#day 2! Prompt: angst

[executivenerd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield, Claire Redfield/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield, Sherry Birkin, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil), Rebecca Chambers, Jill Valentine Additional Tags: cleonsongweek!, cleonsongweek, Song: The Night We Met (Lord Huron), Song Lyrics, Song fic, Title from a Lord Huron Song, Inspired by a Lord Huron Song, Angst, Angst and Romance, Heavy Angst Summary:

Claire and Leon look back through their broken relationship.

Based on The Night We Met by Lord Huron

[poppy-s-rampage]

Chapter 2: Welcome to Gotham!

Warnings: A little bit of blood, breakdown and emotional distress.

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Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

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After finally closing up the last wound, Clockwork took a moment to look over his work. All of the young Halfa’s wounds have been sealed and treated with diluted ectoplasm. It was only enough to make the injuries look a week old at best but it will have to do.

The Ancient lifted his staff and in one swift movement ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. CW then carefully cradled Danny in his arms. Then both the Ancient and the Halfa stepped into the portal.

On the other side, they were met with an emaciated woman clad in a red and black Victorian dress accompanied by a small rose decorated matching hat. In her hand a small umbrella made of lace and what seemed to be black clouds. 

Her delicate snow white skin furrowed by ink black veins. Her blood red lips striking against the pallor of her face were pursed in worry. Her eyes, even while covered by her laced black veil, didn’t hide her apprehension.

The woman’s dress’s neckline was fashioned in the silhouette of a bat. Pearls scattered like falling stars across the red and black folds of the garment. Her waist encased in a tight bodice was embellished by small golden coins and feathers. The red fishtail spilling on the ground lazily trailing after its mistress.

The woman bowed her head, greeting the Ancient and his charge.

“Lord Clockwork.” Her raspy yet somehow suave voice resonated into the night.

“Lady Gotham.” He responded while slightly dipping his head down.

The city spirit glanced at the boy in the other’s arm. His bandaged form and torn clothes were not what first captured her attention. What truly horrified her was the state of the young Halfa’s core. Wrapped and cracked, barely a breath away from breaking and ceasing to exist.

Her own aching at the view, screaming at her to take the boy, wrap him in a bundle of blankets and nurse/guard him until at full health.

Being ended was reserved to the lowest of the low. It was a last resort that should only be used should the offender be irredeemable and too dangerous to be contained. To think that this almost happened and still could to her own king and one so young.

It was nauseating.

Lady Gotham forced herself to look away, turning her attention back to Clockwork.

“I assume he is the charge you want to bring into my care.”

“He is.” Clockwork responded.

The woman nodded, the smoke and black clouds in her umbrella spreading around her.

“Then if you will follow me.”

Lady Gotham faded and became one with the smog. The black mass zooming towards Midtown Gotham, the ancient of time on its heels.

They soon arrived in front of a small but clean apartment building. The two ghosts phased through the wall of the top floor only to be greeted by the view of a spacious yet cozy loft.

The unit was furnished with all the necessary furniture, non-ecto-contaminated food already stocked in the fridge. The space was designed in order to facilitate Daniel’s recovery. The boy would already be going through hell with his recovery and grief; it was best not to add insult to injury.

The city spirit having taken back physical form, leads Clockwork towards the bed on the second floor of the loft.

Once inside, the Ancient carefully sets Danny down on the bed and slowly covers him with a soft blanket. He then produced a pen and a neon green notepad from who knows where and started writing.

Lady Gotham approached the ghost.

“Lord ClockWork, pardon my intrusion, but wouldn’t it be best for you to explain the situation to the young king face to face.”

Clockwork paused.

“Young Daniel is too unstable to be dealing with the emotional distress my presence would bring. He has been hurt enough as it is.”

“Those excuses are nothing but the words of a coward.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are not. Are you truly running away in order to protect the boy or are you doing so to save yourself?”

“…”

“Tell me, Lord Clockwork. When the young king awakens, would he prefer to be met with an insincere apology letter from a coward or the genuine words of a man admitting to his mistakes?”

Clockwork couldn’t even utter a word.He didn’t have any excuse to defend himself. The city spirit was right.

“Your words are as sharp as ever, old friend.”

“I speak nothing but the truth, Master of Time. However, it seems to me that you are already set on your decision.”

“I-”

“I hope in your interest that you made the right choice.” The Lady snapped.

The woman turned away but not without leaving a few departing words.

“Or that at least you are prepared to face the consequences.”

Lady Gotham disappeared in a whirlwind of smog.

Clock work turned back to Daniel watching as his face scrunched up when the old ghost brushed a strand of hair away from his face.

His old core flared with parental love.

He looked so peaceful, as if nothing ever went wrong. However, In just a few hours, he would wake up and reality would come crashing down.

His bright and joyous protegee. The one he couldn’t help but adore every version of. The one he subconsciously adopted as his own child.

Clockwork couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to face the hatred and pain his pupil would inevitably direct at him.

Gotham was right.

The Master of Time set down the notepad on the night table

He was a coward.

—-------

*A few hours later*

As the first few rays of sunshine broke through Gotham’s thick smog, a young black and white haired boy slowly woke up from his slumber.

It was comfortable, the soft fluffy blanket brushing against his achy skin. The warmth that comes with being cocooned in the safety of your own bed. Danny didn’t want to open his eyes. But he needed to wake up, in just a few moments Jazz would come knocking at his door to drag him to school.

The soft familiar knock never came, but the memories sure did.

Danny snapped his eyes open. Tears threatening to fall.

Clockwork -LiaR- ,the reveal, the capture -BeTraYaL-, the experiments -PaIN-, Jazz, Sam, Tucker,-PAINPAINPAIN mY FauLT- the wails, blood, explosion, death -MurDEreR!-, pain, Core breaking, burning, melting- PAIN PAIN PAIN! I ShOuLD be DeAD!-.

The Halfa now fully awake kicked the blanket enveloping him away and tried to get out of the bed.

His legs still injured and unable to support his weight gave out and he collapsed on the wooden floor in a heap.

The sharp pain of jolting his injuries and face planting further cemented to Danny that he wasn’t dreaming and that the nightmare was fully real.

“...no…NONONONONONO! Please, no! Please! I BEG YOU! PLEASE! JAZZ, TUCK, SAM PLEASE! DONT BE REAL! PLEASE!” Danny tried to say, but the only thing that came out were erratic breaths that could vaguely be associated with words. His damaged throat made it impossible to even breathe without it flaring in pain.

Choked and pained sobs filled the once silent room.

The young Halfa still collapsed on the floor cried , slowly curling up on himself hugging his knees.

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Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

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See you next time!

[whentheleahvesfall]

Hero & Partner Week - Day 2 - Evolution

Writing (Diary Entry)

A dark, everglowing night. One that I've grown so accustomed to that it stands to reason that it remains the same ever since you left me Sprout. How long has it been? Days? Weeks? ...I've lost count of it all at this point.

Not that... it makes much difference anyway in the grand scheme of this world. I mean, who would even remember it anymore anyway? Me? The sole member of the Kipsaurs left? The one who keeps you in my mind so much that ever since you disappeared, I've felt hollow and well... lost? I don't know what's real and what's not anymore at this rate.

...

So um... I guess I'll write about what's it been like since you left. Um... well, as things stand, here in the Expedition Society - and in Lively Town in general - life has been progressing slowly. For what it's worth, I guess the people in town still look at me as someone helpful. I am a person who does look out for Pokemon in need! But... who's to say I'm the one who needs help? Heh, the hero of the world, the human who came from another era to save this one in the present and now it's all just... gone. And here I am. Now the one who needs saving after all this time. I just... don't really know what I'm missing from myself. Yet as time ticks away, does it make much difference anymore? I don't even know.

...

There's my reflection in the window. Staring back at me is the one person I don't want to see, and it's a Mudkip with a gnawed scar scraped over his right eye. With that stare, I remember a dream coming back to me. You were there. In it, I feel a fleeting feeling come and go, mostly from a reminiscence of when I tried to fight for the world's safety and then... there was a point where I snapped and I ran. I ran away so so fast that it was back in Serene Village and you raced to find me in the spot we would meet up in so much.

The place I said goodbye to you.

The place I wore this scarf as a way of remembering you.

The place where we formed our team, we laughed, we made a promise to each other and the place we cried together.

The place of the beginning and the end. Up there... on the hill with the big tree and with it, the most beautiful view of the valley I've ever seen in my life.

For however long it’s been, I’ve had a lot times together with you in my mind Sprout. A lot of memories. But those memories… slowly begin to fade away as I run away from who I am. Who I’ve become inside.

And you were there in my dream… to tell me to keep moving. You looked at me, those caring eyes of yours, and you stayed behind. To protect me from the demons that were created from my nightmares.

But why? To why were you even here, just looking at me like that? Did I even manage to do something that would warrant any form of recognition? Why would… or rather why would… you even want to help me?

And so on the cusp between dream and reality, the only person keeping me alive in this world was and still is you. Because you gave me no words, only a smile before you faded away and then my scarf began to glow.

My harmony scarf made me evolve, to continue fighting in that dream I had. My scar reminding me of you, when I first met you in this world… and still I fight even now. Whether it’s a dream, whether it’s reality, I don’t even know anymore. Whether I’m a Mudkip, or a Swampert, or whatever form I take now, I guess I still persist in this world, because I’m still me.

And it was only you who ever had complete and utter faith in me that I was only able to ever move forward. You - the outcast of Serene Village - took in the real outcast who came one day without warning.

Me.

And… and you promised me, from that day on, no matter how far apart we were, no matter how hopeless it would seem, you would always be my friend. And now, with you gone…

Can I even keep that promise?

I… I don’t even know anymore. What do I even do? Can you tell me Sprout? As… this scarf means I’m the only one left in the world with the ability to evolve near the Tree of Life, I… I don’t know if I still have some purpose left to fulfill.

Why? Why did you accept Dark Matter? Why did you stop me from destroying it?

To prevent it from coming back?

If so… then… am I the reason it’ll come back anyway? That I have so little faith in myself that I can’t do anything right anymore? I… I don’t know. I just don’t know.

You cared. The others seemingly care.

But do I ever feel properly cared? I guess, if it means anything, just for you… maybe I’ll evolve. Evolve myself… by ridding myself of this guilt of mine. Because my only hope, one way or another and even if it means running away from the Expedition Society…

I just want to see you again. My best friend. My one and only friend.

I miss you Sprout.

…

I miss you so much.

And… I’ll go anywhere, to the ends of this Pokemon world, just to see you again.

