#gruesome sights for a child like you.{asks.}

[lovebugism]

hi! can i request shy/innocent reader who blushes at any sex talk, but one day she shows up covered in hickies that she didn’t notice and eddie, robin and the gang are grilling her trying to find out who shes with and steve’s just standing in the corner like🧍‍♂️

ty for requesting :D — the gang finds a hickey on you during movie night (shy!fem!r, fluff, 1.3k)

Slasher films, Eddie tells you, are just excuses to make the goriest, raunchiest movies known to man. But that’s why they’re so good! he exclaims like a giddy teenage boy before sliding the bulky VHS into the tape player. 

Your stomach’s been in knots about it since. You’re made of something more delicate than that — not particularly built for gruesome horror — but you swallow down your worrying anyway. 

Robin’s smacking on gummy worms at your feet, Eddie hasn’t stopped smiling since he sat down beside you, and Steve’s got one toned arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder. The combination of familiarity takes your mind off the whole thing when you threaten to scare yourself about it.

A half-hour in, and the scariest thing you’ve seen so far, is an overtly theatric sex scene. You only get a glimpse of the static nudity before a clammy, ringed hand splays itself over your eyes. It doesn’t save you from the high-pitched squealing and gruff moans, though, so you’re not entirely sure it’s doing much.

“What are you doing?” you ask Eddie through quiet giggles.

“This shit’s gross,” he answers, muffled through the candy in his cheek. “You don’t need to be watchin’ stuff like this.”

Your brows furrow beneath his palm. “I’m not a child, Eds.”

“Yeah, but you’re too pure! I wouldn’t feel right if I just let you watch it!”

Steve returns from the kitchen then, with a bowl of refilled popcorn in hand. He scoops a handful into his mouth and scolds through the mouthful. “Eddie. Leave her alone.”

The pale hand slips from your face when the scene ends — the climax sufficiently interrupted by a serial killing, chainsaw weilding psycho. The wild-haired boy scoffs. “Jeez! Sorry for trying to take care of your girlfriend, Harrington!”

“I do that on my own. I don’t need your help, freak,” Steve retorts, unthinking, before plopping down beside you and shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

All three of you glance at him with unwavering stares. He blinks back at you for a moment until the realization hits him. Rolling his chocolate eyes, he grouses, “Not like that, you pervs.”

Eddie grins. “Oh, so it’s not like that, then?” he wonders in a teasing lilt. 

“Well,” Steve shrugs, trying and failing to hide his smirk. “I mean, obviously it is, but—”

“Steve…” you waver in an inaudible whine, shrinking back into the couch, hoping it’ll swallow you whole. 

The boy seems confused by your sudden sheepishness. He’s never been shy about anything in his life. “I’m just saying!” he chuckles. “I’m your boyfriend. I take care of you. That’s, like, my whole job… One that I do very well, might I add.”

Robin grumbles while Steve and Eddie laugh like a couple of teenage boys. She rises from her comfy spot on the carpet and reaches for your hand. She pulls you into the kitchen behind her and calls to them over her shoulder. “You guys are such freaks, you know that?”

——————

Tired and slightly tipsy, you stand with Steve on his back porch. A cigarette hangs loosely from his plush lips. His chiseled jaw tightens every time he takes a drag. The sight of him is impossible to look away from.

“You don’t think I take care of you?” he blurts before blowing smoke from his mouth. The wisps disappear beneath the starry velvet sky.

“Huh?”

“Earlier. When Eddie was making that stupid joke,” the boy explains, snuffing the cig out in the ashtray on the railing. He glances at you with sparkling honey eyes, half beneath his lashes, before turning away again. Almost shy. “I said it was my job to take care of you or whatever, and you just… Kinda grumbled about it. Like you don’t think I do or something.”

Your chest stings.

“Of course you do!” you answer sheepishly. “It’s just… hard for me to talk about, I guess. In front of Eddie and Robin and everything…”

“Oh,” he hums, nodding with his pink lips softly pouted. When the realization passes, he bites back a bashful beam. “So… you do think I take care of you, then?”

You roll your eyes, still impossibly shy. You know that he knows that answer now — he just wants to hear you say it. “Obviously…” you murmur with a quiet smile you try hard to keep hidden.

“Good,” he says to himself, nodding like he’s proud. “That’s good…”

You’re not sure how, but you end up squished between his body and the deck railing in record time. Steve kisses the breath from your lungs with lips tasting of nicotine, cola, and sour candy. His golden hands dig into your hips while his mouth trails to your jaw. 

You twist your hands in the strands of his silky chestnut hair as his plush lips lock with your thrumming pulse. A sigh spills from your mouth at the tingling feeling — warm and wet, then stinging for a moment. Steve runs his tongue over the bruise he left there. 

“Don’t leave a mark,” you scold in a slurred whine.

His chuckle fans across your neck before he parts from you. The lovebite is hardly noticeable now, just beginning to blossom beneath your jaw. “I think it might be a little too late for that, babe,” he teases with lidded eyes.

The backdoor slides open before Steve can kiss you again. Eddie stumbles out with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Robin nearly runs into the back of him when the boy stops suddenly in his tracks. His chocolate eyes flit between the two of you, now separated and trying to play it cool.

“…Are we interrupting something?” he murmurs through the stick in his mouth.

Steve shrugs and puts his hands on his hips, so not cool. “What? No. What are you— What are you even doing out here?”

The lighter clicks. “…Smoking?”

He glances at Robin, then. Her ocean eyes widen as she shrugs. “I just didn’t wanna be left out,” she murmurs in an answer to his silent question.

“Fair enough.”

Eddie squeezes between you and Steve, clumsy and unknowing. He glances at you innocently once, then again with suspicious, squinted eyes. “Is that a bruise?” he wonders before turning away to exhale the smoke from his lungs.

Your chest wrenches. “Huh?” you hum with pinched brows.

“You have a bruise on your neck,” he tells you, pointing a ringed finger to the blooming mark Steve left some minutes ago now. “What happened?”

He says it like he’s concerned. Like he’s worried something had happened to you. The possibility of it being a hickey doesn’t even cross his mind — ‘cause you’re just too pure for that. 

You shrug and start to stammer, somehow less cool than the overtly uncasual boy on Eddie’s other side. “I don’t know. It’s probably just... The lighting or something.”

His fluffy brows pinch together as his eyes dart over your face. You’re visibly flustered, lips softly swollen and shining with spit. He looks at Steve next and finds the boy looking much of the same. Only then does he realize what he’s interrupted.

“Eugh!” he groans in disgust, features screwed-up and puppylike.

Steve fights back a laugh. “What?!”

“You guys are a bunch of dirtbags!” Eddie shouts.

“It’s just a hickey, Eds,” the brunette boy says, chuckling before he can help it. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

“Absolutely harlot behavior. Both of you,” he chides, shaking his head until his wild curls sway around his jaw. While the rest of you laugh, he grumbles. “I don’t even feel like smoking now. You guys just ruined this cig for me.”

The three of you blink at him when he takes another drag. It takes him a moment too long to register the stares. When he does, he spreads his palms in defense and mumbles through the stick. “Well, I’m not gonna waste it!”

[notaboypossiblyagenius]

Dermatophagia — E. Prentiss.

a/n: short little blurb on baby emily because nobody ever talks about the feeling of impending doom that must’ve lingered after coming back to the U.S. from the Valhalla mission.

wc: ~600

warnings: nail biting, bleeding, pining so subtle it’s almost not there? no use of y/n, first thing i’ve written since 2022, very little dialogue, not proof read mwuahaha

feedback, comments, and reblogs are always super very appreciated:3

Emily watched as the blood pooled in the small divot between her skin and her nail, the stream of liquid soon expanding to fill the space. It served as a distraction, the repetitive process of picking, bleeding, healing became a reprieve from the feeling of impending doom that always managed to creep over her shoulder. She was too caught up in the sight to realize you’d joined her in the small space of her desk.

“Em, is that blood?” you muttered, reaching for her hand which proved to be useless as she quickly pulled it back with a startled look on her face.

“God! When’d you get here?” She said, turning her gaze from your unamused face to where you sat at the edge of her desk, arms folded over your chest. “We need to put a bell on you or something.”

“Haha, funny.” You replied, unfolding your arms as you reached out for her hand again, this time successfully. Your eyes scanned Emily’s finger which was now bordering mutilation, the skin around her nails uneven and torn. You never understood how she could do it, how in a matter of seconds her fingers could resemble the gruesome scenes you encountered day to day.

“Seriously, are you bleeding?” a redundant question from your end because it was very clear she was. Emily had to bite her tongue to keep the sarcastic comment that had developed like a reflex on a leash.

“Why do you pick your nails?” you asked, your eyes scanning the wound as you placed a napkin over the spot before looking back up at her. You were met with an anxious look, one that reminded you of a child who was scared of being scolded. She tilted her head from side to side, unsure of what to say, and as she did so her hair shifted from behind her ear in a way that made you want to tuck it back into place.

“I don’t know,”

“I don’t usually think about it,” she said, the way you hadn’t let go of her hand made her heartrate pickup, and she tried not to over analyze how you chose to place it on your lap. The contrast between her cold hands and your warm fingers holding the napkin in place made her want to seek out more of that warmth.

She shouldn’t be surprised you were helping her; you’d always go out of your way to swat at her hands whenever they began a path up to her mouth, or place a cup of coffee in them in an attempt to keep them from meeting their demise. She often wondered why you did so, as nobody else really bothered; yet, she never asked. Instead, she’d just allow it. She’d secretly relish in the fact that somebody finally noticed, even if she pretended to hate it.

“That much I've picked up on,” you said softly, a faint smile on your lips as you discarded the napkin that was now stained with blood. Your grip tightened slightly on Emily’s hand as you reached for the trash can, almost as if you were refusing to let it go.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. Emily looked down at your intertwined hands and felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest, something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. She wasn't used to being cared for—not like this. And while she could pretend all she wanted, the truth was, she liked it.

Maybe that's why she hadn’t pulled away, because for the first time in a very long time Emily wasn’t the only one looking out for Emily.

[aster-oid]

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red. 

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!" 

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut. 

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life. 

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall. 

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!" 

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes. 

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention." 

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?" 

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day." 

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it. 

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again. 

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned. 

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up. 

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was... 

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams. 

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust. 

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles.  It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—" 

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?" 

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away! 

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense." 

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought. 

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers. 

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl. 

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to." 

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation. 

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible." 

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent? 

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate. 

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word. 

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?" 

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories." 

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!" 

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow. 

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing. 

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!" 

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks. 

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified. 

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?" 

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat. 

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable. 

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself. 

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him. 

"If you say so." 

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge. 

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change. 

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened. 

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago. 

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?" 

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me." 

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side.  He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects. 

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze. 

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest. 

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life. 

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

[winterlynightlystories]

Welcome to Hawkins

Tw; swearing, mention of child abuse, mention of injuries.

To not steal my work, thank you!

