as well. 

–

Lucifer buried himself behind work with an empty home, he swore to imagine each of your footsteps echoing down the halls. He took up work in your old office, feeling reunited with you in the space as he had placed a few family photos and shots of you wandering the gardens along the otherwise barren walls. 

He still attended the necessary court hearings, spoke out to his people and maintained the utmost image yet behind closed doors, the man fell further into himself and the depths of his inner hell space. He craved companionship, prayed to have someone to share the burden of ruling with- to have someone understand his struggles, listen to his interests and protect his heart that he was struggling to resuscitate. 

Lucifer would pride himself in developing rubber ducks, a mocking of your favorite animal back on earth. He smiles to himself fondly through a looking glass, ensuring the eternal vocal components are just right as he places the power switch on. The King missed hearing your stories alongside your past-life memories while looking as the mechanic waddled against the desk- stareing ifelessly past him and towards a picture of himself and Lilith sat on their thrones. If you looked just off to his right side, you could be seen- hidden away in the shadows and your smile barely visible to the camera. It was the King's favorite image, placed right beside one of Charlie taking her first walk through the gardens. Shaking his head, he prepared himself for an empty bed and thus a lonely morning when he awoke to hell once more. 

To be continued.

[spooklies-archive]

╰ ↠ Platonic!Yandere!Crime Alley!Jason Todd & GN!Reader

masterlist

written in HC format

warnings: violence. mentions of attempted sexual assault on a minor.

— You had accidentally messed with the wrong guy

And that led to you being chased, arms holding on tightly to a grocery bag full of food, and a guy who had to be at least over six-foot chasing after you. Your adrenaline had been at an all-time high, never having experienced coming as close as you did now to being caught ever.

The fear of punishment kept your burning legs from giving out and just when it felt like you couldn’t go any further your saving grace in the form of a small boy had appeared from above and knocked the towering man straight on his ass with a loud clunk.

You willed yourself to keep going but curiosity had gotten the better of you so you slowed to a stop a few feet away from where your pursuer and the boy who had stopped him.

Hovering over the man was a boy — not nearly as tall as the man but around the same height as you — with a wrench in his hand and a sort of frantic look to his eyes as he eventually turned towards the person he rescued whether on purpose or not.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, chest rising up and down rapidly as he introduced himself as Jason. You introduced yourself in return and thanked him for stopping the man with a share of what you had in the bag and soon after that the both of you were quick friends.

— Jason would be that friend who kept you in check

It quickly became known that you tend to act on impulse more so than reason. So, whenever you come up with an idea that could potentially put you in danger or worse, get you killed, Jason is there to immediately shoot your plans down and come up with something more reasonable and least likely to get you both in trouble.

Your rash way of thinking is what first encourages Jason to keep a closer eye on you. After all, if he could help it and get free meals in the process as well as have company he genuinely enjoys, then it wouldn’t hurt to keep you protected.

— If you ever did get in trouble despite his efforts Jason would be there in a flash

You’ve grown accustomed to seeing violence for as long as you’ve been living on the streets. The sight of Jason using his fists to repeatedly punch a hole in an old guy’s face after his attempts at touching you may have been disturbing to most, but to you it didn’t even garner a flinch.

And when Jason was done the two of you would carry on as if nothing had occurred in the first place.

— His control over you would become more apparent after that incident

Jason would be more cautious when it comes to where you go, or who you associate yourself with. Maybe you’d get annoyed about it at first, but you start to understand the place he’s coming from.

He convinces you that if you don’t listen to him then a repeat of what happened with the old man would happen.

And you believe him. Because Jason is your best friend, and you’ve never been given a reason to not trust in him.

— You did find his jealousy funny though

Sometimes you would deliberately laugh at someone’s jokes a little too loudly or try too hard to befriend another kid your age. But really you only did so because of how Jason would react. The face he makes was priceless! So, after a while you would pick up on what makes him jealous and what doesn’t and use those cues to your advantage and tease him about it relentlessly afterward.

He seemed to never catch on and that made it all the better.

