#i feel like its angstier to stay

[vampire-matcha]

Part 3 of Cheating!Soap I hope yall are ready to hurt

Hurt/barely comfort if you squint. Soap and reader are both a little (a lot) pathetic.

Johnny didn't move a muscle on the couch. He sat until he was sure you had cried yourself to sleep. He listened as your weeping got more and more subdued, as your heartache wore you down until he could no longer hear your gasps for air. He figures you must have wept yourself to exhaustion. That is, until he hears the bedroom door creak open. He listens to your bare feet pad down the hardwood hallway until the sound is muted by the living room carpet.

Johnny lifts his head from his hands to see you standing there at the other end of the couch. He's never seen you look so weak. So defeated. He did that to you. Your head hangs low and your shoulders are slumped forward; your eyes are dull and your hands hang limp at your sides.

He drops his head again, unable to face what his actions have done to you. You, his angel, his perfect wife. Always patient, always brave, always waiting for him to come home safe. He can't look at you now. He feels the seat beside him sink with your weight. The silence drags on for far too long. When you finally speak, your voice is proven, as if he had personally smashed your throat beneath his foot. He might as well have.

"If this is you..." You pause, searching for the right words. You start again. "If this is you trying to... to figure something out..." You trail off. Your mind isn't all there right now, it melted out through your tear ducts. "If this is you... experimenting..." You take a shaky breath. "Then we can work on this."

He slowly turns his head toward you, eyebrows pinched in confusion. You should be asking for a divorce. You should be telling him to get his filthy ass out. And yet, here you are extending an olive branch. It shouldn't be you. He's the guilty party. He should be groveling at your feet for forgiveness, and you should be denying him.

Your ring still gleams on your finger.

Johnny shakes his head. You've got it all wrong. You're giving him too much compassion. Giving him the benefit of the doubt. It's all wrong. But he can't get the right words out either. All he manages is a shake of his head.

"That's not..." he chokes out. His chest feels like it's encased in iron. Your face crumples again. That awful, anguished look that he had never seen before this night. You make a small, pathetic noise in the back of your throat, trying desperately to hold onto your threadbare composure.

"Then why, Johnny?" You croak out, sounding like you have his fist wrapped around your neck. That would hurt less than this. You gasp for air. "Why did you do this to us?" Us! His poor darling, still thinking of you two as a unit. Can't you see he's ruined it? Why aren't you screaming at him?

"I was scared," he answers. You look at him with great worry in your eyes, now.

"Did he... did he force you?" Oh, there you are again, caring too much for this wretched man before you, giving him compassion he does not deserve. He's quick to deny it. He won't give himself such an easy out. He deserves the shame of the truth.

"No- no! He didn't- we-" he's scrambling for an explanation that won't shatter you completely. You're already fragile and broken. The details will only grind you to bits, won't they? But your looking at him like that, like you won't stop until you know why.

"We were pinned. Communications were dark. There was no way out, and were were in that house for so damn long, I... I didn't think I was coming home." He wants you to snap at him. He wants you to scream at him. That's what you did before you thought you would die? Your last act was to betray your wife? But that's not at all what you do. You're quiet again. Subdued, drowning again in that pretty head of yours.

"Do you love him?" You whisper, the sound made of glass. You barely contain a sob as you stare down at your toes. The answer comes easily to him.

"No." You squeeze your eyes tight, like you don't believe him.

"If it's just sex, I- then I c-can live with it but-" your breath is escaping you as you chase after it to keep it in your lungs. You're losing the race. "But please tell me you don't love him!" And you break again. You wrap your arms around yourself and dig your nails into your arms. You're hurting yourself when you should be hurting him. Tearing him up, throwing him out like the garbage he is. He can't stand the sight of it. He moves.

"I don't! I don't love him!" He rushes out as his hands snap to yours to prevent you from raking harsh lines into yourself. He finally touches you, finally, and it's like cool water on a summer's day. You fall into him, and he wraps you up.

"I can't take it if you love him!" you wail, eyes and nose and mouth all wet. "Please!" He holds you tighter, pulls you onto his lap, tucks your head under his chin, cradles you like an infant.

"I promise," he says right into your ear. He needs to make sure you hear it. "It's you. It's only you. I love you. I love you. I love you." He utters it like a prayer. Breathes it out like a confessional. Utters it only for your holy ears to hear. You cling to him like a raft in a storm. Your nails dig into his chest. Finally, he can pay for his sins. Penance through pain. He hopes you break the skin. A blood sacrifice to the goddess in his arms.

"Please don't leave me," you mumble. It's a pitiful plea. He hates himself for knocking you down so low. Why are you begging him? Don't you know it should be him instead? He holds you impossibly closer, almost afraid to crush you.

"Never. Never." You draw back suddenly, both hands holding his face. There's a firey desperation in your eyes. He feels the metal of your ring pressing into his cheekbone.

"Swear to me." Your wild eyes dart back and forth between his.

"I swear-"

"Whatever you do out there- whatever you have to do to make it through- to make it home-" your words come out rushed between panicked breaths. You grimace and shake your head, unable to finish the thought. "Whatever you do, you come home to me. Me. Your wife."

"My wife," he repeats and nods.

"Swear it!"

"I swear!" And then you kiss him. It's wet and clumsy and shaky. Your lips taste like stomach acid but he can't find it in himself to care. He'll do anything you want if only to lessen your pain.

"We made a vow, John MacTavish," you whisper, lips trembling against his. Your fingernails dig into his shaved scalp. Good. "You are mine."