Billy Hargrove/Male reader (he/him)

Summary; you find Billy on the side of the road, bloody and angry. The worse part? You are not alone in the dark.

~~~

Hawkins was a weird place. Even before the Byers boy went missing, the town faced strange things. Electrical anomalies, weird sightings in the forest and sometimes animals would meet a gruesome end. By now you were used to it.

Until the Hargrove came to town.

Hawkins was a small place where everybody knew everyone. There was no secret, not even inside your home. Even if you went in the middle of the wood, by morning the whole town would be aware of what you did. So it was no surprise they were met with mistrust.

Because it only took one look for everyone to agree; there was something wrong with them all. Especially with the father, you thought. With the way, he spoke to his son and how Billy would sometime flinch when his father moved his hands. It was obvious that something was going on.

And then they all met Billy Hargrove at school. Violent, racist, and always ready to fight. He tried so hard to be the king of the school, it was almost pathetic. But he was good to party with, you heard.

For your part, you disliked him. Billy and you would always fight; in the corridors, after school or even during sports class. Sometimes he would win, but most of the time? You would show no mercy and beat the shit out of him.

You weren't violent, some would even call you peaceful. But peaceful doesn't mean harmless and you refused to let Billy Hargrove do as he pleased.

You also pitied him.

No one was blind to the bruised he would try to play off as accidents or results of fights that never happened. Or how he would flinch, even so slightly when someone accidentally slammed a door or dropped something heavy. Or the fear his eyes would hold for a second when someone would throw a ball of paper and it would pass close to his head.

It broke your heart.

And there was nothing you could do.

That night as you drove, the forest on each side of the road, you kept thinking about the Hargrove boy. You wondered what kind of person he really was underneath all those masks he wore to protect himself.

Halfway through the forest, something caught your attention. At first, you thought it was a dead animal, maybe a deer. But then, it moved.

- “Shit!” you cursed, hitting the brake. “Hargrove? What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked, getting out of your car.

Because sitting on the side of the road was the one and only Billy Hargrove. Hair messy and bloody lips, Billy seemed to come out of a fight as the loser. But something was terribly wrong; his eyes were red and puffy and wet as if he has cried.

- “Fuck off man.” Billy snapped, looking away.

- “Seriously?” you sighed “C’mon city boy, I'm driving you home.” you added, eyes turning to the forest.

- “I said, fuck off! Or are you deaf?” replied Hargrove, making you grunt.

- “Oh, shut up. You think I'm leaving you here to be eaten by a bear?”

- “There aren't any bears in Hawkins.” objected Billy, scuffing.

- “Ah yes! I forgot it was my imaginary friend Steve who killed those animals!” you replied sarcastically. “Now you either get in the car by yourself like the good boy you are, or I'll get you in.”

- “Fuck. You.” slowly said Billy, smiling. “Anyway, why do you care so much? We are not friends or anything.”

- “Because there is no way I am leaving you here in the middle of the night!” you snapped, approaching him.

- “Wait, wait, wait! Don't tell me you are scared?” mocked Billy. “Seriously? Scared of the dark, Y/n?”

- “No, not the dark, but of what's hiding in it,” you said, seriously, stopping in front of Billy.

Billy was about to reply something when you heard the eeriest scream coming from the forest. You both froze, staring into the darkness. There was no sound, not even a cricket, or wind. It felt just wrong. Like a second before the disaster. And you felt watched like a prey being stalked.

- “Hargrove, get in the car.” you said, voice shaking as you saw a large shadow move between the tree. “NOW!”

You grabbed him by the collar and turned on your heels. Without another word, you two ran as another scream came from the forest, closer this time.

You barely closed the door before turning the engine on and driving away as fast as you could.

- “What the fuck was that?” asked Billy, looking behind. “That wasn't a bear!”

- “I don't know! I don't fucking know, man!” you replied, still freaking out. “It was too skinny to be a bear. Maybe a sick deer.”

- “Bitch, are you serious? Deer don't stand on their back legs!”

You didn't have the time to reply to anything, spotting the shadow on your left. In the dark, you could not really distinguish anything, but you could swear it was now running on four.

- “I don't want to sound dramatic, but I think it's following us.” you said.

- “How...”

Billy never finished his sentence. Instead, you both screamed when a tall shadow jumped in front of the car as you hit the brakes.

Standing on its back legs, the creature had smooth skin, almost like an eel” you thought. But darker. Like charcoal or shadows. And its head was like a flower.

You almost screamed again, feeling Billy gripping your arms and digging his nails into your skin.

- “What the fuck. Man, what the fuck is that?” he asked, his voice a mumbling mess.

- “Don't ask me! I don't know!” you whined, hands shaking on the wheel. “Man, I can't do a U-turn and there is no way I can drive in reverse in the dark.”

- “Then just run over it! Do something!”

And you did just that.

Pushing your car as fast as it could toward the creature. Maybe it knew what you were trying to do, or maybe it got scared, but seconds before the impact, the creature jumped out of your way. You sighed in relief but didn't slow down.

You heard Billy’s breath slow down before you felt his forehead on your shoulder. If he was crying, you saw nothing, because God be your witness, you were too. Not letting go of your arm, Billy actually tightened his grip.

- “Tell me it's gone. Please tell me it's gone.” he begged with a small voice.

- “Yeah, I don't see it anymore,” you replied.

- “I don't think I can go party anymore.”,” said Billy.

- “Yeah. Welcome to Hawkins.” you scoffed. “So, mind guiding me to your place?”

- “I'll rather not” he whispered.

- “Mind if I take you to mine then? I'll give you some of my shit and will take care of those bruised. I know where my parents hid their alcohol. God, I need a drink!”

- “As long as you share that drink, that sounds good to me. But I'm taking the bed!”

- “Fine princess!”

Billy said nothing and you relaxed. Heart still racing in your chest, you wondered of it was that thing who was responsible for the latest slaughter in the nearby farms. Or killed those missing outsiders. A part of you also knew you needed to call the sheriff, but the other knew it was useless. No one would believe you and you didn't want to put Billy in more danger.

So to your home, it was.

[cuffmeinblack]

Idk if you're still taking requests but if you are, how about an angsty turn fluff where Ominis finds you right after the last battle and comforts you after the realization of everything happening finally hits you and you break down. Like you've already realized that you're in love with him and don't want him to realize that you're crying but he can see through it right away.

The end and the beginning

Ominis Gaunt x reader

Tags: angst | hurt/comfort | admission of love

1k words

A/n: My brain sort of stopped working halfway through this but here we goooo soppy love story.

⚠️ END GAME SPOILERS ⚠️

Your head swam as the adrenaline pumped through your body, your breathing growing ragged from the physical exertion. The body in front of you was crumpled, bloody, crushed by your magic. You didn't feel remorse, but the sight was more than you thought you could bear in that moment, so you looked away and forced down the bile rising in your throat. The cavern was silent, the battle long over—the professors must have returned to the school to secure the building and protect the students inside, in the eventuality you were unsuccessful. There would be one missing, though—your mentor, Professor Fig. Tears welled in your eyes as you remembered the man, trying to push back the memory of his gruesome demise.

You needed to get back to Hogwarts—there was someone you needed to find. Like a child who sought their mother in times of dire need and emotional turmoil, you craved the presence of only one person. You walked as quickly as you could back along the rocky path, trying to ignore the pain in your leg—there would be time to visit the hospital wing later. 

The castle was eerie, the corridors empty apart from a frantically running prefect who ignored you completely. You guessed the students had been sent back to their common rooms, so you headed down to the dungeons. By now your eyes were heavy and you wished you could simply sleep, but you didn't think the adrenaline would let you. You'd likely be ambushed by Professor Weasley at some point and made to retell your story, but you hoped for at least a few hours respite before that ordeal.

The common room was busy and loud, the chatter anxious. Upon entering the room, heads turned toward you with open mouths as the talking ceased, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. You were used to attention by now, but this was ridiculous. You didn't much care, carrying on your frantic scanning of the room until you recognised a familiar fluffy chestnut-brown head rushing toward you. 

"Sebastian?" you said weakly as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"The whole castle is talking, is Fig really dead?"

You nod solemnly.

"Sebastian…where's Ominis?"

You feel a warm hand on your bruised arm and turn to see Ominis standing behind your shoulder. Your heart flutters in your chest as you try to contain everything you want to say to him, the moment you realised when you came close to death that you were completely and utterly in love with him. You'd never imagined your own demise, let alone your very last thought, and it has surprised you how intensely the feeling had come.

You wanted to be alone with him, away from the prying eyes which all seemed to be focused on you. Ominis seemed to read your mind.

"Let's find somewhere quiet?" he asked.

You reply by taking his hand and leading him through the crowd of students toward the stairs and climbing them to the top and perching on the stone step on the landing. Ominis sat beside you and held your hand until you were ready to speak, his face a picture of worry. You wanted nothing more than to touch him and kiss him, to remind yourself that he was real and you were alive.

"I'll need to find the professors soon, they need to know that I'm okay…and it's over," you said with a shaky voice.

Ominis' hand tightened around yours.

"Are you okay, really? I can't tell if you're hurt."

"Nothing that can't wait. Ominis, Professor Fig is dead. I tried to…," you whisper.

"Don't blame yourself, please," he said.

His voice was so tender, you hadn't realised that he might have been worried about you. You had hoped that he felt the same but neither of you had ever broached the subject, preferring only to show a mutual respect for one another, ignoring the tension that rippled through the air whenever you were alone.

"I thought I was going to die," you said, trying to remain calm.

Silent tears fell from your face as you looked at Ominis. He was so beautiful, and your heart ached with longing. His hand found your head and cupped your face, stroking the tears away with his thumb. How had he known?

"Ominis…"

You were going into shock. Your hands were beginning to tremble, then your body started shaking uncontrollably as the tears fell more rapidly from your eyes. You were embarrassed to be showing your vulnerability in front of Ominis. You had intended to tell him how you felt, instead you were falling apart. He moved close to you, your legs pressed together and pulled you into his arms, burying your head against his neck as you tried to steady your tremors and control your breathing.

"You're alive. We're all alive thanks to you," he said, stroking your hair as your tears fell freely into his collar.

"Ominis," you sniffed, "I need to…tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I love you. It took me nearly dying to realise it, but I love you," you say with a nervous laugh.

"I love you, too."

The reply caught you off-guard, and you took a deep shuddering breath as you lifted your head to look at him, the tears stopping as suddenly as they had come on. You were so desperate to show him how you felt, it was overwhelming. You kissed him lightly on the cheek and he turned to meet you, locking lips with you with a force you hadn't expected. His hands were in your hair, his hold on you firm but not forceful as he kissed you deeply, telling you he felt the same without words.

[imagine-darksiders]

A reader asked the Horsemen to keep an eye on their nephew/niece, I’m wondering if it’s safe to leave them with a child because they’ve met human children, but what do you think?

I mean, bottom line? That niece/nephew is now the safest human in the Universe. Nothing is going to happen to them, not with any one of the Four keeping guard.

First, Death is just relieved you asked him before you went to one of his volatile siblings with this request. Then, he's suddenly humbled, uncertain, tentative. Are you sure? Him? You realise he's not exactly the most friendly being in existence, don't you? The children won't like him. You beg to differ. Death is so paranoid about something happening to them on his watch - they're not his, they're your family, he can't let anything happen to your family - he doesn't let them out of his sight. He even has Dust keep a secondary eye on them. To his surprise, while the children are wary of the masked Horsemen who has been employed to 'babysit' them, it doesn't take them long to decide he's more interesting than scary.

