#everyone has a little dream and nightmare on their shoulders. sometimes the nightmare tells me to ruin the characters i love for funsies

[triglycercule]

TRIGLYCERCULE'S REMINDER THAT I DO NOT SUPPORT NOR REGULARLY THINK ABOUT THE THINGS THAT I POST ABOUT. NO I DONT FANTASIZE ABOUT THE 9TH RAMBLE I CAME UP WITH OF NIGHTMARE MAKING SOME KIND OF NEW CRAZY TORTURE METHOD FOR THE TRIO!!! IM SORRY!!!!! I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO SAY THIS!!!!

DISCLAIMER: TORTURE IS NOT OK OKAY????

^ me to the little demon in my head coming up with these OUTRAGEOUS ideas

[fraugwinska]

I know canonically Alastor doesn't sleep but let's assume it's not because he doesn't have to but because he doesn't want to - he feels powerless and vulnerable when he sleeps, also he is tormented by nightmares.

What if one night everyone is waken up by hotel almost falling apart: walls are cracking, everything is shaking, and a green glow is flowing through the corridors. Turns out, Alastor is asleep and having a very bad nightmare. And unless they want the hotel to fall apart, someone has to wake Alastor up... (reader volunteers as a tribute)

LOTS of angst with a comfor ending? :)

You ask, Anon - and I deliver (at last)! Thank you for being so patient with me! Today just felt right to write this, and I sincerely hope you find it worth the wait! <3 TW: Depictions of Blood - Minors DNI - 2.8k words

The Eye of the Storm

"What the fuck is going on?!"

Another loud boom shakes the ground of the corridor, almost making you trip and fall if not for the handrail you managed to grab. Angels door opened at the other end, a scared squeal of Fat Nuggets faintly audible as Angel stumbled out, clearly as startled and scared as you.

"Fuck, toots, what is that?"

"I have no idea!"

You had no idea, but whatever was causing it, the entire building was shaking like in an earthquake and you were terrified some of the older, worn out parts of your floor could collapse any moment. The cracks on the walls were growing with every rumble, and a bright, green glow had overtook the lamps, turning the usually warm and inviting space into an eerie nightmare.

You exchanged a terrified look with Angel, both of you unsure what to do next. He hurried over to you, his piglet shaking in two of his arms, taking your hand with his free one and pulled you with him. "C'mon, we need to find Charlie, before the fucking ceiling falls on our heads."

You didn't even have the time to reply before the lights went off, a terrified scream leaving your mouth before you could stop it. You heard a string of curses from Angel and felt him squeeze your hand tighter. The both of you ran down the stairs as fast as you were able to in the dim darkness. You tripped several times, but Angel held you steady, trying his best to not fall himself. The lights went on again with another rumble, making the stairway moan like it was in pain.

"Charlie! Vaggie!"

You reached the lobby, where you found the rest of the residents already gathered. Everyone was there, looking shaken and confused, but unharmed. You saw them look around and then up to the ceiling, the cracking of the wood and walls sounding louder and more violent than upstairs.

"Ey, you two, are yo' hurt?" Husk yelled over the noise, his eyes scanning Angel with a worried look.

You shook your head, letting the spiders hand go so he could run up to Husk, who took his pig into his arms and hugged Angel close.

"Is everyone alright? Where's Niffty... and Alastor?" Charlie's voice sounded shaky, and you could tell she was doing her best to keep calm and not freak out.

"I'm here!" The little cyclops girl appeared behind Sir Pentious's hat, her eye wide. "But I think Alastor's not okay."

"What do you mean?" Vaggie asked, her hands stiff on Charlies trembling shoulders.

Niffty looked around, biting her lip. "He has bad dreams sometimes, and he's really scary when he does, and then stuff like this happens. He can't control his powers, and-"

"Wait, so it's HIM who's causing all of this?" Vaggie's eye widened in anger and another boom made the whole lot of you duck as the glasses from the bar fall from their shelves, flooding the floor with shards of glass and debris.

"Yes, but he can't help it, it's his brain messing up! We need to help him!"

Vaggie cursed, while Charlie and the others started to ramble over another.

"Someone has to wake him up, before the hotel really collapses."

"Are 'ya crazy, Charls? We can't go in there!"

"Yeah, at this state, yo' won't know that fucker won't rip yo' to shreds befo' you even reach his room."

"It'ssss better to evacuate, I think."

"And leave the building to fall into pieces? Ugh, maldito idiota de la radio..."

Your head turned worriedly back to the green glowing corridor. Alastor. What the hell kind of bad dream would make him lose control over his powers like that? Niffty said it was his brain messing up, whatever that meant - did he really suffer from nightmares? You felt a sting of worry for the deer demon. You didn't even want to imagine the kind of terrors he had to have in his head to cause something like this.

"I'm gonna go."

Everyone stopped talking and looked at you. Husk gave you an incredulous look, still holding Angel and the pig in his arms. "Y-yo' can't be serious. That's straight-up suicide."

You shook your head. "Someone has to. I'll be fine, just... get out of here, wait outside and make sure no one is getting hurt."

Angel tore himself out of the cat demons grasp, taking you by your shoulders, his eyes pleading. "Toots, Alastor is not himself right now. He can't control what the fuck he's doing, and if he hurts 'ya, I don't... Please, don't do this, that bastard ain't worth it."

You knew the spider demon was worried, and you appreciated your friends' concern, but he didn't know the Radio Demon as well as you did. You were aware of his reputation, the stories of his atrocities and his sadistic nature. You knew how cruel and unforgiving he could be, but you also knew that over the last few weeks, he had shown you a softer, less menacing side. You and him bonded over his love of cooking and your love of eating what he prepared, over your shared interest for record players and classical music and your affinity to magic and the obscure. He could be a lot of things, but he wasn't just the bloodthirsty serial killer most of the denizens of hell made him out to be.

You gave the spider a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry about me, Angel, it's going to be alright. He's my friend, I can't just leave him in there to get crushed by the building."

Before you could be held back, you started to run towards the stairs. Charlie cried out to you, but you ignored her, you just took a last glance back, shouting as you vanished into the darkness.

"Just trust me, and get your asses out of here."

"Fuck."

The group stood there, unsure what to do, and a loud snap coming from the second floor made them turn and run for the doors.

The higher you climbed the stairs, the more intense the shaking and rumbling got. You had to crawl on the steps at times, because it was too dangerous to walk, and you didn't trust your legs not to give way under you. The walls were splitting, the green light was burning in the lamps, and the air was crackling with what seemed like dark magic, ominous glowing symbols appearing and fading in your vicinity.

When you finally reached Alastor's door, it was already hanging from the hinges. It had probably blown when the magic started to burst out in violent waves, the green glow brightly pulsating and threatening from within the inside. You wondered if your heart could beat any faster without giving way. It wasn't the first time you were scared witless, hell wasn't exactly a carnival. But as much as you believed the best about Alastor, he still was one of hell's most powerful overlords. He still had countless bodies in his name. You trusted him, but if Niffty and the others were right - and it seemed to be the case that they were - he had little to no control over himself when lost in a nightmare. Could a demon like him sleepwalk and kill you in their sleep?

You took a breath and squared your shoulders, turning around to call into the room, not daring to set a foot inside yet.

"Alastor? It's me. Can you hear me?"

The rattling of the sudden radio static made the framed pictures on the wall shatter to the ground, and from the edge of your field of vision you noticed the lights fade once more, turning the already ghost-like bedroom almost black. You reached for the doorway and lowered your voice.

"It's me, you have to listen, okay? It's okay. I just came to check on you. It's safe now. You are safe."

No answer, again. The darkness felt suffocating, as if it was about to crush you any minute. You felt dizzy, disoriented, like a rabbit that had caught the eyes of a fox. You didn't dare say anything else, not until you could at least see him, figure out what was going on. With shaking legs, you took a step over the threshold. The lamps flickered again and you tried your best not to stumble as you scanned the room in front of you in between the shutters of brightness for traces of the other demon.

When you found him, you had to bite down a cry of horror.

You wished you hadn't.

He was curled up and violently shaking on his bed, the covers ripped and laying in pieces around his sweating body. His head was almost between his knees, hair spiky and disheveled and his overgrown and twisted antlers slicing the mattress and pillows with every tremor rushing through him. You could barely see him, the flickering lights making his face obscured in the shadows, but what you could see made your heart sink. He was sobbing in between shattering breaths, his chest heaving up and down erratically and his claws digging deep ridges into his torso as his body jerked and twisted, blood pooling into the covers in deep red.

"Al." You couldn't control yourself anymore. The shock, the dread and worry freed your legs from their stupor and you rushed to the hunched form, nearly stumbling on the ripped fabrics.

His eyes flew open at the touch of your fingers, burning in bright crimson with ticking dials as irises, almost completely overtaking his entire eye sockets. The howling of radio static screeched from his lips as the room shook again as he bared his sharp teeth, his clawed hands swiping at you with violent intensity that send you flying on the ground. You tried to catch yourself, but fell to your side, letting out a pained cry as you felt the wound on your waist, dripping with blood and split wide open.

You watched him with wide eyes as his limbs grew, afraid to even move. His stare was petrifying you, you had never seen such violent, uncontrolled expression on him. He growled, his head turning towards you, his mouth, no, maw opening. He looked like he wasn't there anymore, that nothing left was inside besides a manic creature ready to slaughter everything it crossed. A nightmarish beast in its lair that had cornered a small helpless prey, ready to be swallowed alive.

He got up in one swift motion, the pieces of fabric that once were bedcovers flying through the air and a dark aura creeping into your vicinity. Your breath hitched. You couldn't get out of his range with him like that, the open wound kept you from moving fast, and his maw was so big it seemed he could rip you apart by just inhaling.

"Alastor, it's okay. It's me." you breathed, desperate not to lose hope. There must be something that could call to him in the deepest parts of his mind, something that could snap him out of this lucidity. You scrambled back as he stepped in front of you, lowering his head to meet your eye level. His claws dragged on the floor beside him, and in a sudden, swift move, his large hands grasped you, the pressure on the gash blindingly painful.

"I-It's okay, it's not y-you, it's just a bad dream. I'm here to h-help you. Let me..." You gasped, a sob leaving your throat as his claws started to dig into you.

"Nnnghh... Y...-you c..c-c-an't ...-he..lp...m...m-e-e.."

A snarl left his lips and he raised his face into the air, his arms lifting you effortlessly and you whimpered in fear. Pushing through the hazy fog that invaded your brain, you tried again.

"Please, Al, j-just look at me. Wake up a-and look at me. You'll be okay."

"W...-why d-d..id..-.yo...-u co..-m-e... -h..e-re...?"

The blood loss was making you feel faint, and you lifted a bloody hand, desperate to touch him, to reach the man behind the monster. With blurry eyes, you brushed his cheek, his face just near enough your fingertips reached the fizzing skin. It felt like dipping your hand in pure electricity, numbing and painful, but you didn't care.

"Because you a-are scared and h-hurting, and I care about y-you. What f-friend would I be if I l-let you s-suffer alone?"

At your words, his enormous form shivered, and you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly. The dials fixed on you were still ticking, but the red of his eyes dimmed. Your other hand came up, slowly, to take the other side of his face.

"Can you wake up for me, Alastor?"

More growling, more shaking.

"Pl-please. Wake up and come b-back to me."

His eyes flicked, the howling static became more hushed and his ears twitched under the forks of his antlers. You took a shuddering breath of relief as the animalistic stare on his face lost its threatening gaze and felt the buzz under your fingers slowly dying down. The sharpness under your hands subsided fully as you saw Alastor shrink back, slowly becoming aware again of his surroundings. The green glow that filled the room flickered and turned into the familiar oranges and reds. You held onto his face and his eyes, not daring to let him go until he had finally settled and transformed back into his regular form, the last clicks of the vanishing dials fading as his irises turned to dim reds once again.

"What happened. Why are you..." The sound of his familiar voice was all you wanted to hear now. As your legs gave away, you didn't fall however, Alastor's slender hands were quick to catch you, his smile confused and irritated. He let his eyes travel down your arms to the wound and pools of crimson surrounding you, and back at your face, now pale.

"What do you think you are doing, dear." he breathed, settling you down slowly on the ground.

"You had a nightmare. The hotel... everything was chaos. I had to come, had to... get you out of it." you stammered, watching him looking around to see the damage, his face warped in realization as he put the pieces together.

"Fuck!"

It was rare to hear the usually so poised and reserved Radio Demon swear, but for this situation you'd agree it was entirely appropriate. But the hotel still stood and he was back, and that was all that mattered. When he took you up in his arms and buried his face in your neck, you felt the more alive than in the whole time on earth.

"You foolish girl. You could've been killed by my hands."

You let him embrace you, his long arms circling around you protectively and his forehead resting on the hollow of your throat.

"But I wasn't." you said simply, smiling weakly into his hair. Your arms felt heavy but they still managed to find their way onto his back, reassuring and tender, letting him know you were fine, mangled maybe, but alive and there. You stayed that way for a moment, both of you unable to move or say something as you found some grounding in each other's warmth and the now peaceful silence.

The quiet was broken, however, when you heard frantic footsteps in the hall outside and the uproarious group of the hotel staff came charging through the opened door, halting when they saw your display. Alastor didn't lift his head, in fact, he didn't move at all. You turned your head, your hand barely leaving his back to give the speechless group a lazy wave.

"Are 'ya ok? I'll kill 'im if 'yer not, I don't give a shi-"

"You were so incredibly brave, oh gosh, look at all this blood. Vaggie, we need to get the first aid kit!"

"I'll get my mop! And a broom, look at the mess!"

"Aye, this fucker really owes you."

"Umm... this is rather... Should we give thossse two a moment?"

"Lo juro por Dios, un día de estos lo voy a matar..."

Through the mass of noise the others made, talking and fussing and scurrying, you heard Alastor's quiet whisper against your bloodied skin, loud and clear.

"Thank you, dearest."

You smiled, closing your eyes and holding him a bit tighter, even if it made your wounded side sting.

"It's okay, Al. What else are friends for?"

[you-til-i-die]

wishin’ I could write my name on it

f.odair x fem!reader

summary: a sneak peak into you and finnick’s lives

warnings/content: I wrote and edited this all in one sitting so if it’s absolute shit that’s why<3 district four victor!r, r is said to have throw up a few times, but none of it is graphic. mentions of blood and sex trafficking, cannon-typical shit really, swearing

song: august - ts

wc: 1.9k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

You and Finnick have one rule.

Don’t talk about it. Don’t ask about it. Don’t acknowledge it.

When the two of you are together, you can just forget about it. You can hang out on the beaches of District Four and pretend like these aren’t your lives.

But they are.

And it always somehow seeps through the cracks.

It’s in the way Finnick’s eyes are dull and empty the first few days after a trip to the capitol.

It’s in the way your laugh has morphed into a short bark.

It’s everywhere and it’s everything.

There’s no escaping it.

It haunts your dreams, it probably haunts Finnick’s too, even though you’d never ask.

Because that’s the rule. No asking. Ever.

————————————————————————

It was August. The sun seemed to slowly be getting the message that fall was getting nearer, the rays a little less intense then they had been a few weeks ago. The water was even the tiniest bit cooler, soothing a stubborn sunburn on your shoulders.

You were laying on the beach, face down on a towel, trying to ignore the stick of salt drying on your skin. You can’t help but let out a yawn, exhausted from the still persistent heat and trying to win against Finnick in a swimming race all day.

You were so relaxed. Focusing on the waves crashing against the shore. And the presence beside you that you knew was Finnick.

You honestly were about to fall asleep before he speaks. He mentions it so casually, he might as well have been asking what you wanted for dinner.

“Snow needs me in the capitol. I’m leaving on Friday.”

His voice is completely flat, devoid from all of its usual humor. It made you nauseous. You consider asking if he feels the same way, but you don’t. That was the rule. And you know the rules.

You push yourself up onto your elbows to get a good look at him, to try and decipher the look on his face. You could almost always read him. You hadn’t spent four years attached to each other to not learn the subtle mannerisms of the other. But this was different. It always was.

You and Finnick could talk about almost anything together. The games, the fear that you could never seem to shake, the nightmares, the way it was sometimes hard to stomach killing even a fish. But you never talk about this.

You never talk about how Snow will whisk one, or sometimes both, of you away whenever he needs a favor. You never tell him how afterwards you have to scrub your entire body raw before you can even begin to feel clean again. You don’t tell him how the first couple of times you would sob until you threw up, but now you just curl up and do your best to avoid the pit in your stomach.

Well, truthfully, you had talked about it once. But never again.

You had just been crowned victor of the 69th Hunger Games, District Four’s second victor in four years. It was no surprise, really. You were seventeen, and one of the oldest in the arena. You were strong, quick, and smart. So, so smart. You had won through pure trickery, and everyone loved you for it.