"I'm yours. I'm yours." You press your forehead against his.

"Now take your wife to bed."

---

Part 4

[cathalbravecog]

Man... I can't stop thinking about the things that were talked about on the stream, especially the answer on my question - so... get ready for a ramble! its a long one. oops. i dont even know where im going with this, im just dumping my thoughts somewhere. half is about ttcc lore in general and the streams, the other half is about cathal and me projecting onto him deeper.

before i even hop deeper into this, it wasn't until early today that i learned that there was a whole drama about cranky's answers (regarding the graham and flint question and the whole "keep it sane" thing. i thought it was...off, but i understood it as 'do what you want people, just don't start any harassment because of ships and your favorite pairs'.

definitely could have been phrased better, though. at least we got a good response and an apology later from maven on twitter. but i legit did not know this was a drama until those twitter posts were made LOL. i dont interact with the fandom so i do not know how that answer was percieved by most. or if anyone except for me and my friends have had any thoughts about the question i asked that got answered.)

and what im tryna get to is that i get cranky isnt the one to be answering lore things, and probably didnt know what to answer... but it's still something to think about

because being told "cogs and toons just dont become how they are out of the blue" (paraphrasing here) as an answer to what cathal initially thought of seeing his dad be bet up and thrown off a tower is... confusing? he did say first and foremost that it has to be built upon before saying that. i understand that this is... a lot of characters! and cathal did have some focus on him thanks to the comic and they wanted to focus on other managers... but some have deeper, more intricate lore that's easy to grasp (especially the more, well, angstier managers like chip and misty.)

and we have gotten some extra lore for other managers like belle, mary, tawny.... thanks to thomas' rambles.

and it's definitely difficult for a team of volounteers working hard on a fan game together to make lore for all the characters, that are still very young in their *life span*, having been around for less than a year. despite ttcc being more character driven and focused on the cogs, it's still a game they have to run so they cannot focus on lore only and some game management has to be done first. there's a bunch of things they have to consider, like consistency and how fans may react, or possible themes or what they want the story to be...

and. yeah. its hard since. come on lets admit it. clash has an issue with how these are all given to us. hell, there's lore bits i still dont know about and im still learning because it's..so all over the place. a new player will not know about it. maven acknowledged this in the tweet and i really appreciate that, as it's honestly been my number one issue with clash, especially as someone who is there for the lore. (i mean, and the gameplay, i know some people who don't play the game itself much. well i sure do a little TOO MUCH because i have PROBLEMS. but im interested in the lore, too, yknow?)

some lore you cant learn from the wiki, and unless you interact with the community, you may never learn *where* all of this even is. if you werent live for certain lore there, it's hardly accessible to you. lore locked behind one time events, an arg website, wikis, discord chats... all that. it's hard to keep track of! i'm sure it's like that for both the fans and the writers. these characters are great, fun, and i love them, but the way we are given this information is... not the best. it's very easy to miss certain details.

it's especially bad if you're like me - only ever interacting with a close group of people you trust, (because people are scary especially a lot of... lore driven fans. yeahnoimeanshippers.sorry.and just big crowds of people in general) having only gotten back into the game recently AFTER most of the major lore events (first played once in 2019, then never again until january 2023) and also you dislike youtube and video content, so you dont watch it. something in your brain would rather if you step on a nail than watch a playthrough video (especially with commentary).

like in general it shouldnt be necessary to go through all these hoops just to know the lore! especially for things that may have little lore...

anyways, uh, back to cathal. i cannot stop thinking about this.

it definitely wasnt an answer to what i specifically asked - but possibly more so about... why cathal is the way he is? and despite what my brain and low self esteem during hard times may tell me - i do not believe that anybody is truly "lazy". i just dont think that exists. there's always some reason behind a person being unmotivated or lazy. even the little things!

but like... that's just kinda obvious. all toons and cogs have motivations. thats like... one of the basics of writing characters. have motivations for characters and reasons for why they are how they are. doesnt have to be anything tragic, just.... how they are as people.

it's totally unrelated to the question of what cathal thought about seeing his dad like that... but oh well! i asked that because i made up my own story around that already, and i just wanted to see what someone working on the game thinks about the same idea.

not to be Tumblr User CathalBravecog, but, of course I have projected heavily onto cathal. i have already stated how important cathal is to me as a character, especially with appreciating myself when im.. not exactly the most motivated. when im not doing much. taught me to appreciate breaks. hell! i keep preaching this myself. its okay to take breaks! and yet i often end up not doing it and i overwork myself on games and art and other things.

there's... a lot of things "wrong" with me that i don't have names for yet, especially due to not having a diagnosis for them, but they're very real feelings and they cause me to be unable to do things a lot of the time. various mental blocks and a new member of the gang... physical pai! hooray.

this... endless productivity we are forced and expected to do. it can take a toll on you. breaks are just as necessary and to say it's a thing that has to be re-learned is... sickening. hooray for living in a Corporate (clash) society, fellas.

one thing i can say is that i absolutely headcanon that cathal has adhd - though, maybe not the same type i do. i do not think he gets randomly hyper and wants to (and does) jump around everywhere and blurt things out randomly and impulsively. cathal here has the low energy, yknow.

i like that a lot of the content around him doesnt even describe him with the words "lazy" and "sleepy" instead.