— Relying on Jason made you feel guilty

And he knew that too. Sometimes he would go out of his way to buy you more shoes than you need after stealing some guy’s wallet, and Jason would “accidentally” let the price slip. And when you start complaining, telling Jason that he shouldn’t have gotten you something so expensive, he’d convince you that the only way to pay him back is to stay by his side.

— Wherever Jason went, he brought you with him

When he told you one night that he’d tried something reckless and dumb and had gotten caught in the process, you were livid. He’d spent all those years telling you to do the exact opposite of what he did and proved himself to be a hypocrite in the end.

But turning your back on Jason was out of the question. So, when he told you to come with him to somewhere new, you didn’t hesitate in telling him,

“Of course, I will! What kind of a friend do you think I am?”

[evanox]

Hello! I love your stories about last legacy, and I take advantage of the fact that the requests are open I want to give one, basically some platonic headcanons of sage and tulsi with a reader who took care of them as children and was like their mother / father figure during their youth, thanks in advance and thanks!

I'M SORRYYYY I'm so sorry this took so long but I loved the req sm I def went a little overboard with it... I hope at least it is worth the wait!! Also big thanks to Zeke again for beta reading and helping brainstorm stuff <33

Also I've written the reader to be a baker bc Sage did mention in ch2 that the street bakers were some of few people who looked upon him and the other kids with a little kindness and I thought it was v sweet

m.list

i.

'Wharf rats,' the people had called them: a group of homeless kids who made a home out of Porrima's docks, and every day they would venture deeper into the city to hunt for food and pickpocket for a living. You've been here long enough to notice when one of them bumps into a shopper, stubby yet nimble little fingers passing over their pockets in search of coin, all while the person remains none the wiser.

You also notice when they swipe a warm loaf of bread or fresh fruit from the stalls lining the shopping district, and you've never tried to stop them when they came for yours. It'd be a shame to throw away what remains of pastries and cake after you close for the night anyway, and while you'd be more than happy to offer the kids the excess yourself, there are one too many stingy customers who complain about having to pay for your goods while the kids get them for free.

Also, it's terribly adorable when a proud, satisfied smile draws over their little faces once they get their hands on a baked treat without getting noticed. You notice though; it's your fun little secret.

This one boy, however, has always seemed particularly ambitious, swiping three or more slices of whatever rather than one or two at a time. You've wondered if you should do something about it, but greed came to kick him in the ass before you could make up your mind. Unlike you, and a few other kind vendors, people do not take too kindly to petty thievery, and a misstep from that little kid leaves him curled on the ground, arms hugging the bruises blooming over his ribs.

He hisses and scratches and bites as you pull him over behind your stall. There's a bucket of water, some bandages, and a salve (meant for burns from the oven, but it's not like you've got much else to work with; this is a bakery not an apothecary), all of which you lay out before him so he knows you only mean well. Slowly his shaking subsides and he pulls the worn out rag hanging off the bucket's rim, dips it in the water, then wipes at his face and cleans out the blood from where the sharp tip of a boot had split his skin open. In the meantime, you rush to a stall that sells fish closer to the docks, and borrow a bucket of ice that you can empty into a cotton bag to press against his bruises.

You half-expect the boy to have already left when you come back, but he's right where you left him, staring wide-eyed at the racks upon racks of fluffy loaves and intricately-carved pastries. That's when you get the idea—you grab a fish-shaped pastry filled with spicy curry (it's always been his favorite, you've noticed) and offer it to the boy. He scowls at your outstretched hand, but you can clearly see the internal battle through his amber eyes. Eventually he succumbs and grabs the pastry, wolfing it down and almost choking twice. Only then does he let you get closer, but his careful gaze never leaves your hands as you place an ice-pack over a particularly nasty bruise.

You offer him another pastry, then another, and then you ask his name. "M'Thage," he manages to say between bites, crumbs flying all over the place. At some point Sage stops eating and looks over the tray of goods you put before him, seemingly guilty, then pockets a few (avoiding all deer-shaped ones) and scurries away. At least he has the decency to yell out a 'thank you!' over his shoulder as he disappears into an alley.

ii.