It’s hard for you to remember what happened the week after you won. There’s little snippets, of course. Looking down at the blood on your hands, blood that wasn’t yours. The booming of a voice in the arena, announcing that you were the victor. You had won. You did it. You had made District Four proud. And then you threw up.

You must have blacked out afterwards, because the next thing you remember is being back in your suite in the training center, sobbing in Finnick’s arms while he held you. Most of what you can remember is centered around him. Gripping onto his hand like a lifeline while your stylists buzzed around you. Glancing over Snow’s shoulder at him while the president crowned you. Watching him standing in the wings of the stage while Ceasar Flickerman went over a highlight reel of your time in the arena. Finding your way back into his arms on the train. You’re pretty sure Finnick didn’t say more than the same couple words the first week. It seemed to be a constant variation of “I know honey, but you’re safe now. I’ve got you sweetheart.”

It wasn’t until your victory tour that he told you. You doubt he ever would have, if he didn’t know for sure it would happen to you.

He had sat you down on the train after a party in District Two and told you everything. How Snow would practically sell him to people. How he didn’t have a say, and how you wouldn’t either, unless you wanted everyone you loved to be dead. He had grabbed your hands, shaking hand in shaking hand, and apologized profusely. He told you how he would do everything possible to keep you safe, he would offer himself instead of you. But you knew that wouldn’t work. Snow gets what Snow wants, and if Snow wants you to fuck his friends for some sick favor, there was nothing you, or Finnick, could do to stop that from happening.

“Oh.”

“Yah.” Was all Finnick said, refusing to meet you gaze as he stared out at the ocean. He’s working one of the muscles in his jaw and you have to look away before you grab his face and do something stupid.

“When will you be back?” You don’t say it, but you’re sure he understands the meaning. Please say it’ll only be one night. Please tell me they won’t put you through it more than once this time. Please tell me you’ll be back to hold me through the nightmares soon. Please don’t make me wait for you more than I already do.

“I’m not sure. Snow said a couple of days.”

No no no no no no no please no.

You didn’t respond. Scared that if you open your mouth the bile collecting in your throat would spill out.

You just look over at him. Take him in. It’s no wonder why the capitol loves him so much. Although not for his humor, his kindness, his strength, the way he’s always looking out for everyone but himself. None of that. Just because he’s a pretty face. But in the bright, golden sun, you find it hard to disagree with them. He’s all broad shoulders and a strong jawline. Bright green eyes that always seem to shine when they look at you. Sharp teeth hiding behind that perfect fucking smile. Salty hair you wanted to run your fingers through. Credit where credit is due, the capitol knows how to pick a sex symbol.

But you don’t see a sex symbol. Not right now. Right now all you see is the person you want to hold on to, and never let go of. The person you’d throw it all away for, if he asked. The person who seemed to always have another layer for you to work your way into, but you’d be damned if you ever stopped trying to get to the root of him.

You’ve been staring for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Finnick notices, of course, because Finnick notices everything.

“Honey?”

You tear your eyes away from where they had been tracing the veins in his hands. “Hm?”

“You ok?” And there it is. That fucking wolf smile. All sharp canines and slightly raised eyebrows because he knows. He knows he’s got you in between his teeth and he knows you’re happy to stay there because it’s him.

You pause, but just for a moment, trying not to give him the satisfaction of winning, of successfully flustering you. But his eyes are boring into yours and it’s so hard to look away from him, but you do. He wins. He normally does.

“‘M just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks. Flopping down on his side, trying to get on eye level with you because it’s never just enough for him to win, he has to make sure you know that he knows it.

You just roll your eyes at him, there’s nothing else you can do.

“About how we’ve been out here since nine in the morning and it’s after noon now, and you haven’t reapplied sunscreen once.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes now.

“I don’t burn, honey, you know that.”

“What about that time you were out all day, didn’t put sunscreen on once, and then I had to rub aloe vera on your back for a week because you burned like hell and all of your skin was peeling off?” You ask, smile working its way onto your face. You know you’ve got him. You’re winning now.

He pauses, he doesn’t back down easily. “It was a fluke. A glitch, even.” He says, trying his best to shrug his shoulders even though he’s lying down. He fails. It looks ridiculous. You have to try not to laugh. “I honestly think the sun just had a vendetta against me that day.”

You’re failing at biting back a smile now. “At least let me get your back because there is literally nothing you could say or do to ever get me to help you with a third degree sunburn again.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just makes a big show of groaning and rolling his eyes at you before rolling onto his back.

You’ve won.

“So dramatic? You know that? It’s like being friends with a child.” You say as you root around in your bag for your sunscreen. Trying to ignore the disgusting feeling you know it will leave on your hands as you squirt it out.

He props himself up on his elbows to look at you, surely about to counter with some story about you being much more dramatic than him, before you shove him back down, face in the sand.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine. A little sand never killed anyone.”

You decide to ignore his grumbling, focusing on spreading the sunscreen on his back. However, you can’t ignore the growing pit in your stomach that you know will be there until Finnick’s back from the capitol.

Still, they can’t take this from you. You’ve earned it. You deserve to be here, definitely not checking out your best friend who you know you can’t have.

You lose yourself for a moment. Letting yourself focus on the way his muscles feel under your hands. Maybe, one day, this could be real. The capitol will find new, attractive victors, and they’ll move on. You and Finnick can fade into the background, and just live.

You pull back, and grab the tube again, squirting it directly on his back. You start to rub it in before pausing for a moment, why not?

Quickly, you write your name in the sunscreen on his back. Snow has cameras everywhere. Maybe he’s watching. Maybe he’s not. But either way, at least for a second, you can say mine. All mine. You can’t take him from me, not really.

He feels it, lifting his head up just as you’re wiping away the evidence.

“Are you drawing on my back?”

You flash him your own smile. A little less wolfish, a little more coy.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

A/n: Hi omg I wrote this in one sitting😭this has just been rattling around in my head for weeks now and I had to get it out lol. Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated, I hope you all enjoyed<3

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - The Scheme

I am back!

More RealAgeAU. With the baby <3 Hey @spotaus get in here :D

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

*----------------*

Cross walks from side to side “This is bad. This is very bad.” Cross even flickers in and out of view.

Dust holds out an arm and catches Cross by the arm before pulling him to sit next to him on the ground. Nightmare notices what Dust wants and climbs from his lap into Cross’s lap.

Dust watches as Cross snuggles their babybones and relaxes a little.

Dust nods and focusses back on what Error had shared with them.

Only to see that Dream is also close to a panic attack. Great.

Dream tugs on his own hands as he rambles “Fate and Balance are too dangerous! They will try to force Nightmare to change his domain. They already tried with me but with me being so well known and seeing as I already told everyone they knew it would attract too much attention if they made me change…”

Error groans as he sighs “Yes. I know. It is why I called for this meeting.”

The meeting being in some random AU with them, Error, Dream and Blue.

Blue pulls Dream near and puts an arm around his shoulders “Hey it will be fine. Error already hid where they are hiding and only us two know he is even alive.”

Dream shakes his skull “They just need to start checking universes. As soon as they find the right one they will know he is there. And notice Error’s meddling.”

Nightmare shoots Error a worried look but Error just shrugs “I will be fine. Balance already hates me anyway.” Nightmare does not look happy as he glances at Dust.

Dust frowns “They will just know? how?”

Dream searches for the right words “It is a god thing… if we are in a universe we can notice fellow gods or stuff changed by gods. It is why Nightmare and I could always sense each other.”

Killer tilts his skull “Seriously? I thought that was just a twin thing?”

Nightmare shakes his skull “No it was a god thing.”

Killer huh’s and looks off into the distance.

Horror frowns as he thinks “Meaning we can’t just keep hiding?”

Error shrugs as he looks to the side “I changed the universe code and makeup enough to make it unable to be found unless you make a very specific jump. The problem is that sometimes some gods can override bans placed by other gods.” He mutters softer “well… one exception with some very complicated and specific scenarios.”

Dust shoots Error a look “Can we copy that?” If they can do that maybe they can continue being relaxed here. Relax as they watch Nightmare develop his newly developing powers.

Error shakes his skull “Not without messing around with the save files, load files, reset files and save states.” He just shakes his skull at the looks everyone sends him “don’t ask how the guy made that mess work for himself.”

Dream looks at him worried “There has to be something we can do!”

Dust blinks as he feels a tug on his hoody. He looks to the side and sees nothing so he sighs “Cross. Visible please.”

A moment before Cross, and Nightmare, reappear again. Cross looks embarrassed. Nightmare however looks smug “We do what Dream did.”

Dust turns to Nightmare “What do you mean?” the silence around them is loud.

Nightmare nods “Dream says they can’t influence him because they know forcing him to change will attract attention. They don’t like being known. There is a reason people thought Error and I were the reason for all the bad stuff. Because they want us to be the face. They don’t want to be held responsible.”

Dust sees where he is going with this and doesn’t like it “Nightmare… please tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you are thinking.”

Nightmare keeps looking smug “We should reintroduce me.”

The loud and in sync shouting of No’s even surprises Dust as Cross after his own shout just holds Nightmare closer.

Killer sits down next to them “No. Nuh-uh. We aren’t doing that. Ever.”

Nightmare frowns “But we need to? If we don’t Fate or Balance will eventually find us.” He huffs as he crosses his arms “I like my domain but I can’t exactly use it to attack in anyway.”

Cross just holds him close and nuzzles his skull “We will defend you!”

Nightmare frowns “You guys are strong but…”

Error sighs “Fate and Balance are a league on their own… It is how they can just decide and change domains after all.” he sighs and shakes his skull “I don’t meet them a lot but lets say that near the start they made it clear what my domain entitled.”

Dust frowns and reconsiders some things. He never truly considered how Error ended up picking his domain. How Nightmare even knew what his entitled… If there are these much stronger beings around…

Horror must had made the same conclusion as he shoots Nightmare a look “what was your idea?”

Nightmare smiles a tiny bit as he speaks “We start reintroducing me. We start obviously with the safest options first and work from there. Then by the time they find us, it will be too late and old news and changing my domain will be too suspicious for them to do.”

Dream looks unhappy “Who would we reintroduce you to first?”

Nightmare grins with a knowing smile.

----

Reaper frowns as he floats from side to side in the beautiful garden. Careful not to touch anything.

Life giggles “I think you are worrying for nothing old friend.”

Reaper groans “I don’t like this. are you sure about this? I can still change the location and we can skip this meeting.”

Life shakes his face and looks excited “Reaper. Hearing that Dream and Error want to meet us about something very special? With special guests? Of course I want to meet them.”

Reaper frowns as he looks around nervously “If people find out I knew where you were…”

Life shrugs as she makes her tea “Balance already knows either way. She knew before you did. They never told anyone either. Meaning in the end others not knowing isn’t that dangerous.”

Reaper sighs as he floats over to grab his own tea to drink “I still worry…”

Life nods “I know. You worry too much.” She grins at him teasing “So how is your secret beau?”

Reaper shoots her a look “Don’t start.”

Life giggles and hums a happy tune “You can hardly blame me. It is very rare you truly connect with someone.”

Reaper sighs as he rubs his neck “Don’t start.”

Life giggles before both of them look up as they notice the change in the air. New people have entered this hidden space.

Reaper and Life look out and hear a voice which Reaper knows is Error.

“Life generally is in this area by the blossom trees. I can only assume she and Reaper will be there.”

Reaper knows they both are listening for any other voices.

“Life just… hangs around here? Doesn’t that get boring?”

Reaper is still slightly shocked to hear Killer. He knew there was going to be a special guest but still.

Reaper knew that Error knew where Nightmare was and that means that he would knew where the gang is but still… it shocks him.

It only takes a moment before Error walks into view and he grins “See? found them.” and he continues leading the way. Dream is nearby with Blue as Killer walks in after them with Dust and Horror close behind.

Reaper frowns as he notes the obvious absent Cross and Nightmare but well… it is something.

Error leads them over as Life stands up herself with a small smile “It is a pleasure to finally see the faces of those who are the center of much talk around our universes.”

Reaper snorts as he sees all of them look sheepishly away.

Dream rubs his cheek “It is nice to finally get to meet you Life… I have heard much about you… Thank you for allowing us to visit you in your home!”

Killer rolls his sockets and copies his voice but softer and Dream does not even turn around or drop his smile as he kicks behind him and hits Killer’s shin.

Life smiles amused “Oh that is alright. I must say I was very curious about the fact that you wished to meet us.” And she waits.

Dream looks nervously at Error and Killer before looking to the side.

Error raises his brow at Killer and crosses his arms “Well?”

Killer shoots Horror and Dust a look. Dust nods to him and Killer turns to them with a smile “What can I say? We needed some time to relax and figure stuff out but now we are more than ready to continue on! Foremost.” He grins “Cross?”

Silence.

Killer sighs and turns around as he looks into the nothing “Cross I know you are there. Stop hiding the two of you.”

A very unhappy mutter.

Reaper blinks confused. He hadn’t even sensed Cross… How… Reaper glances at Life and Life looks shocked herself.

Reaper can understand him not noticing someone but this is Life’s realm. Her home. Made of her magic. How had she not noticed someone entering?

Killer glares and crosses his arms “Cross. We are here to reintroduce him.”

Cross grumbles unhappily but appears and-

Reaper stares and his mind blanks.

Nightmare is looking up at Cross highly amused before turning to Killer and holding out two arms. Killer easily takes him over before walking closer to Life and Reaper. Cross makes a wounded sound and hurries after Killer.

Killer grins as he proudly holds Nightmare up “Meet! Nightmare! God is restoration!”

Nightmare grins and raises a tiny tiny arm in a wave “hi.”

Oh shit even his voice is young and what even is this?!

Life coos and before Reaper can blink she is suddenly holding Nightmare and holding him close “Oh you are just adorable. No wonder they hid with you and kept the multiverse away from you.” she smiles happily at the panicked looking skeletons “Well? Are you all coming? I will make us a meal and we will talk about all that happened.” She nuzzles the tiny skull with a happy hum “Oh tiny skeletons are just too cute. I will make sure to make something you like. Do you have any favourites?”

Nightmare just stares at her confused as he shoots the other skeletons a helpless look.

Horror walks over and speaks calmly “His magic is still resettling and he can’t always eat everything…”

Life shoots him a look and nods “I understand.” He grabs hold of Horror and pulls him along too as she floats towards another part of her area “I assume you know about his diet? Come along we will prepare some for all of you.” she raises her voice and aims it at the others “Get comfortable! We will be right back.” And they disappear behind some bushes.

Killer slowly tilts his skull “… did that god just steal our mate and babybones?”

Dust looks after where they disappeared himself “I am honestly not sure…” he shoots Error a glare “I thought you said Life would be fine to be introduced to?”

Error huffs “Because she is?” he rubs the back of his neck “I guess it makes sense… she is the goddess of life. Of course she gets excited at the sight of children… I think she will eventually give him back to you guys…”

Cross is glaring into the distance “She better or I will not be held responsible for what I will do.”

Killer and Dust both look highly amused.

Reaper finally finds his voice “Why is Nightmare tiny?”

The others actually look at him and Blue grins widely “You got like two hours? It is a long story.”

Dream laughs and nods “I can only assume we have enough time before Life returns with Nightmare and Horror.”

Cross huffs “You guys explain.” He disappears from view, and Reaper suddenly can’t feel his lifeforce anymore.

Killer grins “Have fun hunting and stalking love! See you in a bit!”

Dust takes a seat in a chair and grins “Ready for a short explanation?”

Reaper nods and gets ready. He has no doubt this will be quite the tale.

*----------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[ohmynabiii]

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ; 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

────୨ৎ──── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : romance, fluff, chan as a father of two imagines

𝐚𝐧 : I think this is one of the most adorable/wholesome things I’ve ever written.

This made me realize Channie will be an AMAZING dad if he ever has children… those will be some lucky ass kids. 

Anyway, this was SO fun to do, so let me know if you guys want me to do the other members!! 

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1k

────୨ৎ────

He’s always being silly with them, chasing them around the house as they giggle and shriek with joy.

The tickles are non-stop. He’ll even rope you into it: “Should we give Mommy some tickles? I think… YES!” And then all three of them will pounce, leaving you a laughing, breathless mess.

He spends hours pushing them on the swings, diving under for extra fun, no matter how tired he gets. He’ll keep going as long as they ask.

Whenever you’re out as a family, one kid is always riding on his shoulders, the other holding his or your hand, making you feel like the sweetest unit.

During family dance parties, he blasts Stray Kids’ songs and dances around the living room with them, showing them all the choreo. They may not get it quite right, but they’re having the best time.

He’s constantly on edge when they’re running around or eating too fast, gently reminding them to slow down while squeezing your hand a little tighter for comfort.