every day is the same... even if his job is relatively simple, just watching over the camera feed - it's definitely boring... and having to do it every day is not rewarding. and being mostly alone and without consequence, he gives into wanting to do something else. he's got these huge screens and a room to himself, and he loves watching shows and cartoons... so he's gonna do that. it's more fun. it's stimulating. and especially with his dad being the one to give him his position, he knows that he's got nothing to really worry about there.

i also think it's a bit hard to be motivated knowing that... this war between the cogs and toons is just. endless. hell, again, he has to see his dad *everyday* be attacked by them. his body damaged after the fall - only to be fixed again. rinse and repeat. i would too, find it pointless. especially if you're like cathal, since i pointed out before that he is very kind and caring towards the other cogs. he's also thoughtful, noting that yknow... a lot of stairs to get to his room.

why do all that when you can chill... and feel good. do something that feels nice...

i don't have any names for this, but with how sleepy he usually is, that's definitely a thing to consider too. and just, from experience... being tired and/or sleepy it... dismotivates you even more. its so hard to start tasks even if you *want* to do them. and considering cathal mooost likely doesn't want to do his work on his own - then these tasks can be just. impossible to start.

like, i have struggled with this my entire life myself, just because of my adhd screwing with everything, but after getting covid and most definitely getting a form of chronic exhaustion from it.. things have been even harder. i pull myself through day and i barely have the energy to even start anything. sometimes i dont even do anything all day and... woops! still no mood or energy to do anything. i just work on random bursts of motivation and things that captivate me...

not sure how it relates to cathal, but, hey, if im personal here ill ramble about it too because WOW it has been biting me in the ass and i need to speak to Professionals About It

like... i dont think hes being "lazy" willingly, yknow? theres a reason behind it. it definitely is just... being sleepy, the comfort... the fun and stimulation doing something fun he's interested in (his shows) are just... stronger desires and way easier for him to get to. why struggle through something when it takes up all your energy, and then you feel no reward for it? yeah. exactly. even just "not feeling like it" is a reson. "not having energy" is a reason. hey, are these things to get better about if needed? certainly. i wish i could get help with this, it would help me in my life so so much. but should it be seen as ENTIRELY negative and as being a "hinder to society". hell nah. and i think thats swag. cathal is swag he can do this, good for him lmaooo. my brain is deteriorating i apologize.

there was... another thing i wanted to say, but i forgot. so i'll move on.

but just... yeah. i dont think cathal is just lazy. i dont believe in "laziness". he's got reasons for why he prefers naps and just... watching tv instead of doing his work. perhaps he does want to do these things, but gave up on trying. its not worth the effort, it does not feel good. its not stimulating enough to keep him going.

[twisted-king]

OOOO IDEA, how about the OB boys with a s/o who has an ESA (Emotional Support Animal) that they somehow convinced Crowley to allow them to have (because they literally need the animal). And the esa comforting them after their OB 🥺

Literally kissing you on the forehead rn.

Sorry about the exlusion of Jamil, idia and Malleus.

No ideas about Jamil, not sure how Idias would fit in... and Mal mal isnt finished

This is angstier than I thought it would be <3

TW: Panic attacks (Isolating + silent types), narcolepsy

Feel free to correct me if i got a certain experience wrong, I am a studying Psychology major so it would help me with my understanding of anything!

Remeber: ESAs and Service animals are different!

Overblot gang with an S/O with an ESA

First things first:

Lets say you're in second year, so you're dating the OB boys before the OB.

Going to keep the particular support need vauge, but it is panic related, reader is sensitive to loud noises and textures feeling wrong.

You 100% convinced crowley to let your ESA to stay with you because:

he is sooooo kind

you wouldn't let a poor defenseless panic-prone human in an ALL MAGIC BOYS SCHOOL alone would you????

Now with that out of the way:

Riddle Rosehearts

Animal: British Shorthair (cat)

I'm gonna call this cat Queenie

Riddle's Overblot wasn't really something you were ready for in any capacity.

Your usually kept together boyfriend was suddenly some... angry, monsterous thing.

This wasnt the Riddle that got you high quality noise cancelling headphones for unbirthday parties, the same Riddle who you spent so much time learning and growing with. Your dutiful boyfriend who was learning how harsh his punishments were with you...

That Riddle wasnt here right now.

Queenie circles you, nuzzling into your legs.

But its too late, you've shut down. Its hard to move, your heart feels like it doesnt have a beat but the hurt of an ever beating heart remains present.

Your breathing quickens, your knees buckle in from under you.

the dull thud of of your body hitting the slightly overgrown grass of heartslabyul is the last thing you hear as you slowly drown further into your panic.

Riddle, on the other hand, Just came to from his OB, staring at his dormmates worried and horrified faces. He feels weak, he knows what just happened, and he feels HORRIBLE....Oh god.

Are YOU okay??? where are you? Where is his S/O

That's when he spots you, your tear striken face, Queenie laying on top oof your chest, your hands shakily petting her back in sporadic, unrythmic strokes as her face snuggles further into your chest.

What has he done?

Riddle feels awful.

He promised to never be the cause of any panic for you. He wanted to be a safe space for you.

But his need for order seems to have taken over and ruined yet another important relationship in his life.

Despite his fatigue, he hesitantly appraches, keeping about 2 meters away from you. He knows you don't want anyone too close by right now.

When you show signs of calming down, He's there, silently and patiently sitting across from you.

"Do... do you want to talk about it..?"

You respond with a shake of your head.

