#but the love is still there its simmering

[faerybella219]

I just think Gale would be so warm.

The type of warm where you sit next to him and just feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s cold when the sun goes down and all you want is heat. You bundle yourself in layers and sit next to the fire as Gale chops up vegetables and roasts meat in a pot for dinner. Every now and then your knees brush together or bump elbows. The first time it happened he lets out an “Oop, apologies,” to which you hastily reply “Oh, its alright.” Really, you thought, it’s more than alright. Since then he stopped apologizing when it happens, seemingly not paying any mind to it.

You can’t help feeling you’re a bit in the way, but your tent is a chilling place- literally. He hasn’t said anything about you being next to him, and the warmth and smell of stew is a great comfort right now. His velvet pajamas seem so comfortable in the firelight. The purple fabric, the embroidered collar and cuffs, and the matching belt which seemed to pin back an excess of fabric reflected a cool hue onto his concentrated face. His gaze seemed to drift off into the flames, the fatty pork leg you found earlier sizzling.

“Smells good,” you remark, a smile quirking your occasionally shivering face.

Gale seems to be pulled from his thoughts when he looks over at you. “Yes, it’s not everyday we’re blessed with good meat. Hopefully this fills us up tonight.”

You nod, a shudder running through you. He glances you over in concern. “A bit cold?”

“You don’t feel it?”

“Ah, no. My body tends to run a bit on the warm side. Always has. Makes me a good bed for a tressym!”

You laugh, and he continues reminiscing. “Tara loved to sit on my stomach while I read in the library. Sometimes she would even have me read to her… don’t tell her I told you that though,” he barks out a laugh before murmuring, “she would be quite embarrassed.”

You think about meeting his cat- tressym. Hopefully she likes you. You think about his library in Waterdeep. Sitting on a chaise lounge with him, your back against his warm chest while he reads to you. His hands on your waist holding you close. Would you even make it that far? The sudden silence that falls between you means Gale wonders the same.

Gale clears his throat. “Well- erm. The stew still has a bit until it’s done. Hopefully that will warm you up.”

Your backs are propped against the wood log which lays behind you. He inconspicuously scoots a bit closer and opens a book which laid on the log. You try to peer over his shoulder to see what he’s reading. There’s nothing else for you to do, and you wouldn’t mind being closer. Your gaze does not go unnoticed.

Gale glances between you and the page, and you almost notice a pink hue creeping across his cheeks. No- probably just the firelight.

“Do you happen to be interested in Menzoberranzan horticulture? I find their uses of the Green Sleep fungus especially titillating.”

You’ve never heard of it before. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, that’s only the beginning. Would you.. would you like to read with me?” Gale extends the book further in your direction in offering, looking at you expectantly.

“Sure,” you say. Scooting closer you try to remain casual and unaffected. Your sides are touching now, his on the ground with the book propped open on his legs. Gods, he’s so warm. You feel as though you’re thawing just sitting next to him.

Every now and then he looks at your face, silently asking if he can flip the page. You always just nod, finding it hard to concentrate on reading. His chest rises and falls steadily, his freshly calloused fingers occasionally point out especially interesting passages, and you relax (trying not to melt) into his side. At one point you think you might start to drift off right there, your eyes half lidded.

Suddenly the air starts to smell yummier- fuller and flavored. You realize your eyes are opening to the sight of Gale checking the contents of the pot simmering on the fire.

He turns back to you, “Well, the stew is done.”

Just as you straighten up, he hands you a full bowl. A sheepish smile crawls across his face, and surprisingly he doesn’t say anything.

[darlinluxx]

𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

angst, small amount of fluff ???

warnings : angst

summary : you two could never be friends. you’re still in love.

a/n : based off of sick by dominic fike

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he chipped mug warms your hands, the faded floral pattern a familiar comfort. it’s the same mug you always used, back when your morning routine included a shared kitchen and the lingering scent of Saebyeok’s shampoo. you look out the window, watching the city wake up, the grey light reflecting the grey knot in your stomach. she’s supposed to be here soon.

you made a promise — a promise to be friends. you’d both moved on, gone separate ways after that messy, complicated whirlwind you called “us.” but “friends” was the goal, an amicable postscript to a love that burned too bright, then flickered out. now you just need to do it. be friends.

the doorbell rings, its chime sharp and jarring in the quiet apartment. you take a deep breath, forcing a smile before you open the door. there she is, leaning against the frame, hands shoved in her pockets, the same posture you used to find so captivating. the familiar sting of recognition hits you, a punch to the chest that steals your breath.

“hey,” she says, her voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine, a shiver that has absolutely nothing to do with the chilly morning air.

“hey, Saebyeok.” you reply, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. you usher her inside, feeling strangely self-conscious of your small apartment, the same apartment she used to know so well.

she surveys the room, a flicker of something — perhaps nostalgia — crossing her face. you offer her the mug in your hands, filled with lukewarm tea. she accepts, her fingers brushing yours as she takes it. a jolt, electric and unwelcome, courses through you. it’s just a touch, barely a thing, but your body remembers. it remembers her. you remember her. too well.

you try to talk about the weather, about work, about anything that isn’t the heavy silence that seems to hang between you. you’re both being so careful, walking on eggshells made of unspoken feelings. but with every shared laugh, every accidental glance, the wall you’ve been desperately trying to build around your heart crumbles a little bit more.

she tells you about her new coworkers, how frustrating it is learning new systems. you nod, pretending to listen, but all you can hear is the way her laughter used to fill your apartment, the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours. you catch yourself staring at the way her hair falls across her forehead, the way she always pushes it back with an impatient flick of her wrist. you find yourself lost in the little details, the details you thought you’d forgotten.

the casual conversation continues, but you feel like an imposter, a fraud playing the role of a “friend.” your every word is a carefully constructed facade, each syllable a lie designed to hide the truth that simmers beneath your skin. the truth that seeing her, hearing her low voice, being in the same room as her, still makes your heart ache like it’s been wrenched from your chest.

