#emotionally petrified

[omi-replies]

RAN OUT OF TAGS… hahahahaa

ANYHOW AMAZING CONFLICT/CLIMAX PEAK HIGH OMG CANT wait for the falling of it all. The clarifying of the narrative and just find that tension… for it to just flow AAAAHHHH *bangs my head against the steering wheel* *klaxon blares loudly* *looks around alarmed in the parking lot*

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow gray.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into a viscid, uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back��he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[drowningbpdbodies]

The horrors persist, but me? Not so much

[direquail]

so Murderbot is great and I love it, however I would like to bring to tumblr's attention another series by Martha Wells, the Books of the Raksura. I recently finished "The Cloud Roads" and honestly I think it's the perfect book for tumblr because it's for people who want to fuck dragons and love pretty men who are also wet cats

[patchdotexe]

tbh every time i watch defunctland or, like, any theme park youtube thing, i get nostalgic abt going to cedar point as a kid. its not really feasible for me anymore because of the distance (and was mostly, like, somewhere my older sisters would take me when i was really little so my memories are all fuzzy) but the bits and pieces i remember were really cool

[akuzeisms]

WHAT IS HOLDING YOU BACK?

the inability to rely on others without feeling like a burden

you're spending way too much time trying to find an explanation for everything you do and think, aren't you? you feel like all of the answers have to come from inside of you, since that's the role you've grown into. from the outside, people think you have it together. they see your open arms as invitation, and therefore keep leaning on you. at first, it was okay, since you wanted to help. but slowly, you're being dragged further and further down. you need help, too. but you're supposed to be there for everyone else. you're the one they go to when they're struggling. you've put everyone else first, and now you feel like you can't allow others to know that you need help. please, stop telling yourself you're fine. deep down, you know you aren't. things don't have to be this way. you can let those people in. if anything, they will be grateful that you reached out. can you imagine how nice it'd feel to take a break from dealing with this all on your own?

i stole from @pessimistics so steal it from me--

[mycurrentobsessionis]

@pink-pearl-plain-jeans took a few days but here. hope this is something you actually wanted lol. this is lowkey a ramble but it is an informed ramble.

First, you are gonna seriously regret asking me, because I have nearly 300 hours logged between these two games and half a masters degree in clinical psychology.

Second, to be fair, you don't have know a lot about ballroom dancing -- I know almost nothing. Toward the end of Step 4 on Baxter's route, he will joke to Jamie about the irony of ballroom dancing, which requires both a partner and a certain level of intimacy, is his most beloved hobby, when the ability to form close, intimate relationships is his biggest struggle.

Baxter is a pretty good example of what disorganized, or fearful-avoidant, attachment looks like in adults. He both desperately wants to form emotional connections with others and intensely fears those same attachments, viewing them as inherently unsafe and unstable. The player can see this in the way Baxter attempts to form lots of superficial connections where he overshares personal details while also being evasive about his deeper feelings. He is aware that he needs some level of human interaction and works to fill that need without leaving himself vulnerable to being hurt or abandoned. This can occur in individuals who had inconsistent parents growing up. Baxter's relationship to dancing mirrors his emotional progression with attachment to others.

As a child, he has a stable group of friends and dances at the country club competitively, and thus likely has a stable, consistent partner with whom he performs. We know very little about Mr. and Mrs. Ward, except for the following:

They are older.

They are wealthy, and likely old money.

They are bigoted, like being queerphobic and racist.

They expected Baxter to behave with greater maturity than would have been typical for his age and "at times, as if he was even older [than them]."

He did not want to spend his first summer after college with them, so they shipped him off to a tiny beachside tourist town, either not caring or not knowing that he is petrified of the ocean.

Something about Baxter would be a problem, and they would hate him if he were someone else's child.

From this, we can garner a few things. The first is that the Wards were likely emotionally immature, possibly parentified him, and likely played "it's okay if it's you" card. When we meet Baxter as a child in OLNF, he is clearly very fond of Qiu, Ren, and possibly Tamarack and Franky as well. These relationships likely provided insulation from parents who alternated between being emotionally distant and overcontrolling. It also makes sense that Baxter would be drawn to younger children here. Baxter chalks it up to his own immaturity, but I would argue that it is in fact because he is precocious that he chooses a younger friend group. Kids his own age would likely be put off by his attitude and may take it as condescending, whereas younger children would appreciate him as older and wiser. Additionally, younger children give him the opportunity to play and engage in silly antics that he may have missed out the first time.

I also wouldn't be surprised if there was some cognitive dissonance as well, since his parents probably espoused queerphobic ideals while also professing to love Baxter, who himself is bisexual and knew very well that he was attracted to boys by the age of 12. Given this, and the amount of bitterness with which he later speaks about them, it also would not surprise me if they had some influence on his drifting apart from Ren and Qiu as they got older. Not that this has to be the case, but I could see Baxter avoiding bringing his very-visibly queer friends (including one who is also a POC) around his parents to avoid hurting them.

He grows up and appears in OLBA as a teen who is somewhat adrift. He doesn't appear to have a stable friend group or sense of identity, and he has limited his contact with his parents to the minimum amount that he feels obligated to contact them. Now, shifting identity is pretty normal for young adults, but Baxter's seems less stable than it should be. What I actually thought was really interesting is the subtle shift between Baxter as he presents himself and as he actually is. He presents himself as accommodating, complimentary, confident, and friendly. The person he actually is -- the one he thinks no one will like -- is sardonic, self-effacing, mischievous, and lonely. In his desire to be included, he avoids imposing his will on others -- Jamie can even convince him to wear a swimsuit and go into the ocean if they really want, something he is terrified to do. He is only able to be genuine if either (a) Jamie has made an explicit effort to show him he is accepted or (b) he is emotionally dysregulated enough that he is unable to keep up the charade

Anyway, at this point, he is presumably no longer competing, and no longer has a steady partner. In his first interaction with Jamie and Cove, he is immediately offering to be their partner, which is a deliberate double-entendre. He comes on strong, because he needs the relationship to begin quickly in order the get what he needs out of it. He has no intention of actually taking the time to get to know people or build a genuine connection with them. It's about control here. Also note that he offers this with the implication that he would be teaching them to dance. Even in asking for a temporary connection, he's framing it as him offering a service in exchange for their company because he doesn't see himself as valuable on his own (Qiu also does this btw). In summary, he is dancing with people he barely knows because while the steps won't be familiar or comforting, he doesn't have to worry about mistakes either. (dun dun dun, the mortifying ordeal of being known!)

As an adult, he shifts this into a more formalized version. He isn't stupid, nor does he enjoy hurting people. He knows that most people are unwilling to abandon relationships so quickly, and he knows he's hurt people. The thing about attachment styles is that you can develop a secure attachment style as an adult. The problem is that you do this by essentially re-parenting yourself. Learning to treat himself with self-compassion is really difficult, though, because that's a learned skill. He needs community or a therapist. The problem is that because of his disorganized attachment style, forming a community is difficult and he would probably also have trouble finding a therapist because that would require a level of vulnerability that he struggles with. Baxter also heavily relies on avoidance as a coping mechanism. When he enters into a relationship, because he is primed to view them as unpredictable and conditional, it activates his fight-flight-freeze response. He then attempts to escape the situation by (a) leaving, (b) ghosting/ignoring, and (c) distancing himself using social niceties to avoid confrontation. If he is cornered (like the end of step 3), he switches to fight mode and becomes caustic. This may indicate that if he entered a therapeutic relationship, he is likely to end therapy prematurely to avoid thinking about his loneliness and attachment issues.

So, because he knows he hurts people by doing all of this, and because he doesn't know how to maintain a relationship, he formalizes the arrangement. People literally pay him for a service (planning) and because he is "in" on such an intimate event, he still gets the feeling of getting to know people and be included, without the emotional risk. Same thing with dancing.

That's why dancing with him after the wedding is such a big deal. Yes, it's a callback to a very special moment for Baxter, but it's also a metaphor for re-entering a relationship. He's been looking at and judging his relationships on the ruptures not the repairs, and to be able to repair a relationship after the mask has come off, the set's been wrecked, and the crowd is gone means that he has lived a lonely life for no reason.

Anyway, all this is to say that Cove was 100% right when he clocked that Baxter was insincere and interacted with people in a really weird way. No one listened though.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Since we miss our favourite irradiated cowboy Cooper Howard - do you have any thoughts about being in an actual relationship with him post war? What would that look like? I loved your Hancock hc‘s, he’s the cutest 🥹 also wishing you safe and restful holidays

Yes, Anon, I have plenty of fluff/serious relationship thoughts about my man Cooper Howard. I really enjoyed doing the Hancock ones, as he's so easy to imagine being domestic with, especially if you go the romance route with him. Cooper has great potential as a long-term partner as well, if you're willing to be patient for a while...like, really, really patient. Preternaturally patient.

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul Fluff Headcanons

Once you break through the mile-high walls the man has up around him, he's very...marriage-minded, dare I say? He knows that, hard and detached as he's become, he's not letting just anyone close enough to know him intimately. Anyone he deems good enough for that is obviously spouse material. He allows himself to long for some semblance of family from time to time, when he feels his most vulnerable. Of course, he never imagined he'd actually have one again, so lonely for so long that he's nearly forgotten what truly enjoyable company feels like. Cooper loved being married, loved being a dad, and the moment you become serious enough, he remembers exactly how much.

Even if the two of you don't have any kind of marriage ceremony (they do exist in various forms, still, but not like he would like if he's honest with himself), he'll ask you to marry him and refer to you as his spouse when the time feels right. Calls himself your husband proudly (though exercises caution in certain company). Takes his new marriage every bit as seriously as he took the first one. Is absolutely petrified of losing you or running you off, as he remembers so vividly just how badly losing his first wife hurt.

He'll never give up looking for Janey, no matter how futile that search may sometimes seem. If you aren't supportive of that search, you aren't the one for him. The man will never know true peace until he knows what's happened to his daughter. It'll mean the world to him if you show interest in helping him, or even just show that you care.

He's less emotionally honest the closer the two of you become, despite how counterintuitive that may seem. The more he cares about your emotional wellbeing, the more likely he is to keep things from you for what he perceives is your benefit. You have plenty to worry about, he thinks to himself; he won't burden you with his troubles on top of it. Besides, it's his job to take care of you. That's what he signed up for when he became your husband. It can be quite torturous at times, as you'll be able to see something is bothering him or stressing him out, but he won't talk about it unless you basically nag him enough to force him to confess out of frustration (and even then, he won't communicate whatever it is very clearly because he'll be speaking out of anger). It won't be easy to convince him to be a little more honest, but it isn't impossible.

Cuddly. Would never use that word to describe himself, but he's been so touch-starved for so long that once he gets a little taste of human contact again, he can't get enough. Craves your touch constantly once he finally opens himself up to it. The cuddliness doesn't come out overnight, though; it starts slowly, him lingering after sex, holding you a little closer, a little longer. Sitting close enough that your arms touch. Moving closer when you sleep until your bodies are touching when you wake up. Once you're comfortable, he wants you in his lap basically every waking moment of down time the two of you have, and tends to get his way when you have enough privacy. Doesn't even really engage with you unless you engage first, just wants you there with him while he cleans his guns or whatever he's occupying himself with. If you aren't cooperating, he'll just pull you into his lap as you pass by and keep you there. Struggle all you like; you're where you belong.

I mentioned Hancock being a fan of having a "domestic schedule", and Cooper's much the same way. Though it doesn't occur at the same time each day because you two are often on the move, he's quite partial to a routine when you stop for the night. After you've had a look around and unpacked the few things you need, he likes to have a little supper together before settling in for some quiet time. Enjoys cuddling and pillow-talking with you until you fall asleep; sometimes he just stays there and holds you all night afterwards. Makes you breakfast when you wake up, even if it's just heating a can of something over the fire. The ritual of it all brings him a lot of comfort.

Acts of service fiend. To Coop, the best way to show someone you love them is to lighten their load, to make their life easier and more enjoyable. He's always felt that way, and the feeling has only intensified over the decades of struggle. Once, he would have been able to spoil you much easier, to bury you in gifts to attempt to supplement the time he wasn't able to give you. Buy away your problems. Being able to pay other people to perform services for you also makes it easier to spoil your spouse. He does his best, though. Carries all your stuff, takes care of your weapons and armor for you, makes sure he's stocked up with whatever medical supplies you could need. Spends extra caps on your favorite foods. However, because these displays are his primary way of showing his affection, he gets insanely jealous if you let anyone else do any of the things he usually does for you, especially another man.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part VI — (Azriel x Reader)

Hi! Here’s Part VI! Thank you for reading 💕 hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none for this part.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It would be an outright lie to say that doubts hadn’t begun to sneak into your mind.

There were so many things wrong about this. So many things you imagined would have your mother turning in her grave.

A fae male — you’d willingly invited a fae male into your home, into your company. Into a situation where it would just be the two of you.