He nods, you two remain in silence. One preparing for a potentially life-changing talk, the other rocking about as they cradle their cat

Leona Kingscholar

Animal: Corn Snake

His name is Zazu (shhhh)

Leona liked things quiet, and calm.

Thats what made you two work, at least according to him.

But, you knew and Malleus and Magift was a sore subject for him, you were kind of ready for his yearly temper, it caught you off gaurd last year, but this year you felt like you could really stand by his side!

Besides, a year in this hectic world with Zazu really helped stabilize your mood!

Until it wasn't.

A roaring stampede instead of a crowed, screams of terror instead of cheer, and your boyfriend, slowly turning your friend, Ruggie, into sand.

It was too much, too many shoves, too much noise, your friend almost died

You hold Zazu's little head gently, the soft, smooth texture of his scales your only vice as you duck under the bleachers of the magift stadium.

It's there and only there, all alone with your snake that you're able to break down and cry.

Leona groaned as he came to, he knew this was a stupid plan and a stupid decision. He could have just trained everyone properly, spend some actual time with you. He could have- Wait... where were you?

Despite his drained energy, he needed to know where you were. He put a hand up, stopping the chatter of his former victims, attemping to listen in for any sign of you.

He hears the soft mumbling of your attempts to talk to yourself

"Can't even trust em enough to tell me, I knew i should have stayed at home, this is why no one will accept yo-" hisssss

Okay, he had to do something

He rushes across the nearly empty stadium, suprising everyone (Except Ruggie maybe, he's kind of used to Leona)

"Herbivore?!" he stands outside the stands you're under

"I don't... I don't want to see you right now... I don't want you to see me."

"Babe- I... alright. Can I be with you right now?" "no." "I'm coming in anyway."

and he does.

He enters the darker space to find you huddled ong the ground, gripping onto your sleeve with one hand, the other coiled but zazu, who seems to lay still across your shoulders.

"I'll just be here." "Why?" you mumble "For you." he states

That makes you chuckle "You sap.."

Hisss <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Animal: Mop dog

Mop dog named Max...uh... Maxie

Okay so, unfortunately Azul did NOT like Maxie at first

But he got used to him because you two are a package deal

You knew Azul had insecurities, and his own...moments

You and Azul had a comfortable routine, you and him are both realtively particular, he needs a level of order in his life, and his comfort zone is very well kept. So you two kind of fell into a step.

Despite your realtive bliss spending most days in his office or the backrooms of the Lounge. You knew his business was his passion.

You also knew he tended to get a bit... ambitious.

You and Maxie knew to stay away during midterms, it was bound to get chaotic. And Azul gets kind of... gift-bomby around this time... it isn't the most comfortable.

Things typically died down a few days after midterms, so you decided to visit your boyfriend.

On the complete wrong day.

You took Maxie with you, ready to greet Azul after his busier week but instead you find...

Leona? with a pile of sand around him by Azul's vault... Oh no.

Maxie softly appraches a sullen Azul and nudges his leg with his paw.

Something seemed to snap because all of a sudden the sneaky yet loving Azul Ashengrotto you knew was... huge eight tentacles and crazed.

He shoves Maxie away, sending him to the ground (mind you, he's a pretty big dog)

He shoved your dog.

He's stealing things, he's refusing to be "worthless" "weak" "stupid and clumsy"

Everything you've always secretly felt you were... oh no...

Maxie rushes toward you.

You slowly place yourself on the ground.

You've fainted.

Azul comes to, he sees Ace, Deuce, the Prefect... Leona... and you? when did you get here? on the ground... Maxie gaurding your sleeping form.

He... overblotted.

How could he be so stupid?? everything seemed to be in pla e did he not count something or- WHY ARE YOU HERE?

Azul approaches you and Maxie, he dismisses the prefect and gang, solely focused on you.

Maxie opts to lie on top of you, promptly waking you up

"oof... what... what happended"

"I'm... so sorry" "Oh. right."

Maxie greets you with kisses, happily nudgeing your cheek accompanied by his happy barks. You sratch his head "I'm ok... down boy."

Azul apologetically stares at you, hesitant to say more.

You look up to him, sighing against Maxie. Your eyes narrowed "I thought we agreed." "I know I just... I can't help it." "Therapy." "I'll apply tomorrow afternoon, I promise."

Vil Schoenheit

Animal: Poodle

Her name is Georgette

Vil and Georgette get along realtively well. She doesn't shed, you keep her well groomed, and you're usually more on task with her around.

You like to joke that Vil reminds you of Georgette. He claims he is much more refined than your dog. She doesn't seem to like it much either.

He likes taking you out to set with him. He trusts you to behave and know's you feel safe both around him and whenever Georgette is around, he respects that.

Vil pets Georgette like an evil mastermind sometimes? So maybe that should have been a warning sign.

The VDC was fast approaching, Vil is under a lot of stress; he's been a harsh coach, his popularity stays at the same place consistently, he's FINALLY given the opportunity to beat Neige "once and for all"

VDC happens, you're helping the Prefect overlook how things are running. Overlooking the practices.

Vil does absoltely beautifully! and for once, Georgette agrees.

Neige does this old nursery song, and you're more than confident Vil will win.

You leave the prefect to handle the rest while you head to the stalls to buy a drink for Vil.

He deserves a treat after all <3

When you come back, everything seems fine but, the stadium is empty though...

And suddenly everything is falling around you

You take Georgette and quickly duck behind one of the seats.

Vil's distorted voice echoes throughout the stadium, you cannot quite see him but you see the giant MONSTER lurking behaind him.