the afternoon wears on. you share stories, your laughter echoing in the small space, a hollow imitation of the genuine joy you once shared. by the time she stands up to leave, you feel exhausted, drained from the effort of maintaining this charade.

at the door, she turns back, a hesitant smile on her lips. “this was nice.” she says, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“yeah,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “nice.”

she steps out into the hallway, and you close the door, leaning against it, your breath catching in your throat. the “friend” act was exhausting. it was too much.

you look around the apartment, now silent. the mug sits on the counter, a silent witness to your internal struggle. you know, deep down, that you can’t do this. you can’t pretend to be friends with someone you’re still so desperately in love with. you can’t be around her and not want more. you can’t handle the constant push and pull of desire and denial. you realize with a painful clarity that you can’t have this “friendship” because you still want her, want everything, in a way that being friends doesn’t allow for.

the truth hits you with the force of a tidal wave. you can’t be friends with her because you’re still hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her. and that, you know, is a war you can’t possibly win.

[k1ttycrush]

Lies

Starting off the first day of the month of love with an angsty break up one shot

Enjoy

The sun shone throw the large windows in the stone corridor as Sirius practically skipped down the long hallway. He was going to meet Remus, a thought that made his stomach squirm with anticipation a little bit. He could hardly keep the smile from his lips.

His face lit up as Remus came to view at the end of the hallway. He leaned heavily on his cane, but he still brought up his hand to wave him over with a pained smile.

“Hey, you!” Sirius said fondly, pressing a kiss to the other’s lip and placing a hand on his scarred cheek. Remus laid his hand on his.

There was a sad little crook in his eyebrow, Sirius noticed as he backed away from the kiss, keeping his hand on his cheek. Remus was not smiling either, in fact he looked troubled. Pained.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the sad face?” Sirius asked gently. He tried to lift his hand to smooth out Remus’ forehead, but Remus’ hand kept his pinned.

Remus swallowed nervously. “We should stop seeing eachother.”

Alarm bells blared in Sirius’ mind.

He backed defensively in shock, ripping his hand away from his lover’s face.

“Remus, what brought this on?”

Remus lifted his hand to gesture to himself. “You know why. You know what I am. Look at me Sirius.”

“You know that I never cared for-“ He couldn’t bring himself to say it, the words felt dirty and wrong in his mouth. “Your- your condition.”

Remus took in a deep breath. “Yes, but I care.”

“That’s ridiculous” Sirius spat.

“Oh is it!?” Remus shouted, the pain from the moon made him feel very much like a time bomb on the verge of exploding. And now, his short fuse was reaching its limit. “Must I spell it out for you Sirius?!” He gestured to his cane. “I’m a freak! I’m a defect, a fucking monster!”

“No-“

“Don’t you try to deny it because you know it’s true.”

“But-“

“My mind is made up.” Remus turned away hotly, unable to face Sirius knowing that miserable, angry, dejected look on his face was caused by him. “Please…just go.”

Just then, Sirius angrily stormed up to the man he loved. He yanked him by the collar down to his level, despite being much shorter. Simmering hurt and anger bubbled within Sirius, his skin itched with sadness and with every word from Remus’ mouth his heart cracked more and more to the point it was unbearable.

“That’s not something you decide alone!” Sirius snarled, his blood hot and pumping in his ears. “Listen, Moony, don’t do this to me. I won’t be able to forgive you.”

“Siriu-“

“No, no you listen to me now. It’s my turn. You listen to me now Remus John Lupin!” He snapped, he didn’t even care about the look of hurt that flashed within Remus’ eyes. “I don’t care what you say you are. You could look like a bumbling troll, but I love you. I love you so much Remus, nothing is going to change that. Don’t leave me, please.”

His voice grew softer, pleading, as if coaxing a frightened kitten from under a bed. Sirius tried to press a gentle kiss to Remus’ lips, and Remus froze.

He had Sirius-fucking Black begging him. In fact, begging for him to stay. He tried for so long to let him just have this. Let him love a boy and have that boy love him back, but he can’t. he just can’t! Years of self-hate compressed deep inside him swirled around deep in his belly, and the guilt took over.

Remus forced himself to roughly push Sirius away, and the other boy sputtered in confusion.

“I never loved you Sirius.” Remus lied. Part of himself protested but he just knew it had to be done. No matter how painful it was, he knew they couldn’t be together.

Sirius’ face twisted in hurt and anger. “Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare say you didn’t love me.” He yelled. “Because you know damn well you did. We were amazing together. So fucking perfect. So what’s this about? Huh?!? What is with the stupid fucking self deprecation that makes you want to burst this beautiful bubble we have?”

“You’re wrong, Black.” Remus spat his last name like an insult, and he tried to ignore the little twang of guilt in his gut at the way Sirius flinched. “We aren’t perfect, maybe you think so, but I don’t. I never did, even from the beginning, when I was taken in by you and James and Peter as the local charity case. The thuggish orphan boy who needed a place to ‘belong’.”

Sirius was deathly quiet then, a dangerous edge in his voice. “Remus, why can’t you let yourself be happy for once in your life?”

Remus’ neck tightened at the question. He straightened ever so slightly, despite his back’s protest of pain.

“If you leave right now, you’ll break my heart. And I don’t know if you’ll be able to put it back together.” Sirius warned.

Remus took a deep, steadying breath, before turning his body to the side. “Good bye, Sirius.”

And he limped away, his grip on his cane so tight his knuckles turned white, leaving Sirius to grapple with the aftereffects of a broken heart.

