#but he can't admit that to himself. can't admit he'd forsaken himself in such a way

[theotherrichardpapen]

[0luv9]

just || theodore nott

Summary: it was a choice he had to make, it was either you or those forsaken drugs. You didn't like making him choose but you were tired, tired of it all.

Beware: angst, no fluff, drabble (?), gender neutral, only you used, drug addiction, self-pity, self-hate, overuse of the word just, excessive cursing, internal conflict, blood, post-Hogwarts.

Words: 1.6k

You were tired of it all, tired of him, tired of the goddamn relationship, it's not like you didn't try, you did more than just try, you gave up your fucking life for him. You were tired of crying yourself to sleep every night, with him passed out beside you, out of his mind. You decided you had enough one day and just- left.

But he didn't care, didn't care to reach out, didn't tell you to stop, didn't tell you that he'd stop, no- all he did was stare at you when you told him that you've had enough, didn't utter a single word, he just let you go. And that hurt, it fucking hurt.

Knowing that there was no retaliation from his side, that you weren't worth it, that those drugs were more important to him than you ever were, ever will be. Drugs, drugs, fucking drugs- it's always about those cursed drugs, never you, never him, never us.

You walked away and never once looked back, you were not about to inflict more pain on yourself, even though your heart ached for you to turn around. He didn't need you anyway-

He fucking wanted you, more than mere primal need, more than just need that rises out of necessity, he made his want a need, words would always fall short of explaining how desperate he was for you, he was tied to you, in a Nott.

But it's a crime, how unfair life is, how brutally self-sabotaging your mind is the moment you lose control. Theo knew he didn't deserve you, not in this lifetime, not in the next, never. He'd never be worthy of your love, never be worthy enough to be the one to love you. You walked away, and he didn't consider himself worthy enough to beg for you, not the one to be given a second chance. He was happy for you- that you finally came to your senses and left him, that you finally realised how much he was holding you down.

He's poison to himself, how in the fucking hell would he ever be good for you? And now that you've moved on, gotten rid of the poison he is. He hates you, you know?

He hated you for trying, hated you for loving him, hated you for giving him a chance, hated you for giving him hope, hated you for giving up on him. He hated that you made him fall in love, the very moment you walked over and talked to him, albeit for a minute or less- it was enough.

You were the reason he was so fucking twisted, it's all your fault, you made him this way, you were the reason he was addicted to those drugs, you hated them? Good. But can he really say this to your face? No, because he knows that you are not the one to actually blame, it's him, it's all him, always has been.

The moment you closed the door behind you, his knees hit the ground, forehead resting where your feet were just a few moments ago, hands clasped over his aching heart, eyes squeezed shut as he cried, tears that he never shed before you, now stained the shirt you gifted him.

He hates you, he so fucking hates you.

And he hates to admit it but he was toxic, he was a selfish prick, he loved seeing you cry over him, loved seeing you so worried, pent up over him- And that's exactly why he didn't deserve you. Okay he didn't love knowing that the tears were in your eyes cause of him, he just loved the thought of you caring. Loved being able to see this care of yours every breathing moment of his life.

But you are no longer there, so what's the point of breathing?

He hated that you stayed by his side but he wasn't strong enough to tell you off. He just hoped one day, you'd come to your senses and leave him, a day he dreaded but wished for nonetheless, now that the day has finally arrived, he can't live to see it.

He tried so hard to not be selfish but Merlin, he couldn't, he just couldn't, you were worse than those drugs, your mere being had no right being so wordlessly beautiful, he hated to be the man who tainted and bruised your soul.

The first time he ever touched a blunt was the day he first saw and talked to you.

The first time he sniffed cocaine was the day you kissed him after your first date.

...wanted to relive that ecstasy, recreate it so he could- forget you, wanted to kill himself because he couldn't see himself ruin your life by being with you.

He tried so hard to push you away, tried so hard to resist but the moment your lips pressed against his- he lost his mind, hands jerking up from his sides to grab you tight, pulling you flush against his body, a deep frown etched on to his face as he kissed you with such fervour.

Fuck sensibility, he's just a man.

He tried, tried to be the better, be the only man for you but he failed every single time because he had silently given up the moment he first got the taste of you.

You slowly started losing hope after he failed numerous times, think he wouldn't notice? The day you lost all your faith in him was his first death, even though it was far from the day you'd leave. But how could he say something? He was finally getting what he asked for but it didn't have to be this bitter, you lost your faith but you never left his side, "I love you, Theo" you'd say holding his face so tenderly, tears in your eyes as he struggled from withdrawals, clutching onto his shirt as you begged him to not touch the drugs, "Please Teddy, please.."

But he wouldn't listen, he'd remove your hands from his shirt with that crazed look in his eye, walk towards the drawer dump the white powder onto the table- he'd glance at you sitting on the ground, hand covering your mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as tears silently streamed down your face, staining that pretty face, not in you to even look at him as he destroyed himself.

Theo would hesitate for a moment as he'd glance back at your face, swallowing the lump in his throat, leaning down to sniff the powder off the table not even bothering to draw lines, he'd hoped you'd draw one though but no, you were there beside him as he'd stare up at the ceiling for hours, putting a glass of water to his mouth, helping him sit up straight as you'd feed him with your own trembling hands. He'd hug you tight, letting you cry into his chest, mumble sweet nothings into your ears, and apologise, wanting to mean it but he couldn't, he had already accepted his defeat.

It's only an hour later that Theo gets up from the ground, looking at the door hoping you'd return to his pathetic self, slap him, yell at him but then hug him, pepper kisses all over his face- just like you used to, after every fight, every disagreement, you'd always return but now? The damage is done.

He picks up the small frame of you and him, looking at your pretty smile, how happy you looked in his arms, what was wrong with him? He stole your smile away from you and replaced it with tears, Merlin you looked beautiful either way but his heart didn't hurt when he saw you smile, it didn't feel like he was being stabbed when your eyes lit up and your face brightened as you smiled. A small smile lingers on his face as he looks down at the picture, a single tear dropping down on the glass frame. He took you for granted and now even the universe collapsing couldn't make it right.

He looks up as he hears his owl hoot happily by the window, looking out at the empty backyard. He sighs, brings the frame closer to his face, kisses your smiling face, and sets it down carefully, staring at your face still as he opens the drawer.

There's love in the blood that leaks out of the cut but it's his regret that makes it dark; the blood oozing rapidly is akin to his unending love, sadly his affection had a time limit, he was just a man, just a mortal, he's no god to stain your name but he did, so he'll punish himself...

Nothing was ever just, not your relationship with him, nor was you leaving, neither was his death. But it just happens.

You attend his funeral, dressed in black, kneeling at his grave all alone, no one else, just you, everyone had already left his life a long time back, you had arranged it after all, the only person in his life to care for him, the only person who loved loves him.

You look down at the note clutched tightly into your fist, tears silently streaming down your face as you read it over and over again, hitting his grave with a bouquet, frustrated as you cried and cried, the note was stained with his blood and your tears, the one he had his owl deliver to you the minute he breathed in for the last, the last breathe he took was in your name, he's a sinner to take your name in vain.

'I love you, it has always been you, just you, not those drugs but I am sorry, I am not a strong man mi amor, forgive me, love me still... I beg you.'

[lets-try-some-writing]

Got Angst for Prime.

AU: Whatever AU you want to use.

Concept: Ratchet's Optics never really recovered from his Synth-En incident. He sees everything in a tint of green. And his optics show it. So, every time OP looks Ratchet in the optics, he sees the blue with a tinge of green surrounding it, and he gets hit with how bad he failed Ratchet.