When one of them falls down, he’s immediately there to scoop them up. “Where does it hurt?” he asks with wide eyes. They’ll point with a pout, and he’ll dramatically kiss it better until they’re giggling and off to play again.

You and Chan read to them every night, turning storytime into a full-blown performance, complete with voices and gestures. Sometimes you get so into it, you forget the stories are supposed to put the kids to sleep, not you two.

On days when you’re feeling overwhelmed, he takes the kids to the park or the zoo for the whole day, giving you a much-needed breather to recharge.

The rest of Stray Kids joins in the fun just as much. Uncle Minho and Felix are always up for babysitting when it’s date night for you two.

If a nightmare wakes one of them, you both cuddle up close. “Nothing can hurt you when we’re here,” he says softly, and you add, “You’re loved and safe.” You smile at each other over their heads, feeling so lucky to share this moment.

He brings them to the studio sometimes, showing them his equipment, letting them tap buttons and twist knobs like they’re junior producers.

Mealtime is always fun with Chan—he never skips the airplane sound while feeding them, zooming the spoon toward their little mouths with a silly “brrr.”

If they’re picky eaters, no problem. He never forces them to eat what they don’t like, but somehow always sneaks those healthy veggies into his cooking—ninja-dad style.

He’s always encouraging them to ask for help when they need it, teaching them to be brave and kind.

He loves making surprise picnics in the backyard, complete with little sandwiches, juice boxes, and a blanket fort—because why not make the ordinary feel magical?

He’s the master of bedtime cuddles, always making sure they fall asleep knowing they’re loved, protected, and their dreams are theirs to chase.

He plays his guitar softly while they fall asleep, creating the perfect lullaby just for them, humming sweetly as their little eyes drift shut.

He gives them pep talks before big school days, telling them, “You can do anything if you believe in yourself,” and reminding them that he’s their biggest fan.

When he’s working late at the studio, he FaceTimes them to say goodnight, blowing kisses through the screen and promising to tuck them in tomorrow night.

On lazy mornings, he’ll gather everyone up on the couch for a “Stray Kids movie marathon,” introducing them to the music videos and behind-the-scenes clips, laughing as they point and yell, “That’s Daddy!”

He’s the ultimate hype man for their art projects, hanging every drawing, painting, or craft they make on the fridge with pride, saying, “Wow! You’re so talented!”

He loves teaching them little bits of Korean and English, blending the two languages into their playtime so they grow up with both cultures in their hearts.

His phone’s photo gallery is filled with pictures of them—sleeping, playing, eating, doing anything.He’s always snapping a photo, capturing every sweet memory.

He wears matching outfits with them sometimes, usually a cute hoodie or hat, and they’ll walk around together looking like a coordinated squad.

He lets them "help" when he's working on music, giving them little jobs like pressing a button or clapping in the microphone, and then playing it back for them with a big smile.

If they’re having a rough day, he’ll scoop them up in his arms and say, “You’ve got this, because you’re my kid,” and that’s all the comfort they need.

He takes pride in building their toys, from Lego sets to dollhouses, putting everything together perfectly—then sitting down to play with them for hours.

He’s always wearing the little accessories they make him—bracelets, necklaces, even a glittery crown once—and he rocks it like it’s high fashion.

He plays them Stray Kids’ music when they’re in the car, but he’s always more excited to see them dance to it than they are.

On birthdays, he goes all out—decorating the house, baking a cake, and even writing them their own little birthday song because “you only deserve the best!”

He’s quick to apologize if he’s ever stern with them, teaching them that even grown-ups make mistakes and it’s important to say sorry.

He makes sure they know how important kindness is, often saying, “Being a good person is way cooler than anything else, right?” and they always nod in agreement.

🦋

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tell Him That His Lonesome Nights Are Over

I've been cooking again today.

Ship: Bucktommy / Kinley Summary: Tommy has a nightmare. Buck wants to help.

Buck opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by total darkness.

He blinks in confusion, floating in that surreal state between almost-sleep and awakeness. Before he can even wonder about what woke him up, a noise cuts through the silence and he freezes.

It’s a whimper, followed by a soft "no". Buck frowns, then remembers, abruptly gaining clarity. Oh. He’s not in his own bed. Yesterday, it got late and he had a drink too much. That’s why for the first time, he’s in bed with …

“Tommy?”

Slowly, his eyes get used to the dark and his surroundings start to morph into actual shapes. Tommy is a blanket-covered heap beside him, breathing way too heavily for a good night’s rest. And … he whimpers again, tossing his head from side to side, the lines in his face tense and his nose scrunched up.

Buck’s chest clenches in sympathetic pain. Tommy is having a nightmare. Buck swallows. He knows you aren’t supposed to wake people up from bad dreams, but … He really can’t deal with the way Tommy is whimpering and shaking. He reaches out and puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, just rubbing gentle circles there. “Tommy?” He whispers.

And Buck almost startles with how fast Tommy’s eyes snap open. How fast his boyfriend sits up and looks like he’s ready to get out of bed in a second, every muscle in his body tensed up in anticipation. But then, Buck thinks, it makes sense, since Tommy was in the military.

Tommy blinks and stares at him, his eyes slowly focusing. “Evan?” he whispers hoarsely.

Buck tries to smile. “Yeah, it’s just me. Hey. Uh, sorry I woke you up, but you had a nightmare.”

Tommy looks away, sighing. His shoulders slump and he runs a hand through his tousled curls. “Sorry.”

Buck blinks. “You … You don’t have to apologize for having a nightmare. It’s not like you wanted to have one.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Still. I woke you up. I should have warned you that this happens sometimes.” He sounds … angry and resigned. And he still won’t meet Buck’s eyes.

Ok. Now Buck is confused. And horrified. Nightmares happen to everyone. Why would Tommy act like Buck should be … what? Angry? Annoyed? Now that he thinks about it, Buck vaguely remembers, that Tommy was a little hesitant - or nervous? - about Buck sleeping in his bed, but Buck thought it was because their relationship is still quite new. This feels wrong and he has the urge to do something about it. He clears his throat. “You want a glass of water?”

That does get Tommy’s attention. He stares at Buck, his brows furrowing. “Water,” he echoes, surprised.

Buck smiles. “Yeah. I’m going to get you a glass of water.” He slips out of bed. Maybe his brief absence will give Tommy an opportunity to gather himself. And hopefully, they can talk about this some more, because Buck still can't believe Tommy would think Buck is annoyed about a nightmare. He stubs his big toe two times on his way to Tommy’s kitchen, but at least the short walk clears his sleep-addled thoughts. He quickly pours himself a glass and drains it, then fills one for Tommy, going back to the bedroom with it.

Tommy is still sitting and staring into the void with a way too serious expression on his face, but he does accept the glass from Buck with a murmured “Thank you” and gulps the water down in one go.

Buck gets back into the bed and under the blanket, leaning against the headboard.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Tommy quietly says, “I don’t sleep well. Most nights, it’s either only a few hours with a lot of interruptions - or the nightmares.”

Buck hums. He is familiar with nightmares. They suck. Especially when they feel real. He reaches out, taking one of Tommy’s hands and intertwining their fingers. “What are you dreaming about?” He asks, then adds quickly, “I mean, you don’t have to … talk about it. Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“I dream about death,” Tommy says bluntly. “About all the times, I almost died. Or about the people I witnessed dying. Back when I was in the army, one of my friends got shot through the back while we were sitting in the helicopter. He bled out before I could land somewhere safe. Begged me to tell his mother he loves her before he never said anything again.”

“Jesus,” Buck breathes. He squeezes Tommy’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Tommy nods, his gaze distanced and haunted. “Almost died like three or four times already. And when I close my eyes, my brain decides to dig out all the memories I tried to bury. I was hoping tonight they would leave me alone, but well. As you witnessed, sleeping with me can be difficult …”

“Tommy, it didn’t bother me. It’s a completely natural thing …”

“Tell that to the guy who said he isn’t comfortable staying with a grown man who whines and whimpers and sobs in his sleep,” Tommy says dryly and Buck flinches, instant rage making him scowl. “What an asshole. You’re better off without him!”

Tommy chuckles, his eyes flickering over Buck's scrunched-up face and softening. “Look at you. You’re cute.” Then, he yawns, glancing at the clock on the night table. “It’s almost morning. You should try to get some more sleep, Evan.”

“What about you?” Buck asks, concerned. “Can you fall back asleep?”

Tommy shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His voice indicates that he believes the latter.

“Would it help, if we cuddled?” Buck asks hopefully.

“You’d want that?” Tommy asks, raising a brow in surprise. “Can … you even sleep like that?”

“Sure. Turn around,” Buck suggests and grins. “I’ll be the big spoon.”

Tommy chuckles somewhat uncertainly. But he obeys and Buck wraps his arms around him, humming at the instant warmth that spreads through his body. Yes. That’s nice. Buck closes his eyes and breathes Tommy in. He definitely could get used to this.

“Ok?” He checks. “Yeah. More than ok,” Tommy breathes. He puts one of his hands over Buck’s. “Thanks, Evan.”

And Buck does notice that his boyfriend’s voice cracks a little. He takes Tommy’s hand, holding onto it. He really hopes Tommy can sleep. He hopes he can get all the good refreshing rest he deserves. Without interruptions. Without nightmares about blood, violence or being injured.

In the lingering silence of the night, they just breathe, snuggled together. And eventually, Buck feels Tommy’s body relaxing. Can hear his breaths evening out. And to the rhythm of Tommy’s heartbeat, which he can feel underneath their intertwined hands, Buck falls asleep too.

Find it on AO3

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Six

Warnings: tw: child abuse, tw: physical abuse, tw: verbal abuse, mentions of therapy, heavy angst, language, self-loathing.

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: There are TRIGGER WARNINGS in this part - please heed these, and if you think you’ll be affected by any of them, please do not read.

A/N 2: And so here is the next part that made me cry as I was writing it. Have tissues at the ready... and maybe some ice-cream to soften the blow, and know that I am giving you a big, squishy hug at the end 💖

You can catch up here!

 My Masterlist AO3    Ko-Fi

My dearest Dean,

My therapist gave me this exercise to write letters to the people in my life - the good and bad. To get things off my chest that are weighing me down and need to be said. She said I could send them if I wanted, but as it stands right now, I don’t know if you will ever read this. This is the first of five I plan to write. You, your mom, Uncle Bobby, and my father. He will never see his, but there is a lot of shit I need to get off my chest about him. I also need to write one to myself. Give myself forgiveness or some chick-flick bullshit! 

Dean let out a chuckle as he read her opening words.

That’s right… you read that right! It does say therapist! I know you always told me to go. Told me that it’d help. But you know me, stubborn to the core and will go out of my way to do the exact opposite of what I’m being told to do just to piss everyone off! Trust me, some things will never change! But I guess what I’m trying to say is… you were right.

I fought it and fought it, but when the nightmares got worse, and I started seeing him all over campus, at the bar I work in, the coffee shop I study in, the grocery store… You get the picture. I knew I had to at least try it, and… it’s working.

It’s such a relief getting everything out in the open. Knowing that I really, honest to God, did nothing wrong and didn’t deserve any of it. I know you never judged me, and you never would, but there were always things running through my mind that I never told anyone. Not until now, at least.

It was always swimming around in there that it was somehow my fault. That life would’ve been much simpler if I’d died that night. Maybe my father was right. He and Mom could’ve had more children and softened the blow.

I dreamed of a better life every night - at least when the nightmares stayed away. My dreams would show me what life would be like if Mom survived. Sometimes I had a little brother. Sometimes it was a sister. We’d spend weekends playing in the yard or baking cookies together. I’d run down the sidewalk to meet my father on his way home from work, and he’d pick me up and swing me around and around. He’d lift me onto his shoulders, and we’d walk home together laughing, and I’d feel like I was on top of the world!

But then I’d wake up, and the world around me was so cold and dull. He’d be passed out on the couch again, and I’d have to make myself breakfast and get ready for school. Those mornings, I honestly wished I were dead.

More tears leaked from Dean’s eyes as a sad smile overtook his features. He wished she’d had the life she dreamed about. If the spark was still there between them, he swore to himself that he’d make sure any kids they might have in the future had a life exactly like the one in her dreams.

I know you always told me that none of it was my fault, and I know deep down in my heart that it’s true, but there has always been that nasty voice telling me I’m not good enough, that I’m a waste of space and I deserve to be treated like shit. The voice that would whisper: ‘Stop complaining. People have it worse than you.’

You know it’s one thing for the people who love you to tell you that the voices are lying, but it doesn’t sink in until an outsider tells you that. So, thank you, Dean, for babbling on endlessly about going to therapy. Without it, I’d never have thought about going, and I’d have given in to the destructive ways I began using to drown it out.

I’ve wanted to call you so bad, but it wouldn’t be fair to keep putting my shit onto you. I was the one who left you. 

Dean knew more tears were streaming down his face now. He knew all eyes were on him, but he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was that he’d somehow failed her for having such negative thoughts and never fully believing it wasn’t her fault.

Before therapy, when things got too much, I coped the only way I knew how. Well, the only way I’d been taught - I drank. I also developed an unhealthy relationship with sex to feel something… anything that wasn’t pure hatred for myself. I let men use me in any way they wanted to. I might as well become the filthy little slut my father always told me I was, right? Of course, it didn’t work. Not really. It only made me hate myself more.

It shames me to tell you all of this because I know it makes me a stranger to you. It turns me into someone you no longer know, but as therapy goes on and I’ve stopped using those harmful coping methods, I realise I’ve changed. For better or worse, those experiences and getting treatment have made me a different person.

He dropped the letter from his gaze and sobbed again. He wept for the girl who was taught to drink away her problems. To the girl whose father’s words had cut so deeply into her skin that she became the thing he’d always accused her of being.

Memories of the first time she told him her father had accused her of having sex with him, and he’d called her a filthy little slut crawled to the forefront of his mind. She was only twelve years old.

Sam’s hand on his back brought him back to the present, and he huffed a loud exhale before picking up the pieces of paper and continuing.

I’m mentally and physically stronger now (thanks to kickboxing and self-defence!) I have more confidence in myself, more self-esteem, and more self-belief. But I know that underneath all that, I’m still me. I’ve found the girl I was before I lost my sparkle and before her crown slipped.

I’m becoming a whole new woman, and I need you to know that you started to build her, Dean. Your love gave her the solid foundation and supporting walls she needed to soar skyward. The structure was shaky for a little while back there, and I didn’t know if it would all come crashing down, but I had your voice in the back of my mind telling me that you loved me, that you’d always love me. And it stopped the world from shaking and the structure from crumbling.

You laid the foundations for me, and each supporting wall you built is at the core of the new me. Because of you, I found the strength to open up and start the healing process. Because of you, I was brave enough to leave and start a new life. Because of you, my colours, which started as dull shades of grey, became soft pastels and are now neons, shining brighter than ever. Because of you and your unconditional love, I’ve grown my wings, and I’m finally learning to fly without a safety net.

Thank you for not asking me to stay, Dean. Because I don’t think I’d have taken this time to fix and heal myself if you had.

I love you. I always have, and I always will. And I miss you every goddamn day. I need you to know that, and I need you to believe that. I hope that one day I’m strong enough to come home and tell you this face to face, but that’s still too far out on the horizon. 

There’s still so much building I need to do to solidify myself, and I promise I will do it. I’m gonna be that little girl who was your best friend again. I’m gonna be that young woman you fell in love with again. I’m gonna make you, Uncle Bobby, and my mom proud. I won’t end up like him; I’d rather die than make his words true.

As I read back, it feels like this is a goodbye, and I guess it is, in a way. It’s a goodbye to that frightened and sad little girl everyone once knew.

I hope with all my heart that we meet again someday, Dean. I hope you get to see the woman I’ll become. I hope she makes you proud, and I get to tell you she’s here because of you.

All my love, always and forever,

Y/N xx

Dean wiped furiously at his eyes, cleared his throat, and huffed loudly. He hugged Mary tight and whispered an emotional ‘thank you’ that was only heard between mother and son.

“I would’ve dropped everything and gone to Chicago if I’d read this back then,” Dean said.

“I know. And so did Y/N. It’s why she told me to wait until the time was right,” Mary pulled back from his embrace to look into her son’s eyes. “And it wouldn’t have ended well for either of you. Y/N needed to heal and grow. If you’d gone to her, she’d have given up therapy, sacrificed her healing for you.

“What you had was special, there is no doubt about that, and it could be again, but with her fragile upbringing and your unconditional need to protect her all the time, it could’ve only ended in two ways…” Mary stopped, and Dean nodded his head.

“Either she’d have lost herself completely, swallowed up in my shadow, or I’d be in prison for murdering her father,” Dean finished for her.

