#had an ask once that's been begging to be expanded on ever since

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE HUSBAND x GN CELEBRITY!READER

— based off of a dream i had of a childhood friend/crush. hiatus not over tho lol.

— morally bankrupt reader. clingy husband. the usual yandere stuff.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who was your childhood best friend. Your parents shipped you two since you could speak.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who had a crush on you since forever. He doesn’t even remember a time where he didn’t get butterflies and an aching need to be the only one close to you

YANDERE! HUSBAND who’s the biggest flirt. He knows you the best. Although you were completely oblivious. He’d always try to be around you, compliment you, tease you.

He’d give you matching keychains, and would beg his parents to buy whatever gift he’d think you’d like.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who sadly had to move away for a while. He comes back during high school. And the first thing he asks while he’s there? To be put in the same class as you.

Now that you two are older, you finally started to notice how much of a tease he was. Always grappling unto a piece of your attention.

You acquiesce and begin to date him. Not necessarily feeling anything for the guy but thought it was high time that you finally settle down. It was the perfect storyline you could share once your ambitions were fulfilled.

That and cause your parents would only let you go to acting school if he married you.

Which you two eventually did before college. Was it rushed? Definitely. Did you even love the guy? Nuh uh. But you had places you had your sights set on. And he was the only path.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who drops out to be your full time househubby. His parents could always give him a job at their corporation anyways. There was no real pressure for him to study and get a job.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who almost always supports your acting career. Watching all your shows, movies, and interviews. Basically buying out all the merch you featured in. And paying advertisers across the globe to have your face plastered everywhere.

YANDERE! HUSBAND who unfortunately stops you from having any romantic or sexual scenes. Essentially blocking you from any roles that could be your breakthrough just cause it could have a tiny kiss or so.

Your anger at his blatant attempt to have control over you began simmering. Ever so slowly reaching the surface. Not improving at all when you found out he’d been trying out a job that his mother gave him.

Fuck the gifts. Fuck the yachts and cars he’d swarm you with. Why did he get to do what he wanted and you didn’t?

So you follow him to work once, only to catch him in a compromising position with a coworker.

You didn’t care about him or his business beneath the sheets really. So you had to thank the gods above that you knew exactly what and how to do the following act.

Cry. Scream. Throw things at them.

The coworker already left. Shuffling as they tried to hide from your anger.

Your husband is unresponsive. Catatonic. Even more of an excuse to hurt him.

You call him filthy, uncaring, the worst man to ever exist. Hell, even some of your true feelings come out as you yelled about how you regretted ever being with him.

You find out later from his mom that he had been framed. That this coworker was just trying to get money out of the heir.

Still, you wanted out. He had already served his purpose and you needed to expand your horizons.

A week later of radio silence from him as you prepared the divorce papers he walks in.

Covered in red his hands caressed your face,

“You called me filthy did you not? So I cleansed myself with their blood.”

[i-cant-sing]

i was just minding my business like scrolling to find new fics to read since i was so so bored and while i was finding some delicious fics (ahem ahem: yandere big brother bakugou x little sister reader) ur post suddenly idk the word (lumitaw (its a filo word)) and i was screaming and immediately dropped what i was supposed to read to read yours 😭😭😭

i got the worst memory ever to exist because i keep forgetting their names but i think i'll grasp them once the next chapter is out (hopefully) but yeaaah!!! baris reminds me of abbas in a way but ig he's a bit more.. brute yk what im talking about????? ig he's ok..

OH! and i have a theory about the painting, y/n's face getting smudged maybe because baldwin or SALAUDDIN decided to smudged it to forget how they look due to heartbroken (prob not baldwin,, but i feel like salauddin would do that ??) i guess im getting married again 😔😔 i feel like im betraying my pookie salauddin 💔💔💔🙏🙏 BUT ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR THE UPDATE SNOW!!!! AMAZING AS ALWAYS!! can't wait for the next one already!! 😭😭😭 i think i'll send more of my thoughts if something crosses over my mind (prob when im in the shower)

ooohh i like your theory(portrait pictures at the end). i like it a lot. expanding on it:

Baldwin would probably cause the painting to be smudged because he's kissing it, kissing your lips, drunk off his mind, tears streaming down his cheek as he spends hours sitting in front of it, talking to the painting as if u still exist, begging u to come back from heaven, even apologising for all he's done, just please- come back, angel...

Meanwhile Salauddin would probably be staring at your portrait angrily. He understands why you had to leave but.... you couldnt have told him where you were goinh? Do you not think he couldve protected you? He wouldve used his whole army, gathered Muslims from all around the world to protect you. Did you... did you not have the least bit faith in him? deep down, he knows u did this to prevent a war between him and baldwin but.... Salauddin wouldve gone to war for you. Happily. This wasnt your decision to make alone. Now, he stands in front of your portrait, he has it in his palace now, and he doesnt say voice it out like baldwin, but he has complaints. HE keeps them inside, mentally talking to you, telling you just how stupid you were for sacrificing yourself, for jumping off that stupid cliff. How u shouldve just- just asked him for help ONCE, and he wouldve fought until his last breath if it meant keeping u safe. In his mind, u sacrificed yourself to protect Baldwin from murdering innocent muslims or anyone else u wouldve seeked help from.

And now? All Salauddin can do is pray for you. He wakes up late into the night and sits on the prayer mat, making dua for you for hours, reading Quran for you, has animals slaughtered on eid on your behalf, even doing charity and hajj (pilgrimage) on your behalf, just so that you can have more good deeds in your name. He still has the chess board u gifted him, but he's stopped playing chess. He never played the game again, it was only a painful reminder of you. The one person who he could never beat.

As for your painting, why it was smudged? Salauddin didnt want anyone to see your beauty, thats why he kept the portrait hidden in his room, but then he feared that one day when he's not around anymore, someone will see you. So, he used a rag soaked in turpentine to smudge your face, but couldnt do more than just the bottom half of your face. He thought that was fine, after all, thats how u did often appear when you were around, wearing a niqaab, a veil that covered your face.

Now that he looks at your eyes, he realises his mistake. He heard the wise tell him-

"Eyes are the windows to the soul."

He now knows it to be true.

This is what I think the portraits look like:

Notice that this is the earrings Salauddin gifted Y/n when she was in the market with him:

How Baldwin's been:

[gilverrwrites]

If that ask was too long and elaborate, I have another one!

What about a fic with Batman, where the reader finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Bruce since he already has mature/ teenager kids and she doesn’t know if he wants to raise one from the infant stage to adulthood.

She kinda overthinks about it and distance herself from Bruce. He notice it and when she would confess, to her surprise, Bruce would get super exited!

What I don't understand

AN: I'm back baby! At least partly, my hand is still on and off achy so I won't we posting as activiely as I have previously. I've done so much research on pregnancy that all my adds are now of pregancy tests, fertilitie test, baby stuff, I'm worried my bf might start to suspect that I'm pregnant which would be akward Bruce Wayne/F!Reader, 3.9K words CW: Husband/Wife dynamic, pregnancy, feet (none sexual), mentions of vomit, body dysmorphia, lying/sneaking around, prenatal anxiety/depression, martial problems, swearing. Fluffy ending tho!

Pregnancy brain is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that's insanity, who knows? You ponder the thought as you fidget with the flimsy cardboard packaging of the pregnancy test you're awaiting the results of as if you don't know the answer. You'd already taken countless tests, trialling different brands in the hopes of a different outcome but every single one of them had confirmed your situation with variations on lines and plus signs. They'd never offered you a negative, and yet you keep trying.

There was no denying it, and pretty soon there would be no hiding. You were fast approaching the end of your first trimester at 9 weeks but had only found out about a month ago. The task of informing Bruce while there was still time to act seems to grow bigger and scarier with each passing day. Not to mention; it's becoming increasingly obvious that he already suspected something is wrong.

3 weeks ago:

The cold tile against your aching feet felt like ecstasy. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean against the wall, relishing in every second of release as you awaited Jason’s return.

You’d spend hours hiding your pain, precariously balancing in a pair of heels as you kept up appearances during a charity event being held at the manor. Bruce was currently being cornered by a visiting dignitary, and as bad as you felt leaving him alone, it might have been your only chance. You’d slipped away to an off-limits hallway, grasping Jason who had drawn the short straw for event appearances along the way. Once out of view to your guests you’d begged him to retrieve a pair of pumps from your bedroom, the petty prospect of keeping it secret from, and thus getting a one-up on his adoptive father being the primary motivator. That, and he owed you, a lot, for defusing many situations in which he and your husband had butted heads.

The weight of your discarded shoes hung heavily from your fingers, you hadn’t realised how weighty they were. A shame, because they were so pretty. They were a gift from Bruce, strappy and bedazzled, the perfect colour to match your dress. Another pair for your ever-expanding collection, he’d always favoured gifting you shoes and purses, and you certainly didn’t mind, at least not until your ankles had begun swelling at the mere notion of being used for their primary function.

“Are you okay? You seem off.” Jason’s voice returning to the hall made you jump out of your stupor, and he watched with concern as you tucked your heels behind a curtain and slipped into the flats he’d brought you.

“Fine, fine.” You smile, patting his arm with a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t wear those in properly and now I’m paying the price.”

“Right.” He still seemed dubious and was about to say something else when a door creeks open, redirecting both of your attention.

Bruce stood in the doorway, stern, arms crossed. He glares at the both of you, he and Jason have a very similar glare. His eyes focus in on you, identifying you as the main culprit, his gaze roves across your form, lingering on your feet for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do the two of you.” He points behind him. “In.”

Jason’s face is obscured as he takes the lead, but Bruce must not like his expression because his frown seems to deepen.

You followed close behind, careful not to step on the hem of your dress now that you lack the additional six inches the heels had offered but your integration back into the crowd is halted. Bruce traced his hand along your back, cupping the curve of your waist and directing you to a lesser populated spot amongst the outskirts of your visitants.

The stony look on his face was gone, replaced with a polite smile for the crowd and softer eyes for you.

“What happened to your shoes?” His voice was low, in-perceivable to anyone but yourself.

“My feet were sore is all.” It’s not a lie.

“Too sore for dancing?” He asks, voice as slick as silk and you don’t want to agree but yes, they are too sore dancing. Not to mention you’d gotten nauseous from standing up too quickly only hours earlier but damn if you didn’t want to dance with your husband. Want to feel his chest against yours, his hands on your curves, admire the smile on his face. There are few things you enjoy more than any form of intimacy with Bruce.

“Maybe later.” You sighed, “I think I need to sit down for a while.”

2 weeks ago:

‘Breast changes are another very early sign of pregnancy. Your hormone levels rapidly change after the egg is fertilized. Because of these changes, your breasts may become swollen, sore, or tingly.’

You groaned aloud, rereading the entry on WebMD once more. You hadn’t expected your breasts to change so early on, incorrectly assuming any swelling or pain would be a result of breast milk, but you were wrong.

Believing you had the house to yourself, you figure now was as good a time as any to read up on more early pregnancy symptoms, to correct any other misconception you might have. You were midway through reading about progesterone and how it causes constipation when your laptop pinged.

A notification popped up in the corner of the screen, a DM from UserDC27, Bruce’s bat-server codename. You click to open the message and audibly gasp when a screenshot of your browsing history greets you, framed in red with its own ‘suspicious activity’ notification in the corner.

‘Pregnancy trimesters in weeks’ ‘Swollen breasts pregnant’ ‘Early pregnancy symptoms’

Amongst all the suspicious browsing habits of this family, of course yours had flagged up! Fucking ridiculous!

UserDC27: ? UserRI01: For a friend UserRI01: dw UserRI01: Love you x UserDC27: [is typing…] UserRI01: has signed out.

1 weeks ago:

“Good morning.” A familiar voice greeted you, strong hands slink around your body, brushing against your back and hips before settling on your stomach. What should have been a sweet moment frightened you, disturbing you from your train of thought and causing you to almost spill your morning decaf coffee.

“Woah there.” Bruce laughed, the warmth and proximity of him soothing you quickly. He effortlessly took the mug from your hands and settled it on the kitchen island so he could pull you closer without spillage.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, turning your head to rest it against his chest. The strength of his cologne is always so much stronger in the mornings, the scent of the man you love, of citrus and woodsiness does wonders to comfort your frantic brain no matter the time or place. “Just lost in thought.”

After a second you realise your mistake, you’ve allowed him an opening to ask what you’re thinking about and that exact moment certainly did not feel like the right time, what with Damian in the next room. You should be alone, completely alone.

He surprises you however, always one for keeping everyone on their toes, by spinning you around to face him and telling you, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“What do you think it is?” You tried to keep your voice airy, relaxed, unsuspicious but even you can hear the guilt in your tone.

“I think you’re tired.” He watches you with a playful glint in his eye, but the next words out of his mouth are accusatory no matter how light his tone is. “Where are you sneaking off to in the mornings, oh wife of mine?”

“W-what?” You heard him fine, you were stalling while you calculated a response. You had been sneaking off in the mornings and the fact that he’s asking so playfully, as opposed to interrogating which he is not unknown to do even with you, means he knows more than he’s letting on.

Bruce isn’t exactly an early riser, often too tired from long nights of crime fighting and case filing, but he is a light sleeper. Always on alert. He’d already caught you in a bought of morning sickness once. Roused by the unpleasant noises you’d been making. You’d lied about it, citing an upset tummy from something you’d eaten. You weren’t sure which was worse, the vomiting, the sombre expression he’d given you as he approached to rub your back throughout, or the look of horror on Alfred’s face when Bruce had brought up your supposed food poisoning later that day.

Ever since you’d purposely been rising early and sneaking off to dispel any nausea in one of the many guest bedrooms.

“Nowhere, I’m just becoming more of a morning person I guess.”

He eyed you sceptically, and you thought you might crack under the pressure. His hands reach up to cup your face, preventing you from turning away. His touch is so gentle, so soft for a man of his stature. “You can tell me anything, you know that?”

“Of course.”

As if you couldn’t feel worse he adds; “I miss waking up to you beside me.”

“Oh Brucie-“

You’re already on your tip toes, ready to concede, to apologise, to shower your sullen husband with kisses when you’re saved by the signal. Literally, a call from Duke 'The Signal' Thomas, with a reminder of your apprehension; an active situation that needed Batman’s participation.

Your relationship, and now marriage to Bruce had always hinged on an unspoken understanding that Gotham comes first. Even with Tim taking over most of his responsibilities at Wayne Tech, Bruce simply does not have enough time to raise a baby. You can't expect him to take turns with the nighttime feeds, with the frequent nappy changes, with the constant attention an infant will need.

You’ve no doubt Alfred would delight in assisting you, he's been dropping hints about wanting a baby Brucie since the engagement, and you love him very much but if you’re to raise a baby, you want to do it with your husband, not his butler.

That’s presuming your husband even wants a child. Another child. He already has enough children to populate a small village. Children with lives of their own. Children who in some way or another have followed in his vigilante footsteps. You think of the stress and trauma each of them has faced, and how it has affected them and their father. You think of Steph and her tremulous relationships with Bruce and Arthur. Of Jason’s deaths, plural. Of Dicks ineptitude to form meaningful relationships with anyone outside of the lifestyle. Of all the childhoods so many, but especially Cass and Damian missed out on. Could you be responsible for putting another child through any of that?

Furthermore, if your child wanted to live this life, could you really stop them? Nobody stopped Tim. Nobody stopped Barbara, when Jim had tried it only caused the rift between them to grow bigger.

Could Bruce stop your unborn child? Would he want to?

Speak of the Oracle. The chime of your phone draws you out of your spiral of perinatal anxieties. It’s Barbara, informing the girls-only group chat that she’s running late for lunch. Crap. You’d completely forgotten that you’d promised the girls lunch and shopping. Barbara had some tech on hold, Steph wanted to try the new caramel cookie waffles at Goodilicious, and Cass needed new boots whether she knew it or not.

Hurriedly, you shove the used test into a previously disused makeup bag that is now full of other used tests. It's starting to smell, but you don't have time to figure out how to stealthily throw it out, so you hide it at the back of a cupboard behind a basket of sanitary products before rushing out the door.

Later

Catching up with the girls had been fun, it had really helped you forget about your predicament and just relax for a while, but it had also taken a lot out of you, keeping you out well past dinner. Your body just was not functioning as well as it used to, for obvious reasons.