Fury isn't great with kids. She knows they have to be treated with far more patience and gentleness than human adults, two things she's noticeably short of. That isn't to say she would just let them get hurt on her watch. Far from it. She's not exactly thrilled you asked her to watch your little ones - is even tempted to track down Ulthane to do the job for her - but she vows to keep them safe, and you know she will.

When you ask War if he'd mind keeping an eye on your nieces and nephews while you and their parents are gone for the day, he reacts as if he's just been given a duty by the Creator himself. You're placing your trust in the Horseman to protect your kin, and that's a responsibility he leans into with determined doggedness. War would lay his life down for those kids. Pity that he ends up scaring them and making them think he's angry with them all the time because of his gruff demeanour and permanent scowl.

You're asking Strife to watch over a couple of kids who are related to you? Consider those kids his as well now. The fact you asked him instead of his arguably more 'responsible' siblings means more to Strife than you could possibly know. He won't let you down. Sure, he might teach the kids to shoot pistols with frightening accuracy while he's in charge, and yes, maybe he tells them some of his most exciting [and gruesome] escapades that are definitely not PG, but they're safe with him. He'd take a bullet for you, and is willing to extend the same courtesy for your family.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Prey | Chapter Eleven

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Murder, Cannibalism, Abuse

The static had become almost nothingness in the back of Alastor's mind. His headaches have disappeared. However, the remedy used to alleviate those symptoms is rather...gruesome.

Gruesome, and yet, he could not get enough. The thrill of hunting was nice, but the feast to be had after...it was exhilarating. Just like with his first kill, with every bite he took, it became easier. It became a need.

Alastor had never known hunger such as this. The smell of flesh, the feel of meat against his teeth, the taste of blood as it covered his tongue and down his throat. He had them raw a few times, before finally cooking them. The cravings only grew stronger after that.

With each hunt, Alastor prepared a new way to serve up the poor souls on a silver platter. As much as he loved venison, human flesh was a whole new delicacy, one he could not believe he lived his whole life without.

It was wrong, horrid, inhumane, sinful. But then again, so was the nights he'd spend hunting.

Alastor rarely ever experienced regret. Once when he was a child, he had stolen from a a candy shop. His mother gave him an earful when she found out. Then again when his mother died. He felt he never had enough time with her, never enough memories.

But when it came to finally ridding himself, his mother, and the rest of the world of his poor excuse of a father. He felt no sort of regret. Instead, he felt relief.

With his next kill, there was a brief moment of panic. But it overshadowed by the pure adrenaline. It was thrilling. He felt no regret.

However, if you were to ever catch wind of his hobbies and new dietary lifestyle...Well, the amount of regret and guilt he'd feel would certainly kill him. You were what kept what little sanity he had left. If you were to leave him, he'd loose himself completely.

He needed you, so badly, that sometimes it terrified him. How could one person make him feel on top of the world and yet so small? So fragile. He hated it, and he loved it, and despised himself.

But he loved you. Oh, how he loved you.

You could never know. Never. For as long as you and him live, you must never know.

He's had you in his life for so long, to suddenly loose you...He'd never be the same again.

"Ow!" 

"Sorry. But, this is kinda your own fault."

The little boy pouts and rolled his eyes at those words. He knew it was. You didn't have to keep reminding him. He glances down at the knee you were putting a bandage on, his frown deepened. 

"Don't look so sad." You say, moving your hands away. "Even though you got hurt, it was pretty cool of you." The boy looked up from his knee to you. "You think so?" He asked. 

"Yeah! It's too bad you slipped on those rocks, you almost caught that frog!" You tell him. "I couldn't do something like that. If I got my dress dirty, mama would kill me!" The boy's eyes widened slightly as he realized that he gained more than just a scrapped knee. 

His clothes were ruined with muddy water. 

"Ah darn. Ma's gonna be mad." He sighed. "Pa too..." Now it was your turn to frown. You stood up and offered your hand. "Let's go to my house. I bet mama would wash your clothes for you. That way, your folks won't be upset." 

The boy took your hand and stood as well. "You sure?" He asked. You nod your head and start to walk. The boy smiled and gripped your hand tighter. "Thanks Y/n. You're the best." 

"That's what friends are for Al!"

 When the two of you made it to your house, your mother gasped at the sight of your friend. "Goodness! Alastor, what happened to you?" She ushered the two of you inside and closed the door. Alastor looked bashful as he answered. "I fell trying to catch a frog."

Your mother sighed. "Your clothes...Clothing ain't cheap, honey." She says as she places her hands on her hips. "Not for folks with our status." With a shake of her head she starts for the laundry room. "Y/n, fetch one of your daddy's shirts please. Alastor, you come with me."

"Ok." You say, rushing to your parent's room. Alastor followed your mother, she let him undress in private. You joined your mother's side and handed her the shirt. She thanked you before knocking at the door.

"Alastor, hand me your clothes, and I'll give this shirt alright?" The shirt was much too big for him, of course. But it would keep him covered until his clothes were clean. 

Alastor did as he was told, and put on the shirt before stepping out of the room. Your mother walked in and began to wash his clothes. 

You couldn't help but giggle a bit at Alastor. He faced you with an annoyed look. "What's so funny?" He asked. "You look like you're wearing a dress." You tell him. 

"It's not a dress!" Alastor huffed. 

"What's this about a dress?" A deep masculine voice called from the living room. You turned, a big smile grew on your face. "Daddy!" You rush to the burly man.

Your father met you half way as he picked you up with a laugh. "Hello sugar! I see you have a friend over." His eyes fell to Alastor. "And I see he's taken a liking to my wardrobe." He chuckles.

Your mother walked out of the laundry room, she smiled upon seeing her husband. "You're home early." She says, joining his side, and kissing him on his cheek. Your father moves one hand to wrap around her waist, while the other held you.

"Finished up work early." Your father tells her. "Now, what on earth is happening here?"

"Alastor got his clothes dirty trying to catch a frog." You answer. "Ah, boys will be boys." Your father says, putting you down. He crouches on one knee to better face Alastor. "You'll grow into these clothes in no time, son. Let's hope your muscles grow in early, like mine did!" Your father laughs, as he flexes one arm.

Alastor couldn't help but laugh as well. Even as a boy, Alastor had been quite thin. He hoped deep down he'd get some muscle like your father has. That way he can protect his mama, and you, and your kind folks. Each of them had all been so kind to him. It's only right he keep them all safe.

"Yeah, I wanna have muscles too!" You say as you flex your tiny arms. Your father pats your head, slightly messing up your hair. "You'll be just as strong as your old man in no time, sugar." Your mother giggle. "Oh my, two muscle heads in one small house? You'll both drive me insane."

You father stood and lightly bumped your mother with his arm. "You love it, don't lie." Your mother playfully rolled her eyes. "Yes, I love it when my giant husband bumps into stuff around the house and breaks whatever's near by. You know how many vases I had to replace because of you?" 

"Only a couple, right?" Your father shrugs, making you laugh. "You're lucky you're so sweet, otherwise I wouldn't put up with you." Your mother says, patting your father's face gently. 

Alastor watched on with a grin, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. 

They really were nice folk.

"Oh, Al..." You sigh, as you dab the cotton ball at his cut cheek. "Why did you have to go and do that?" Alastor winced at the medicine stinging his cut. "Shouldn't it be obvious?" He muttered. "He wouldn't leave you alone."

"You didn't have to hit him." You lightly scold. "So what if he called me a crude name? He was walking away. Then you go on and punch him. Of course he was going to fight back, and look what's happen to you!" 

"You expect me to just let that idiot speak to you that way? Or anyone else?" Alastor asked. You move the cotton ball away and look him sternly in the eyes. "You are fifteen years old now, you're too old for that kind of nonsense! Picking fights like a child, and getting hurt because of it!" 

"He picked a fight when he wouldn't leave you be!" Alastor argued. "Besides, he was left way more hurt than I." 

"Alastor!" You say with a huff, then you took a breath to calm yourself. "I understand you just want to protect me. And I am grateful you have been. But, you don't need to be doing stuff like that. Especially if it will result in this. You know I hate seeing you hurt..." 

Alastor sighs, avoiding your gaze. "I know." He really does. He hated seeing you so upset whenever he'd come around with a new bruise, or busted lip, or bloodied nose, or whatever else his father decided would be a fitting punishment for him. He hated even more than you had to be the one to deal with it, when his mother was unable...

As Alastor entered his teenage years, he became more bold around his no-good father. He'd stand up for himself more, he'd defend his mother whenever he could, even if it would result in a painful reminder of how his father was the one in control. And a reminder of how weak Alastor truly was.

Even his mother, as frail and tiny as she was, is stronger than him. Not when it came to physical strength, but mental and will power. His mother could have left anytime she wanted.

Her poor excuse for a husband was not home twenty four-seven. If he was no working, he was out getting sloppy drunk with a couple of cheap floosies. 

She only stayed with him because at first, it was nice, for a while. He showed her what she thought was love, provided for her, kept her warm at night and put food on the table. But only got worse over time. Then, she got pregnant. Only more of a reason to stay. At first, she was bitter at the idea. 

She would be stuck with a man who treated her so poorly, with a baby, who would surely receive the same treatment. This baby did not deserve that. She hated that it would be brought into such a cruel home.

She considered sending it away once it was born. But when she gave birth to that baby, when she saw his face, she was filled with nothing but love for him.

That was her baby, her baby boy. Even if he was brought into that terrible home, she would make sure he was loved. If by no one else, than her. She would love and keep her baby boy safe until the day she died. 

Sure, when Alastor was old enough, she could have left right then. He was old enough to take care of himself, her work was done, she could leave. But she didn't. No matter how old Alastor grew, he would always be her baby boy. And she could never leave her baby. 

She had suffered so many times at the hand of that man, all for the sake of her baby. Alastor always admired her for that. She put up with so much, and still, she kept a smile on her face. If that wasn't strength, then what was? 

Even knowing that, Alastor would throw himself in harms way for her every time. If only he were stronger, Alastor would finally get rid of his father once and for all. 

But he was too weak. The bruises and scars on his body were proof enough. 

It's just a shame his mother and now you had to see it. 

"I'm sorry, Y/n." Alastor mutters. He would have promised to stop. To keep his mouth shut, to try and please his father somehow, to avoid his wrath. To ignore anyone who dared to threaten your well being. 

But he could not. He would not. And he never will. 

You had been a beacon of light in Alastor's dark world. When his brightest light was extinguished by the hands of fate, you were there to guide him through the void that swallowed him whole. Alastor had lost himself the day his mother died. He felt as if he would never be the same again. 

And yet, you were there to reel him back from the void. You would not let Alastor go, you would not let him suffer through this loss alone. 

If not for you, Alastor wouldn't know what might have become of him. He wasn't entirely sure if he would have continued on living. What reason was there to? He was alone. Or would have been, had you not been there. 

You knew you would never leave Alastor, he was your closest and most dearest friend after all. But you made a vow that day, that no matter how bad things got, you'd be there by Alastor's side. You'd never leave him all alone. 

But who's to say how well that vow would hold up, if you were to ever discover what Alastor did in the shadows? 

If Alastor could help it, you would never have to know. And what you did not know, could not hurt you...

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