(Psst! Hey!! Feel free to support my ao3, where I write more fics about my favorite ships! You can find it in my bio :))

[rainybraindays]

To be loved is to be changed (derogatory)

[ratatatastic]

"Can I say something real quick though? I was worried a little bit on both of you guys going to the plate and throwing out the first pitch... 'cuz I evaluate that and a lot of people do too. And you've seen some guys that just—they don't know how to throw a ball!" "Yeah." "And they're unbelievable athletes and they don't know how to throw a ball! You guys both did the same time, you did a good job on that! But I was kind-of worried." "So I actually threw out the first pitch in Miami two years ago and I hurt—it was right after I was traded. And I had a shoulder injury, like, during the year before and first, like—we're athletes. Hockey players are great athletes! But very rarely are you, like, going out there and throwing the ball like you were with pops when you're, like, 5 years old! You don't do that anymore! So I had a shoulder injury and I'm like, 'I'm an athlete, right? Like I'll just go up to the mound and just chuck one in there, you know put a little sauce on it, whatever.' I tried to throw a little, like, oomph into it and, like, I didn't even get it to the plate from the mound! Like it's—when you don't practise and it's the first time throwing a ball, like, it was a hundred—" "Where was that?" "It was in Miami!" "Were you getting chirped?" "No, I wasn't getting chirped!" "At the Marlin's game? Nobody was there!" "It was—it was—" "No one was there, nobody saw it! It's not—" "No, I wasn't getting chirped! It was—" "You can tell everyone that it was a strike right down the middle!" "No! Somebody saw that! Some of the guys saw that and were probably like, 'Errgh...'" "It was—Yeah, whatever! But, you know, who cares! But I actually before the St. Louis one... I didn't know the setup if I was gonna be from the mound or not but I will admit that in the morning I went out in the backyard and just, like, threw 5—" "Oh, you have to!" "—just to loosen up. I'm way healthier than I was two years ago but it was just like, you know—it was fun! It was a great day!" "Did they—" "When your shoulder gets messed up though, man..." "I can't imagine these pitchers that throw so much in a year. Like they gotta be—I have a lot of respect for them. I used to be like, 'I pitch one every five days if you're a starter like whate—' If you're chucking in one hundred pitches and all your warmup and stuff like that's a tough supposed to do that—" "I don't think your shoulder is supposed to do that..." "No! And they snap it in there! Very impressive! And—" "That's why they get paid a lot of coin~ Dude, let's go 250 schmillions—" "I was gonna say that's why—yeah. Good for them!" "I know you do pretty well—" "It was cool seeing Ohtani hit a home run!* I think he's awesome! And driving around in the car before with Jayson [Tatum] like—that Ohtani's a big man."

Cam & Strick Podcast | 8.27.24 (x)(x)(x)

*funny that matthew mentions that he thought it was cool to see an ohtani moonshot irl the cardinals telecast was actually zoomed in on him in the stands before it happened so they had to cut from him to shohei trotting around the bases so its nice to know he enjoyed the sho as much as we all do XD

[redrobin-detective]

Iruma-kun, the Six Fingers and Humanity

I have been mulling over this idea for days as I devoured the Iruma-kun anime then manga and am still struggling to articulate it. The best I can boil down to is the whole goal of the Six Fingers and the return to origins is, unbeknownst to them, a desire to become more human.

I can understand, in a way, their frustration. Demons used to be merciless killers, where the strong surpassed the weak and magic, aggression and power won the day. Now we see they have idol concerts and theme parks and silly games to help demons safely purge their “wickedness” which is, in reality just another part of their nature. The majority of modern day demons deny a large part of themselves. The whole idea of a wicked cycle is endlessly fascinating to me, like this species has compartmentalized themselves so much that their pent up darker impulses periodically spring out and require them to be handled gently or hidden away. I can see how this practice is insulting and incredibly restrictive of what a demon is.

Now, right from the start, Iruma has stood out in the demon world for a few reasons. First and most obviously, he lacks any practical or cultural knowledge of demonic society. We see Iruma ignorantly stride past social norms and boundaries he didn’t even know existed. If it weren’t for his upbeat, people pleasing attitude he’d be written off as a delinquent but instead he helps foster an environment of change in a bunch of slackers and misguided students. And change is a radical concept in a society that hasn’t replaced the demon king in centuries since the old one disappeared. The effect of Iruma’s very presence, his enthusiasm and attitude and cooperative abilities can be seen so strongly on the Misfit class that its no wonder he’s become such a stand out student.

So I had heard of Irumean when I first started the series and had high expectations of him being a full on bastard. And he simply wasn’t. He was arrogant, reckless, rude at the worst but even those around him commented that his innate, unnatural kindness was still there. I argue because Irumean was never a true wicked cycle. It was Ali-san’s attempt to induce a demonic ritual onto him. But humans aren’t like demons, Iruma is a good, kind, patient boy due to his trauma and strength of character. At any point he could lash out in the most horrific fashion and leave everyone stunned because he is not bound such such strict rules of personality and conduct. His humanity is as much a strength as it is a weakness.

So according to recent chapters, Iruma has traces of Delkira’s energy. My first thought was that it was emanating from Ali-san, which is a distinct possibility but why was the ring attracted to Iruma in the first place? My next theory is that Delkira had some connection to humans as well. Either he’s a hafling or a demonized human or spent a significant amount of time in the human world. Either way, this human perspective is what made him so powerful, such an irreplaceable leader that his throne has remained empty for so long. One could even argue that the energy that the Six Fingers identify as ‘Delkira’ is actually just ‘human’ since the King’s energy is familiar while a human’s is not.

My whole round about point I’m doing a very poor job of explaining essentially boils down to, demons want to return to their origins to have more control over their baser instincts. Instincts and free will that humans, such as Iruma, possess naturally. But while Iruma has the capability for great evil, unrestrained by a set cycle, he also has such an overflowing well of love in him. Delkira, what little we’ve seen of him comes across as brash, fickle and cruel. You may note those are human traits as well. But Iruma also leads with kindness, dedication and teamwork. He will make a marvelous King because the humanity he brings to the table will help all of demonkind.