(I've pretty much always HC that Ratchet had some lasting aftereffects of his tests. This one's my favorite though.)

I can't help it.

I am going to make this shippy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus had always loved Ratchet's optics. If you asked him, he would deny the way he often found himself staring wistfully off in the doctor's direction. It was all professional concern for a mech who simply didn't know when he needed to rest and recover. If he shared a glance with Ratchet for a little longer than normal, it was simply because he cared. That was what he told others. Whether or not they believe him was up for debate.

But beneath that veil of half truths created for both his and Ratchet's safety, Optimus's affections ran deep.

Even before the war, he'd loved those optics. Ratchet's optics were aged even when Orion was young. And yet they held a life to them that was undeniable. Passion incapable of being smothered by the harsh words of others and the seemingly impossible trial that was going up a caste. Ratchet bore every burden and political scheme with blunt determination, his optics always shining brightly as a hint of a smirk played on his features. Optimus loved that mischievous grin and the telltale glint that Ratchet got in his optics when he had some wild plan cooked up. Even though he was unable to bring himself to utter the compliments that formed in the back of his mind, he loved the Doctor's optics more than he cared to admit. So much energy contained within a compact frame. It was beautiful in its own unique way.

Once the war began and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, he did not think about Ratchet's optics as much. At least until they began to lose the shine that he had been so familiar with in his youth.

War was uncaring and it held no love for those trapped within its web. Optimus endured it with the patience of the old gods of Cybertron long since left to rot. Whispers of ancient beings far beyond his comprehension clouded his sense of time. Tears he wept for the fallen turned his gaze away from those around him and instead to the rivers of energon that flowed around his pedes. He endured it as the last of a long line of divines given frame. But Ratchet was mortal, and as the war dragged on, those optics that Optimus adored grew darker. Passion changed to red hot fury so bright and dangerous that Ratchet's gaze felt almost like venom at times.

Stokes of fire leapt through Ratchet's blazing optics, and more than once Optimus feared he'd be scorched by that boiling inferno of loss and grief. And yet despite being the one to lead their war ever onward, Optimus never felt Ratchet's anger directed at him. When those optics gazed up at him, Optimus felt only age old affection and care. Fire was tamed and turned to comforting warmth. Steady servos ran along his arms and a soothing voice lulled Optimus into temporary serenity on long cycles where he simply had no more tears to shed or reason to give to their Primus forsaken war. All the while those optics met his own and Optimus was at peace.

Vorns passed by. Optimus continued in his eternal march toward victory and Ratchet continued to change. Rage turned into bitterness, the molten hot wrath of war transforming into a deep set sorrow that left creases in the living metal that surrounded Ratchet's optics. Grim darkness pooled in that once passionate gaze. Those optics flickered in wrath long fostered each time Megatron made himself known. Those optics flared with every injury that the team brought with them back to base once they arrived on Earth. Those optics that Optimus loved so dearly dimmed and quieted, their light softening in the dark of the medical bay on long nights when Ratchet thought no one would hear his quiet sobs.

Optimus always loved Ratchet's optics.

He should have treated him better.

"Does it still hurt?" Optimus asked as he ran his digits over the weld on Ratchet's side.

"Of course it does. The weld has only been in place for a month and the wound ran deep." Ratchet replied clinically, not looking up from his work even as Optimus risked wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist. Others could see, but in the moment, he didn't care.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the crook of Ratchet's neck as he leaned down, desperate to feel the comforting warmth of Ratchet's frame against his. The Doctor stilled, his field extending and wrapping around Optimus is concern.

"Optimus, please, we've talked about this. I was out of line in saying that. You are not at fault." Ratchet broke from Optimus's embrace and turned around. Optimus wanted to look away in shame as those optics looked up at him, still as lovely as ever, but tinted a haunting green.

A sign of Optimus's greatest failure.

"I am at fault, and you know that as well as I do. Let us not delude ourselves." Optimus reached out to cup Ratchet's face. The Doctor leaned into his touch obligingly. Any open affection was a risk, but there was something unspoken that needed to be addressed before time ran out and the world drew them apart yet again.

"You have always done what you think is right. I can't blame you for hoping and trying to save a mech who was once a friend." Ratchet's optics cycled and the green became more prominent within them in response to his emotions. Optimus frowned and shifted so caress the metal around the Doctors optics. His scarred digits traced creases and small scuffs, lingering around the corners of Ratchet's optics as Optimus observed the green hue in sorrow.

"You shouldn't have felt pressured to do this to yourself. The risks were too great. If I had only-" A digit pressed to Optimus's derma before he could continue, silencing his attempts at being self deprecating before they could truly begin.

"I made my choice. It is not your fault. Besides, the world is just a little more green for me now. That is all." Ratchet forced a smile, but Optimus could not bring himself to do the same. Ratchet's words while he was on synthetic energon were cruel... but undeniably true. How many times had Optimus had the chance to bring down Megatron only to let the warlord go? How many lives could he have saved if he had only put aside his feelings on the matter and acted?

"I can tell you are beating yourself up over it. Stop. It's over now and I'm fine." Ratchet pulled away and Optimus's servos fell. They stood quietly together for a nanoklik before Ratchet moved forward, his smaller frame pressing against Optimus's in a gentle embrace. Strong arms hooked themselves around the crooks of Optimus's torso, unwavering but gentle enough that if he wished, the Prime could pull away.

"Forgive me." Optimus murmured in the quiet of the medical bay. A gentle hum met his plea. Neither said another word as they stood in the relative dark, comforted in the presence of one another. Only the light of the nearby console lit up the area, but it was more than enough for the Prime to work with.

Green tinted optics glowed in the gloom, illuminating Optimus's face as he leaned down. Ratchet's optics closed, most likely expecting a gentle touch to the crest of his helm. Instead, Optimus leaned as close as he was able, even going so far as to angle his helm so that he could get near enough to place a ghost of a kiss over Ratchet's optics. Each closed optic received the lightest of touches, so soft that it may as well have been a gust of wind. But as Optimus pulled back and settled into the helm touch that Ratchet had likely been prepared for, the Prime finally smiled.

"Thank you for standing by my side." Ratchet stared in shock as the Prime's digits again found their place tracing around the Doctor's optics. Ratchet stood still, uncertain of how to respond until Optimus spoke again.

"I've always loved your optics, regardless of their hue." Optimus assured, earning a gentle huff from his companion.

"You sap." Ratchet whispered even as his optics glowed in all too rare joy at the show of affection. The green was still present, a permanent reminder of the costs of war. However Optimus continued to smile all the same, simply pleased to have those optics locked on him.

Yes, Optimus would admit it aloud if times permitted.

He had always loved Ratchet's optics.

[bananastarion]

I guess the weird thing about me is that often in my fantasies, things tend to go wrong instead of following some sort of ideal? Or maybe that's normal lol.

Like for example, I imagine post-ending Tav and Astarion getting to enjoy the night life a little and tavern hopping. Tav has taken on a nocturnal schedule to spend more quality time with their vampiric lover. As an aside, I envision a conversation between them at some point where Astarion feels bad that they have forsaken the sun when they don't have to, to which Tav responds "If I want to go out in the sun again, I will. But honestly, you are all the light I need in my life <3" Gosh I'm cheesy ok

I also have this (probably not DnD accurate) headcanon that vampires can catch a buzz off the alcohol content in blood, and in fact are acutely sensitive to it. So Tav gets drunk, and then they sneak out back so Astarion can get second hand drunk off their blood. You save a lot of money this way!