…

I’m uh… talking to Xerneas right now and am beginning to also remember my past. About who I was, how I came to be in this world and meeting you… so, so many years in the past before you reincarnated as the Mew of today. My lovable, kind, adventurous and gleaming partner.

How I’m beginning to remember I don’t even know. Mawile said it had something to do with some sort of ancient tablet she found when excavating the site on Showdown Mountain, and that on it was my name. But… just what is my connection still to the past?

And even so… is that even theoretically possible though? You told me I willed myself to this world so I could save it, but I sacrificed my memories so we wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of the future. But now… now I’m having an identity crisis, as the human who was supposed to forget is now the human beginning to remember.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Even now, I think I realise the reason as to why I even forgot was so I couldn’t bear the pain of seeing you leave again. I did it because I cried so much on the hill that sunset came and went and Carracosta began looking for me until he found me still just lying there in a worried mess.

Nothing’s changed though… I’m just… I’m just repeating the same mistakes again over and over. Wherever I go, bad luck follows, or at least that’s how it feels. And no matter what, I just can’t shake the feeling I’m still the reason why you left. Why wasn’t it me who went with you that day?

Am I still fated by this last thing I have of you that I’m never taking off again because without it, I feel so insecure I’m never going to get it back?

I need to… no, I have to keep it. It’s just so important that I can’t evolve without it anymore.

Can’t evolve as you’re my biggest strength in all this. You were my biggest helper. And you’ll always be my light that shined when we were stuck in the Voidlands.

…

It’s getting late now. I’ve written enough now that I guess my thoughts have been fired out onto this little diary of mine. I saw you writing one when I couldn’t sleep one night and this habit of yours kinda just… well, stuck.

I hope you’re still okay, somewhere Sprout, whenever and wherever you are.

Goodnight bud. I… I hope you still care about me, just as how I still care about you.

…

I’ll always remember you.

-Cormac

@heropartnerweek

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: Ahsoka (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Ahsoka Week 2024, ahsokaweek2024, AU, Angst, The Dark Side - Freeform, Who is Who?, A dream or not? Series: Part 2 of Ahsoka Week 2024 series, Part 11 of Ahsoka Series Shorts Summary:

Ahsoka is very tempted, by the dark side.

Part of Ahsoka Week 2024 / Ahsoka Series Shorts series

@starwarspathfinders​ 

[yujeong]

kpanniversary2024, prompt 9: Trust

Kim realized pretty quickly why he had been attacked. Curiosity killed the cat had given it away but even without it, it was clear the reason had been to stop his investigation from advancing. The investigation about one of the most earth-shattering events that had happened in his life. Tankhun’s kidnapping. Right now, he was at a dead end. He needed a lead, anything to move his investigation forward. He had been working alone all this time but a tiny voice in his head was giving him ideas. Pete had skills. Pete was loyal, not only to his family - to Korn - but to him as well. He had proven that by becoming a human shield for him. Kim would be a fool to deny that. And Pete liked Tankhun. He had never complained like the others had, begging Korn to transfer them to him or Kinn. He was good to his brother, a fact Kim was thankful for. So maybe, it was worth a try. He knew it was a risk, such a huge risk, so many things could go wrong and yet- “Pete,” he said, his voice wavering. Kim made a decision. He made it by saying something he had been certain he would go through his entire life without uttering. “I need your help.”

(Snippet from The Knight's Pawn because I love that fic to death ❤️)

[starfall-spirit]

Day 2 of @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on Ao3

Summary: On one of their rare days with downtime, Feyre surprises Rhys with plans to go ice skating, digging up bittersweet memories from centuries ago and creating new ones in the process.

“What is this, Feyre? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see if you have a bit of patience,” his mate teased, practically shoving his coat at his chest. “Come, on, come on, come on. Let’s go!”

“I’ve never seen you this… giddy.” he said, infinitely amused by his mate’s strange behavior. It was certainly an improvement from the first time they’d tried to go out after Nyx’ birth. He knew that reluctance of separation was likely rooted in how often Feyre had been shoved away to the care of a stranger in her early childhood. Luckily time and the insistence of their family lessened her guilt in leaving him to the trusted care of their inner circle for an hour or two. “Just what do you have planned that could be so exciting?”

She scowled, looking half-ready to stuff his arms into his jacket herself. “This is the first time in ages I’ve managed to surprise you with something. There is no way you’re getting it out of me before we get there.”

He glanced back at his brothers who both looked mildly concerned and majorly confused. Just as clueless, then. He shook his head and, as usual, found himself prepared to humor Feyre in just about anything. “Alright, my love. Let’s go.”

She grinned, clapping her hands, the sound muffled by the wool of her gloves. Moments later they were strolling though the city, hand in hand, her restless energy leading him through the streets a bit faster than normal. “You’re far too pleased at the fact you’ve managed to keep a surprise, Feyre darling.”

She sighed, slowing a bit. “I’m a bit proud of it, yes, but I’m mostly just excited to do this with you. It’s been ages since I had the chance and once I saw the younglings out on the ice…”

He paused. “Ice? What ice, Feyre?” he asked, already feeling an ancient dread seeping in as he recognized they were reaching the border of the main city and the small lake just beyond it.

“We’re skating. And you don’t get to tell me no. I promise I won’t laugh if you fall, Rhys. I know even you can’t be perfect at everything.”

He swallowed as he watched her gather two pairs of skates from the edge of the path, turning his eyes towards the few families on the ice, children ranging from early school age to teen years, parents looking on with shaking heads as they watched the little ones spin about and topple over. And beyond those larger groups was a pair of siblings. A girl and boy, the latter having an obvious handful of years over his sister who couldn’t be more than ten.

Suddenly he was a teen himself, out on the ice with his little sister, holding her hands tight as he guided her about the empty lake in the early morning before their father could catch them and drag them back to their lessons for the day.

“Slow down, Rhys!”

“When you’re already moving as slow as a snail? Come on, Avy. You can do it.” She grumbled something about him being too pushy for his own good, but there was a bit more confidence in her footwork as she continued following his lead. “There, see? You’ll be a flawless skater in no time!”

She scowled as he sped up a hair. “Come on, chicken.”

“Just, just don’t let go.”

“I won’t, Avy. Not yet.” 

“Rhys.” He turned back to Feyre, blinking tears away as she studied him. “What is it?”

“I haven’t been out on that lake since I was, well, your age, probably.” She raised her hand to cup his face. “This was our spot, as kids. In the winter, I mean.”

“You and your brothers?”

“No. I taught Avy to skate out here when I wasn’t in Windhaven for the winter. She was terrified the ice would crack, no matter how many times she saw me acting a fool on it.” He chuckled softly, glancing back to the phantom siblings on the ice. Bittersweet and buried after centuries of putting those tender moments from his mind. “Even wild spirits have irrational fears, I suppose.”

Feyre rose up on her toes to press kiss his cheek. “We can do something else today, if this is too hard. Or if you want to keep this for the two of you. I understand.”

He shook his head, pressing his own kiss to her palm before folding her hand into his. “No, Feyre. It’s time I go out there again. Make new memories to join the old ones.”

“Alright then. Get those skates on.”

Feyre was right to think he would be a fool when he got out there. It had been centuries since he put on skates versus the decade she’d left the hobby behind. Bragging rights were hers, though Rhys was luckily a quick learner, mastering the technique quickly enough to chase his mate across the ice to the amusement of the families around them.

They spent hours on the ice, every second filled with laughter, joy, and love. And it was so easy to imagine another winter in the years to come where they two would have Nyx and potentially other children to watch twirl and fall on the lake beneath them. Sons and daughters of five or twelve to guide through each step.