I do believe as the manga progresses we will see Iruma’s humanity become a  game changer in the battle against the Six Fingers. How he sees the world (both human and demon), how he interacts and inspires others, how he fights. Reaching a point where not only does Iruma stand up for himself but he is forced to cause harm (and by consequence addressing his people pleasing trauma) and behave in a manner not seen by demons outside of their wicked cycle. When he does, years down the road, become King, I believe he will address the concerns of factions like the Six Fingers. Demons are not meant to be fully contained but cannot be allowed to run rampant. With his feet in both worlds, I believe he will be able to balance both opposing views and ‘heal’ the underworld as the prophecy states. Not just from the instability of the Six Fingers but from this bizarre evolutionary cycle demons have fallen into over the centuries.

[heireign]

WHAT TAROT CARD ARE YOU ?

JUSTICE — what would you do to ensure justice? you know full well i don’t speak of lofty ideals and courts and magistrates, dearest. what would you do to those that hurt you? if I dropped them in your lap, what would you do? what kind of pain could you possibly inflict upon them? you are right to do so. you are right to want to do so. ignore the screaming, dearest, you are the hand of justice now, and they hurt you. do not look too closely at their faces, dearest. you are within your rights. you spell out your own rights, now. are you happy about it? are you certain that this is the right person you hold by the hair? does your anger hurt less now?

tagged by: @nonpareil

tagging: @lenfear , @wulfmaed , @oflorien , @belayadeath , @sanctamater , @lcerys , and @zalarys

[dailykugisaki]

Day 124 | id in alt

A little bit of a rematch and my opinion on why you never see Mai's six(seven) shooter again.

Read from left to right.

[slumbering-shadows]

Personally I think the appeal of the Folk Of The Air series (or the cruel prince, whichever you call it) is that the protagonist is just straight up fucked up. Like she's not as outwardly bastardly as darling Kaz Brekker (another groundbreaking protagonist, imo) but Jude Duarte is 12 shades of Horrible and she is mostly unapologetic about it. She's like 17 years old and has a shockingly high body count. She stole a whole ass kingdom. She almost murdered her own sister over a boy. She poisons herself willingly. She watched her parents die in front of her and is more upset that the man who killed them won't take her seriously than the fact that HE KILLED HER PARENTS IN FRONT OF HER. (daaaad you just don't UNDERSTAND). She spent her whole life learning how to read between the lines to avoid shitty faerie bargains and misses a super obvious one because she thinks her boyfriend (husband??) just dumped her so she watches Yuri On Ice with a pint of Ice cream and cries about it. She beat the shit out of a cannibalistic ex General with a rusty metal pipe with such ferocity that said cannibal became one of her most trusted advisors. Everything she does is deeply fucked up and cool and also reeks of the rage that somehow builds up when you are, tragically, a like 17 year old girl. Her twin sister is supposedly so much more calm and collected and well adjusted until one day she shows up in tears like "help I killed my husband that you hate" just straight up stabbed him one day. Because she is also suffering from being a like 17 year old girl. It's so funny. I love these books.

[newtafterdark]

"Hey Newt - how are you feeling after watching "Netflix One Piece"?"

[cakepoppresent]

You'll be iight 2

Luna pushes everyone to make room for Vaghun as he takes his seat. Veronica gives one last look at Vaguhn before heading downstairs. The remaining members stare straight at Vaughn, excited to hear everything about this new relationship. (Not Malcolm tho he is disgusted)

Vaughn: You guys look very excited you can ask me anything I'm an open book

Malcolm: How about you start by explaining wtf you want with Veroinca you long-limbed loser!

Vaughn: Wow did Veronica teach you that?

Malcolm: Answer the question!

Vaughn: I want to be with Veronica

"I grew up around women like Veronica so it's more that I'm used to it. One time we were out and I got close to her face and tried to be romantic. Instead of going with the moment, she told me my breath stinks and I need a breath mint. I've never experienced that in my life"

Everyone barks out in laughter at the thought of Vaghun being shut down like that. Of course, Veronica would say that she has no flitter

Grayson: I'm so sorry but that is so fucking funny

Sams: That definitely sounds like her

Luna: Jesus, that's brutal

Malcolm enjoyed that little tidbit at least Veronica stays humbling this long loser.

Luna: I'm sure she's said some worse things to you.

Vaghun: She has, but that's what draws me to her. She is funny, honest and kind in her own sorta way. She's everything.

Grayson: Still! That is so funny.

Vaughn: I'm happy to share more stories of Veronica. She's very cute when she wants to be

Luna: I'm happy you guys get along so well. Not many men are interested in her attitude

Vaughn: I can assure you it's not a problem for me

The group continues to talk among themselves sharing stories of Veronica's instances of complete disrespect to people she has no interest in. Finally, Malcolm is over the night and decides to leave right as Benji arrives "I'll be watching you. You better not do anything stupid"

Vaughn: No worries Malcolm. You can watch all you want

Malcolm: I will! the moment you slip up and hurt Veronica I'll be right there to beat your ass!

Vaughn: Well it's a good thing I don't plan on hurting Veronica.

Malcolm: Whatever, let go Benji I'm tired

Benji: See you around Vaghun

Veronica is still outta sight. Vaghun finally finds her downstairs playing around on her phone "You really left me to fend for myself"

Veronica: Looks like you came out unscathed

Vaughn: I thought Malcolm was going to eat me alive

Veronica: He'll be okay

Vaughn: So did I pass?

Veronica: This wasn't a test you loser

Vaughn: Hmm...I still think I passed

Veronica: Whatever you weirdo"

Previous - Next

[fardf150]

fuck

[meatriarchived2]

one of my random favorite little tidbits abt coldcase/nosy au ch2 era is knowing that johnny taught maria over those near 20 years how to use his hunting rifle and i just think its at least a Little Scary a Little Heartbreaking to imagine re-meeting your sunshine friend who you've believed to be Dead for Years at that point, realizing that holy shit shes alive, but then getting a warning shot at your feet from one of the windows / balconies / etc bc its now Her Home Too theyre trespassing on and shes got a family to keep safe and for all she knows, and by the looks of things, theyre a Threat-

.