You think the persistent banging at your door is a customer who missed the very obvious 'CLOSED' sign outside (a far too frequent occurrence ever since you moved business indoors for the winter), but it's Sage, trembling under the weight of a small body draped over his back. Two fluffy, bunny-like ears droop over either side of her head, and snow coats her black, messy hair in a fine layer of white.

"She's sick. I don't—I don't know what to do." This is the first time Sage has spoken to you since that one time you helped him after he got kicked to a pulp in the shopping district. "Please, help her."

Though he pleads for your help, he's still too reluctant to let the little girl go, so you lead him inside where he can lay her over the carpet right by the fireplace. You decide not to say anything about the trail of wet, muddy footprints he leaves on the floors.

You pull your warmest blanket from where it was folded at the top shelf of the closet, along with two towels; one you hand to Sage and the other you dry the little girl's hair with. Her pulse is slow and her fingertips are so cold they could freeze and fall off, but her face radiates heat that rivals that of the hearth.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Sage's eyes are blown wide with fear, and he looks at you like you're the one person in Astraea who can save her. You're no doctor, but in the face of his fragile hope you can't help but smile reassuringly and pat his head. "Don't worry; she'll be alright."

You show Sage how to keep dipping a washcloth in cold water, wring it until it's no longer dripping wet ('and not too dry either,' you have to remind him when he squeezes it with all his might), then place it over her forehead, rinse and repeat—keeping him busy while you mop the muddy footprints off the floor, then prepare dinner for the three of you.

For a while, all is quiet in your house save for the fire crackling in the other room, and the soft scraping of metal against metal as you stir the savory stew bubbling before you. It feels peaceful, even as the howling winds rattle the windows, until Sage's voice rises above the storm and breaks the silence, "Tulsi! Tulsi!"

Rushing to the bedroom—stew long forgotten on the stove—you find the girl has finally woken up, delirious eyes shifting around the room until they focus on her brother, then you. You look to Sage before you carry his sister to your bed, and prop her up against the pillow. Back in the kitchen, you ladle some stew into two bowls, one you hand to Sage and the other you slowly spoon-feed to Tulsi.

With every sip she seems to regain more of her strength, until you can barely fit a spoonful of food into her mouth between all her rambling—about how good the food is, how warm your house is, how lovely your hair is, how rambunctious her brother is, so on and so forth.

So this is to whom all those extra pastries went, you realize absentmindedly.

"Say 'thank you,' Sage!" Tulsi folds her arms, trying to glare at her brother, but it's hard to feel threatened by these sweet oxen-eyes. Still, Sage relents and thanks you with a huff, before frowning at his empty bowl.

"Would you like seconds?"

"Yes!" he answers a little too quickly, and blushes when Tulsi giggles. You refill everyone's bowls, and add a third one for yourself. It isn't long before Sage is frowning again, and you think you know what pulls his eyebrows into such a worried furrow this time, so you try to put his mind at ease—

"You can stay for the night. Maybe the storm will calm tomorrow, then we'll call for a doctor."

"Don't got doctor money," Sage grumbles.

"I do."

He begins to protest, but a glance at a very sleepy Tulsi renders him voiceless even as his lips try to form the words.

"You don't owe me. Not now, not ever."

Slowly, Sage starts to relax, until his little shoulders slump like a heavy burden had fallen off of them.

Later that night, you try to make quick work of cleaning the kitchen until your attention is drawn away by a tug at your apron. You look down to find Sage, and he fixes you with a sharp gaze that looks out of place on such a young face. "I've got to go. You take good care of Tulsi."

It's a little endearing how he reminds you of a mother cat, leaving her kittens with a nice human because she decided she trusts them. However, Sage is but a child himself, and the storm rages on outside with no sign of stopping anytime before sunrise. "In this weather? Where to?"

Before he could answer, Tulsi emerges from the bedroom, wide eyes brimming with tears, "You're leaving?"

"I've got to find Balsam," he tries to sound firm, but it seems any conviction Sage might've had withers before Tulsi's gaze, the latter only looking more frazzled by the second.