For a moment he could almost imagine Avyanna laughing behind him once again. And he couldn’t wait for those lessons to come.

~~~~~

Taglist:

@lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone

[zanazirafanfic]

Summary: "If Arthur never visited the ocean again, it would be too soon. Not that he had ever considered himself much of a sailor in the first place, but now he could say with absolute certainty he wasn’t cut out for such a profession. Hell, right about now even Flat Iron Lake sounded like far too much water for comfort. He suspected Dutch felt the same way, but he couldn’t be sure; he couldn’t be sure about much of anything regarding Dutch, these days."

In which the boys travel back from Guarma, Arthur isn't feeling well, and in spite of Dutch's efforts, the end is already beginning.

Whumpcember 2023 Day 2: "Sickness"

TW: Vomiting

Warnings: None Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch Van der Linde Characters: Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van der Linde Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 1,854

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(This is the reunion scene from my Splinter Cell au. It got away from me, so be forewarned: looong post incoming)

Of course there had to be another problem the moment they got back from the race. It wasn’t enough to just let them savor a victory for once. Or, Precursors forbid, let them actually rest. It was always something.

"Radar is picking up a craft headed for the island!" Vin's nervous voice crackled over their radios.

"What size is the aircraft?" Tess asked, shedding her weariness to take command.

"That's the thing...it's not an aircraft at all! There's a ship headed for us! I estimate it'll reach us in, er, er, 3 hours!"

"A ship?" Jak frowned. That was a little unusual.

"Could be Brutter," Daxter suggested, "His fishing boat has to come back for repairs sometime, right?"

"Maybe."

Tess sounded doubtful.

"Can we get some snipers down here? Just in case. We're gonna need em anyhow once the Baron figures out we swapped the Stone for a fake."

"I'll hang around and keep an eye out," Jak volunteered.

With a faint frown, Tess shook her head. "You can tag out, Jak. It's fine. You just came off a mission."

Jak snorted and kicked at the sand. "Mission? Tess, I was just racing! I do that for fun! You and Dax are the ones who actually did all the work."

He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, fully intending to patrol the beach until the craft either pulled up or passed by. Sure, he was a little tired, but they couldn't afford to get complacent just because they'd stolen back the Precursor Stone. Besides, the entrance to the Babak settlement wasn't far, and Jak had no intention of leaving it unguarded.

Tess caught up to him in two swift strides. She made sure he'd seen her before reaching out to grab his shoulder.

Unexpected touches were not welcome. She'd been around the block a few times: she knew to announce her presence.

"Hey, no. Don't do that brushing-off thing with me." She stopped in front of him, giving Daxter the opportunity to hop from her shoulder back to his.

"Jak, listen. I promise, I'm saying this because you're my friend and I care about you, not because I doubt you. But every time you have to be in the same vicinity as Errol, that's a trigger. I'm not putting you on any new assignments until you're ready, mentally and emotionally."

Jak laughed harshly. "Errol? Oh he's dead. He's super dead."

Surprise stretched Tess's face, then it slackened with relief. "Did you-?"

The boy looked away for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Wasn't me. He tried to run me down with his zoomer after he lost the race. Wasn't that hard to dodge. He crashed face-first into a month's supply of eco."

A dark vein pulsed in his temple, and one of his canines showed, sharper than usual, when he smirked.

"He never was much good against opponents who weren't chained down."

Daxter's comforting weight on his shoulder grounded him, steadied his erratic pulse. Jak focused on the sensation of paws on his shoulder, feet braced against his back. He was here, he'd survived, and this time Errol couldn't taunt him anymore. There was a part of him that was angry. Furious, even. It was a quick death, and Errol had deserved far worse. He'd deserved to be chained to the same injection chair that had seen Jak's worst moments, left to the tender mercies of the needle and Jak's own darkness. But now the sadist was beyond his reach.

"Wait." Daxter leaned into his face. "You're telling me that old Coloring Book Face -- the famed racer, the one Krew bet on -- in front of his adoring fans, crashed into tanks of eco like a moron?"

He hopped once and hooted with laughter.

"He blew himself sky high and took his reputation down with him? What a dumb way to go! It's perfect!"

Jak wouldn't have called it perfect. But he could appreciate the level of humiliation Errol had unwittingly dealt himself.

Tess still looked at him with that terrible knowing in her eyes. Sometimes, Jak thought the older girl could see right through him. It was unnerving.

"How are you doing?" She asked, and for once, Jak couldn’t bring himself to lie.

"I'm...here. I don't want to be around a lot of people right now. I..." He shrugged. "I need to focus on something else before I get angry again."

Satisfied, Tess nodded. "Okay. Do you want to be the one watching for the ship?"

Honestly, he did. Jak had a lot to process regarding the death of his abuser. But at the same time, the adrenaline of the race, and getting to challenge Praxis right to his face, still vibrated through his body. He really needed somewhere for all that energy to go.

Sentry duty was quiet, but required focus, and movement. Sig had been right about him needing that kind of activity.

"Yeah. Um, yeah, I got this." Jak stretched and swung his rifle off his back. "Could you just...uh, could you let Sig know I'm okay? I kind of had to blackmail him not to come to the race and snipe Errol when he passed the stands."

"Fair," Daxter observed. He stretched lazily across Jak’s shoulders feigning flippancy. "That woulda been way quicker than he deserved."

Tess shifted her weight and sighed, resigned.

"Okay. I'm gonna get this stone locked up somewhere safe. You let me know if you guys need any food or anything out here."

Jak agreed without really meaning it. The Babak settlement was right there, after all. If he really got hungry, he could just ask Brutter for some scraps. Of course, that was more an excuse to see Mar than anything else, but who was going to tell on him?

With Errol dead, finally dead, that was one less threat to his little brother.

Or at least, it should've been. It didn't feel real yet. Everything had happened so fast-

What if the explosion hadn't actually killed him?

What if some people were actually too evil to die?

Stop, stop it. That blast took out three guards that were just near the eco. Errol went right into the heart of it. If he lived, it wasn’t for long. He can't get me he can't get me he can't get me-

"Jak?"

Jak inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders. "I'm gonna post up on the ridge over the caves. Keep me updated about the boat's progress, yeah?"

Daxter grimaced. "Uh...Jak, Tess already went inside. You zoned out there for a minute, bud."

Jak winced. "Sorry," he muttered.

His best friend shrugged it off. "Let's get to Our Spot, huh? I think we still have some candy stashed up there that Junior hasn't found yet."

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

The smog that perpetually surrounded Haven city was, just this once, a blessing in disguise. Thick and oily, it hovered over the water, hiding the boat from sight and muffling the sound of propellers. Rags wrapped around gunstaffs and rifles added to the muted quality of the infiltrators; they weren't here for invasion. It was not yet time to reveal themselves to the city.

Drake shifted the rudder and eyed the monolithic factory rising from the smoke. Ominous looking thing.

Not as ominous as the figure standing at the prow.

Every Wastelander there knew that for the king to leave the city, something had to be earth-shatteringly important. Damas hadn't spoken a word since boarding the vessel, not once during the eighteen hour voyage had he explained their mission. He just watched from the prow with hard eyes, tensed and ready to fight at a moment's notice. There was an air of anticipation about him -- not the look of a man waiting on the edge of battle, Drake reckoned, more like a man waiting for something to begin. Waiting for something important.

A glint of light caught the Wastelander's attention, up near the silhouettes of palm trees near the upper levels of the factory.

Drake tapped the bulwark twice, catching his silent companions' attention. With a hand signal, he indicated "light" and "gun scope" before pointing in the direction he'd seen it.

Damas stepped down from the prow and moved silently to the stern to crouch beside Drake.

"Where?" he mouthed.

Drake raised his arm straight, pointed to the glint that was still appearing from time to time.

Abruptly, the tension melted out of Damas’s shoulders.

"Just where Sig said he'd be," he breathed.

Damas patted Drake's arm. "Take us in. Stay out of sight of Haven. I'll handle the rest."

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

Up on the cliff, high above the rough waters, Jak watched the boat through the scope of his blaster. He counted at least six figures, though he couldn't make out any details yet.

"Well, it's not KG," he murmured into his radio.

For some reason, it felt wrong to speak above a whisper.

"Is it metalheads?" asked Tess.

"Nope."

Jak squinted. The figures vanished in a patch of smog for a second before reappearing.

"They almost look like-"

With a jolt, Jak sat up. "Sig," he realized.

"Huh? What do you mean they look like Sig?"

"No, I mean-" Jak jumped to his feet and snatched up his gun. "Get Sig! I think he might know these guys, they look like Wastelanders!"

His heart hammered painfully in his ears as he picked his way down the ridge, Daxter clinging to his shoulders for dear life. Wastelanders. In their waters. There was a chance they were on a job for Krew, but this soon after Sig contacted Mar's people?

It couldn't be coincidence. Jak had learned the hard way not to believe in coincidence.

A wrong step nearly rolled Jak’s ankle, and he cursed. Where's your head, Jak? Don't get sloppy.

The truth was, he was afraid. He was eager to find allies, and desperate to find people he could trust around Mar. But he was terrified of inevitably having to justify his existence to Mar’s family. Just the vague possibility of meeting an alternate timeline version of his own father -- a complete stranger -- made him want to throw up.

"Jak?"

Daxter's ears were pinned back against his skull. He was clearly agitated, though Jak couldn't work out whether it was because of him or the boat.

"Are you sure about this?"

Ah. Him. Daxter was definitely upset because of him.

Jak gripped the spiny trunk of a palm to steady himself halfway through their descent. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, like Sig made him practice. In...out. In...out. It wasn't a very impressive attempt at calming himself, but it was better than nothing.

"I...don't know if I want to meet them or not," Jak confessed.

His throat was dry.

"Today was...a lot. Y'know? I can only take being called a freak so much in one day."

Daxter stretched himself to his full length to wrap around Jak’s shoulders. He didn't say anything; there were times when words just weren't enough.

Cognitively, he knew Jak didn't blame him for leaving him to rot in that hell for two years. He even knew that such a thought would never even have crossed Jak’s mind. But that didn’t keep it from haunting Daxter.

For at least a little while, in the latter half of their separation, he'd had a roof over his head. A warm bed. A job, for Precursors' sakes, working for a man who treated him like a person! And that whole time, Jak had been enduring a nightmare Daxter wouldn't have even wished on Gol Acheron.

Guilt ate away at Daxter constantly. What kind of friend was he, living the mediocre life while his best and only friend was being treated like a lab rat? Jak was the only person who'd ever cared about him -- well, before Tessie and Brutter and the Kid, at least -- and he'd left him behind like a coward. Daxter owed Jak so much. The least he could do was be here, now, to watch his friend's back, physically and emotionally.

"Listen, pal," he quipped, hoping Jak couldn't hear how forced it was, "Insulting Orange Lightning's sidekick is a crime punishable by...well, not...not by death, exactly. A very stern talking to- and a wet willie!"

He nodded in satisfaction. "And I'll...I'll...I'll bite their nose! And you know I hate biting. I don't make offers like this for just anyone, y'know."

A little thread of comfort unfurled in Jak’s chest. Daxter hated fighting, and getting dirty, and anything even remotely scary. Knowing that, Jak couldn't help but acknowledge that Daxter didn't run from his darker half. The boy turned ottsel generally stared down his murderous fangs with a look that said "Is that the best you got?" Whatever else happened, at least he had Daxter.