Upon returning to the mansion you’d made it to the ground floor lounge, feet too sore to even consider the stairs, and collapsed on the closest couch, exerting just enough energy to pry your shoes and sock off of your swollen feet prior to falling asleep. Just a quick nap you tell yourself, to regain some energy, you’ll be right as rain in time for Damian’s bedtime. He’s old enough now to put himself to bed, especially given that he often patrols with his father until the early hours of the morning, but tonight is his night off and you’d always make the effort to wish him sweet dreams when you can.

You’re awoken by the feel of calloused fingers pressing into the arches of your feet. You hadn’t heard him enter, but Bruce is sitting on the arm of the couch, in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. Between his bare chest and cowl hair, he is a welcome sight, bruised chest and freshly cut lip and all.

“What happened to you?” You ask, voice husky from your impromptu nap. You manage to draw your eyes away from Bruce long enough to check the time on an antique wall clock, it’s 4 AM. You’d far exceeded a nap. “Where’s Damian?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Damian is asleep. When you didn’t wish him a goodnight he came to look for you, that’s how I knew you were here.” He asserts. He looks at you with a furrowed brow and pinched lips, working his thumb into the arch of your feet with just enough pressure to make you mewl in relief. “Are you punishing me for something?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks, it’s not without merit. You hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch, but you can understand how it must look to him, especially in tangent with the ways in which you had intentionally been avoiding him; sneaking out in the mornings, not allowing him to see your naked body for fear that he’ll notice your swollen breasts, and growing belly. You hadn’t had sex in at least three weeks.

All at once you are overcome with remorse. You’d been so consumed with the pregnancy and how best to approach the subject with Bruce that you hadn’t stopped to think how your actions would weigh on him. He’s so strong, your anchor, an unchanging presence for the whole family. He locks himself and his emotions behind the big bad bat or billionaire Brucie so well that sometimes he forgets he has them. Sometimes you forget. Even now, clearly hurting and concerned for his marriage, he’s rubbing your feet.

“No of course not Bruce, I’m sorry…” your mind starts to form the end of your apology ‘I was just so tired’ or ‘it’s been a long day’ and they wouldn’t be lies but they’re not the right thing to say. You can’t keep postponing for the ‘right moment’ that will never come, can’t keep chickening out. He needs to know the truth. “I’m- I’m pregnant.”

You’re not sure how you’d expected him to respond really. You’d feared anger, hoped for joy but instead, he continues to stare at you, his brows raising in a way that implied he needed more information. He swaps your left foot for your right as he awaits your resumption. When you don’t speak he nods and states; “I know.”

“You know?” As though possessed your tired body launches into an upright seated position. “How could you know?”

Bruce smiles in response, an amused, tight-lipped ‘Are you kidding?’ smile.

“Well, to name a few things;” he counts off each observation on his fingers. “You’ve stopped wearing heels because your ankles are constantly swollen, your breasts are also noticeably swollen even under your clothes, you now only drink decaf, you seemingly have ‘food poisoning’ every morning and at no other time of day, a massive increase in urination, and my personal favourite, the bag full of positive pregnancy tests behind a crate-full of menstrual products that haven’t been used in almost three months.”

He’s trying to hide it, but he’s smug about his own detective skills. His mouth might be straight but there’s a fire in his eyes that has you drawing your legs away from him with a huff, abruptly ending the massage you had been enjoying. “How long have you known?”

“I’d had my suspicions for about 6 weeks, but I wasn’t certain until I found your stash last week.” Typical of Bruce to have figured out you were pregnant before you’d known yourself. “What I don’t understand, is why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve been lying.”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I was going to but…” You trail off,  straightening your thoughts as best you can and finding your composure, preparing to begin monologuing about your concerns. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, what with you know, already having so many kids. Everyone but Damian has flown the nest, Dick and Babs are married! They’re all so grown up, do you really want to start again? And then…”

Conscious of your rambling you cut yourself off, looking to Bruce for reassurance that you’re not talking too much, that he’s not offended by your worries. He consoles you by coming closer, sitting on the cushion beside you and easily coaxing your legs over his. His firm hands are gentle as they grasp your knee.

“And what?” He questions.

“I wasn’t sure how I feel, I wanted to figure that out before talking to you.”

“What do you think you feel about it?”

“I think I want to have your baby Bruce, our baby.” So caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed your husband’s hands creeping higher and higher up your body until a hand settles on your stomach, his thumb stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You’d been so self-conscious of its growth but as you look at it now, under Bruce’s sturdy fingers, you realise it isn’t much bigger than it had been pre-pregnancy. How tedious your problems seemed when voiced and put into perspective, except maybe one. “I’m just not sure about how… well I guess I never thought about raising a child within your lifestyle.”

“I understand.” He nods, confirming his statement. He’s done well to keep his face soft but neutral throughout, a staple of his Batman facade but also a careful way not to let his own emotions interfere with yours.

“What do you think?” He looks down at your abdomen as he considers his words. You follow his gaze, watching as his fingers lift your top, exposing your skin to him. Without warning he lowers himself to pepper your belly with gentle kisses, the ticklish motion causes you to giggle and writhe beneath him.

When he looks up at you again he’s smiling, the motion causing the scab on his lip to split and bleed. Without thought you pull yourself closer to him, using his broad shoulders as leverage. Once close enough you dab at the minor wound with your thumb soaking up the fluid as best you can and examining the cut to ensure no further damage.

Bruce watches you intently the whole time, cupping your face in his hand when you appear satisfied. The adoration in his eyes makes you feel sheepish even after everything you’ve been through together.

“I think,” his voice is low, sincere. “I couldn’t be happier to be growing our family together. I think this child, like all our children, will be lucky to have you as a mother, whatever life they choose to lead.”

The amount of pent-up tension in your body had not been apparent to you until now. Until your body noticeably lightens in response to his words. The relief of no longer sneaking around, no more fretting over how he might react has you wishing you’d done this a long time ago.

“Bruce?” You sag into his chest, breathing him in. His arms unconsciously wrap around you in response, pulling you in for a tighter embrace. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re are having a baby.” He confirms, pressing more, tender kisses to your neck, the curve of a smile apparent as his lips press to your exposed skin. "I've been waiting for this moment since the day we me. But, I think it’s time we got to bed, it’s late.”

Swift and practiced, Bruce lifts you from the couch, cradling you in the bridal position. You stretch to check the clock, 4:34 AM.

“Technically it’s early.” You jest, expecting him to punish your cheek by jolting you in the air or throwing you over his shoulder as he normally does, but instead, he chides you with an amused glare, clearly too concerned about the baby for play fighting.

“Neither of us has been to bed, it’s late.” His grip tightens on your body as he makes his way up the stairs, one steady step at a time. “And I expect my wife to be in our bed when I wake up.”

“Hmmm.” Your morning sickness has eased in the last few days, you’d only persisted in sneaking out to be safe, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. “I’ll try, but I might be in our bathroom.”

“I can cope with that. At least then I can care for you. And we can throw out your hoard.” You don’t fuss over the likelihood of him having to rush off to save the day or for an urgent board meeting, you just throw your head back, laughing at yourself for trying to hide anything from Bruce.

When you reach the bedroom he lays you in the bed and climbs over your form. He’s in full caretaker mode, a manner you could get used to. He carefully removes your clothes, offers to redress you in your sleepwear and to bring you your lotions, or anything you should need from the bathroom.

Dawn is breaking behind your blackout curtains by the time you’re both settled in bed, entangled in each other’s arms. Sleep has nearly taken you again when Bruce whispers; “I do have one other thought.”

“Oh?" You peer at him curiously over your shoulder. "Yes dear?”

“I think you should be the one to tell Damian.”

His request hangs heavy in the air as you consider the implication. “Tell Damian that he will no longer be your only blood child?”

The room remains silent, he doesn’t expand because you know what he’s getting at. Damian probably won’t mind, because he’ll still be the oldest, the first in line and you’re certain he’ll be a wonderful older brother, he’s great with animals, so why not babies? Right?

“… That's not fair.”

“Think of it as penance for lying to me all month.” There’s an air of humour in his voice as he pulls you closer still, squeezing himself into your back and planting sleepy kisses against your neck. “Besides, he’ll probably take it better from you. I think he likes you more.”

<3

Likes are highly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are cherished!

More Like This | Tip/Commission Me

[conclover]

Mr. Tenna x GN! Reader | Static Hearts Part 7

Previous chapter

Summary: It’s official now. You and Tenna are dating!

Warnings: +18, big dick (that’s a warning, yeah), Tenna being Tenna, references to suicide, yandere man.

Notes: Chapter 7 already... This man has got me obsessed.

Word count: 4,7 K

It wasn’t a fucking joke.

Tenna was serious. Terrifyingly, obsessively, let’s-write-our-names-in-blood serious. More serious than he’d ever been about anything in his life.

He said it. Out loud. In public. Loud and clear. Grinning like a madman on live television, arm wrapped tight around you.

“We’re together!” 

But it sounded less like a love confession and more like a declaration of war.

And now?

Everyone in the whole fucking Dark World knows.

…

“WE’RE TOGETHER!”: TENNA’S LIVE MELTDOWN MASKED AS A RELATIONSHIP ANNOUNCEMENT

That’s right. Tenna, who’s graced our screens for decades (yes, that Tenna) is back in headlines but not for a ratings spike. Ha!

The semi-retired star, best known for quiz shows that only your grandma still watches and cooking segments that make even microwave meals look exciting has declared: 

“Single life? Out. Being in love? In.”

We’re still trying to figure out who asked…

Tenna has been locking eyes (though let’s be real, he doesn’t have any!) with a not so known but suddenly everywhere on-air personality who’s managed to steal both the spotlight and Tenna’s robotic heart.

The rumors started during a late night special, where the two couldn’t stop exchanging flirty banter, whispering inside jokes, and building the kind of on-air tension so thick it should’ve come with a PG-18 warning.

Viewers (all 7 of them) couldn’t help but notice. Yes, he’s apparently glowing now, though some say that’s just his TV head overheating.

Tenna’s life hasn’t exactly been a fairytale. Two divorces, the slow fading out of traditional TV, and let’s not forget about the ever expanding list of industry rivals and critics who mysteriously disappear. 

Somehow, this new connection seems to be rebooting him. Crew members say he’s humming in the hallways again. Friends are saying… oh wait he doesn’t have any. And industry insiders? They’re saying they haven’t seen him this emotionally stable since TV guide was still a thing.

The big question is: can this so-called star survive Tenna’s cringeworthy punchlines or will they be the next to get a taste of his explosive temper? Just like his employees!

One thing’s certain… Even if no one’s watching the shows anymore, everyone is dying to see this trainwreck of a love story unfold.

…

So it’s official now.

Hm. Interesting.

You thought you wanted this. You really thought being Tenna’s lover was what you needed. Ugh. Had lust completely taken over your mind?

“Oh, people are just mean sometimes…” Tenna said, trying to sound unaffected by the newest gossip magazine. “Good thing is we’re on the cover.”

If he had been alone, he might have started tearing apart his bedroom in a fit of frustration, hurling things across the room, calling Mike to drown out the gnawing thoughts that urged him to throw himself out of the window.

But not now. Not after the chaotic and desperate way you’d clung to each other. It was surprising how hours blurred together in a collision of moans and skin, until your bodies were slick with sweat and your lungs begged for air. 

That same wild energy that once threatened to unmake him now left you both breathless, tangled in the aftermath. You were curled up in his arms, your naked body pressed against his, the warmth of your touch grounding more than anything ever could. Nothing else mattered, no dark thoughts, no past mistakes, no fear of the future. Just you.

You watched as he rummaged through the nearby drawer, finally pulling out a pair of scissors far too small for hands like his. He stuck his tongue out and began cutting with ridiculous focus, carefully avoiding cutting your head in the photo like it was some delicate operation.

“Look how pretty you look, sweetheart!” he said, holding up the poorly cropped photo from the tasteless tabloid.

“Not my best shot, but hey… it’s a gossip magazine. Can’t expect much,” you muttered, watching as he gently traced a finger across your face in the photo.

Tenna froze once he processed what you said, then turned sharply in his pillow.

“What are you saying?” His voice cracked slightly, trembling under the weight of something deeper than offense.

He gripped your shoulder tightly, like he needed you to feel what he felt. His other hand held the photo so close to your face you could almost smell the paper.

“This!... This photo is everything to me. Look at you.” His breath hitched, as if even speaking the words made his chest tighten. “You look like something I don’t even have words for…”

He slowly moved the photo away from your face and brought it closer to his own, his expression softening. His thumb brushed lightly over the image, eyes fixed on that candid shot of the two of you chatting on a late night show, laughing, leaning close, like no one else in the world existed.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging his arm and slipping the photo from his hands. “You know you don’t need a photo when you’ve got the real thing right here…”

You moved over him with ease, straddling him as you reached toward the nightstand. Tenna’s hands didn’t waste the opportunity and he gave your ass a slow and appreciative squeeze, fingers pressing hard enough to make you shiver.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about...” he murmured, his voice dropping low in a seductive way, his smile curling into something devilishly confident. “Why settle for a picture when I’ve got the whole damn show right here?”

You shot him a teasing look over your shoulder, your body already warming with the anticipation and his low, knowing laugh confirmed he knew exactly where this was going.

“You sure you can handle another round?” he teased, though his smile twitched with uncertainty as he leaned in, almost as if he was asking himself the same question.

But just as you reached to slide the drawer shut and brace yourself for the warmth of his erection already pressing into your backside, your hand stilled and your eyes fell inside.

A chaos waited there, random at first glance. However, the longer you looked, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just a junk drawer. It was a shrine.

Scraps of paper with your name and his scribbled over and over with hearts all around it, as if the very act of writing it could make you stay. 

A napkin from a fancy café you’d visited weeks ago with him, its corners creased and stained, a forgotten lovely moment now turned strange. 

A crumpled post-it note with your handwriting, one you’d left for him days ago. It said “Back in 5 ;)” but reading it now, it felt wrong.

And tucked in the corner, several VHS tapes, each labeled with stickers though the handwriting was messy, almost impossible to read.

You should have been scared. This man had a really creepy side and he didn’t even care to hide it. But there was a reason as to why you didn’t run for your life. Somehow, you felt a pull toward something in the drawer.

Your eyes were drawn to a strange object nestled among the altar of obsession. It was a capsule toy, half orange, half translucent. It seemed so out of place, absurd even amid the carefully arranged objects of devotion. 

That thing inside seemed to be alive and it was calling to you. You couldn’t quite explain it, but your hand moved as if it belonged to someone else, reaching for the capsule as though something inside it had once been part of you.

“Hey, t-that’s quite private, actually…” Tenna’s voice broke through, suddenly too alert, like he wasn’t expecting you to get that close.

Without waiting for your reaction, he leaned over and slammed the drawer shut, cutting off the pull you felt. There was something almost unnatural about the force he used to shut it, heightening your suspicion about what he was trying to hide.

“I like you. A lot,” he said with a forced nonchalance, his tone light, but his posture was tense, his hand still resting against the nightstand. “Sue me, sweetheart.”

And suddenly, Tenna’s soft laughter wasn’t as harmless as it had seemed before. He was really nervous, as if you had seen something you weren’t ever meant to. 

What is that thing, Tenna?

“It’s fine, I won’t sue you. You’ve already got enough problems,” you said smoothly, letting a little smile curl at the edge of your lips, as if you hadn’t just seen something that should’ve sent you running. “Besides… can’t really blame you for going a little crazy over me.”

Tenna laughed, but the sound didn’t quite match how he was feeling. His posture was still rigid, like he wanted you out of this room before you asked too many questions. But what gave him away wasn’t the laugh or the silence that followed, it was his hand, still resting on the nightstand like a reflex. 

I’m not going to jump, Tenna. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that in front of you.

You tilted your head, eyes drifting over him with curiosity, already mapping out exactly how to melt the tension from his body.

“Actually… I think it’s kind of cute,” you said, your voice dipping into a teasing softness, coaxing him back into ease and into you.

Still straddling him, you shifted your hips forward and back in a slow, almost lazy rhythm, just enough to draw his focus away from whatever shadows were still clinging to his thoughts.

And you smiled, because he didn’t even realize you were already disarming him.

It was almost too easy. So easy in fact, it barely felt satisfying.

The way his breath caught like he was barely holding himself together. The way his fingers finally slid from the nightstand, abandoning the need to guard whatever was hidden inside. Instead, his hands found your hips, gripping with a kind of desperate insistence, as if his body had chosen for him.