[industriallyinsecure]

May I please ask for headcanons for La Squadra with a s/o whose stand is able to see the future and warned them about their deaths and how to avoid it please

Your boyfriend stares at you in confusion, and then at your stand perched on the low table in front of you. Time After Time, a little projector with tiny, cartoonish legs, flickering its light at him.

“Please! Please, you can’t go!”

Your stand, while adorable, had just shown him his own graphic, violent death at the hands of some pink man and an airplane stand

At first he asks you to prove what Time After Time was showing was the future, and not just a projection of your anxiety

The little stand hops up and down and flickers at him, frustrated, just like it’s user

“Remember when we went to the races and I told you to bet on Camembert?”

It takes some convincing and several more specific instances, but he eventually caves to your teary eyes and wobbling lips.

When you tell him about the potential deaths of his other squad mates and proceed to show him each one, it further cements his decision to not take action

“You’ve already convinced me, sangù, you don’t have to show me any more.”

For now, he hugs you tight to him, whispering sweet words of affirmation to you while he tries to calm you down

He has to pepper about one thousand kisses to your face and lips before your sobs turn to sniffles, and soon you’re fast asleep

It’s back to the drawing board for now, he didn’t want to take any chances

He subconsciously covers his neck, but that doesn’t stop him from bitching at you for ‘lying’

“It’s my fucking job! You knew that when you started dating me!”

It only makes it worse

Much, much worse

You start crying harder, falling to your knees and holding onto his leg like a child throwing a tantrum

There’s no words to your sobs, just heart wrenching calls of his name and ‘please’

Ghiaccio’s stomach is twisted into knots at the pitiful sight. He can only stare down at you with a furrowed brow.

“Please, how can I convince you?! It’s the truth Ghiaccio! I would never lie to you!”

Ghiaccio was the screamer in the relationship, but right now you were putting him to shame.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he stares at you, eyes traveling to your little stand. It hopped and stamped its comically small stick feet

Any desire to be right or poke holes in everything you say is thrown out the window when you look up at him with your big watery doe eyes

“Fuck’s sake, fine. But you’d better convince Risotto first.”

What you had just shown him was borderline comical

Was that really your best attempt at dissuading him? A snake bite?

He brushes it off as you being clingy, much to the dismay of your stand

“I appreciate that you care so much, but this isn’t exactly convincing evidence.”

He doesn’t expect you to get so angry at him, much less your little camera stand.

And he definitely doesn’t expect your stand to retaliate by showing him the other gruesome deaths of his teammates

Seeing Formaggio burned to a crisp and Illuso reduced to a toxic sludge made his skin crawl and bile rise into his throat.

His fingers tighten on the sides of his laptop, your utterly distraught features adding to the guilt and disgust

“Let’s say I believe you. (He does, but he’ll never outright admit it) how am I supposed to explain this to Risotto? That my honey bunny is actually a Pythia and can predict the future.”

Secretly excited about the discovery of your stand and is mentally making up ideas for what the stands of your children would look like

(He settles for little Juniors with Polaroid cameras)

Tunes your attempts at “convincing Risotto” out and pulls you into his lap to distract you.

To him, it was like something out of an American cowboy film. Caught in the wheels of a train and shredded to death

You and your stand stared at him expectantly, you with watery eyes and the stand with an unblinking lens

“Che sarà, sarà. It comes with the job.”

He doesn’t mean to upset you, but it’s inevitable, isn’t it? He’s an assassin, it’s not like the possibility of him him dying was far fetched

Of course, his attitude towards you just makes you cry harder, the little stand flickering wildly.

He tries to play it off like it doesn’t bother him for a few moments, but it’s hard for him to play it cool when you all but launch yourself into his grasp, gripping his arms with Herculean strength.

It certainly makes him more inclined to believe you.

“Alright, alright, I won’t go. Hush.”

He’s mostly saying it to placate you, but he doesn’t want to imagine what his death would do to you

Because he could say without hesitation that he wouldn’t be able to carry on without out you

He didn’t even know stands could do that kind of thing!

He almost throws up at the footage your adorable little stand shows him.

“There’s no way Big Bro and I could die like that! It must be wrong.”

That just makes your pleads louder and you cry harder, which makes him freak out more.

Is quick on the damage control and is immediately trying to comfort you while also resisting crying himself

Worries his lower lip with his teeth as he rocks you back and forth

What would Big Bro do in this situation? Would he stay, or would he risk it for the mission?

Pesci decided that, right now, it was best to stay with you

“You should show the others. They’ll want to see this too!”

You’re already fast asleep in his arms

He wants to believe that what you’re saying isn’t true, and the puddle of acidic goop on the stones of Pompeii isn’t what he’ll end up a puddle of acidic goop on the stone floor of Pompeii

But he’s far too proud to believe that anyone could ever beat him and Man in the Mirror

It’s only after you completely break and start sobbing uncontrollably that he believes you

“Christ, calm down. I believe you, alright!”

Part of him just wants to calm you down and shut you up, but the other part doesn’t want to find out if what you had shown him was true.

Tries to shift the subject away and distract you.

“What else can it do? Can it predict cards?”

It works just a bit before you break down again and accuse him of not taking you seriously.

Against his rules of ‘no PDA unless we’re in private where no one can see us’, he snuggles you to his chest and squeezes you tight

Might even let you play with his hair and reassures you that he’s not going to leave you for a very long time, or at least until they find an alternative solution

Laughs, but he’s really uncomfortable with the contrast of your adorable stand and the gorey visuals

Especially seeing himself all crispy

He tries to make a funny comment about him becoming fondue or halloumi, but you obviously don’t take it well

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, I’m just trying to make you feel better. It’s alright, baby, I promise I won’t be turning into cheese crisps anytime soon, heh.”

After you accuse him of not believing you, he finally realizes that you’re actually worried about him and you’re not trying to scare him

It’s….sweet. He can’t recall a time where anyone has looked out for him like this, but then again not everyone had the gift of foresight.

He corrals you into his lap and calls over his cat, who immediately starts to love all over you

“Don’t worry, okay? Risotto’s smart, he’ll know what to do about it.”

[runnning-outof-time]

The Boiling Point | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) has denied her feelings for Tommy to the point where she can't anymore. Will admitting them lead to good? Or will it blow up in her face? Does she know that Tommy feels the same about her?

Warnings: drinking, smoking, language

Word Count: 3893

A/N: this was a fun one to write…I’ve not decided on whether the events of Tommy and May’s night spent together went exactly as they did in the show, so I’ll leave that up to you. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) entered the Garrison after finishing her shift at the hospital. She most certainly needed a drink after what she'd dealt with over the course of her day. From pushy parents demanding that their child be able to jump ahead in line because of their slight bump on the head, to a gruesome workplace accident, she most certainly saw both ends of the medical spectrum today. She entered the bar, only to stop in her tracks as she saw Tommy talking to a rather elegant looking woman.

She furrowed her eyebrows at the sight but still walked forward, not saying anything until she was also standing at the counter. "'S been a while since I've seen a fresh face in here," she commented as she leaned up against the counter, "especially one of such sustenance and class...choosing gold was the right thing to do, Tommy," she couldn't help but add on as she cracked a grin. Her gusto cracked when Tommy didn't have a similar reaction to her statement.

Instead of jumping in on her joking, Tommy formally introduced the mystery woman. "This is May Carleton, (Y/N)," he said in a serious tone, nodding towards the newly named stranger after he spoke.

"Oh so it was true," (Y/N) just about gasped, astonishment in her voice. Both May and Tommy sent her a confused look, so she elaborated on her previous statement, "the boys were going on about how you managed to meet a big shot horse trainer at the auction you went to," she started off, nodding at Tommy so they knew who she was talking about, "I told them that there was no fucking way that anyone of any decent standing would have taken interest in a dirty, Brummie bookmaker...but I guess I stand incorrected."

"Goodness, you all talk like that here," May cut in before Tommy, who looked like he was about to give (Y/N) a piece of his mind, could say anything.

"Talk like what?" (Y/N) asked, her eyebrows raised as she thought that there was nothing out of the ordinary about how she talked.

"Never mind," May dismissed the topic with a slight shake of her head. "This drink was lovely, Tommy, but I'd better be getting back to the truck now. They should have everything ready to go," she said then as she stood from the stool she was sitting on.

"Want me to walk you back?" Tommy offered. (Y/N) was shocked at how formal he was acting. This woman must have been of great importance to invoke chivalry so quickly out of Tommy Shelby.

"I'll be fine," she brushed his offer off, "stay back here with...(Y/N), was it?"

"(Y/N), yes," the other woman nodded.

"Yes, (Y/N)..." May repeated the name, "it was nice meeting you. I'll be going now," she said, bidding the two one last goodbye before she walked to the doors of the Garrison.

(Y/N) watched her leave before shrugging and sitting on the stool that the other woman had been occupying. "She barely touched her drink," she commented on the nearly full glass. She lifted it up and swirled it around, squinting slightly as she looked intently at the clear liquid. She then took a swig of it and her face quickly scrunched up into disgust. "Tastes like shit," she commented as she set it back down on the table.

"Do you need something, (Y/N)?" Tommy asked, a hint of an unknown tone laced into his voice.

"Me? No," she shook her head, "I was just wantin' to stop by after a long shift...figured I'd get me something strong to drink," she added before nodding to the space behind the bar where the whiskey was kept. Tommy immediately picked up on what she was wanting and fetched the bottle so that he could pour out two glasses. "Did you think I needed something?" she asked as she watched him set the glasses between them on the counter. Tommy said nothing, but instead pursed his lips together as he went about pouring out the whiskey. That was all (Y/N) needed to jump to conclusions though. "You were trying to get it on with May Carleton?!" she asked in a baffled manner, trying so very hard to stifle her giggles.

"What? No, (Y/N)," he denied her statement quickly, clearing his throat afterwards in an attempt to regain his composure, "she was only here for the horse."

(Y/N) couldn't help but snicker at her own thought before she shared it, "it wouldn't be the first time I've heard you refer to yourself as such." She looked over at him then, trying to hold in her laughter. She lost it the second he glared at her though.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy groaned, knocking back his glass of whiskey as he waited for her to compose herself. "Would you stop fucking laughing already?" he was starting to get aggravated with her behavior now.

If she only knew how much this irked him on so many levels. First, she was making something that was solely motivated by business into something that wasn't. Sure, he expected the guys to give him some flack for enlisting the help of May Carleton, but he didn't think it'd be coming from (Y/N) too. Second, and more important in Tommy's eyes, it was bothering him that the person making these comments about him having eyes for another woman was the same person that he had eyes for. That's right...Tommy Shelby had feelings for (Y/N) (Y/L/N). But he could never move on them because he couldn't go ahead and ruin the one good, constant thing that he had in his life: her friendship. So instead, he just stomached her teasing and acted like nothing was the matter.

"Awh, I'm sorry, Tommy..." (Y/N)'s grin turned into an exaggerated pout, "did I hurt your feelings? Have you fallen head over heels for this woman?"

"Are you going to drink your whiskey?" he deflected once again, his eyebrows raised in hopes she'd drop the topic altogether.

"I am, thank you very much," (Y/N) answered him, taking hold of the glass and bringing it up to her lips. "So..." she trailed off after swallowing the amber liquid, "the horse, eh?"

"Yes, the horse," Tommy nodded, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief because she'd finally moved on, "she was here for the horse."