He swung down onto the stairs to the beach and set the morph gun to Vulcan. If things got ugly, he'd need rapid fire.

Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't get ugly.

But when had Jak ever been that lucky?

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

He was there.

Damas could see him clearly now, watching them from the beach.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep from diving overboard and simply swimming to shore. For the entire voyage, he’d prayed to whatever force might be listening that Sig wouldn’t be wrong. That his – their – hopes wouldn’t be dashed. Having had the possibility of a much longed-for second child placed before him, Damas had struggled with a fear that it was too good to be true. That it was selfish to be hoping for more when it was a miracle that Mar had been found at all.

But now the boat was close enough for him to see the wiry boy, standing with his rifle ready like a second, smaller edition of his own self.

Oh look at him! He’s all me!

An untimely bubble of mirth rose in his chest. He and Phobos had always debated over which of them Mar would turn out looking like the most. She always insisted Mar would look like his father, and he’d always been sure Mar would look like his mother.

Phobos had just won a bet they’d thought would take ten years to settle.

“That’s far enough!” shouted the boy, raising his gun. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

Damas laughed.

“Friends of Sig!” he returned through cupped hands, “He called us in!”

The boy – Jak, Sig said he’d named himself Jak – spoke quietly into a small radio, probably seeking confirmation from Sig. Just waiting that long made Damas antsy, and whatever made him antsy made the Wastelanders antsy. Well, not Phobos. Phobos didn’t do “antsy”. She was simply ready.

Then, to their surprise, the orange furry thing around Jak’s shoulders raised its head to shout at them.

“Alright! Come in nice and slow, no funny business!”

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

Jak wanted to bolt, but his boots were frozen to the beach.

This wasn’t just a party of mercs Sig knew. That man with the spikes or horns on his brow-

That was the bloody deposed king of Haven!

That was Damas son of Arez!

For all intents and purposes, in another life that had been his father!

And the poor guy probably had no idea. He was here to save Mar, to take him home at last. He didn’t need to know Jak was connected…right?

But then, Jak knew in his heart that he would never be willing to let Mar out of his sight. Not after everything they’d been through together. Maybe he could convince them to take him on as a bodyguard or something. Out in the wastes, maybe there wouldn’t be as much dark eco. Maybe he could suppress the Hunter inside him, and no one would have to know.

“Whoa, hey, what’s Spike doing?” Daxter demanded.

Jak shook away the spiral of thoughts in time to see the ex-king swing himself out of the boat. He landed waist deep in water and pushed forward, leaving his fellow Wastelanders behind. In a distracted sort of way, Jak noted that the man must have been incredibly strong to march through the deep water with no more resistance than a field of tall grass.

His eyes found the man’s face, and he lost his train of thought altogether.

The man was looking at Jak as though he feared Jak would vanish the second he blinked. Like it was Jak he’d been searching for, and not little Mar.

He looked at Jak as if he already knew him.

“Um,” said Jak eloquently.

Now that Damas was out of the water, there was no mistaking him for anything but a warrior. He wore wicked looking mismatched layers of armor, scuffed and worn with much use. Much like the armor, his skin bore thin, silvery scars wherever visible, telling stories of survival. Unconsciously, Jak’s hand drifted to his left arm, where needle tracks clustered like foul constellations. Here was a man who probably had as many scars as he did!

Jak’s pulse hammered away in his ears, so loud that he almost missed it when Damas breathed, “So it’s true!”

Completely at a loss for how to greet a king – let alone a man who might’ve been his father if fate had been kind – Jak stuck out an awkward hand in a half wave.

“Uh…I’m Jak. This is Daxter. You’re…friends of Sig?”

A smile split the king’s face, so wide it threatened to touch his ears. His fingers twitched oddly, like he was trying to hold himself back from something.

“Hello, Jak,” he said. His voice cracked and bounced with each syllable in a herculean effort not to break. “I- we’ve been…waiting to meet you for quite some time now.”

The boys exchanged a bewildered look.

“Me?” Jak stammered, “Don’t you mean M-”

Then he could hold himself back no longer; Damas reached out and clapped his hands to Jak’s arms.

“Just look at you!” He laughed and blinked back a slight glimmer in his eyes. “Look at you! You have my eyes-!”

Tongue-tied, Jak stared numbly into a pair of eyes that were indeed similar to his own. The shade was more violet than blue, but their shape was as unmistakable as the bronze tone of the skin surrounding them.

Why in the name of sanity did this man sound so pleased by the resemblance? Jak was a complete stranger to him! They did not have years of shared memories – like we should have, his mind whispered – and really knew nothing about each other. He wasn’t- He wasn’t the right Mar! He didn’t even look exactly the same as Mar!

“How old are you, boy?” Damas asked him with a weirdly friendly smile, “Fifteen, or sixteen?”

“I…think I’m seventeen?” Jak managed.

But then, he was calculating his age based on Samos’s guess of Mar’s age. And Mar claimed to be four, not five. He could’ve been mistaken, but then, Samos thus far hadn’t been the most reliable of narrators.

“Uh…how old is your son?”

Damas looked taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Mar is four,” he answered.

Daxter tallied out a few fingers. “So…sixteen, huh? Welp. Turns out you’re not old enough for a driver’s license after all, pal.” Then his eyes lit up. “Hey! This means I am older than you!”

“Wh- no!” Jak pulled an arm free to smack at Daxter and missed. “If you tell Tess-!” He let the threat hang in the air, unsure how to finish it.

The other Wastelanders beached the boat and splashed ashore, good-naturedly grumbling at their king for not waiting.

Wait- they still thought of him as a king?

Jak began to wonder if some Wastelanders were exiled supporters of the House of Mar. Had Mar spent his first years surrounded by people who had chosen the life of a Wastelander over Praxis? That might explain the kid’s seeming lack of self-preservation if this is what he was used to. He hoped they had no expectations of him, because they were bound to be disappointed.

“Come! Come, my friends, come and see!” Damas waved them closer, still grinning broadly. He moved to stand beside Jak and gestured between them. “Look! Who would you say this young warrior looks like most?”

Of the four men and five women in the band, only two managed to overcome their bewilderment enough to speak. The first, a burly man with a drooping handlebar mustache, stumped forward and squinted at Jak.

“I’ll be,” he huffed. “You been hiding another ankle-biter out here, lordship? How’d you keep Praxis from findin’ him when you got exiled?”

The woman, a stern looking fighter with one eye, pursed her lips and folded her arms.

“Well aren’t you just a chip off the old block?” she snorted. “Nice to know Sig isn’t losing his touch.”

This seemed to embolden the others, and in a matter of seconds, Jak was surrounded. Nobody touched him, for which he was supremely grateful, but he was still very uneasy with all these strangers in his personal space.

“Ha! He can’t grow a real beard either, eh, Lordship?”

“Oh don’t you start with me, Kleiver.”

“Now there’s a fighter if I ever saw one. Hey kid, what’s your favorite ammo?”

“Blaster-?” Jak answered in confusion.

“Oh, good choice! Sig teach ya how to use a Peacemaker yet?”

“Of course not, dummy! Look at him! He ain’t even old enough for Arena trials yet, I reckon.”

Jak was getting overwhelmed, and that was never a good thing. When there was too much input at once, when new sounds and faces surrounded him without giving him a chance to process, his grip on the dark eco tended to weaken.

Not here, not now! He pleaded silently with himself.

Noticing his tension, Damas suddenly waved the Wastelanders off. “Give him space! Give him space, all of you!”

He took a step to the side as well, leaving Jak with a ring of emptiness around him as a buffer.

“I apologize, Jak. We’re just…very eager to meet you. Sig has told us much, but I needed to…to see for myself.”

Jak gulped in deep breaths of air, doing his best to slow his pulse before something happened he couldn’t take back. They acted happy for now, but once they saw The Hunter-

Daxter leaped off his shoulder and stood in front of him like a guard. “Alright, alright, one at a time! I know we’re amazing, thank you, thank you. But our boy here functions best with a little thing called personal space. Eesh!”

He pointed at the Wastelanders. “No crowding the heroes, got it? And no insults! Any and all job requests must wait three to five business days for consideration. And under no circumstances will there be any pinching of cheeks!”

One of the older Wastelanders pushed to the front of the crowd and squatted to examine Daxter with some amusement. “You’re a feisty little one,” she said, and poked his midriff with a bony finger. “Not familiar with your species. What are ya, kid? Some kind of talking dogat?”

Daxter shied away from the older woman with a startled yip. “No touch-a the merchandise!” he squawked, and scrambled back up Jak’s leg and torso to sit on his shoulder. “And I’m an ottsel, for your information!”

Through the whole ordeal, one of the Wastelanders had remained silent. She merely stood there, studying Jak intently as though she wasn’t quite certain what to think of him. It was the only sensible reaction of the lot, and that drew Jak’s attention. What held his attention was her hair: coils and spirals of green tinted gold, exactly like his own. Jak had never seen anyone in Haven with hair even remotely similar to his! Hers, of course, was well maintained, and not the unkempt mess his own had been before Sig finally caught him long enough to cut some of it.

Her face was round and smooth, the same deep tourmaline that Jak saw every time he looked at Mar. He saw the curve of Mar’s jaw in hers, and the same solemn quirk in her brow. Jak’s stomach flipped, then dropped with dizzying speed. In his heart, he was fairly certain he knew who the woman was. But he didn’t want to even acknowledge it in his mind. She wasn’t here for him, after all.

He watched her turn towards Damas with an expression of intent. For a moment, they seemed to be having a conversation with just their eyes, much the way Jak used to with Daxter. And then, without warning, the hard look on the woman’s face melted away. She looked back to Jak with something disturbingly bittersweet in her gaze.

“Phobos?” Damas asked softly.

She moved towards them as if in a trance, only stopping when she was mere inches from Jak. She pointed to the chain around his neck.

“Is that your amulet, or your brother’s?” Phobos demanded.

They know! Oh Precursors, what now? What do I do?

“…mine…?”

Phobos nodded, suddenly shaky. A glance to the side revealed that the ex-king was looking a little shaky as well. What the-?

“You were him, in another world. Weren’t you?” she asked, much softer.

Jak swallowed hard, and his eyes dropped. He couldn’t meet her gaze for several seconds. “…yes.”

There were tears in this woman’s eyes when he looked back up, and Jak instantly felt a surge of guilt.

“S- sorry-” he started, but it was drowned out by a somewhat wet chuckle coming from the woman.

Jak would have understood tears. He’d probably cry too if he had to have a monster like him for a son. But under the wetness of her cheeks this woman was smiling. She reached out to steady herself against Damas’s shoulder, and she laughed. A deep, full thunder, rolling up from some holy place inside her as she wiped her eyes again.

“Damas, look at him. He’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, and reached a hand out to gently touch Jak’s face. Rough, calloused fingers traced the curve of his cheekbone, then brushed an errant coil of hair from his face. 

Beautiful?

In the whole of his life, Jak could safely say that no one, not one person, had ever called him beautiful.

As he stood frozen, speechless, Daxter took it upon himself to speak for him. “Well thankee kindly,” he piped up in a ridiculously exaggerated country drawl, “You’re not too bad yourself, missus!”

This had the intended effect of breaking Jak out of his shock. He slapped a hand over Daxter’s mouth in horror.

“Dax no!”

The older woman who had greeted Daxter before burst out laughing.

Jak did not share her amusement. “I- I’m sorry, Dax is just- Gah!” 