"Take me with you! I want to see if Balsam is okay too! I don't wanna stay here alone!"

"We can look for him tomorrow, and you can tell him you had to stay with Tulsi. He knows you went to find help, no?" You reassure Sage, who nods, then you turn to Tulsi, "This isn't his first winter here, is it? Your friend must've found a place to hide. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Or at least you hope so. You have to believe it for their sake.

After reminding Sage to leave his shoes at the front door, you tuck the siblings into your bed, wish them goodnight, then head for the couch with a spare blanket and pillow. Hours later, sleep still refuses to grace your heavy eyelids, not because the couch is uncomfortable, but you can't stop thinking about Sage and Tulsi, their friend, and how many other kids are out on these streets, weathering the raging storm all on their own. How many aren't going to make it through the night, and who will remember them?

The doctor who answers your call next morning prescribes some medicine for Tulsi before reassuring you that she'll be just fine. You look over her frail body lying in your bed, clinging to Sage to leech at his warmth, and your heart aches at the thought of sending them back to the unforgiving cold, so you fix a warm breakfast of assorted pastries and tea for the three of you. In the afternoon you run a warm bath for Tulsi and only go in when she asks for help with her hair, then in the evening you make dinner for the four of you after Sage brings Balsam in. Later that night, Tulsi sleeps in your bed again.

And that's the story of how you accidentally adopted one (two? three?) little wharf rat(s).

Tulsi lives with you now. You read her bedtime stories every night, even after she learns to read them herself. You find out she has a knack for historical fiction, so that's what fills your bookshelves (which Sage refuses to touch—'I've heard better stories from the sailors by the docks,' he'd gloat). As the days pass, Tulsi becomes more comfortable sleeping without Sage watching over her. One night she slips out of bed and curls up next to you on the couch, so you carry her back to your bed where you sleep side by side.

Sage, on the other hand, comes and goes as he pleases. Some nights he sleeps huddled with all the other kids by the docks; other nights he crawls in through the bedroom window to make sure Tulsi's sleeping well. Sometimes he'll stay over for dinner after bringing you a large bucket of fish he proudly claims he caught by himself (if you couldn't tell by the stench of fish and rotten seaweed clinging to his clothes—he fights tooth and nail before he succumbs to a bath), and sometimes he'll stay well past dinner, so you teach him how you make the fish pastries he loves so much.

Every so often he hands his sister a meager allowance though she very much does not need it now that she lives with you, and he refuses to tell you how he makes the money. You're starting to worry that pick-pocketing isn't his only source of income, if the scars and bruises are anything to go by, and every time you try to express your concern he snaps that you're not his parent and it's none of your business. He's right, of course, yet you find your heart hurting when he says it.

You think it's pride that keeps this little boy from settling down with you and Tulsi, but really, Sage has learned early on that you can never rely on someone for too long. Should the rug be pulled from under their feet—should you decide you no longer want them in your house—he'll always be ready to catch Tulsi before she takes the fall.

iii.

Try as you might, this wood bends to neither your will nor your hands, the latter now covered in splinters. The blacksmith from next door raps his knuckles against your windowsill to wish you a good morning, and when you invite him in for tea and scones, you pray he knows his way with wood just as he does with metal.

After coming back with some tools from his shop, your neighbor sets to work, putting together a new bed for Tulsi, who watches him with awe. You don't think you've seen her blink at all. One too many times you've had to pull the hammer from her little fist before she could hurt herself.

Eventually, the blacksmith shuffles on his knees to make space for Tulsi, and wraps his fist over hers as they tap a nail into place with the hammer together.

"Look at you! You're a natural!" he exclaims, and Tulsi beams. "How'd you like being an apprentice at the smithy? Maybe once you get a lil' taller... These bones are too old to keep hammering at swords for much longer anyway."

"You talk like you've got one foot in the grave," you tut at him. "And how do you know she doesn't want to be my apprentice? I've been teaching her how to separate the egg whites from the yolk, you know, and she's taking to it very quickly!"

That's a lie... mostly. Tulsi's only successful dish so far has been grilled cheese; even Sage has better luck in the kitchen.