You should have been petrified. Sick to your stomach. Regretful and guilty and ashamed to have even considered any of this.

But the triumphant feeling of the entire following day was simply excitement. A nagging eagerness for night to finally sweep in, and for Azriel to return.

You’d laid awake in bed, trying to conjure up the sound of his voice in your mind. That lilting, graceful quality to it that felt like chills skittering over your skin. You ached to hear it again; to revel in it.

Your day dragged by torturously slow. The only visitors to the inn had been the two village guards who had paid you a visit to ask if you’d seen or heard anything around the time of Polly’s death.

No, you’d told them. I was here at home all night. The lie had come to you so easily. And you were past the point of trying to convince yourself that you’d ever tip the authorities off to Azriel’s presence in the village.

He’d be accused of the deaths in a heartbeat. And you knew — you knew he’d done nothing wrong.

So you passed your day wistfully waiting for the daylight to trick away. When your father announced he was leaving for the festival, you didn’t beg him, this time, to allow you to attend. You merely wished him a good evening, and dead-bolted the door shut behind him.

You knew that Azriel wouldn’t need to come through the door. Not with his…abilities.

The sky’s summer evening hues eventually bled into a dark blanket of stars above the village. It didn’t bother you, tonight, that you were the only one left behind.

Didn’t bother you one bit.

Not as you felt a strange, pleasant prickle of awareness on the back of your neck. You knew what to expect this time.

You turned just as Azriel stepped out of thin air, right in the inn’s main bar area.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your gaze slowly drinking in the tall, broad sight of him. He was resplendent in his dark, artistic leathers. His hair sat a little tousled and windswept on his head, his tan cheeks bitten by the breeze.

He studied you just as intensely, the caramel specks in his eyes seeming to darken.

But then one half of his full, sensuous mouth kicked up into a smile. “I didn’t frighten you this time.”

“No.” A breathy laugh escaped you. “I knew what to expect.

He cracked a grin far too beautiful for you to stare at for too long, lest it render you a speechless, boneless form incapable of thought. Lips tipped up into a smile, you quickly looked for something — anything — to say.

“Would you like a drink?” Making drinks was where you were comfortable; something you did day in and day out without a second thought. It occupied your hands well enough.

Azriel inclined his head. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

You breezed past him, fully aware of the pleasant tension that followed you, an entity entirely of its own. Azriel left a respectful distance as he followed.

There was something amusing about the way he perched on one of the barstools — just like any old punter that frequented the place. Except that your usual punters tended not to have wings or a level of beauty that seemed almost prohibited. An inexplicable, emotionally charged giggle wanted to force its way up your throat, and you quickly tamped down on it.

Clearly the thrill of such a clandestine meeting was having an effect on you.

If Azriel noticed your amused expression, he didn’t comment — though he did watch you closely, intensely, as you stopped behind the bar and reached for two glasses. You didn’t ask him what, exactly, he wanted to drink — another of your quiet talents seemed to be the art of taking one glimpse at a person and just knowing what their poison of choice would be.

You were curious to know if that extended to the non-human variety of person.

Your movements around that small area were entirely fluid; almost graceful. A routine that flowed from one movement to the next. You reached for the finest whiskey that The Bluebird Inn had to offer, its smoky aroma wafting up to you as you poured a measure into each glass. And despite the honeyed gaze that was trained on you, you were entirely at ease, natural—

Until a strange, cold, feather-like touch tickled the underside of your forearm. You yelped, almost dropping the bottle as you stepped back; just as a dark shadow skittered its way back to Azriel.

“I’m sorry. They’re curious about you.” His voice was soothing. “They won’t harm you.”

You studied them — really studied them, for the first time. There was an artistic quality to the way they coiled around Azriel’s figure like a dancing, protective shield. Like a sentient mist that moved entirely of its own volition. They were—

“Beautiful.” You breathed the word aloud.

Azriel’s cheeks seemed to darken slightly. He dipped his chin. “I command them, but…they can also act upon their own thoughts and feelings. Their senses.”

Indeed, you watched as one shadow — the very same one that had brushed your arm — snaked out towards the two glasses filled with amber liquid. It was with pure fascination that you observed the way it wrapped around one glass and dragged it closer to Azriel, as careful and firm as a hand’s grip.

“Did you tell it to do that?” You blinked in amazement.

“I didn’t — though I could have. It acted entirely of its own choosing.” Azriel accepted the glass, lifting it to his lips. He paused, glancing at the seat beside him. “Sit with me?”

Right. Because the bar felt like a barrier between you. A nuisance.

You felt too aware of every one of your movements as you took your drink in hand and traipsed round to the other side of the bar. You were too human; not at all graceful and masterfully elegant like Azriel was. The toe of your boot caught on one of the stools’ legs, sending your body hurtling forward and the liquid in your glass sloshing—

But Azriel’s hand shot out without a lick of hesitation, steadying your waist and keeping you upright. You could have sworn that his palm burned through your tunic.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat.

“No need to apologise.” So gently, like he feared startling you, he prised your glass from your hand and set it down beside his. And then pulled out the stool directly next to him.

His hand continued to steady you as you climbed up. And only when you were seated — not at risk of falling flat on your face — did he retract it. You tried not to think too much about how cold your waist felt in its absence.

The position was…intimate; legs and arms close enough to touch, scorching gazes only centimetres apart. You lifted your eyes to his. Found him already staring at you.

You paused. “What is it?”

“I feel like we spoke so much about me last night.” Up close, Azriel’s voice was even more of a caress. “I want to know about you.”

This was the embarrassing part. You didn’t have five centuries of experience to share — didn’t even really have twenty-one years of experience, given how sheltered your life had been. When you stopped to think about it, you were really quite…boring.

“There’s not much to know.” You admitted, your cheeks flushing. You gestured to the room around you. “This is me. This place is my life. I’ve always been here, and I suppose I always will be.”

Azriel’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. “Through choice?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were up to you, would you choose to always be here?”

You stared back at him, pursing your lips. You knew the answer without having to ponder it; gods, you’d thought about it often enough.

No, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t always be here. You didn’t mind helping at the inn — sometimes, you even enjoyed it. But if you were given half the opportunity, you’d snatch up a little more vibrancy to lighten up your insular life. Even if it was just…a few friends to meet with regularly, to break up the mundane. A chance to be your own person.

But everything your father had ever said and done was for your own good. He simply didn’t want you ending up like your mother.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not quite liking the answer as you replied, “It’s irrelevant what I’d choose. This is my life.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked around the room, drinking in the polished wooden tables, their chairs stacked atop them; the wall at the back that housed bottles and bottles of wines and spirits; the scuffs in the floor and the marks on the walls and the dark, dingy stretch of room that never seemed to get much light.

Part of you was curious to know what he was seeing, thinking. Another part of you was scared of the answer.

“It seems like a lonely life.” He eventually surmised. “You…you’re always on your own.”

Your body tensed. He wasn’t wrong, but…to hear it come from somebody else…to hear it spoken aloud and not just clanging around in your melancholy thoughts…you were surprised to find your guard rising a little.

“My father needs me.” Was your response. It sounded as pathetic an explanation as it felt.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your face, searching your expression. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And what do you need?”

You shrugged. “Who cares what I need?”

“I care.”

You faltered. Stared back at him.

Why, you wanted to ask. Why bother? Why accept my invitation instead of laughing in my face?

You didn’t have the courage to ask, though. You grabbed your glass and knocked back the liquid in one go, fully aware that Azriel still watched you. Tension swirled thickly between you like shadows — his shadows.

But then he, too, reached for his glass and knocked back the liquid. And there was something light, playful, in the way he nudged your arm with his. “Do you want to know what I need?”

You coughed a laugh. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

His eyes glittered, a devastatingly beautiful smile tugging his lips up. “I need,” he said, leaning close enough that his scent shrouded you, “to hear you play your music again.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It was different this time.

Azriel didn’t put distance between you; didn’t keep to the corners of the room.

He perched at your side on the piano stool, watching up-close, in pure fascination, as your fingers danced across the keys. Every few seconds, your arm would brush his.

The only way you were still breathing, still concentrating, was by focusing entirely on the music. Because if you thought too much about the hard press of Azriel’s muscled forearm, or inhaled too deeply that intoxicating scent of his, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t just…cease to exist. Or at least collapse onto the floor.

Your heart galloped wildly in your chest, thudded loudly in your ears. And as you reached the climax of the composition, you knew Azriel’s gaze no longer tracked your fingers. It sat firmly, dedicatedly, on your face.

And even though he undoubtedly made you nervous — a fact you didn’t want to linger on for too long — you knew it didn’t come from a place of discomfort. At his side, you were entirely at ease. Not frightened, like you always thought you would be within such proximity to a fae male.

Your fingers slowed until the music faded out. And then silence blanketed the room.

You waited for Azriel to say something, anything. When he didn’t, you lifted your eyes from the keys to meet his. The intensity there was blazing.

“You…” He shook his head, as though he’d become a little dazed. “You are so brilliant.”

Your cheeks flamed at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I never really had the opportunity to learn.” He nodded to the piano. “But I kind of wish I had. The city I live in has an entertainment district that we call The Rainbow. The best performers of all types of arts put on shows there nightly. I’ve seen some excellent pianists there — just like you. It must be wonderful to be able to lose yourself in the music like that.”

The Rainbow. A place where people just…performed and appreciated art. It sounded like an absolute dream. And that Azriel had likened you to the pianists there—

You weren’t used to such praise. The compliment was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, you blurted, “Give me your hand.”

Azriel stopped short. Stared at you. “What?”

You cleared your throat, holding your own hand out. “I’ll show you how to play.”

There was a pause. A moment’s hesitation. But then his hand slid into yours.

He wore no gloves tonight.

The weight and warmth of his hand was startling — and dangerously pleasant. The scarred skin brushed against your palm in a way that made you wonder what it would feel like all over your body.

The thought almost had you jumping right out of your too-hot skin, out of your roaring thoughts. You may be entirely inexperienced, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about such things, like close proximities and heated touches—

Never like this, though. Never so…raw. So curiously.

You batted the thoughts to the darkest corners of your mind, focusing on the reason you’d even asked for his hand in the first place. Both you and Azriel watched as you slowly pressed his fingers against the keys, producing a sweet, simple tune that you used to absentmindedly play when you were much younger and certainly not as good a pianist as you were these days.

Azriel, too, watched closely. Your arms brushed against each other, and you wondered if he felt it as totally as you did; wondered what he might be thinking.

The tune came to an end. Neither of you moved your hands.

“There you go.” Your voice was a tad rough. You lifted your lips into a soft smile. “You just played piano.”

Azriel laughed quietly, not breaking his stare from your joined hands. “I certainly don’t think the pianists in The Rainbow will be feeling threatened by my skills any time soon.”

You couldn’t help your smile widening into a grin. “Keep at it and they won’t know what’s hit them.”

Another trill of your soft laughter mixed with his, the sound a kind of music of its own. It was beautiful, you thought. His shadows swirled around you contentedly.

Just like you thought his hands were beautiful. Painfully so.

You couldn’t help staring. Not because you meant to gawk at the brutal scarring, but because you feared the story behind it. Whatever it was, you knew, had to be unimaginable.

Azriel watched your hands, too. Still joined together, yours on top of his.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

Which such slow, careful movements, you traced a finger over the marred skin, introducing yourself to every brutal bump and jagged line. Azriel said nothing; you weren’t even sure he was breathing. And that seemed to be confirmed when you brushed your fingers over the back of his palm, and he sucked in a breath.

You paused your movements immediately, eyes darting to his. “Is it painful?”

“No.” His voice was tight, like…like he was trying to hold himself in check, or something. He shook his head. “Not painful, no. It’s actually quite…soothing.”

Soothing. You gently picked your movements back up, tracing his skin, exploring it. He found it soothing.

You couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of pain he must have experienced. After a short stint of silence, you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“What happened to you?” You whispered.

For a while, Azriel said nothing. Perhaps it was wrong for you to have asked — perhaps he simply wasn’t comfortable. You opened your mouth to apologise, to reassure him, but he beat you to speaking.

“I was the bastard son of a lord.” His voice was rough, raw. “I lived at my father’s keep, but I certainly wasn’t welcome there; my stepmother and two stepbrothers didn’t take kindly to my presence. The living conditions were…not good. And worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother very often. Just an hour every week. I think perhaps they were trying to break me. And when I was eight, my stepbrothers poured oil over my hands and set them alight. My father’s guards heard me screaming and found me, but…not soon enough to limit the damage it left me with.”

Every inch of your body had gone ice-cold.

It was suddenly as though there wasn’t enough air left in the room; like Azriel’s words had winded you. Bile rose in your throat that you swallowed down with the hard lump of emotion that had grown there.

To think that somebody could be so callous, so cruel…you couldn’t bear it. Hot tears burned your eyes.

Azriel was suddenly leaning closer, and he frowned. Studied you. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so sorry that happened to you.” Your voice wavered. “It’s so evil—”

His hand slid out from beneath yours — only to move up to your face and cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb caught the first tear that fell.