He yanked his hand away from Daxter’s mouth and shook it. “Did you just lick me?!”

“That’s what you get!” Daxter snickered.

“Gross!”

Damas chuckled -- it was a warm sound, without any of the bitterness Jak had come to expect from laughter

[fanfictasia]

Whumpuary Prompt 2

Bruises 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Leap of Faith

“You’re injured,” Crosshair states finally after several minutes of absolute silence.

When she turns towards him, he’s looking at her, or rather, his helmet is turned in her direction. “Yes,” she confirms, though he already knew that.

“You should put bacta on them,” he tells her, standing, “Can’t send you back injured.”

Despite his brusque tone, Omega is starting to suspect that’s his way of showing that he cares, but even if it’s not, she can’t say no to getting treated. She aches all over, and her injuries are throbbing much worse now that she no longer has to worry about getting caught, not to mention how exhausted she is. Standing, she limps after him to the main hold, sitting in a seat and watching as he pulls out a medpac.

“Do you need help?” Crosshair asks, and she blinks in surprise at the question. In truth, she hadn’t even thought about it.

“Probably,” she admits, lightly pressing a hand to her side. “I can get most of it though.”

He pulls off his helmet, setting on a nearby chair and walking over to her, dropping to one knee. “Let me see it.”

Wincing as she moves, Omega reveals the deep blue-purple bruise on her side. Crosshair’s eyes are icy, but he doesn’t say anything as he takes off his gloves, reaching for the bacta in the medpac. With far more gentleness than she thought him capable of, given his disposition, he rubs the bacta into her skin, over the injury. “Nothing is broken,” he assures, not looking at her. “What happened?”

“I got hit by a stunrod the second time I tried to escape,” she admits. Which was only a couple days before her last, successful, attempt.

“Hm.”

She can’t decide if he sounds impressed or disbelieving. Or neither. They don’t talk as he helps her apply bacta and bandages to the rest of her injuries.

“Rest,” he says when they’re done. “I’ll tell you when we arrive.”

[despair-ninja-everything-agency]

WoLCred Week 2023 Day 5

“Good morning!”

“Sweet dreams...”

[pancakehouse]

omg BRILLIANT ask game idea i love it.. and 7 or 12!! whichever one comes easiest to u!

hi hi brynn happy tuesday!!! thank you sm for this!! <3

12. you were drinking sangria and i was throwing oranges at you.

It’s a glorious day. One of London’s finest imitations of a summer afternoon, all shining sun and brilliantly sparkling water. Smooth ripples dance across the lake’s surface, lapping against the dock, their dangling feet, the rocky shore. The area around them is empty. Secluded. 

Sirius can almost pretend they’re here for normal reasons, like something from before. Like the summer they all went to the beach, spent the day laughing and swimming and napping in the sun, eating orange slices and ripe mango picked from a tree. Later, James had dunked their leftover fruit into sour firewhiskey and cheap wine from the market, and called it sangria. 

That was a good day. Remus’ nose had gone pink and his shoulders freckled over. He’d grinned at Sirius, wide and crooked, eyes bright, and said they should do this again next year. And the next and next and next. 

The breeze shifts, hairs tickling Sirius’ neck. They haven’t gone back since sixth year. Now, it’s being sent on scouting trips to pretty lakes tainted by dark magic and rotting woods. Now, it’s slamming doors and aching lungs and knife-sharp words screamed in the middle of the night. 

Now, it’s Remus, wearing an old sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, and the sleeves pulled down, hiding new scars that are shiny and raw, and that he refuses to talk about. It’s getting sent on missions together and sitting in painful, stilted silence for as long as they’re told.

That is, until Remus decides to break it. 

“Do you remember,” he says, hoarse, and so quiet, “what James told us? In fifth year- about the countryside and the big house and wanting Lily to wear his mum’s ring…” He pauses there, and Sirius feels the burn of his eyes on him, expectant. Waiting. 

Sirius sighs, tugs on his fingers. Pop. Pop. “Yeah,” he replies. He resists looking over at Remus. Has been resisting all day. 

“I always thought that sounded nice.” The words sound like they’re being torn out of him, crackly and rough. “Or maybe- I don’t know. Just some land. Animals. Maybe a horse, or some chickens.” Their thighs press together, and it’s nauseating and sweaty and much too little. “Don’t you think that sounds nice?”

Sirius inhales slowly. “I think it sounds like a dream,” he says. And he means it as in: something not real. Something imagined, out of reach, and not worth dwelling on anymore. Something lost, before they even had the chance to want it. 

But when Remus replies, so softly, “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” it sounds like something else. Like a wish, like longing, like maybe, maybe, someday we can have it again. 

The water ripples. Their ankles nudge in the water, bone against bone. Boy against boy. Sirius breathes out, looks across the lake. The water is blue and the trees are green and Remus’ shampoo smells like citrus; like the taste of a sweet, sticky kiss on a warm summer day. 

Like maybe, maybe, maybe. Someday.

[cry-stars]

Clora Week 2023: day one (and two)

“no apologies”

...

“I wish that I had said I was sorry. I wanted to so badly.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because my apology might hurt you more than my silence would. Your smile is always so bright. I didn’t want to rip open an old wound.”

“I’m not always happy, even if I’m smiling. Sometimes I smile because I have to. Because I want to make other people happy.”

She’s smiling now.

A pained sigh escapes him, hissed between gritted teeth. “I know. Or, I should have known.”

“How could you have known, if I never told you?”

“Because I was an actor too. From the moment I lost everything, to the moment I hurt you. It’s only now that you see who I really am. Nothing but a despairing fool.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I saw the real you in Future London. He was there, hidden behind your mask. I was scared that I’d made a mistake, that he wasn’t real. I think… that would have hurt more than anything. Even more than the lies and the betrayal. It would have hurt so much to know that the friend that I made wasn’t real.”

“Friend.”

“Yes. Is that not enough?”

“It is enough.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Hot tears burn trails in his skin. They melt him away until there’s nothing left of him but his heart.

“It’s more than I deserve.”

“But it’s not what you want, is it?”

“What you want is the most important thing to me. That’s why I never apologized.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I wanted to apologize, because doing so would make me feel better. But I was afraid of hurting you, so I wouldn’t.” 

“Clive…”

The way she says his name kills him.

“I want you to be happy.” With every word from his mouth, another knife stabs between his ribcage. “My plans all fell apart, and even if they had succeeded, I know now that they were pure evil. There is so little left for me on this earth anymore, but that is one of the few things that keeps me alive. That’s all I want.”

It’s not all he wants. But it’s all he should want. 

Selfishly, he wants to be with her. Cruelly, he wants to see her smile, to hear her stories, to hold her close. Unforgivably, he wants her love.

But he deserves none of those things.

“Do you think I’d be happier if you weren’t here?”

The anguish in her voice jolts him out of his stupor.

“Is that what you’re thinking? Clive, do you… do you really think that I’m that horrible? Do you really believe that I would be happier if you… if you…”

Her voice breaks, and so does Clive’s heart, for the thousandth time.

Any words he says now would be far too cruel. To tell her the truth would tear her apart. But to deny her words is impossible.

She would be happier without him.

[angstober]

Welcome to another year of Angstober! We're delighted to unveil the prompts for this year of angsty, spooky fun.

What is Angstober?

Angstober is a yearly October challenge with 31 angst-themed prompts to inspire you to create. The challenge is open to all sorts of creative work - writing, art, edits, whatever you want - in whatever medium you want. Original work or fanworks? Whatever you feel inspired for!

How do I take part?

Tag your works with #angstober2024 and the day of the prompt (e.g., #day 01) to share on tumblr. Feel free to @ us directly in the post as well! To share your work on AO3, add it to the Angstober 2024 collection.

You can post your works whenever - early or late - and use as many or as few prompts as you feel inspired for! We'll do our best to reblog as many works to the @angstober blog as we can.

Is there a banner to post my work with?

Absolutely!

Anything else?

Nope. Happy Angsting!

2024 Prompt List

Again

2. Countdown

3. Self-Destruction

4. Blood

5. Do Better

6. Medication

7. “You Still Don’t Get It.”

8. Growing Pains

9. Promise

10. Humiliation

11. Wake Up

12. Rotten Touch

13. Shaking

14. Only Around You

15. False Hope

16. No One Else To Turn To

17. “Shhh…”

18. Falling Stars

19. Tear-Stained Cheek

20. Spare Me

21. Abandoned

22. Crocodile Tears

23. Safe/Unsafe

24. Dark Sunrise

25. You’re No Better

26. Persuasion

27. Curled Up

28. Perfect

29. Get Out

30. Nothing Else To Tell You

31. It Ends Here

[dancingbirdie]

Okay so on Astarion, I was reading this fic about him not knowing Tavs true intentions with him and it bothering Astarion a lot, so what if he goes to some mage or magic user and asks them to show Tavs true intentions to him, when he does the vision he sees is just... being snuggled. It's Tav on top of him and the both of you are falling asleep, his hands are under your shirt softly petting your skin as your sleepy self is contently snuggled up to him. I just start crying about him finding out that Tavs DASTARDLY and EVIL plan with him, their greatest desire from him... is to simply be held. 🥺

Hi @goblin-creatcher! Thank you so much for this BEAUTIFUL prompt. I, uhh, kind of took it and went a million miles an hour with it. This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it as well! xoxoxo

Something Imagined / Something Real

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Warnings/Tags: Brief but detailed description of rough consensual sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

Suggested Song Pairing: Slow Dancing in A Burning Room (Stripped) - cover by ST LUNA

Summary: Astarion has been suspicious of Tav’s true intentions toward him. He persuades Gale to cast a spell and reveal her motivations. ANGST and FLUFF ensue. A rewriting of Astarion’s confession scene from Act 2.

The sun had just begun to set on the campsite when Astarion decided to put his plan into action. He had waited until Tav departed with some of the other party members before making his way over to the wizard. Gale was too busy reassembling the bookshelf inside his tent to notice Astarion’s approach. It wasn’t until he gave a polite cough that Gale jumped and whirled to face him. 

“No, no, no,” he began all at once, hands raised in a sort of shooing motion. Astarion stared at him in confusion. “I can respect Tav’s indulging in your need for blood, but as I’ve said before: I taste terrible.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Charming. Actually, wizard, I was coming to request your aid in a different, though somewhat related, matter.”

“Really? Care to elaborate?” Gale responded, still somewhat wary. It wasn’t often he found himself alone with the vampire. 

“Testy, I see,” Astarion crooned teasingly. His knee-jerk response to people treating him like a monster, to behave in the most false saccharine sort of way. 

But he drew up short, censoring himself before saying anything else he might regret. He knew he needed to get on the wizard’s good side if he had any chance of getting the answers he sought. 

“I was hoping you knew a spell to reveal someone’s true intentions. Their… motivations for behaving in a certain way, so to speak,” he finished more seriously. 

Gale pondered the question for a moment before answering. 

“Hmm… yes, there is magic to determine that sort of thing… Although it’s been some time since I practiced it…” He trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Why are you asking for such a thing?” he asked suddenly. 

Astarion had been prepared for this question, of course. No one did anything for free, no questions asked. He delivered his explanation perfectly, as he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“One might say our dear sweet Tav and I have been growing a bit… closer these days, but I can sense a master manipulator when I see one. I just simply want to ensure their intentions toward me - toward the party - are true,” he replied with mock innocence. 