But one night, this all takes a turn for the worse. Astarion is drinking from Tav and they get caught by a drunk girl who had snuck into the same alley for a smoke. Instead of being frightened, she's curious about what they're doing and asks if he'll drink from her too. Normally this wouldn't happen, but Astarion is drunk and hungry, and impulsively decides to give her a nibble. The problem is, this girl was SCHWASTED, and possibly on some other things too.

You notice something's wrong as her blood kicks in, and decide it's time to go home. It doesn't take long before Astarion is drunker than you've ever seen him. Maybe more drunk than he's ever been in over 200 years. Normally he's a happy drunk, but at this point gradually he's becoming a weepy, sloppy mess. He expresses remorse about taking advantage of that drunk girl, that it reminds him of what he used to do and he feels disgusted by it. You agree that it wasn't right, and can't ever happen again. As you near where you're staying that night, he starts pouring his heart out to you, saying all the things he feels but is too restrained to express so sincerely normally. How in love he is with you, how he doesn't know what to do with himself, how scary and beautiful and overwhelming it is. How afraid he is, how happy he is, how he'd do anything for you. His confession is raw and confusing, but very sincere. In vino veritas.

It would almost be romantic, if not for the word vomit leading to actual vomit. Regular drunken puking is horrible, but when it's all blood... Gods, you're so glad he got that out of his system before you got inside. When you get to your room, you comfort him and make sure he's doing okay. At this point he's sleepy and incoherent, vacillating between asking you for a cuddle and asking you if he's a bad person. His voice is high, whiny and breathy, like it's taking a lot of energy just to talk. After babysitting him for a bit, you finally get to rest. He's got a wicked hangover the next morning, and is completely embarrassed about the night before and doesn't want to even address it. It puts you both off drinking for a while. But eventually, with time it becomes a night you get to tease him about mercilessly. And with even more time, the things he admitted to you that night come more easily, and without any alcohol needed in the equation.

[sxdomizer]

OC RAMBLES: DENNY

I've no self-control, I've realised. Completely forgot that I can post whatever I want on this god-forsaken website, and I love it. I'll become addicted

So, for those who will listen (and those who won't); here's some info about Denny :) I'll post more about him once I draw him more....

♪We got Mancakes and pancakes We got a whole stack o' trouble when the action breaks♫♩

He's based on Mancake! Whom I headcanon as his dad!

He's estranged from him, though. His entire family. They always had high expectations for him, but as the second child of four (and part of a huge family tree), he never felt as if he was in first place. Never main priority. Never the favourite...

His siblings' names are Don, the oldest; Wendy, his younger sister; and, finally, Flapjack, the youngest brother.

The Maple Ranch is where his family has resided for generations, and where he was raised. He grew up homeschooled up until highschool, where he went along with what his father considered to be the wrong people. In reality, they weren't all that bad; it was nice having friends outside the family. But, "they stray him from the life he's meant to have," he'd say. The Maple legacy needed to continue.

In addition, he never really supported Denny's own decisions. Unlike his siblings-- especially Don-- his dreams were far, far from the ranch. He wanted to be an engineer, study in the "big city". There was no need, however, in his father's eyes. Anything he could ever possibly need was right there, with his family.

Slowly, their relationship strained. His resentment grew until, one day, he packed up his bags and left.

Daddy issues woowoowoo!

That's when he began to live around the wrong people. With big dreams and nowhere to go, you do what you can to survive. And what he could do was fight.

It was pickpocketing first. Then, shoplifting. Finally, promises from criminal groups dragged him into turf battles, black market trading. That's how he met a certain nutcracker, so enthusiastic that he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He thought there'd be no escape from that life, but the way Molotov just... left whenever he wanted was. Something. So, he decided to leave with him.

They traveled together for a while. It was peaceful enough, but the two were simply too different. Besides, Molotov's constant dodging of him hinting his feelings toward him would hurt a little more every time.

Besides. Who likes men anyway. Not him.

So, one day, he just.. left. The same way he'd learned from him.

With nowhere to go and no idea what to do, he got himself a part-time job and just. Tried to live his life.

He found comfort in the gym, so that's that.

He needs therapy bad, but he'll never admit it.

He can't help but continue with crime on the side after that, either... put the knowledge he got from Molo to use. Make simple pistols. Keep some, sell some...

He's clumbsy with his hands, though, so he's not very good.

He's just so... frustrated. Angry. Alone.

And he refuses to let anyone get close to him, in any way.

Sometimes, he does miss the ranch. His brother Flapjack, especially. He was young when he left, so full of wonder.

He knows he'll never go back, though. He can't.

I realised halfway through writing this that this is basically just his backstory but bare with me, he's still fairly new

thanks for reading :)

[kiealer]

Truth + Nina, why don't you tell us -- in detail -- how you feel about Goku Black?

Send me 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 + a question or 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙴 + a command to get my muse's honest answer or see them do something out of character for them! // accepting

Her lips purse. Tense. The barest sound of a swallow is the only one heard for several stifling moments.

It feels as though this question has reached her ears a thousand times, and yet, she could never bring herself to reply truthfully -- not the entire truth. What use is there running if she hits a wall and it simply catches up to her? What would she do if it trapped and ate her whole? Admittedly, she fears this, but she has to speak.

❝… I hate him.❞ Her heart races, an alarm begging her not to speak further. Leave it at the simple answer, it begets, even pleads. Because the true one is far more complicated and more confusing. ❝I hate him so much. I hate him for what he's done to everyone, for what he's taken away, for what he tried to do -- but, most of all, I hate what he's done to me.❞ Her hand hovers above her heart, fingers gradually grasping at the fabric draped above it until they fully grip and quiver.

❝I… don't know how, but… I…❞ Her tongue feels heavy, like lead. To confess anything is admitting guilt, but the weight by now has been far too heavy for her to carry. Though, would speaking of it lessen the burden at all? Or would it worsen it? She isn't sure she wants to find out, but in this case, she is given no choice. ❝I care about him.❞

Those few words unleashed the floodgates. Emotions of all kinds and calibers fill her fragile heart, overwhelming her almost instantly. Were she not braced for impact, she would have fallen already. Unfortunately or otherwise, this isn't her first time experiencing a tsunami, though now that she has to speak through it, she feels the waves are a tad too much.

❝I can't forget him. No matter how much I try, he doesn't leave my god damn mind. Sometimes it feels like I don't even want him to. Like I like his infuriating presence being with me all the time. I'll forget for awhile, go about my life as it is, but… he shows up, out of nowhere, at the slightest thought. And he's there. Like he never left. I feel like-- like I've lost control of my own brain.❞ Shamefully, she adds, ❝And… my body, to an extent.❞ Her cheeks burn hot, a setting sun embedded in her features. Where one hand grasped at the heart, the other moves to grasp the fabric above her hips. It wouldn't take a trained eye to notice her squirming thighs, though she forcibly ceases the movement upon her own realization. Her cheeks become a little more saturated. The significance of this involuntary movement is not at all lost, and only serves to embarrass her further.

❝I'll spare you the details and just say I've thought of him often. That's enough, isn't it?❞ Some truths were simply too heinous to leave the vault they were trapped in. She maintains some pride, and she would not forgo that. Besides, she didn't have to divulge any libidinous details -- the question didn't specify enough. All that's left is her grief.

❝And the worst part about it? I know he wouldn't give a damn. I know whatever crevice he's carved himself out in my brain is something he wouldn't give a second thought to, let alone even a single one. Maybe he'd hold it over my head, gloat that he's consumed me entirely. Boost his ego a little. But that wouldn't matter. I'd still be in his crosshairs, and he'd still get rid of me when the time comes. I'm a drop in the ocean to him. I don't matter.❞

As if all the weight has finally taken its toll, or perhaps it's been lifted, Ninazu practically collapses, unceremoniously plopping onto the nearest seat. Her head hangs in her hands, either in defeat, or in shame. The consequences of this rant hardly matters, though she is well aware of them. They, too, plague her.