“Your compassion is beautiful.” He swallowed. “But that was a very, very long time ago. I bettered myself. I decided not to let them win.”

You stared up at him, hoping it showed on your face how…in awe you were, of such bravery. Such strength. You sniffed, blinking away further threatening tears. “I’m glad that you did.”

Azriel didn’t reply. But you caught the way his eyes shifted down to your lips, and his throat bobbed.

You didn’t need a wealth of experience to know what the look on his face meant. Both panic and hope warred inside you.

You wanted what that look meant. What it would bring. And when Azriel said nothing, simply stared, you found yourself spurring him on.

“What is it?” You whispered — as if speaking too loudly would rip him from the moment.

Momentarily, his gaze clashed with yours again. “I would…” he cleared his throat. “I would really like to kiss you.”

A heated thrill shot through you that you’d never experienced. Of course, you’d laid awake some nights and imagined kissing and touching and what it would be like to be…to be wanted like that. You were just as susceptible to desire as any twenty-one-year-old woman.

But you imagined most twenty-one-year-old women had probably had their first kiss by your age. Unlike you.

That was what had you hesitating. Not reluctance to give in to such desires, but to do it wrongly.

Azriel entirely misread your hesitation, though. He began to slowly move back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No—” you grabbed onto his hand so fast, you knew the redness of your cheeks deepened. “I want to. Really. I just…I’ve never…” you inhaled a slow breath as realisation dawned on Azriel’s face. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”

He stared at you, a strange, warm intensity in his eyes. And then his thumb swept over the back of your hand. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I can show you. If you truly want me to.”

You knew your face must be flushing as scarlet as the blood that human and fae alike had shed over centuries. You were blushing like mad, as you nodded. And Azriel’s gaze seemed to soften even more.

You waited. Watched. Figured the best way to avoid doing anything wrong or unwanted was by just…keeping still. After a moment of silently studying you, Azriel slid his hands out from under yours. He brought them to your face, their warmth and roughness pleasant against your skin as he clasped your cheeks and slowly tilted your jaw up.

You knew you must be trembling beneath his touch. And as he lowered his own face until it was a mere hair’s-breadth from yours, you thought maybe you jolted. He exhaled, his breath fanning your lips.

“If at any time you want to stop,” he murmured deeply, “we stop. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Azriel adjusted his hands, moving them up just slightly until they each cradled one of your cheeks. And then his thumb was brushing your skin there. You couldn’t look away as he closed the gap between you.

You felt it — the exact second his lips made contact with yours — through every part of your body.

They were surprisingly soft, despite his harsh, rugged appearance. His mouth carefully slanted over yours, and you felt the beating of your heart in your chest and your head and your ears and your throat. Azriel probably felt it, too.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone, and his lips applied just a little bit of pressure. You followed his lead, doing the same, meeting every touch and press with your own.

It was a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. The kind you expected of a very first one. But you knew it could go deeper, further.

You wanted it to.

Azriel paused, and for a split second, a bizarre worry jolted through you that you’d somehow communicated that thought to him without speaking it. His lips hovered at yours, barely touching, now, and you wondered if he was dissatisfied. If he didn’t want it to go further. You wouldn’t blame him.

But then he whispered to you, deeply, roughly, “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” You matched the volume of his voice. You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

Before you could muster a response, he was closing that tiny gap once more. His lips moulded to yours, and a surge of confidence had you leaning into it and matching his pace. His thumb swept over your cheek, his palm clasping your jaw a little firmer.

And then you felt him run his tongue over your lips.

The sensation was…nice. More than nice. And your body reacted without much willing from you. You gasped, lips parting, and Azriel’s tongue tentatively slid in.

At once, his taste was storming your senses. He tasted…cold, in the most dizzying, lovely way you could imagine. Like those frosty winter nights you loved so much, when chilled mist hung in a thick layer over the village and froze the grass and had your breath clouding in front of your face. It was like bathing in winter, catching snowflakes in your mouth and your hair, feeling the chill bite your cheeks and turn them pink. And beneath the cold lay a warm, smoky undercurrent, the lingering taste of whiskey.

Azriel’s tongue swept around yours and tasted you just as thoroughly as you tasted him. And you…you felt yourself growing in confidence even more — figured he would have pulled away by now, if he wasn’t enjoying it. With a boldness you didn’t think too much about, you shifted on the piano stool so that you were sat astride it, and Azriel did the same, followed your movements, not once breaking from your kiss. You scooted closer to him, moving a hand up to thread your fingers within his hair. You applied pressure, kissed him harder—

Until he abruptly pulled away. He stared at you, panting slightly, his own cheeks flushed. His swollen lips were parted.

You studied him, wondering if you’d pushed it too far, done something wrong. You could only watch as his eyes shuttered.

“It appears I don’t need to show you how.” He breathed, opening those honeyed eyes again to meet yours. “Gods.”

You swallowed. “Was I…was it okay?”

“Okay doesn’t come close to what it was.”

You thought that was a compliment…maybe. Hopefully. But you didn’t care to think too hard about it. Or talk too much about it. You wanted that feeling and taste back. The pressure of his lips and the starlit frost of his mouth. Azriel watched you closely, reading every thought on your face as he brushed your cheek.

You glanced up at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

He swallowed. “Yes.” His voice was rough. “Gods, yes.”

It wasn’t as slow, this time, as he lowered his mouth to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you waited for that intoxicating sensation, for him to kiss you hard and fast—

A huge thud, thud stopped you both in your tracks. The bangs were loud enough to rattle the windows. Had you damn near jumping out of your skin. Azriel looked up, immediately on alert.

“Someone’s at the door.” You breathed, and another thud coursed through. You pushed clumsily to your feet. “I should answer it. You should…stay hidden.”

Right before your very eyes, he was moving fast as lightning, becoming nothing but mere shadow. The sight was so magnificent that for a second, all you could do was gape, but a fourth bang had you jumping into action.

You hurried through, unbolting the door and pulling it open. You fell still at the sight of Devin — the young, handsome Guard in training — on your doorstep.

He smiled at you as though he hadn’t been close to breaking your door in.

“Devin.” You breathed, suddenly aware of every place in which your lips and skin tingled. “What are you…why aren’t you at the festival?”

“I was.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword. “I came to check on you. To make sure you’re alright.”

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“It must be disconcerting, being the only one in the village while everyone is at the festival. Especially with recent events.”

Right. Someone had died last night. Somehow, you’d managed to forget that startling fact.

“It is…disconcerting.” You’d been anything but disconcerted, in Azriel’s company. You straightened yourself up. “But I’m okay. The property is secure, and I have my dagger.”

Devin studied you, his pale blue eyes almost too assessing. He pursed his lips. “Still — perhaps I should give the inn a once-over and check that nothing is untoward.”

“There’s really no need. You should go back and rejoin the fun—”

As if you hadn’t spoken, he was ushering you out of the way and slipping past you. Your heart lurched as he strode into your home, his gaze seeming to be everywhere at once.

“You haven’t seen or heard anything unusual?” He reached out, checking the lock on a window.

“Nothing.” Your eyes darted cautiously to the door that Azriel was behind. “Really, it’s just been quiet. There’s no need—”

He rounded on you, a frown pulling at his handsome features. “You’re sure you’re alright? You seem a little…skittish.”

Gods. You were going to give yourself up from your behaviour alone.

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “Like I said…it’s just disconcerting. What happened to Polly.”

Devin nodded. “That it is.”

Before you could speak another word, he was striding through to the main bar area. “It’s barbarous, what those fae scum are capable of.” His eyes danced over the area. “Young women can’t even enjoy a village festival, anymore, without being attacked.”

You paused in the doorway. “You know for sure, then? That it was a fae attack.”

He whirled on you, his brow pinching. “Of course, it was, Y/N. What else would…”

At first, you didn’t know what had caused his words to trail off.

That was, until you followed his line of sight. To where yours and Azriel’s empty glasses from earlier still sat on the bar. Devin turned back to you as you stiffened.

“Have you had company?” He asked.

“Of course not.” You answered too quickly. “One of the glasses was my father’s. He had a drink before he left for the festival.”

The Guard studied you. And you knew…you knew from the set of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that he didn’t believe what you’d said.

You lifted your chin. “I just hadn’t got round to clearing them away. I got engrossed in playing the piano.”

There was a moment’s silence. You waited for Devin to question you, to dispute your story. But then he smiled. “You and that piano.” He strode closer, and you stepped back, drawing him out of the bar area and back into the entryway.

“I’m done playing for the night.” You told him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

In other words — leave.

He stared at you, again, in that too-assessing way. And then he was stepping closer to you. “I understand.” He said. “I’m sorry if you feel like I barged my way in here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe. Because I care. You know that, don’t you?”

You pressed your back against the wall. “I know that.”

“Good.” A smile lifted half of his mouth. “Then I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some sleep.”

You didn’t think you breathed properly as he traipsed back over to the door and pulled it open. He turned at the threshold, glancing at you. “Don’t forget to bolt the door. You never know who could be lurking around.”

Surprisingly, you found yourself having to clamp down on your lips to stop a dangerous, hysterical giggle from crawling its way up your throat. You knew exactly who was lurking around. You forced your expression to stay neutral as you inclined your head.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as both his feet were out of the door, you couldn’t close it fast enough. You made a point of bolting it as loudly as possible, and pressed your back against its surface, waiting a beat, two.

After a few seconds, gravel crunched under Devin’s retreating feet. You blew out a deep breath.

Sudden awareness tickled the nape of your neck, and as quickly as Azriel had made himself disappear, he was materialising in front of you.

“Friend of yours?” He raised a dark eyebrow.

“Kind of…maybe. More of a customer, really.” Your eyes snagged on his lips. “He’s training to be a Village Guard. He came to check on me.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to the door, as though he could see right through it to Devin’s retreating figure. You weren’t sure you understood the expression that shaded his face.

“I got rid of him.” You said.

Hazel eyes dipped down to yours again, and a soft smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. “Still…perhaps we shouldn’t tempt the fates too much in one night. I should probably go…in case he comes back.”

Disappointment stormed you — even if you knew he was right. You’d enjoyed yourself so much tonight that you simply didn’t want it to end.

“I’ll be back.” Azriel promised, seeming to read your thoughts on your face. “I swear it. We’ll do this again.”

And you believed him. It was enough to satisfy you. You nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.”

His fingers reached out, brushing some hair from your face. He studied you as he tucked the strands behind your ear. “Rest well.”

You knew they were parting words. And you were filled with one last injection of boldness, of confidence. You didn’t want him to disappear before you acted on it. His shadows were already coiling around him, seeming set to carry him away.

“Azriel,” you breathed his name, and he and the shadows halted.

He tilted his head inquisitively. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed up onto the tips of your toes, capturing him in a kiss.

It wasn’t the hot, needy kiss he’d given you earlier — you weren’t quite confident enough to orchestrate such a thing. But its sweet, soft nature didn’t seem to bother him as he leaned into it, sliding a hand to the small of your back.

He kissed you gently, tenderly. And after only a couple of moments, he pulled away. A soft groan sounded in his chest, surprising you. “Do that, and I won’t have the willpower to do anything but stand here and kiss you all night.”

Your cheeks scorched, and you dipped your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Not for that.” He leaned closer, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

Soon. You really hoped so. You stepped back, giving him the space to leave before you did something stupid. Like kiss him again.

His mouth tipped up one last time into that beautiful smile, and then he was gone.

His taste wasn’t, though. It lingered in your mouth, on your skin.

You pressed your fingers to your swollen lips and smiled.

You slept well that night.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @shannonsaid

[cheesit-notes]

Simon Riley + Hand Kisses

tags: kissing obviously, ptsd for simon basically, gn!reader, overthinking simon, simon getting violent at one point, a/n: sorry i was gone for a week! i want to say i worked on stuff but ive been busy with things and this was the only thing i did. im not all that happy with the time to result ratio of this tbh but i love the idea of Simonand hand kisses so enjoy!

Ghost who cannot stand any and all kinds of intimate touches. he doesn’t like intimate touches. no, actually, he loathes those touches. it reminds him of a time he’d really rather forget. there’s no way to really kiss him without having to slowly practice. underneath the mask, he’s nothing more than the emotionally scarred, vulnerable Simon Riley who went through far too much for any human.

the first time both of you technically kissed, you had asked if you could kiss him, he said yes because you looked like you wanted it so badly. the two of you stood awkwardly in his barracks. he’s wondering if he should’ve changed clothes earlier, he just got back and was still in his uniform, probably smelled fowl, but you didn’t say a word. ah, he thought he could handle it. he really did. but to kiss was a lot easier said than done. and he’ll never fully forgive himself for shoving you away slamming you against the wall, and he was choking you. he didn’t actually hit you, you tell him that everyday, but the fact he fully intended to hit you for the moment scared him. plagued with the thought that he truly was no different from his father; he could barely look at you for the weeks following that, much less talk to you. no, he refused to do so much as to stand near you; petrified he wouldn’t snap out of it in time, terrified he’d hurt you.

months later, he asked if it’s alright to try again. the kissing thing, you know? it was months after the previous attempt, you and Simon had already reconciled, as much as possible anyways, so the question left you a little confused. you were happy to, but only if he was really ready. and he said he was, he swore it. although.. looking at you, thinking back about the previous attempt, made him anxious. but he already said he would. so he should? he should stick to his words, right? youd probably think hes a coward. god, a man shouldnt be a coward. and he cant be a coward. and all these thoughts ran through his mind. he doesnt realize he’s zoned out and that you’re staring at him with a concerned look on your face. its not until you decide to speak does he snap back.