You let your hand drift slowly down the center of his chest panels, your touch softening to distract him further. You still needed his mind somewhere else. Even though you had him all hard beneath you, his guard wasn’t fully down. Not yet.

“I mean, I can’t judge you,” you added, smirking now as the perfect lie came to your mind. “I’ve got one of those love shrines too.”

Tenna’s mouth fell open in cartoonish disbelief, like he wasn’t sure if you were serious or worse… if you were actually just like him.

“R-Really?” he asked, his hands tightening around your hips, holding you there like he needed to make sure you weren’t just teasing him.

“Mm-hmm…” You nodded, watching as his wary surprise softened into something more open and trusting. “Remember that coffee we had before our first kiss?”

“Yes, how could I forget?” he said, completely invested.

“Well…” You leaned closer, letting your words fall like a secret between the two of you. “I kept the straw from your cup.”

You really prayed he wouldn’t remember that he’d thrown the cups away himself. But judging by the way Tenna let out a stunned little laugh that quickly dissolved into a shaky breath, he was too far gone to question the details. Too turned on by the idea of you being just as obsessive and unhinged like he was. He exhaled like he couldn’t hold it in anymore, his body shifting against you almost mindlessly. You could feel the change in the air around him, the way something in him unraveled, just a little.

Without another word, he pushed you away, pinning you to the bed with more force than the moment seemed to call for. It wasn’t exactly violent but there was urgency in his touch.

He hovered over you quickly, his screen casting an intense glow as his expression twisted with hunger for you. You looked down, trying not to react to his size, but it was difficult to ignore just how imposing he felt when he was hard, like every inch of him was designed to overwhelm you.

“I didn’t think you had that kind of naughty in you…” he murmured, his voice lowering as he caught the way your eyes lingered on his hard cock. He tilted your chin up gently, guiding your gaze to meet his face, now burning with desire. “But I must admit… I’m entirely captivated, sweetheart.”

“Can’t help the nasty thoughts that run through my head every time I see you,” you said, each word dripping with intent. 

You breathed deeply, already hoping that your plan would go accordingly. And as he looked at you with something between wonder and obsession, you smiled, because you had just turned the game in your favor.

Slowly, you lifted your legs and draped them over his shoulders, making the color bar blush on his screen flicker into a wild pattern. 

“My love,” he said, voice low and aching as he turned his head to press a tender kiss to your ankle, his hand trailing slowly along your leg. “What is it you do to me, that I’m always falling harder than the last time? I mean it. You drive me out of my mind. Every. Damn. Time.”

He leaned in closer, crowding into your space. Your legs stretched a bit awkwardly from his nearness, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and simply didn’t care. He just wanted to be close to you. To keep you there, in his orbit, where you couldn’t slip away.

“I’m going to make love to you so sweet, you’ll be calling my name like it’s the only thing you remember,” he murmured, his voice rich with desire.

His hand moved down instinctively, pulling his cock closer to you. But as he pressed in, your body tensed at the contact, a shiver of discomfort passing through you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked quickly, panic threading through the words as he fumbled for the right thing to say. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t want to hurt you. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

His hand brushed your cheek with nervous tenderness, but he immediately pulled it back, uncertain where to touch you or if he should touch you at all.

“Maybe… maybe we should just... stop, huh? After all the... well, you know, the whole night of... this,” he laughed nervously, the sound a bit shaky and forced. “I think I’ve done enough damage here, sweetheart.”

The vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable, a soft ache lingering behind the question, as though he couldn’t bear to hurt you, not even by mistake.

“And I’m completely fine with cuddling or, uh… doing other stuff!” he added quickly, his voice turning a little sheepish as his grin faltered, clearly trying to keep things light.

“No,” you said firmly, your body betraying the frustration you were trying to mask. “Just… get the lube.”

“A-Are you sure?” he stammered, completely taken aback by your directness, his brow furrowing in surprise.

You nodded, and as he moved to open the drawer, he turned to you with an eyebrow slightly raised, as if still uncertain you wanted this. When his back was to you, his hands trembled ever so slightly, betraying the tension he was trying to conceal. In that brief moment, you felt the pull again. It was the same sensation from earlier, the same subtle but undeniable call. But before you could act on it, he closed the drawer.

“Tenna, please, hurry. I need you,” you urged, your leg brushing gently against his bare back as if to provoke him, to make him move faster. 

That was really your plan, letting yourself be used by him and playing your part in his game. Moaning, screaming his name, all to push him to the edge. Maybe even touch his antennae to get him off easily. Once he was done, he’d go off to clean himself, giving you just enough time to act and see what the hell was going on in that drawer.

“You do?” he asked, his back still turned to you, his voice dropping lower.

He slowly stood from the bed, avoiding your gaze as he casually pulled on a pair of funky, colorful pajama pants, clearly not in a rush.

Without looking at you, he rummaged through his closet with deliberate movements, pulling out a red dressing gown.

Each action seemed too calm, almost as if he knew something you hadn’t figured out yet. And there you were, still naked and confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen, waiting for you for breakfast,” he said, turning towards you with a casual grin, though his lips twitched slightly, as if he was trying to mask the shift in his mood.

He paused at the doorframe before leaving, one hand resting on the door handle and the other clutching his dressing gown closed over his chest plates.

“But if you really want to open that drawer,” he added, his voice dropping lower, the tone now laced with something darker, almost like a dare. “Go ahead. See where that gets you.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you were left exactly where you wanted to be. Alone with the chance to explore. To finally see what was hidden in that drawer. But as your hand hovered over the handle, doubt crept in. Was it really worth it? Would Tenna hear you rummaging through his forbidden stash?

No. You couldn’t back down now. This was your shot. The closest you’d been to getting real answers, to finally confronting the things that had been weighing on your mind. You weren’t going to let him threaten you again.

As you threw open the drawer, your heart raced, panic flooding your chest. Your hands trembled as you yanked at the scattered items, each one slipping through your fingers. You didn’t care what else was in there, just that stupid capsule toy. Your fingers brushed against VHS tapes, a gross feeling crawling up your spine as you pushed them aside.

Where is it?

The capsule had to be in here, but the longer you searched, the more suffocating the silence became. Each tape you moved only seemed to add to the fear, the unfamiliar weight of them heightening your anxiety.

“You want to see those?” Tenna’s voice cut through your frantic search, his tone laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You froze, turning to him. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but something about his presence sent a chill down your spine. 

He played with the belt of his dressing gown like nothing had happened, fingers looping it lazily as he started walking toward you. Your heart pounded faster with every inch he closed, his calmness only making your panic worse.

“Ohhh, you weren’t just rummaging for nostalgia… You were treasure hunting!” he said, drawing out the words like a punchline. “Yeah… can’t let you do that, sweetie.”

His words lingered in the air as he settled beside you, his presence crawling under your skin. And when his hand landed on your thigh, you didn’t need him to say another word. You already knew you were completely and undeniably fucked.

“Look,” he said, his voice unnervingly soft as he pulled one of the VHS tapes from the drawer. “This one’s one of my favorites!”

He handed it to you, his smile never wavering as you read the label.

“It’s from our first quiz show…” he began, his tone far too casual, “...you were so confused back then. Didn’t have a clue what was going on. And all your answers? Adorable! Like you had a little crush on me, hmmm?”

You could feel the weight of his words and they didn’t feel innocent. They felt like a subtle reminder of how much he’d been watching, how much he knew about you.

“What I’d give to go back then… to the beginning. Before you wanted to leave me…”

I wanted to leave back then too, Tenna.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as his hand trailed upward. “What do I have to do to make you feel right at home here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to tell some words that would just fall flat.

“Do I need to turn it up a notch, huh? Get a little rougher? Play the sad, angry guy?” he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with something darker. His grip tightened as his hand moved up your chest, the touch oddly detached from the fact you were still naked. “Is that what you’re looking for, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. You simply curled in on yourself, knees drawn tight to your chest, your face buried between your legs as if it could shield you from the overwhelming exposure. Not just nakedness, but your true intentions laid bare for him to see.

A sob escaped before you could stop it, the weight of everything choking you. You didn’t know how you were ever going to leave this place. And the thought of being bound to this TV freak for what felt like eternity… 

No…

Tenna froze for a moment, caught between guilt and concern. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t try to fix it. Instead, he placed a hand gently on your back, his fingers massaging softly, as if trying to soothe the pain he had caused.

The silence between you stretched, until eventually, you lifted your head hesitantly until your eyes met his screen, now filled with genuine worry. But as soon as he saw your face, his face brightened. That spark of hope was visible in the way he smiled, like he thought things might turn out okay after all.

But then, your voice shattered the silence.

“I just want to go back…”

The light in his expression dimmed. And for a moment, neither of you said anything. The truth sat between you, louder than any scream.

Now that you’d been so close to the truth, you couldn’t help but think about going home. About leaving this whole bizarre chapter behind. At least it would give the gossip magazines something to talk about you for once, something besides their usual hobby of dragging Tenna through the mud.

“No.”

The word came out sharp, cutting through the silence like shattered glass.

“What, Te—” You flinched as his hand reached for yours and gripped it tightly.

“No!” he snapped, louder this time, his voice cracking at the edges, already fraying with panic.

You sat up straighter, startled, your heart beginning to pound.

“I want to go, I’m sorry…” you said carefully, trying to ground your voice, to keep the emotion from shaking it apart. “I don’t belong here.”

“I said no!” he shouted, and this time he stood abruptly.

His shadow seemed to stretch with him, filling the room in a way that made the walls feel smaller. His body expanded, towering over you, his form becoming more monstrous with each passing second. His brows burned with fury, and as he opened his mouth, sharp fangs glistened in the dim light of the bedroom. The air crackled with a terrifying static sound, and there was a flash in his face, not anger exactly, but something worse. Desperation. The kind that doesn’t care who it breaks to keep what it wants.

Your breath caught and you swore you could already see yourself dead, but instead of savagely mauling you apart with those pointy fangs, he curled over you, wrapping you in a fierce and trembling embrace, as if terrified you might slip away.

“Don’t say that… You belong here with me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, quivering on the edge of tears. “You always have!”

He cradled your face, desperate to draw a smile from between his hands, but your expression stayed frozen and unreadable. So he pressed his thumb gently against the corner of your lips, trying to force a hint of happiness where there was none.

“Please, my love,” he murmured, pressing his face against yours, blocking out everything else for a moment. “Tell me what you need. Anything, you hear me? Anything to see you smile again,” he said, voice rising sharply into your ear, loud enough to make you flinch.

He was truly desperate, willing to do anything just to keep you by his side. But even through that desperation, he clung to the hope that it wouldn’t have to be forced. Though, by now, you both knew you didn’t really have a choice.

“You know what I want, Tenna…” you said coldly, unmoved by how frantic he was becoming.

“Listen!” He leaned back just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face again, trying to pull off that charm with exaggerated expressions and theatrical gestures. “I know… I know I’m not the best… But I’m trying here, sweetheart. I’m trying my darnedest to make this right! Just for you! For us!”

His voice cracked. He was crying. You could hear it in every word and in the trembling rasp of his breath, even if there were no tears on his screen.

“You used to see me almost every day. You made me feel so special.” His voice dropped as he finally moved away, sitting beside you. “I remember the first time you laid eyes on me… though maybe you don’t. Because… heh…” he let out a shaky breath, “...you didn’t even know me back then.”

He pressed his hands against his screen, partially hiding his face from view.

“And I loved the way you looked at me. The way I made you laugh. The way you’d almost come running after work, just to watch me…” His voice faltered, a deep sigh dragging his words into unevenness.

“I don’t think I’m getting you…” you said, confusion creeping into your voice. You had no idea why he was speaking as if he’d known you for a lifetime.

“You don’t have to…” he said quietly, looking at you as he gently took your hand, pressing it close to the smooth surface of his screen. “What matters is that you’re here…with me, sweetie. And w-we can be closer than we’ve ever been.”

You blinked, still not understanding. None of it made sense.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice cracking as if each word physically hurt. “You don’t even know how hard it was, love. Watching you lose interest in me... slowly… like I was fading out of your world.”

He turned his head away, as if even facing you made the pain worse.

“I know I’m irrelevant. I’m junk. And maybe you don’t want me… not the way you used to or the way I want you… but…” His voice began to stammer, barely holding itself together. “But I didn’t have another choice. I didn’t know what else to do. I just... couldn’t lose you. And... and... I didn’t want to be thrown away. Not by you… no… If y-you did that, I… I wouldn’t know how to go on…”

“How would I do that?” you asked, partly to reassure him, partly because you genuinely wanted to know how to do it, how to throw him away.

He looked at you, a faint smile curling at the edges of his screen as if your words had sparked something deep inside him.

“You get it, right? As long as we’re here together in this world… we can make it work. I don’t have to be alone!” 

His hands gripped your arms suddenly, much firmer than before, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that sent a chill down your spine.

“And I can show you why you don’t have to throw me away, sweetheart. I’ll prove it to you. Just you see, I can still be fun!” His smile twitched as he clung to you, his grip tightening with each word, desperate for you to believe him.

He stood up with a dramatic sweep, his sorrow vanishing almost instantly, as if your one small question had been enough to ignite a spark of hope or… delusion.

Yeah. That sounds more like it.

If he hadn’t already made you feel trapped in this suffocating world, he was sure as hell finding new ways to tighten the noose. Now, on top of it all, you felt guilty too. Hurray!

But hey, it’s not like you could leave. Not that he’d ever let you, even if you tried. He didn’t just want you here. He needed you here. All to himself. No one else, just him. 

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Jason NSFW Alphabet

I really got excited when I first saw the trailer for Hell of a Summer because I LOVE a loser boy and I love having a new one to obsess over 🤭 tbh I wasn’t even sure who Fred Hechinger was, I had never seen anything with him in it before, but omg since seeing him for the first time in this trailer I’ve watched so many new things and I can’t wait to expand more on Jason and his other characters 🥰

A- Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a little aftercare himself as soon as you’re finished, but you’ve gotten into the habit of helping each other afterwards. He really puts his all into sex, and by the time you’re finished he’s laying over you breathless and sweating, panting while he’s still inside you just because it was so overwhelming but so, so good. He just needs a few minutes to recollect himself and all you have to do is lay there and hold him while he comes down from his high. As soon as he gets his energy back he’ll help sit you up and clean you off, and he’ll grab you a new change of clothes and some water. He’s very attentive, wether he was putting in most of the work or not.

B- Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partners)

He doesn’t necessarily have a favorite part of himself, but you always mention how much you love his hands. They’re rough and calloused, but still so gentle, and they fit so perfectly into yours. He loves being able to get his hands on you, and he adores hearing all the sounds you make when his fingers are slowly moving between your legs. You have to remind him that he’s allowed to be rough with you, but his gentleness makes it so much sweeter.

He’s not sure if this qualifies but he loves your hips. He loves watching them sway when you walk, he loves getting to hold onto them to guide you back into him, and whenever you’re snuggling afterwards he can’t help but wrap his arms around you tight and run his hands all along your curves. Though they always linger just a bit longer once he reaches your hips.

C- Cum (anything to do with cum)

He almost always gets full body spasms whenever he cums. His head tilts back, eyes clenched tight, his chest heaving as his arms and legs start to give out and shake and you can feel his body tremble ever so slightly as his hips buck up into the air. It’s so cute to see how red his face gets and to hear the quiet whimpers lie legs out as he comes down from his high.

D- Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He prefers to be a little more submissive in bed, but he LOVES when you beg him to make you cum. Something about knowing he has control over the pleasure your body feels gives him a rush of adrenaline like nothing else ever has. He’ll thrust a bit faster, he’ll grip onto you tighter, and sometimes he gets a little ahead of himself and asks if you want to go another round without even realizing how drained he is from the constant energy exertion.

E- Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Almost none. He’s kissed girls before, but it’s never been past just a basic kiss, everything else is very new to him and he doesn’t mind learning just as long as you don’t mind teaching. He has a somewhat basic knowledge of sex, but he also knows that porn is different than actually doing it.

F- Favorite position (pretty self explanatory)

He loves getting to watch when you ride him. He’ll hold onto your thighs, bucking his hips up into you to match your pace, waiting for that moment to come where you just can’t take it anymore and start bouncing faster and faster. He really loves how much it feels like you need him so desperately, especially when your nails start digging into his chest.

G- Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?)

He tries to be serious about it due to his anxiety, but a few giggles slip out every once in a while, mainly due to his inexperience. He knows that you’re never laughing at him, and sometimes it helps make him feel more comfortable to know that even when he ‘messes up’ it doesn’t turn you away.