❝For some god forsaken reason, I'm drawn to him. I mean… I guess it was obvious why at first, right?❞ She chuckles dryly, but it quickly peters out. ❝I… want to see him again. I'd give anything to see him every day.❞ Barely above a whisper, her voice cracks, and she finally confesses, ❝I think I love him. But because of that, I hate him. I'm so tired, but I can't… let him go. I don't know what to do…❞

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

Shadow and Bone 2x05 - "Yuyeh Sesh (Despise your Hear) : Quotes

"- Except that the Little Prince and his caravan are with my Sun Summoner. Alina Starkov is worth more than any army. So at the risk of sounding repetitive find her." (Aleksander)

"- Okay, but for now, focus on the task at hand, saving Ravka. We have to keep our demons at bay." (Nikolai)

"- I do not like the sound of that. But I like the sound of that." (Jesper)

"- But why wouldn't he tell me about a job for the Sun Summoner? (Inej) - Because he'd rather push you away than admit he feels anything for you. Oh, was I not supposed to say that out loud?" (Nina) "- What about Tolya? Aren't you worried about how he'll find us now? (Aditi) - Unless he starts reciting epic poetry to Zoya, he'll be fine." (Tamar)

"- This country has clearly been destroyed. My question is will you be the one to make it right?" (Baghra)

"- You will pay for what you did, you monster ! At least you now look like what you truly are. (Tatiana) - Ask me how I did it. I put the poison on my body for weeks. So that every time he touched me, every time.... he kissed me, he took some of it into himself. All he had to do was stop coming to my bed. (Genya) - He was your king! (Tatiana) - He brought it on himself. I don't want your apology. What as done to me can never be undone. What I want to know is whether or not you truly mean to fix all that is broken about Ravka, or if you are just destined to repeat the failures of our previous kings." (Genya)

"- Well, how will you fix it? (Baghra) - If I knew that, I wouldn't be talking to you, would I? (Alina) - This mental bridge between you can only be crossed if you choose to cross it. Every time you think of him or he thinks of you, you seek the other out." (Baghra)

"- Aleksander. You seem surprised to see me. (Alina) - I am. But perhaps I shouldn't be. I should have known you'd prove to be an apt pupil. (Aleksander) - I realized you were right. (Alina) - How so? (Aleksander) - I was meant for more (I thought for you a moment). You were the first person to see me as I truly am. First to help me realize what I'm capable of. (Alina) - Was I? And what about your tracker? (Aleksander) - Mal doesn't understand the power growing within me. He can't. That's not his fault. (Alina) - I did try to warn you. Tried to explain. There are no others like us and there never will be. (Aleksander) - I'm finally starting to understand that. To feel it. (Alina - As delighted as I am that you found your way to me, what do you want? (Aleksander) - This thing that binds us. I think you fear it more than you care to admit. (Alina) - I feared everything there is to fear, it made me strong. I understand things about power that you've years yet to learn. (Aleksander) - It's not all about power though, is it? What about what I want? (Alina) - The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak." (Aleksander)

"- You and the Darkling share a sort of connection. Why didn't you tell me? (Mal) - When would I have told you? I couldn't find you, you weren't there. It leads to me saving Ravka, repairing this Saints-forsaken country. (Alina) - To what end? (Mal) - To the extent that it needs. Is there anything other than that? (Alina) - No. No, it's exactly that, I just needed to hear you say it. So you understand that you and I are not in lockstep. That you have raced ahead on a path that I'm way behind on. And that's where you should be, because you were meant for more. I'll get you the Firebird, that's all I have to offer. Same old trick." (Mal)

"- You need to forget the Fjerdan. (Zoya) - Really? Now is when you choose to have this conversation? (Nina) - Seems as good a time as any to point out you're throwing your life away. For a Drüskelle. (Zoya) - That's not who he is. That's how he was raised. (Nina) - They burn us, Nina. You can't unlearn that sort of hatred. (Zoya) (...) - For the first time in our lives, we chose to be free. (Nina) - And now he's in Hellgate and you've abandoned your country when it needed you the most. Was it worth it?" (Zoya)

"- I am Pekka Rollins. And my death will not come at the hands of a fucking nobody." (Pekka Rollins)

"- Tell me the truth. This connection you share with Aleksander, what else is there to it? (Baghra) - I don't understand what you mean. (Alina) - There's a difference between not understanding and refusing to face difficult truth, girl. Just now, when you were with Aleksander light exploded out of you as if it could hardly be contained. So, what aren't you telling me? You said you wanted a way to shut him out. You won't be able to move beyond this until you face it. (Baghra) - I feel him. (Alina) - Are you saying that as a projection, he can touch you? (Baghra) - It's more than that. Every time I use my powers, I feel him. His hands on me, making me use it. Even after we escaped the Fold and I cut the antler from his hand, I still felt him. I told myself to ignore it, that it would dull with time. And once I had the Sea Whip, it did. Its power, it felt... different. I felt different. I felt... free. The power was... Was angry, but it was mine. Mine alone. And then I saw him again. It was like he stole my powers all over again. Like the Sea Whip was no longer mine but also his. (Alina) - And why did you think that? Because he's why I sought it in the first place. If it weren't for him, I never would have take the Sea Whip's life or power. If it weren't for him, I'd still be a mapmaker. He was the first person to show me that I wasn't just some weak stick from Keramzin. That I was Grisha. That I was powerful. That I was meant for more. (Alina) - Even without Aleksander's influence, those things remain true. (Baghra) - But so much of what I have done and who I am is because of him. Even my powers are tied to him, the man who manipulated and betrayed Genya, betrayed Ravka.... (Alina) - Who betrayed you. Violated you. Aleksander is hundreds of years old, nearly infinite in his power, and yet, a scrap of a girl has bested him not once, but again and again. You are who you are in spite of him. Because your will is stronger than his. The only way you'll find peace is to finish what you've started. Dismantle the Fold, go to the heart of Aleksander's creation and heal the wound he's left on this country. (Baghra) (Come on, Alina betrayed him because of you. She wasn't violated, she was the once initiated the kiss) - But I can't do it without the Firebird. (Alina) - I will help you find it. (Baghra) - No lecture about combining amplifiers? The abomination of it all? (Alina) - Two amplifiers ago, I would have cautioned you about greed, power. No. The abomination would be not to see this through to the end. (Baghra) - You know where to look? (Alina) - I know where to start. Morozova's workshop, or what remains of it." (Baghra)

"- So you are capable of quiet contemplation. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Though I'll admit it's a bit of a relief. (Alina) - Well, I am but a man, Alina. Dashing and terribly brave, but still... (Nikolai) - Still ? (Alina) - How are things? With Mal? (Nikolai) - He's never walked away from me like that before. (Alina) - He loves you, Alina. Even I see that. (Nikolai) - I have to go. (Alina) - Firebird. You'd really leave me to rally the troops at Zvedya all by myself? (Nikolai) - Guess you'll have to "focus on the task at hand, saving Ravka." (Alina) - I love it when you quote me. (Nikolai) - Your lucky compass. (Alina) - You returned my emerald, I thought you'd want another excuse to seek me out. (Nikolai) - I'll return it as soon as I can. (Alina) - I know it'll be hard, but try not to miss me too much. (Nikolai) - Impossible." (Alina)

"- And what of the Sun Summoner? (Grisha) - The whole world will hear it when I make her scream. (Aleksander)

"- I'm just saying you have nothing to be ashamed of. (Jesper) - You're trying to tell me how to feel about my shame when you're hiding the very thing that makes you special. (Wylan) (....) - The thing that I don't understand is why you keep it a secret. You're Zemeni. Zemeni believe that Grisha powers are a blessing. So why do you hide it? (Wylan) - Because it's not a blessing, it's a curse. And you have no idea what it's cost me. (Jesper)

[positivelybeastly]

The read on the need for uniforms, for unit cohesion, startles him for a moment, wondering just where in the hell that came from, but as she stares forward, tweezers in hand, eyes processing yet mostly vacant, he realised exactly where, and he swallowed, looking down at the table, picking up another piece of perfectly shattered imperfection, staring at himself, reflected in the diamond.