“are you sure you want to do this?”

he’s not even sure what to respond. what did he want?  he’s only really thought about what you wanted. it’s not like his wants really mattered in his eyes.

“you know, we don’t have to do this. we can still have a perfectly fine relationship without–”

“no! absolutely, no, we.. we have to kiss.”

he insisted, almost yelling like he’s afraid he wouldn’t be heard. and that you’d leave him because you’d think he couldn’t kiss you, because he couldn't give you of a normal relationship. and you deserved it. you deserved a normal relationship with someone who could give you what you wanted. and god, he wishes he were normal.

anyone could tell he was agitated. honestly, it isn’t easy for you. you could tell he wouldn’t handle it well if you kissed him directly. but if you didn’t then he’d isolate himself, thoughts spiralling like a roller coaster in his mind, and you couldn’t be sure when or where the ride ended. so, grab his hands, hold them in yours, and plant a gentle kiss on each. you hold his hands, looking into his eyes, and for what felt like hours, the two of you stayed put like that. until Simon told you to leave.

it caught you off guard, you’re a little taken back. but respecting his wishes, you leave the room. not even a minute after you leave, Simon slumps against the wall, he can’t stop the hot, burning tears from falling. maybe it was how soft your lips felt against his caloused hands or how careful you were with him, how you knew that he likely wouldn’t react well to either choice and yet you made the perfect one.

Simon Riley who sometimes holds your hand, silently hoping you’d kiss his hand again. he likes it when you give each knuckle a peck. if you bent down on one knee, you’d look like a knight kissing the princess’ hand, and Johnny would say this whenever he saw the chance. Simon Riley who still isn’t ready to kiss you directly, but he’s slowly working on it. Simon Riley who will probably learn to like different types of kisses, but right now, he's smitten over you and your hand kisses that make him feel oh so loved.

next time he holds your hand, give him a kiss, will you?

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Guessing Game

My lovely little Ghost pregnancy not short Drabble.

Word Count: 7.7k

- - -

Moments of silence with your husband were usually tranquil and serene in the comforts of your own home. It was rare for the aura between you both to be fueled with unbridled tension and hesitation to even breathe properly.

The two of you said nothing for the longest time in the sanctuary of your living room, on your comfortable couch. In the silent man’s hand, he held a test, which he proceeded to set down on the coffee table in front of him.

Positive.

A little pink sign on a tiny screen, bright as day, staring at you both like a sore thumb.

That’s supposed to be a good thing, Positives usually mean good things. Happy, joyful, erratic, exciting. Good.

Positives however, can also be scary, terrifying, petrifying.

Your heart sank deep into the bottom of your stomach, a dreadful ache following suit that lingered as every minute passed in this silence.

You hated it, but you didn't know what to say.

It started off as an odd feeling, just a couple of days ago. A bit of dizziness in the morning, a slight queasiness after, but nothing more. You blamed it on allergies, or a migraine due to lack of proper sleep, anything but that single, simple idea of what it could’ve been.

The signs grew more unquestionably obvious with every day passed, the sickness, the shift in your emotions, the sinking feeling as the possibility grew more and more intense with each passing hour.

You went out during a grocery run, and couldn't stop yourself from arriving at a pharmacy, heading towards that one particular aisle containing just what you needed.

You didn’t even know when or how-

You stopped yourself right there. You’d be an absolute fool if you considered finishing that thought for a sentence.

You know how it happened, of course you knew. Question was, you couldn’t exactly remember when. It sort of happened quite often.

Just for good measure, you had also bought three other boxes, which were currently jumbled in your bathroom sink, each revealing the same exact message.

A part of you, a tiny part of you, buried underneath all the stomach burning anxiety and dread of this new onset reality was kind of delighted, excited in fact, bringing forth upon you a wish you never realized you’d forgotten about. One you believed you had no right to have after the life you lived.

To have a baby with the man you loved, truly loved. A fair amount of the population’s absolute dream.

An honest, beautiful dream, but for all you knew, it was only yours. At one point, not once did you ever think if it was his dream as well.

That was until a few weeks ago once it was brought up, during a late-night discussion in bed.

“How do you feel about a baby?”

An honest, curious question had never made the man stiffer in his life, feeling his hands on you grow stiff like dead branches before he released you, catching you completely by surprise.

The both of you were stable, financially at least. Emotionally however, all that bustled through Simon’s head were the great cons that outweighed the pros.

An honest, simple question turned into a forty-minute discussion over both your heavy worries and concerns. His concerns, his fears, his terror of bringing a version of himself to this dangerous, unpredictable world of chaos and death, bred by the man who enjoyed creating such.

You reassured him constantly, by then just wishing to end the topic then and there. An honest question grew too harshly awkward, painfully dragged out at the realization that Simon may not have wanted children at all.

It was a thorn you shouldn’t have pricked your finger on, so you were content to step back and let the topic go.

Simon’s face, brows contorted with distress still, realized your ache at this discussion. You didn’t wish to scare him, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you, which was exactly what he was doing.

When it came to you, his heart softened at the reality of you being the doe eyed mother of his child, born with your love and beauty, your charisma and valor. A headstrong boy or girl with a mother like you to guide them along the way, this world lacked that kind of bond in the places no one dares to check.

“Is this something you want?” Simon finally speaks his mind, concerned over what was going through yours.

Immediately, you begin to release everything, slowly listing out a series of options that came to the top of your head, ones he wasn't expecting to hear. Going to a clinic, figuring out your options, that sort of thing if he didn’t want the baby.

Simon immediately stops you from speaking further.

“Forget about me for just a second,” Simon states, realizing he may have come off too harshly on this matter towards you, potentially giving you the wrong idea.

“What about you?” He asks in a calm, softened tone. Me?

“Is this something you want?”

You hesitate, glancing everywhere but him as your fingers clench at the bedsheets.

His hand takes yours, his other lightly sweeping through your hair. “Tell me the truth. I won’t force this on you.”

You look him in the eyes, those eyes you absolutely adored.

Oftentimes, you hear him say he doesn’t deserve you, but sometimes you can’t help but find him adorable for him being blatantly unaware of when you think in vice versa to this.

His consideration on your behalf melted your heart to its very core.

“I’ve always wanted this, Simon.” You admit, unable to hold back the tears as you look down.

“At one point in my life, I never even thought of it, but lately… “ You huffed out a weak laugh, wiping your soaked cheeks with the back of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but there’s so many worries I have.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“If I’d even be a good mom,” you proceeded, the tears continuing to fall. “If I could even take that responsibility, if the man I thought I’d marry when I wanted to grow up would be there alongside me all the way and have a cute little family.”

The dreadful worries began to crowd your head, much against your better judgment. If you’d carry them to full term, if Simon would stay the entire way, if he second guessed and didn’t want the baby any longer, or if something happened to the baby?

He holds you close, cradling your head close. Softly, he hushed against your forehead, his nose pressed against the crown of your hair.

“But, what if you don’t want-“ you proceeded, feeling his head shake against your head.

“No,” he stops you. “Don’t say that, love.”

He goes quiet, growing lost in his thoughts as you continuously sniffle, patiently wiping your eyes repeatedly. His comforting hug felt so stiff, so foreign, so tense. You always melted in his embrace, but the hesitation that flooded your bones prevented you from doing so.

“I don’t know if I can hold that responsibility of bein’ a good father.” He brings himself to admit, a personal truth that hurts even him to exhale it. Maybe it’s the shock still setting in that makes him say this, but it's still pure, brutal honesty.

Your heart sinks at those words. Even if you were to try to convince him that you could physically see him pacing around a pink or blue tinted nursery, swaddling a baby in his broad arms, he’d never see it that way, feeling himself incapable of clutching something so delicate and pure in his hands.

Never did he see himself being a good father, compared to the life he had, but your words gave him a bit of an epiphany.

If the man you wanted to marry during your childhood’s hopeful dreams was going to remain to help raise a beautiful child and have a happy family, that didn’t mean you’d be doing it alone. He’d take on this role, and he wanted to stay beside you, regardless of it all.

A child with your eyes sounded wonderful. It was interesting really, you were thinking the exact same about him, the excitement and anxiety deep down in both your stomachs still.

“But I want to try,” Simon admits, holding your hands securely in his.

- - -

“Can we start this over?” You spoke up, breaking through this painfully tense silence you’ve felt unable to sit through for a second longer.

He quietly nodded, watching you rise up, plucking the test from the coffee table before walking out of the living room.

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling your fingers trembling as your nerves refused to settle.

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to surprise him in some cuter, more innocent way, but he had caught you completely by surprise as you opened the bathroom door, finding Simon standing on the other side.

Seeing his head tilt down and catch a glimpse of that test immediately destroyed every possible opportunity to surprise him, though you knew it was something you couldn’t be disappointed at forever.

Taking a calm breath, you gather up all the excitement you could muster in your body before turning around, quickly heading back towards the living room entryway.

Before you could muster a word, you were met with a strong wall of warm, black shirt clad muscle, your husband enveloping you in his broad arms, clutching you like his only saving grace.

Simon heard your laugh erupt from your lips, this sudden gesture catching you by surprise as you hugged him back, feeling your feet lift off the floor once you secure your arms around his neck.

With your happiness came tears, joining in with your wide smile. Simon’s eyes glistened with pure, raw emotions, consisting of adoration and raw, unfiltered love the second he looked into your eyes before flooding you with passionate kiss after kiss.

He was scared though. He would always be scared, but for now, he turned his walls into open gates, allowing you to flood his very being with warmth and light, feeling the happiest he’s ever been, following second to his proposal to you.

“A little you,” he muffled against your lips after kissing you for a final time.

“A little you,” you repeated with a giggle.

“With those pretty eyes of yours.” You whisper up to him, grazing your free hand against his cheek once he set you down.

“Christ save me if it has your attitude,” He mutters against your forehead before placing another kiss on it, forcing a snort from your nose in amusement.

That night, he brought you flowers and your favorite chocolates, promising to take you out to eat at your favorite restaurant the next evening. Even after all this time, he still wasn’t a fan of public places, but this was such a celebration, he would do it all in the name of you.

5 weeks.

It wasn’t enough for an ultrasound worth seeing to check for something exciting beyond the size of a pearl or rice grain, but now there was something here. Someone there, and it would soon rely on the two of you to protect it, to love and cherish it.

This would mean you would have to be away from your military lifestyle, taking on this new role while Simon continued on with his. You had to admit you were jealous, especially as the wave of maternal thoughts continuously reminded you of this new position.

With this blessing came so many worries. Simon would have to continue his lifestyle, meaning he’d be gone for long periods of time. How could you cope exactly with this? What would happen, especially after the baby was born?

Maybe you were just thinking ahead.

Only time would really tell if you were true to your word of physically and mentally preparing for it.

Your only regret for the moment was not preparing an adorable pregnancy reveal surprise for him, though time will tell if you have a chance to make up for it.

- - -

You were craving s’mores, but not just any s’mores.

You were dying for that crispy, burnt marshmallow taste, but despised the idea of smoke from a campfire, your nose suddenly souring at the thought, and the rainy weather outside had been unforgiving these past few weeks.

You’ve taken to baking a lot lately these past few evenings, scattered along the last few weeks, keeping your area lit up with the warm stovetop light, melding perfectly with the cozy ambience of your kitchen.

Your kitchen had been your experiment room, your science lab, smelling of rich chocolate and burnt marshmallows as you set your clear glass pan onto a heat protected surface, closing your oven with a gloved hand.

A Graham cracker crust, a rich, fudgy brownie filling, and marshmallow fluff that toasted delightfully on top, thanks to the broiler in your oven.

They were just a more aesthetically pleasing version of slutty brownies, delicious looking ones at least.

21 weeks in, the changes were growing ever so obvious. Your abdomen grew a bit plush, but still thankfully secured under the sanctuary of Simon’s gray t-shirt.

Since you woke up this morning, all you craved was brownies. But fuck it, it was a better craving than something sick, like ice cream and soy sauce, or some other horridly confusing craving you discovered other pregnant women had.

Don’t even bother trying it.

“You gonna finish it this time?” Simon piqued as he stood at the other end of your kitchen counter, watching you cut into this delectable creation, hearing the crunch of the graham crackers as fudgy chocolate and gooey marshmallow clung to your knife from the cut.