“Exactly. Y/N knew that, too, and she didn’t want either of those futures for you. She wanted to grow and learn how to take care of herself. Stand up for herself. Fight back. She could only have done that alone. She had to become someone you didn’t need to protect,” Mary said.

“I’ll always protect her. I’ll protect everyone I love,” Dean countered, and Mary smiled.

“I know you would, Dean, and we are so proud of you for that, but she’s a lot stronger than you give her credit for, and there’s a big difference between needing to protect someone and wanting to,” Mary cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile before she moved to sit at the table.

“So, what happens now, son?” John asked. “I know you still love her.”

“I’ll always love her, but I’d like to find out if I’m still in love with her,” Dean replied.

“It’s clear that you are, Dean,” Sam added with a smirk. “I don’t think you ever stopped.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that letter is at least ten years old, and Y/N talks about being different. Shit, I’ve changed too. Who knows if that means I still love her, feel nothing but platonic love or will fall in love with her all over again?”

“I don’t think she’ll have changed as much as you think, Dean!” John said with a soft smile.

“I hope not,” Dean smiled. “Still, I don’t wanna get too excited. She might not be in love with me anymore. Plus, she’ll have a lot on her plate with moving back, settling into a new job, and a new life. Her dad is dying-”

“Dean, you can’t put off seeing her,” Sam insisted.

“I won’t. But I won’t force myself back into her life when everything’s already in the air for her. I’ll let her settle, and then if she agrees, we’ll meet and talk.”

Next Chapter >>

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[sanguineerose]

i'm awaked with mistakes / but it's love that keeps fueling me

It’s late, but Satoru can’t sleep. His eyes are barely open, teetering on the edge of consciousness, but something always yanks him back, wide awake, before he could doze off. It’s been a tiring week - month, year - and Satoru doesn’t think there’s any amount of rest that could fix this level of exhaustion. No one ever tells him to take a few days off; not like it would matter at all. This has nothing to do with being a sorcerer. 

Exorcizing curses doesn’t have the same effect anymore, hardly ever taking a toll on him. Who could be the match for the strongest? Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t even have to try, only drawing fights out to at least attempt to drain himself enough to catch a wink at night. There are days when he has no patience, no mental energy left to joke around, and he just gets the job done without putting in much effort. Other times, he burns up so damn much cursed energy that shouldn’t even be possible, and he’s exhausted, right to the bone, heavy weights pulling him down and below—but it still feels insignificant. 

Insignificant, compared to chasing after something that’s forever stays out of his reach. 

His body is fine. Never been better, really. But his soul feels like it’s been caught in a whirlwind, endlessly spinning around. 

He wants to punch everyone in the face who dares spouting bullshit like time heals. He wants to shred everyone into pieces who says he should move on. He wants to scream his throat raw; not as a desperate cry for help because he knows no one would hear him, but as an urge to let it all out until there’s no air left in his lungs. 

But he can’t, because if Gojo Satoru gives up, who stays?

Satoru yawns and sits up on the low, uncomfortable couch he’s definitely going to replace very soon. It’s his first time sleeping over at the Fushiguro kids’ seen-better-days place, as Tsumiki caught a nasty flu and even though Megumi would never admit it, he’s been worrying himself sick about his sister. Nothing shows that better than otherwise, he wouldn’t have called Satoru, never asking for help, void of trust, scarily independent for a child his age. Satoru brought some meds and made some soup—well, with Shoko’s supervision, knowing if he was left alone in the kitchen, these poor kids might actually end up at the hospital with food poisoning. The painkillers knocked the girl out early and she’s been sleeping soundly ever since. The boy simply ignored Satoru’s existence like he didn’t throw everything away to come here. Little brat.

The old clock next to the even older television shows it’s 03:17. Satoru stands up to stretch out his long, aching limbs, giving up on getting any sleep tonight. He walks to the kitchen for a glass of water and thinks about opening a bag of sweet, strawberry flavored candy he bought earlier, but right when he reaches for the cabinet, Satoru hears a noise.

Immediately, he’s fully awake, all his senses on the edge while he hurries to Megumi’s bedroom with quick steps—

—but when he opens the door, he finds the boy alone, tossing and turning under the covers. He’s having a nightmare, that much is obvious, and Satoru really has no clue what to do. Should he wake him up? Wait until it passes so he can just sleep through the night? 

A quiet but heart-wrenching sound crawls its way up Megumi’s throat and that seems to decide it, because Satoru crosses the short distance with two large steps, sitting down on the edge of the bed, gently shaking the boy up. He hardly has to touch his shoulder and Megumi is awake, though barely, still half asleep as his small hands fly up to call his divine dogs out of the shadows. Before he could, Satoru wraps his own hand around his wrists and says,

“It’s okay, buddy. Just me. You just had a bad dream.”

Megumi squints up at him with sleepy eyes, brows knitted in anger, like he’s pissed at Satoru for daring to disturb him. He doesn’t say anything before his head falls back onto his pillow, not even trying to free his hands from Satoru’s gentle hold, and it seems like he’s already drifted right back to sleep. Maybe he’s coming down with something too, Satoru thinks. Megumi’s arms fall on Satoru’s lap when he releases his wrists, putting a palm on his forehead to check the boy’s temperature. It doesn’t feel like he’s having a fever, so he smooths his messy hair out of his face, and moves to let him sleep.

Except, before he could lift himself up from the mattress, Satoru feels a hand fisted in his t-shirt, tightening with an iron grip, followed by whispered words,

“Don’t leave me, dad.”

Satoru swallows back a laugh, but only just, not wanting to wake the kid up again. He absolutely cannot believe Megumi called him dad, even though he knows it wasn’t intentional, even though he knows he’s half asleep and he isn’t thinking clearly. Oh, he’s going to have such a fun time telling him this once he’s up in the morning. Actually, he’s planning to bug him with it each time Megumi says he’s annoying or a pain in the ass. He will never, ever let him forget this.

Slowly, Megumi’s grip easens as he falls back into a deep slumber. One arm stays around Satoru, like he has to feel him being there so he can sleep peacefully—and that’s when the realization hits Satoru with the weight of a thousand bricks, wiping the smile off his face.

Megumi didn’t call him dad. He was having a dream about his father.

A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to understand and explain all the emotions that rush through Satoru. Perhaps anger is the most prominent, filling him up to the brim and making his heart nearly beat out of his chest, but instead of letting it consume him, all Satoru can think of is possible solutions to help this kid. Honestly, he has no idea what to do. He feels left in the dust, terrified of the way Megumi doesn’t want his help, terrified of a future that holds nothing but the same darkness with no light at the end of this never ending tunnel.

But tonight, he can stay.

Carefully, he lies down, feet hanging off and back already aching, and makes a mental note to replace the beds, too. The movement doesn’t wake Megumi up, but he snuggles closer, once again holding onto Satoru’s t-shirt like he could vanish in any minute. With all the tragedy behind the gesture, it still puts a feeble smile on Satoru’s lips, because maybe, just maybe, there’s still hope to help. 

He sighs and closes his tired eyes, thinking about how much his spine is going to hurt by the time Megumi finally wakes up and kicks him out of his bed. But, apparently, Satoru is so tired that the half-sitting position matters little, and he slips into a long-awaited, dreamless sleep.

[nhstadler]

3 9 7  P A G E S

Hey everyone! I realised it's been forever since I posted anything and since I'm not quite finished with the chapter, I thought I'd at least post a story snippet to let you know that I haven't fogotten about you and about HNTBAW. It's just been a little much lately and I've been struggling with writer's block (as always).

But anyway, this is a random scene from the post Hogwarts series (which I might title A Catalogue of Us). It's kind of a flashback memory sort of thing and maybe it's a little confusing and sad, but maybe some of you enjoy it. I hope you had wonderful holidays / Christmas if you celebrate it and I promise I'm still writing.

Let me know what you think if you feel like it... hearing from you guys always helps my motivation, honestly :)

When James fell, the world stood still. I stood still. 

Sometimes I still dream about it. His muddled form falling through the sky, the burst of levitation spells in the pouring rain, like perverse fireworks, missing him again and again and again. There was nothing anyone could have done and yet… 

And yet.

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to banish the scraps of the nightmare that still cling to my mind as I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The air is crisp, laced with salt and the subtle sweetness of the heather that grows along the cliffside, trembling in the breeze. I’ve been staring at the horizon for almost an hour, watching the darkness fade into that bluish glow that only exists in these few minutes before sunrise, when the world is in-between. Like the sky holds its breath for just a moment.

Like I held my breath when I was an ocean away, unpacking my old life into my new flat, barely paying attention to Ludo Bagman’s tinny commentary in the background. I didn’t even know why I had turned on the match in the first place. I should have stayed away, taken advantage of the physical distance, but there was comfort in the familiarity of it. In hearing his name chanted by thousands of voices. I missed him and I hated him a little for it. And then I heard the screams. 

I thought I had lost him before, but this was so much worse.

***

The room is bright, made of sun-drenched walls and filled with flowers and too many people. But I barely notice. James isn’t moving. There is a tangle of tubes, pumping healing potion from the IV bags into his system, mending his broken bones and his cuts and gashes as much as it can. But even magic can only do so much. 

Ginny sees me first. I’m lingering in the doorway like an intruder, not sure if I have a right to be here. I couldn’t not come. I don’t know what to say, though. My throat closes off when our gaze meets over the hospital bed. She’s clutching James’s hand in both of hers like she’s holding on for dear life, her eyes brimming with tears, and I’m crying too, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing.

“Seth!” Lily calls out, making both Harry and Al look up, but I still don’t know if I’m welcome. Not until Ginny lets go of her son and extends her hand towards me, the faintest of smiles curving her mouth as she summons me to his bedside.

I want to touch him, to feel that he is still here, warm and real and alive, but I don’t dare. There are too many IV lines and bandages and I’m afraid I might hurt him. “How - how is he?”

It’s a useless question, I know it, but there’s still the naive hope that the answer might have changed. That he’ll open his eyes and give me that infuriating half-smile, calling me Woodley and telling me that everything will be alright.

“I’m sorry,” someone says behind me and I turn around to look at the healer that has come into the room. “Only family is allowed in here.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

I make to get up, wiping away the tears with shaky fingers, but Ginny’s hand circles my wrist, her bloodshot gaze firmly on the woman in the lime green coat. “She is.”

***

I wanted to buy him some magazines, but half of the stock in the small St. Mungo’s kiosk is about brooms and Quidditch and the other half are gaudy newspapers that still seem to be in a competition over who can print the most disturbing pictures of James plummeting through the air. I was ready to give up and settle on the Kneazle Lover’s Digest when I saw the flashy book pyramid by the checkout. 

“I got you something.” I’m barely in the room when I hold up the shiny hardback with the gaudy cover and James raises an eyebrow at the shirtless guy that takes up most of the front.

“Holy Morgan, what is that, Woodley?” He lets his head fall to the side, smiling at me, even though he is too weak to move. Bruises and scratches still paint brutal patterns across his skin, covering his face and neck, his shoulders, his ribs, but they’re healing. 

Unlike his legs. 

“They had it in the hospital bookshop!” I can barely contain my excitement as I sit down in the chair next to his bed, thumbing through the pages, because this feels like a sign. A very dumb sign, but a sign nonetheless, and I’ll take anything I can get. “No way!” I press the open page against my mouth, my eyebrows arching at James over the edge of the book.

“What?” He’s frowning, amusement still tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

“It’s set in the 1800s.” 

He groans, though the grin on his face definitely dampens the effort. Rain is lashing against the windows, drowning out the steady drip of the IVs and, for a moment, it feels like it used to. Like Sunday mornings at his and Freddie’s flat, when he would refuse to get up and pull me back into bed with him.

“I’m so excited.”

“I bet.” He’s laughing, properly now, and my heart flutters behind my chest. It should know better. Especially because I saw her name flash across his phone screen last night before I left. “How long is that damn thing?”

I flip to the very back of the book, catching a few of the final words even though I try to not read them. “397 pages.”

***

“How many pages?”

He used to ask how many chapters. Then it turned to pages. Because he knows it too - that we only exist like the words on paper, between the pages. Until we reach the last one. The last sentence. 

“191.”

When the story ends, so do we. But ours is a tragedy. Maybe it was always meant to be.

I come back every day. I sit next to his bed and read A Witch’s Guide to Rakes and Romance, blushing fiercely at the spicy scenes but reading it all. James covers Lily’s ears when she’s cuddled up next to him and she complains loudly while Al and Freddie laugh and Harry and Ginny exchange soft, tired smiles.

Sometimes, the room is crowded. Sometimes, it’s just us - James and me and the steady whirring of the machines - and I read to him until he falls asleep. I read to him until twilight creeps into the room and we have to turn on the neon hospital lights. 

I read to him until he can feel his legs again. 

Until the IV lines become less.

Until he can sit up by himself.

“How many?” He says and I don’t look at him.

“16.”

It’s the last chapter. And, though I know that it’s time to go, that this semi-real version of us has an expiration date, I dread every page I turn.

“What if you stayed?” James says, quietly, and I feel like I might choke. I can barely breathe.

What if I stayed?

“I - I can’t.” My fingers are clenching the book in my lap, digging into the cover for something to hold on to. This feels awful, like a second break-up, and I wish I could just fold myself into his arms. 

But I can’t and he doesn’t argue. Because he knows me too well.

His lips are pressed together as he nods, a tear sliding down the side of his face into his pillow and I’m crying too. When he reaches out, I take his hand and weave my fingers through his, careful to not dislodge the catheter in the back of his hand.

“Do you want to hear the ending now?” I ask, wiping the tears from my cheeks, and his gaze slides from my face to the book in my lap, to our intertwined fingers.

“No.” I feel his hold on me loosen, his hand slipping out of my grasp a little. “I don’t want to know how it ends.”

[separatist-apologist]

You Painted Me Golden

Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?

Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?

SUMMARY: Eris Vanserra never wanted a mate, never wanted a wife. When a chance meeting in Day Court alters the course of his life, Eris will be forced to acknowledge both. But a new threat is looming, and an old foe has come back to Prythian.

And it will take more than luck for Eris Vanserra to keep himself and his family safe when he's dragged beneath the sacred mountain

Read More: AO3

Chapter 6

Thank you @wilde-knight for tracking this relic down for me!

Eris had begun to have nightmares. Not the usual Autumn nightmares that plagued him, but ones that spoke to shifting fears. Of things he could not afford to lose, lest he lose himself. Dreams of Arina’s blonde hair stained red, her eyes vacant as she stared sightless. Eris would wake coated in sweat, twisting just to ensure she was still okay. Still breathing. 

He knew he woke her, too. Sometimes she’d reach out a hand, pretending she was merely searching for him in her sleep. Other times she’d turn entirely, eyes blinking in the dark, and ask if he was alright. Eris would lie—oh, how often he lied to her—and insist she go back to sleep. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that it was Beron killing her and Eris forced to watch. Forced to choose. 

Between her and the throne of his home. He lay awake at night chewing on the inevitability of it all. One day, Beron would have to die. His brothers were surely plotting just as he was. He’d have to choose between Arina and his crown. Beron knew what motivated Eris, what kept him complicit and quiet and if Eris was ever caught making a move, it would be Arina who paid for it. 

For now, though, Eris could have her. And for now, Eris reveled in it. Delighted in her presence, in the way he’d catch her looking at him not with hatred or open, unguarded loathing but delight. Wonder. She was softening and so was he. Eris knew it was dangerous to care for her the way he did and she was the only thing that really belonged to him.

When the time came, he’d send her back to Day or he’d send her to the continent where he knew she was safe. He’d tell everyone she hated him—and maybe she would by then. As long as she was alive and not a tool to keep him forever trapped beneath Beron’s thumb, that was enough. 

She was the only thing keeping him from breaking beneath the mountain. Five years had passed in miserable, unmuted drudgery and nothing had happened. 

“Update?” Amarantha barked, pulling Eris from his musings. Arina remained on his lap, one arm slung over his shoulder. Rhysand strode forward, paler than Eris last remembered, but still as vicious as ever. Eris thought he would have dashed himself against the rocks rather than suffer half a decade as Amarantha’s favored pet. 

Let's get this over so I can get my cock wet, he thought with irritation. 

“There is nothing to report. Another Calanmai come and gone with no hint of human, female or otherwise.” Perched on her throne in a sheer, blood red dress, Armantha sighed. She crossed her leg, nearly showing the whole room her miserable cunt and though it might get them both killed, Arina had to turn her head to smother her giggling.

Absurd creature, his wife. 

“He bores me. What is he doing, then?”

“Brooding, my lady,” Rhysand said with obvious amusement. “Pondering five decades of misery before he finally joins us for a little fun.”

“How dull,” she pouted, scanning the room for a bit of amusement. But Eris knew she’d burned through them all in the early years and now they were merely fixtures for her ego. This was not how she wanted to spend her time, the equally famed and feared Hybernian general. Eris wished she’d just get to the point of their little experiment.