[cosmicallymundane]

twitter is SO cynical about paralives development its almost funny

[recycledraccoon]

What happens next? What happens when The Bad Kids do what they do best and save the world? What happens when the RAGE is suddenly gone?

Would they ashamed of themselves? Of what they did? Of who they became?

.

.

You were a naive teenage freshman, and two teachers you trusted were manipulating you into a monster. You didn't notice, distracted by typical teenage problems and petty insecurities. You didn't fight it. You walked willingly down the easy path and became pawns in their grand plan.

You know how it started. This is how it ends.

(YOU HATE THEM THEY ARE IN YOUR WAY AND YOU ARE GOING TO KILL THEM AND PROVE YOURSELF BETTER FINALLY! THERE IS NO MORE WAITING YOU ARE CROSSING BLADES AND FLINGING SPELLS WITH UNRELENTING WRATH AND DEADLY INTENTIONS-)

They fight you. Their teamwork is flawless in a way your party's has never been. Their awareness of the battlefield and their control over it makes it all the more apparent that this battle is a raging wild thunderstorm trying to break apart a mountain standing tall and insurmountable. The mountain does not so much as bend, for all that you blast holes and carve deep into the rock. The mountain does not bend, nor bow, much less-

The storm will always break first.

It ends like this-

(WHY ISNT THIS WORKING WHY ARE THEY STILL FIGHTING THEY WONT DIE THEYWONTDIETHEYWONT-PAIN. IT HURTS! IT HURTS! NO!! NO NO NONONOPAINNOPAINNOPAINNOPAI-)

You die.

.

.

.

.

Dying like this is vengeance. It is retribution.

.

.

.

But it is not JUSTICE.

.

.

.

Let's try again.

You wake up.

(Doubt shepherds you back through the dark.

Justice and Conviction, like sunlight warm and golden, breaks over the horizon.

The rage implanted inside you dissolves into golden light to join the dawn.)

You are a Dragonborn, no longer little or weak by any means, but it still feels like nothing ever changed at all from that very first day. You feel very small, rubbing at a chest that is incredibly tender and sore.

Before your blurry eyes, are The Bad Kids. Battered, bruised, bloody. Standing tall, heroic, and undefeated.

The Cleric of Doubt and Paladin of Justice both have brought you back to breathing, and you watch in awe and horror as all of your friends are awake too.

Idly, you realise they also rub at their chests near immediately. You look down and find no red star-like gem of rage embedded there. Only ugly, fully healed scars like a jagged star.

(What have you done?)

Later, there will be questions and officials and repercussions. Justice for you will look like second chances, and the hard unending road of righting the wrongs you have done.

Death is the easy way out.

Redemption is hard.

For right now, the heroes before you are wearily celebrating, cracking jokes and rubbing blood off their faces. All the while your party is still gathering your bearings, and you have no idea where your glasses are.

Shame rolls in your gut and even as you and your friends sit together you can barely look at each other.

Finally, words are exchanged, a clearing of the board. It doesn't fix anything of what you've done, but you know without doubt if you ever try anything again they will not bring you back a second time. You settle in to wait for whatever authorities will be coming.

(Later, while you are in a cell waiting to find out what happens next, your party will be told that the friend you killed was brought back, the curse preventing her revival broken. You are not the only one in those cells to weep, loud and ugly and so so relieved.)

A pair of cracked glasses appear in front of you, held by a hand with bloody knuckles. You put them on, blink as you adjust to the cracked glass but vision once more clear. You see the bloody knuckles again, and with a jolt realize those are the hands that killed you. You died under the crunch of a furious fist you never anticipated.

You look up.

When you saw her for the first time, she was a cute, if sometimes awkward, elven girl in your Thursday classes. You kept seeing her, even as she became renowned and remarkable, even as you had been slowly getting angrier.

The first time she ever smiled at you, you had hated her already. She had been very pretty, and if you had been anything less than actively planning to kill her, you think her expert spell craft but awkward stumbling of words and red cheeks would have left you utterly enchanted in truth.

Later, before you fight and die, the look she gives you is cold and piercing, determined. The only red on her cheeks is blood that had splattered there.

You look up.

The Elven Oracle, the most powerful divination wizard you have ever met or will ever meet again, stands towering above you for all that you know logically she is at least a foot shorter than you.

Her blonde hair is a mess, clothes dirty and ripped and stained dark in some places. Her eyes flicker with the magic of the powerful Oracle she is, as she stares down at you.

(You wonder what she sees about you in those flickers.)

She frowns, lips pursed for a moment, but her hands clench and you think for moment she might punch you to death again. Or yell at you maybe, but is biting her tongue.

Instead, with one last look of piercingly cold eyes that could kill, she turns to join her friends, leaving you behind without hesitation or second thought, or even a last word.

(Good for her.)

You are a horrible coward. Selfish and capable of cruelty that makes your shame increase tenfold. She had smiled at you and chilled a drink in your hand. She defended you and called you cool to her friends that day in the cafeteria. You took advantage of that, of those tender early feelings, and crushed them under an angry, undeservingly bitter, heel.

You are a horrible selfish coward, and you don't think you've ever seen anyone more beautiful in your life than her, even as she walks away from you.

You can't ever imagine she will ever smile at you again now. What future will there ever be, where she sees you and her eyes aren't cold and scornful? Nothing more than a bitter memory to be forgotten and set aside for better things. How could she ever see anything you say or do as genuine ever again? You certainly wouldn't.

(The way your heart pounds in your chest, fast and heavy, feels like yet another sin on your sagging scaled shoulders. There is an intense moment of painful, shameful yearning that you swallow down, down, down and away. Watching her back as she walks away will be more than you ever deserve to have gotten in the first place. More than you think you will ever deserve again in whatever life you scrap together after this.)

Life, as ever, continues after that day like it always has and always will.