It was in the oven for about fifty minutes, but the possibility of raw eggs was nothing compared to the amount of sugar in this invention. At the very least, he made sure you had eaten proper, healthier food throughout the day until now, so satisfying this craving wouldn’t truly hurt every now and then.

“Of course, I will,” you looked up at him after plating four sizable slices on the plate, bits of melted marshmallow coating your fingers of your opposite hands. “You think this is all just for me? You’ve wanted s’mores just as much as I have.”

You tilted your head to the stove, gesturing towards the kettle that whistled for attention during your discussion. “I want some of that earl grey tea too, please.”

You say that because he usually doesn’t drink sweetened tea with his desserts, that was his given fancy. Plain tea cuts through the sweetness perfectly.

“Alright, as long as you only eat two of those. That much sugar will drive you up the damn walls.” Simon mentioned while gathering two mugs from the top cupboard, setting them on the counter.

“Bite me, Riley.” You muttered in amusement, clutching hold of the tray with a still gloved hand while making the final cuts to your dessert.

“I have. Can still see it from here, love.” His voice trailed into your ear from behind you as he passed by, his form lightly, yet innocently brushing along your backside to get the earl grey from another cabinet.

You smiled, a tint of color flushing your cheeks as you licked the remnants off the side of the knife before placing it in the sink.

It was silly, really. With sugar, came the surge of arousal. Hormones really loved to mess with your mind and turned you from his ever doting, needy little wife into his ever doting, needy little wife. It was a tough price to pay.

Tough price to pay indeed.

- - -

“Once this baby sees you, an’ once it touches your skin, they’ll see you as their entire perfect world.” His lowered tone rumbled deliciously from his throat, trailing along the skin of your neck in a similar fashion to his hands.

“You’ll be a wonderful little mother.” He mutters this promise to you, this elegant truth, whether your mind allows it to be believable or not.

Simon’s soothing words mumbled along the shell of your ear, his arms secured around you like a shield of comfort, more secure than any soft blanket after being tossed in the dryer.

You were fresh out of a warmed bath, warm enough to sleep in without being scalding, scented with your favorite bath soaps and oils, turning you into a glistening queen as he sat beside the tub to keep you company, talking about anything and everything to your heart’s content until the water was bordering the edges of lukewarm and cold.

You seemed more concerned over how you appeared as time passed, as if Simon would ever view you any less than desirable. He didn't understand this sudden change in attitude at first, viewing you as nothing more than a diamond after spending decades trapped in coal. Pure, utter perfection bred from years of mind melding pressure from the eyes of the world.

Scars or not, your changing body was gorgeous to him, going through a beautiful process to nurture your growing child.

Simon’s war weathered hands worked wonders along your skin, massaging along your shoulders down to your legs, working the muscles that would eventually grow swelled with time. He never minded this, knowing you’d deserve everything you deserve and more for this laborious task of carrying his child.

Old Friends of yours, and the internet of course, recommended that moisturizing was key during pregnancy, to combat those stretch marks.

The sweet almond oil was merely a plus, as well as the vanilla scented cocoa and shea body butter you used to seal in the moisture. You glistened like an absolute goddess, perfuming his dreams as he cradled you close at night.

It was even working on him, his hands always felt a little bit softer after such a routine each evening.

“An’ before you know it, our little kid will be drinkin’ their tea through their sippy cups.”

A small smile tickled the corners of your lips, a short, amused snort leaving your nose from the comment.

There it was, that smile that Simon adored so much.

A part of him knew that this wouldn’t be the last time these raging hormones would drag you down, but what good was a husband if not an anchor to your worries and concerns?

- - -

“Just one sip?”

“No.”

“But Si-“

“No.” Came his firm reply yet again, all while reading through today’s mail.

Wine. You wanted wine. You craved it desperately, but you couldn’t have it.

Whatever idiotic, controversial topic you had read off your phone or heard from one of your girlfriends was something he wished he could rip from your head and shove it back to where it belonged.

He knew you liked wine, particularly sweet ones, and was aware you had very well missed it, but regardless, he was dreadfully against it.

He cut back on cigarettes for his baby, so like hell any single drop of alcohol was going to touch your tongue, even if it was just for a taste.

Simon got you sparkling grape cider after you spent two days complaining, but it wasn’t the same. Who cares? It was sweet and didn’t have alcohol.

“But the doctor said-“

“The bloody doctor’s not here, is he?!” Simon’s voice raised instantly, leaving you stunted as he glared at you from the corner of his eye. Like hell you were going to use that no-good doctor’s words as an excuse.

You groaned, rolling your head back before stomping out of the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Riley!” You shouted at him from down the corridor before shutting yourself in the bedroom.

“Love you as well,” he mutters, gathering the ripped open envelopes in his hands.

The silly stories of men being concerned, if not frightened for their wives’ outbursts sounded absolutely absurd. If anything, he tried his very best to hold back any sign of amusement, any twitch of a smile or accidental huff of laughter at how adorable you looked being irritated over something you couldn't have.

It’s not the worst he’s seen you before, but thinking that now, he wasn't sure if he was speaking too soon.

You’ll get over it.

- - -

“You’ll be a wonderful father, Simon.” You reassured him, remaining by his side as a subtle roar of thunder echoed in the horizon from miles away.

30 weeks, 30 weeks and the broad, physical changes started to set in.

The bump stretched through most of his shirts, but you were more than content to be comfortable in his black hoodie. You found him after dinner outside after he had done the dishes, leaning on his crossed arms against the porch fence, a lit cigarette in his hand as he took in the storm’s afterglow ambience.

You rubbed his forearm soothingly, settling your hand against his open palm as his fingers relaxed from the touch of yours.

You knew he still struggled with the new mentality of this reality.

Every day, you saw it flash across his eyes once or twice a day, leading him to disappear every so often for minutes at a time to gather his bearings. Ten minutes grew into thirty, evolving into him remaining on your front porch for an hour, watching the rain fall merely inches in front of his face.

“I never saw myself bein’ a father,” he admits slowly after such a long silence, his lowered tone almost muffled by the storm.

You nod to his confession, despite the burn in your heart to hear it.

He says this due to his mother’s words, an echo of a memory voicing through his thoughts from so long ago.

“He’s your father and there’s always gonna be a piece of him in you.”

The thought alone was more terrifying than his fear of you going into labor if he wasn’t around.

If the bastard was alive, he’d make sure he’d stay dead in a ditch far from society, making it impossible for him to ever learn of his child’s name, preventing him from even mentioning it in crude vain.

“But seein’ you like this,” He continues on, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, “Seeing you carry my child, our child I mean, made me realize exactly why.”

You nodded slowly again, feeling a bit more considerate to his truth. He didn’t need to voice it, for it was a truth you’d known for quite a long time. You didn’t need to know a cruel, heatless man to understand that your husband was nothing of the sort, not by a long shot.

“You’re not your father, Simon.” You squeeze his hand as you say these words, feeling his gaze trail to yours.

“You know not what to do, how not to act, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I’m here too,” You gently encourage him, trying your best to keep hopeful for him to see what you saw.

“We’ve got each other, right? And like you said, once they see you, they’re gonna view you as the perfect father.”

Simon wondered how he got so lucky to have a woman like you in his life, sporting a gentle love he had only known from his mother.

Stepping away from the railing, Simon lowered his hand along the smooth fabric shielding your belly. Smoothing his palm against it, his eyes followed your fingers as they trailed along his inked tattoos, mindlessly swirling over the patterns as you stepped closer to him.

“We should get ready for bed. Now come inside, I’m not supposed to be breathing this stuff in.” You softly say to him, meeting his nod as he chucked out the cigarette towards the puddles of mud out in the yard, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You chose to come out here.”

“Because my husband needed his wife and child to remind him how much we love him.”

- - -

“What is that?” You ask from the entryway to the kitchen the next morning, lured in by a new scent melding with the usual aroma of ground coffee and toast.

“Food.” He curtly replied, standing in front of the stove.

The fragrant, slightly spicy smell was delightful to you, but you weren’t sure about what it was. You had an idea, but you dreaded what it could’ve been. Maybe that’s why your husband stood the way he did at the stove, purposely blocking your view from the pan.

“Simon, what is it?” You asked again, your curiosity getting the better of you.

His head craned a little, sparing you a glance over his shoulder, seeing you slightly hidden behind the wall. “You won’t like it.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Black pudding.”

“Oh.” The contorted face you made immediately confirmed your views on it.

“Want to try?” Simon offered as he glanced back towards the pan.

“No.” He expected that response. You were content with everything he enjoyed in a full English breakfast except that, everything but that.

“Y’sure?” He piqued while plating both your foods, setting the pan back on the stove before setting one of the plates down on the table. He motioned for you to sit with a tilt of his head, watching you hesitantly approach.

He plated the so-called monstrosity on both your plates, knowing very well you couldn’t deny the hunger, despite being well aware of your thoughts for it. Won’t like it until you try, at least.

“Why does it look like that?” Your nose almost scrunched at it as you sat down.

“Cause it’s made with blood, love.” Simon states while filling up two mugs with hot beverages. “Good for ya.”

The look you gave him made it almost impossible to hide a smile any longer.

“Won’t disappear the longer you keep starin’ at it,” Simon chimed after watching you prod at your eggs once he sat down.

“Why’d you do this to me?’ You looked at him with a bit of a pout, frowning at his held back smirk as you proceeded to put your portion onto his plate. Christ, you’re like a little child with steamed veggies.

“Cause it smells good, yeah?” Damn him for knowing that.

You shrug. “I guess.”

“Won’t cause harm in tryin’ it,” Peering back down at his plate, he worked at his own helping, hopefully taking this opportunity to change your mind on what he viewed as essential to an english breakfast.

“Here.” He offered a tiny amount on the tip of a fork to you. You hesitated, your head retching back like a kid avoiding a foul-tasting medicine.

It looked so horrid to you, even if it did look like charred, sliced sausage, but it smelled incredible.

“C’mon, or I’ll keep ya at the table.”

He sounded so strange when he teased, his jokes as terrible as this blood pudding appeared. Nevertheless, you opened your mouth, accepting the food.

“It’s spicy.” You mutter as you chew slowly. By now, Simon couldn't hold back his amusement any longer, watching you swallow before glancing back at your plate, particularly towards the now vacant spot beside the tomatoes.

“Still hungry?” He pried.

You nodded. There were many other tasty options for you right in front of you, but as you picked up your fork, you refrained from selecting anything else.

“What do you want?” He questioned after noting your continued silence.

“That.” You muttered almost shamefully.

“What?”

“That.” You craned your head to motion at the black pudding still on his plate.

A fraction of a smirk formed on his face as he placed it back onto your plate, a low chuckle leaving him. “Good, right?”

“I guess.” You shrugged before putting a more sizable piece in your mouth, almost looking ashamed to eat it.

You weren’t ashamed for eating a peanut butter sandwich with pickle slices in it. How is this worse?

It was truly amusing, if you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t even be in the kitchen at this very moment.

“This a new craving now?” Simon couldn't help asking midway through you popping another piece in your mouth, hearing you muffle in agreement while covering your mouth.

“Our little one’s a true Brit now, yeah?”

“Don’t say that ever again.” You chuckled into your hand, cutting another sizable piece with your fork. Simon couldn’t be more amused and ever so happy that you were his wife and mother to his child.

- - -

The anxiety of the small baby shower that was soon to happen later on in the day prevented you from getting a good night’s rest, so you settled to do your favorite little hobby: baking, at six in the morning.

Specifically, making specialty cupcakes for the party.

Usually, you would’ve used boxed mix for that quick fix, but in this case, you did what you called “doctoring up” the cake mix.

An extra egg, swap the amount of water for milk, and use the good vanilla paste from Mexico.

He walked in on you shutting the oven after checking on the baking goods, the warm vanilla swirling deliciously in the air alongside fresh brewed coffee, lightly fogging up the kitchen window in front of the sink.

Six months.

Six months went by so terribly fast. With every passing day, you beamed with motherhood soon to come, spending your days as comfortable and as lazily as possible.

Those cupcakes would soon eye him every time he opened the fridge later today, making the mystery of the truth grow all the more curious in his head.

Only you knew the true gender, a secret you guarded very well the moment you two were alone after the doctor’s visit.

“You’re banned from the kitchen once I start frosting, you know.” You spoke up, showing him a little smile as you pulled out multiple sticks of butter from the fridge, setting them on the warm stove so they’d come to room temperature faster.

“More concerned for you walkin’ around half asleep.” He approached you, watching you huff and shake your head. “I’m fine-”

“Now now, don’t wanna hear any of it.” Simon gently takes you in his arms from behind, feeling you sigh against his chest before relaxing in his embrace.

Slowly, he trailed his hands down over your belly, cradling the underside of your swollen, unborn child.

His favorite activity, his most cherished act to do during his pastime, regardless of where the two of you were, was to hold them. To rest his hands along where he imagined little hands would press, or little feet that would kick back against.