H- Hair (how well groomed are they?)

He’s naturally a pretty hairy guy, but that’s the only area other than his facial hair that he pays attention to. He tries to keep it short, not buzzed but not too overgrown. He’s got a very childish personality so he usually keeps his body hair a little unkempt to make him look more his age.

I- Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

It’s almost a 50/50 of romantic and awkward with him. He gets so caught up in the moment that his filters turn off and he’ll say whatever comes to mind, all that’s floating through his head is you and how he can make you feel good. He really does try to make it feel romantic, sometimes he just needs a little help.

J- Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Even after you’re together, he still feels a little but of guilt whenever he jerks off to pictures of you, or even just the thought of you making the sounds of the girls on his computer screen. He goes back to the mindset of whenever he did it before you were together, and the embarrassment he would’ve felt if you’d ever caught him, but knowing that there’s a possibility of getting caught turns him on more.

K- Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise

He likes hearing how good he’s doing, especially if it’s something new to him. He’s a very good listener and always tries so hard to make you feel as good as possible. Hearing you praise him is just more motivation to keep going and trying new things.

Overstimulation

It’s not something he likes to dive into all the time, but if it’s been a while he wants you to take as much of him as you can. He’ll insist you keep going until he can’t anymore, and although sometimes he pushes himself a little too far, you always take care of him afterwards.

Compersion

He is obsessed with the fact that he’s able to bring you so much pleasure. Hearing the noises he pulls from you, feeling your body tremble beneath his hands, getting your praise and being able to see just how good he’s making you feel is enough to get him off. He won’t even have to touch himself, all it takes is the friction from grinding into the mattress and he’ll make a mess of himself.

L- Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s not really comfortable just yet doing it anywhere other than a bed, but he’s open to trying out new places. He’s found that he enjoys doing it on other peoples beds more than your own, and you’ve tried talking him into doing it in a car or on the beach by the lake late at night but he gets too nervous at the thought of getting caught to do it just yet. He likes the rush, but there have been too many close calls for him to be completely comfortable with it.

M- Motivation (what turns them on)

Nothing. He loves watching you do nothing. Sitting at the end of the pier with your arms propping you up as you watch the sun set, the golden glow framing your face so beautifully. Reading in bed with your hair tied back and your jammie’s on, all comfortable and cozy. Just seeing how you manage to always look so beautiful doing most mundane things makes his heart race.

N- No (something they wouldn’t do)

There’s quite a lot he wouldn’t do, but at the moment it’s really only due to his lack of experience. He knows for certain he wouldn’t want to share you, he’d get too insecure with the thought of another person touching you, but he’s got no issue with learning how to use toys on you. He’s also still figuring out all his likes and dislikes when it comes to sex, so he doesn’t want to delve into anything too rough just yet. He’s still getting used to vanilla sex so you have to let him get comfortable with it before trying anything too out of the norm for him.

O- Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He of course loves receiving, but he always prefers to give. He likes knowing how good he can make you feel, and he gets the perfect view of your body when he looks up at you from between your thighs. Feeling your fingers move through his hair as you tell him how good he’s doing only encourages him more, and he does quite a good job for someone so new to it. It always starts out with him figuring out where all your sensitive spots are, and it’ll end with them memorized while his hands are either tangled in yours or gripping onto your thighs.

P- Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He always starts out nice and slow, taking his time to get into a comfortable enough position before he picks up his pace. It’s rare when he gets rough but if he’s had a not so good day and just needs to release some of the pent up frustration you’re always willing to let him take it out on you. Other than that, he really loves letting every single moment longer for as long as he can. You make him feel so good he wants to make sure he can make it last for as long as possible.

Q- Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

It’s definitely something he’d be interested in trying. The thought of it is so exciting but he’s just scared of the of getting caught since you’re not really given a lot of time alone together. You may be able to convince him if you make sure there’s no chance of getting caught but they’re not really something that he would jump at.

R- Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not so much, but it’s not like he doesn’t try. Sex is all new to him, and it’s one of those things that he really has to get used to before he goes and tries anything that’s super new to him. If there’s something new that you want to try or that he wants to try you always make it known, but he’s not immediately going to be comfortable with getting rough and dirty if he’s not used to the gentle and intimate parts of sex. But all he wants is to make you feel good, so if it seems like you’re really enthusiastically about trying something new, that’s usually enough to convince him.

S- Stamina (how many rounds can they go? how long can they last?)

He can usually only go for one round, but if you give him a little time and enough affection he’ll always consider going for another round. He’s only able to last a few minutes from being so sensitive, but he tries to push himself a little more every time. He wants to try and make it last as long as possible, so every now and then he’ll keep going until it hurts just too good.

T- Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or on themselves?)

He’s never owned any himself, his hand works just fine for him, but the thought definitely has crossed his mind. He’s comfortable enough being intimate with you to understand that if he finishes before you and can’t keep going then you’re going to need something to get you off. And he’s completely fine still giving you attention and affection while you’re using it. He’ll lay at your side and let his hands roam your body, kissing all along your neck, matching all the little noises you make into your ear because hearing how good you feel is enough to make him yearn for you again.

U- Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He’s gotten quite good at teasing, especially since he knows that teasing you only makes you want him more. He’s quite good with his hands, they’re rough and calloused but so gentle on your curves, and he always likes to take his time and admire every little part of you. Sometimes he needs a little guidance, but he prefers having you tell him when to change what he’s doing rather than keep doing something you don’t like.

V- Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jason is either a quiet whimpering mess or he’s moaning and groaning so loud you sometimes have to cover his mouth, no in between. He’s definitely more quiet in bed, he prefers to hear the sounds that come from you so he tries to keep his volume to a minimum, but the little noises he makes are so adorable you’ll try to pull them from him as much as possible. He usually gets loud whenever you’re on top, and it’s perfect for you because he likes having your hands on him, even when it’s coving his mouth to keep him quiet.

W- Wild card (random HC)

He feels so perverted when he does it, but it turns him on to watch you whenever you’re changing or in the shower. Whether you’re together or not, the thought of knowing that he could get caught admiring the way you treat your body sends a terrifying thrill through his veins. He knows he has the chance to touch you like he wants to, but being so secretive is what makes it so fun. He knows he’s not supposed to, and he knows that there will be consequences if he’s caught, but it’s the one thing that he’s willing to do no matter what happens to him. You’re just too beautiful to not watch.

X- X-Ray (what’s going on under the waistband 👀)

He’s ever so slightly above average, just a little more than 6 inches, and it’s such a perfect fit. He’s got a bit more girth so sometimes it takes a minute to settle into you, but he sinks in so agonizingly slow it gives you time to get your body fully adjusted to him. He’s VERY sensitive, and it never takes much teasing to get him hard. Usually all you have to do is rub him outside his jeans for a few moments until he’s rock hard, but he loves how much control you have over him.

Y- Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s not insanely high, but if you offer up just the idea of sex he’ll jump at it as fast as he can. Any time you want it, he’ll give it to you, just because he loves knowing how much you love the way he fits so perfectly with you. There are times where he’s a little reluctant to ask you for it, he doesn’t want to be the type of boyfriend that’s always asking for sex, but you’re just so pretty and watching you perform the smallest tasks turns him on.

Z- Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

He’ll get exhausted very quickly but the adrenaline will still be surging through him so he can stay up after for a decent while. He likes getting to hold you afterwards and there’s just something about pillow talk that he finds so soothing that he just wants to lay there with you and talk until you can’t anymore. The only time he’s ever fallen asleep after was if he went into already tired, but even that’ll take a little bit. Plus, he knows that aftercare is a must, so if he’s feeling tired he can only imagine how tired you’re feeling after taking it, so he’ll keep himself up until you’re fully taken care of just so you can fall asleep with no worries in the morning.

[yuri-is-online]

Azul totally has an octopus and shrimp plush that he makes kiss.

Who? How? Usually when I get an ask I know where it comes from (or why anyway) but this time I just looked at my phone and got hit by a bus. But you know what annon? You are so right, he totally does.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Azul engages in some SSS tier simping (shrimping?), once again this is a joke but I am not taking cold meds this time! Please look at my masterlist for more serious works.

Plush toys do not exist in the ocean, the concept of them was something Azul had been made aware of in his research and made note of in land training camp. But of course, as was the case with more things than he would ever admit to outside of a court order, Azul failed to grasp just how ubiquitous and popular plushies were. He had even been gifted an octopus plush as a prize during one of the first Board Game Club events he attended, something he had intended to brush off as childish until he saw the way his club mates reacted, even if he didn't understand why himself the little guy was clearly an enviable prize. A claim made less believable with how he hadn't let Floyd squeeze it, or Jade poke at it, and he certainly had not agreed to give it to Idia no matter how much he had begged.

The shrimp plush had been a... strategic purchase. No really, if anyone asked he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had bought this specific plush that he had to go out of his way to find, order, and watch out for to make sure that Jade didn't bring it to him with the rest of his mail. The Mostro Lounge was always going to expand to have a merch store, and since plush toys were so popular with humans it made sense to have some! He just needed to ensure this particular brand was of a high enough quality to commission-

No one was going to buy that excuse. All the more reason to keep this little indulgence a secret, even if the seller had been confused by his request for discreet packaging.

"It's just a plush sir?" To them maybe, to him this is a painful sign that he should just say something already but he needs to plan for that and this should help. The two plushes certainly look natural enough together, Azul has seen pictures of some beds that have a bunch of little guys set up on them and he's beginning to see the appeal. Maybe he should get two eels? Smaller than the shrimp, obviously, it's the only way the real ones will ever let him live it down. But by thinking that he is sort of acknowledging who the little shrimp is supposed to represent. And they're sitting next to him in his bed.

He takes back his previous thought, Azul has no idea how humans sleep with things that remind them of the objects of their affections, it's filling his mind with situations.  He props himself up against the headboard, holding both plushies close to his face so he can see them without his glasses.

“I was so lonely.” Azul is incapable of picturing him otherwise.  “I really missed you.”  He sniffles, and the little shrimp jumps to comfort him.

“I missed you too!”  The little shrimp is friends with the octopus?  Azul has no idea when that happened he just got them today-  “Let’s never be apart again ok?”

“Do you really mean that?”  The little octopus tentatively reaches out one of his stubby tentacles towards the shrimp, who takes it happily.  “I don’t want to let you go…”

“You don’t have to.” comforts the little shrimp. “We can get married and do our laundry and taxes together forever and you won’t ever have to be lonely ever again.” 

And that is apparently when Azul decides to come back to his senses, just as he is halfway through humming a wedding march and making the plushies kiss.  He remembers himself enough to keep them from dropping to the floor, but they still fall to his side as he collapses back onto his pillows redder than a boiled lobster.

Maybe he should just… give the little shrimp over to Yuu.  And make some actual progress on that laundry and taxes bit.

[shotmrmiller]

expanding on the konig ask // it turned a bit nsfw sorry

könig would mistake your simple kindness as a crush.

he'd been slightly startled when you gently rapped on his office door to ask him if he wanted a cup of warm caffeine before breakfast since you're already getting one for yourself. (he hasn't a clue that horangi had practically begged for one too.)

then was the one time you'd offered to stitch the tear in his hood. he'd sputtered, completely taken aback by how brazen you'd been. "nein." he'd stiffly walked away apple-cheeked; hands balled into fists in his pockets. (no one knows how to sew for shit, you're the team medic of both bodies and clothing.)

then you bring him an apple pastry. the pencil (könig, please. we are in 2k24 use a pen) snaps in his hand when you choke out, "apfel strudel". his mother tongue rolling off of yours is truly too much and when you leave, he fists himself under his desk with the butchered words echoing inside his head. shame roils in his gut after— post-nut clarity hitting like nothing else— and with a snarl, he wipes the thick cum off of his hand on his pants while using the other to eat the treat that you so kindly baked for him. (the pastry was cold and made of tart green apples which he's hated since he was a lad.)

and now, with your head resting on his padded shoulder, dozing off. his tongue is tied in a knot and there's a lump in his throat because no one's ever really dared to be so forward with him. not only is he a walking pussy deterrent— what with his height and creepy, blank stare— but he's also a colonel; your superior. he can only have him under you in one way and that's under his command. so he makes his choice. once the helo lands back at base, könig taps the side of your helmet with his finger and mutedly asks you to meet him in his office.

"i am flattered, ja? but you must cease this behavior."

"sir?"

he clenches his jaw, crooked teeth gnashing together in determination. he won't let your pretty, round face deter him from his duty to his country, the team, nor you. it simply wouldn't be fair. he's your leader so it's up to him to put a stop to this. könig refuses to acknowledge the look of disappointment on your face. (delusional. you look confused because you literally have no idea what he's talking about.)

"the food—"

"you didn't like it? the apfel strudel?" he chokes on his spit when you say it and turns around to pound at his chest. he doesn't hear how you had told fender to not order that dessert. 'just because it's austrian doesn't mean the colonel will like it.'

he's fortunate to have such a tall backrest on his office chair because his cock is already at half-mast and your dulcet voice reverberating off the plain walls of his small office is doing him no favors. könig stands directly behind it and dismisses you with a wave of his hand and a hoarse command.

how tantalizing you are, so bold to be showcasing your talent in home economics just like a frigatebird puffing its chest out to attract a mate. his grip on the chair tightens, the leather protesting with a soft creak.

it's just a crush. time will erode these frail sentiments you've come to have for him (for him! an old, ugly man whose virginity has practically grown back since the last time he slept with someone was a paid sex worker years ago) and so he'll just ignore them.

(he doesn't. he fucks his pillow every night— jaw trembling and saliva pooling— thinking it's you taking him instead and confuses your s/o as a relative.)

[whisperingmidnights]

These Silent Hours

For @erisweekofficial Day Three - Healing

Summary: Lost in a fog of grief, Nesta finds herself wandering the Forest House late at night. A conversation with a friend thaws the frost death left behind and reminds her that healing can be found anywhere, even on the darkest of nights.

Pairing: Platonic Eris & Nesta, background Azris. This may or may not be my excuse to write Nezris later.

Warnings: Dealing with death, grief, isolation, depression.

     The fire does not crack or pop.

     For all that it burns, it does not even blister.

     At least, not within these chambers.

     The steady drizzle of rain upon the gilded leaves of Autumn and the ever-present ticking of a clock are the only sounds Nesta can hear. A small collection of sleepy shadows swim along the lip of the hearth like little fish, occasionally brushing against her bare feet before they swirl across the floor and retreat beneath the door at her back. Are they reporting back to their master in their strange, whispered tongue? Probably. Truly, it’s surprising Azriel hasn’t been hovering behind her since she crept in from the guest chambers at the end of the hall.

     She hadn’t expected to find the door to their private rooms unlocked. She simply couldn’t stand another moment lying in the dark with only her thoughts for company. The void within her chest seems to expand when no one else is around. Pressure from that hollow chamber where her heart used to be becomes a weight she cannot withstand in these silent hours. Her intent had been to wander until she found life. The first door she tried brought her here, where the fire is warm yet does not burn the flesh she holds before it in a meager effort to chase the chill of death from her bones.

     That cold is her constant companion.

     The band of skin around her finger, paler than the rest, is a reminder she does not need. The ring had not occupied the space long enough for there to have been such a noticeable difference, but it has yet to fade. She’d burn it away if she could. Like a brand, like a curse, the absence of color haunts her.

     She doesn’t know what she’ll do when it, too, becomes a ghost.

     Thrusting her hand once more into the fire, she marvels as much at the flames that lick between her fingers as she does the absence of charred flesh that should accompany it. Not even the fine hairs on her wrists singe away, but they should. They should. Some part of this should hurt.

     It doesn’t.

     “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” The low, lazy drawl, spoken so softly behind her, is enough to have her nearly jumping out of her skin at its intrusion. Nearly. The scare is not violent enough to send her heart beating wildly against her ribs, but it’s close. Tendrils of hair fall loose from her braided coronet as she glares back over her shoulder at the High Lord lingering in the dark.

     What is it with High Lords and their penchant for standing in the shadows?

     “Something seems to be wrong with your fire,” she snips, slowly withdrawing her hand from the flames. They chase after her, nearly spilling from the metal grate to brush against her skin before their master waves them back to a low, gentle simmer. Her voice is tired, even to her ears.

     “Oh?” Eris asks, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he gracefully folds to the floor at her side. Nosy shadows follow at his heels like puppies begging for attention, rolling and frolicking over the floorboards, but he pays them no mind. Eyes like molten amber bore into hers, a gaze she cannot withstand for long. He sees too much of her, he always has.