"And not for you?" she brought it back around again, her persistence making Tommy groan. His reaction made her laugh again. "Ok, ok...I'm finished ragging on you," she told him, playfully pushing his forearm to get him to look at her again. Tommy looked up then, his facial expression telling her that he hoped she was being serious this time. "Wanna hear about my day?"

"Please," he responded almost immediately, relieved that she was now moving away from his endeavors.

So (Y/N) got into talking about her day, telling Tommy all of the details of the different cases that she worked and the scenarios she was put through. He listened intently to what she was saying, seemingly hanging on every word as he enjoyed having a break away from the plentiful thoughts and strategies that plagued his head.

She finished the rest of her glass after recounting a story about another pushy parent and set it down on the counter with a sigh. "I bet I've talked your ear off," she started, leaning back on the stool again.

"You've not," Tommy shook his head.

"I should go anyway," (Y/N) persisted, standing from the stool after she was finished speaking, "leave you here to worry about May Carleton and your horse," she added with a grin, unable to resist herself.

"(Y/N)," Tommy groaned before sending her a warning glance, one that she only giggled at.

"Goodnight, Tommy," she bid her goodbye, not commenting further on her previous statement.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he repeated the farewell, watching as she walked to the doors of the Garrison.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" (Y/N) questioned herself out loud as soon as she exited the tavern.

She felt like she wanted to pull her hair out. How could she go about teasing the man she was madly in love with so effortlessly? And better yet, how could she tease him about another woman? No, this wasn't just another woman...this was a woman who was prettier, wealthier, and more dignified than she'd ever be. She'd be crazy to think that Tommy'd ever pick her over the May Carleton if it ever came to that.

But would it ever come to that? She wasn't so sure. On one hand, she wanted to scream about her feelings towards him from the rooftops. On the other hand, she wanted to keep them inside for as long as she lived. They had a good, solid friendship between the two of them, and she didn't want to be the one who ruined it.

So she took a deep breath and composed herself before walking away from the Garrison. Tonight wouldn't be the night that she told him how she felt.

(Y/N) was sitting at Polly's dining table, talking about the day she'd had, when the phone began ringing.

"It's for you, Ms. Gray," one of the maid's announced as she entered the room the two other women were in.

"I'll be back in a minute," Polly said to (Y/N), who nodded her head and watched as the older woman exited the room.

True to her word, Polly returned after only a short time. "Who was that?" (Y/N) asked, her curiosity immediately getting the best of her.

"Tommy," Polly answered as she sat back down.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) phrased the single word as a question, hoping the other woman would share more about the phone call.

"Yeah," Polly nodded before continuing, "he's called to say that he's staying the night at May Carleton's...something about not having enough petrol."

"Oh," (Y/N) responded in a passive tone, trying not to sound too interested in the whole ordeal. Inside, she was screaming. She hated the fact that her mind was telling her that nothing good could come from Tommy spending the night at that woman's home.

"Maybe it's more than the horse that's got him there," Polly commented as a grin crept onto her features. (Y/N) didn't know if the older woman sensed her internal ordeal or not, but either way, she wasn't helping it.

"Maybe," she shrugged, wanting to continue playing along with the act without showing her true feelings.

"I think he's above his weight with her," Polly added after a few moments of silence had passed.

"You do?" (Y/N) hated the fact that her ears had quickly perked up at Polly's statement.

Polly only nodded her head before she grabbed her glass and brought it to her lips, "he knows nothing of the world she lives in, and vice versa," she explained her statement then, "she probably sees some novelty in him, and you know how men are..." she paused, sending (Y/N) a knowing glance, "it won't ever work beyond that," she then ended her statement by taking a drink from her glass.

"Well if you think that to be the case..." (Y/N) trailed off as she took a drink from her glass.

"You want me to be wrong?" Polly looked surprised by the younger woman's statement.

"Well, I mean..." (Y/N) trailed off, in a bit of a bind now. No, I want you to be absolutely, positively correct about this!, is what she wanted to say, but she couldn't spill her guts like that. Polly looked at (Y/N) expectantly, which made the younger woman realize that she was taking too long to respond. "Wouldn't you want what's best for him...for him to succeed in life?" she concocted a last-minute, sheepish sounding response, topping it off with the smile to match.

"May Carleton may help him succeed in his ventures, but she is certainly not what's best for him," Polly remarked, a bit of a preposterous tone laced into her words.

"If you say so, Pol..." (Y/N) trailed off, her eyes focused on her glass. Why was she, again, trying to will off Tommy to another woman? Were these feelings that she had for him even real? "You were the one who brought up about him not just going for the horse," she pointed out; her lame attempt to help save face because why were they still even having this conversation?

"I was," Polly responded, pursing her lips and ending her statement, and the conversation, there. (Y/N) swore that the other woman could see how much all of this was irking her at the moment. But now it was finished...not with the proper closure that she wanted, but finished, nonetheless.

As hard as she tried, (Y/N) couldn't quite get that conversation off of her mind for the rest of the night. Just the idea of Tommy staying at May's made her stomach flip...she didn't want to think about what they could possibly be doing together. But she kept her act up. She kept it up until she was finally home for the evening. There, she allowed her fake smile to break down into a frown, one that stayed creased into her features for the rest of the night.

(Y/N) made her way into the Garrison the next afternoon, hoping to find some familiar faces that would help her unwind after another stressful day.

"(Y/N)!" one of the people she was hoping to see called from the bar, making her walk promptly in his direction.

"I was hoping to find you," she stated as she stopped at Arthur's side.

"Oh yeah?" Arthur asked her, his eyebrows raised as he slid a drink her way.

"Yeah," she nodded, accepting the glass, "need to forget about today."

"Look no further then...come with me," he said with a grin, waving her to follow him over to where the door to the snug was. He opened it before walking inside, holding it open for her to walk in behind him. "Look who I found!" he announced before moving over to show (Y/N) to the others in the room. Cheers and greetings followed his statement, and (Y/N) tried her best to wave and smile at everyone before sitting down in the booth next to John. "What'd I miss?" Arthur asked as he settled back down in his seat.

"We finally got Tommy to crack," John answered, a half-smirk on his face.

"Did ya?" Arthur leaned forward, "go on then...where were ya last night, Tom?" he asked with intrigued eyes.

Tommy stayed mum, his lips firmly wrapped around a cigarette. (Y/N) felt her heartbeat increasing at the mounting tension. Get on with it already! she was screaming in her mind, the suspense nearly killing her. Thankfully, John stepped in and came right out with what he learned. "He was at that swank horse trainer's; May Carleton...said she's got a fuckin' mansion," he said what (Y/N) already knew. Still it felt like a shot to the heart when he said it.

"I didn't have enough petrol to make the drive home. She didn't have any either," Tommy mumbled, wanting nothing to do with the conversation he was about to be thrust into.

"No petrol, eh? None at all in any of those garages she's got?" Arthur asked with raised eyebrows, "probably has her own service crew to deal with that shit."

"It's the honest truth," Tommy was still dismissive, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray. He couldn't help but look over at (Y/N), who seemed to be waiting on the edge of her seat for more of the details from his previous night to drop. What he noticed right away was that she wasn't grinning like his brothers were. In fact, she seemed pretty troubled by the conversation.

"And when was the last time you've been honest?" John kept the ribbing up, the smug smirk now full on his face. "Tell me, what does Ms. Carleton's bedroom look like...it as lavish as the rest of her place?"

(Y/N) held her breath for five seconds, and when Tommy didn't give any sort of response, she stood with a huff and walked to the door. She paused as she grabbed the handle, taking a moment before she shook her head and opened the door with enough force that it just about smacked the wall it opened towards.

The room fell silent then as the three men looked out into the bar area. "Fuck was that about?" Arthur muttered under his breath, raising his eyebrows to himself before he grabbed his glass and took a drink.

Tommy snuffed out his cigarette before he stood from his chair. "I'll be right back," he announced as he grabbed hold of the door handle and brought the door to close behind him. He seemed to know exactly what this was about, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

After exiting the snug, he took a hard right, walking through the few groups of patrons until he got to the hallway that connected the offices to the main space. Having an inkling of where she might have gone, Tommy trusted his instincts and walked down the hallway. He found (Y/N) in one of the empty offices, trying to light a cigarette with her shaking hands.

"(Y/N)," he called her name softly, making her jump in her place before her eyes fell on him.

"Jesus, Tommy," she breathed, her one hand on her chest as she abandoned her cigarette completely, "don't scare me like that."

Normally he would have chuckled at her jumpy reaction, but he knew what type of conversation laid ahead of him. So instead of beating around the bush, he jumped right to the point. "Why'd you leave the snug back there?" he asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bar for extra emphasis.

"It's nothing," (Y/N) tried to deflect.

"It's obviously not nothing," Tommy didn't go for her pathetic excuse.

"I don't want to talk about it," she tried another method of aversion, hoping to shake him off of her tail.

"Something's bothering you, (Y/N), and I'd like to know what it is," he just about demanded her.

"I didn't like the conversation you were having back there, ok?" she quickly said, looking at him with wide eyes as she finished her rushed sentence. "Happy?" she added for extra emphasis.

Tommy blinked a few times, trying to connect her statement to what was being talked about in the snug. He was only half-invested in the conversation that was being had. The other half of him had been trying to figure out what was bothering (Y/N) so much. He guessed that her coming into this room had something to do with it as well.

"About May?" he finally asked her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to narrow his options down.

"What else was being talked about while I was in there?" (Y/N) decided to play against him, not conceding to his questions right off the bat.

"It wasn't exactly a conversation I was wanting to have either," he pointed out then, still wondering why she was making a big deal over this.

"Well you weren't exactly pushing for the conversation to be finished," she shot right back at him, still unhappy that he wasn't coming forward with the direct answers that she wanted.

"What was I supposed to do, (Y/N)?" he raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.

"Tell them what happened!" she raised her voice, becoming more frustrated by the second.

"What happened?"

"You stayed the night with her, Tommy! I'm not an idiot, I know what happened!" she was practically screaming now. Tears were on the verge of spilling from her eyes and she hated it.

"I...I don't know what you want me to say," he was hesitant in choosing his words now, not liking how she was starting to break down. He hated to see her like this; to see her so vulnerable, but at the same time, he didn't know what to do to change it...he didn't have the words.

"I want you to say that it's not true," (Y/N) responded, feeling like an idiot the second the words left her mouth. What exactly was she asking him to do? Did she want him to lie for her own sanity?

Tommy paused for a moment, thinking over what she'd just said. He furrowed his brows then as confusion washed over him. Was she asking him what he thought she was asking him? "Where is this all coming from?" he decided to switch the topic slightly and, hopefully, get to the bottom of it all.

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hating that she'd brought the conversation to this point. Then she took a deep breath and looked at him again. She wanted to lead this with her mind, not her emotions. "I've reached the boiling point, Tommy. I can't dance around you like this anymore...I can't dance around my feelings towards you. But yet it seems like you've got other plans, and I know that this," she motioned between the two of them, "would be too good to be true if it were to ever happen, so just go ahead tell me what happened…go and break my heart. Break it a thousand times, if you like. It's always been yours to break anyway," she took a deep breath to steady herself after her admission, almost not wanting to look at him and see his reaction. But she did, and the expression he was wearing was one that she'd never seen before.