He’d lightly rest his head against the side of your tummy in silence, feeling your fingers comb through his hair as you watched with content, seeing his facial muscles relax, his brow lowering in various thoughts of how their child would look like. These silly, innocent little thoughts always lulled him to sleep, temporarily banishing any and every harsh, dark thought that threatened to overtake him.

“You sure you wanna do this?” You softly ask, hinting towards the baby shower later this evening.

The baby shower was a shared idea between you and Kate’s wife, who began calling a few times a week to check up on you, taking a sort of maternal role on your behalf, providing a fair amount of support without being overbearing.

He was never one for parties. Public parties, anything that involved more than five people at least. But he knew all who were arriving and worked alongside most of them through thick and thin, they may as well be a sort of second family.

Simon had stepped plenty out of his comfort zone alongside you these past few months, doing grocery runs with you, eating out when neither of you felt like cooking, attending local events so you didn't feel cooped up in the house too often, despite Simon’s silent persistence that he would’ve preferred you to remain at home, except for the occasional doctor’s visit.

This baby shower will be here at home, a nice little event where everyone can have fun and bring the baby gifts. After learning what it meant, he couldn’t rob you of that experience.

“I’ll be alright,” He settles your worries, taking a gentle hold of your shoulders to guide you towards the door. “You need rest, love. Get a few hours to yourself, I’ll wake you for your breakfast.”

“Wait,” You tried to stop your steps, despite Simon insisting you continue walking forward.

“Make sure the cupcakes are taken out after fifteen minutes-”

“Will do.”

“And just set them on the-”

“Heat proof pans,” Simon confirmed, “I know. Go get your rest, love.”

- - -

You’ve never seen Simon so relaxed after a delicious dinner, sitting with most of the men in the living room, sharing a couple of beers, the good beers that Soap had brought for the party, conversing happily over various topics and stories, catching up after some lost time.

Through every shared chuckle, every change in subject between the men, Simon couldn't help but shift his attention over towards his wife, standing with Kate and her beloved, chattering your head off while mindlessly resting your hand over the baby bump.

You looked so vibrant, glowing in extravagant excellence. You wore a loose light pink dress that went past your knees, with comfortable, soft puffy sleeves. Tons of tiny blue flowers decorating the fabric of the skirt, accommodating your pregnant tummy beautifully.

You sipped a sparkling elderflower mocktail, thanks to an elderflower nonalcoholic beverage Simon had gotten you that you actually enjoyed.

Alejandro and Rodolfo arrived around four in the evening, apologizing profusely for being two hours late, but the fact that they even arrived had significantly warmed your heart.

“There’s no way we’d miss this special day, Princesa,” Alejandro stated after sharing a warm, heartfelt hug.

In Rodolfo’s hands he carried a large gift, a baby gift set his sisters had made for you, decorated in various yellows and soft, pastel greens, with kisses of pink and blue, a giant mystery to what the baby’s gender might’ve been. It gladly joined the rest of the presents that piled up in the corner of the room, remaining untouched until a particularly exciting event took place.

Kate’s wife immediately helped take the gift to add towards the pile. She had been an absolute dream with you, being as mindful as Simon, if not more than him, when it came to your needs. Arriving a half hour before the party began, helping with dinner, making sure you didn't stand for so long to rest your sore feet.

She was the apple of Kate’s eye, their relationship making you smile delightfully each chance you could.

“So, what’re you gonna do about the job?” Soap couldn't help but ask Simon, a question lingering in the air like a shadow.

Despite Simon never once minding the fact that he stayed home for you, there was the inevitable possibility that he’d have to go back to work, which meant he’d be far out of his family’s reach.

He hated it, the thought alone shooting a sour taste over his tongue. He couldn't avoid the topic forever, but it was a discussion he’d need to have with you. It wouldn't be a pretty one, but he had to have it at some point.

“Don’t quite know yet, Johnny.” He replied, glancing back over towards his wife before looking towards the Sergeant. “An’ I’d appreciate it if its not brought up again.”

“No no,” Soap held up a hand in calm defense, “I get it. Honest, wouldn't blame ya if you stayed. Doubt she’d let yer ass through the door.”

Simon huffed, slightly joining in on the man’s chuckle. That’s a level of unbridled new mother rage he’s hoping he’d never get to see.

“Are these it?” Gaz called your attention from the kitchen, holding the tray of cupcakes you kept in the freezer.

“Yep! It is.” You cheerfully replied, getting Kate to gather the men towards the dining room, either filling up the limited chairs or standing around. Simon was adamant on giving you a seat to rest in, but after some quick, hushed words, you convinced him to sit down, remaining by his side once the cupcakes were passed out with little napkins.

“So, what’s the game here?” Alejandro questioned, taking the cupcake once you offered it before passing it along to someone else.

“The game is we each take a bite and tally up the color we get. Odd color wins, gentleman. Place your bets now.” Kate announces, hearing Gaz huff while peering towards the Scotsman, muttering a few hushed words.

“Ah ah ah! Not literally, you idiot!” You quickly speak out, going against Soap, who purposely leaned back against his seat to pull out his wallet.

He snickered, purposefully acting the way he did to simply get a rise out of you, finding every chance he could incredibly amusing.

“No bets at my baby shower, John.” You ordered, watching him raise his hands in playful submission.

The man himself wore a dark blue shirt. As blue as the Scottish flag, he had stated after giving you a hug when he arrived. Despite the idea of a boy, he did mention a girl would be just as, if not, even more delightful a thought.

He could see any child the both of you had absolutely loved to death regardless, not only by its parents, but by everyone else who came to show their support.

The man himself offered to begin this little game, the suspense forcing him to chuckle as he bit into the cupcake, causing cold buttercream to smear the tip of his nose.

His eyes significantly widened the second he looked down, quickly turning around for the others to view the small pocket of pink hidden underneath the dome of piped frosting.

A small chorus of laughter and cheers erupted from the table, watching the man gather himself as he set the cupcake down, licking the frosting from his lips.

Gaz was next, helping himself to the cupcake in front of him. He took a more interesting approach, proceeding to bite into the frosting rather than the cake, revealing the purposefully pastel blue dyed frosting, casting a smile upon the man’s face as the color matched the light blue button up he wore.

“Alright! We got a boy!” He announced, chuckling along with a few others before he set it down.

“Unless you’re jestin’ us and hinting that yer havin’ twins.” Soap added in while licking his thumb of frosting after enjoying another bite.

The strain and hesitant laughter that came from you was forced, feeling your hand give Simon’s a decently firm squeeze, quietly reveling in the secret blessing that it wasn’t. It was interesting enough learning from just one, you wouldn't know what you would’ve felt with the possibility of twins.

Up next was Rodolfo, who had worn a white long sleeve, but that didn’t stop him from scoring a dark blue bracelet he had lifted up in defense to failing the dress code, something you didn’t hold against him. He held up his cupcake, presenting it like a trophy to reveal the pocket of blue underneath, cheering with the others.

“Oye, you should sell these. Open up a little bakery,” He proposed before taking another bite, watching you smile and giggle. It was good to see your love for baked goods get appreciated by others. It definitely saved money from buying them elsewhere.

Your altered taste buds despised the store-bought stuff anyway.

Alejandro wore a light pink button up with rolled up sleeves, biting into his cupcake once his turn came around. His eyes widened at the blue frosting, faking a pitiful look of sadness before chuckling it off in amusement.

“Really pushing it on a boy so far!” He chuckled, shortly agreeing with Rodolfo’s comment on how tasty the cupcake was. All it was missing was a hot cup of coffee and he was set.

Kate’s wife wore a pastel pink sweater vest over a white shirt, biting into a pink cupcake to her absolute delight, almost tearing up herself over the welcomed match. Kate herself had gotten a blue cupcake, matching coincidentally well with her blue scarf resting around her neck.

“In our defense,” Kate’s wife states while clutching her beloved’s hand, “We’ll love who they are regardless!”

“They’ll be getting spoiled either way,” Kate added in, chuckling along with the flat-out truth.

Price wore a cerulean shirt, but gladly accepted your request to pin a pink little bow on the far right of his shirt collar.

By now, as the buttercream came to room temperature, a bit of pink tinted frosting clung to his mustache after his bite, but chuckling to the realization of this little mishap didn't bother him in the slightest.

“Well, look at that!” He chuckled as you quickly handed him a few extra napkins. “I’m on the same boat, they’re gettin’ absolutely spoiled by all their aunts and uncles.”

“Sure thing, Gramps.” Gaz pitched, purposely avoiding the captain’s gaze, hiding his smile in his own hand.

“That’s a name they’ll be calling you in about a year or two,” You pitched in, smiling at the smirk that inevitably spread across the captain’s face after the comment.

“Your turn, dear.” Price gestured to you, leaving you to nod along with excitement, despite already knowing the truth.

As basic as it was, you’ve never held so much disdain for this simple vanilla cupcake, this painfully bland dessert, especially when it came to the multiple test cupcakes you’ve made prior.

The toughest challenge was making the buttercream thick and pearly white, hiding the color underneath perfectly.

You’d be more than happy to make any other cupcake rather than this tragically boring mess, leading you to simply tear open the cake in your hands without tasting it, revealing to the crowd the flush of pink underneath vanilla sponge and frosting.

The tally was set.

An even number of four on four so far, all that was left was the final cupcake to break the tie, the final cupcake that sat in front of Simon.

Simon wore dark gray, insisting that it didn’t matter to him what gender the baby was, he’d love them regardless, just as everyone else. He didn’t want to think ahead and assume too fast, too nervous at the high expectations, keeping all those thoughts bottled up until he learned the truth.

He didn't realize just until now how much pressure was placed on his shoulders, being the last man at the table, a plethora of pink and blue cupcakes flooding his eyes, down to the simple, plain cupcake in front of him.

Sweet frosting coated his taste buds once he took a bite, the room dreadfully quiet after this action.

The suspense grew thicker and thicker, all eyes on him as his wife’s hand settled on his right shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, soothing his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Licking his lip, he glanced down at the cake in hand, unable to wait any longer.

Right there, in the center of the swirl of thick, smooth buttercream, topped with round pink and blue sprinkles was a soft, flush pastel pink pocket of icing.

Never in his life had he been so delighted to see such a color.

You watched Simon’s eyes light up, almost wider than saucers at the discovery. You stared at him with your hands over your mouth, a bright smile hidden underneath your fingers, your eyes flushed pink with hot tears.

“It’s a girl!” You quickly state towards the others before he could turn it around, watching multiple eyes light up, followed by large amounts of cheers and applause, those who sat rising from their seats instantly.

Simon had risen so fast from his seat, almost causing the furniture to tumble over as he secured you tightly in his arms, feeling your tears of joy dampen his shirt sleeve. His head buried deep into your neck, his light scruff prickling your skin as he purposefully hid his face from everyone who cheered in congratulations.

With your growing belly, Simon found holding you close to be a more endearing action as the days went by. Before the both of you knew it, your little girl would be squeezing between the two of you, urging to join in on such a hug, simply for the surge of attention from her parents.

Your fingers clung to his shirt, your ragged breathing muffled against his shoulder. Beneath the excitement, he heard you mutter to him how much you loved him dearly, repeating these words over and over. In response, he urged you to shift your head just enough so he could take you in a long, heartfelt kiss, before returning to you the same hushed words against your lips.

How you loved each other so. Simon never wanted to be away from you, the thought growing now more than ever.

He remained facing away from the crowd after you were let go, your attention immediately taken aside by Kate’s wife, who trapped you in a tight hug.

“Ya alright?” Soap approached Simon, seeing his refrained stance from the crowd, refusing everyone else to see him this way, teary eyed and emotional, all while keeping quiet.

Simon nodded, sparing yet another glance over towards his wife, smiling as wide as possible, bright tears beading the edges of your eyes, staining your beautifully flushed cheeks as Price took you in a hug, soothing your happy sobs with a comforting rub of your back.

This was better than you had ever hoped for, A wonderful make up for being unable to surprise him the first time.

A girl, a beautiful baby girl.

His future addition to the chamber of his heart, the apple blossom of his eye, his hopeful little dove soaring across an endless sky.

A daughter with the woman he loved most in this world.

For a moment, and just for a moment, he refused to let any dark thought in his mind ruin this happiness that flooded his bones and warmed his haunted spirit, lighting up the darkness like a small pink birthday candle.

He could hardly wait now.

[zero-and-crew]

Anti!AU :D

So! At least 70 people voted yes on this poll we posted here ! Which means there's a few people who decided they're interested in hearing about our AU idea! Information under the cut!

(Adult) Anti!Irep Reference image!

This was a collab piece with @bubbleberryuniverse ! It did the line art :3 it also has its own au, Petrified!Peri ! You should check that out!!!

Content warnings for kidnapping !

The AU starts during the events of Fairly Oddbaby, when Anti-Cosmo manages to get his hands on Peri— and successfully take him to a second location. (The location is unknown to anyone but AC! And Wanda, Cosmo and Timmy— along with pretty much every fairy in fairy world) search EVERYWHERE they can think of for poor little Peri.