     A trait his mate also possesses.

     Nesta might hate them for it if it were not, occasionally, a comfort. Unfortunately, she is not also permitted the comfort of silence for long.

     “Go on, Nesta Archeron. Tell me what’s wrong with my fire.” A dare, it’s always a dare with Eris. On the dance floor, in forests strange and familiar, he meets her step for step. Barb for barb. They are more mirror than contrast, forever walking a line that grows finer and finer each day. Once, perhaps, she might have entertained what it would lead to. The chase and the surrender.

     Once, before she followed that thread of gold instead, a promise of love that tastes so much like ash on her tongue. It only led to ruin in the end. His, of course, not hers. Never hers. Solitary wolves may survive the longest winter, if their teeth and claws are very sharp. But for how long? How long can one person brave the night?

     “It seems to have been tamed,” she says, bringing herself back to the fire. “There’s no real heat to it.” The words are flat against her tongue, lacking their usual bite. She doesn’t have the energy for it.

     “Tamed? Surely not.” The fire flares before them. Unbearable heat washes over her for only a brief second, chasing away the cold around her heart before it settles and the chill creeps back in. Again, she wants to feel it again, to be free of this torment for just a moment more. That’s what she should fear, the need for heat once she’s felt it. Not the cold, endless night. Nesta leans towards the fire she’d abhorred, so far she runs the risk of toppling in, before a warm hand wraps around her wrist. She eases back onto the floor, wrapping her arms around the knees she pulls to her chest. Anything to capture a bit of that warmth. “Gentled, perhaps, within these walls. But never tame.”

     The clock on the wall ticks and ticks.

     That pale, freckled hand does not settle on her again. She can’t decide if she resents the touch or craves it. Her traitorous heart stutters in her chest, longing for something it cannot have. Comfort, tenderness, affection, all abstract concepts in the absence of her mate. He was the only person who would dare to handle her so freely and in such a manner – well, almost the only person.

     The other sleeps soundly beyond the door at her back, while his mate sits next to her. Watching her with eyes that see too much. Once, she might have gouged them out rather than allow herself to be seen.

     “Do you want to talk about it?” About him. The unspoken part lingers between them like a ghost.

     “I don’t think I can.” If she speaks of it, it’s real. He’s gone. Her heart is a savage thing, beating against her ribs like a hammer, like a drum. A useless, violent organ that brings more harm than good. She would carve it from her chest, if that would ease the ache of it all. It won’t, it won’t. Her own fire licks at the core of her, a monstrous cold that cannot be smothered or blown away. She stuffs it down, trying to extinguish it, but it refuses to go out. They must both endure. “Azriel will be looking for you.”

     “He knows where I am.”

     “Yet he didn’t come out here himself.”

     “He’s trying not to be an overbearing bat. Fighting one’s nature is an exercise in futility, but he tries.” From the corner of her eye, she notes a wry smile spreading across those thin, pale lips. Nesta immediately wants to remove it, either with her hands or her teeth, though she’s not sure which would be more effective. Instead, she breathes and focuses on that fire. Will she always meet kindness with violence? Is that response too ingrained in her nature to change? “Talk to me, Nesta. Tell me how to help.”

     “You can’t,” she says, though the answer should be obvious to the male at her side. “I think I am too vicious.”

     “To be helped?”

     “To be helped, to be held, to be comforted.” Nesta has too many teeth, and claws that refuse to be dulled. Love might have softened their edges once, but the absence of that bond has left them sharper than ever. “It is useless to try.”

     “Then why did you come?” She flinches, though there’s no accusation in his tone. It’s simply a question, posed in the same even tone as any other, as if he’s merely remarking on the weather. The game is familiar, she’s watched him play it before. First with Rhysand and, sometimes, Cassian, then again with Azriel when they were still circling each other. If she allows it, he’ll spin a web of questions until she’s hopelessly ensnared. Nesta isn’t in the mood to trade questions or barbs until she’s dizzy, not when she’s so cold and tired.

     So very tired.

     Her forehead falls against her folded arms.

     “The quiet was too much. I thought I might walk until I found someone awake who might be up for company. I found my way here instead.”

     “Where you found someone awake, who is glad for your company.”

     “Are you glad to have been dragged from your bed for such miserable company? You must be starved for it, if that’s the case.” Ice creeps into her words, spreading like mold, but Eris does not shy from it. She had known when she had briefly entertained his marriage proposal that he would not be the sort to hide from her. Nesta sinks her teeth into her tongue before she can carelessly throw out something about his mate not being enough to hold his interest. She will not be cruel about Azriel or to him after he’d so quickly come to get her when she’d begged for an escape.

     Not that it mattered in the end. Anywhere she went, pain and loss came with her. Nesta should have known it would trail her to the Forest House. The very foundation of the grand estate is steeped in both, after all.

     “With most of my brothers dead and my remaining courtiers successfully under my thumb, I do find myself in dire need of a sparring partner. But I don’t think you came for a debate.”

     “What am I here for then?” she asks dully. “Since you know me so well, Eris. Enlighten me.” It’s closer to the truth than she’d like.

     “You miss your brute. Mother knows why - not to speak ill of the dead, of course - but I think you miss the comfort and safety you found with him. I remember what it was like, to crave those things so desperately that I’d bite any hand that offered them. You don’t know what to do with it but, once you’ve had it, you don’t know what to do without it.” The exhale through his nose is long and, when she dares to glance at Eris again, there’s only quiet contemplation on his sharp features as he stares into those soundless flames. It lends him a softness she’s never noticed before. “It is what I would miss, after all. That and much, much more. I am sorry for your loss, Nesta.”

     “Everyone is.” She presses her lips into a thin line when they begin to tremble, and rests her chin on her arms. The fire is lovely without the bone cracking noise the logs usually make. Shades of scarlet, orange, and gold twine together in a beautiful, spiraling dance that reminds her too much of other dances she’s shared. Maybe she could learn to love it, if it always remained this silent. “Everyone’s sorry, but it doesn’t matter. It changes nothing. He is still gone and I…” I am still alone, and haunted by everything we could have had, could have been, if we’d only had the time. She dares not voice the bitter truth of it all. She can, however, offer a truth. One she’s already said aloud. “I am emptier for it.”

     A walking void might be more apt. A creature built for hollow places. What is left for her now? Endless nights alone, without the heat of the bond she’d grown so accustomed to. And if not alone…no. She cannot entertain the idea of a half-life spent with anyone else. It would be cruel to drag another person into this pit with her, and for what? A mere echo of something greater? A promise of an unending love she can never truly fulfill?

     That warm, freckled hand finds her in the middle of those thoughts and cuts through all that cold. It wraps around her slender shoulder and gives a gentle tug, an offer she should refuse. First, she stiffens, then folds like a house of cards into the High Lord’s side. Even through the fine silks of his robe and bedclothes, Eris’s skin is molten. He is warm in a way she craves and it is wrong, it is wrong, but she is so eager for more of it that she leans into that touch.

     The hollow grief inside her chest melts away like ice, and falls from her eyes in an echo of the rain. It soaks into his robe, but Eris doesn’t seem to care. The grip around her shoulders tightens, and she’s so tired that she does not – cannot – fight it.

     “You are safe here, Nesta, and cared for. As long as you wish to be.” It is not the promise of a High Lord, with all of the cold authority such words are usually given. This is softer, spoken in the shadows, a friend reaching out their hand. She remembers what it is to reach out a hand. “You are not alone. You do not have to be alone.”

     When she glances up, those amber eyes are there. They see everything. And they do not shy away.

[kurorosanime]

25 Years Later: "Failing ✕ Panic ✕ Heavenly Voice"

The general idea of a hunter has been tossed around throughout the 1999 anime, and while many have been introduced, from fake ones to real ones like Kite, it is only here, in both the manga and the 1999 anime, that we see the truth of what makes a hunter- their greed. 

In the prior episode the characters Buhara and Menchi were introduced at the Phase Two proctors, and it concluded with Menchi declaring everyone had failed her half of the exam, and here we see her own failures be examined. Being a Hunter of a specific type is something invokes pride and further desire, and her desire is to continue to discover new flavors and culinary advancements as she describes in this episode, but it gets in the way of her ability as a proctor.

Rather than filtering out the chaff from those who have potential, she views the Hunter Exams as a way to flaunt her own ability and discover something new. She has a misconception in her view of the Exams, and one that the 1999 anime showcases through a simple dichotomy it introduces for this episode.

In both the manga and the anime, Netero intervenes in Menchi’s failing of the examinees and offers her a chance to re-examine them under a more balanced test, a showcase that even being a hunter isn’t the peak of everything you can achieve- you still learn, still have to grow, still can fail. But in an anime original section, Menchi gives the cast a ‘farewell gift’, in showcasing her own gourmet hunter skills, obtaining a rare ingredient and preparing a meal for one of the discontented examinees, Todo, to try.

In short, it fails to resonate. Gon ends up being the only one to try it, and he is confused by the flavor, something which Menchi classes as him being inexperienced- but that shows her own failings here. This causes the re-examination to take on a new light, with the characters experiencing the far more well-rounded aspects of gourmet hunting, the physical strength and courage required to jump into a ravine and collect a rare food, into a comparative moment.

Where Menchi’s food fails to resonate, this food the contestants capture and prepare themselves completely changes their view of the world of gourmet hunters, that it’s not just a shallow field but something valuable.

Of course, this is all adaptation. This is all expanding on present ideas already there in a way I’m fond of and what episode eight had been lacking. It continues an episodic appeal that had been lost in that episode as well, providing an enclosed journey for the characters involved.

As a final note, since this episode was another one of the more faithful ones (despite being anime original for half of it), it’s worth noting the upgraded significance to Gon and Todo. Gon’s involvement in this series of events is more directs- he begs Menchi to not cancel the exam, he’s involved in the conflict between the examiners and Todo, and of course, he has a conflict with Todo at the end, one which ends in Gon saving the man because he asked for help.

That final note is an interesting one as it leaves a layer of ambiguity. Despite Gon being more firmly in “good boy” territory compared to his manga counterpart, seeking the Hunter profession as an interest to connect with his father, his saving of Todo is one that has two conflicting reasons. One is that Todo stole the egg which Gon needed to pass the exam, and the other is saving Todo because he asked for help. While he answers that he did it for the latter reason, it offers a view into Gon in relation to becoming a Hunter.

Menchi shows the Hunter ideal- she is an impressive young hunter, and she is characterized by her own greed. In this moment, we get a direct example of Gon’s own greed, mixed with a level of compassion for others. Perhaps he wants to have it all, and perhaps the ever increasing amount of anime original conflicts for Gon will showcase just where the staff wanted to take his character here.

Next time, we'll see 1999 once again enter into a firmly anime original territory with one of its few original Hunter examinees.

[thechy-fychannel]

You said you think pre-infarction house was an addict-can you expand on that? What drugs were he hooked on and why did he fully switch to vicodin and never used others again? Did he ever reach a go-to-rehab level addiction? How did wilson handle that? And what was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think she would have been a lot more forgiving than cuddy because 1. She herself is a smoker who goes back to cigarettes during hard time and 2. Unlike cuddy, she didn't have a small child to worry about.

Ahhh thank you sm, I love this question!!! Let's get into it ✨

So my theory is that house was abusing morphine prior to the infarction. here are my reasons for thinking so:

1. Three Stories- the entire reason house's infarction was as bad as it was is bc everyone except house was convinced he was just drug seeking at first. it makes absolutely zero sense for them to think that unless he already had a history of drug seeking. unless I misremember (anyone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) he already worked at PPTH for a while before the infarction happened. so it was the same doctors he knew and interacted with every single day that saw him screaming in agony and chose to believe he was just trying to seek drugs and not actually in pain. he had to have a history, it just doesn't make sense otherwise for them to assume he was drug seeking.

2. one very specific line in No Reason (the episode where house is shot and the whole episode is a hallucination). when house, wilson, and cuddy are in her office and house is realizing they did something to his brain (the ketamine treatment) cuddy says this specific line: "You were out of control, you were shooting morphine!" This line has always stuck out to me and no one ever seems to mention it. It's very out of place bc the conversation they're having is about him being shot and them doing something to him while he was under. I think this was his brain connecting this event to the last time someone did something to him while he was unconscious, trying to rationalize these traumatic events.

3. In early s3 when the pain comes back, he begs cuddy to give him a shot of morphine in his spine (the scene where he drops his pants in her office and asks her in tears if the scar is all in his head too since she thinks the pain is all in his head.) cuddy gives him the shot and he comes back looking for another one later on, after the pain comes back again. she informs him that she never gave him morphine, it was saline. the fact that the pretend morphine worked suggests he had a mental dependency on it. I'm pretty sure this is the point where he goes back to vicodin (it's been a few months since I did my last rewatch so I could be wrong). I think had she actually given him morphine, he likely would've become addicted to it again. Just the thought of the morphine was enough to have him looking for more.

4. Wilson's tendency to jump straight to heroin use when he thinks house is on something other than vicodin. it happens more than once in the series when house starts acting just the slightest bit off, wilson leaps to the conclusion that he's on heroin. which is an insane leap to make unless it's something he's had to worry about in the past. I think the reason wilson would jump to heroin over morphine is if he knows what it looks like when house is high on morphine. If house used to abuse morphine, wilson would be able to recognize it and if he can't, it must be something much worse. this again plays into why I think he was an addict prior to the infarction even if it wasn't morphine, because who in their right mind would jump to their best friend using heroin if that person didn't have a long history of abusing similar drugs?

Now to answer your other questions:

Why did he switch to vicodin and not go back to others he may have been addicted to? I can tell you from personal experience that while morphine feels great, it makes you hazy and tired and out of it. I think once he was prescribed vicodin after his surgery and learned that he could function on it and not feel hazy, it was a match made in heaven for him (he says a few times in the show that vicodin doesn't make him hazy, so he immediately knows if he's on something else bc he feels hazy.) He didn't need to switch to anything else as long as he had access to vicodin bc he got the high, the pain relief, and no haziness. but when he got cut off of his vicodin during the tritter ordeal, he stole oxycodone (I think?) from wilson's dead patient. so if he didn't have vicodin, it's safe to assume he would go back to whatever he had access to.

Did he ever reach rehab level addiction? / What was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think if we go based off his colleagues thinking he was drug seeking + cuddy saying he was out of control and shooting up morphine, I would say yes, it was rehab level addiction. But— I feel like if it had been that bad, stacy would've mentioned it in some sort of capacity during her arc when they were discussing their relationship. she never hints at him being an addict as far as I can remember. she loved and cared about house so much that she was willing to accept him hating her if it meant he was alive and healthy. I feel like if his addiction had been dangerous, she would've done anything to get him help the same way she did during his infarction. even if it meant going against his wishes and him hating her, she would've insisted he got help. so I'm conflicted on that question, honestly. I think maybe it depends on the perspective of those around him. maybe those at the hospital saw something stacy didn't, I'm not sure. but I agree with what you said about her being more forgiving and understanding of it than cuddy was. I think if he had been an addict while they were together, she would've given him an endless amount of chances until it became dangerous, that's when she would put her foot down and try to force him into rehab and their relationship probably would've crumbled for a whole different reason.

How did Wilson handle his addiction? I think house being an addict prior to the infarction plays perfectly into the theme of wilson emotionally neglecting his wives for house. we obviously don't have an exact timeline of his marriages aside from his first one ending just before house and wilson met, but it's pretty safe to assume that he was married to and even possibly divorced from bonnie before the infarction ever happened since he seems to have been married to julie for a little while in the beginning of the show.

[sidenote: here is my personal timeline HC for wilson's marriages.

Sam: 1991-1992 (canon)

Bonnie: 1993-1998

Julie: 1999 (before infarction) - 2005]

In the episode where house uses bonnie to get dating info about wilson, she says the iconic line, "You always needed him and he was always there for you. He had a wife waiting for him at home and you didn't care." And it just makes sense if the reason house always needed him was because of his struggles with addiction. house in general is a needy person who always wanted wilson's affection to himself, that much is clear, but wilson had to of had a good excuse to always run off for whatever it is house needed from him prior to him being disabled.