You go to prison for a time, as what you and your friends did as minors- manipulated or not- are legally responsible for in the aftermath is decided. You go to therapy, serve a very forgiving sentence, and when you go on parole your time is eaten up by both mandatory and voluntary community service.

You try to get better. To be better. You think you and your party are true friends now, bound together by bitter shame at what you've all done and gone through together.

(The first person who visits your party while in prison who isn't a member of any of your families, is Lucy Frostblade. Even as a Cleric of a Sorrowful God, you don't think you've ever seen her more sad than sitting across from all of you, warded glass between. There are no apologies that will ever be enough.

But Lucy has always, always been braver and stronger than any of you. The power of her conviction is something wondrous.

She always tried to be that fire to keep the cold and dark at bay, even as it risked burning her. By all the gods, you had burned her to ash, and yet here she is again. Alive and renewed. A campfire relit and flickering in the distance, promising safety and warmth.

Despite everything, Lucy sits across from all of you and promises to see you through this.)

Days go by. Never again are the seven of you known as The Rat Grinders, except in past tense when speaking the history of your sins. You don't go back to being High Five Heros, but you grow into something new together.

You still fight rage some days. It makes you feel sick and scared. You always are afraid of what is genuine emotion and what is lingering from the star-scar on your chest.

You still think about her sometimes.

(Selfishly you hope you are a distant memory to her, and she never thinks of you and your cruelty to her again. Even more selfishly, even more shamefully, there is a tiny part in your heart where you wish she doesn't forget you like you know you won't forget her. It's better to smother that part of your heart into deeper and deeper depths, hoping beyond hope that painful yearning doesn't overcome you and cause it to rise up again. She deserves a life without having to deal with people like you.)

The thing about The Bad Kids, is how ironic their name is given how genuinely and unabashedly good they are.

Lucy remains their friend, even as she helps the rest of them on their steady journey back from evil.

This means it's inevitable that the two once rival parties meet again. It's awkward at first, but The Bad Kids give them shit and rag on them as easily as they extend kindness. You will meet more people and realize that you are not the first villains in their lives they've forgiven.

You give the beautiful Elven Oracle as a sincere apology for the past as you can. She quirks an eyebrow at you, and as lovely a sight as it is, the shame is greater. You don't know if she believes you in the slightest. You don't want to find out.

You do your best to not bother her at all, on the occasions the two parties meet.

(Try as you might, you are powerless to stop your eyes from locking onto her the second she enters any room you are in. You always look away as quickly and casually as you can, frazzled heart pounding like a traitor. It's harder to not watch whenever she walks away, the memory of the day she walked away from you locked in your mind like crystal glass.)

You keep moving forward. Life goes on. You keep a pair of cracked spectacles in a box in your closet. On the bad days, when you hate yourself the most, you look and remember that you have been given kindness and a second chance by people who hated you. If they gave you a second chance, you feel it would be in poor taste to not extend yourself that same courtesy.

You and your friends become legally speaking, free souls. You get qualifications and find work that feels right for you. There are some things you and your friends never joke about again, but you find new things to fill in those gaps.

You move on. You're not sure if it's working sometimes, but you keep moving anyway. Relationships become easier, you try new things and meet more people. You have a whole life left to live. One day you find yourself capable and confident, which is a bit of a surprise. You try every day to be as sincere and honest as you can.

(Sometimes, you feel a powerful, almost familiar, gaze on you. You were a coward once. You never took on a quest you thought you couldn't beat, the fear of failure hanging above too great. It's been a long time, and you are a very different person now. You are still too much of a coward to ever turn around to find that gaze.)

One day, you agree to go do a job as a favor to a friend. Your field is specialized, and you enjoy working in a field that makes your brain work, writing out pages and pages of complicated maths and spell work. Either way, you have the qualifications and are confident you can get it done and settled far faster and better than anyone else your friend could have asked.

You go to the job, and are caught off guard and flustered when there happens to be a beautiful Elven woman also working on the project. She looks up at you with a powerful gaze, a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that feels a little like a challenge, a dare.

(You want to run away, hide, calm the heart that you find to be a selfish, shameful traitor even after all this time. It pounds in your chest hard enough your afraid it might just kill you.)

You walk in to get started, hands already reaching for a folder of information being handed to you from a college as you gets the run down, ready to work.

Minor thoughts on Oisin and how he seems primed to fuck over Adaine specifically. The flustered ping-pong balls that were a plan all along. The quoting her own words on the previous Elven Oracle back at her in regards to the storm.

I mean...imagine you're a skinny little dragonborn wizard, in a class with a cute elven girl. You don't talk to her, but one of your adventuring party members is pissing thinking that party is getting preferential treatment, so you KNOW about her. You watch from the corner of your eye or from a spot on the back of the class whenever she's actually there. Partway through the year she goes to jail, and when she comes back she and her adventuring party save the world from a dragon. (A dragon of whom your Grandmother had been fond. ((Also, coincidentally, the Vice Principal.))) One of them created a god.

(Your entire party is being groomed into rage by two of your teachers.)

You're in her class again. She is the Elven Oracle, already an accomplished adventurer. She and her friends are popular. She's very pretty. She does not know your name. She does not know who you are, just a skinny dragonborn a few seats back.

You go on your Sophomores Year Spring Break Adventure and don't bother to think about her party at all.

(You and your party are going to kill a god. Your teacher is going to ascend to godhood in their place and you and your party will have Made That Happen. You are angry and determined with each final blow you deal.)

You return from Spring Break angry and with a sore chest.

You find out the elven girl's party has resurrected a dead god and the live streamed the entire fight. They must think they're so much better than you and your party. You'll show them.

(Your friend refuses to change her faith. She cancels the paperwork. The rest of you kill her, confident she will make the right choice and join you again as a proper Champion for your new god. You help kill her. She does not get back up. You hide the body and none of you can say anything. You're so so angry.)

The world descended into darkness and you can do nothing. The sun finally breaks across the sky again right before Junior year. You and your party have made plans and are on the cusp of greatness. You've gained muscles to spare and ink on your scales in carefully selected runes, no longer just a skinny little dragonborn.