“Ah, yes,” Gale nodded. “I gathered as much when the two of you slipped away from the tiefling’s party a few nights ago.” 

“But,” he continued on,”I needn’t think you should worry when it comes to Tav. She seems about as transparent as they come. I’m sure any intentions she has toward you are true.”

Yes, but the best actors always mask their motivations behind innocence and transparency, Astarion thought to himself. I should know. I’ve been doing it for centuries.

After the party’s unfortunate meeting with that Gur in the Sunlit Wetlands, Astarion realized he would have to take potential threats from Cazador even more seriously. He wasn’t about to lose his freedom, not now that he finally had some small taste of it. 

It didn’t hurt to be more suspicious of everyone he encountered, even the sweetling Tav. Anyone could be an operative sent by Cazador, and the best ones would be as skilled as he was in the art of manipulation. It was well-known at this point that the person he’d grown the closest to on their journey was their brave party leader, Tav. Unlikely as it may be that she was scheming for his master, Astarion’s paranoia wouldn’t let him indulge in interactions with her a second longer unless he knew how she truly felt. 

Given Gale’s hesitation, Astarion knew he would have to kick his acting up a notch. Press on that wizard’s heartstrings. Touch the one nerve he knew he was sensitive to.

“Gale, darling, from one literally damaged soul to another, indulge me just this once,” Astarion beseeched him. 

The wizard glared at him a moment, before finally relenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I want it known that I don’t agree with this so-called solution one whit,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, yes, noted and formally documented, on my word as a former Baldurian magistrate,” Astarion replied cheerily. “So, let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Gale asked, shocked. “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous?” 

“What better time than now?” Astarion responded. “Tav’s out gathering firewood with Wyll and Karlach. They won’t be back for some time. As for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, well…” he paused, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Said two were engaged in a heated sparring session on the outskirts of the camp. Snarls and curses could be heard emanating from both warriors as they tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand against their opponent.

“That lovers’ dance could go on until morning,” Astarion finished. 

“Fair point,” Gale admitted begrudgingly, grimacing at the sound of swords clashing violently. “Very well. Let’s get started.” 

Clearing his throat, Gale began to utter a series of phrases completely foreign to Astarion. He watched as the wizard began moving his hands in a wavelike pattern, forming a circle before them. Suddenly, a mist began to form from seemingly thin air, taking shape according to the boundaries Gale’s hands were creating. The mist grew more and more opaque until it appeared before them like a clouded mirror. 

As the fogginess of the ethereal magic began to clear, the “mirror” became a confusing blur of scenes whipping by, too fast for Astarion or Gale to really comprehend. There were flashes of Tav and Astarion, together and separate, but they disappeared too quickly to ascertain their context. It was as though the spell was shuffling through the entirety of Tav’s thoughts, assessing each one at breakneck speed. 

Finally, the spell slowed to a halt, stopping on one scene in particular. Astarion was struck speechless by what began playing out in the foggy portal before them. So distracted, he didn’t even notice Gale’s tight cough, or how the wizard suddenly became intensely interested in a copse of trees nearby, rather than the revelation the spell was revealing.

Not that the scene was especially profound, objectively speaking. In fact, to anyone else, it might be viewed as the least revelatory thing possible that the spell could have shown. Boring. Inconsequential, even. But to Astarion, it was almost earth shattering. 

He saw himself - he could see his face! - with Tav, lying tangled together in some immaculate four-poster bed. 

That was the first shock that coursed through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. He was seeing himself for the first time in over 200 years. Or at least, he was seeing himself as Tav saw him. And… the person he saw… Well, he was gorgeous. White blonde locks, curled and tousled in a devil-may-care sort of way. A strong, patrician nose that suggested good breeding. High, sharp cheekbones. Full lips, upturned in a thoughtless grin. Red eyes bordered by long, sweeping lashes. Delicately pointed elven ears. Smooth alabaster skin, without blemish or spot. 

Astarion could scarcely believe his own eyes. 

The second shock to his system was the nature of their activities. He would have been less surprised had the vision shown them fucking. Him taking her roughly from behind perhaps. His name a cry of ecstasy from her lips as he pistoned in and out of her with a feral sort of determination. 

Fantasies of lust, of total domination, now those were things he was familiar with inspiring in the minds of the victims he had taken as lovers. It was what he strove for, in all honesty. Desire like that all but ensured he would capture his prey and live to serve another day for his master. 

But nothing of the sort was occurring between vision-Tav and himself. Instead, they were just… embracing? What in sweet hells was this?

She lay halfway on top of him. Her hair was mussed, perhaps from sleep or perhaps from previous lovemaking. One hand was drawing absentminded shapes across his chest, her lips trailing behind, leaving kisses in their wake. He watched as vision-Astarion chuckled softly, as his hands slipped beneath her sleepshirt to caress her waist, as he placed an innocent kiss on the top of Tav’s head. Eventually, she reached for his hand. They both watched their fingers intertwine, blissfully content.

It was the purest, unadulterated expression of affection that Astarion had ever seen. Something in his heart quaked at the sight of it. He wanted that moment. He envied, he hated, vision-Astarion for enjoying such apparent happiness.

So absorbed in the vision and its implications, Astarion failed to notice the soft padding of feet that indicated someone’s re-entry into the camp. 

“If the two of you are quite finished poking around in my head,” an angry voice suddenly spat from behind them, “I’d appreciate you preserving what little privacy I have left and shutting that damn spell off.”

Mortified, Astarion and Gale turned to see Tav, arms crossed and visibly seething with rage. Gale quickly dispelled the magic with a flick of his wrist. A blush was slowly but surely rising up Tav’s neck to reach her cheeks. Whether from rage or embarrassment, Astarion couldn’t be certain. 

“Tav, let us explain-” Astarion started.

“It was his idea-” Gale blurted at the same time, pointing at Astarion. 

Both paused, glaring at one another. But Tav would have none of their feeble attempts at backpedaling. 

“The explanation doesn’t matter. Whose idea it was doesn’t matter. The fact is that both of you violated the privacy of my mind, which I’ll remind you, has ALREADY been violated by having a bloody tadpole forced inside of it!” Tav shouted. At their words, the camp became enveloped in a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Astarion cringed inwardly, knowing the other party members could plainly hear this altercation and had likely stopped whatever it was that they had been doing to listen in. He noted the sounds of swords clanging together had ceased. He was certain Lae’zel and Shadowheart at least were aware of what was happening. Nosy bastards, all of them.

But what disturbed him even more was the realization that Tav’s eyes were welling with tears. She was too proud to acknowledge them or wipe them away. Such was her nature. But they were there nonetheless, and the knowledge that Astarion had brought her to the point of tears was enough to spur a rush of utter self-loathing inside him.

Without another word, Tav turned on her heel and marched stiffly out of camp, toward the direction of a nearby creek they’d identified as a water source earlier in the day.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to perform that spell,” Gale said as she disappeared between the trees. He dragged his hands down his face. 

“How could we have been so doltish, forgetting that all of our privacies have already been violated with this tadpole business?”

Astarion didn’t have an answer to that. At least, not one the wizard could possibly understand. 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Astarion, he realized, because violations of privacy had been something so intrinsic to his being for over 200 years. He didn’t even recognize it as something abnormal. Like a fish unaware that the water surrounding it is, in fact, water. 

Violations of privacy were a part of life, at least for him. So much so that his request for Gale to perform that magic hadn’t even occurred to him as an overstepping of boundaries. To Astarion, it had simply been a matter of survival. He had needed to know another potentially manipulative person’s true intentions, and so he had found a means to uncover it and maintain the upper hand. 

Belatedly, he also realized that Gale’s hesitation to cast the spell had had nothing to do with being inconvenienced for the evening, but because the wizard had known that it was improper to do to another person. If he had misread that, Astarion wondered, then what other truly benevolent behaviors had he mistaken as pragmatic manipulation?

“I need to go find her,” Astarion murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists in an uncharacteristic fit of uncertainty. 

“Yes, you do,” Gale asserted. “We both owe her a sincere apology… if she’ll even accept it.”

“I’ll see if I can convince her to come back to camp,” Astarion replied, making to leave in the direction Tav had stormed off. 

“Wait,” Gale said, a hand on his shoulder. Astarion turned to meet his gaze. 

“Look, well, I’m obviously not an expert in healthy demonstrations of affection. But I do think it’s obvious from what you saw in that spell that Tav well and truly cares about you. In perhaps the purest way possible. Treat that carefully.”

Part of Astarion wanted to laugh aloud in utter hopelessness at the wizard’s advice. Someone cared for him? Truly and purely? No hidden games, no strings attached? Oh certainly, that wouldn’t be a problem for Astarion at all. Obviously, his 200-year existence as a master-manipulator-fetch-hound for a power-hungry vampire lord had perfectly prepared him to respond to this situation in a healthy manner. Obviously.

But all that was too much to reveal to someone he barely knew and too heavy to say aloud. Rather than giving some smarmy retort, Astarion opted instead to give a stiff nod and continue walking toward the edge of camp. He had no idea how he could make things right with Tav, but at the very least he could try. 

***

He found Tav sitting on a fallen tree near the edge of the creek bed. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she rested a cheek to her knees. In the waning twilight, she reminded Astarion of some misbegotten gargoyle perched on the roof of a temple, solitary and so very sad. 

Her ears twitched as she noted his arrival. Astarion wasn’t trying to be stealthy. On top of everything else, the last thing he needed to do was scare her. 

“Can I join you?” he asked softly, wincing to himself at the awkwardness of the question. 

The reality was that there was no way to broach this conversation without some stilted beginning, and he hated it. Navigating tricky conversations was normally something he excelled at. But as he was quickly finding, when it related to Tav, nothing in his past life had prepared him to respond to her well. 

“If you’d like,” Tav answered tonelessly. 

Knowing it was probably the best response he was going to get, Astarion swallowed thickly and moved to sit down on the log next to her. 

“I… wanted to… apologize for what you saw, back at camp,” he began.

“Apologize for doing it, or apologize for getting caught?” Tav asked as she turned her head to look at him, resting her other cheek on her knees. 

Astarion balked at the question. Her piercing gaze unnerved him. He hadn’t really thought that far. 

“Both, I suppose?” he answered honestly, although it sounded more like a question to Tav. She huffed a laugh.

“You know, part of me really wants to yell at you. Scream in your face. Tell you off proper,” she mused.

“So why don’t you?” Astarion asked, perplexed. 

Tav didn’t respond at first, just sat there studying him. As if by staring at him long enough, she could project the answer into his mind. 

Astarion didn’t interrupt her, much as he would have liked to. Part of him always bristled when people gazed at him for too long. It was unfair that they could study him, when he hadn’t been able to so much as glance at his reflection in over 200 years. 