He always forgets. He wallows, and he holes up in his lab, and he opines that he has it bad, and perhaps he does, but Sage . . .

Hank reaches to take her hand a moment too late, tries to steady a shaking grip just a moment after she's pulled away, and he puts the piece of Emma down on the table, steepling what pass for his fingers now as he watches her drink.

He has his parents. He has home. He had a childhood, a life. He had choices. Sage hadn't had any of that. And what little choice she had had, Charles had . . .

He blows out a breath and stands, moving, not to crowd Sage, but to stand near her, the buttery smooth yellow leather of his field jacket shining in the light, a new uniform for an old soldier.

He'd at least been conscripted. Sage had been drafted. Yes, perhaps it had been better than what she'd had before, but it was still no life for a child, and that was what she had been.

How young had she been, when she had grown old? When she had been forced to mature far beyond her years? When the world, and the patron saint of mutants, had forsaken her?

He crossed his arms, looking at her solidly.

"You saved my life, in Valencia."

It's the first time he's said it, the first time he's admitted it. It's a life he's still working to be all right with, but at least he has that chance. He can't let his misery stop him from telling the truth, no matter how sore the wound is, how slowly it's healing, how sure he is that it'll never heal.

"Thank you."

"Duly noted."

Of course he would share if he found evidence. He wasn't like her. A spy. Secretive. Playing cards close to the chest. Pretending nothing affected her. Playing the part of the analytical, emotionless robot.

She probably wouldn't share, justifying it by saying it would infringe on people's free will and right to differing beliefs to share the hard evidence. How sick of her. How expected.

She logs the piece of lung into the catalogue, before placing it in the right spot. Tweezers in hand, she doesn't pick up another piece yet. His comments on outfits and suits has her thinking.

"There have been studies as to why warring groups wear cohesive clothing. Why there is need for a clear identification of us versus them. It allows soldiers to recognize who's on their side, and dehumanizes those marked as other, making them easier to harm, maim, or kill."

There is no emotion in her voice, as a child who used to wear combat gear in a war torn zone, sniping people of all sides, perpetrators as well as victims, she never considered what it said about her that she never needed a mark of otherness to kill. Not openly at least. Not within psychic range of anyone strong enough to peek through her well established walls.

"I can send you the references, if you'd like to read about it."

A very slight tremor in her hand, a pang of guilt over her past - even though she didn't know better and had been conditioned from a young age to act in self defense and survive at all cost - and she places the tweezers down to step away from the table a short moment. She needs a drink of water.

"Aren't you thirsty?" she asks him before she takes a sip of her own bottle. Talking so much had her feeling parched.

[dihydromorphinone]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 and i can still smell her perfume..

long after your breakup, scaramouche bumps into you unexpectedly. he thought that the gods might have blessed him this once, that was – until he noticed you with someone else.

— scaramouche/wanderer x reader, alhaitham x reader, kinda ooc scara..? but he is heartbroken just like me T_T, another angsty fic..., our poor little scara's a total dick but he's also heartbroken.

i didn't know my own feelings

...and before i knew your love,

so i could put up with them.

it's been eight months. eigth months of torment, drowning in the agony and just absolute pain. eight months without you. and as much as he'd like to admit that he is unfazed with your absence – he just can't. it's too obvious. he grew distant again, starting to loathe humans once again. scaramouche was ready to count you as his fourth betrayal, but he couldn't bring himself to. he still loves you, after all. he always did and always will.

sigh left his lips as he put down the box with the rest of your belongings, the one you left after storming out of your shared hut, place you both used to call home. circling through his own memories, he tried to remember the cause of your disturbance. scaramouche wasn't happy with the outcome; the cause was another argument. caused by him. and as much as you got used to his insults and tolerated them to a certain point, you just got tired. it was hard to understand his actual intentions sometimes, and you never wanted to question your significant other on their feelings, so you just left.

he never got rid of that box. so many memories – good, bad; it all didn't matter. he may be cruel, but do not underestimate his emotions. guilt was eating him up since you left, and without you next to him, scaramouche just wished for everything to just stop. he was drowning in the silence, and after you left – your previously shared hut was as if it's lost all its light. usually, he would just bite his cheek so hard he'd draw blood and try to curse you in his mind, but all of this wasn't worth the effort. no matter how hard he tried, he never really hated you. you were like sun to him, shining brightly on him despite the raging storm. your love was like a rope, ready to pull him up by his hands, but now? he was drowning – his heart submerged deep underwater.

too bad he was never too good with his words. maybe if he would be actually able to voice his opinions without having to insult you everytime? even if he didn't mean it, he always said it – and now, as scaramouche was reminiscing about all these times of you two together, maybe you actually were fed up and he didn't notice? he was spiraling back into the abyss, the darkest depths of his own mind. if you'd only be here, next to him, you would hold him gently while whispering that it's going to be alright, that you're with him. where were you now, though?

wanderer sighed again, furrowing his brows and placing hand on his forehead. glancing at the god-forsaken box, he was quick to figure out he can't keep living like this. all he wished for was you. just you. archons, he'd even go back to fatui if it meant seeing your face again! rubbing his head slowly, he stood up. you always told him, at times like these, to go out and enjoy the nature a bit. sumeru was such a pretty nation; it would be a shame to not appreciate it – even a little, for a second. deciding to take your advice, he swiftly grabbed his hat and headed for the door, hoping only to clear his head a little.

scaramouche found out quickly that he, in fact, actually enjoyed such walks. they did not met his expectations, though – it was supposed to take you out of his head, not make him think about you even more. it appears his love was truly undying and he was such a reserved lover, that he almost felt pity for himself. almost, because this one time, wanderer actually felt responsible for the situation between you. maybe if he weren't so harsh, maybe if he could just...

his train of thought was disturbed by someone bumping into him, near the outskirts of the sumeru city. the impact made him fall to the ground, what made him even more pissed. probably just some regular akademiya jerk, he thought, ready to absolutely bash the idiot who can't even walk straight and consider that there might be some other people walking next to them. when he turned his head up, he was stunned. it wasn't just anyone who bumped into him, hell – it was you. scaramouche didn't know what to do. he desperately wished for this moment to come, he finally got to see your pretty face. hope always dies last, they say, and scaramouche was sure that it was all thanks to his undying faith that you two can reconcile.

"oh, uhm... sorry." you quietly apologised, not paying much attention to the stranger who just fell because of you. only when you wanted to help the stranger stand up, you noticed the familiar hat, clothes, body posture... it was him. every bits of your well-being disappeared. you tried to move on from him, and you succeed – at last. as hard as it was, you knew that there will be no good if you'll ever go back to him. besides, you didn't even know if he wanted you back after the heated argument. you found solace in the embrace of alhaitham, who always was there to listen to you.

you met him by accident – and you'd never think that you and him would grow like this. alhaitham always offered you a shoulder to cry on if needed, he always offered you his support in the worst times of your relationships with scaramouche. he never criticized you for anything, only listening and comforting you. and after your final disagreement with scaramouche – alhaitham was there too. he asked you to stay with him, warning you about kaveh beforehand. from that moment onwards, you two started getting more and more closer to each other, finally resulting in you and alhaitham dating.