Getting into more specifics about how wilson would've handled his addiction back then— I think he would've handled it similarly to the way he did with the vicodin. he's an enabler unfortunately, he would've let house make excuses and made excuses for him because he tries to give house the benefit of the doubt that he can control himself. I think back then even more so, because house wasn't in pain and disabled, wilson had no reason to think house couldn't control himself. I think it's even possible that wilson was in denial about it too, he didn't want to believe his best friend was an addict and maybe he felt like he needed to protect house when others started accusing him of such. I think that may be why wilson asked cuddy to make that bet with house to find out if he was addicted to vicodin. he ignored it and denied it last time and he's enabled him for years since the infarction, he wanted to know if he was treating house's pain or still enabling an addict. the answer was both, which makes it no less complicated. but like with all of house's issues, wilson continues to stand by him and be there for him bc he loves him and wants him in his life, addict or no addict.

[phantomtwitch]

Electric Core/No One Knows AU

I meant to post this for some event, but never got around to it. Since AO3 is functionally down at the moment, I figured I'd share it in case folks are looking for something to read. It's kind of similar to 'As the Ice Begins to Crack' in terms of vibes (or at least that's what I was aiming for - I want to write more AUs in that vein, and I might expand more on this at some point).

Enjoy!

Tucker knows it’s coming as soon as the air shifts. 

The differences are subtle at first. A faint whiff of ozone, a slight chill to the air as the wind picks up and sweeps the fall leaves into spirals over the ground, and then the hairs on his arms stand on end. Then comes the low-pitched hum, the hiss that sounds like electricity running through high-voltage cables, peppered with the occasional burst of static and awful whining as the air grows heavy and thick, the sky darkening even when moments ago the sun shone brightly above them.

Sam freezes next to him, her fingers clutching her milkshake tightly as her eyes dart from side to side, looking for somewhere to hide until they land on an abandoned house nearby. “Come on,” she insists, tugging at his hand.

“Sam, there’s no way that place is safe, it’s been condemned for years–”

“--and being out here with Phantom is?” she interrupts, and Tucker scowls, knowing that she’s right, but moving from one dangerous spot to another isn’t ideal. There’s nowhere else close enough to go, though, or at least not anywhere they won’t risk getting struck once the lightning starts, and he follows her with a groan and an eye roll. They’re on the porch when the first lightning bolt strikes the pavement nearby, making it explode and sending shrapnel flying that barely misses him and Sam, and thunder roars, painfully loud and close. He slaps his hands over his ears, trying to block out what noise he can, but his ears are still ringing when it stops.

Sam forces one of the windows open and climbs through, with Tucker following shortly after. The house is empty and covered in heavy dust that makes Tucker sneeze as they disturb it, the air almost as oppressive inside as it was out, and in the corner he can see signs of something rotting that he doesn’t dare approach. 

The two of them stand at the window even though they both know better. When a ghost that is more an embodiment of the storm than the kind of vague, intangible figure haunting ghost stories becomes a common fixture in town, endless safety lectures and drills become the norm. Knowing what to do in the event of a thunderstorm is the closest the teachers can get to explaining the safety precautions that are necessary when Phantom is about. 

He’s only actually seen Phantom once before, when Sam begged him and Danny to go on a ghost hunting trip back in freshman year on Halloween. Tucker wasn’t terribly interested in ghosts, but he was too old for trick-or-treating and not popular enough to score an invite to any parties, so he agreed. Danny did, too, but bailed at the last minute, claiming he felt too tired and sick to go with them. 

Tucker tries not to think about Danny too much. The three of them haven’t spoken in close to six months, at least, drifting further and further apart despite his and Sam’s best efforts to stay friends their first two years of high school together. Most days he’s barely in class anymore, and when he is Danny is constantly tucked away in a corner, curling in tightly on himself, careful to avoid getting too close to anyone. Dark circles constantly ring his eyes, his expression hollow and skin too pale. Sam asked Jazz once before she went off to college if Danny was seriously ill and she denied it, even as it was clear something about him had changed since high school started.

“Do you ever talk to Danny anymore?” he asks suddenly, and the shift in conversation as they peer out the window and wait for the elusive Phantom to make his appearance catches Sam off guard.

“No. Does anyone?” she says, her tone resigned as another loud peal of thunder echoes around them, and Tucker swears he sees the house shaking. They argued a few times about what to do and what else to try, never figuring out a way to reach him. 

“I guess not.” He turns back to look outside, rubbing his arms as a figure blinks into existence on the road. The features are hard to make out, as always, because of the bright green lightning that flickers across his form, making it nearly impossible to stare at Phantom for too long. His hair looks wispy and white, his eyes swirling pools of green amidst a heavily shadowed face, and his form is hazy and more like smoke or dark clouds in the vague shape of a person, yet there’s an odd solidity in the way that he moves at times, as if by far heavier and present than he ought to be in this inhuman state. 

The words that come out when Phantom speaks next aren’t any language humans can hope to imitate, but it’s clearly a form of communication, the ear piercing whine and buzzing reminding Tucker of standing beneath high-voltage wires even as it rises and lowers in pitch and the rhythms shift. There’s an echo to the words, a way it loops through the air as if constantly caught inside a tunnel no matter where Phantom appears, and his voice gets under Tucker’s skin, prickling like static beneath the surface and making him rub his arms more fiercely than before.

Another ghost roars back, his voice full of snarling and hissing, the sounds animalistic even as there’s a mechanical clicking that accompanies it, and Tucker recognizes it and winces as he spots the strange robotic ghost flying in mid-air, green flames cascading down his skull and back, completely unhampered by the rain that is now beginning to steadily fall. The Fentons call him Skulker. The hunter ghost is infamous, stalking his ‘prey’ throughout Amity Park, although what particular creature ends up being his prey in any given week is often impossible to know until it’s too late. Mostly what he hunts are other animals and ghosts, and for whatever reason, Phantom has long been one of his favored targets.

But the ghost stands little to no chance against Phantom.

“Maybe we should get away from the window,” suggests Tucker uneasily as a green blast extends from Phantom’s palm, swirling with crackling green lightning as it lashes out at Skulker, and sparking arcs of electricity dart from it, sparking against a stop sign and dancing across the pavement towards their hiding place. Though no one has ever seen Phantom directly attack a human before, his powers are wild and dangerous, the lightning barely controlled.

And Tucker’s all too aware that just because no one has ever witnessed Phantom attacking someone before doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do it.

“No, I want to watch,” whispers Sam stubbornly as she peers through the window, but her knuckles are white as she grips the window frame. Tucker barely suppresses a sigh as he remains firmly in place. The things he does for his best friend.

His only friend, a quiet voice whispers, but he ignores it. 

The fight is brutal, the ghosts barely visible as they attack each other, but the evidence of their fight is everywhere as green fire spirals, intertwining with the lightning amidst the rain. “It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?” says Sam, the lights and shadows dancing in front of them, and he nods despite himself. It’s terrifying, inhuman. The Fentons’ say that ghosts are nothing more than imprints, echoes of post-human consciousness, but as he watches them fight Tucker realizes he’s never truly understood exactly what that means, if they’re spirits or souls or just the fading echoes given some unnatural life at the very moment of someone’s death. 

“How do you think Phantom died?” he asks as Skulker slams into the pavement, the machinery smoking and his flames dwindling as the rain comes down harder, and Sam doesn’t answer, likely unable to hear him over the downpour and crackle of thunder. They watch as Phantom looms over Skulker, his indistinct form more monstrous than ever, and then he slams a fist into the machinery, his fingers sharp, black claws that spark as they dig through the metal frame and pull out a shimmering, shifting ghost, so tiny compared to the hulking frame encapsulating it. 

The rain begins to slow and Tucker wonders for a moment what Phantom will do, if he will destroy the squirming helpless thing in his hands, but then there’s a soft whisper, the sounds that come from Phantom no longer sending chills down his spine but inviting comfort instead, of an odd sort of warmth and gentleness. The ghost–is it Skulker? Tucker isn’t sure–responds in a mewling, annoyed tone, but stops fighting back as Phantom pulls an odd soup like container from . . . Tucker isn’t sure, actually, just where Phantom pulls it from, but he flicks the cap open with practiced ease and sucks the small ghost inside. 

“Isn’t that one of the Fentons’ inventions?” wonders Sam, and Tucker jolts as he realizes she’s right. He remembers seeing it once in one of the assemblies, but the device has rarely appeared in their arsenal since they created the portal guns to send the ghost back to their own dimension instead. “Think he stole it from them?”

“With the level of security they have around that place? Doubt it,” says Tucker. Though it’s been ages since he was last at the Fentons, their ghost security was aggressive enough that it would target sufficiently ecto contaminated humans by mistake, let alone a incredibly powerful ghost like Phantom. Tucker doubts they’ve downgraded their security since then, especially since the number of ghost attacks are only increasing. “Maybe he found it in the trash.”

“Maybe,” she hums, sounding doubtful, and it’s at that moment that the electric green eyes snap towards them, focusing intently, and although it’s too late both Sam and Tucker duck in a futile effort to hide. 

“Shit,” hisses Tucker, and Sam shushes him, putting a finger to her lips, but it’s too late as the air in front of them crackles and flickers as a bolt of electricity impossibly strikes the floor in front of them, Phantom appearing within it, his arms wrapped around the thermos. He and Sam flinch as they curl in towards each other, Sam’s hand grasping his own tightly now as the two of them tremble, and he can barely stand to look at Phantom, the electricity arcing along his body too bright. 

A hiss of static erupts, the same odd ghost speech as always, but this time Tucker understands it, hearing words within the noise even though that shouldn’t be possible. “You shouldn’t stay here,” says Phantom, the sparks around him diminishing, although now that Tucker can make out his features more clearly it’s almost worse as he opens his mouth to speak, sharp white fangs sparkling within. 

“Well where else were we supposed to go with you out there fighting?” grumbles Sam, and Tucker stares at her in horror, unable to believe she would dare to speak to any ghost, let alone Phantom, that way. But the ghost lets out an odd sound, of echoing loops and trills and whirring, and it takes Tucker a second to realize he’s laughing. 

“Fair. But this place is haunted,” he replies with a grin, “and the ghost that lives here doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”

“That’s–um–fine,” stutters Tucker, squeezing Sam’s hand tightly before she can utter another word as he forces himself to his feet. “We’ll, um, get going. And, um, thanks.”

The sparks stop running along his body, freezing at midpoints in a way that completely unnerves Tucker, as if the ghost is frozen in a photo instead of standing in front of them. “Thanks?” he repeats.

“For stopping the ghost?” he squeaks out. “And warning us about the, um, other ghost haunting this place?” His voice is so high that Tucker thinks he could sing soprano right now if Phantom asked. 

Phantom continues to stare at him, saying nothing and remaining so still Tucker would swear he’s a statue, and eventually Tucker swallows as he grabs Sam’s hand and tries to pull her through the window, but she refuses to budge. “Sam,” he hisses, tugging again. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” she insists. “Phantom . . . Are you . . . do you have a place to go?”

“I’m not a lost puppy,” he says, the unnatural stillness rolling off him with a wave of sparks. “And I can’t be near humans for long anyway. It’s hard to control the electricity, and dying from electrocution is a terrible way to go.” There’s a noise behind the words, an echo of long, awful scream that makes Tucker shiver and instinctively realize then that Phantom is speaking from experience, and for the first time it occurs to him that the noises that comprise each ghost’s individual speech aren’t half as random as he believed. 

It’s the sound of their death, echoing for eternity, never letting them or anyone else forget. “Is that . . .” asks Sam, wanting to confirm it.

“Yes,” he says simply, and then there’s the sound of something breaking upstairs, a window smashing and shattering, and static prickles against Tucker’s skin. “You should go.”

“Right. And, um, bye, I guess?” says Tucker awkwardly, and finally Sam follows him out the window and back out onto the street. Despite the sounds upstairs, there’s no broken glass outside beneath any of the windows above them, and as he glances back he can see Phantom’s eyes watching, considering them carefully, before another bolt strikes and he vanishes in a clap of thunder, leaving Sam and Tucker alone once more. 

[hawkdisaster]

Yelena is always here for her little sun.

Characters : Yelena Belova, Robert "Bob" Reynolds ( Triggers warnings : Nightmares, alcool and drugs (past use) Words count : 1027 words

(Credit goes to saradika-graphics)

You're not alone

If anyone ventured to ask her how the two of them had come to this point, “t just happened”would probably be Yelaena's answer. One night, like so many others, she found herself unable to sleep. And rather than dwell on herself and all the unpleasant memories that clogged her mind with each passing day, she had preferred to watch a film. The Expandables, nothing like a little testosterone and a lot of explosions to keep you from thinking too hard. Then Bob came knocking on her bedroom door. Another nightmare. He'd apologized - because Bob always apologized, still having some difficulty accepting that he was a full-fledged member of their team and that his inability to use his godlike powers without risking his dark side getting the better of him didn't make him a dead weight to them all - but Yelena had contented herself with inviting him to watch the film with her. And if Bob had fallen asleep after twenty minutes or so, the young woman had nonetheless appreciated his presence. Appreciated not being alone, for once.

The second time, she was the one who joined Bob in his bedroom. Because it was one of his bad days. One of those days when he refused to leave his room, preferring to suffer on his own rather than be a burden to anyone else, one of those days when he shouldn't be alone. You're not alone, Yelena had sworn to him a few weeks earlier when they were all trapped in the Void, when he was fighting against his dark side. You're not alone, and that was a promise she fully intended to keep. Bob would join her in her bed, she would join him in his... In good faith, she promised him, and that suited them both just fine. I feel like I've got a big sister, Bob said with a smile. And so it went on and on, until Bob's bedroom - having become a safe zone for him, Yelena certainly didn't want to deprive him of it - became her too. And while their team had been perfectly aware that the two of them shared the same bed ever since Bucky had come to wake up his adopted little brother, worrying about him sleeping past 11:00 am - which usually only happened on his bad days - neither of them had dared say anything. And it certainly wasn't because Yelena, taken by surprise and annoyed at seeing her first sleep-in in her whole life interrupted in such a way, had missed putting a bullet through the head of the man who had become their team leader with the 9mn she kept under her pillow, just as a precaution.

— No… Stop…

Yelena woke up to feel Bob flailing in her arms - she'd quickly realized he didn't mind being the little spoon - and to hear him begging. Who ? Yelena doesn't know, and she hates it. Her friend and teammate's nightmares aren't The Void, and she can't enter them to help him face them. All she can do is hold Bob a little tighter and talk to him, hoping he can hear her. I'm right here with you. I know it's scary, but it's just a bad dream. You're not alone, I swear it on my life. Those same words repeated fervently, over and over again.

— Yelena… ?

The voice is faint. In the half-light of the room dimly lit by the light pollution of the city that never sleeps, Yelena can see how Bob's eyes are a little too bright, and when she runs a hand over his cheek to caress it in an attempt at comfort, her fingers are wet with tears. Even his skin is a little too dark, far too dark, as if ink were gradually covering it. No, everything but this.

— I had a nightmare...

Yelena simply nods. Yeah, another nightmare. She'd like to know, but she doesn't dare ask, and Bob remains silent, preferring to snuggle up to her a little more.

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

Since she doesn't dare ask for fear of making things worse, Yelena hums. American Pie, the favorite song of her childhood. A time long gone when she was happy and terribly naive, unaware that her own family was nothing more than a lie. Nothing more than a mission for the Red Room. Yelena hums quietly, Bob cries and trembles in her arms.

But February made me shiver

With every paper I'd deliver

Bad news on the doorstep

I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried

When I read about his widowed bride

But something touched me deep inside

The day the music died

Yelena hums. She remembers her mother's farm. The room where she'd taken refuge after that disastrous “family” meal when she'd learned the whole truth. Her father's ridiculous story about a fishing accident in his own childhood. She remembers everything she could have said to him, heartbroken, before he started singing his favorite song to make amends. Yelena hums, and Bob gradually calms down in her arms, his breathing jerky. And as he soothes, the void on his skin gradually fades and disappears.

— I'm ridiculous.

No. Yelena certainly doesn't agree with that.

— No, you're not. “Swallow your dark thoughts, bury them deep down”, that's bullshit, remember ? And sometimes a good cry feels really good, so why deprive yourself, right ?

If even one of them could adopt a “healthy” coping mechanism that didn't include, or no longer included, absorbing far too much alcohol - Yelena remembered all too well a dingy bathroom and far too many bottles of vodka - or other equally noxious substances when things got too heavy, that was a pretty good thing. Excellent, even. Bob wipes his cheeks with his sweater sleeve as he nods, muttering to himself. So low that the only words Yelena manages to understand are “deas, deep down and bullshit.

— Yelena ?

— Yes ?

— Thank you for... thank you for everything.