When he comes to..

Vil is downright ashamed. He knows trying to poison someone is wrong. He knows he doesn't get to decide whether or not someone lives... Especially not for a glorified popularity contest.

And that's when he spots Georgette's thankfully obnoxiously large bow peeking out from behind one of the seats.

That is when he knows he has to check in on you. You are never far from Georgette.

"Darling? Meine Geliebte, are you alright.." You're huddled with your poodle. Rubble is strewn about around you. Your eyes remain shut as you mutter to yourself.

"It's ok, it's fine. you're safe. I-it's okay.." Georgette's fur is soft, you continue to trace little patterns into her well groomed coat.

Vil sighs to himself, relived you're at least ok, but he's worried. You have Georgette for a reason, and he knows just how much progress you've made to gain the confidence to live your daily life and he may have just destroyed that.

He remains by your side

[whillywisp]

Part 2 of Finnick being the most amazing dad/doting husband because I'm sure this is just therapy for my darlings with daddy issues and, well, issues🌱

Warnings: a little long, a little angstier today, implied mention of what happened to finnick. But still as fluffy as yesterday.

Part 1 ☁︎

If Finnick was caring and terrified during the pregnancy, multiply that by ten thousand and that's him postpartum. This man was convinced the very air his family breathed was out to get them. He refused to sleep because he was scared something would happen if he dared to get some rest but after you very gently (you yelled) explained to him that he cannot stay up for three nights straight because no Finnick the baby doesn't need to be held twenty five-eight please for the love of god get some damn sleep, he finally got some rest.

Recovering from pregnancy is a whole other nightmare but he made it bearable. Finnick's favourite thing in the entire world, as previously stated, was taking care of you. So you know he was at your beck and call round the clock. He helped you shower, helped you move around, stayed up with you during night time feedings so you wouldn't feel alone. He cooked every meal and made sure you had everything needed within an arm's reach. Sometimes you were so overcome with love for him that you would tug him close and pepper his face with kisses because where on earth would you find someone as gentle and caring and loving in this miserable world as this angel right here? Nowhere thank you.

But it was seeing him with her that had you convinced you saved a country in your last life (well, in this life and while it was group effort—) to be able to witness something so pure and gentle.

Finnick held his little girl like he she was made of the finest glass and would disappear if he so much as breathed too loud near her. His wide eyes traced every movement, every twitch of a muscle, every breath your baby took. If her little hand curling around his made his pretty eyes gloss over, you absolutely saw it and you made sure to tease him about, for which you were met with embarassed smiles but no denials. He wasn't ashamed of loving his family and least of all his baby girl.

But every spring came stained grey from winter's shadow, still lingering around the corner as if seeking spring's warmth too. And Finnick's past, to him, felt a bit like that.

What happened to Finnick was not a secret he carried in his pocket folded up with a list of names who still bragged of their contribution to his survival or hidden behind forced smiles anymore. What happened to Finnick was public and while he is as not at all at fault for it, humiliation and self-hatred didn't have a mind of its own and regardless of the circumstances and the people that were at fault for everything, he still blamed himself, he still dreaded the day his baby, his entire world, found out what happened. And he told you about it of course.

"What if...what if she hates me?"

You looked up from the book you had been reading, glancing at him where he lay on his back. Your daughter, now nine months old, fast asleep on his chest and your voice a little incredulous as you whisper back. "I'm not sure if you noticed but she worships the ground you walk on."

The smile he gives you is forlorn and pressed into the top of your daughter's head. He blinked, looking away from you and in the blink of an eye you had dropped your book, uncaring where it landed and gently craddled his face in your hands, wiping away tears that stained his emrald green eyes.

"Angel—"

"I don't want her to find out," he sniffed, tightening his arms around your daughter, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. "I do-don't want her to find out. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm so weak. I was so weak."

You sighed, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead before wiping away tears that escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Rage and grief burned in your heart with vengeance and you wished, not for the first time, the need to rip those wealthy capitolites to shreds with your bare hands, to make these vile people disappear, praying they'd take the pain they inflicted on him away with them.

But instead you used the same hands and pulled him close, letting him cry into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and your daughter, whispering quietly but firmly to him. "Finnick Odair, those years of you life were bleak. Those years of your life were harsh. And you were a lot of things during them: broken, hurt, abused. But you weren't weak. You survived, you made sure to survive because you knew you needed to survive to be free. That was your way of winning. And if we raise this baby right, she'll love you regardless, hell even more, when she finds out. I love you and I agree with you on just about everything. But this, this I refuse to because the man i married, the boy I fell for, is a survivor."

He peered at you through wet lashes, sniffling softly as he pressed a kiss to your chest and then the top of your daughter's head: his quiet way of saying 'I love you. Thank you for being my light.' You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, tightening your arms around your family.

You weren't lying when you said your daughter worshipped the ground he walked on. He was her hero. She followed him around the house since the minute she started crawling, screamed for him every morning and only calmed down when he picked her up and out of crib and in the most Finnick fashion, loved you in her gentle ways. She got that from me, he would say smugly as you had to eat another fistful of mushed baby food because of course your daughter picked that her way to show her love for you after having seen Finnick feed you fruit earlier. You would glare at him over her little sprout hair, identical to the one his hair was tied into on her highness' orders, your heart threatening to explode in your chest from the sheer amount of love it was filled with.