Bring in Hybern, enslave them all or get out. 

She waved a hand and the music began, freeing them from a night of torment. Arina twisted in his lap again, looking for his brothers. They had a long standing card game going, trading coins they routinely lost and regained on an endless loop. No one was bored of it, though—least of all, Eris. 

He pressed an absent kiss to her soft cheek. “Behave,” he warned her, setting her to her feet so he could stand. 

“Will I see you this evening, my lord?” she teased, as if there had ever been a moment when Eris hadn’t joined her in bed. Sleeping beside her was the only true peace Eris had.

“If you’re lucky,” he replied, smothering the urge to smile at the twinkle in those sage colored eyes. 

Arina melted away, leaving Eris to try and figure out what, exactly, was going on between Summer and Day. Something was happening—you had to be willfully blind and stupid not to notice. Glancing toward his father, who dipped his head only once in acknowledgement, Eris made his way toward the only person in Summer he knew well—princess Cressida.

“Busy?” he asked, sidling up beside her. 

“For you? Always,” she replied dryly, not bothering to look at him at all. That was fine—Eris hadn’t expected a warm, delighted welcome. He probably would have said the same to her if she’d tried to interfere in Autumn’s business.

“Aren’t you bored?”

Cressida turned to look at him, blue eyes sharp as ever. Tossing a loc of white hair over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you? Wasn’t your mate just giggling in your lap?”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Eris retorted, annoyed that everyone wanted to throw Arina right back in his face. It had been five godsdamned years. Surely his fidelity was proven? 

“I can’t imagine what else you’d want from me,” Cressida intoned. Eris saw the tightness around her eyes, smelled the salt of her agitation. Pretty little liar, he wanted to say. It didn’t matter, though, given the High Lord of Summer was coming from wherever he’d been hiding, and the High Lord of Day wasn’t in his chair.

Conspirators. Fucking morons if they were caught, but if they succeeded…

Eris rose from his chair with an exhale of air. 

“Even you need friends down here,” he told her, leaning close so only she could hear him speak. “You know how dangerous it can be.”

Cressida looked up at him, lip curling with dislike, but she didn’t say a word. If she was smart, she’d understand his warning. If he noticed, it wasn’t long before Rhysand did, too. They needed to be smarter—far more careful, and do their plotting outside of the mountain when they were given their weekly reprieves.

Eris made his way back to the corner Autumn occupied. Arina played cards with his brothers, save for Tanwen who was wooing a Dawn courtier with gusto. Beron watched his wife spend their money with a sharp eye, stepping away when Eris approached.

“Well?”

“Just as you thought,” he replied, swiping Arina’s goblet of wine from her hands to obscure his mouth. “They keep leaving at the same time.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No,” Eris admitted, frustrated he’d gotten nowhere with Cressida.

“Send your wife,” his father ordered, his words ringing with finality. “Have her talk to Helion.”

“And then what?” Eris asked, desperate to keep Arina far from this plot. If Amrantha got a whiff of it, she’d kill them all indiscriminately.

“And then we bide our time,” Beron said shrewdly. “We take no sides, we do nothing at all.”

Eris understood what his father meant, They’d side with whoever would come out victorious, which meant waiting and watching and very carefully plotting a multitude of courses. Eris knew if Beron thought they could take Amarantha with might alone, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

But he’d seen what her armies had done when they’d swept into Prythian five years earlier. And none of them had their magic to aid them. She pulled the strings of the High Lords and could kill them all, leaving their territories in the hands of the lesser Fae.

Eris nodded, wine sliding down his throat just as bitterly as the realization that once again, Arina was a pawn in his fathers games. She was expendable—she’d go talk to Helion, and if someone saw her, no one that Beron cared to lose died.

“Is everything alright?” Arina asked, pulling Eris from his thoughts. She’d twisted in her chair, hand outstretched for the wine he’d taken. Beron melted away, looking for his own wife without a care or concern. Eris beckoned for her to stand, delighting in that wicked smile on her beautiful face.

“Not anymore,” he lied. Arina would do what he asked because she was lovely and brave—and if she learned of whatever plot was brewing between the other courts, she’d wanted to get involved. Eris needed to figure it out without putting her in the middle of it.

Pulling her into his lap while his brothers rolled their eyes, Eris found his mother watching. Beron would slaughter him. No. This time, Arina needed to remain ignorant in order to protect her, and it needed to be his mother who risked something. Maybe it was Eris’s bitterness talking, but the scars on Arina’s back were a reminder that Amera Vanserra owed Eris’s mate. She’d taken that beating, had told all of Autumn Court that she’d slept with Helion when she hadn’t. 

Even if they all knew, Arina had still done it. 

Eris waited that night, tucking Arina into bed while resisting the urge to bury his cock in her body. He’d never get out of bed if he did—and he was waiting on his traitorous mother. She’d begun sneaking out of bed two years before, tiptoeing back to Helion for her little stolen moments. That Beron hadn’t caught her was a miracle and proof of how deep delusions could run. 

Eris heard her door open and slipped out of bed with more than a few regrets given how Arina whined in her sleep. Face hidden by those golden waves, Eris was tempted to brush them from her cheek.

He’d be back soon, and he’d wake her. That promise to himself was enough to send Eris out into the darkness, slipping down the smooth halls he knew like the scars etched against his skin. He caught his mother before she ever left, fingers wrapping around her thin wrist.

“Eris!” she exclaimed, the scent of her fear filling the air. Why did she risk it, knowing how mercurial her husband was? Eris couldn’t fathom it. 

“You’re going to see Helion.” It wasn’t a question, though he couldn’t keep the condemnation from his voice.

She didn’t respond, forcing him to plow ahead. “Father thinks Summer and Day are plotting something.”

“Eris—”

“If you don’t find out what they’re up to, he’ll send Arina. And she’s…” Fuck, he hated how desperate he sounded. How he had to plead with his mother to do this for him. Eris, who was practically drowning in his pride, forced himself to add, “Please.”

“I will tell you,” she said after a moment of heartbreaking hesitation, “if you swear to help Lucien however you can the next time he might need it.”

“Done,” Eris agreed, grateful it wasn’t a magical bargain. Her help always came on the back of wanting to protect Lucien. Eris swallowed the bitterness he felt about it because at least Arina didn’t need to be involved. This would stay strictly between the Vanserra’s. 

His mother sighed and then slipped out of his grasp, headed for Helion. Eris watched her go, hating how much he loved her. His mother likely loved him too, he reflected as he made his way back to his shared bedroom. She just didn’t know how to show it well. Didn’t know how to make him feel it the way she did for Lucien. Sometimes he thought there was an assumption that Eris could take care of himself and needed less from her.

But as he curled up next to Arina, foregoing his promise to fuck her in favor of tucking her into his chest, Eris though that wasn’t true. He needed just as much. 

Sometimes he thought he needed more.

ARINA: 

Eris was on edge again. It was their last day beneath the mountain before they could leave for Autumn and usually Eris all but bursting with excitement. Today, though, Eris was brooding, legs stretched in front of him, head propped against his fist. Arina sat at his feet like she so often did when she wanted Amarantha to ignore her entirely, one hand wrapped around Eris’s shin. If she made herself look like a pet, made it seem as though Eris was already humiliating her, there was no fun for the Lady of the Mountain to do the same.��

Indeed, she didn’t look at either of them as she tormented some Day courtiers, a wicked smile curved over her terribly plain face. It gave time for Arina to contemplate what secrets Eris wasn’t sharing this time.

In the course of five years, she’d become rather accustomed to Eris and the strange contradictions that existed just beneath his skin. His cruelty wasn’t entirely imagined—he could be quite awful to people around him, kicking them while they were down, scheming behind their back, and standing with a grin on his beautiful face while the High Lord punished them mercilessly.

And at the same time, Eris was fiercely protective of the people close to him. His brothers, his mother—her. Eris would go to war for any of them, would suspend the few morals he did hold dear if it meant keeping his family safe. And sometimes, when they were alone, Arina thought she loved him. 

Was certain she must. 

And then he’d retreat back into himself, putting up wall after wall for her to try and get through until she grew frustrated and wished she’d never met him at all. Eris made it so difficult to want him and she suspected he did it on purpose. No one could hurt him if they didn’t know him—if he kept them all at arms length.

Today, though, Arina was grappling with a new, more terrible thought. Eris had been creeping out of bed most nights. Sometimes he was only gone a few minutes but others he was gone for hours. His return often sent him straight to the bathing chamber where he’d aggressively wash himself.

Coupled with the fact that they weren’t having sex the way they used to, and Arina was starting to think Eris was having an affair. And she’d decided if he was, she was going to make his life hell until she could leave him. After all the fuss he’d made about being together, about getting married, the idea that in just five short years he was already bored enraged her.

Even his miserable, stupid father managed to remain faithful and Beron had no morals at all. What was so wrong with her that he needed to take his pleasure elsewhere? 

Testing her hypothesis, Arina slid her fingers higher and higher up his leg, making her way toward the cock she liked so much.

Eris caught her wrist in unforgiving fingers, no bothering to look at her at all. His eyes were focused on Summer Court—on princess Cressida. 

Arina wrenched from his grip, irritated that Eris couldn’t be bothered to even pretend. If he was having an affair, did that mean she was allowed, too? Somehow, Arina very much doubted Eris would be fine with her picking out another lover.

The realization was made all the worse by her own private admission that she didn’t want another lover. She only wanted her mate, her husband. Gods, but Arina felt so pathetic then, sitting at his feet like a good little pet.

She rose abruptly, unable to stand another second beside him. Eris finally turned to look at her, amber eyes flooded with curiosity. He didn’t have to talk to her? Fine. She turned her back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she marched off. He didn’t chase after her and when she looked back, Eris was lost in his own thoughts again just as she left him.

Arina might have screamed in frustration if she hadn’t been so afraid of Amarantha. She was going to bed, was done with this hateful night. She’d wake in the morning for Autumn where it was easier to ignore and avoid Eris. She could leave, could probably convince one of his brothers to take her to the sea if she made up some lie about not feeling well.

She could— “Helion?”

It was strange to see him, leaned casually against a wall, draped in the Day Court white. He seemed sadder—older, colder. So unlike the male she’d once been friends with. She knew he was waiting for her given the way those gold eyes fell on her. 

“You look sad,” he said, the question beneath obvious to them both. Arina chose to ignore it, unwilling to admit Eris Vanserra had the power to break her heart.

“Tired,” she replied, stepping as close as she dared. She wasn’t going to be beaten on Helion’s account. 

“You’re still welcome back, you know,” he said as she made her way past him. “I would still…I would still honor the agreement between us.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “Wow. What choices. A loveless marriage in Autumn or a loveless marriage in Day.”

“Arina—”

“Good night, Helion,” she called over her shoulder, walking away before anyone could overhear. Helion called her name again and Arina ignored it, anger bubbling inside her chest until it was practically a raging inferno. There was no release for it, not here. Arina made her way back to the room she shared with Eris, pacing and stamping her feet and when that didn’t help, throwing the blankets furiously from the bed.

In the end, she went to the bath. Soaked in the hottest water she could stand until her brown skin was red from heat, Arina managed to calm herself. Wrapped in a bathrobe, hair dripping over the silk, she expected to return to an empty bedroom.

Eris was there, sprawled on the wrecked bed. Utterly naked, his cock fully erect. He had to be insane if he thought she was going to crawl into his lap tonight. Arina paused, drinking him in. Eris looked exhausted, the hollows beneath his eyes smudged purple. His already fair skin was practically sallow making the dusting of freckles over his nose stark. Even the way he’d spread himself out spoke of someone who needed unbroken sleep.

Maybe he should end his affair. 

“Yes?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Come here,” he murmured, beckoning her with two fingers. “Let me kiss you.”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. 

“Touch yourself, Eris,” she replied, letting her eyes slide down his form with open appreciation. That wasn’t fake, though it did fill her with anxiety. She was so stupid and she knew it—wanting him when he was out cavorting with only the cauldron knew who.

His eyes gleamed. Unaware she meant to bring him to completion without ever touching him, Arina toyed with the ties of her robe while Eris ran a large, broad hand down his toned stomach and chest.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice dark and husky with desire.

No. I want you to tell me you love me—that you’re not fucking someone else.  “Yes.”

Eris wrapped his fingers around his thick, large cock and gave himself a slow, soft tug. He still thought this was a warm up until she cracked. Arina remained where she was, standing just outside the bathing chamber with her dripping hair and her aching heart. 

“Again,” she whispered. Eris’s gaze sharpened, as if he knew what game she was playing. 

“Do you want to watch me come?”

“Yes,” she replied. That was safe—he couldn’t hurt her when she stood across the room, when it was only him made vulnerable. He didn’t understand the why, and Arina forced herself not to think about him wanting to please her. 

Eris slid his thumb over the head of his cock, slicking it through the bead of moisture already gathering along the slit. “It’s been too long between us,” he groaned, eyes half lidded. “I miss your taste.”

Do you prefer it over your mistress? “Tell me more,” she said, tugging at the ties of her robe. Eris watched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Eris began stroking himself in earnest, his free hand running over his parted thighs to chase whatever pleasure had begun to pool in his body. Watching him was like watching an out of control wild fire. He was going to ignite, was going to take them both with him. 

He’d consume her. Maybe he already had. 

Eris arched his back. “You never touch me anymore.”

Because you’re fucking someone else.  “That’s not true,” she said. Arina had her hands on him every single night, even if they were only sleeping. She’d been touching him in the throne room a few hours earlier. He’d been the one to pull away her hands. He was the one sneaking out at night. 

“I wanted to pull my cock out in that throne room,” he panted, arching his hips again. He was so pathetically close if the tightness of his balls were any indication. Eris continued to stroke, pulling the soft, sensitive skin of his shaft under those callused fingers. Arina wanted him so badly her legs shook from the effort it took to remain still. “I wanted to see you choke on it until your makeup was running down your face.”

Fuck him, she wanted that too— “Why didn’t you?”

Eris groaned. “Too many eyes. Don’t want that filthy fucking court to know how lovely you are.”

Her heart clenched. “Come for me, Eris.”

“I want you to touch me,” he half pleaded. “Arina, come touch me.”

She didn’t budge long enough that Eris’s hand slowed, eyes opening wider. Jaw set, Eris dropped his cock entirely despite how it twitched in protest. “You’re angry with me.”

It wasn’t a question, and still she responded. “Should I be?”

Eris slid his hands behind his head, sighing softly. “Probably. But tell me, wife. What have I done that’s displeased you?”

“You know what you’ve done,” she hissed, retying her robe angrily. “Don’t play stupid Eris. It’s beneath you.”

He took another loud breath. “I don’t know—”

“Where do you go every night?” Arina demanded, holding his gaze. “Who are you visiting?”

He became so still, his cock flagging beneath her hateful stare. 

“Arina,” he whispered but she didn’t want to hear it. Striding for the wardrobe, Arina flung on a nightdress without daring to look at him. She thought he was still on the bed, watching her with wary, guilty eyes.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, standing just behind her. Eris slid an arm around her middle and Arina had to bite back the urge to hit him. She couldn’t do that, even in her anger. Too many people vented their rage on him that way. 

Arina would use her words.

“Somewhere else. To someone else—” she began to add, wanting to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. Eris reached for her throat, pinning her back to his chest.

“Tell me who,” he whispered dangerously, teeth grazing her neck. “So I might rip out their heart.”

“It’s okay for you but not for me—”

“I’m not fucking anyone. Not even you,” he added bitterly, his hold on her body tightening. “I am doing something else—something that has nothing to do with my cock.”

“Tell me, then,” she replied, pulling herself out of his grip. Looking up at her mate, Arina all but pleaded with him. “Tell me where you’re going.”

A sliver of anguish betrayed him, vanishing so quickly she might have imagined it. Eris became stone. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” he snapped, running both hands through his hair. “Because I need you to be safe—”

“I’m not fragile!”

“Of course you are!” he all but roared, striding toward her to grip the tops of her arms. “You are so absurdly fragile it makes me sick every time I think about it! Anyone who wants to get back at me only needs to harm you.”

“And who wants to hurt you, Eris?” she demanded, breathing so hard she felt like she wasn’t breathing at all. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“No.”

“Eris–”

“NO!” he shouted, half shoving her in his desperation to put space between them. “Ask anything else of me, but do not ask me that.”

Arina’s mind was a blur, trying to make sense of the fear coming off him, of his larger than life response. Eris, who was so typically unaffected, so cool even under pressure. 

“What are you planning?” she whispered, dread sluicing from her bones. “Eris–”

“Nothing,” he said, running a hand down his face. “I am planning nothing.”