— My pleasure Solnyshko.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

The Fight is Over

So this is the fic I mentioned working on in this post- the one about Evie not wanting Steve to fight in the rumble. It’s an angstier one, I reckon, but I tried to add lighter moments. Hurt/comfort maybe?? Idk. The ending is hopeful, and I’d say the whole thing is pretty soft, but idk my view of “soft” may or may not be accurate lol. Will be cross posted to ao3.

-

  “Who is this?” says the voice on the phone. 

  “Steve,” he says. He whistles on the S. Ugh. “May I uh…may I speak to Evie, please?”

  “Steve who? Do you have any idea how late it is, kid?” says the voice. It’s low, so it must be one of Mrs. Peterson’s rolodex of boyfriends.

  “Just put her on the line, please. Please,” Steve begs. 

  “No, you need to call her back at a better time.”

  “No, please, man- sir- please, I’ll be fast. I just really need to speak to her.”

  There’s a sound of fumbling, a muttered swear, and a distant “I give up” on the other end of the line, and then Evie’s voice is there. 

  “Steve?” she says, and her voice is cool. “How was the rumble?”

  Steve winces, leaning back into the Curtises’ couch. 

  The rumble. It feels like years ago that he was cheering about winning the rumble. It feels like years since he gave a damn about the rumble, since the Socs mattered. It feels like decades since two days ago, when Evie tossed his momma’s ring at the wall and told him not to come crying to her when the rumble ended up killin’ him.

  “Steve?” she says, the ice in her voice melting just a shade into worriedness.

  “Johnny’s dead,” he croaks. Evie gasps very faintly. “And uh…Dallas couldn't take it…” Steve trails off, because there’s hot tears in his eyes again. God, his eyes are already so swollen and sore from crying. He’s shocked he has any water left in him. 

  “Dallas…” Evie repeats.

  “Yeah, he uh…” Steve rubs his eyes. “He’s gone. They’re both gone.”

  “Steve, I- I’m so sorry.”

  “Can I come over?” he whispers, wishing he was comfortable on the couch, wishing he didn’t have to ask for help, wishing he hadn’t made Evie mad the other day, wishing she wasn’t right.

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks,” he breathes, and hangs up the phone. 

  He stares at the ceiling for a minute, and then the door to Soda’s room, and then at his ratty tennis shoes. 

  He tugs on the chuck taylors slowly, because his hands feel like lead. Everything feels like lead. Steve doesn’t remember the last time he ever felt this heavy. Somehow he manages to trudge outside to his car, and he sits there, holding her wheel for a second, noting the way the bumps on the back fit his fingers, just to feel something solid in his hands. 

  Evie’s place isn’t too far from the Curtises’, just a few miles down the road. Some bluesman croons on the radio, along to a twanging harmonica. A cop car is parked by the old oak tree, and for once, Steve slows to the speed limit, a picture in his head of blue and red lights and gunshots racing through the air. The thought makes his stomach twist violently, and he cuts off his thoughts before they get to Dallas. They get to Dallas anyway. Falling on the pavement, crumpling like a soldier on the battlefield. 

  Except there was no fight to be fought, no war to be won. 

  “No!” Steve had screamed.

  “He’s just a kid!” Two-Bit yelled.

  Steve fell forward then, and he hazily remembers Soda catching him, holding him. He threw his hands up in the air, convinced for a second the bullets were still coming- the cops still had the guns out, it’d be so easy to pull the triggers-

  But they didn’t. 

  It was over, and Dallas Winston was on the ground, dead.

  Steve’s not crying anymore, not really. It’s been over an hour. But the occasional tear escapes, and his nose is running like a river. He sniffles, and the snot gets caught in his throat. He can’t expand his lungs enough to get it out without his rib screaming in pain. 

  Damn Socs, he thinks, but it doesn’t spark the same anger in him anymore. He just doesn’t have it in him. 

  He parks the car a block down from Evie’s place, because her mother doesn’t like when he comes over this late, and drags his feet up the sidewalk. He turns into her side yard, stumbles past the cellar, and hops onto an overturned bin to better reach the window into her bedroom. It glows warm with gold lamp-light, and there’s a little flickering candle on the sill.

  Steve knocks on the glass.

  Evie draws the curtains back and hoists the window open. Her hair is tied back in a pair of braids, and she’s wearing a white nightgown like a girl in a movie. 

  “Evie?” he murmurs, and she cups his face in her hands.

  “You got a few shiners, huh?” she says gently.

  He shrugs. He forgot about those. She runs her hands through his hair, even though it’s greasy and messy and he hasn’t washed out the Vaseline that held it in place all nice earlier today.

  “Come on in,” Evie says, her brown eyes soft. 

  “Okay,” he mumbles, and hoists his body and then his knees up onto the wide sill. From there, he lets his body go limp as he falls onto her bed, feeling like a ragdoll. 

  His rib feels like it’s cracking even more from that pathetic exertion. He hugs his chest and groans.

  “Soda patched ya up?” Evie hums, tracing a bandage wrapped around his knuckles.

  Steve nods.

  “You wanna talk about…everything?” she asks, lying down next to him on top of the sheets.

  He almost does, but he remembers his tooth and shakes his head.

  “Okay,” she says, snaking her arm under his shoulders. Despite the pain in his chest, Steve rolls onto his side and hugs her tight.

  With his face buried in her shoulder, he says “I love you.” He’s said it before, but he doesn’t think he’s ever meant it quite like this. But now he means it with everything he’s got. 

  She holds him close, kissing the top of his head. “I know,” she says, a slight teasing in her voice. He chuckles, because he’s so beat that everything is funny.

  “Honest,” he whispers. “Honest to God.” He doesn’t know how else to say it, that she’s the one thing tethering him to the world right now. That she’s the only thing who feels real.

  “I know,” she says. She pulls back to look at his face. “I love you too, Stevie. I’m glad you came here.”

  For the millionth time tonight, Steve’s eyes get wet. Evie wipes the tears away, murmuring things like “It’s okay,” “It’s over now,” and “I’ve got you.”

  Steve wimpers, thinking about Dallas, who wasn’t even eighteen yet. Thinking about Johnny, who he never did visit at the hospital. Thinking about how Johnny was wearing Steve’s old hand-me-down jacket as he burned in the old church.

  It’s ridiculous, but that’s what really gets him sobbing. Picturing that old jacket, with no one left to wear it now. The collar that would never be turned up how both he and Johnny liked it ever again.

  And Dally, Dally’s Saint Christopher pendant, the one he used to give to Evie’s friend Sylvia- what, is it just supposed to sit there in the confiscated evidence? Steve vows to steal it back. Dallas wouldn’t want it goin’ to the pigs…

  He keeps playing the past week over and over in his head, wishing he’d done something. 

  He wishes he’d gone with Dal to that town yesterday. He woulda seen the burning building, and he’d have put his pedal to the metal and shot outta there. Ponyboy woulda never been able to jump out and save the kids, and Johnny wouldn’t have broken his back and burned, and Dally wouldn’t have snapped. Sure some kids mighta died, but Lord, kids died either way- but if Steve had been there, at least those kids wouldn't’ve been Johnny or Dally…

  But no. Dallas never told him about the country, never told him about the hideout. Steve couldn’t have been there yesterday. He couldn’t have.

  So instead he wishes that Two-Bit had stuck with Ponyboy and Johnny that night last week, kept Ponyboy safe from the Socs. …No, Steve wishes he’d let Pony-kid come along on his double date with Evie, Soda, and Sandy. Suddenly Ponyboy’s presence sounds like no big deal. Hell, Steve would let the kid come along on every double date ever for the rest of time if it only meant Johnny and Dallas weren’t bein’ shipped to the morgue right now, measured and packed into wooden boxes…

  Steve shudders, sobbing and shaking, wishing over and over that he could undo the whole week. Start again, start fresh.

  He wishes he could wake up, and find himself back on that afternoon, the day Ponyboy got jumped. He’d fix everything, he would. Somehow. 

  Ponyboy would never get jumped, Johnny would never stab anyone. And while he’s dreaming, Steve makes it so Sandy never leaves Soda. No, he makes it so they never dated to begin with. So Soda’s heart never breaks. So Soda never shows up in Steve’s room, crying and crying and crying, looking broken beyond repair. And if there isn’t a rumble, Steve doesn’t argue about it with Evie, either, and she still has his ring around her finger, and everything is okay again.

  Steve cries, wishing he were younger, wishing he could fix it, and most of all wishing he could close his eyes and open them to a movie house. Ponyboy would be there, like he was that day, and Steve would tell him he could come along. Anything to keep him from that drive in. Anything to keep him from pissing off the wrong Soc. 

  And then he’d be here tonight with Evie, kissing her and listening to Elvis. He’d be resting easy, knowing Johnny’s at Two-Bit’s house and Dally’s at the bar. Knowing Soda’s not heartbroken and Ponyboy isn’t sick. Knowing Soda isn’t gonna get whisked away to a boys’ home, far away from Tulsa…

  Evie holds him steady, running her hand through his greasy, blood-mud-and-Vaseline-matted hair.

  “D’ya mind if I use the shower?” he mumbles finally, once he’s slowed shaking. 

  “Course not,” she says, hot breath in his ear. “Ya need one,” she teases, pulling away to look at his face. He grins on instinct. Evie’s eyes widen. 

  “...What?” he says, wiping his watery eyes on the back of his hand.

  “You’ve got a hole in your mouth, Stevie!” she says, grabbing his chin to look at the missing tooth.

  He exhales through his nose, but bares his teeth so she can see ‘em. “I reckon it’ll make me look tough,” he says defensively.

  “D’ya have the tooth on ya still?!”

  Steve squeaks in surprise as Evie sticks her fingertip into the space where his front tooth used to be. “Hey!”

  “Sorry,” she says, sitting up and flicking on the lamp. “Now c’mon, d’ya have it?” she demands.

  “Shoot, s’okay, just took me by surprise,” Steve grumbles, prodding the empty space himself. “I got it here, see?” he says, taking his front tooth outta his pocket. It had actually fallen out after the rumble, when he bit into a piece of cake…and then looked down to see his tooth still lodged into the ice-hardened chocolate frosting. He scowls. He’s pretty sure he knows which punch loosened it, too.

  Evie cringes. “Oh…Steve…”

  “I know,” he mumbles, catching sight of where she left his ring on the windowsill. “I know.”

  Sighing, she holds a hand out, and hesitantly, he hands her the tooth. 

  “C’mon,” she says, taking his tooth in one hand and his arm in the other. She kicks the door open and glances down the hall, and seeming to decide it’s clear, she leads him out and into the bathroom.

  In the bright light of the bathroom, Steve’s reflection looks even lousier than he feels- which is saying a lot, ‘cos he feels like he’s been beat half to death. His eyes and cheeks are red and puffy, which sure ain’t his best look. It makes sense though- closing his eyes feels funny, no surprise they look like that. His hair is flat on one side and sticks up on the other, and the grease has loosened, so it sticks out too far on the sides and makes his face look too wide. There’s blood and mud and tears streaking down his face, and he can’t tell where the shiners end and grime begins. His tank top is stained and torn, his vest is caked with mud, and the crown jewel of it all is his damn missing tooth. He thought his teeth were bad before, but glory, he’d rather have a crooked tooth than no tooth at all. 

  He doesn’t look tough, cool, or hoodish.

  He looks like a little kid.

  Steve scowls and sits down on the toilet lid so he doesn’t have to face his reflection.

  Evie looks so perfect, especially by comparison. Her skin’s almost clear, and so soft looking, and the hair that isn’t braided falls ‘round her face in perfect dark curly ringlets. Her nightgown is clean and white, except now there’s stains where she held him. The shoulder he cried into is especially bad, with dark mud and wet tears on the once-nice lace. Great, so now Steve’s ruined Evie’s clothes too along with his face.

  Evie doesn’t seem to notice though- she’s focused on rinsing off the tooth in the sink. 

  “C’mere,” she says, once she’s decided it’s clean. “Look at me.” He does. “Good,” she says. “Now you gonna try to put it back in, okay?”

  “Yer-what?!” Steve says, eyebrows flying to his forehead. 

  “Sometimes they can go back in. I saw my ma do it at the emergency room once. I reckon it’s been too long, but I figure we oughta try, at least.”

  “Okay,” Steve says, going to grab the tooth.

  “No, not there, that’s the sensitive part, that’s the root- I don’t think you’re meant to grab it there?” Evie says, unsurely. “Oh- maybe I oughta wake up Ma…” she murmurs, chewing her lip.

  A jolt of fear and disdain shoots through Steve. If Evie wakes up her Ma, it’s likely to be the breaking point for Mrs. Peterson’s hesitantly allowing him to date her daughter.

  “No!” he says quickly. “No, that’s alright, just do what ya think ya should.”

  Evie nods reluctantly, and hands Steve the tooth by the bottom.

  “Oh-kay,” he breathes, hyping himself up for it. “Here goes nothin’.” He takes a sharp breath, lines up the tooth, and jams it into the socket.

  It’s like sticking a knife into his gum, and the pain shoots through his mouth and into his head like an electric shock. He yelps involuntarily. “Oh!”

  “Shh!” Evie hisses, glancing towards her ma’s room in a panic. “Oh damn- are you okay?!” she whispers, whirling back to face him.

  “Yeah,” he grits out, holding his tooth in place with a finger. “You got any as-thpirin?”

  “I reckon,” Evie nods, the panic in her face giving way to sympathy. She opens the medicine cupboard and hands him the aspirin, and then she rubs his shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of his head. 

  “So do I jus-th…leave it?” he says, lisping around the mess in his mouth.

  “Ma had the kid at the ER bite down on some fabric so it gets pressed back into place.”

  Steve cringes. His head’s already pounding, and the thought of more pressure…ugh. But Evie hands him a little bit of bandaging wrap, and he bites down hard.

  “Now leave that in your mouth, and pray to God it takes,” Evie says, patting his face. She sizes him up. “Next order of business- shower.”

  Steve nods, and goes to shrug off his vest- but oh! His broken rib screams in protest. “Augh…” he manages to groan, curling around his midsection. 

  “Shh, don’t stop biting,” Evie orders, not unkindly. She rises and tugs his vest off one arm at a time, and she tosses it on the tiled floor in the corner of the bathroom. 

  He butts his head into her side affectionately. She chuckles and ruffles his hair. 

  “Is it cool if I get your undershirt too?” she says, and he nods confirmation, although this isn’t exactly the circumstance he’d imagined his first time stripping for her in. 

  She peels off the tank, and disappointingly, she doesn’t take much time eyeing his chest. She’s probably scared he’s uncomfortable. Man, he’s dying to spit out the fabric so he can ask if she likes what she sees.

  Then he remembers why he’s here and wants to kick himself- how can he be thinking about flirting at a time like this?

  Steve stands up and unbuttons his jeans, staring hard at the wall, trying not to feel awkward in front of Evie. She's gone all the way with guys before, but he’s never been so…exposed in front of anyone who isn’t Sodapop- he can’t help but worry she’ll be disappointed. He’s proud of his arms, sure, but everything below his pecs is…a Wild West that his feelings change towards on the daily. He just prays Evie finds it easier to form an opinion. 

  “Thi-sth ain’t quite how I thought thi-sth’d go,” he tries to joke around the gauze, keeping his eyes trained on the wall as he tosses his jeans into the pile of clothes on the ground.

  Evie chuckles. “Me neither. And quit talking, you gotta let your tooth set, babe.”

  He nods, face flushing.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, “next time I see ya like this we’ll have a helluva lot more fun, okay?”

  He bites back a smile, and turns around to kiss her cheek as best as he can around the bandaging in his mouth. 

  Evie smiles and squeezes his shoulder, and then retreats to the door. “You get cleaned up, I’ll find ya a change of clothes.”

  “Okay,” he murmurs. Once she’s shut the door, he clambers into the shower.

  In the shower, he cries again, ‘cos he keeps thinking about how Dally was supposed to be racing next week. Steve, Soda, and Johnny had planned to watch it about a month ago…Soda with Sandy, and Johnny with Steve’s cousin Phoebe, who was supposed to come down to visit… Steve cringes. He’s gonna have to call her and tell her not to come down from Kansas- he’s just not in the mood to host while planning his buddies’ funeral arrangements.

  He wants to go kill that Soc, Bob Sheldon. 

  But he can’t even do that. The damn fucker’s already dead. In his frustration, Steve turns the water temperature up so hot it burns, just so he has something else to focus on. When that gets too painful, he turns the heat completely off so that he’s cold. Maybe if he thinks hard about the cold water and the way his teeth want to chatter, he can be mad at that instead.