Your daughter was not only growing up to be the most precious child in the world, but she was also terrifyingly bright and understanding, even at such an young age. On days she noticed Finnick's need to be quiet or when he was too overwhelmed by everything, you noticed her making a conscious effort to stay quiet and keep her noises to a minimum. If Finnick needed time alone, she wouldn't bother him but spent her time with you, telling you about how daddy needs his quiet time and you had to hold onto the cushion behind you on the couch to hold back from crying, completely baffled at and extremely grateful that you both were raising an angel like her. But you weren't all that surprised when you thought about it a little more deeply. She was, after all, her daddy's little girl.

The day she starts kindergarten feels like the most emotional episode of the worst soap opera possible because you woke up to them...crying. And saying their goodbyes as he tearfully packed her lunch and did her hair, as if she was off to war. And it took quite a while to coax them both out of the house because I love you both but we cannot be late on the first day you guys please. But on the walk to kindergarten it was peaceful and full of laughter, because they could both pretend this was just their morning walk.

But of course, the tears were back when the gates closed with the promise of keeping them separated for three hours.

"What if she gets hungry and can't open the lunch box?"

You frowned looking up at him, shaking your head. You both were standing outside the gates to the school along with other worried parents, some taking a break from said worrying to side eye you both, something you had learned to tune out years ago.

"Finnick, she showed us she can open the lunch box just fine before we left home."

"But what if she can't here?" He insisted, looking down at you like you were the insane one for not considering that scenario. You sighed, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the gates, trying to ease his worries.

"I promise you if she needs help with that, she will ask her teacher," you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently to stop him when he opens his mouth to voice another bizarre worry. "She'll be fine. She's our kid, she'll be perfectly fine."

He cracked a small smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you both start walking back, giving in with a small chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we should get a puppy to keep us busy now since she wants to do all grown up things go to scho..."

You look up at him as he suddenly trails off, confused as you catch him staring at something thoughtfully in the distance and follow his gaze to freeze against him slightly. In the distance, still as grey and imposing as ever, was the abandoned building which once held District 4's career academy. Strange feelings that always came with seeing it, both good and bad and nostalgic, make you tighten your grip on his hand and his around your shoulders.

Less than a decade ago, only a few metres and a small canal away from the kindergarten that your daughter now attended, children like her were being trained to kill, you and Finnick being a part of them. The thought of that still makes your blood run cold but the relief that rushed in right after, knowing your baby would never have to do that, is enough to let go of another hour of the countless you had spent in there, training to survive a system bigger than the arena could ever be.

You took a deep breath, forcing to maintain your light tone as you forced both of you to continue moving. "Heard they're building another school there, to keep the spirits of learning still alive and all that."

He smiled, kissing the top of your head fondly. "And I assume you want to help out in that?" The cheeky smile you had given him was answer enough but for him, it was like a sigh of relief, of brighter days no longer stained with gloom of his past.

People and places had changed to accomodate this new change, this everlasting spring, and maybe he was looking forward to letting his soul do the same too.

A/N: i agree this might've gone slightly offtopic in certain places but bare with me. I can't decide if want this to be the end or write more. But I hope you enjoyed this regardless of these things. All my love 🌱

[munsons-hellfire]

Hi there!! i saw you’re gonna start writing for acotar! can i request a helion x reader where it’s a double date but theyre both like no we’re just third and fourth wheeling nbd but maybe there’s an ulterior motive somewhere to get them to realize their feelings for each other??

We’re Just Friends | Helion

SUMMARY: You and Helion are oblivious to each other's feelings until you arent.

PAIRINGS: Helion x Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: SFW, fluff, angst.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: You have no idea how excited I was when I got this request. I had come up with two ideas for this and ended up going with the more angstier version because I loved it so much. I also added a little more to it because I wanted to build something between the reader and Helion. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Thank you for requesting for Helion, he is one of my favorites from ACOTAR so I had a lot of fun with this!

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

You’d been a member of the Night Court since you were born. With friends such as Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel you were able to escape Illyria before they had a chance to clip your wings. You’d found your family became of those three males. You were an emissary to the Night Court, often traveling between Courts to form a bond to have an ally in any future war. The Autumn Court and Spring Court were courts you often avoided if you could.

You knew the history between Rhys and Tamlin and couldn’t stand the male. You didn’t get along with Beron in the least. Always trying to defy what he wanted to do. One High Lord in particular had caught your attention. Helion had taken the opportunity to get to know you, he’d befriended you and whenever you visited his Court it was hard for your friends to separate you from him.

Before Amarantha happened they could see the love that was there between you and Helion. Rhys kept quiet, as did the others but they knew something would happen between you and Helion eventually. When they were trapped Under the Mountain and you were locked up in Velaris everything had changed for you. You’d become a shell of your former self and even when Prythian had been free at the hands of a human who risked her life in the process and died, you still hadn’t managed to pull through.

The months leading to the return of Rhys you started seeing Helion again, slowly but surely becoming yourself again. It was even more of a reason that Rhys and all your other friends believed that you and Helion were mates. But there wasn’t time to say anything right now with a fight on its way. The war had been fought and won. Rhys had died in the process only to be brought back.

Everything seemed to be right in Prythian. After the way you’d stayed with Vassa and Jurian to help rebuild whatever was left standing. You’d found a friendship with the two, and eventually Lucien when he joined them. Upon returning back from the work you’d helped with in the Human lands Helion had requested that you become his emissary for the Day Court.