Careful words from a careful male. He wasn’t planning anything, but someone else was. His father, perhaps, or someone else he’d allied himself with and Eris was….Eris was helping with whatever it was. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed, aren’t you?” she asked, cold horror washing over her. “And you don’t want me to be implicated. Is that it, then? You have a death wish?”

Eris set his jaw while Arina fought the urge to scream at him for being so stupid. So reckless. 

“Eris—”

“Don’t,” he warned, holding a finger up between them. “Do not, Arina.”

“Eris,” she tried again, daring a step toward him. Eris only shook his head, reaching for his shirt laying neatly against the back of a chair.

“You thought I was fucking another female,” he hissed, realization dawning over him. He’d been so busy trying to convince her not to be angry with him that it hadn’t occurred to him the full scope of Arina’s suspicions. “You—”

He swallowed hard, shrugging into his shirt, and then his pants.

“Where are you going?” she asked helplessly. Eris only shook his head. 

“Out.”

“Eris!” she yelled, but he strode from the room, boots in hand, and slammed the door loudly behind him. 

It was tempting to try and run after him, to force this confrontation. But Arina was exhausted suddenly. Too confused to make sense of his own angry reaction. Eris had never told her he had any deep feelings beyond the bond—and only expressed his want with his hands. If he wanted to be angry, well.

Maybe he ought to learn how to use his words.

ERIS:

Eris slept like shit that last night Under the Mountain. In his mind, Eris replayed the last several weeks, trying to figure out why Arina would ever think he’d sleep with another female. Why didn't she realize how he felt—didn’t she know? 

Eris remained in the lounge until his mother returned, flushed and bright eyed. Simmering in his resentment, Eris asked, “Well?”

“There is little Helion knows. Murmurings of a rebellion that would take years to achieve,” she whispered, adjusting the laces on her dress. “They meet above ground.”

“Morons,” he whispered, more to himself than his mother. “When Amarantha learns— and she will— I hope you’re prepared to do your mourning in secret.”

His mothers eyes flashed. “You can be cruel, Eris.”

He rose to his feet. “So can you.”

With nowhere but his bedroom left to go, Eris returned to find his wife curled up in bed, knees tucked beneath her chin. She smelled of salt and with a pang of regret, he realized she must have cried herself to sleep. 

Rubbing his eyes, Eris picked up the blanket pooling on the floor and draped it over her. Arina’s skin was warm, her hair tangled from the bath she’d taken just before their fight broke out. As he undressed, Eris wondered if maybe he was just a terrible partner. Arina didn’t know how he felt because he couldn’t get the words out from behind his teeth.

Couldn’t risk saying them and watching her blink up at him, pity flooding her gaze. 

Don’t you know what this is, he imagined her saying? I would leave you if I could. 

Eris pulled her against him, pleased when she rolled over in her sleep to nuzzle her face against his neck.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered into her sweet smelling hair. Arina said nothing but after a moment her breathing evened out. If she hated him for the secrets he kept, Eris thought he could live with that. Even if it hurt, at least she’d be safe. If Helion was implicated, so would everyone around him. Rhysand would be called in to read minds, to force the truth from them all.

Arina could know nothing.

Even if she hated him for it and he was certain she would. His wife, his mother—all the females in his life were so hell bent on protecting Helion of all people. Helion who continued to put them in danger, who didn’t care if they died, if Eris had to watch his mother and wife subjected to his fathers cruelty.

Morning came too soon. Eris was pulled from his nightmares but soft fingers touching his jaw. “You’re back,” Arina whispered. Without opening his eyes, Eris turned to his side, gathering her in his arms. 

“Lets go to the sea for a few days,” he whispered. “Just us.”

“And do what?”

Eris peeked open one eye. “I think you know exactly what.”

“We can’t run from our problems, Eris,” she said, unaware of just how appealing her mouth was.

“Of course we can,” he retorted with a long-suffering sigh. “All we have is running away from our problems.”

“We could face them head on?” she suggested. Eris laughed, stretching himself until he felt his spine crack. 

“Let’s prioritize avoidance for now, Arina. There is too much happening and I…” I am in love with you.

The realization slammed into his chest like a force of nature. Of course he did—rationally, Eris must have known years ago, but he’d never truly thought about it. Never really considered why he did so much to try and keep her safe, to keep her happy. 

He couldn’t tell her. Eris wouldn’t risk her rejection. Not until he knew for certain she returned his affection, at any rate. And judging by the guarded expression on her face, Arina was not in love with him. Eris swallowed that knowledge, thinking that she could be if he tried a little harder. 

He knew how to court a female, had been trained by both his parents to be a gentleman. “Let me do something nice for my wife,” he finally said, cupping her face. “Let me make my poor behavior up to you.”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Eris,” she whispered, rubbing her nose against his own. “I want to be your equal.”

“You are—”

“I’m not. I’ll never be for as long as you’re keeping secrets even to protect me,” she whispered, as if someone might overheard them. “Who protects you, Eris?”

He felt defensive, stiffening at the implication he even needed to be protected. From her set jaw and the blazing look on her face, he knew what she wanted him to say, though. “Can’t you trust me, just this once?” he asked her desperately. 

“If you want to go to the sea, you have to promise you’ll tell me what’s happening. Otherwise just take me to the Forest House.”

Take her to the Forest House where she’d spend their time above ground avoiding him until the inroads he’d made over the years eroded into nothing. Until his own father had a better relationship with his wife than Eris did. 

“Fine,” he said, though Eris would give her nothing but the very basics. “But I want you to swear to me that we’re both walking out of this mountain alive.”

“Of course—”

“So there will be no heroics, Arina,” he hissed, holding her face too roughly in his hands. “No self-sacrifices. We will continue to remain neutral. Swear it.”

He could bind her by magic. Eris knew she felt it hanging between them, waiting for her agreement. Arina brought her mouth to his. “I swear, Eris.”

She’d kill him when she learned who was on the line. It didn’t matter—Eris had her agreement, and for the rest of the morning he was impossibly smug about it.

“Arina and I are going to the sea,” he informed his parents the moment Arina dropped her bag at his feet.

Beron Vanserra narrowed brown eyes. “For how long?”

“Three days,” Eris replied, certain that was the absolute longest his father would tolerate his absence. “I’ll check in on the neighboring cities and villages while I’m there.”

That appeased Beron enough to nod, sparing the High Lord the trouble of trying to round up stragglers himself. Of course, Eris had no intention of doing any of those things. He wasn’t going to help Amarantha enslave his people. If they’d managed to avoid her patrols, Eris didn’t see how that was his problem.

They stepped out of the tunnel into the fresh air of the middle and without another word, Eris grabbed Arina’s wrist and winnowed them away. What had once been so easy was laborious now, exhausting him when his boots slammed to the sandy, spiky ground of the sprawling, wooden estate. 

“Fuck,” he panted, shaking out tingling hands. “Fuck that stupid cunt.”

Arina nodded, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind pointed ears. “Tell me, Eris.”

And so he did. Walking her through the empty halls that smelled of cedar and salt, Eris told her the basics of his fathers suspicions and what he knew. He didn’t tell her how he knew it, nor did he admit that most nights he stayed up to ensure his mother returned safely before his father discovered her missing. Arina was smart. He could see her piecing things together.

“Eris, if the courts are working together to fight Amarantha, we should—”

“Do nothing,” he interrupted, unbuttoning his jacket in the room they’d share for the next few days. “Because they’re going to lose.”

“Not if we all stood up to her—”

“Especially then,” Eris hissed as he kicked off his boots. She controls the magic of seven High Lords, she has most of our soldiers trapped in cages under that cursed mountain. The only people who can fight are courtiers—warrior trained, to be sure, but Hybern’s legions will wipe them out.”

“So then, what? We just…do nothing?”

“We hope Tamlin figures out how to beat her,” Eris said with a heavy sigh. “And bide our time, pretending we enjoy her reign, this new normal. We remain careful.”

“What if they can win?” Arina asked, biting her bottom lip. Eris sighed.

“They can’t. Not two of them, and not even three assuming Winter is stupid enough to join them. Dawn won’t and Night certainly won’t. Spring can’t, and Beron will risk nothing until he’s certain he can win. It’s delusion to think two, maybe three courts can take on the might of Amarantha.”

Arina bit her bottom lip. “It feels like cowardice to just…do nothing.”

“It’s self-preservation. Don’t fight something you can’t win. She has a weakness and it’s Tamlin. Eventually there will be an obvious way to exploit her through him and when we learn, we’ll take it. Carefully.”

“Promise?”

Eris made his way toward her, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. “I hate this just as much as you do. I swear I’ll take the first opening I can…so long as it doesn’t risk you.”

“Careful, Eris,” she said, rising to her feet. Eris drank her in, dressed in warm marigold. He needed her in nothing at all. “I’ll start to think you care.”

He grinned wolfishly. “I owe you for last night.”

“Oh?”

“Come get in the bath with me,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Let me touch you.”

“Single minded,” she chided, though Arina still let him undo the laces of her gown. Eris took his time, indulging in the softness of her skin and the sight of her body revealed to him inch by glorious inch. He’d never be tired of the sight of her, would always be excited at the thought of having her.

After all, mates were rare, and belonged to those deserving. In his life, Eris had never expected to find his, and never imagined he even had one. And yet here she was, blinking big, green eyes up at him with open admiration and trust.

Eris was absurdly hard by the time he got her into the large, open bathing chamber, with its glass wall overlooking the moody, cold sea below. Arina was delighted by it all the same, ignoring him just long enough to step into the jetted water or realize what he was doing, how he was positioning her. 

Not until was behind her, erection squashed against her spine. Eris hooked his ankles around her legs to spread her out, pushing them both forward until one of those bubbly gets was right against her cunt.

Arina gasped, wigging in an attempt to remove herself from the pressure, but Eris held firm.

“I said I owe you,” he reminded her, mouth against the nape of her neck. 

“Eris—”

“You’ll come,” he interrupted, hands groping her breasts beneath the bubbles. “I want to watch.”

“You didn’t come last night,” she breathed, resting her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” Eris replied, thinking of Arina’s soapy, wet body beneath his own. Water pooled around her as she sank to her knees, sucking his cock into her warm, willing mouth. 

Arina was clever, or at least smarter than him. Reaching behind her, her fingers curled around his cock. She gave him a firm tug, causing Eris to jerk upward. He was keyed up from the night before when he’d stupidly thought she was going to straddle his lap and ride him into oblivion. 

She could stroke him into it, too, he decided. In fact, Eris quite liked what was happening. Arina spread her legs wider, held open by his own. Breasts heaving as the water continued to pound unrelenting against her cunt. 

“Are you going to come for me?” he rasped, nipping her earlobe softly. “I want to hear you scream.”

“How long are you going to keep me here?” she panted, nails grazing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock. 

“Until you beg me to fuck your pretty mouth.”

“You’ll be waiting forever,” she gasped, chest flushed from the heat of the water and the release he knew must be barreling toward her. Eris bucked into her hand, tempted to take himself into his own again, if only to force her to focus on coming. He couldn’t stop himself, addicted to the sight of her, to the feel of her skin against his own. And Eris was greedy more than anything else. If he came, too, they’d be wholly even.

And he’d last longer the second time he fucked her. He could spend hours edging them both, drawing out their pleasure until she did beg. Eris so loved when she did. 

Panting, unable to stop the soft whine that escaped him or his bucking hips, Eris could feel release gathering along his spine. He needed to come, and her hand was perfect. Squeezed tight, using the water to heighten the orgasm racing for him. She squirmed, the swell of her ass teasing his balls until Eris couldn’t take it anymore.

He bit her shoulder to keep from crying out, plucking at her nipples until Arina bowed upward, writhing desperately to escape the onslaught of the water.

Despite his own throbbing cock, still spurting an impossible amount of fluid, Eris pushed her back down. 

“I’m not done,” he growled. 

“Fuck me—Eris,” she pleaded, her voice rising in pitch. She was going to come again and oh, he couldn’t look away. “Eris please, Eris—”

The sound of her pleasure echoed off the glass, echoing down the emptied halls. Only then did Eris unhook his legs and free her, and only long enough to set her on the edge of the sink. He wasn’t going to make it to the bed—he wanted to feel the aftershocks on his cock, wanted to bring her right back up without any reprieve.

“What happened to my mouth?” she panted, his tricky female.

“It can wait,” he groaned, sliding his wet cock into her tight cunt. “Gods, Arina…”

The sound of their slick flesh joining and pulling apart was the most obscene thing Eris could remember hearing. He needed her just like this, needed to keep her with him somehow. And beyond that, Eris needed her to love him with the same desperation that he loved her. He wanted to hear her say it and didn’t know how to tell her first.

Digging her nails into his shoulders, Arina pressed her forehead against his own. “No more lies,” she panted, holding him close. “No more secrets.”

Maybe that was the start, then. “Nothing between us,” he agreed with a shuddering groan. “Nothing but this.”

And Eris swore, as they came again, that it wasn’t just nothing looking back at him. When Arina’s eyes opened, arms twined around his neck so he could drag her to the bed, that it was the same thing glowing in his chest reflected in that mossy green gaze.

It was love.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

It Comes In Waves (I’m Pulled Below)

TW/ angst, mention of past abuse, use of “mama” for reader, overuse of pet names

part of the wcbah universe. not required reading, but more here.

charlie’s favorite time of the day was seven in the morning, when the sun barely peaks through the clouds and haven’t had a full chance to blind him through the half broken blinds yet.

charlie wasn’t always a morning person-years of chasing the sun up and chasing the moon down has made him want to do nothing more than to rest in bed with you-but with a child, anything past 5am was a treat.

“You want a braid today, honey?”

charlie’s voice is low, borders on hoarse, a night filled with the black ink of nightmares threatening to spill into every dream. he stands behind his child, a copy of him-although he hopes it’s the good parts-straight hair and clumsy limbs.

she doesn’t answer right away, rubbing her eyes as charlie uses his knuckles to push his glasses up his face.

“Hm, darling?” He asks again, a gentle tickle to her side that finally makes her break, “Or I can do space buns.”

She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands before speaking: “Braid, Papa.”

And finally, a smile out of charlie breaks through, puts the rubber-band between his teeth as he grabs the comb: “Alright, honey. I can do that. Now tell me-how did you sleep last night?”

She’s quieter than usual, a shrug. charlie knows her well enough to know this isn’t like her, usually talkative in the morning and thrilled to tell him about the morning ahead-usually following behind charlie until she accidentally runs into the back of his legs as he does house work.

“Papa?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you miss your Papa?”

charlie hopes she doesn’t pick up on the way he becomes stiff, how it paralyzes him with fear for a second. The book he read to her last night as she was curled into his lap in an old wooden rocking chair was about fathers, must have stuck with her, was tossing and turning with it all night.

A deep breath, begging for the memories to not flood back, to not have to grip the sink counter and wait-pray-for it to be over as he squeezes his eyes shut, thinks of the things he can smell, what he can feel-anything to pull him out of right now.

“No, baby.” He clears his throat, “I don’t.”

her face turns up as if she couldn’t even imagine not missing her father-as if that idea is so far fetched it would never cross her mind.

“You don’t?” Her face turns up, her lips puff out, her eyebrows squished together, “why not?”

because he’s the reason i almost wasn’t here he thinks or: he’s the reason i’m the way i am. or-

“I dunno, darling.” He clears his throat, trying to think of every therapy trick he can think of, “We just don’t talk.”

She seems appalled: “He doesn’t like Papa?”

And it’s almost funny, how the idea of someone not liking her father is so far fetched, so out of her realm of imagination that it would never cross her mind-

“No, honey.”

“He only likes eating dinner?” Pure disgust in her voice, “Not playing?”

The image of him on all fours as her on his back as he slowly pass through the house, acts like she’s riding various animals around the forest, holding onto little grips of his hair.

She blows air out of her cheeks as charlie slowly works on the braid, his voice low:

“Not everyone has a good Papa, honey.” He says gently, “Sometimes-“

She interrupts. “He doesn’t help you?”

if anything, he makes it worse-makes the bad dreams come back, makes the white knuckling come back-

“No, sweetheart.”

His hands fall from her head and her hand goes to feel the finished braid but instead he spins her around so she’s facing him, drops his shoulders so he isn’t towering over her, his hands on either side of her body.

“Not everyone has a mama and papa who love them, honey.”

His voice catches for a second, and he thinks of how badly he wanted something like this when he was her age; what extremes he would’ve gone through to have something like this.

“They don’t have anyone to protect them?”

Her eyes are wide, like this is the first time she’s even let this be a thought in her head and charlie can’t fight it-can feel the stinging behind his eyes, the familiar pinch before the release, the wet down his cheeks.

“No one to protect them from monsters like you do, Papa?”

Finally he laughs, just as she reaches out, the pad of her thumb brushes against his cheek and catches a tear on the tip of her finger.