  Numbly, Steve washes his hair with Evie’s floral-scented shampoo, and tries to pretend the tears streaming down his face are just water from the shower head.

  After about ten minutes, he hears Evie come back in.

  “I gotcha a towel,” she says, so he figures he oughta come out. He flicks the water off, and pokes his head out the curtain.

  “You okay?” she frowns. She touches his cheek. “Glory, you’re cold! Why’re you cold?!”

  He shrugs, and takes the towel, ducking back behind the curtain to dry off and wrap it around his waist. 

  Back in Evie’s room, she hands him a too-big football jersey, white boxers, and a pair of jeans that are cut off a few inches above the knees. He figures they probably used to be her dad’s, as they smell dusty like they haven’t been used in years- which is how long it’s been since he died in Korea.

  The clothes hang off Steve’s frame loosely- Mr. Peterson was a much bigger man than Steve is. They’re warm though, especially compared to the ice shower he just subjected himself to. 

  “I called the dentist, but they ain’t pickin’ up. I reckon we oughta take ya in tomorrow,” Evie says, falling back onto her bed. She’s changed out of her white nightgown and into a shorter yellow one, and Steve tries not to stare because it really really isn’t the time or place for that.

  “You gonna be able to afford it?” She asks, voice quiet.

  Steve shrugs. Hell if he knows. “How much does it co-stht?” He says, scowling at the damn lisp. 

  Evie shrugs helplessly. “Probably a hundred-fifty if they can’t save the tooth and needa give ya a new one, which they probably will since it’s been so long since ya lost it…but Jesus, I dunno, I stopped volunteerin’ there ages ago.”

  Steve huffs, wrinkling his nose. He probably has a total of a hundred in his bank account. The ol’ man has a lot more, but Steve doesn’t wanna explain it to him…

  He sighs and falls onto the bed next to Evie. He wonders about Johnny’s hospital bills. Do you still have to pay those if you’re dead? Will the Cades still have to pay them even though the doctors failed and Johnny’s gone?

  Steve closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing in and out instead of the empty feelings inside.

  “I called Sylvia too,” Evie murmurs, voice breaking just enough for Steve to catch it. “She’s stayin’ at Buck’s tonight, told me she’d let him know about Dallas…” Evie trails off, getting choked up. “She cried, Stevie. God, I don’t ever remember hearin’ her cry. Mind, she was tryin’ not to, and I reckon she thought I couldn’t tell, but her voice was waverin’ somethin’ awful, and she started sobbin’ after I said good-bye but before I fully hung up…” Evie rubs her eyes. “Lordy, I ain’t never heard her cryin’ before.”

  “Thought she was two-timin’ him,” Steve murmured.

  “Well, she thought he’d quit gettin’ sent to the cooler,” Evie shoots back, and Steve frowns, but doesn’t argue. He feels like that’s different, but he’s not in the mood to argue with Evie right after she’s let him off the hook for their previous argument.

  “I just…I can’t get my head ‘round it,” Steve whispers. “I can’t believe they’re gone.”

  “I can,” Evie whispers. “Not Johnny. But Dallas.”

  Steve half-laughs bitterly. “I guess we knew he was gonna go out in a blaze of glory, but still…now that he has, it don’t feel…real.”

  “No…I suppose it don’t,” Evie agrees. 

  “They were just kids, Evie,” Steve murmurs, screwing his eyes shut. 

  “Glory, we’re all just kids,” Evie sighs, wrapping her arms around him. He hugs her back and buries his face in her shoulder again.

  It isn’t fair. None of it is fair.

  The next morning when Steve wakes up, there’s still a hole in his mouth, and an even bigger hole in his heart. But it’ll be smaller someday, maybe. 

  “Mornin’,” Evie says, yawning next to him, her hair a mess from sleep. God, she’s the best girl a guy could have.

  “Hey,” he says, grabbing her hand under the sheets. She smiles and squeezes it.

  Evie’s got his ring on her finger again.

[creative-soul-22]

Madame Leota for the Character Asks #’s 2,4, 10, 23, and 37! 🥰

Hi @jedimasterbailey !

Thank you for these amazing asks! Let's go

2. A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

Harriota! I'd love to see their interactions, their relationship...

But also I'd love to see more of her interactions with William Gracey!

And PLEEEEAASSSEEEEEE we need Madame Leota and Travis interactions! Imagine how cute it would be if Travis showed her his toys and carried her around in this way too big crystal ball! That's why I'm writing "Madame Leota babysits" at the moment.

And of curse we need to expand that "she was once popular but then Hattie trapped her inside her crystal ball and tables turned" trope!

I headcanon a scene where Leota stays with a royal family. So, as she arrives, she walks down the hallway of a huge ballroom to meet the king and there is an Orchestra playing and a choir chanting "Leota! Madame Leota!" as she walks towards the king.

Ahhhh damn just give a Haunted Mansion prequel called "Leota"!

4. "I know you don't believe in yourself but I do." (please correct me if I misquoted that line, I've only got the German version so far)

It's not only so beautiful but there is also SO MUCH to it! And this scene is so painfully cut short it's almost a crime.

Harriet runs right to Leota when the teams sees that Harriet isn't powerful enough to ban Hattie and when the stakes are getting high. They know they are dead without Leota's help. Keep in my mind: this after the scene in which Ben opened about his grieve for Alyssa. It's after the scene Harriet opened about her sisters and how she feels like isn't a real medium. So, at this point, nobody believes in Harriet, not even Harriet herself does (Ben and Bruce didn't believe in her from the very beginning). And then, just right then, Madame Leota says right this. She believes in her. The one and famous Madame Leota who Harriet has been looking up ever since. Madame Leota trusts Harriet so deeply that she is able to free her that she even begs Harriet to do so. She, Madame Leota, begs. It's more than just Leota's approvement. It's her way of honoring, respecting and acknowledging Harriet's power. It's her picking Harriet up and put her on the same step Leota is standing on. Harriet no longer needs to look up to Madame Leota, she is now equal with Leota. And of course it's a very cute Harriota moment because it's just them at the séance room and they're tender with each other...

I'm still not over how short cut it was! It's an important moment for both Harriet's and Leota's character because it shows how Harriet had gone from "I'm qualified. Bonafied. Certified. And I can get rid of what died." to "I need your help, I can't do this alone!".

Also it shows how Leota had gone from "I can show you what happened but it will cost you $3." to "Please, set me free so I can help you." While we see Harriet more often in the movie and her change is shown throughout the movie (living room scene), Madame Leota's change comes out of the blue because she has criminally little screentime. Character changes are great but PLEEEASSSSEEEE show them to us! They are a process, not a switch!

10. Best moment on screen

The scene when she and Harriet defeat Hattie together with Ben. It's Harriet and Leota stepping up to the true greatness of their characters: Harriet being finally able to use her full powers, Leota being finally able to face her greatest fear: Hattie.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they taste like?

Madame Leota would be a Febreze Ocean candle.

37. What they really think about themselves

Ooh I think Madame Leota blames herself for a lot of things that happened in the past. I'm sure she blames herself for not being able to reach Eleanor Gracey, for Hattie being around and therefore William Gracey's death. She also thinks she was so stupid to keep holding séances every night just to have more money against her gut feeling. Also she thinks that being stuck inside her crystal ball sucks but that she deserves it as punishment. Because inside the crystal ball, she is never happy. She never smiles. She only smiles when she's outside the crystal ball and Hattie is defeated. That's when she's happy again. And then she is able to look at the bright side of things: "It's actually quite spacious in there" (she also says that to calm Harriet down who is extremely worried).

Ahh thank you for letting me rant about my favourite lady at the moment!

ASK ME MORE OF THESE!! ALSO FOR OTHER CHARACTERS, I HAVE A LOT OF FAVOURITE CHARACTERS!!

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

"Do you think he remembers them?" "It bothers him more than his arrogance will let him admit." - Kindred

── 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ── LEAGUE VERSE

Death's whisper breathed across the shell of his ear while the mage followed his trail back home, if one could possibly ever label that decrepit hut a home - what warmth did it have to compare? It was not the first tme he had heard the otherworldly chitters of Death, they seemed to loom within his shadow only to mock him; and now ... now they had mentioned the blight that rained upon his existence. Four corpses filled his vision, each one shoulder by shoulder on his path - their pallid eyes marbles that sunk into the inner recesses of their rotting faces, maws wide and dripping with death spit. A low groan sounded from the girl, her nightgown's collar was stained with blood, the skin lay under the curve of her finger nails. She regarded him lifelessly, but the mage kept his head low and passed through their visage - each boot print following the same pattern he did day in and day out.

An ache nested deep within his chest, it curled through his ribs and coiled around his stagnent heart - why did he ever stop his research? The weepy brine pool of his mind was swept into the various trials and errors he had attempted throughout the years; so it was always those two who stopped his efforts. A primordial entity had soiled his attempts to return the souls to the bodies - to ... new bodies, perhaps, the revelation caused the once chilled pit in his chest to ignite into a quiet rage.

Boy. Get out of your own head.

A memory crawled forward, inviting and coaxing - something his mind and soul seemed to yearn for more than anything within the mortal world.

"...Did you have a nightmare?" The beat of silence between them was enough of an answer, along with the pillows strewn about the floor and the violent nature in which the bedsheets laid. Robin knew that his sudden timidness was a dead giveaway of the way his heartbeat was racing in the caverns of his chest. The taller man knelt down after he placed the candle holder onto Robin's nightstand, and began to pluck up the pillows to place them back onto the bed, his movements were smooth - alluring even - but that didn't much matter when Robin's mind was burning with the visage of his agony. The man did not speak, after all that would be rude since he had asked the question and Robin had yet to actually answer. He would eventually; he always did. Once the room had been straightened out, Robin's quivering lips stilled just enough to utter a brief description - it was a quiet horror filled with regret and guilt. "T-They--they were standing there..in the..in the doorway. Their…their mouths were open like that day." "Mmm…I see, well, I can guarantee it is only you and I here." The sweet and husky voice of the demon echoed in the space around them, a Piltovan apartment back in his days at the academy, its tone a promise of protection - of safety. The man sat himself slowly on the edge of Robin's bed, his silhouette somehow taking up the full expense of the student's eyes. His verdant gaze trailed from the blurred trim of his blankets to meet the man's glowing gaze, his iris painted the color of blood; it was calming to Robin. The visage began to reach out to him, the motion causing Robin to jolt with hackles raised despite the gentle way the man adjusted Robin's comforter around his shoulders, voice soft, "…You're trembling."

A low rumbling growl lifted him from his memories once more, of course he remembered them - they were everything to him. Siblings. Mother. Father. ... Him. The mage forced himself forward once again, each step heavier and heavier into the mud; he felt as though he was sinking into it. Loneliness gripped him, how could he ever forget to mourn and beg in desperation for those he had lost? The wintry gleam of his hair expanded into ribbons and rays of sunlight sweeping across him; bursting flowers along the frame and the excited bleating of the two deer. He wondered if they, too, would join the others in his guilt once time claimed them.

[saulweissberg-archive]

“yeah, well, she has good aim.” consider that his one nice thing to say about kathleen for the year. it wasn’t as if he didn’t understand rationally why she hated him so much. like with tamara, the wife before thalia, he was significantly older than her, and knew how to work a crowd, how to navigate the confusing politesse of new york high society. some choice people called saul smarmy. others referred to him as charming. with thalia’s history, and just the general nature of older sisters, it made sense that she was so protective of her. he had been similarly protective of his twin, levi, despite him being the older twin. that was as far as his understanding went with kathleen, though. not when she worked so hard to irritate him any time their paths crossed.

it was a short walk to the oak tree. his hand was still on her bicep when she put her back to the tree, though she quickly wriggled for freedom and saul let her go without protest. god damn, she didn’t even want him to touch her anymore. not entirely a surprise, but it still stung. just a little. even with her inscrutable expression, she looked as if she’d rather the earth swallow her whole than talk to him. in some way, it was a comfort. at least he wasn’t the only one unsure how to navigate their relationship post-divorce. “i’m glad to hear it.” and he was, really. it probably sounded patronizing, but he truly did want thalia to flourish. he wanted her to have every success in the world. he wanted her to find someone to love her better than he ever could. someone that could give up his career for her. someone that wasn’t emotionally stunted. fuck, he hated himself sometimes...

how had he fucked it up so badly? it couldn’t be entirely blamed on the move to providence peak, though it certainly didn’t help matters. their marriage already had been strained towards the end of their time in manhattan, but it was expanded by the stresses of moving, opening his own firm, and their mutual emotional avoidance. like the two marriages before her, he had fucked it up exponentially. the worst part: he thought they were actually going to make it. if there was any marriage he would’ve betted on not ending in divorce, it was the one with thalia. saul knew better than to make any bets; he always lost. even standing right in front of him, thalia was so far away.

his throat ran dry, the way it did any time she called him out. it had been awhile since they had a difficult conversation, and for once, he wanted to at least try not to immediately shut down. “well… i do worry about you, thalia—not that you’re going to have some public freakout or anything, i just… y’know… want you to take care of yourself.” how many times had she almost fainted from forgetting to eat? how many times did she trip over her feet? how many times did she wake up from night terrors? yes, he may have looked at her as if she was made of glass, but that was only because he cared about her. he loved her. even if they were no longer married, or saul dated someone else for a time, there would always be room in his heart for her. sometimes he wished there wasn’t any love left for her at all, other times he wanted to beg her to take him back. “i just don’t want to offend you by asking if you’ve eaten today, so, y’know… worried eyes and all.”

her next statement had him reeling for a moment. saul shoved his hands into his shorts pockets while he thought of what to say. “oh…” saul hadn’t informed thalia when he started dating again. he wondered if it would’ve been easier for her if he had. was it a shock to her when he began dating dean’s mom ann last summer? that relationship ended as well, but it ended nicely and he got a surrogate son in dean out of the experience. “no, that’s good. i’m happy for you.” he was. he wasn’t. he didn’t fucking know. if anything, it was only fair. if saul was trying to move on, then she should do the same. every time he missed her, he had to remind himself that their relationship ended for a reason. though he kept trying to get out there, saul had come to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t meant for a relationship. some people were meant to be alone, and maybe saul was one of them. “how are you really feeling, thalia? is that something you want or something kathleen wants?”

"She said she saw you at Frontiers but made no mention of the grapes." Thalia wouldn't put it past her sister. Protective from the moment the Clark's brought her home, Kathleen was everything to her. The first moment Kath and Saul met should have opened her eyes. Her sister was never wrong. That was a disastrous dinner but it was already too late. Thalia was enamored past the point of no return. All she could be grateful for was that Kathleen only said 'I told you so' once, when the divorce was finalized.

She truly did not want to be supported by Saul in any way. Their finances were kept separate during the marriage so even after, there was no need to ask anything from him. Even graceful falls got old though and she certainly preferred getting to the tree unharmed. As soon as her back was against the oak, Thalia nodded her thanks and slightly shifted her arm as a sign for him to release. She wanted to start crying or screaming at the mention of the weather. Why talk at all if it was going to be disgustingly superficial? They shared everything at one point, certainly more than just water. Hopes and dreams. She confessed what she remembered the night her family died. Only Kathleen, one therapist, and the detective originally on the case heard her first hand account. And Saul. Now they were talking about the weather and fucking Facebook.

"Yes, a lot of interest. I think we have a dozen new sign ups for classes already." She glanced at him then away. Was it normal to hurt this much after two years? "Saul I–" Thalia took a deep breath then forced herself to look at him. "You have such an expression of worry in your eyes every time you see me. Like I am going to start screaming or crying or something dramatic." This had been building up within her for a while. Every encounter with Saul gave her such significant emotional whiplash she needed a few days to recover. She would feel so tense and trapped. Like the air wouldn't actually cycle through her lungs. "We can talk and be civil." Maybe this was attacking him in a way. They didn't talk before and even though her expression remained neutral, there was the slightest waver in her voice.

"Kathleen is going to set me up. Some sort of blind date, I don't know." It was the last thing she actually wanted. To be put with a stranger who her sister picked in an awkward situation? It was terrible. But maybe it was a step in the right direction. Her life could be filled with someone new. "I wanted you to hear it from me." Instead of passed along by Kathleen or, even worse, if he happened to walk into whichever restaurant they picked for the date. Maybe it was about time though. Better to finally move on and let him do the same.