Finally, Tav released a heavy sigh, her body curling further in on itself. She closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Because then I would be just like every other bastard in your life who’s mistreated you.”

Astarion flinched in surprise. Those had not been the sort of words he’d been expecting. The truth of them cut deeper than had she raged at him like she wanted to. It left him feeling even more vulnerable, and that in turn made him want to retreat into the comfort of viciousness.

“I don’t need you to pull any punches,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Go ahead and say what you will.”

She straightened up at his tone, opening her eyes and returning his glare. 

“No. I don’t want to,” she said testily.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “It’s insulting.”

“Gods damn it all, Astarion!” Tav exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m not doing anything out of pity! I don’t want to rage at you, because I know that whatever I say right now, I won’t mean it come the morning!”

Astarion blinked. Once again he was left feeling flat footed by the turn of the conversation. Sensing his surprise, Tav continued on with her deluge of words.

“You hurt me tonight, and I’m angry at you - and at Gale, for that matter - for what you did. But you’ve shared enough of your… history… with me, that I realize your behavior is just… just a byproduct of centuries of abuse and manipulation you’ve endured! And I won’t be another abuser in your life. I won’t,” she asserted. 

Astarion continued staring at her, as if she were some otherworldly creature that had just wandered across his path. He watched as Tav inhaled a deep breath, releasing it shakily. She turned away from him to peer out into the forest, uncertain. She opened and closed her mouth several times before actually speaking. As if whatever she was about to say was more intimidating to her than anything else she’d said tonight. 

“I… care deeply for you, Astarion,” she said quietly. “You obviously saw that in the vision. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden motive. I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

She turned to look at him again before continuing, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

“I didn’t sleep with you that night of the tiefling party as some sort of maneuver to gain your trust. Although I understand if that was your motivation for doing so.” 

Astarion’s expression morphed into one of guilt. But Tav nodded soberly, as if she had already expected it, before continuing on. 

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. But I’m putting all my cards on the table now, so to speak. Actually, your decision tonight forced my hand, but I had been planning on telling you soon anyway. So, there you have it. The truth of my intentions. What you do with that information is up to you.”

She turned back to gaze out at their surroundings. Like she was giving him the opportunity to bolt away without her watching him. As if she expected him to flee from her confession. 

But Astarion didn’t flee. He remained seated, staring at her in complete wonderment. 

“Why?” he asked quietly.

She looked back at him again, confusion evident on her face. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you care for me? You’re so… well-adjusted. And I’m well… this,” he finished lamely, placing a hand on his chest. 

Tav pursed her lips. “It would be a mistake to misconstrue my empathy for you as me being well-adjusted. Everyone has their own demons, Astarion,” she murmured. “Mine just look different from yours.”

Astarion mulled her words over in his mind, considering them. He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees, his head drooping slightly. 

“I…,” he started, unsure. “That vision… what it implied… You deserve something real, Tav. You’re incredible… truly.” 

Tav closed her eyes, bracing for the fallout. Even though she would accept his decision, whatever it was, she didn’t think she could bear to watch him deny her. It would hurt too much. 

“Look. When we met, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan,” he blurted all at once. Rising swiftly to his feet, Tav watched as he began to pace before her, near to bursting with frenetic energy. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he counted off, laughing half-heartedly. “It was… easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do… was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he finished, stopping to stand before her. 

She held his gaze, speechless. 

“I want you,” he whispered fervently. “I want what was in that vision… I want us to be something real.”

Never in a million years had she thought he would respond to her like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion cut her off with another sudden exclamation. 

“I just don’t know what real is,” he confessed, his tone a touch hysterical. Tav knew from his body language that being this transparent was completely out of Astarion’s comfort zone. 

“Being… close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back. For him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I… I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to,” he finished, staring at her with beseeching eyes, willing her to understand.

Tav rose to her feet, coming to stand before him. 

“I don’t want you for your body,” she whispered. “Or to perform any acts of intimacy. We can be together, without sleeping together, for as long as you need.”

“Really,” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, rough with emotion.

“Really,” Tav asserted, giving him a small smile. “Would it be all right if…” she paused, conflicted. He eyed her curiously.

“Could I hug you?” she whispered.

The fact that she asked before doing so caused a well of emotion to spring up inside him. Eyes watering, Astarion nodded. 

Slowly, Tav moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. A perfect fit. He felt her exhale a deep sigh.

Tav hugging him was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt. At least, any he could remember feeling. The act of being touched, embraced, without any desire for something more. She just wanted to hold him, feel him close to her. It was incomprehensible to him, but utterly enjoyable, at the same time. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion raised his arms to return Tav’s embrace. Drawing her even closer, he bowed his head to rest his cheek against her hair. It was soft, like the finest silk. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, appreciating her sweet, floral scent.   

She made to pull away after a moment, not wishing to overwhelm him. But Astarion gripped her more firmly, a silent urge for them to stay that way a little longer. 

“This… this is nice,” he whispered. 

He both felt and heard Tav hum contentedly in response. 

It wasn’t identical to the vision from Tav’s mind that he had seen, but Astarion reveled in their embrace nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something new. And for the first time in his very, very long life, Astarion felt excited at the prospects of what would come next. 

[cryptidghostgirl]

hiii can i request a silly little scene i have in my head? ok so!

alastor x wife! reader- theyve been together since they were alive, legit partners in crime they both encouraged eachother to kill and when they reunited in hell after around 8 years they were independent once again UNTIL They got in trouble with Lilith and she took reader to be like her slave until Alastor finished helping Charie with her dream (until he helped prove that demons can be redeemed) so they didnt see each other for another 7 years (his absence)

And all throughout the first season hes like “I miss my wife, Husk. I miss her a lot” (while drunk-) like that one sonic dub meme and starts shaping his shadow creature into reader and talking to it and everyone is like “m yep he’s officially lost it.”

BUT then Sir Pentious is redeemed and Lilith sees and shes like “damn :/“ and send reader to the new hotel via portal and reader just. falls on the ground in front of the big entrance and everyone hears it and they rush out and Alastor is quiet, wide eyed and reader goes smth like “i know- i shouldnt have accepted it in your name but-“ blah blah she rambles on about it and Alastor just goes “Youre as beautiful as the day I los you.” LIKE THAT HEARYBREAKING SCENE FROM HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON 2 ;-; and everyone reacts in their own way

I REALLY NEED THIS BUT I LACK THE ABILITIES TO DO IT HEEELP (love u)

A/N oh bestie,, i got you. I was actually planning on something similar where Alastor was getting drunk at a bar and talking about the love of his life (I'm still gonna write that one too but I really like this prompt!!) You guys really come up with the best requests, please keep sending them in.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: ANGST also bad words (idk why i wrote the warnings like this). Also Angel Dust is in this one and I love him but he is a warning on his own.

Word Count: 2,392

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor and Y/n, partners in crime, the fuel and the fire. On a first glance, it would be assumed she was his fuel, the coal and dry leaves he fed himself by. Once anyone got to know them -- and god, what trouble a person was in if they got to know them -- they quickly realized it was the other way around.

Hand in hand from day one, from childhood. Running from the cops, washing the blood off one another's faces. In the living world and life after death, nothing could tear them apart. He was the soil she planted herself in, he was her rock and Y/n? Well she was Alastor's everything. He'd do anything at all for her, all she had to do was ask.

For a decade, they terrified the living world. They were the reason to double check the lock on the door before bed, they were the ominous shadow at the corner. When cold death wrapped them in his reckless grasp, they turned their terror on Hell.

The pair made a name for themselves quickly, filling up the airwaves and making waves in the underworld. For generations, they reigned supreme. For generations, they knew no fear. Then one day, they simply disappeared.

When Alastor reappeared on the streets seven years later without his shadow, the town was alight with gossip. No one knew where he had been, where she still was, or why he had returned but Alastor quickly rebuilt his operation, setting up shop at Lucifer's daughter's Hazbin Hotel along with several of the souls he owned.

The hotel's other residents and workers were distrustful of the man, to say the least. He was shifty, wore a constant smile, and rumors circled around him like birds of prey. That was until about three months into his stay, at least.

Angel hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been coming down to the bar for a drink and a rant of his own when he'd heard the familiar, crackling voice of the Hotel's host.

"I just... I miss her so much, Husk."

He sounded sad, utterly dejected. Angel crouched down on the staircase, hiding his slim body behind one of the ornate posts supporting the railing.

"You keep saying that but do nothing to go find her. She disappeared the same time as you, you know." came Husk's gruff reply.

"I know she did."

"You keep saying that, acting like you know something. Admit it: you don't know shit, Alastor."

Alastor's radio waves faltered, squeaking slightly. Angel tensed in terror, wondering if he'd been found out. This was clearly a private conversation, and the Radio Demon was testy at the best of times. Right now he seemed positively furious.

"Don't test me, Husk." Alastor said after a moment, breaking the tense silence, "She... we both got roped into something. I am doing my part, she is doing hers."

Angel straightened himself up, deciding it was high time he entered the room. He still wanted that drink, after all. He let his feet fall heavily on the stairs, alerting the others to his presence. Husk turned toward the sound, meeting Angel's eyes as he entered the bar. Alastor, on the other hand, kept his back to the spider demon.

Taking a seat beside Alastor, Husk immediately poured Angel a drink and slid it across the counter towards him.

"So, tough night, Smiles?" Angel asked, turning to Alastor who downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my good fellow." Alastor hummed in response.

There was a threat in his voice, but Angel could tell the demon's heart wasn't in it. Everything was just, odd.

"Yeah... sure..." Angel scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Radio man was crying to me about his wife five seconds ago." Husk grumbled and Angel's eyes went wide.

"You have a wife?" he asked, turning back to Alastor, "I mean, I get it. I'm in to the whole 'tall dark and creepy' thing too but, you care about someone? I don’t know if I can see it.”

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he turned on Husk. The cat demon rolled his eyes in a brazen display of disrespect. He knew his master well, knew this was the only thing he had any leverage with the man on. With a deep breath, Alastor placed his hands firmly on the bar top and pulled himself to his feet. Not saying another word, he disappeared into his shadows.