“No, sweetheart,” He says lowly, “Not everyone has that.”

she considers this for a minute, tracing the constellation of beauty marks that lie by his glasses before she speaks.

Her voice is low, a shared moment between the two of them as she speaks: “I’m glad you’re my Papa.”

He laughs; the tension in his shoulders breaks, the anxiety that was building up in his body is released.

“I’m glad your my baby,” he says, “You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re old and don’t think i’m cool anymore.”

She shakes her head, “No, Papa.”

He grabs her hand, kisses the top of her hand once before he shakes his head, willing the tears to stop.

“Alright, honey. Let’s finish this braid.”

She giggles a she spins her around again, faces the mirror, and she launches into a story about a dream she had-charlie has never felt better as he listens.

[highnsleepdeprived]

Tw and this will be the longest post I will ever make and have ever made. But I need to get this off my shoulders I need to say anything to anyone who may or may not listen. If you read this, do me or comment I need input. I guess this is a sort of aita or just how do I make ppl happy without destroying my mental health in the process? I need balance, I need something, anything. Really, I’m not sure what I need. But any words are encouraged. I know I’m not gonna get answers. But just, is this normal ? Am I being too much? Should I keep to myself? Is any of this worth it anymore?? Anyways, bless your heart if anyone reads this novel lol.

Anyways.

I’m a week sober now.

I thought life would be so much better. But my old repressed problems arose so fast and out of nowhere. It’s been extremely difficult.

Every night I have dreams of trying to use and I never get to in my dream. I wake up before I can get high at least in a dream. Then I’m awake and have nothing to satisfy the urge. So I go back to sleep. Then, The dreams get violent, terrifying, and too real. I wake up screaming, sometimes yelling my boyfriend’s name. He’s always in the other room. Used to run in and hug me tell me it’s just a dream etc. Now he seems to get annoyed, doesn’t come in now, and seems to like it better when he doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. Everyone seems to like it better actually.

My ptsd has come back with a vengeance during sobriety. It feels like the (tw) rape, near death experiences, guns to the head, knives to the throat, no one coming when I’d scream even in a house full of people…being drugged, the attempts on my life, overdoses, the hundreds of hospital and psych visits, the physical and mental abuse, the homeless months doing things I wouldn’t ever have thought I’d ever do, getting beat the shit out of for no reason other than being an easy target, even just little things I regret.. the general trauma I guess..it’s all replayed all over again in my brain, many times a day. It’s like I’m really there again. I’m always brought back to those moments, those feelings. My god it feels so real. It’s so vivid, I can smell the air of the memory, I can feel it all happen again, I can see the surroundings like I never left In the first place. Worst of all is seeing the look on their pleased faces after all is said and done. The pain in my stomach. The bruises and suffocation. The guns and knives to my head, my neck. Every detail of it all. I feel it. I see it. I smell it. I’m back there, like I’ve time travelled somehow to the worst times of my life.

So I got the courage up to tell my boyfriend, and my mother. I explained only the fact that the ptsd is back and the nightmares. I said I feared if I didn’t let someone know I would do something reckless and irrational trying to make it all stop in my head. I asked if they could check up on me sometimes, or even just support me in this hard time.

My god was that ever a mistake.

I was told me telling my struggles and my cries for help are abusive..I’m told I’m burdening the people I love. That I have control over myself and my mental health. That no one should have to hear about it because it’s not their issue. My mother said “why are you telling me this? Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?” Like I had said it was her fault or something. It was like I explained it all word for word, said it was her fault, or called her the worst names under the sun. But I didn’t.. I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong, I thought maybe she thought I felt this way because of something she thought she may have done so I said it isn’t her fault and that I never thought that, and never wanted it to come across that way. She said it didn’t, but I am torturing her by telling her my struggles cause she doesn’t deserve to hear it. She said That it’s abusive to put my problems on others, which was not my intention so I felt terrible.. I promised I wouldn’t talk about any negativity to her no matter how I feel.

My boyfriend told me to stop being so negative and said only I can help myself. He thinks I’m focusing on these awful memories like I want to, not that they invade my mind whenever they feel like it. He said I’m “playing victim” and continued by saying “ it’s over with” and to stop acting like I’m some weak victim still, but In my eyes, I was a survivor not a victim.. I was only trying to speak of how I felt for my safety and maybe get feedback on what may be helpful for these moments, or just get some physical love, a hug, at very most maybe just feedback from the two people who I thought know me best..

But talking about how I’m feeling and hoping for some empathy or what would be above and beyond to me, would be an idea or plan to make things easier when episodes happen and I’m alone, because I don’t have a counsellor yet that’s coming this week. So, thinking he’d say let’s watch a movie to distract or something, was so wrong. Wanting support knowing I’m unable to handle it myself, or talking about the issue at all apparently makes me some kind of monster..

But How do you explain to some who doesn’t get flashbacks that there’s no way to control it? They don’t seem to get it.

I’m told I seem to want to be a victim. That I’m weak. Should’ve been over it by now. The people who are supposed to love me and care, think I’m abusive for wanting help, advice, comfort, anything..even just company which was all i ended up asking for at all. there were no harsh words said, no abusive behaviour done, I was just wanting comfort. And somehow that is abusive of me, to want sympathy. Not pity. I don’t fucking want pity. That is the last thing I want, it feels demeaning and desperate on my end if that’s what I wanted. I hate pity. I won’t give it and don’t want it. But I will give understanding and empathy. And obviously I want that too.. Or even just a hug.. all I asked was for my boyfriend to sit with me so I don’t feel so alone. I need something just until counselling is ready for me after creating a new file and giving me a worker. But It’s abusive to put that on someone else they said. To ask for the man I love to sit in the same room as me, just for comfort, is being an abusive burden. Being upset that I still have to deal with the past like it’s the present makes me a victim who wants to play that role still apparently. Thinking it’s not fair to still have to relive it after it’s all done years later, they say, makes me unreasonable. talking about it is unreasonable, so is hoping for at least an indication that I’m allowed to open up like I always have been before, an indication that the people I care about the most have my back. It’s my mom and boyfriend, I thought they did... they always have. I’m hurting and it’s my fault that I can’t stop, they say it like I don’t try, that I haven’t tried dbt, cbt, inpatient trauma rehab, every medication I could have tried, individual therapy with over a dozen different therapists, even 45 visits to the psych ward. But I’m still not trying enough..? Or haven’t at all!? I’m victimizing myself and it’s my fault I’m struggling because I feel all the past trauma happen all over again because of a disorder that I haven’t gotten under control of yet?? I should be stronger I’m told, not let it get to me. I agree I should be stronger. After all this time I should know better, feel better. But the drugs numbed me for so long I haven’t felt this in so much time that it feels worse than before. Opening up about it to them both, to me, took strength.. but I wasn’t just shut down I was told everything I feel is invalid, everything I’ve done to make progress wasn’t really progress cause I wasn’t really trying, and in some weird way I agree. cause it didn’t work. And to talk about it to the loml, to my family, is evil of me. They act Like I’m putting it in my mind myself , starting the flashbacks on my own, and talking to them for some type of relief, to them is me trying to make their day worse and make them feel guilty. They’ve always done more than enough and I make sure they know I feel blessed, this all felt so out of nowhere..

How do I make them see that I can’t control it? That I could be thrown back into a terrible memory, so vivid I can see it and feel it all over again, one that completely ruins the progress I’ve made. How do I get them to see that I try to build myself back up all over again, but that it’s almost impossible to do alone, and that I can’t help it I can’t control ptsd episodes and if I could I would. Why would I want to remember this shit? Let alone relive it?? Is it so evil to know that I need support from people who matter most to me to build myself back up and ask for that support in the form of just being nearby ? I live with my bf, neither of us work currently, so asking to sit in the same room shouldn’t be so terrible it shouldn’t be something evil to ask.. we always spend every hour of the day together and it has always been great, we don’t get sick of each other etc.. but today he’s been ignoring me and playing video games. I’ll repeat myself and he will reply “I heard you. Not sure what to say”. But he always knows what to say. I think he’s just sick of my baggage, sick of me not being better yet. I thought he knew I do what I can though, and that it’s not a mind over matter type thing. When I told him he didn’t believe me.

They don’t say all these things about my seizures and it’s the same type of thing. Even if I feel it coming on, I can’t stop it. If I say I feel like I may have a seizure they listen and jump into action but when it’s my mental health it’s horrible of me to make it clear that I’m struggling. They say they think I want to stew in my emotions and drag them into it. I’m working on getting help through new resources, but until that day comes, I thought the people who always have helped would be supportive. Or even just be nearby, at least respond. I do what I can, it’s not enough. If all this happened without the calling me abusive and a victim etc, I’d understand. I know they aren’t professionals and have no obligation to help I don’t expect anything but a hug or even to just sit in silence with someone. But why is my pain what makes me so horrible? If I did shit like blame them, or told them they aren’t helping or doing enough, swore, called names, directed anger to them, I’d understand then.. ya that’s abusive behaviour. but to want to feel loved, not alone, and just a bit of empathy, To want any sort of support I think is okay… but in their eyes it means I’m weak for wanting that or even feeling how I do. I have to do it alone or I’m “trying to be a victim”, “trying to get attention” “want to keep the victim mentality going so others pity me”. Pity to me, is the last thing I want. But if to want support or ask to talk, to sit in a room together, is evil and abusive and makes me a weak victim that doesn’t want change then what am I supposed to do? These words make me feel unworthy of life and unworthy of treatment, like I don’t deserve to get better. If that’s how I am why should I deserve any good at all ? Would I still be so terrible if I began keeping my pain, my thoughts, my body, my everything, to myself? Would they love me more if I were silent? Put on a smile, wear a mask of a person who is doing well, play the part, bottle up whatever’s not pleasant for others sake (and mine so I’m not alone) so I can open it when I’m alone, vulnerable, irrational, at risk? or maybe never open it again..? Have my mind suffer but keep it separate from the persona everyone wants to see. The caricature of someone with no baggage, happy all the time and doesn’t have any diagnosis that makes me more than imperfect but makes me totally unbearable and makes everyone near me miserable. I feel like with a bit of time and help professionally, mixed with support from loved ones, I’d be that person eventually, maybe not exactly but I wouldn’t be faking at least..

They deserve the best, I love them both to death and they’re great people so I must be doing something wrong, they’re probably right and if I’m not at my best and it makes me a monster for them to know that, then I’ll act okay again. The fake it till u make it doesn’t work in this specific scenario ptsd doesn’t work that way for me, but It seems like the only solution right now, to keep my family and boyfriend happy hopefully, or at least keep me in their lives.

I thought I was a survivor..but apparently I’m still a victim. Or at least that’s what others see. Someone who will always be or “want” to be the victim.

I just wanted to be a survivor. I thought that’s how I came across..like a kind, loving, strong, survivor. Not a weak, abusive, victim who is a bother to be around or know..

The lines have began to blur. Is it really so wrong to explain your feelings to the people closest to you ..? Am I really so terrible?? Should I even keep getting real help and more of it if I seem like a victim, like I’m trying to be one? Do I really not seem like a survivor? Does pain mentally really make me weak..?

I don’t know what’s real anymore.

I don’t know what to think or feel anymore.

I’d rather feel nothing at all.

Hear nothing.

Be nothing.

Because Then who will I burden?

I can’t be a burden if I’m alone. If I’m gone.

Maybe it’s what’s wanted, what’s needed. I’m not even sure what to do or what’s worth it anymore. Doesn’t seem like anything is tbh. I try so hard to be a good person, at least be better than before.. to hear I’m doing the opposite today, when before i was told i was doing well because I didn’t complain about my mental health, hearing this is how loved ones think of me, no matter how much I have tried, is so discouraging. I’m looked down on. All I wanted was to hear it’ll be okay. Hear “I’m sorry that must be hard” or an “I’ll be here if you need”, even offering a damn tea.. I would be so happy, I’d know they’re trying too. In times like these, I think anyone and everyone deserves kindness. In dark times sometimes we can’t be our own light. These two people have always been that light for me, but they must have had enough. I don’t blame them.

I need to be strong for the ones I love, not trauma dump and in return be looked down on and seem like I’m trying to keep myself in pain or bring others down with me.

That’s not who I am. I can’t believe this is who I’m seen as now.. I’m gonna lose the people I love and need most over my mental heath being too much baggage, and my past following me into the future. If only I hadn’t been so trusting, letting these traumatic bs things happen to me. I should have had my guard up. I only wanted a shoulder to cry on, to vent a bit or hear a couple kind words, I just wanted to feel loved. I never wanted to seem so horrible, seem like I’m trying to make this who I am or ruin someone’s day or relationship with me by speaking about my issues. I figured they know me best, they’d know what to say or at least how to reassure me. I can’t always do this on my own but I’m gonna have to until a counsellor picks up my case. But then will I burden them..? I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know when I do wrong and I know when to apologize I do everything I can to be the best I can. Pain changes people, I wanted to get input from people closest to me before the pain changed me for the worst. But I’m already not the person I thought I was apparently I’m everything I always wanted not to be… if anyone has any sort of words good or bad I just need to know what to think at this point. Should I keep to myself from this point on?? Just deal with the flashbacks hold back tears and pretend it didn’t happen ? Am I really being that way to them ? I see how it’s unfair because both don’t like to open up about feelings but I make sure constantly that they know when they’re ready to they can. It just hurts knowing that isn’t reciprocated. If anyone can give me an idea on how not to be so awful to them but still hopefully get the support I need I would be very grateful. I know there’s probably no one reading this. But if you did thank you. I just need to turn this around so I’m not the person they see me as cause now it’s all I can think about.

[fiveapocalypse]

Dream for a Dream

Lila cares for the second youngest of the Hargreeves-Gill household once more, and this time, she finds it a bit harder to let her maternal instincts go

Or, in other words, Five gets taken care of by Lila again and she decides to make a decision.

Hi, for you all :D @aka-tua-braindump @rebel-by-default @lookingforhappy

Lila wakes up at the unholy hour of 3 in the morning in complete confusion.

Usually, she only wakes up so abruptly when her mom senses, as Diego called them, suddenly went off, setting off alarm bells in her head before she rushed out of bed to check what Grace needed. This, however, was not a Grace situation as the baby video monitor Diego had set up shows their child sleeping peacefully in her crib. What does get her alarm bells ringing however, is the fact that the second ‘child’ who insisted on sharing a room with the baby so he could protect her at any and all costs had woken up with a start, stuffed his fist into his mouth, and then curled up into a tight little ball that didn’t settle right with her.

And so, she found herself in her child’s bedroom, a small flashlight in hand as the small sniffling noises brought her closer and closer to the junior sized bed that Diego had bought and installed himself. Wrapped up tightly in space blankets, Five is muffling his crying with a pillow in his mouth by the time she arrives and his eyes are squeezed shut as Lila crouched. “Hey…” she taps at the bed, just to try and get his attention. “Hey, little tiger?” He squirms at the nickname, brows furrowing before his eyes opened, all red and puffy. Lila hates how it makes her want to pull him into a hug. Or maybe, she just hates the fact that he’s upset to begin with.

“Sorry,” Five’s voice is raspy, bags heavy underneath his puffy and red eyes. He had fought the majority of his sickness away, but sometimes he stayed up all night, thinking, calculating. Tonight seemed to be one of his smaller days, with a mind that barely stuck on to the adult consciousness he always carried with himself. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” His voice is a little quieter too, soft and shaky. Lila hums.

“I’m a mom,” she reminds him, “Grace wakes me up for even less than you do. What’s on your mind hm?”

In all his Five predictability, the boy scrubs at his face with his sleeve and shakes his head. “Nothin’,” he says, nose stuffed and word slurred, “nothin’s wron’” Correction, words slurred. Lila doesn’t exactly believe him though, because he looks like he just got the most horrible case of the sniffles, and if he was sick, he wouldn’t have dared to stay in the same room as Grace. “Go back to bed.” Five tries to shoo her away, hiccuping. “Stupid. Why are you here, huh? To gloat that you’ve seen me crying?” And then, he shifts the tables to start accusing her when it’s clear she won’t move. Lila, with a smile, merely shrugs.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Do you wanna talk?”

“I hate you.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Explode.”

“Everyone has—"

“Well, I don’t!”

Five’s voice gets uncharacteristically high, nearly screech worthy if Lila had anything to say about it, and Grace whines from her crib at the sound and Five crumples immediately, hands over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, pressed up against the corner with trembling shoulders. “Sorry!” He practically sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t—I’ll be quiet. I’ll shut up.” Lila’s heart leaps into her throat at the sight.

“Five got roughed up by the old man the most though.”

“Well, Lila, dear, I had special ways of making him listen to me.”