Anti-Wanda is kept there too, for a short time. That way she can't accidentally foil his plans. And, she gets to help take care of the cute little bouncing ball of a baby.

Anti-Cosmo keeps him there to keep him hidden, he doesn't start to drain the babies magic like he does in the original episode— his plans are much more long term. His plans are to raise Peri, who is still called Poof at this time in the AU, to use his magic for evil. (Side note, I'm not thinking AC would torture Peri! I imagine he'd be like an emotionally distant dad or teacher at worst, if that makes sense?)

Peri, still a baby, is slowly turning evil. It's how he's being raised, after all. His mind is being filled with evil thoughts, ideas and beliefs. There's still a piece of him that's nice... deep down.. Somewhere. But he's losing more of it as the days go by. He's never known anything other than this life with AC, and occasionally getting visits from AW.

The specifics of this aren't quite figured out yet, but, after several invasions from the fairies searching for Peri, they slowly start to lose hope. Some probably thinking the fairy baby was never born, some might think he died. Whatever it is, the searching slowly stops.

Then, suddenly, a square anti-fairy baby named Foop is born.

But no one notices. No one cares.

Except his parents, of course!

Both of them are excited to have their own son— just as they are in the original! Anti-Wanda might be a bit of an idiot, and Anti-Cosmo may be emotionally lacking as a father, but they are happy to have him! Honestly! Anti-Cosmo even takes him to meet Peri! But... his son doesn't seem too excited about what he's doing. Maybe with time, he'll grow to enjoy helping out! Right?

Irep doesn't talk about those days, ever. The only three people who truly know what went down are Anti-Cosmo, Peri, and Irep.

Well.. One day, Irep had enough. He was tired of being used to help train his counterpart— it hurt. It hurt him in many ways. But with his limited knowledge of the world, it took him a while. Eventually, he found some fairies who might be willing to help an anti-fairy.

EDIT: We have more for this! We just have to draw up Peri's ref, and wanted to start small. If it gets enough engagement, we might make a sideblog for the au specifically.

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.13)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: after you and jungkook’s argument, you decide to sleep in the guest room, not wanting to see him. but when a thunderstorm strikes, you find yourself back in your boyfriend’s arms.

word count: 500+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

You’re staring blankly at the light on the ceiling, its glare causing a strain in your eyes to slowly form.

Sighing as you wrap yourself tighter under the blanket, the sound of the rain pattering against the window of the guest room fills the air.

You know that the right way to resolve your argument with Jungkook wasn’t to hide in the guest room of his apartment, but rather to talk it out with him.

But you were way too emotionally unstable to even begin to talk to your boyfriend, afraid the moment he says something to you, that you would lose all control over your emotions.

The argument you had an hour ago replays in your mind, you’re overthinking and cursing at yourself for saying some things.

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled at Jungkook. But to be fair he had raised his voice at you in frustration, which ticked you off at the point of time.

Both of you had been in the wrong, blaming each other for it when it was a huge misunderstanding. But both of you were equally too stubborn to apologise first.

You jolt and squeak in shock as a huge rumble of thunder rings through the air, you should have expected it considering the flash of lightning that came before that.

The light in the guest room gives way, causing the whole room to turn into a void of darkness.

You only hear Jungkook’s muffled gasp from outside the room, before you begin to hide under the blanket in petrifying fear.

It was a stupid fear you had, you weren’t even scared of horror movies, yet the darkness had brought out another side of you, making you vulnerable and scared, of not being able to see your surroundings.

Normally, you always had Jungkook to run to, your boyfriend who would oh-so-sweetly comfort you and embrace you in his hold, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

But this time instead of running to you, Jungkook is hesitant, he’s standing outside the guest bedroom, unsure if he should step in to embrace you like he always does, or if you would push him away because of your unresolved conflicts.

Your boyfriend immediately cranks open the door knob the moment he hears a sob emit from inside the room, rushing over in the darkness, tripping over something on the floor.

He spots you curled up under the blankets in the darkness, but he can barely see from the lack of light in the house.

“Baby,” Jungkook hushes you as he guides you to sit in his lap, your face now buried in his chest as your tears soak his shirt.

He can feel your hands grip onto his shirt, as you sob, body shaking.

Given the chance to, you would’ve probably stayed mad at him, but you were so terrified being alone, in the darkness, not being able to see anything at all.

“Kook,” You sob as Jungkook shushes you, trying his best to comfort your crying self.

“Jagi, I’m right here, breathe for me yeah?” He’s whispering in your ear, tightening his hold on you.

Jungkook guides you to lay on the bed with him, as he let’s you cry into his chest.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you Gguk,” You hiccup between sobs, feeling terrible that Jungkook had put aside everything to come and console you even thought you had been screaming at him earlier.

“Baby, it’s okay,” He laughs, petting your head, “We’ll talk it out when you feel better ‘kay?”

You nod, snuggling deeper into his hold as your sobs turn into sniffles.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[vomiting] … Brynn: Is supposed to me be throwing up, not you. [Wyatt hummed, slightly flustered by his reaction; it was supposed to be the other way around] Brynn: Are you frightened? [Wyatt huffed a half-hearted scoff through his nose, frightened was an understatement-.. he was petrified] Brynn: Is normal to be scared, I think. Wyatt: Hm… Brynn: You never once think about creating a family? Wyatt: I didn’t plan on having children, no. Brynn: Why not? Wyatt: What do I know about parenthood? I had three terrible examples-.. I’m selfish, depraved, emotionally faulty… Brynn: You are not usually so unkind to yourself. Wyatt: I’m more than fine with who I am, but that doesn’t mean I think it wise to raise another me. Wyatt: I don’t feel things the way I’m meant to, Brynn-.. how the hell am I supposed to bring someone up right if I’m not right? Brynn: I not think you give yourself enough credit. You feel things for me, don’t you? Wyatt: That’s an anomaly. Brynn: I think over time it won’t be such an anon-.. amon-.. I can’t say that word, but maybe it’ll feel more normal to you in time? Is nothing more special than having a baby. Wyatt: There isn’t-.. but I don’t know the first thing about being a father. Brynn: I not know how to be a mother either, at least we are lost together! Wyatt: I prefer having a map… Brynn: Hm, life does not come with a map-.. I recently accept that I am not so great at thinking things through, and you are not so great at feelings, right? So, maybe we are perfectly mismatched for a baby. [Lost in thought, Wyatt fell silent; perhaps Brynn had a point…] Brynn: What did you want when you were tiny? [Wyatt squinted, unsure how to respond] Brynn: I never feel loved, seen or safe when I was small, is what I’ve tried-.. and mostly failed to find since. [Wyatt chewed at his lip absently; he understood what Brynn was getting at, but surely it wasn’t that simple] Brynn: Come on! What did small Wyatt wish for? Wyatt: I suppose I just wanted to be wanted. [Brynn grabbed Wyatt’s wrist and tugged him toward her, gently placing his hand against her stomach] Brynn: You tell me you not want this? [Brynn held Wyatt’s gaze unwaveringly, waiting; though she already knew the answer] [Wyatt never thought he’d have a child, but he didn’t not want one either-.. perhaps that was why it was so terrifying] Wyatt: [furtively] No-.. I do. Brynn: Then you are already better than my father, and yours…

[penny-anna]

been reading a lot of Owl House fanfic lately & have some Hunter Thoughts (long post + cw for discussion of child abuse):

run into the take a couple of times now that the other Coven heads (in particular well-meaning characters like Darius & Raine) should have done more to help Hunter. and while i do agree that uhh almost every adult in the show let Hunter down i have 2 responses to that

FIRSTLY: i could be wrong (i watched s2 in a pretty choppy manner) but i don't think there's any indication that Hunter's abuse is happening anywhere other than behind closed doors. it's very possible that the outward image of Hunter & Belos's relationship is 'this is the emperor's special favourite nephew who he dotes upon'.

it's like. self-evidently the case that Hunter is being neglected emotionally but probably no-one had any reason to think he was in physical danger. remember that most people were under the impression that Belos was a benevolent ruler & the minority who'd figured out what his game could have reasonably assumed that for all his faults he wouldn't hurt Hunter.

Darius expresses concern about his social life but seems to read uhh nothing whatsoever into this interaction:

which suggests to me that he hasn't seen any prior indication of physical abuse & just assumes Hunter is being very dramatic!

(side note i just noticed Flapjack covering his eyes with his wings gdlkjfhglfjh omg Flapjack)

& all of this is very plausible! let's face it not all abusive parents IRL give off obvious red flags to anyone external to the situation.

SECONDLY: to be blunt, the position Belos put Hunter in was such that i don't know if anyone could have helped even if they wanted to.

Hunter being elevated to the position of Head of the Emperor's Coven is clearly an unusual move & one that was made in direct response to Lilith defecting. It's a clear signal that Belos doesn't trust his remaining Coven Heads and wants to keep a closer eye on them. they have good reason to believe that the Golden Guard could u know. report any of them to Belos as a Traitor at any time.

whether Belos would actually automatically believe him is another matter but like, as stated above, they don't know how Belos treats Hunter behind closed doors. for all they know one word from Hunter could get them idk petrified.

their behaviour towards him isn't nice but his presence is both threatening and also kind of insulting. he's wrapped up in the internal politics of the court in a way that makes it difficult to anyone to respond to him with anything other hostility. which is uhh not a position Belos should ever have put his 16 year old ''''nephew'''' into.

for all Darius knows if he starts being nice to the Golden Guard & relaxes in his presence he's gonna end up saying something that'll get back to Belos. he doesn't let down his guard around Hunter until seeing u know. multiple clear signals that he's actually willing to lie to Belos.

like. Hunter is dangerous! bcos we as the audience are so familiar w this Hunter:

easy to forget that most people in the Boiling Isles only know this guy:

he's a very real threat to everyone around him by virtue of being the emperor's Right Hand! just look at how Odalia reacts to him showing up:

people are actively afraid of the Golden Guard & him being 16 doesn't make him any less of a deadly threat. he's functionally untouchable. trying to suggest that hey, maybe the head of the police force shouldn't be a 16 year old boy is liable to get you thrown in the conformatorium.

like. even if someone did put together that Hunter was in danger from Belos what are they gonna do about it? u can't exactly call social services on the God Emperor.

[maple-the-awesome]

You Sacrifice Yourself for Them Part 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairings: Legend, Sky, Time x GN Reader

Requested by anonymous: HIIIII OMG I JUST WANRED TO SAY i lovelovrloveloveeeee the way you write so much!!!!!!! ur recent loz post had me kicking and squealing in my sear hehehe T_T could i request a scenario with the chain in a situation where the reader sacrifices themselves to protect the boys? im imagining things begging the enemy to take them instead, protecting them from a hit or even something funny like taking the blame for a mistake they made!!! id love to see some angst from you!!!!! THANK U AND HAVE A GREAT WEEK!!!!!💖💖💖💖

Zelda Masterlist 💙 Fandom Masterlist

Shit. Shit. Shiiit.

This was not how this day was supposed to go. This was not how this dungeon was supposed to go! The group calls him 'Veteran' for a reason. He's done more dungeons on his own than the lot of them combined. He's quick on his feet, able to complete the most complex puzzles like child's play, and barely breaks a sweat against the foes that lurk in every damp shadow. Anymore, dungeons are easy (too easy, maybe, compared to some of the rougher...emotionally draining parts of his journeys). 

This was supposed to be just as easy. He had no shame in bragging or flexing his skills, yet all that has officially flown out the window in a way that one could deem quite literal, actually. A quick whiz of air and an echoed shatter that would've reminded him of the wonderful sound of broken pottery if not for how horrifying it was in true comparison. No, that sound was far from exhilarating, especially paired with the image of you falling sideways like a lifeless doll, pieces of tile bouncing off your head and exploding in the air like fireworks trailed by crimson. 

Legend isn't sure if he managed to catch you in time. He probably did, but in his panic he feared you might've hit your head on the floor as if that's not exactly what already happened to knock you out in the first place. Damn floor tiles! Usually they're just embarrassing annoyances when prepared for them, but that's the problem: he wasn't. When those dangerous squares came flying at him at a blurring speed, he expected to take on the hit, not for you to shield him with your own body. What in Hylia's name were you even thinking?!

For what feels like hours but is really only a few seconds, Legend's mind runs rapidly with petrified thoughts: Are you dead? Did he just let you die for his sake? It's supposed to be the other way around if anything! He's the world's punching bag, not you. You're…too special for any of that…

"Hylia, t-that hurt..." Legend snaps out of it only when you groan, barely able to open your eyes against the blinding light of the torch - the only light in the room - which has long been abandoned behind both of you. 

"Are you kidding me?! Are you stupid or something?! What the hell were you even thinking doing that?! Do you know what could've happened if you got hit hard enough or at the wrong angle?! You could've been given a concussion, put into a coma, o-or -"

"- But it could've ruined your pretty face."