That had been the first odd occurrence. Of course Angel had told Charlie and Charlie had told everyone, had even approached Alastor about it. The Radio Demon brushed it all off with skill and for a while, things were quiet.

About a month later, the second strange thing began happening. Alastor had always had a certain sway over shadows, everyone knew that. However, he very rarely used them, brought them out if it wasn't to hide him or take him where he needed to be. Then, suddenly, one began to follow him.

"Uh, Alastor?" Charlie had timidly approached him the first time she saw this happening.

"Yes, Charlie my dear?" Alastor asked, turning to face her as he tossed his microphone in the air, catching it neatly in the center of the stand.

"Well, we were just wondering if everything was... okay?" she asked, her hands behind her back and a pointed gaze on the shadow.

"If everything..." Alastor trailed off, following the path of Charlie's gaze and realizing what was going on, "No, no my dear. Everything is quite all right, quite alright indeed."

"Well, okay... If you say so." Charlie had relented after a few moments, unsure of what else to do.

Eventually, the members of the Hazbin Hotel grew used to the shadows, they too slipped out of their minds. Overcome with impending doom of the extermination just a month away, Alastor's strange behavior was no longer a priority.

That had been until the third odd occurrence came into being. It was Sir Pentious who had noticed it first, drawing it to the group's attention as Alastor walked through the lobby and past the group doing trust exercises there on his way to some meeting or another with the other overlords.

"Sir Pentious?" Charlie had called, trying to bring him back to earth as he watched the place Alastor had occupied, "Sir Pentious?"

"Pentious!" Vaggie yelled and his head snapped to her, "You're not coming up with some new plan to attack Alastor, are you?"

"No!" he quickly exclaimed, waving his hands frantically in the air, "Not at all just..."

"What?" Vaggie asked through gritted teeth, advancing a step forward, her spear in hand.

"It's just... doesn't that shadow Alastor has had following him well.... doesn't it kind of look like a woman?"

Husk broke out into wild laughter while Angel widened his eyes.

"Oh, he's definitely lost it now." Husk exclaimed as he calmed himself, clutching his stomach, "If I knew Y/n was the secret to breaking him down, I woulda done something about it years ago."

"No you wouldn't have, ya big talker." Angel teased, elbowing the cat demon lightly.

"Y/n?" Sir Pentious asked.

"Alastor's wife. That was her name." Husk replied.

"Did you know her?" Charlie asked.

Alastor had left the hotel, the threat that had held their questions at bay for months was gone and the topic was right. Husk nodded.

"So, what's she like?" Angel asked suggestively, "Is she more of a dom? Does deer boy like to get dicked down by his lady?"

"Gross." Charlie shook her head, her hands to her temples, "I do not want to know that."

"She's a good kid." Husk said after a moment, "She's nice..."

He trailed off.

"But?" Vaggie prompted, sensing there was more that he wanted to say.

Husk sighed.

"If you think Alastor is trouble, she's a fucking house fire set for the insurance money."

"So probably not interested in being a guest." Charlie dejectedly stated.

Husk shrugged.

"You never know. It has been seven years since anyone has seen her. Alastor allegedly knows where she's at but, he hasn't gone after her. Just keeps whining to me about it so, I don't know. Maybe she's changed. I doubt it though. Sweet as a pea, sharp as a knife."

Charlie had never felt such relief as when she learned Alastor had not died in the chaos of the battle. The hotel was destroyed, heaven was pissed, Sir Pentious had died but, at least he was alright. They rebuilt the hotel, Alastor's same shadow of a woman trailing after him wherever he went. After about a week, thanks to all the angelic and demonic powers involved in the construction, the new Hotel was finished.

It was just as they put the finishing touches on the place, hung the portrait of Sir Pentious they'd commissioned above the fire place, that a portal opened in the lobby. Everyone tensed, banding together behind Charlie and Alastor. Angels were coming, they were sure of it.

A crash echoed from the other side, a sharp yell and then something tumbled through the portal. With a flash, the portal disappeared behind the shape of a person huddled on the floor. She coughed violently.

Alastor's eyes went wide. Everyone else was too distracted to notice, but if they'd have been paying attention, they would have seen his shadow disappear.

The girl was filthy, her clothes torn and her hair tangled. She let out another, sharp cough before slowly lifting her head. Alastor took a trembling step forward.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice soft in disbeleif.

A smile, wide and sharp, split the woman's bruised face in two.

"Hey hun, I'm home."

In a flash, he was at her side, helping her to her feet, checking her for wounds.

"Jesus, Y/n." he sighed, "You're a mess."

"I know."

"Y/n-"

"I know. I shouldn't have done it, you don't need to lecture me. I didn't have a choice. It was you or me, Al. I couldn't... I can't... I had to. You've gotta understand."

"Sweetheart-"

Y/n cut him off again, her speech a single, constant, stressed-out stream.

"It was stupid, I know. I know. I really do but, she gave me the option and I couldn't say no cause then if I said no you'd really be the one in trouble a-"

Alastor raised a hand gently to her cheek and Y/n's words caught in her throat. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes at last.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

His voice was soft, so quiet the others could barely hear him. Y/n's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, holding them lightly.

"I.." she stuttered, her mind racing.

With a sigh and a slight shake of her head, she gave up in the search for words and buried herself in his chest. Alastor wrapped his arms around Y/n, pressing her tightly into his frame.

"God, I missed you." she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Alastor pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you." she continued, "I'm so sorry."

Alastor pulled her off of him, leaning down the slightest bit so they were eye to eye. Y/n, wiped a stray tear away, letting out a slight, sad laugh. Alastor's eyes traversed her face, caressing every crevasse.

"I'm so glad your alright but, I don't understand." he said at last, "How are you back? The deal..."

Y/n nodded and Alastor's eyes went wider still. Leaning on Alastor's shoulder for support, she turned her eyes onto the rest of the group.

"You must be Charlie." she hummed softly, meeting the young demon's gaze.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, I am. I run the Hazbin Hotel, which is where you are, to help rehabilitate sinners."

"I know." Y/n nodded, her voice quavering slightly, "I've heard so much about you. You... my dear, it worked."

"I- what?" every other question died in Charlie's throat, shock shot through her body like a bullet.

"It worked." Y/n confirmed, "You did it. I had a deal, a deal which Alastor went to your side to get me out of. If you succeeded in redeeming a soul with his aid, I would be free. And here I am."

"Here you are." Alastor repeated, spinning Y/n to face him once again.

She wobbled unsteadily on her feet. Catching sight of this along with the numerous wounds all over her body, Alastor scooped Y/n up into his arms like he did when they had first been married, when they had crossed the first threshold together. Y/n looped her arms around his neck, exhaustion seeping in with the relief as she let her head fall on his chest.

"Vaggie..." Charlie began as she turned to her girlfriend, "you don't think..."

"Pentious?" Vaggie asked and Charlie nodded.

"It's gotta be." Angel confirmed.

"You did good, kid." Husk smiled, patting Charlie on the back.

Y/n raised her head at the sound of a familiar voice, her eyes opening.

"Husker?" she asked with a smile.

The cat demon stepped forward, bowing slightly.

"Husker! I-"

"Enough of that, my love." Alastor cut her off, tapping her nose gently, "You need a shower and some rest. You can meet everyone in the morning."

Y/n crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at her husband.

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise." he sighed.

"Does that mean you're staying?" Charlie asked tentatively and the couple turned to her.

"Whatever the little lady desires." Alastor stated, looking back down at his wife in a lovestruck daze.

"Yes, Charlie. We're staying." Y/n laughed, "Things need to start changing around here and I don't see anyone else doing a god damn thing to make that happen except for you."

"I.." Charlie was speechless, the kindness this fear inspiring woman was directing towards her, having never met her before. What Husk had said made sense, she smiled, "Thank you. I don't know what you did, but that you both so much."

"Anything for my favorite girl." Alastor kissed Y/n softly.

"Oh, get a room." Angel scoffed, rolling his eyes.

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 1 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (angst version to my first birthday girl blurb) (title changed for series — previous title “birthday girl angst version”)

cw (for whole series): 18+, rafe x f!reader, mentions of drug use, angst, eventual smut, violence

wc: 0.6k

notes: honestly i’m thinking about making this particular blurb a series but i’m not sure though

You woke up on your birthday excited to get your day started. Your boyfriend Rafe told you the day before he would pick you up for brunch, and then you would spend the day doing whatever you wanted.

By the time you showered and were ready to go, your stomach was growling, prepared to have some delicious food. You checked your phone and saw the time read 10:45. Rafe said that he'd be here by 11:00.

30 minutes later, you hadn't heard anything from Rafe, so you decided to call him. Each of your calls went straight to voicemail. You were starting to get worried, so you decided to check social media and see if he may have posted anything. You clicked on Kelce's close friend's story and saw a party happening at his house. A few videos later, you saw one of Rafe doing coke off the table in front of him.

Your eyes start to water. He had promised you that he would stop doing drugs when you guys started dating. You knew it made him irritable and hard to be around. It also made him forgetful, which means he was probably high out of his mind somewhere and probably doesn't remember he promised to take you to brunch. Or the fact that it's your birthday.

You wipe the few stray tears off your cheek, careful not to ruin your makeup, before calling Sarah, inviting her and the pogues to have breakfast with you at your place. When you asked her about Rafe, she said she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know where he was.

-

The time was currently 10:22 pm, and you had just gotten home from your birthday dinner with your family. Rafe was supposed to be there too, but you had to lie and say he hadn't been feeling well. You could barely enjoy yourself. You still hadn't gotten so much as a text from him.

You slipped off your heels, but before you could make it up the stairs there was a ring at your doorbell. You opened the door to see Rafe standing there with flowers in hand.

"What do you want, Rafe?" You really didn't want to sit around and listen to his excuses.

"Baby, I'm sorry, really. Just please let me explain."

You scoffed but leaned against your doorframe, prompting him to keep going.

"Okay, so Kelce was throwing this party, and I wasn't going to go, but everyone kept messaging me saying I should at least swing by and everything since they hadn't seen me in a while. I went and it was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, but things got out of hand..."

"Yeah Rafe, things got out of hand as in you stayed at the party and started doing fucking coke? Out of hand as in you got so high you didn't text me all day, on my birthday, while I'm worried sick about you?"

Rafe's eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to know about that. He outstretched his hand that was holding the flowers to you. "Baby I... I'm sorry. I can take you shopping to make up for-"

You smacked the flowers out of his hand and he flinched. Your voice was shaky as tears pooled in your eyes. "No Rafe! Money isn't going to fix this. Obviously, I'm not important enough for you to keep your promise. Getting high means more to you than being there for your girlfriend."

Before he could speak again, you slammed the door in his face and made your way upstairs even as he started to talk to you through the door before moving on to blowing up your phone. You blocked his number and went to bed, unsure of what was next for your relationship.

part 2

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