Helion had seen how much you’d managed to accomplish in the months after the war against Hybern was over. He knew you’d be a great addition to his court, he also knew you’d look better in Day Court colors. After a talk with Rhys and Feyre, your High Lord and High Lady you had their approval. You said your goodbyes to your family, promising to come visit whenever you could and you left.

It had been 10 years since the events of the war. Things were steady now. You had everything you ever wanted, accepted you knew there was still something missing from your life. When Feyre and Rhys invited you and Helion to join them in Velaris for an outing, you couldn’t say no to them. Helion had agreed, though there wasn’t much you’d have to say to convince the male to go with you.

He enjoyed being wherever you were, so if you want to go see your family he’d follow along with you. The night had started out wonderful, you and Helion had met up with Rhys and Feyre as a casual get together, but they had other plans in mind. The mated couple was going to get you and Helion together by the end of the night. They still didn’t understand how either of you could’ve gone this long being so oblivious to the fact that you and Helion were in love with each other.

Helion couldn’t bring himself to admit it, he was afraid to lose you as a friend or worse to someone else. Meanwhile you were afraid of his rejection. He was a High Lord after all so he’d have every right to say no to you if you’d so much as mention your affections for him. The four of you sat at a table in a restaurant in Velaris. You’d given Feyre an odd look when she had mentioned that this was a double date.

You had finished your food, your eyes were on Helion as he talked to Rhys and Feyre about something. You weren’t sure what he was talking about. You’d been so focused on his face that his words slipped right through your ears. You blinked, finally taking notice that all eyes were on you. Suddenly you felt as though you’d miss something.

“Oh, you did, sister.” Rhys whispered in your mind. You glared at him, throwing your shields up to block him.

“I’m sorry, what are we talking about?” You asked softly, not looking at Helion, afraid that you’d disappointed him by missing something so important.

“I was just wondering if you’d be coming to see the rest of the family later tonight, maybe bring Helion.” Feyre said, her eyes planted on you. A smirk rested on her lips. You knew that she was having a mind conversation with Rhys.

“Oh, I’m sure Helion wants to head back home soon, so maybe another time.” You didn’t miss the way Helion had smirked at your comment.

“Nonsense, I think we can stay a little bit longer.” Helion remarked, a smile on his lips. You gripped your drink, sipping the wine slowly.

“Great.” Feyre said excitedly.

“Maybe we can even get you two together.” Rhys said, causing you to choke on your wine. You put your glass down, attempting to stop the coughing fit.

Finally you were able to get words out. “We’re just friends, Rhys.” You said, and it was a simple answer. Feyre and Rhys had caught the look of hurt that had crossed Helion’s face when those words had slipped from your lips.

“Yes, we’re just friends.” You winced, it was almost like Helion had been hurt by your choice of words. You felt you couldn’t breathe, you were being suffocated by everything around you. This was not what you’d expected to happen tonight.

“Excuse me, I need some air.” You were quick to get up and leave the restaurant before any of them could protest. The cool air hit your skin when you walked out the door. You walked down to the bridge that overlooked Velaris and the Sidra river.

More than anything you wanted to be with Helion, you knew you’d been in love with him for so long. So why did your words affect him so much, you were so certain that he didn’t feel the same way about you. That you were just an Illyrian female he wanted to bed. Your wings moved in closer to protect you from any passersby as you let the tears fall down your face.

“So that’s what I am to you, a friend?” His voice was cold, distant as the question left his mouth.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Not when you were still crying over what had happened. You should’ve known that Helion would chase after you.

“I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” You said, pulling your wings back and tucking them in tightly as you turned to look at the male.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I just, I mean we are friends. There’s nothing between us so why does it matter?” You were really hurting him, you knew that.

“Because.” He whispered softly.

“Because isn’t an answer.” You watched as he walked closer to you, closing the space between you and him. His hand gently touched your cheek. You looked at him with a glimmer of hope, of love in your eyes.

“Because I love you, I have loved you since I first met you. I have loved you since I discovered you were my mate. And I will continue to love you until it is my time to leave this world behind.”

You felt your heart picking up its pace at his words. You could hear the honesty coming from him. And then it happened, you felt it, that gold string tie around your heart. You gasped, your hand flying to your chest as you felt the strength of the bond pick up between you and Helion. Finally he smiled, still looking at you.

“But all this time, you, you were seeing other’s.” You felt yourself cracking waiting for his answer.

“It was just for a fun time. I may bring other lovers into our bed, but they will never be able to replace anything. I fell for you, my sunshine. You are the light in my life that I’ve been waiting so long for.” You released a broken laugh, tears falling down your face. “Please don’t cry my love.” He whispered as he kissed the tears away.

“I’m just so happy.” You whispered, pushing your hands into his wavy hair. “Because I've loved you since the moment I met you too. And I am so thrilled to be your mate.” He smiled at your words and brought his lips to yours kissing you softly. Cheering could be heard in the background. You and Helion pulled apart from each other to look at your family that had been nearby.

“I think it worked, Feyre, darling.” Rhys said, as the mated couple walked towards you and Helion.

A smile rested on your lips and you pushed yourself closer to Helion as he wrapped his hand around your waist. It was the happy ending you’d been looking for, your mate. And now that you’d discovered everything that happened between you and him was the bond’s way of informing you, you couldn’t be more happy.

“I hate you all.” You whispered, resting your head on Helion’s chest.

“I don’t think so. If it hadn’t been for them inviting you to dinner neither of you would’ve known.” Cassian remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Not true, General. I’ve always known about the bond.” At this you looked up at Helion.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked him.