"...(y/n)?" wanderer asked, hesitantly, wondering if his mind is playing tricks on him. "where have you been all this time? go back home with me, please."

"no, kuni, it's too late for that now." you cut him off, shortly. you noticed your significant other, alhaitham, approaching you slowly and you didn't want to make a scene.

"please, please wait. i know that all which happened between us was unfortunate but please, dove, give me another chance. one last, i promise. i'll change, i will do whatever you want me to. i can't live like this; without you, and-" he started pleading, only to get harshly cut off, again.

"bold of you to say such things, scaramouche. my answer is, and still will be no. 'unfortunate', you say? too bad you only noticed this now. i do not have any intentions of us reconciling. it's too late." you repeated yourself, slightly starting to get annoyed at his selfish requests.

wanderer was ready to give you another round of him pleading you desperately to come back, but he stopped talking as soon as he noticed a pair of arms enveloping your waist. his brows furrowed while he studied the man behind you.

"is everything alright, darling? is this person bothering you?" alhaitham asked, not hiding any hostility towards the former fatui member.

"no, in fact i was just about to take my leave. i wish you all the best. farewell, kunikuzushi."

and stunned, he watched as you two part ways, probably forever this time. scaramouche figured he did not have any right to interfere in your relationship, as long as you are happy – at least, that's what he was trying to tell himself while watching you kiss alhaitham in the same way you would kiss him. and hope dies last, they say – and wanderer took it as a sign. his heart was shattering once again, but who was here to blame other than him? maybe it's time to face his own sins?

after you were out of his sight, he quickly turned back and went into his home. but can he really call it home now? home is where the heart is, and he has none. and since you're gone now – there's no point. he oh-so-wanted to be human, but is it all really worth it? if he understood the emotions he was feeling, would it all end differently?

and as he entered the bedroom, first thing he noticed was that damn box with your belongings. he opened the container, for yet another time this day, and searched for a particular item. buried deep, deep down, at the very bottom of the box, were lying thin sheets of hard paper. upon inspection, one would deduce they're pictures; of you and scaramouche together. he put all other things back into the box and focused on the photographs. photographs, that he oh-so-wanted to he disposed of. now, they gained a new purpose – by looking at them, wanderer felt less resentful.

the scent of your skin will continue to haunt his lungs. he will still yearn for you, even in his dreams – if he'll ever sleep peacefully again. you were the heaven that let him live, and now, that you're gone for good – he may just as well disappear completely.

...your arms were my warmth everyday;

and before i know that warmth,

i didn't know the cold so i could bear with it.

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: "Do you want me to hurt him?" / inspired by 'telephone' by lady gaga

♡ pairing: bart allen ( impulse ) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / my schedule is going to become more sporadic starting next week :/ i'm going to keep the warning up until next week.

"Bart, shut up," you said, jokingly pushing him. he laughed, handing you the ice cream, "what? I'm serious! I just think that mint chocolate is better. if you have just mint, it'll taste like toothpaste and if you have just chocolate, it's too sweet so mint chocolate is a good even ground," he explained.

you felt your phone vibrate as Jinny spoke up, talking about how Bart and Connor shared one brain cell outside of the field. looking down to see who was ringing you, you saw that it was your god forsaken boyfriend for the 100th time.

"oooo, who is that?" Bart asked, looking over to your phone. he read the wall of text you had received but you quickly shut your phone off, not bothering to read it, "you gonna answer that?" he asked, a small bit of jealousy bubbling up inside him.

"don't really feel like it," you quickly said, trying to remain off that topic. Bart, clearly annoyed, snatched your phone and put it in his pocket, "than let's forget about him, right?" he asked, putting on his annoyed fake smile.

Tim and Jinny saw the very irritated face Bart had and looked to each other as they shook their heads, "those two I swear," Jinny huffed out in annoyance. "more like ( your name )," he replied, "Bart could admit his feelings to her face and she still wouldn't do anything about that horrid boyfriend of hers."

the two of them stifled giggles from each other as they watched the two of you continue to flirt openly. it was no secret to anyone on the team. it was very clear to everyone on the YJ team, the Titans, even the JLA knew that the two of you liked each other....a lot but it was that stupid boyfriend of yours that got in the way of Bart ever truly expressing his feelings for you.

"what is everyone's plans after this?" you asked the team as they all murmured different answers, indicating that they were all busy. you sighed, trying not go straight up at the moment because you knew that you'd have to deal with your boyfriends calls when you got there, "I'll stay out with ya!" Bart replied as he saw the empty park bench.

you gave him a grin, "thanks Allen. you're a life saver," you exclaimed, waving everyone off goodbye. you walked to the bench, Bart following right behind you as Bart felt your phone ringing again.

there had been a scarce few times where you did call Bart with your boyfriend problems. it was usually late at night. probably inching near three in the morning when you called him sobbing, asking him if you deserved to go through the bullshit you were dealing with your boyfriend.

Bart always felt himself getting angry whenever he received those calls. you sounded so heartbroken, tired, and emotional. he was always there to help pick you back up but not even a few days later, you were back with him, telling Bart that your boyfriend needed you now more than ever.

"he's still angry that you're hanging out with me? do you want me to hurt him?" he asked, finally taking your phone out of your pocket. you nodded, rolling your eyes, "Bart no. he thinks that my 'job' is taking too much time away from him and I being together. I swear, it's like hearing a broken record. one minute, he's mad and wants to break up and the next second, he's at my door asking for forgiveness," you explained, frustrated.

Bart squeezed your hand, tapping his fingers on top yours, "you know what you need to do," he replied, giving you a serious look. you stared at him, biting your lip, "it's hard, Bart. he's going through a lot and I'll feel guilty if I just leave him," you whispered taking his hand and holding it.

"you literally fight villains for a living and you're scared of that? you know you deserve more," Bart said, "and I've seen the way you look at other girls who decide to flirt with me," he joked, trying to break the tension. "shut up, it's not even like that," you lied, making Bart even laugh more. "but seriously, you know it's not secret that I like you." you sighed, not knowing what to say as you put your head on his shoulder.

the silence wasn't exactly awkward but it wasn't comfortable either. there had been multiple times when Bart had told you his true feelings for you and every time he did, you responded with a hum or a 'okay Bart'.

it wasn't that you didn't accept his true feelings. it was far from that. you actually did like the speedster but you knew Bart could do a lot better. you knew Bart deserved someone who actually deserved him and that person wasn't you. you weren't as cute or funny as he was. he deserved someone like Cassie. smart, funny, and cute.

+

the YJ tower was completely empty aside from you and Bart. everyone was out doing their own thing. Tim and Connor were at their respective homes. Jinny and Amethyst were out doing god knows what meanwhile Keli and Cassie had gone to the movies to watch a film they both had been dying to see so that just left you and Bart in the lair to do as you pleased.

"Bart, hand me the remote," you said lazily. he handed it to you as you turned it off, getting up and stretching yourself out. Bart stared at you confused, "why'd you turn it off? I was watching that!" he exclaimed. you threw the remote across the couch and getting him up, "lets do something productive and make dinner or something," you replied enthusiastically.