Immediately, she pulls herself into his bed, not quite touching him but sitting across where if he allowed it, one small movement could have him in her arms. “Hey, hey—I’m not, she isn’t awake, Tiger.” Lila tries to imagine what her actual mom’s voice would sound like. She tries to remember if Anita had ever calmed her down from —whatever Five was experiencing. “How about…how about I tell you one of my nightmares? And then you can tell me yours, so we’re even.” Five looks at her, warily.

“Uu…”

He makes a garbled noise behind his hands. Lila sighs, straightens and nods. “Well, surprisingly , my most recent nightmare has been about you—”

“Me?”

Big blue eyes squint at her. “What—if it’s about your parents, I—I didn’t know and I—"

“Christ almighty!” Lila hisses, “it’s not—you were being killed, Five. Okay? The handler always found a way to kill you, always found a way to bring you to your knees, and I was powerless to stop it. That is what my nightmare was about, okay? So—don’t, don’t get it in your head that I’m going to kick you out just for waking up Grace by accident or whatever is going on through your head right now.”

The silence that surrounds them makes Lila want to punch a wall. She wasn’t good at these sorts of things. Grace was far too young to even remember her nightmares, if she even had them, and the most soothing she did was rocking her and feeding her and changing her diaper. Five doesn’t look at her, now fiddling with his fingers. It’s one of his smaller days, amplified by the sudden nightmare no doubt, so Lila lets him take his time. “That’s scary,” he says after a few minutes, “that the handler came back. She—” he gulps, blinking, “she wasn’t a good person… to.. to either of us.” It’s said with finality, and then, he lets himself crawl forward enough to end up sprawled on the bed and her lap. Lila pulls him up towards herself so he can rest his head on her chest. “Your heartbeat is fast,” Five says, ever so observant. “Was the nightmare about me being dead that bad? I thought you’d like it.”

“Not anymore.” Lila decided combing her fingers through his hair helps him relax. “Now it just makes me scared, and sad.”

“Sad,” Five repeats, “my nightmare made me sad.” He sounds a bit tired. Lila doesn’t say anything. “It was about—uh, you know, my family? Well— it. Them. They don’t like me, I think. No one does. Or well, it feels like no one does. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always dropped before.”

Another bout of silence, Lila hums.

“What if I told you there was no other shoe to drop?”

“I’d call you stupid, there’s always a shoe to drop. That’s why there’s two shoes.”

“What if I wanna go my life wearing one shoe?”

“Well that—it’s your problem.”

“Which means….”

Five frowns, blinking up at her. He pushes at her face and groans. “I’m tired! Stop making me think.” Lila struggles not to burst into laughter as she pinches his face, making Five try to crawl away from her to no avail. Tiny little ten year olds couldn’t beat a 30+ year old woman on strength, especially one as noodle limbed as he was. Five still tries though—because of course he does.

“It means that it’s my decision to drop the other shoe or not and frankly, there’s very little that you can do outside of harming Diego and Grace seriously—”

“I’d rather lick a cheese grater than ever lay a hand on my niece and brother.”

“—which I know you won’t do, obviously, there is very, VERY little that would make either of us kick you to the curb.”

Five looks ready to retort. He wants to retort. Lila can see the gears in his head turning before he lets out a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. His head slumps back onto Lila’s chest. “Looks like someone’s tired.” She snickers, earning her a sudden grumble.

“Shut up,” the boy mumbles, yawning, “you’re just…. A really boring mom.”

Lila doesn’t have time to retort when Five starts snoring in her arms and for once, she’s glad the old man slash kid fell asleep so fast.

That way, he didn’t have to see her tears.

[stardustsaiyan]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 | 𝓳𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓪𝓴

summary: Jotaro has a nightmare where he lost Kakyoin in the final fight against Dio. When he wakes up, he is relieved to find Kakyoin at his side.

this one shot was requested by jotabro is tsukishima from JoJo Amino. Thank you for the request.

Fanart is made by mirshumanji from twitter

When Jotaro would see him again, he would be cold and extremely pale. A permanent peace would reside in his face as he rested inside his casket. As usual, Jotaro wouldn't express his thoughts and emotions that raged deep inside of him. Expertly, he would keep them forever bottled up like all other times. This time, was no different. He shouldn't waste anyone's time with his plaguing regret and never ending wishes of how he wished things had turned out differently.

"I should've stayed with him while he was at the hospital . . . That would've let him know how I felt." was Jotaro's first thought. Yeah, the other Stardust Crusaders would've been fine dealing with the stand users! Besides, Kakyoin was alone in the hospital with no one to talk to. Jotaro could've kept him company and let Kakyoin speak his mind.

"Instead of Kakyoin going in the truck with the old man, he should've gone on the motorcycle with me. He would've been safe by my side. We would've taken Dio down together." Was another thought that constantly crossed Jotaro's mind.

At his funeral, Jotaro would wait until everyone moved back to their seats. Only then would he approach Kakyoin's resting body and silently sob. He would fight with his body to not shiver or break down in front of everyone. He had to be strong for everyone else.

But how could he now, if Kakyoin was no longer here by his side? Kakyoin, poor beloved Kakyoin who just wanted to prove he had just as much of a purpose as everyone else. Oh Kakyoin . . .

"Jotaro? Hey, Jotaro are you okay?" First came the gentle voice of his friend before his hand pressed against his arm, lightly shaking him awake.

Jotaro's eyes were weary, and he swears they carry the pain of overwhelming weight. He almost cried in a damn airplane, all because of a stupid dream. The broody teen then properly sat up in his seat as he adjusts his hat, making sure it was perfectly fit on his head as it always was.

Sometimes, Kakyoin swore that thing seemed permanently glued onto his head.

"Yeah I'm fine," Jotaro replies softly, staring at his watch for the current time. "How long was I passed out?"

"Four hours," Kakyoin responds, then quickly adds to assure his friend, "But it was a power nap well deserved. That final fight with Dio was grueling."

Jotaro squeezed his eyes as hard as he could. He didn't want to think of his nightmare all over again. The nightmare where a deep hole was buried inside the gut of Kakyoin, being lunged and pinned against a water tower. Bleeding to death as his last words to Jotaro would've never been said.

Kakyoin notices Jotaro's hands transforming into fists, knuckles turning white. He wasn't angry, because the trembling didn't hold his body high in his seat. He was nearly crashing into himself into a little ball, sheltering himself from whatever madness was going on through his head, daring to tear away at his humanity.

"H-Hey, Jotaro . . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you of that." Kakyoin's hand slides up on Jotaro's shoulder, squeezing as a way of comfort. Jotaro shook his head, keeping his head low as his left arm outstretches naturally to the hand that comforted him. When he finally found Kakyoin's hand, he slid his own hand on top.

"It's not that, Kakyoin." Jotaro sighs. He didn't want him to tell Kakyoin about the never ending same nightmare, but at the same time Jotaro didn't want Kakyoin to feel at fault. "It's just . . ." Jotaro inwardly sighs. "I keep having this nightmare, where . . . in another life, you're not by my side anymore." Saying this out loud, Jotaro was relieved that he and Kakyoin weren't seated by his grandpa. Actually, Joseph were on the other side of the plane from where they were.

Kakyoin said nothing at first. He himself was somewhat terrified of the idea of not being alive after the events of attempting to take Dio and his minions down. To not be with the friends he had made on this trip to Egypt after this mission was a downright tragedy.

"Jotaro, look at me . . ." Kakyoin finally said after he found his voice again.

Slowly, Jotaro's azure eyes linger towards Kakyoin, staring at Kakyoin just as he asked. He would do anything for Kakyoin.

Placing a hand on Jotaro's face, there was a tiny linger of fear in his chest that Jotaro wouldn't feel comfortable enough with this and would pull away. But Kakyoin just had to try. What was worse than trying?

A natural smile for him crept across Kakyoin's lips, his warm purple eyes held a twinkle Jotaro loved.

"I'm never leaving your side, Jotaro." And with all the mustered up courage, Kakyoin kisses Jotaro as swiftly as he could. As ripe as the moment could be, and before they had any onlookers.

Kakyoin's heart swells as he felt Jotaro kissing back with just as much love as he did, and that little moment made the journey back to Japan so much better than anticipated.

[illithilit]

what flavor is your soul?

BLURG IS.... ROSEMARY.

ah, the old soul, nice to meet again. the time of ages is etched into your bones, you see clearly. you've watched the heartache in this realm and sworn to solve it. but kindness without limits is self destruction. oh little leaf, strong and wise, you seek to bring peace with your presence. I'd be wrong to say you fail at this effort, but you mustn't set yourself on fire to keep others warm. you wish to please everyone, to protect them all. but if you shield the saplings from the sunlight they will never grow, and you one day will wither. protect yourself too. you know there are no happy heroes, so don't be one. be a friend. your loved ones will not forsake you for not being perseus slaying all their demons. you have your own monsters, why not meet them first before you conquer anyone else's nightmares. oh true-hearted paladin you are brave, and you are good enough. you know that right? be true to yourself, one cannot do anything saintly if they did not tend to their own wounds first.

TAGGED BY: @mindfoster TAGGING: @rizzsave ; @aliarssmile ; @infernaliscor ; @spiderwarden ; & anyone else who'd like to, say I tagged you c:

[ below the cut: Graz, Ori, Mourndax, Sayak, Yzare ]

GRAZILAXX IS.... LAVENDER.

oh moon child, restless sleeper, tell me what it's like to dream? you float along the margins of reality, picking up the pieces of fallen memories to sculpt into your own realm. you are searching, but your tongue is quiet, quiet, quiet. open your mouth and sing my dear, silence only does you good for so long. and here you planted roots in the darkness, where not even the moon can reach your leaves. there is such a thing as being too practical, for you sail your ship on perpetually calm waters, and never have you spotted land. your mind has wings, uncage them! allow yourself to dream, you are not too far gone. there is no such thing! trust in yourself dear.

ORIANNA IS.... HONEY.

"sugared mel e lingua serpentis." sugared honey from a serpent's tongue. oh dearest, look how you gleam. how the sunlight dances off your shoulders, how the heavens shine across your wingtips. but you are hollow, hollow, hollow. even the taste of nectar can choke a man. sometimes the sweetest flowers hide the sharpest poison. you lie to yourself, the worst lie of all. you needn't be so obsessed with perfect. the greatest beauty lies in our faults. do you think the moon apologizes for their mara? no, their craters add to their glow. my dear, breathe. you are not an island, breathe, before the honey drowns you. you wish to be lovely, you long to be loved. but did aphrodite trade her powers for perfection? she did not. you can be beautiful, and also whole. be whole above anything else dear. a heart of diamonds is worth nothing if inchor oozes from it. inward. look within and question how well do you know yourself? little petal are you trying to be a god? why? can a god bloom from sullen soil? no. you are whole as you are.

MOURNDAX IS.... SALT.

ah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.

SAYAK IS..... MINT.

oh spry little dryad, spinning sprite, you drift through life as light as lion down. you are the chimes of churchbells and the laughter of faeries. gossamer and spidersilk shine from your ribs. life is fleeting, you more than anyone should know that. something we love today may never see tomorrow's sun. you pride yourself on skipping through moments, soft and merry. but you do not let your soul be tethered. is it for freedom or fear, sweetheart, that you do not let yourself be tamed? you are as fresh as and wild as bluebirds in snow, you smile at your problems before dashing away. hoping they will never catch up to you. but even nike can't run forever. you have been hurt before. but that is life. you wish to never feel that way again, but regretfully I must tell you that is nothing short of impossible. life is but part sorrow part sun, you cannot have teacups until they are burned by the kiln. oh I see the scars child, they shimmer down your chest, I see the pain in your eyes. but I also see the stardust. keep smiling, but allow tears also. you do not have to be solely wonder, fear, you are allowed to be bitter. so bite, and scream, and laugh, and love. that is what makes life worth living.

YZARE IS..... CINNAMON.

oh child of spice you are bound to the core of the earth. can you feel the heartbeat of nature pulsing through your veins. you are the mouthful of autumn that scorched through your throat, you are the pepper of life that wakes up the weary. the foolish and shaking will attempt to dilute you with sickening sugar, do not let them. your spark is what keeps us alive my dear. keep burning, little star. you see the beauty and the light, but oh you have been fed poison and refuse to drop it onto other's tongues. be wild. I know what your heart is chanting. run. run. run. run dear, find your story. do not trade your spirit for safety. you are a child of the earth, forever seeking, forever dancing.

[angrelysimpping]

M!OC x friend’s M!OC uwu

Warnings: so fucking mushy; sleepy sex; mentions of past possession

Joaquim belongs to 💜@inkyquince💜

Words: 805

Danny was no stranger to having weird dreams. Even before his possession, he’d have strange and wild dreams, vivid visions in the night. Post-possession, they just got weirder. Sometimes, it was the entity fucking with him, trying to grind him down even in his sleep.

This wasn’t one of those times. 

It had been an age since Danny had last had a sex dream.

Usually, it’d only happen if he hadn't gotten off in a while. Danny couldn’t remember how many partners he’d had, the vast majority of his escapades involving multiple people didn’t help. Nor the fact he’d been slightly intoxicated for most of them. Still, everyone had their dry spells. If he had a weird, frustrating dream about sex, he’d just jack off when he woke up and be set for a week or so. 

Getting his guts rearranged at least once a day by his lovely boyfriend meant Danny didn’t really have to worry about those feverish dreams that would leave him hard and frustrated upon waking. 

Yet, here he was, staring at the ceiling of their room as Joaquim slept soundly curled around him. 

Honestly, it was a little embarrassing. He couldn’t even remember what the dream was about, yet here he was, cock hard and precum smeared on his thighs.

Rolling onto his side, Danny's breath hitches a little as he comes face to face with his sleeping partner. Oh, he can…kinda remember his dream now. He'd been rutting into Joaquim. Holding one of Joaquim’s hands, Danny's slender fingers laced through Joaquim's scarred ones. His other hand fisted the redhead's fat cock, precum coating his palm, staining his skin. 

He'd sounded so pretty in Danny's dream, gasping his name, unraveling underneath him. Danny didn't top often, and he was fine with that. But those times when Joaquim let him? Allowed Danny to spoil him? Make his eyes roll back and melt into the bed while Danny took care of him? Well, they'd obviously burned themselves into Danny's brain, surfacing in his dreams now. 

Gently, Danny nudges Joaquim's shoulder. "Joaquim," he murmurs, trying not to startle the man. "Hey, Kimi."

"Yes, Dankovsky?" Joaquim’s words are loose, nearly slurred as he struggles to rise through the fog of sleep. One of his calloused hands comes to rest over Danny's, giving it a soft squeeze. “Nightmare? Entity giving you trouble, my love?”

Danny has to bite back a noise of frustration as his cock twitches from a mixture of the pet names and Joaquim’s gravely, half-awake voice. “Not a nightmare, no.” Shifting forward, Danny presses his erection to Joaquim’s thigh. “Was a dream, though.”

A wicked smile breaks out across Joaquim’s face, the only warning Danny gets before a strong hand grabs his ass and pulls him closer. 

“Having dirty dreams, pretty boy? Wanna tell me about them?”

Danny starts to laugh, only for it to cut off into a hiss as Joaquim maneuvers his thighs to encase Danny’s cock.

“Joaquim-”

“You were dreaming about me?”

“Of course,” Danny sighs, idly starting to rock his hips to fuck between his lover’s thighs. “Always do.” 

Joaquim’s breathing becomes heavier. The hand on Danny’s ass gives his cheek a sharp squeeze before a finger finds its way to his hole. “Go on,” 

“Was fucking you,” Danny pants as another finger presses into him. “You were so goddamn pretty.” Each time he pulls back causes him to fuck himself deeper on Joa’s fingers, spurring him on to go faster. “G-god, and the, ah, s-sounds you made.” Precum leaks heavily from Danny’s tip, coating Joaquim’s thighs, making it easier and easier for Danny to chase his high. “Felt so g-good around me and -fuck!” Joaquim crooks his fingers, the perfect angle to hit Danny’s prostate with each thrust of his hips and make his mind blank. 

His mouth keeps moving, babbling about how perfect his lover is without any conscious thought. He’s not even sure what he's saying anymore, purely seeking his own end while praising his partner. Then, he says something - a rare, low moan of I love you - causing Joaquim to shudder and press his mouth to Danny’s, teeth tugging at his bottom lip. Danny tastes his own blood on Joaquim’s tongue as he cums, spending himself between the redhead’s thighs.

It’s as he starts to come down from his high that Danny dimly becomes aware of the hard cock leaking thickly against his stomach. “I do love you,” Danny sighs against Joaquim’s lips. “Always and forever.” He chuckles as Joaquim’s cock twitches at the admission. “Now, do I get to have a late-night snack? Or not tonight?”

“Eat up, pretty.”

The words have barely made it past Joaquim’s lips before he’s swallowed to the base, Danny’s skilled tongue making sure his partner is just as satisfied before they can both drop back to sleep.