(You have a new cleric. He's not your friend. He's a haystack hick from that cult-church from Freshman year, and he's here because the god you're going to kill needs a Champion and he fits the bill, nothing more.)

The first day of school the plan starts to be put in motion. Immediately that party of kids is interfering, in your way. It rackles. You push on anyway, seething inside even as you act the part of being reasonable.

You go to a party at the houses of one of her friends. You've been practicing making spell runes on the inside of ping-pong balls. You're ready.

The pretty Elven girl in your class finally looks at you. She approaches you, gives you a drink, and chills it in your hand. She has to ask your name. You have shared certain wizarding classes with her since Freshman year, tho she was barely there. You have to tell her that.

You chat. She clearly gets flustered, calls you great, and flees back into the house. Your friend teases you for others to overhear. It's a convenient excuse to use your geometry and apply physics to miss every single shot and lay your trap. The drink isn't so perfectly chilled in your hand anymore.

(You talk to her. Play nice. She isn't smooth, but she smiled at you and maybe a part of you is vindictive in seeing her flustered. It's a shame she turned down the diamonds, as dragon madness would have been so poetic. You steal her summons to steal something from the house. She didn't know your name. Didn't remember you. You feel justified. Your anger burns cold like frostbite, like static in the air. You purposely don't wonder if that first miss was intentional or genuine.)

You see each other in class sometimes.

You plot and kill monsters the woods. You will win the battle. You will win the war.

Your parties have a standoff in the cafeteria. You play your part to diffuse the situation, your teacher has been harping on your friends to stop antagonizing the other party. You feel her mind touch yours gentle probing of intentions, her friends all around her as you lock eyes.

(The devil's honey your group gets from that bee girl all goes to your teacher. He is preparing himself to ascend to godhood, and he needs it for his prayers.)

She is searching for your intentions and feelings. You tell her only 'Sorry'. She believes you. You are not entirely sure why. She and her party will hopefully die during their Last Stand exam, and have no way to revive themselves in time, be trapped there until after elections.

Maybe she just wasn't perceptive enough to see the deception.

(You hate her and all her friends. You have had no devil's honey. She believes you. Briefly, you wonder if it was a lie at all.)

They catch you. They know. Your team goes to ground and waits out the remaining days 'til elections and the culmination of everything you've been working for.

It rains at the party, and you have no more masks. You are angry. She must never have been that good of an Oracle at all, and you take joy in mocking her with her own words from long ago.

She's nothing more than an elven girl in your class who was full of herself to remember your name.

(There is nothing left now to stop you from being as openly angry as you like.)

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (One)

Note: I'm having the WORST writer's block now so pls excuse my lack of proper writing... I'm currently sitting in front of a beach writing in hopes that ill gain inspo

CW: Angst, mentions of sex, jealous/possessive Simon, PLS DONT LEAVE YOUR KIDS IN THE CAR !!! Or break into someone’s house

Inspired by: Ex!Husband Simon

PART TWO

Simon stared at you. The shades of his eyes simmering into endless voids of obsidian, blonde lashes moulded against his greased lids, the residue of the perpetual torture his body had succumbed to during deployment.

“You want a divorce?” He spoke, voice deep as he flickered between your shaking heads, sweat soiling into the papers gripped firmly and your swollen face, cheeks feverish with a red hue, eyes even more so.

You held back a rough sob, throat stripped of all moisture evident in your hoarse voice as you spoke, “Yes, Simon. I think it would be best for our family… for us.”

He scoffed. “You think the best thing for our family is to separate?”

“We already pretty much are. You’re away for days, weeks, months at a time. We’re hardly a family and it’s difficult to explain to the children why I’m crying.”

“Ok then.”

That was it. You would admit, it stung. His lacklustre tone felt like a stab in the gut, the blade drenched with anthrax as it reared blistering sores internally, the effects having shown through your putrid complexion. Your skin was dull, practically lifeless, the only living form of you grew day by day through the darkening of eyebags that almost made you look apocalyptic.

It had been 12 months of separation, officially 8 being legally divorced. You kept his last name, the permanent burn of hearing Mrs Riley still searing through you with every syllable, yet you feel it would only hurt you more if they said Ms.

Simon was often away now, and the minimal family time he used to get felt pointless as the shabby apartment he moved into after the sudden interference of your mind-boggling news barely fit the two kids you shared. His body felt more relentless on him, the taunting of his mind fulgurated the inoperative reality that he would come home to you, to his family.

His voice, almost like it dropped an octave had grown richer in aggression, tormenting those he deemed suitable, both with his tongue and with his bruised knuckles, an oil painting of blue and purple hues radiating across the pale flesh as he shrugged it off to his team as “pushing himself and others to do better”.

Couldn’t you realise your mistake? Wouldn’t you prefer crying in his arms about his absence than never having it fulfilled again?

As he looked around the bleak environment, tan stained walls revolting the creaking mattress he had brought someone home to, someone who wasn’t you. It made him feel sick like a viral infection had slunk its way into his bloodstream as he laid next to a woman that failed to make his cock throb, endless images of you sprawled out under him flickering. No wonder he called out your name instead.

You felt the familiar shake of your hands every time your phone dinged; Simon’s dreary tone was evident through his dry “On the way” text. You ushered a day of your children’s life into their cartoon-themed backpacks, innocent smiles adorning their skin, doe-like eyes of brown, far too familiar to Simon’s staring up at you.

The sound of his car scraping into your paved driveway almost made you feel like throwing up, the nerves of seeing him combined with the already present pit of anxiety due to your date later turning you into one big shaky mess as you brushed it off as “too much caffeine”.

The echo of his car door slamming shut rung through your ears, staining you with the reiteration that your ex-husband was now at your door, heavy fists knocking upon the wood. The image you saw of him in your mind morphed back to reality as you stared at him, a blank expression on your face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Simon.”