"You're just mad she doesn't like waiting for things to bake in the oven. I tell you kid, you're gonna love working the forge."

Tulsi pays no mind to your banter, still starry-eyed ever since your neighbor complimented her hammer skills.

Sure enough, she becomes the blacksmith's apprentice only a year later, much to your dismay; you end up paying for his drinks for the next month now that you've lost the bet. At least you know it's worth it when every night she comes back from work beaming brighter than a firefly on a summer night despite the soot covering her face. You've bought a new towel that you hang on a chair in the kitchen so Tulsi can clean up her face first thing when she's back home. You still have to do it for her since she always forgets to do it herself.

She gifts the first sword she makes under the blacksmith's mentorship to Sage, and the first dagger to you, and the second one to Balsam.

You swear time runs by too fast; next thing you know, you're celebrating the opening of Tulsi's very own smithy. It hasn't been a day since she declared being open for business but long lines are already forming at her door.

"She did build up quite the reputation as an apprentice," your heart swells with pride every time you repeat the story to one of your fellow vendors, killing time with small talk before the streets fill with shoppers. "Now she's the youngest blacksmith of Porrima, and one of its best, if not the best."

Though Tulsi had moved out, and crowds of mercenaries and knights keep her busy all day, she'll always make time to visit you in the evening, and you'll prepare the oolong tea she loves while you catch up. She still wears the headband you gave her years ago to keep her hair out of her face; far too often had she come back from your neighbor's workshop with burnt tips. The towel you used to wipe her face with still hangs off of the same chair in the kitchen.

"Do I have to move in with you just to remind you to get that grease off of your face?" you huff as she laughs. Perhaps some things are never meant to change.

Meanwhile, Sage doubles up in height seemingly overnight and his body has yet to catch up, so he looks more like a lanky, awkward dandelion stalk struggling to readjust to his new sword (also made by Tulsi, though this one was hammered into shape over her very own anvil). You take him out for his first drink at the tavern to celebrate his birthday; it feels like it was just yesterday he was a mangy little kitten sneaking in and out of your shop.

You try to nudge Tulsi towards getting outside her workshop a little more often, make some friends, but she insists she prefers the heat of the forge, unless Sage drags her out for an impromptu fishing and grilling trip with Balsam or another drink at the tavern. She always complains to you about how, more often than not, he's just trying to send her off on a blind date she didn't ask for.

Sage, on the other hand, seems to have grown into quite the party animal. He disappears for longer amounts of time, comes back looking more beat up than before (yet his grin never leaves his face), crashes on your floor (or Tulsi's couch) blackout-drunk more often, and speaks of a certain Lucan like he's the best thing to exist ever since fish-shaped pastries were invented.

"They're good people," he tells you about Lucan and the Griefers. "You don't have to worry so much."

iv.

You think the persistent banging at your door is a customer who missed the very obvious 'CLOSED' sign outside (a somewhat frequent occurrence ever since you moved business indoors after the Lord of Shadows' undead soldiers infiltrated the city), but it's Tulsi, shaking like a leaf in a storm though the skies are clear tonight. You don't remember the last time you've seen her crying, let alone wailing so desperately.

"Sage, he's gone." She shows you a broken, bloodied sword—Zenith, the magical Relic that chose Sage upon joining the Starsworn. You distantly remember how smug he looked the day he was chosen, because apparently it pissed off some guy called Rime.

You gently pull the sword away from her trembling hands and put it aside, before holding her firmly by the shoulders. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He came to my place and he— and he— oh, he looked terrible," Tulsi hiccups into the crook of her elbow. "There was so much blood and a big wound in his chest! And he— he dropped this," she sniffles, and points at the sword, "then he disappeared. I looked for him everywhere."

You can clearly tell she ran around the town at least twice by the way her windswept hair stands every which way and her legs shake from the strain. Every morbid possibility runs through your mind all at once; you've heard this story before—people who disappear for a while before coming back and quietly blending back in with the crowds, seemingly unharmed; a miracle, they called it. It isn't too long before they start maiming people left and right; these are the undead soldiers of the evil necromancer—innocent civilians killed at his hands then brought back to do his bidding.