Legend’s words choke in his throat as he stares at you as if you've suddenly grown several heads...that or he has just now realized you're the biggest idiot in Hyrule, who knows? Clearly, you're still in a daze yourself, head wobbling around as you blink rapidly with pupils dilated wide. Maybe the whole concussion thing can't actually be ruled out quite yet.

"...Stupid..." Legend mumbles under his breath with a click of his tongue as he looks away from you, "...What about your face then?"

"Awww. You think I'm pretty, too?" 

He huffs instead of answering, carefully helping you up before draping your arm over his shoulders and pulling you securely against his side where he can better keep you from stumbling off into something or, Hylia forbid, trip face first into the ground, causing more damage aside from the goose egg already bruising your forehead and the line of blood dripping down it, "We need to get you to the Traveler. ‘get you fix up.”

"Huh? But what...what 'bout the dungeon?" 

"We can come back later. The treasure at the end probably isn't worth it anyways if floor tiles are what's guarding it."

You hum distantly, dropping your head directly against his without any notice to the way this makes his cheeks flare unwillingly, "...Hey Legs?"

"What?"

"Can you please not tell anyone I got beat up by pieces of floor?"

Legend snorts and pretends to think your question over, "Hmm…In light of you saving my life, I guess I can keep that promise."

"Thanks, bun."

"You know, on second thought, maybe I won't."

Sky awoke in a pleasant mood that was only made better upon remembering his current whereabouts. He had a wonderful dream about being back home during peaceful times, and while disappointed to leave such a relaxing feeling, at least he found himself still in that cozy little inn the Chain decided to stay at for the night. What was better was that it appeared to be rather early. The sun was barely shining through the window, only barely peeking over the village roofs, and the room itself was silent aside from the sound of some snoring which confirmed that the rest of his roommates were still fast asleep, thus Sky figured there would be no harm in dozing off for a few extra minutes until he hears someone else get up for the day…That was his plan, anyways…

"...Hey Sky?"

"Mmm?"

"You, uh, know there's only ten minutes until eight, right?"

In a blink of an eye, Sky shoots straight up, suddenly not feeling so tired. Rubbing his eyes and bearing through his new headache, he's horrified to confirm that you must be right. The window is now glowing in a bright gold, showing a bustling little village outside. You, yourself, are already dressed in your tunic, hair done and ready to go. Legend and Wind, who had been your other roommates last night, must follow the same status seeing as neither of them nor their belongings are here anymore. It's just you and Sky.

In an instant, he leaps out of bed, nearly tripping yet recovering as he hurries to find his own belongings which seems a lot harder to accomplish in his panicked state compared to any other day. You, meanwhile, replace his spot upon the bed, sitting down there with an apologetic look, "I would have woken you up sooner, but I wasn't sure if you were purposefully sleeping in."

"You're alright - uh, thank you for waking me up at all," Sky backtracks when he remembers he had folded his tunic under his bed, kneeling down to grab it along with the rest of his belongings stuffed under there, "Where's the Vet and Pirate?"

"Already at breakfast. Wild dropped by a little while ago to say that it would be ready soon. I'm sure the others are already digging in."

"Crap."

"I'm sure there'll be enough left for us regardless. He always makes so much whenever we stay somewhere with an actual kitchen..." Despite Sky having worn an undershirt to bed, you still feel the need to awkwardly look away as he pulls the rest of his clothes overhead, "You must have a real talent for sleeping because the rest of us woke up to a loud 'thud' and cursing...'don't think Legend will be taking the top bunk at the next inn we reach."

Fully dressed, Sky's first order of business should really be to rush downstairs instead of testing his luck with angry companions, but he takes the time to spare you a glance instead, "Why haven't you gone downstairs yet?"

The question, once thought of, weighs heavy on his mind. You just said that you awoke with the others, however you chose to stay here and risk getting in trouble yourself for tardiness rather than joining them. 

You merely shrug as if it’s of no concern, "I figured I'd wait for you. Like I said, I didn't know if you were purposefully sleeping in and I would've felt worse if I fully gambled on that, leaving you to sleep until noon and suffer Time's wrath."

Sky fidgets and stares down at his feet, although when he opens his mouth to say something, you're standing again while pushing him towards the door, "But let's not push our luck too far, alright? Time was pretty adamant about getting out of here at a decent time."

Yes, he was. He had made a strict point of that last night which is further emphasized by the fact that he is already standing at the bottom of the staircase by the time you both appear at the top of it. It appears that he was just about to make his way up to scold you, but since you've so kindly met him halfway, he can do that from here, "I assume there's a good reason for sleeping in yet again, Skyloftian?"

Sky gulps under the Old Man's glare, prepared to take on whatever punishment that will soon follow seeing as he's officially reached his limit of making the entire group late, however as quickly as he begins to dread the thought of taking on an extra watch for the night or doing a supply run with his own rupees, you're beating him to an explanation, "It's my fault, actually. I had a rough night and didn't realize what time it was until Sky woke me. If he hadn't waited for me, he wouldn't have been late so don't be too mad at him, okay?"

"That's not -" Sky's head whips towards you in surprise, however he falls silent when you give him a look that commands it.

Time hums, glancing between the two of you without much sign that he believes your lie. He has no reason to considering that Wind had already mentioned you were up and at 'em this morning. Perhaps if you had crossed his path earlier for this conversation, he would’ve been more inclined then to point this out, forcing you to confess the truth, although it’s five minutes till eight now meaning he'd be wasting time none of you have to argue not to mention he really doesn't care so long as everyone’s ready to go.

"Well, since you're both technically down here before eight, I'll let it slide this time," He narrows his eyes at you both, taking some sort of pride in how you each bow your heads shamefully, however that's the extend of it before he turns his heel, "But it's up to you to savage yourselves breakfast before Wild packs it up and I still expect you all to be out in the lobby by eight sharp, not a second later even if it means you have to go without a starting meal for today."

"Yes, sir!"

"I'm okay. Worry about the Old Man first."

"Clearly you're not fine. Your arm -"

"- I've had worst -"

"- That doesn't matter. You're still injured."

This argument isn’t going anywhere. Anyone in the group could see that, but are they brave enough to point it out? Considering the fact that they all stand by in awkward silence, probably not.

The last battle was a tough one which may be a bit of an understatement considering Time and you both walked away with some serious wounds to show for your victory. Time had been knocked in the head by a Moblin club, thrown backwards where he then laid unconscious for several moments only to awaken with a gash in the club’s former place, although still a far less visible injury compared to yours. You didn’t miss the way Sky kept gagging when helping you back into camp, unable to so much as glance at the terrible result of a Lizalfos sword slicing through your arm. Provided the extent of these soon-to-be scars, everyone would expect (and hope) that the two of you would be eager for Hyrule’s healing magic, however they were quickly proven otherwise. 

“So? I’ll live.”

“Not without medical attention.”

“I’ll take a potion.”

“I thought you didn’t have any left?”

You curse to yourself before sticking your nose into the air with a stubborn change of subject, “You know, last time I checked, a head injury is a lot more serious than a simple cut!”

Time ignores your claim, feeling his face grow warm in irritation (or maybe that’s due to the fresh blood dripping down from his hairline), “You call that ‘a simple cut’?”

You merely shrug, readjusting the crimson cloth you currently press to the nasty slice that parts your skin directly down from your shoulder into your bicep. It no doubt burns like the fires of Death Mountain which you don’t hide despite your persistence in turning down any aid. Your face is scrunched into an expression of pain, a hiss leaving your hips whenever you move the cloth or your arm in any way, yet you still meet Time’s eyes with no sign of budging.

“Twilight, tell him he’s being ridiculous!” 

The poor farm boy leaps in place when you both end up turning his way. Although not another word is said by either of you, he understands that voiceless command of Time’s stone cold glare: he isn’t to say a word - not a word - that could be taken as a form of agreement towards your cause. He’s to be a good boy and point out that your arm isn’t going to fix itself, thus you should be the first to be tended to by Hyrule. Of course, he cares about your wellbeing and would definitely side with his mentor and his intimating ways if not for how the older male sways side-to-side with the wind, clearly struggling to maintain himself as the effects of a serious concussion start to take its toll on him.

“...(Y/n)...does have a point..." Twilight mumbles, gulping when Time’s glare darkens.

Thankfully for him and all the others who stand by with their heads down, including little Hyrule who’s been stuck between you both too fearful to make a peep, Warrior has finally had enough of this, officially having no problem taking charge with his annoyance made clear through his stern voice, “The longer you both argue about this, the longer you both go without medical attention, so please, for the love of Hylia, will one of you just swallow your damn pride and let Hyrule do what he needs to?”

There’s no instant reaction, neither of being too eager to see Warrior’s very valid point, however after glancing at you once more and noticing how tightly you’re holding onto your arm, Time sighs at long last, resulting in a chorus of others to follow, “...Fine. I’ll go first.”

This satisfies you, allowing you to relax your muscles and focus on keeping that cloth pressed to your arm while Hyrule begins working his magic to fix Time’s own injury, although as always, the Old Man has to have the last word, shoving his pouch towards you with a grumble, “At least take a red potion in the meantime. It should dull the pain.”

Thankfully, you don’t argue as he feared you would based on your initial hesitation. Instead, you huff, but ultimately dig through the pouch to locate the bottle which you pop the cork off of dramatically, “Fine.”

[missscarletrosesett]

Can I ask for Yandere Tokito twins hc? If not just Yandere Muichiro! Thanks if you do

Summary: Yandere Tokito twins and Yandere Muichiro Hcs.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, emotional abuse, obsessive and possessive behaviour, and forms of manipulation.

Note: Here’s another overdue one. I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you don't mind if I did both.

Tokito twins

(In this they both live and Muichiro keeps his memories)

You three are childhood friends and have a very close bond. You were the glue that held them together.

Your guys’ parents think you three were so cute together. I mean who wouldn't?

Whenever they would squabble, it would always somehow end up with you getting in the middle of them while trying to calm them down.

Mainly Yuichiro.

Time skip to when the demon finds the cabin and attacks you and the twins.

Yuichiro jumped in front of Muichiro in order to protect him, but that resulted him in the loss of his arm.

While you? You just sat that petrified of the scene in front of you.

After help arrived things seemed to get better.

With the help of your care and the Ubuyashiki’s, Yuichiro was going to live.

After Yuichiro made a full and healthy recovery, he decided it was best to stay on the sidelines. (As much as he hated it) and watched as Muichiro trained his hardest to become a Demon Slayer.

You and Yuichiro cheered him on from the sidelines.

Not long after that Muichiro became a Hashira.

Speaking of Yuichiro and Muichiro. You've noticed that they've become more possessive over you, and never let you stray far from their sight.

At first, you thought it seemed from the worry of losing you because you three thought of each other as family.

Oh how wrong you were.

At first, it started out as wholesome worry.

Then it turned into guilt-tripping, restriction to the outside world, and more.

They would try and coax you with small little acts of affection and gifts, trying to make you see there was no reason to go outside.

Simple but sweet things.

Do not get me started if they catch you trying to escape.

If Yuichiro catches you trying to escape, he will drag you back with him and start emotionally abusing you.

He would call you unflattering names, calling you ungrateful and so on.

He would leave you alone for days without the proper care and nutrients you needed to live.

Then he would come back and start acting all sweet with you.

If Muichiro found you trying to escape, at first he’ll gently try to coax you into no trying to escape, but if that doesn't work, it'll get harder than it already needs to be.

He’ll threaten you and yell at you much like Yuichiro, even giving you the silent treatment.

But he won't even last a few hours before begging for your forgiveness.

Poor baby

He can't stand the thought of you being scared or angry with him.

If you do somehow manage to escape, it won't be very far

The farthest you'll get is maybe close to a small town, before being dragged back by most likely Muichiro.

That's when you realized you were never going to leave their line of sight.

“Come on, let's get you home, where it's safe.”

Muichiro

We all love him, but he is ruthless as a yandere.

RUTHLESS.

Same scenario as for the twins, you were childhood friends with the twins.

After the Demon attacked you guys, you and Muichiro were the only survivors, having Yuichiro sacrifice his life in order to protect you two.

Muichiro experienced Memory loss but for some strange reason he remembered you

You were happy that your best friend remembered you, of course, but you couldn't shake the feeling that he changed somehow.

He felt different, and not the good kind.

After he became a Hashira, he invited you to his estate, which you happily accepted.

As time went on, you noticed that your visits became longer and longer, sometimes even you having to stay the night, until you couldn't even step foot outside his estate.

You couldn't even remember what the outside world looked like.

He would act like his old-normal self around you, but if you ever did something he didn't like or approve of, he would revert to his cold-hearted, ruthless self.

And if you try escaping, good luck, getting caught will be your worst nightmare

He couldn't care how much begging and pleasing you were doing. He would drill it into your head.

You would stay by his side, like old times.

He would achieve his goal no matter what, even if he has to spill your own blood.

“Why do you insist on escaping? How troublesome. Seems like you still haven't learned.”