Your frown was clear, the pet name you were so used to becoming a distant memory in the past few months. It was a hole you were attempting to fill, to clear yourself away from his teasing tongue and faux impression of a healthy relationship. You were divorced for a reason, you knew that, but as you gazed upon the lack of life in his skin, it was almost like he was holding a mirror up to you.

“Daddy!” You watched as your 5-year-old, Ella, practically leapt into his hefty frame, his hands coiling around her like second nature. You could feel his warmth, the heat that would build in your stomach when you felt those same digits touch you.

“Hi sweetheart,” his voice gruff, yet tone lighter as he placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her forehead, “You miss me?”

She nodded, her face buried in the hem of his neck as your other child cooed from the bouncy chair, tubby legs attempting to wheel himself to the door.

“There’s my boy,” Simon practically cooed as he placed Ella down, bounding inside as he lifted the toddler out, grabby arms reaching out to pull at Simon’s locks, gentle tugs causing you to laugh.

Your voice cut through the scene like glass. Why would you want to destroy such a happy moment? Weren’t you supposed to be reuniting? Just say it, tell Simon you want him to come home, that you need him.

“This is Ella’s bag,” you speak, holding up the pink Minnie Mouse bag, “And this is Toby’s.” Your son giggled as he muffled out the words, “Transformers”.

Simon nodded, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Ella practically screeched, “Mummy’s going on a date!” The thrill of her laughter that followed only seemed to make the situation more awkward.

“A date?” Simon’s voice was deadly, the hair raising on your arms as you shook your head, a tight smile on your suddenly dry lips.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just catching up with an old colleague of mine.”

“But he’s a boy, Mummy,” Ella giggled. Who was raising your daughter to be such a big mouth? Your face formed an annoyed look, eyebrows raising as a line of wrinkles crinkled against your forehead, your pointer fingers massaging your temples.

“An old colleague?” Simon practically gasped. Had he met him at your old work Xmas parties?

“Let’s get you guys in the car.” You fumbled with Toby’s car seat as you strapped him in, your nimble fingers shaking with anxiety before you shut the door, pressing a kiss against the window before wiping away the minimal residue of dirt. Gross.

“Who is he?” His tone was acerbic like he was looking for an argument. How dare you try and replace him? He was your husband, the father of your two kids? Have you seen this random man before? Had he fucked you?

“God, Simon-“

“Who is he?” Simon was relentless, bullying his way into getting the answers as his arms folded across his chest, tattoos practically screaming at you too.

“His name’s Andrew. I ran into him at a coffee shop a few weeks back and he just wanted to catch up. That’s it.”

A loud scoff sounded in the air. “You mean that geezer from that corporate job you hated? The one who didn’t know it was weird to blatantly stare down your dress when you were standing next to your fucking husband?”

“He didn’t stare down my dress! You’re not my husband anymore, Simon. I can see who I want.”

“I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they have multiple dads.”

You’ll admit, that stung.

“Multiple dads? You’re out of your mind. The only reason they would ever believe they have multiple dads is if their real one stopped showing up. And where have you been, Simon? When have you shown up?”

Simon held his tongue, the warmth of the metallic taste gashing through his teeth as he practically snarled past you. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

The dress you wore was practically suffocating you as you tucked your stomach in. Simon never minded the change in your figure after motherhood, he found himself liking it even more. He loved knowing that his seed put you through that, that he made you swell with his children, and he brought out the glow in your cheeks and the delicate stretch marks that laced your hips.

Andrew was nice. His tone was comforting as he walked to your door, ushering you to his car as he insisted you could order whatever you wanted. He was handsome, the salt and pepper hues of his hair settling your insecurity.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir,” he spoke, looking at you with an almost arrogant sheer in his blue eyes. You only liked white. Simon knew that just like he knew everything about y-

You’re not with Simon anymore. You had to realise that. Maybe that’s why you brought Andrew home, let him shove his cock (that was a lot smaller than what you were used to) inside your heat, as you let out moans you had mimicked from the porn you watched with the actor that resembled far too much of your ex-husband.

Simon's fingers gripped the steering wheel early the next morning, your two children snuggled up in the backseat as he drove back to his old house, your old home. He wasn’t a man who gave up easy, he would show you, prove to you that you made a mistake. You needed each other.

Hold on. You don’t drive a red car?

His car lurched into the entrance of your home, nearly ramming into the garage as he shoved it in park, rolling down the two back windows slightly for air as he dug around in the small side compartment of his car.

The familiar gold key he had stolen from you the night he packed up all his stuff stared back at him, practically egging him on. Go on Simon, march in there. So he did. His hand rattled against the door knob, glancing back to peak into the car for a second before he slammed the door shut.

Your body froze. Were you being robbed? No. It was only Simon. A very angry-looking Simon. You stood, the white sheet barely shielding your naked body as he took in the sight of the man next to you, his hands wrapping around his shoulders as he practically ripped him out of bed, flinging him onto the floor as he grunted, eyes reared with hatred.

“Simon, what the fuck are you doing? WHERE ARE THE KIDS?”

Andrew groaned, on the floor, covering his groin as Simon chucked the masculine clothes at his head, the thin boxers soiled across the man’s scalp as he trembled.

“Our kids are asleep in the car, waiting for their Mummy to come to the zoo with them.” Simon’s words were despicable, laced with an acrimonious tone, small particles of spit seething through his lips as stared at you.

He turned to the man, a giant frame staggering over the top of him. “Get the fuck out, and if you wake up our kids when you go past, I will personally put a bullet straight in the middle of your skull,” he said, pushing a thick digit against his forehead as Andrew rushed out, clothes barely on before you felt the front door shut, a cry of apologises leaving your lips as you tried to assist him but Simon only held you back, a tight grip coiling around your arm.

“What the fuck was that? How’d you get in?” You couldn’t even place the words to say, humiliation roaring through you as you snuggled the sheet closer to you, away from his peering eyes.

“It’s time to be a family again, don’t you think love?”