Bart rolled his eyes but got up nonetheless. he followed you to the kitchen as you played music through the speakers that were built on the wall. "what're you making?" he asked, seeing you take out things that made no sense.

you looked over your options and realized you could make some kind of stew or a soup of some kind. "beef and gravy stew! we have enough things to make enough for the team and seconds for the both of us," you said, getting the things from the cupboards and having Bart start to chop every thing up.

you knew Bart was dumb but that didn't mean he wasn't a kick ass cook. there had been multiple times where he had made everyone dinner or dinner even for the two of you and it always turned out amazing. you dumped every thing that Bart had chopped up and proud it into the pot before grabbing a few things from the fridge and making the gravy that had to poured in. it didn't take long but the two of you had to wait until the pot boiled up in order for it to be ready.

the song 'telepatia' by Kali Uchis played over the speakers as you finally turned over to Bart and smiled, "we just need for it to boil and it'll be ready!" you exclaimed. he nodded as you started singing the song out loud. not particularly towards him but a warm feeling in his gut made him get butterflies as you continued.

"you know I'm just a flight away, if you want it, you can take a private plane."

you looked up to Bart, wanting to give him another smile but he quickly got rid of any questioning thoughts and went in for a kiss. you were taken back in surprise. this was the first time Bart had ever put his feelings forward and actually gave you a kiss.

his kisses were soft. they weren't rushed which was ironic considering all Bart was, was being fast and always on the move. you had placed your hands on his thighs as you made the kiss even deeper. it took you a few seconds to register what you were doing when alarms rang off in your head. you had a boyfriend and by continuing to kiss Bart, you were technically cheating on him.

"Bart no, I can't," you murmured, pushing yourself off of him. he gave you a defeated look, understanding where you coming from, "I'm sorry," you replied, going back to the food and trying to forget that you even made the move to reciprocate the kiss. in the back of your mind though, knew it that kiss meant that you had fell for Bart and hard.

+

"I have to head home, it's getting late and we patrol tomorrow night so I think it's best we head back," you whispered knowing you'd have to deal with your stingy boyfriend when you got home. Bart gave your hand one more squeeze before getting up, "see you later," Bart murmured, getting the inkling feeling that he'd probably receive a phone call tonight from you.

you nodded, making your way towards your apartment. you had a fuck ton of messages from your boyfriend and over ten missed calls by the time you sat comfortably in your couch. you finally dialed him back, instantly getting a bunch of curse words thrown at you for not picking up.

it felt like hours when the two of you finally stopped arguing with each other. it ended with you in tears and your voice hoarse as you had finally grown the nerve to break up with him. you knew for your mental health that it was time to do it and truthfully, your feelings for Bart were growing more and more every time you saw him. there was no point in continuing the relationship if you were no longer having feelings for him and although you felt guilty by doing it, you ripped it off like a band aid.

you grabbed your phone and clicked on Bart's number. Bart on the other hand shifted in his bed, seeing your contact light up his phone. he groggily picked it up, "hey," he said in that sleepy tone of his. you hiccuped, trying to control your tears, "can you come over?" you whispered, the crack of thunder scaring you shitless, "I really need someone right now."

Bart sighed, telling you to give him a minute before hanging up. Bart had no idea how many more of these late night sleepovers he had left in him. he sped over to your place, grabbing the secret key from the back of the broken piece of wood that was attached to your door frame. he opened it, seeing you sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in one hand and your hiccups still overcoming your body.

"what's wrong?" he asked. you stared at him, tears instantly rushing down your face, "I deserve to be happy right?" he nodded almost immediately, "than why do I feel so shitty because I broke up with him?" you asked.

Bart stared at you, not believing what he was hearing. you had finally broken up with that shitty boyfriend and he was the first person you contacted.

"because that's what manipulative people do ( your name )," he whispered, "they make you feel like shit for things that you didn't even do. you're perfect and he didn't deserve you or anyone like you. especially you though," he joked, bracing you even harder for a hug. he knew it would be wrong to try and make a move but gave you a kiss on the top of your head and whispered nothing but supportive things into your ear as you tried to calm yourself down.

the rain happening outside and Bart's words were lulling you to sleep as Bart hadn't even realized that you were passing out on his side. it wasn't until you hadn't moved that Bart realized you were not longer awake. he grabbed your body, lifting you up bridal style before making his way to your room.

he placed you down on your bed with every intention of just letting you sleep and him heading home but you grabbed onto his body, sleepily saying that he was going to stay here. you hadn't even said it as a question but more as a statement. he didn't argue with it; however, and he had thankfully came over in his pajamas as he scooted you over a bit and crawled in.

you smiled softly, hugging him instantly and passing out once again. Bart placed a small kiss on the top of your head before whispering into your ear, "you'll be mine one day, didn't I tell you that?" he murmured before trying to fall back asleep.

[ripgray-moved]

𖤐  ⸻  If he's being honest with himself, he's long since given up on the idea of asking people to help him. He asked now out of SHEER DESPERATION, because the longer he stays on the run this way, the more he accepts his fate. As unmotivated as he may be to save his own life, if it's between pulling his socks up in order to avoid capture or being POSSESSED by a demon King that'll use his body for god knows what, he'll spitefully suck it up.

That's why, as Daryl begins to PICK OFF cultists as if they're little more than fleas resting atop his beloved dog, Peter is simply too shocked to look grateful. It takes the man curling his hand tight in his shirt and SHUNTING him forward to break him out of his dumbfounded stupor; he stumbles, almost tripping over his own feet, but finds his stride quickly. Though he feels airy and light-headed, eyes still traumatised and wet, he runs like somebody who's been put together since day one of this god-forsaken nightmare; a man who fears nothing.

Even when they burst out of the woods and onto solid concrete once more ( thank fuck for that ), Peter maintains a solid pace. At times like these, he misses his bike. Not because running is too much for him, but because it was much easier to put distance between himself and DISTANCE ITSELF. This road would feel so much shorter if he were whizzing down it on that.

❛ Ah— ❜ The community is shied away from despite their help. A handful of people look at him with particularly hostile faces— to the point that, when Daryl shoves him all but head-first into a tent, he's too busy being GRATEFUL to complain.

   Please, don't let them come back. I can't stand people getting into trouble for me.

With a quiet sniff: ❛ ... Peter. Peter Graham. ❜ He's trembling like he's been caught in a storm for hours, and as he collapses on the floor out of sheer exhaustion, he draws his knees in close and gently begins to rock. ❛ I'm... alone. I don't have a group. ❜ Slowly, with his palms upturned in a show of surrender, Peter slides his meagre bag from his shoulders and gingerly begins to remove the contents. A water bottle that's a mere quarter full; a faded sweater with more threads loose than a twenty year old picnic blanket; a book with a strange symbol on its front. ❛ ...I— don't even have a weapon. I just run..., ❜ admits the shaking man, his rocking intensifying somewhat as he considers just how much more vulnerable he's felt without ANYTHING. Nevertheless, it's not as if he'd ever killed anyone anyway. When he'd dropped his knife whilst retreating, it hadn't been hard to leave it behind.

                                             All for show anyways. Fuck it.