"I don't know what you're getting at, (Y/N). I haven't..."

"No, stop," she waved her hand in front of him, signaling him to stop talking, "I don't want to hear it...I don't want it to become true," she told him, lowering her gaze to the ground before she managed to get past him and exit the office.

Tommy stood in his spot, baffled by what had just happened. He didn't expect for their conversation to end the way it did. He didn't know what to make of her statement and the fact that she'd just walked out on him. Did she truly have feelings for him? Was she about to admit them to him? But yet he didn't run after her. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips before switching the pack for a box of matches. He lit the cigarette and took a drag before exiting the office and returning to the snug.

There, he sat back down in his chair and tried his best to ignore the incessant pestering from his brothers as his mind got bombarded with different questions and scenarios. With a sigh, he pushed them away as best as he could. He’d get to the bottom of this another day.

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby

MASTERLIST

[belphegorbillickin]

B, E, L, O, & U for the x reader ask game with yandere!Malleus if that's alright?

Outrageous, how do they react when you get yourself into trouble? Do they bail you out or are you on your own? Do they expect you to get them out of trouble?

Malleus is typically content to sit back and observe as the shorter lived species get themselves into mortal peril.

He ignores even those he is fond of, as both Lilia and his grandmother have told him many tales of what happens to the fae who become overly attached.*

"Learn from Lady Maleficent's tale, lest you be doomed to repeat it." They would say.

"Your great-grandmother did naught but bless the Lord's child even after they so cruelly ostracized her out of fear and jealousy, and yet the humans repaid her with violence for daring to grace the kingdom she so gracefully allowed them with her presence.

Enjoy it for as long as it may last if you must. Do not interfere with their fates, or they shall soon take your presence for granted. The lesser races quickly become dependent on our magic, you see.

The once grateful masses always begin refusing to work and place the blame of their own actions on the generous fae who deigned to help them in the first place. I would loathe to see you go through the same heartbreak and betrayal many others of our kind have faced, my beloved child."

Malleus hears this and understands it very well, but what if he wanted you to become dependent on him? Surely it wouldn't be that much of a problem.

You have no family here, only that beast of yours. And your "friends," as they love to title themselves as such, are inconsequential at best if they dare to fight for your hand. All of them easily overpowered by his personal guards alone.

Yes, Malleus rather likes the sound of that. He'll just have to ensure your love never strays nor flickers. Not that he would've deigned to bless you with his devotion if he thought you to be that fickle, but he is aware how even the passage of time itself can cause humans to waver.

As for saving him in return? Well, what a delightful little joke that is. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, all he needs from you is your affection and absolute obedience.

Emergency, what would they do if you needed them? Do they drop everything? Do they panic? What do they do if they need you?

Now, if it was something truly dangerous Malleus goes absolutely berserk. The sky is alight with lightning in an instant and every candle turns into a roaring green flame.

He doesn't lose sight of what's important, he'd never ignore your wellbeing to exact revenge, but his reputation and any possible ramifications for his country do fall to the wayside.

Malleus does absolutely everything in his power to keep you safe, even before you're truly in danger.

He specializes in protective magics for a reason after all. As much as he tries to prevent himself from becoming attached he's terrified of losing those he cares about.

You're most likely smothered in protective jewelries and blessings long before you made your relationship official, whether you know it or not.

Your dwelling, whether that be Ramshackle or someplace else, is absolutely covered in protective magics as well.

He'd most likely even prevent anyone but himself, Lilia, and your pet from coming inside Ramshackle if he thought you'd let him get away with it with minimal complaints.

If someone dared to attempt an attack or kidnapping of any kind in his homeland and Malleus is unable to obliterate catch them immediately he is absolutely taking full advantage of his status.

Within hours there is a mass notice of treason. Anyone who is seen to helping the perpetrator will be executed along with them, and anyone who can bring them alive for unbearable torture questioning and then a very gruesome public execution will be rewarded handsomely.

As much as he'd love to hunt them down himself nothing is more important than keeping you safe, and no one is more suited for the task than him.

If he has to put you to sleep in order to carry you around every waking minute of the day until they're brought to justice? Well, that's a "burden" he'd love to bear.

Afterwards, when he's completely sure of your safety he'll be double all of his security measures for you at the absolute minimum. You can say goodbye to what little freedom you had, permanently.

Unless you're both incredibly lucky and cunning enough to talk your way out of it as well as incredibly obedient, with no hesitation or hidden resentment, the only way you'll ever be out of your tower again is if Malleus is right there next to you.

Love potion, you’ve accidentally drank a love potion that causes you to feel like you’re dying if they don’t touch you. What is their reaction?

He's simultaneously ecstatic that your love transferred this curse to him and absolutely furious at the thought that you could've been feeling this way with someone else.

Malleus is a fae on a mission, carrying you around shamelessly as he seeks end this curse and the one who used it on you, purposefully or not.

Plead with him desperately enough and you'll be able to have all of his adoration to yourself as he sends his guards to capture the criminal for execution trial.

Rest assured that he'll see the perpetrator expelled and punished to the full extent of the law since he's unable act as he would truly wish to outside of his kingdom.

He'll use this as an excuse to take up even more of your time and enact even more protective measures, but surely you understand this is for your own good right? A love potion is far from the worst thing that could happen to you after all.

Bargain, would they just accept a break-up? Do they mope around or try to fix things? How would they attempt to get you back?

Absolutely not. Under no circumstances would he ever accept this.

Rather, even if he abhorred you Malleus would still keep you bound to him by any means possible. Malleus is sure you'll eventually come to see reason, but it still hurts him to see you rejecting him like this.

He just can't bring himself to let another person close to him go, even if he has cradle your eternally sleeping body in order to pretend you still loved him.

He won't allow natural causes to take you from him either. Malleus would use every bit of ancient and forbidden magic he had access to in order to extend your lifespan and fight off diseases.

Even if it meant shortening his own in order to do so.

It's "until death do us part" for the both of you, and he has zero intentions of letting you die.

Undo, how do they attempt to be forgiven for making you upset? What do you need to do after making them upset to get their forgiveness?

Political niceties come fairly easy to him by now, even when a certain second-born tries patience, but Malleus is actually terrible at sincere apologies. Almost terrible enough to put said lion to shame.

It's not that he doesn't want to make amends or that he thinks you don't deserve one, but yandere Malleus is especially entitled and out of touch.

He is very much unused to having to explain himself to anyone other than his grandmother (the literal Queen) and, with increasing rarity as the years go by, Lilia. It explains quite a bit about his (bad) behavior, doesn't it?

Malleus refuses to apologize for doing what he must to keep you safe, but he will of course make amends in his own way.

He hates to see you in pain, but no tantrum of yours could compare to the pain he'd feel if he lost you prematurely.

He'll hold you ever so gently on his lap, drying your tears, as he kindly explains to you exactly why he's decided to take those actions and feeds you your favorite foods by hand.

Just like his grandmother used after some particularly harsh punishments.

Well, the handfeeding and humming you to sleep afterwards is his own personal touch, but Malleus can't help but want to spoil his beloved, so he does hope that you appreciate it.

Sorry the love potion prompt was a bit brief, but even as a separate character I can't see yandere!Malleus actually going full yandere unless you genuinely loved him and still at least enable him after he's shown at least part of his true colors.

Tbh I can't even see him seeking out a romantic relationship unless you make it very clear you're interested while also respecting his position and not pushing it.

I think it'd have to kind of sneak up on him until he's willing to go against his duty.

I do think the fandom drastically overstates the importance of Malleus having a lover though.

Both in that they could never have any power at all even if they were a mage, but also in that simply being in a relationship means almost nothing when the queen is said to be soft on him and still holding the throne until he's ready.

The prefect has 90 years at absolute max with Malleus even if he stayed completely faithful until they died of old age.

Meanwhile Malleus is literally several hundred years old at minimum (thanks to new info from chap.7) and he's just barely reached young adulthood. As in it took him that entire time to mature.

A century is barely more than the equivalent of a summer fling for a dragon fae. Even if he was expected to take the throne immediately after returning I doubt they'd force him into a political marriage instantly anyway.

I also doubt children could even happen without special preparations being made considering he canonically hatched from an egg, so there's no worry about illegitimate heirs either even if the prefect is semi-reproductively compatible.

I know there's Sebek and all, but his mother is the fae so even if she produced eggs as well I feel like it's significantly easier that way. But I'll spare y'all from autistic rants about fantasy reproduction.

*Okay, so I know this doesn't line up perfectly with popular fanon for Malleus and Lilia, but if you read Malleus' lines for lessons & etc he's actually really arrogant and can be just as "racist" as Sebek.

More than Sebek really, considering a lot of Sebek's hang ups are obviously him projecting and distancing himself from his heritage and the prejudice he would've faced.

I definitely don't think he's actively disgusted by humans, but I do think he is at least a little prejudiced and most likely looks down on them. Like almost somewhere inbetween how you'd treat a child and a particularly loved pet.

I've got a ton I wanna say about Lilia, but I'll spare y'all from that too until I post his hcs.

[strwberri-milk]

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Hi!!! I have a request. Can you Childe and/or Kaeya with an S/O who's basically Death personified? She's basically a lot like the grim reaper. You can make up your own thoughts of what reader would be like!

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

ive just done childe here bc i didnt really know what to do for kaeya :/

To you, death isn't something to fear. It's not just because you're a grim reaper, but it's because it seems like a logical conclusion to life. People live, and then they die. It's just a fact, and your job is to make that transition for people.

Childe's no stranger to death, but to literally be dating death is something he wasn't expecting to do. When he first met you, he knew that your general aloofness towards life and death in general was something that unnerved people.

He didn't find it as strange as most people would, knowing that freaking out at it despite regularly taunting death would only make his life more difficult.

When you explain to him that you're essentially a grim reaper, you're just a bit nervous. You aren't too worried about how he would initially react, but you thought he might be uncomfortable with being around a grim reaper since he routinely brings people to you. In fact, that's how you two ended up meeting.

He was on a job that was a little more gruesome than usual and you ended up coming to the site earlier than you should have. For him, watching you stand over the bodies without saying anything as you dutifully jotted some notes down was an intriguing sight.

Of course you didn't reap any souls at that time, but you did manage to have a conversation with him that ended up leading to your relationship, and now to you confessing what you were actually doing that day.