Fear swells in your heart until it tries to break out of your chest but fuck, someone has got to keep it together, so you hold Tulsi tightly and run your hand through her unruly hair until she can catch her breath. "He'll be fine. Sage always bounces back; you said it yourself!"

"This time... I don't know."

The best gossip and juiciest rumors are found amongst the vendors still populating the shopping district, going out to sell their wares despite the approaching war. That's where you start looking, and that's where you first hear it: whispers about the Griefers hunting down the traitor who killed their leader in cold blood. Those who were once beacons of safety in Porrima, holding down the fort when the knights got too busy with war efforts, are now more like rabid dogs terrorizing the streets in the name of the Lord of Shadows. Sage is nowhere amongst their ranks—that's what Balsam says when he finds you before you could find him.

He'd accosted Tulsi like a raging boar just as she was leaving your place, eyes bloodshot and hair clinging to his face with sweat, looking nothing like the loud but sweet boy you'd always see following Sage around town. There's a mild tremor in his hands as he digs his fingers into Tulsi's arms, and it takes her breaking down into tears for Balsam to believe that you're not secretly hiding Sage nor do you know where he ran off to; she swears up and down that Sage didn't tell her anything about what happened before he left Zenith.

All falls silent when Balsam lets you know Sage is indeed the traitor they've been hunting down. As if it's any consolation, he reassures you that he won't let the other Griefers come after you, and spares Tulsi one last apologetic glance before disappearing into the night.

You've assumed Sage would leave the Griefers once he joined the Starsworn, conflict of interest and all, but to straight up kill their leader in cold blood? Perhaps Sage has a shady past; perhaps he'd done unsavory things he wouldn't dare speak of, but you've always known, deep down, he's a good kid. He's your kid. Everything he does, he does to protect the people he loves. In what realm of possibility could he kill the one man he practically idolized?

You and Tulsi stand there in silence; for how long, you do not know. A cold breeze sends a shiver down your spine before you remember to shut the door Balsam left open. A thousand unspoken questions weigh down the air between you, but as you meet Tulsi's eyes, you realize one thing's for sure, there has to be a good explanation.

Only Sage can provide that explanation... or perhaps the people he pledged loyalty to. You turn to the Starsworn, who had declared they are marching to Mournfall for the final showdown against the Lord of Shadows. Sage is nowhere amongst their ranks—that's what Anisa confirms cold and curt before marching off, her grip painfully tight on her sword's hilt.

Once upon a time you'd hoped joining the Starsworn would straighten Sage out, or at least encourage him to spend less time getting into pointless fights and passing out drunk in the sewers. Now he's accused of murdering the one man whose praises Sage sang at every chance, considered a traitor by both parties he once claimed loyalty to, and is nowhere to be found—dead or on the run, nobody knows.

What games have you been playing, Sage? What did you get yourself into? You silently call out to the stars as you walk the line between sea and shore, but no one answers. You go out to the beach more often these days, especially after the sun sets and night drapes the city in a dark speckled blanket. Sage loved hanging around here at this time. In a rare, quiet moment of vulnerability, he once confessed to you how the loneliness of an abandoned beach always brought him peace whenever the world became too overwhelming. There's no worries here, only himself, the relentless crashing waves, and the moon and stars above

You find yourself hoping that in this time of turmoil, the beach will draw Sage back in again, and you'll catch a glimpse of him laid out on the sand for a moment's peace before he runs off again. Every time your excursion lets you down, you soothe yourself with the thought that maybe he's watching over you from where you can't see him. 'I'm staying away to protect you,' you can imagine Sage saying. You can't wait to find him so you can give his ear one big painful tug and a piece of your mind.

Tulsi always complains about how you shouldn't go out alone in the dark, let alone as far as the beach—your search is futile and it's not worth risking your life over. As far as she's concerned, her brother has already died. She says it's fine, really, she's getting over it, but she almost never parts with the forge, throwing herself into her work and visiting you less often.