❛ ...thank you, ❜ Peter mumbles, his voice cracking. Maybe Daryl doesn't understand what he's done— even if he does so from a practical point of view, from an EMOTIONAL one Peter is most certain he's oblivious to— for him just by killing a few people and helping him escape. ❛ Thank you for helping me. Y— You're a— ❜ Good person.. He clears his throat and attempts to blink how choked up he feels away. ❛ ...I'm sorry for calling you a prick. I-I was just trying to make you mad so you'd kill me. ❜

daryl's grip on peter tightens considerably as he flails like a cornered cat, all claws and teeth, yowling for his life. if the kid wants to fight, he's certainly not going to win like this: peter may as well be caught between two trees, daryl's sturdy form giving little leeway for all of this erratic movement as his feet plant themselves firmly on the ground. if peter doesn't stop his wailing soon, he'll draw the attention of any of the dead that may be roaming around these parts— lord knows he's probably already alerted the people they're running from to their exact location. it might be mere minutes before they're found. maybe less. daryl has to make a decision quickly, and unfortunately, it's one of the most difficult choices he's had to make in a long time.

in a strange turn of events however, just as fast as peter began fighting back against him, he's given up, muscles shuddering beneath daryl's unyielding hands. blood drips slowly down peter's cheek while ragged breaths tear through his lungs— he's got no fight left in him now and it leaves daryl wondering. how long has he been running from these people? how long has he been narrowly escaping their grasp? how many people has he begged for help like this, and how many people have left him pleading for death because he'd rather it all end than be taken by those creeps?

who are they trying to... put in him? what does that even mean?

there are too many questions and not enough time to think them all through. a nearby twig snaps— daryl knows that he has to act right now. he has to make a decision with the little information he has, or they could both be killed. as he glares hard into peter's very soul, daryl puts his knife away and uses both hands to pull him roughly away from the tree. lifting his bow, a bolt is sent ripping through the air; it buries itself in the head of the nearest cultist as they come peeking out from the brush. the body falls with a sickening thump to the ground.

using the tree as cover now, daryl notches another bolt. he shoots; another body goes down. swiftly his pistol is tugged from his belt, two deafening shots taking out yet another and leaving them bleeding out in the dirt. it's now that he turns, grabbing at peter's shirt and pushing him in one direction. ‘ move, ’ he demands, guiding him with speed and purpose towards the one nearby place he knows will have the help he needs to escape this: the bridge.

at this point, peter doesn't have a choice. daryl forces him there, willingly or unwillingly, bursting through the tree line with the back of peter's shirt securely grasped in one hand. the bridge community is small, but it's teeming with life: workers of all kinds are lifting crates, moving piles of wood, shuffling things around— until the sudden disruption causes the entire operation to pause. ‘ the trees! ’ daryl shouts as he totes peter along, prompting several armed community members to scan the foliage with their weapons. any remaining cultists are either fleeing for their lives, or they're dealt with behind peter and daryl's backs as single shots pop off through the air.

several people try to stop daryl, try to ask him who the hell this kid is and what the hell just happened, but he waves them all off with an angry grunt and shoves peter into an empty tent. for a long moment daryl just looks at him, his chest rising and falling with strong, recuperating breaths. whatever this is, it's not normal. it's not terminus, it's not the saviors, it's something else entirely. something that peter has dragged him, and therefore several large communities, into. ‘ ... what's yer name, ’ daryl demands. habitually, he begins to pace slowly before peter as nervous energy courses through him. ‘ tell me. ’

[hypmicawoou]

Hi I know I've been quiet for a while, this semester has just been murder on me and I'm only just now able to catch my breath. Normally I would post this on my Twitter but I have like, actual honest-to-God Chronicles of Darkness writers on there following me and I'm trying to not embarrass myself even more than I already have. But werewolf Kokuri gives me tons of feelings!

Just. One of the things that I think is really characteristic of him is that there's a huge disconnect between what he thinks he is vs. what he can actually do. In his own head, he's this genius mastermind, and eventually the world's going to be bowing before him. But he isn't! He's a great talker but he doesn't have the patience to run longer schemes, he's too impulsive. IMO he has very little emotional intelligence as well (mostly directed at himself-- he doesn't really know how to deal with negative emotions or how to delay gratification, he's able to pick up on other peoples' and think on his feet fast enough to run short-term cons but, well, the second he has a chance to one-up someone who's insulted him in the past he goes and gloats about it and halfway gives away what his plan is.)

Anyway, the end result of this is that when he had his First Change and it turned out he was a Cahalith and not something more subtle or clever (his entire job is to be a loud, aggressive moving target) it felt like a cosmic joke on him. The prophetic dreams made things even worse because he felt like Luna was yanking him around and telling him what to do. He was banking on being an Irraka (clever and sneaky) or an Elodoth (...also clever and sneaky, but more of a social manipulator than a thief and assassin.)

So him siding with the Pure and getting rid of his Auspice was a snap decision like every other bad choice he's made in his life. But being told he was different from humans and, more importantly finally above something by sheer virtue of just being a werewolf was exactly the kind of thing he wanted to hear. The problem is he doesn't really have the dedication to commit himself to bringing back Taga Dam or even to do whatever it takes to win the way the, uh, less scrupulous Sky-Seers prefer. He's gone through four packs in the past six years and either they ran him off for being a liability or he ran off because he got irritated with them for petty reasons that he can't really place because he doesn't do much self-reflection at all.

He's been stuck with North Bastard the longest because they're...not really much in line with their own Tribes' philosophies either, and he still constantly fantasizes about being a lone wolf and telling himself that he'll ditch them too (he won't.) He's just constantly uncomfortable and agitated with where he is and what he's doing but can't place why.

If he'd stopped for a second and tried to think about why he got picked as a Cahalith and accepted it then he'd probably have been both a better person and better at what he does and on some level he knows that. He just can't admit it because he's sunk in so much to his current life and he doesn't want to face the fact he was wrong and he just made a very, very permanent choice that he'll never be able to take back now. If your Auspice is gone, it's gone forever. He might be able to ditch the Sky-Seers for the Eaters of the Dead because there's been rumors for years that Ravening Wolf will maybe, MAYBE welcome in Pure werewolves who are sufficiently contrite and genuinely regret a.) spurning Mother Moon, b.) fighting against their own "family" and c.) generally being werewolf supremacists, but that would require...well, admitting he regrets doing something. So that won't happen. ¯\_(；へ；)_/¯ That and even a lot of the Forsaken can't take the Eaters of the Dead seriously so, you know, he'd be losing some level of prestige there.

[hazbinned]

It was strange. Back when Husk had been an Overlord, Val would never have imagined... this. Even now, having owned the gambler for a while, Valentino would have laughed in the face of anyone who claimed that he'd be going to Husk for comfort of the non-sexual variety. Being able to give the pimp emotional comfort was a luxury reserved solely for Vox and Velvette, the two people in this world he trusted most.

Tonight, though, Husk was in his room. Not Vox, not Velvette. Not Angel.

Valentino teetered on the brink of fessing up or storming out of here and seeking one of the others out, but he'd already come this far, and a sideways glance down at that tail wrapped around his waist coaxed him into staying, for some God-forsaken reason.

Maybe it was because he was so tired he didn't actually want to get up. That was what he'd tell himself, at least... because it helped.

"I just can't sleep," Val hissed, rubbing his hands together.

What was he going to do, admit he'd had a nightmare? Nightmares were childish, stupid things, and Husk had no reason to be loyal to him; Valentino had ruined Husk's life. If he told him the truth now, the old cat might go yammering about it to the whole studio. Then the news might make it outside the studio, and who knows who all would learn of it there... Valentino would be the laughing stock of all Hell!

Still, the moth remained, frown tugging at his lips as he moved his hand to toy with the feathers at the tip of Husk's tail.

He shifted so his knees were under him.

"... Nothing ever gets to me. My life is great. I always sleep through the night," he complained. Not untrue; for the most part, everything he said had evidence to back it. "Maybe you're bad luck. You know what they say about cats."

prompt | Nightmares | always accepting | @hazbinned as valentino

‘I don’t think I can go back to sleep.’

♤ ~ tired eyes glanced over to the moth overlord who as disturbed his slumber. it was the middle of the night, work was hard as it was and the exhaustion trickled in like an old friend. in a soft sigh, husk moved close to valentino, a claw dragged over hand " what's wrong? why cant you go back to sleep ." moving closer, tail wrapping around the moth