He doesn't particularly mind that at all though, finding solace in the fact that the day he goes, he has the chance to do it with your embrace. He also don't really question when you're gone for a long time, knowing that you've got important work to do. Ultimately, he really respects what you do, leaving you to your own devices but asking questions whenever his curiosity hits.

[plasticross]

You find yourself on the hotel rooftop, a beautiful little hang out with a pool and plenty of places to sunbathe. You rarely come up here, there's no umbrellas, or really any shady area you could easily find, and thus it's become obsolete to you. You rarely go out at day anymore, the desert sun makes your skin hurt, and it's ever seeing eyes made you panic even more. But sometimes people crave the inner belly fear they'd get as a child, watching horror movies late halloween night, or looking at a particularly gruesome crucifixion in sunday school. The water laps at your legs, making them look smaller at the knee, where they're submerged. It's not like you could see it, and you resent watching the description crawl across your peripheral as if you're too stupid to know how water physics work.

With a sigh, you press your face against your hands, shoulders shuttering as you bite back tears. Why were you crying? You didn't deserve to.

"I'm sorry." Your voice breaks like a frog, and you can feel your cheeks light up even if there isn't anyone around to see it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just want it to be over." And you aren't even sure what it is, adding to your embarrassment. Here you were on gods doorstep, in tears, begging for forgiveness. You think about your grandfathers boat trip, you think about the two of you floating in the middle of nowhere, him slamming his hands on the dock as he screams at the lake for a response that he never got. You think about him grabbing the lapels of your church clothes, and holding you against the railing. For a second, you thank the lord above for your lack of sight, keeping you from seeing what you saw in the reflection of the water like you did when your grandfather held you.

"I'm glad you came out. You have a vitamin deficiency. Specifically vitamin D, that's why you look so grey."

Your face twists up, a horrible, pathetic sound worming its way out of your throat, something between a whine and a choked sob. Maybe the silence that your grandfather ran from would be better, or maybe he didn't hear silence. Maybe he dealt with the sun-bites that it's advice left on his skin. Things that were true, but pointless, unrelated. Infuriating messages that mean fucking nothing as if you were a child, you couldn't handle the truth, so they talk around it. Your lip quivers, your hands filling with your own tears.

"Why me?" You're hyper aware of how little you sound, you imagine yourself asking your grandfather the same question, only tall enough to come up to his hip, you cry, arms extended out to him. He stopped carrying you everywhere when you turned ten or so, and that was one of the first times you acknowledged that things had changed. "Why did it have to be me? I, I just, I just want to be a person. I want to live." Those weren't your exact words, all the times you gave them to your grandpa. But they carried the same meaning.

"You can. I'm trying to let you. Everyone has rules they need to follow, you of all people should know that." The suns warmth makes your skin itch and burn, like there's another version of you inside your skin, too big, pressing against the hot dry organ, attempting to escape. You scratch your arms, which only subdues the feeling momentarily. "You're doing the right thing, and I think you know that. Don't take everything so personal, you beg for forgiveness and yet don't give people the same."

None of this felt right. You've lost faith, you were hoping that at least, maybe, you lost faith in the things you were raised to believe. But instead it seems like you've just lost faith in yourself.

"You're special, Cylo. We're special, it comes with being narratively relevant. I hope one day you can see that."

[malibu-barbie-piece-of-shit]

Cookies

Pairing:Art the Clown x male!reader

Summary:Art knows you are baking so he comes to visit

Word Count:563

Author's note:I just cannot remember where I found the HC that Art loves eating sweets. Please if anyone knows, let me know so I can credit them lol

Ding.

The sound of the oven timer traveled from the kitchen to the living room. Y/n set the remote down, ending his trance of channel surfing on a news channel, and got off of the couch. As he walked through his house, he couldn't help but feel like something was watching him. But it was probably nothing, right?

The kitchen was filled with the pleasant scent of sugar cookies ad Y/n pulled the tray out of the oven and sat it on the counter. In doing so, he accidentally pushed a dish towel off of the counter.

"Dammit,"Y/n sighed as he bent over to pick up the towel. He just barely grabbed it before he felt something brush up against him. His body quickly shot up almost as soon as the feeling was gone.

Y/n's eyes darted around the room as his breaths shortened and became heavy. It had to be his imagination, there was no way any body could be with him, he lived alone and all of his doors were locked—

All of Y/n's rationalizations were quickly thrown out with the sight of two cookies missing from the tray. The empty circles on the parchment proved to him that he wasn't going crazy. Alas, he had no time to process this as he watched a gloved hand reach over to grab a cookie.

Y/n spun around and there it stood. A tall clown dressed in a black and white suit with face paint to match. Art. He gave Y/n a big, toothy smile as he framed his face with his outstretched hands.

Y/n gave a sign of relief as he realized the source of his paranoia was just Art and not something worse. He still wasn't fully used to a supernatural killer finding shelter in his house, but he couldn't help but love him.

"You know you could've just asked?"

Art gave an exaggerated, full-arm shrug and flashed an expression reminiscent of a guilty but playful child. He was a clown after all, it was in his nature to have fun, and what's the fun in asking?

"You're lucky I'm making another batch,"Y/n smiled,"go sit on the couch and I'll bring you more."

Art excitedly nodded his head and skipped off to the living room. Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

With the second batch of cookies now in the oven, Y/n stacked three of the already baked ones on a small plate. He made his way to the living room where he was greeted with the sight of Art, his eyes locked onto the TV and his face blank.

"Are you alright,"Y/n set the plate down on the coffee table and sat next to him.

Art put a slender finger up to his lips and pointed at the TV. A news report was on, details of a gruesome murder scrolled by on the screen. The reporter mentioned a "Miles County Clown" as the main suspect. This caused Art to throw his hands in the air and clap with glee along with a huge smile growing  on his face.

"Proud of yourself, huh,"Y/n smirked.

Art picked up the plate and held it to Y/n in celebration of his recognition. Y/n knew that the second batch would be needed soon...

-🐺

[bambirex]

Keep My Heart In Your Gold

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia

Additional tags: friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, sad geralt of rivia, supportive jaskier, trust, grief/mourning, renfri's brooch, inspired by season 3 episode 8

Rating: teen and up audiences

Word count: 2,579 words

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Geralt always carries a brooch around with him. Jaskier wants to know why.

Author's notes: I can't stop thinking about Jaskier knowing what the brooch meant to Geralt, like, the implications of that??? It must have taken a huge amount of trust on Geralt's side to tell Jaskier this and since i'm insane about this whole thing, i decided I wanna write how that conversation went.

Read on Ao3

*

The brooch always seemed out of place for Jaskier. It wasn't exactly the type of accessory that you would imagine a dark, brooding witcher carrying around: pure gold and shiny gemstones, and delicate carvings that almost made the brooch look like it had an eternal smile.

Yet, Geralt always had it with him, strapped to the hilt of his sword. The sight of it was a little comical, here and there, to have something so pretty stick out during an intense fight with a gruesome monster. If the brooch got covered in blood, Geralt would wash it off with such gentle, caring movements, as if it wasn't just a simple object, but something more important.

But Geralt wasn't such a sentimental kind, was he?

Jaskier has been traveling with Geralt for a couple of months when he first brought up the brooch.

"It's pretty," he pointed out one evening as they sat by the fire, the orange glow of the flames reflecting off the gold.

Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes that fixated on the brooch. He let out a quiet grunt and returned to tending to the fire. Jaskier waited for a few moments. When no more reaction came from Geralt, he continued.

"How long have you had this?"

"A while," was all Geralt said. He didn't even look at Jaskier. Usually, Geralt wore a closed-off, strict expression. At first, Jaskier thought it was only reserved for him and his somewhat annoying shenanigans, but he's quickly learnt that it was just simply Geralt's face. There was something else to it now, though, a deeper, darker emotion, like bitterness.

"Was it a gift?" Jaskier pressed further as he scooted closer to Geralt. "I mean, it was, wasn't it? It looks expensive. Almost like it came from someone royalty."

Something flashed in Geralt’s eyes as he looked at him - like a fleeting moment of anguish. Whatever it was, it made Jaskier's chest tighten.

"How do you know that?"

"I hang around royalty a lot, Geralt, I'm a bard," Jaskier reminded him. "I know what kind of jewelry they wear, so..."

It wouldn't make much sense for Geralt, who famously despised royalty, to accept a gift from someone like that, let alone keep it. Whoever gave it to him, they must have been special.

"It's time for you to sleep," Geralt told him, not bothering with a reply to the actual question. Jaskier snorted.

"You're putting me to bed like a child?"

"You are a child," Geralt replied with a small grin. That made Jaskier sputter, but he did take his place on his bedroll all the same.

The brooch was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.

--

All of Jaskier's attempts at trying to ask about the brooch turned out to be futile. Geralt either completely ignored Jaskier until he gave up, or he changed the subject right away. If Jaskier was a little too pushy, Geralt would even snap at him and tell him to stop being so nosy.

Jaskier wondered why Geralt was so apprehensive about telling him. As the years have gone by, their bond deepened, and the witcher opened up to him more and more. He trusted Jaskier, that much was obvious: he left him alone with Roach without hesitation, told him about Kaer Morhen and the witcher trials, entrusted him with picking out the right potions for him after a fight. He let him give him baths, for Melitele's sake, it was obvious that Geralt knew Jaskier was someone he could rely on.

And yet, he refused to tell him about the brooch, over and over again.

"It's from someone important," Jaskier noted one day. It wasn't a question, and Geralt realized that, too, because he just stared down at his boots, the muscles in his jaw twitching, like he wanted to reply, just didn't know how.

Jaskier waited for him to open up at last, to let him in - to share something so clearly important with him. He looked at Geralt, trying to silently communicate to him that it was alright, that he could always talk to him about whatever heavy burden plagued him about that brooch.

"Just drop it, Jaskier," Geralt said eventually. The sheer pain in his voice was enough for Jaskier to reach out and give his hand a squeeze. He didn't press it any further. Geralt seemed eternally grateful for it as he laced their fingers together.

--

Jaskier stopped asking about the brooch after that. He relied on his vivid imagination instead as he walked up the hill after Geralt, looking at the gold shining on his sword.

Who could have given it to him? Was it a gift, a sign of gratefulness after Geralt has gotten ridden of a monster? Maybe, but he wouldn't have held it so dear, then. This was something deeper.

An old friend? Someone Geralt greatly cared about, someone who cared for him too - someone that Jaskier hoped to be like, one day, if Geralt was ready for it.

Family? His mother? The only thing that was left of her? Another witcher at Kaer Morhen? A token of love?

Love... maybe it was from someone really close to Geralt's heart. Someone who meant the world to him. Where did they go? Did they leave? Did they die? Did looking at their brooch cause Geralt great pain, a reminder of what he has lost, or did it fill him with joy, giving him the strength to move forward?

"I wish you could talk," Jaskier chuckled softly when he cleaned Geralt's sword and faced the brooch. It was already a big step that Geralt let him clean it, he hasn't before. It felt almost as if day by day, Jaskier got closer to Geralt's heart. Maybe one day he would learn the truth behind the brooch, and he would be fully let inside. Until then, he appreciated what he could get.

"I'd love to know your story. I bet it's a great one, isn't it? Good song material."

The sunlight glinted on the surface of the brooch, almost like it answered him. Jaskier laughed at the silly thought.