You still bake the fish-shaped pastries Sage so loved; you count how many you've made in the morning, and you keep count of how many you sell throughout the day. You still wait for the day one or two pastries will go missing, maybe three or more if a certain mangy cat is feeling particularly greedy.

[wallgirl]

Qin Shi Huang's Daily Routine Headcanons

Wakes up with a yawn and a stretch in his giant bed. If he has a concubine, kisses her on the forehead then sends her back to her room. If he has an Empress, kisses her on the forehead and lets her sleep.

Starts the day off with morning calisthenics and workouts in his personal courtyard. It helps him wake up and hone his mind for the day.

When he's finished exercising, it's time for breakfast. This means a table loaded with all sorts of delicious and healthy food prepared by the palace chefs. He eats as much as he can of everything available while his advisors fill him in on important matters and anything else he needs to know. He doesn't act like he's listening most of the time, but I promise you that he remembers every word. Woe betide the advisor who forgets to mention something important; Qin is great at deducing matters for himself and will reprimand advisors who neglect to perform their duties properly. Really, the morning meeting is more for to prep the advisors for the day than him.

After breakfast is the most boring part of his day; paperwork. He sits at his grand table, pushing the paper back and forth, thinking of far more important stuff than the mundane bureaucratic tasks. Maybe he should just outlaw paperwork entirely. Eventually, he orders someone else to finish signing off on the documents while he moves on to something much more entertaining.

Honing his martial arts skills is undoubtedly one of the best parts of the day. Unfortunately, there is no one else in China, let alone his royal court, who could possibly be a worthy sparring partner for him, but the palace's esteemed martial artists do their best. They're really there to serve more as moving targets than actual opponents, and Qin often can't resist mocking them, but he never seriously injures them and they are well-compensated for their efforts.

Qin gets restless easily. He won't beat the crap out of his own servants, so he goes looking for excitement in the form of donning 'peasant' garb and sneaking off onto the city streets. He casually roams until he finds some alley where a crook or bully is harassing someone, then he lets his fist of justice fly. It's a fun workout, it helps keep the peace, and going out incognito allows him to see the state of the city for himself. Too bad he never even breaks a sweat.

In the early evening he holds court, listening to the problems presented to him by everyone from the beggars to the nobility. Sometimes his solutions make sense, and sometimes they are utterly insane. He hates being bothered by petty disputes, so if you've come to have him settle an argument over land inheritance, save your breath. He'll probably order you and your rival to duel to the death naked. There'll be no argument if there's no one to argue with, right? Fortunately for you he won't actually enforce this. Just get out and stop wasting his time.

After this is when Qin gets to the meat of his royal duties, issuing decrees, working out problems he found in the earlier paperwork, and meeting with generals and leaders to discuss military strategy. He's definitely more of a 'big picture' person, and he's fine with leaving the less significant details to others. He also doesn't hesitate to make hard decisions, even if it comes down to weighing one group of lives against another. He's a whole other person when planning war tactics, and his advisors know to stay on their toes. Many former advisors have found themselves banished from the city after making a bad suggestion in the war room.

He usually has a light lunch, more of a snack, while he's on the go, so by the time dinner arrives he's starving. He loves to entertain his court over food, and most nights he invites several nobles to join him at the feast and enjoy the evening's entertainment; usually in the form of a jester, dancers, or music.

After dinner it's time for his bath. Usually a servant is present to help scrub him and hand him towels, but if there's a dilemma he hasn't found a solution to yet, he'll bathe alone and use the time to meditate. There's nothing quite as calming to him as steaming hot water with the aroma of dried herbs and flowers.

Afterwards, it's time to wind down for the night. He might call his concubine/Empress to his rooms, or might not. He falls asleep within seconds without a care in the world, secure in the knowledge that no one in the kingdom could ever pose a threat to him. Of course, that doesn't mean there are no stupid assassins who attempt to kill him from time to time. Like everything else, he greets this as a fun challenge, and his guards are under strict orders NOT to stop any intruders so he can enjoy demolishing them himself.

@hopefulgirlthings Here is your request!! This was nice to dive deeper into my understanding of Qin. I think he's an interesting guy.