"Also, I want Geralt to fully trust me, you know?" Jaskier continued as he scrubbed at a nasty stain on the edge of the sword. "And, I don't know. I feel like you mean something to him. And it would mean a lot to me if he shared you with me."

The way the light reflected in one of the gemstones made Jaskier laugh again, because it looked like the brooch winked at him.

--

Jaskier was about to fall asleep when Geralt slipped out of bed. Jaskier didn’t question it; he knew Geralt often had trouble sleeping as his witcher senses kicked in during the night, picking up every single quiet noise and tiny movement. He also knew about the nightmares, the horrific images of having to take lives, and seeing his witcher brothers die haunting his mind. Jaskier didn’t think a big deal of Geralt leaving their bed, so he pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes again.

A couple of moments after Geralt got up, the bed dipped again. Jaskier cracked one eye open, trying to get used to the darkness in the room. Geralt was only somewhat illuminated by the moonlight, but Jaskier could still tell he was looking right at him.

"You're awake, then," Geralt stated. Jaskier rubbed his eyes as he sat up against the headboard.

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

Geralt looked down. Jaskier noticed he was holding something in his hand, but couldn't tell what it was in the dim light.

"You used to ask about it a lot," Geralt started. His voice was tired, pained. It woke Jaskier fully at once. Geralt didn't even need to tell him what he meant, because Jaskier immediately knew he was talking about the brooch.

"You've stopped."

"Because it's clear you don't want to tell me," Jaskier replied. "And that's okay, Geralt. I don't want to force you."

"I want to tell you," Geralt said. The moonlight glinted off the brooch as he turned it around in his hand. "I want you to know."

Jaskier hugged his knees to his chest. He tried to appear patient, but his heartbeat picked up as he realized that what he has been waiting for years - for Geralt to truly let him in, to share such an important piece of his soul with him - was finally happening.

"This brooch," Geralt said, looking down on the gold in his hand, "belonged to a girl named Renfri. She was a princess who had to leave her home because she was born under a Black Sun. She was prophesied to be dangerous. But she was just... a girl who was hurt. Too many times."

He looked at Jaskier as he continued. "She was a skilled warrior. Very strong and brave. Any man could have envied her strength. She was also witty and smart. I think you would've liked her."

"You think so?"

"Yes. I often wish you two had a chance to meet."

Something about the way he said it made Jaskier's heart flutter inside his chest.

"Renfri was special. In a way, she really was dangerous. When nothing good ever happens to you, when you keep hurting... it's hard not to become the very thing everyone was told you were going to be. But that did not make her a bad person. She had a right to be angry."

He reached out and took Jaskier's hand. Jaskier drew in a sharp breath when Geralt placed the brooch in his palm, laying his own over it until he covered Jaskier's hand with his own. The brooch was cold, but Geralt's skin was warm against his own.

"She was more than her anger," Geralt continued, looking down on their joined hands. "She also had a right to prove she was more than that. But she didn't have enough time."

"You loved her," Jaskier whispered. Geralt nodded.

"I did. And I killed her."

Jaskier only heard his own heartbeat in the dead silence of the room. Geralt sighed deeply.

"It was always going to end that way," he said, "you truly cannot trick destiny. I was told to choose between the lesser of two evils. I had to kill Renfri to stop her from unleashing chaos on the Continent."

Jaskier's throat felt dry and constricted around his words. "I'm sorry, Geralt."

"This is a reminder for me," Geralt continued. He ran his hand over the brooch, then Jaskier's palm. "That I can't escape the past the same way I can't escape the future. Renfri told me that the girl in the woods will always be with me."

"And who's that?"

"I have a hunch. The destiny I was trying to avoid, again. The one you also warned me about not trying to forget."

In the pale moonlight, Geralt's eyes shone bright as he looked into Jaskier's eyes.

"Renfri was the first human I truly let close to me," he told Jaskier, his voice softer than Jaskier has ever heard it before, "and somehow, although you are very different, I see her in you, sometimes. A constant reminder of my own humanity. And..."

He caressed his thumb over Jaskier's palm again, gently. "I trust you, Jaskier. You bring something good out of me. The same way she could have, but destiny stepped in. But with you... I think things are going to be alright."

Jaskier's eyes welled with tears as his heart nearly burst with an emotion so strong, he couldn't resist that eternal pull anymore - the one that made him follow a grumpy witcher at Posada, the one that never let him leave his side, the one that loved Geralt so dearly, always hoping, always longing to be the one Geralt trusted the most. The one Geralt loved as much as he loved that mysterious girl from the past, who left a part of her heart behind in that brooch.

In that moment, it just felt right when he leaned forward and kissed Geralt. Geralt's arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close until he was on his lap. He grabbed onto Jaskier's shirt like an anchor, holding him close almost desperately. Jaskier wiped Geralt's tears off - or were they his own, he didn't know anymore - as he continued kissing him, silently telling him that he would never leave.

"Thank you," Jaskier whispered as he pulled back to rest his forehead against Geralt's. Their hands were still intertwined over the brooch.

--

The soldier wouldn't let them pass, and they couldn't waste any more time. They needed to find Ciri as soon as possible. Jaskier could have screamed in frustration.

"Wait," Geralt said, reaching into his pocket. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. They didn't have any more money on them, so they had nothing to offer as a fee.

"What about this?"

Jaskier gasped when he noticed Geralt holding Renfri's brooch.

"No, Geralt," he whispered, "not that."

Geralt sent him a small smile, and touched his lower back fleetingly. A small gesture of comfort, as if he wasn't the one who was about to pay a douchebag Nilfgaardian soldier with one of the most important objects in his possession. Jaskier tried to reason with him one more time, but Geralt handed the brooch over anyways. Seeing that bastard take it made Jaskier's stomach churn, and his heart clench uncomfortably.

He didn't have time to dwell on it while he had to assist Geralt's fight with the soldiers, but it was the first thing he asked him once they got their horses ready for the road.

"Why?"

Geralt sent him a questioning look. "What do you mean why?"

"The brooch," Jaskier sighed, "Geralt, it was important."

Geralt smiled as he gently tucked Jaskier's hair behind his ear. He cupped his cheek soothingly.

"It's time to let go of the past," he said softly, "and focus on the future."

"But... there must have been another way, Geralt! I could have offered him a blowjob, although it wouldn't have been one given willingly."

"I would have chopped his head off before I let him touch you," Geralt scoffed. He smiled again when Jaskier leaned into his touch. "It had to be done. For Ciri, for all of us. It did mean a lot to me. But it's time to let it go - to let Renfri go."

He kissed Jaskier on the lips before he planted another kiss on his forehead. "Come on. Let's find Ciri."

Jaskier nodded with a smile. Geralt's heart worked in mysterious ways, but Jaskier was slowly learning its intricacies. He knew he was right: cherishing the past was important, but staying stuck in it didn't help anyone. He saw the way Geralt smiled at him before he grabbed the reins of his horse: he looked relieved, like a huge weight has just left his shoulders. The same way he trusted Jaskier with the truth all those years ago, now he trusted him to understand his decision. And Jaskier did.

He looked back at the camp one last time, saying goodbye to the brooch and its history in his mind - and to the girl whom, while he did not know, also meant a lot to him, because she was important to Geralt.

And now it was time to take his beloved witcher's hand and face the future, so they could rescue someone who also meant a lot to both of them.

[octakiseronliker]

for the character asks 👀 silas 16 and 25, and colum 31 and 48, feel free to only answer some though if it's too much!

Not too much at all!!

Silas

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

Setting aside the lustful incestuous nephew crush, which is definitely up there, I would say this is a basket containing literally any time he's ever doubted the religious teachings of the Tome in any capacity. I also think this is where guilt about the fact that Colum is obviously physically deteriorating in his service goes ⁠— like he's just tried to completely delete any knowledge related to that fact, along with the fact that he knows it at all, from his brain.

25. 3 things they’d want to take with them if they were dropped off in the middle of nowhere

Well-worn annotated copy of the Tome, portrait of the Emperor, Colum. If you told him that Colum did not count as a "thing" he would blink at you in confusion.

Colum

31. If they had a tumblr what would it look like?

Very much a jumbled "reblog whatever" type vibe. Some chronic pain/brain fog posting but no actual disability rights stuff because Colum isn't completely sure he has or should have rights of any kind. Doesn't reblog political posts but will occasionally make original posts hinting at personal politics so completely incomprehensible that people block him on sight just because they have no idea what kind of circumstances a person has to go through to come up with the ideas he has. Also probably rbs posts about the Emperor that are in the flavor of the Christian posts you sometimes see on here that are like "do you guys think jesus, the son of a carpenter, smelt the wood of the cross & temporarily thought of home". Anonymous sideblog where he reblogs artistic male nudes without commentary. Bleak stuff. Has like 3 followers total and one of them is Silas, who likes every post so Colum knows he's seen them and only follows him to make sure he doesn't post blasphemy or make friends.

48. Scariest moment of their life

Scariest moments of his life PRIOR to his gruesome and horrific death mostly have to do with Silas, I suspect. Freaked out the day Silas was born and he was selected for cavalier primary. Freaked out when Silas fell very ill as a small child and Colum convinced himself he was going to die. Obviously freaked out the first time he was plunged into the River but got used to that pretty fast. I think he was disconcertingly unafraid of whatever circumstances caused him to lose his finger, like just calmly spurting blood everywhere, didn't so much as blink when it was cauterized. Deeply hard to rattle. Zero flinch reflex.

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

The binding of Loki

“If you think of it, the concept of mistletoe is terrifying.”

Sigyn paused, emptying the bowl. Her husband thrashed behind her, shaking the earth so strongly that she almost missed his words. “What?” She asked him again, once the bowl was placed back above his eyes and the serpent's venom no longer blinded him.

“I mean, mistletoe. The youngest thing alive besides the humans on Midgard. It can’t agree not to harm daddy’s golden boy and suddenly, I’m the bad guy for giving Hőðr a stick to throw.” The venom dripped into the bowl, the soft pat, pat pat of wood the only sound as she waited for Loki to get his wits about him. “It’s not fair.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Said Sigyn, waiting for her husband’s eyes to focus on her once he could see again. “But life’s not fair.”

“I’ve never been happy with that answer.” Loki grumbled. “If life is so unfair, it’s up to everyone to make it so. Take your life in your own hands. Seize the day.”

“Like you did with Baldr?”

“Odin did not weep at his funeral. He saved his tears for show. Why whisper secrets to a dead man?” Loki shook his head. The bowl was half full. “I am not the only trickster of the court. There is a reason Odin and I are sworn brothers. I liked him once upon a time, you know…” his wistful look turned to bitterness. The wind echoed at the front of the cave, a faint breeze reaching them and flickering their lone source of light—the torch to the left of Loki’s head. The Æsir had been kind enough to leave them light, at least. Loki shivered, still pinned to the rock by entrails strong as steel. Sigyn had gotten used to the sight, however gruesome it may have been. The father of her sons bound by the blood of them both. She didn’t know what happened to Váli in the end, and cried for the fact that she was simply too afraid to ask. She had not been banned from the halls of Valhalla, but she had been left behind, willfully ignored by the other gods who decided to abandon her to her task. She was alone, save for a few minor gods who dared being her supplies. Blankets, fresh clothes and food. She had to keep up her strength, after all.

Ragnarok was just around the corner.

“Odin’s a rotten uncle.” Loki began as the torch whittled itself down to embers. “He imprisoned Fenris, Jormundgandr, and Hel, he forced Váli to rip Narfi apart and then used his entrails to bind me here, he rides Sleipnir into battle— I wouldn’t trust him to care for a child if he was the last áss in Asgard.”

“Are you mad at him?”

Loki laughed. “Mad? Oh, darling Sigyn, I am furious.”