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship in case I was wrong, or the Mother was wrong, or something happened. So many reasons, and I just don’t care because I have you now and that’s all that matters.” He placed a kiss on your head.

“No more lies, promise?” You whispered.

“No more lies, I promise.” The bargain was set, a slight sting of pain ran through your forearm as a bargain tattoo was crafted. The night sky mixed with the sun. A bargain between you and your mate. The happiest of endings, one you were so thankful for.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

🎵 Hiya can i request Spencer and x reader with the Lyrics

I’ve found a reason for me to change who I used to be. A reason to start over new, and the reason is you - The Reason by Hoobastank

🎵

This yet again turned out way angstier than planned and I’m sorry for that. Hopeful ending though! Basically - what if Spencer didn’t get sober when he did?

The Reason

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - Spencer’s drug addiction cost him everything: his job, his friends and the love of his life. When he finally decides to get clean, can he convince you that you were the reason for his newfound sobriety?

CW - drug use, mentions of weight loss, slightly aggressive behaviour, swearing, rehab, twelve step program, hopeful ending.

WC - 2.9k

The hardest part of anything of a self destructive nature was how close knit you became with it. Addiction was now interwoven in the fabric of the Spencer Reid canvas, as much as any other facet of his life. 

Leaving it behind, as he’d tried and failed to do many times, felt like severing a limb. Giving up his vice would be like killing the very part of himself that taught him how to survive. 

Addiction was an inherently selfish disease. Somewhere along the line Spencer had stopped caring about anyone or anything that didn’t directly pertain to getting high. 

What had started as him using when the torment got too much had ended up in him using simply to feel ok. As time passed he needed more and more of the drug to reach the high he craved. And in turn that made it harder for him to even consider the idea of quitting. 

By this point his mind was clouded only by thoughts of drugs. It took a hold of him, wrapping its tentacles around him and dragging him down into an abyss of his own creation. 

His addiction had taken everything from him piece by piece; little by little. It had gotten in the way of his job, his work obligations becoming less important to him than getting high. 

And so he’d been fired from the BAU. 

It had taken his health, his energy and motivation. He’d lost more weight than he had to lose, or so he’d been told. But it also took away his ability to see the world clearly and so he didn’t notice the skeletal form staring back at him in the mirror. 

One by one it had destroyed his friendships. Some had held out longer than others, JJ and Garcia in particular trying to cloy Spencer back to reality far longer than anyone else. 

But his drug use made him angry, almost aggressive. And eventually even his two best friends had given up on him. But honestly, Spencer didn’t even have the impetus to care. 

Through it all, you remained stalwart. You were determined to stay by his side and help him every step of the way. 

But once it became clear that Spencer didn’t want your help, there really wasn’t much you could do but walk away too. 

Your two year relationship came to a sudden and horrible end one night when you’d tried to help him detox. He’d been drug free for twelve hours and thankfully he’d slept through most of that. 

But when he woke up was when it all went so horrifically wrong and after that night you knew Spencer was no longer the man you’d fallen in love with. 

He screamed and yelled and fought for you to let him out of the apartment, to let him buy more drugs. 

One more hit, that’s what he kept saying. One more hit and then I promise no more. 

With tears streaming down his face and trembling hands, looking more scared and lost than anyone you’d ever seen, it would have been easy to give him the world on a silver platter. 

But you remained strong, blocking the doorway with your body and refusing to let him out. You tried to reason with him that he didn’t need them, that everything was going to be ok without them. 

But Spencer was long past listening to reason. 

The final nail in the coffin that had been your relationship was when he forcibly grabbed you by the shoulders and peeled you away from the door with more strength than you knew he possessed.

He threw you aside like you were a discarded gum wrapper and you fell to the floor in a heap. And maybe if that had just been the end of it, you might have been able to salvage things. 

But it wasn’t the end. 

You were quick to jump back to your feet, grabbing his wrist as he went to open the door. You spun him to face you and as if in a blink of an eye his tears had dried and the eyes looking back at you weren’t the same ones you’d known for the last two years.

His eyes were so dark they were black, pupils bleeding into the gold of his irises and swallowing them whole. Looking back at you was a man you didn’t recognise. 

That was only further confirmed when he took you by the shoulders again and slammed you against the wall, causing a small whimper of pain to leave your lips as your back collided with the hard surface. 

His grip on your shoulders was like a vice, his blunt fingernails digging into your flesh even through your shirt. He looked manic, evil; and that terrified you.

“I swear to god Y/N if you try to stop me leaving the goddamn apartment…” he spat, trailing off at the end of his sentence. 

“You’ll what?” You bit back, despite the fear coursing through your body. 

“You don’t want me to answer that. Do not make me choose between drugs and you, because I can promise you, you will not like the outcome.” 

His grip on you tightened and you whimpered again, sure he would leave bruises. 

“S-Spencer, you’re hurting me.” Your voice was trembling. 

“No I’m not, don’t be so pathetic.” He snarled at you. 

“You’re scaring me.” 

“This is nothing compared to how scary I will be if you don’t let me out of this fucking apartment.” 

You knew then that it was over. For the first time in two years you didn’t see the love he held for you pooling from his eyes. You didn’t know this man. You certainly didn’t love him. 

And as much as you wanted to help him you knew you couldn’t. He was passed help. And you would only be putting yourself in danger if you stayed. 

“If you leave,” your voice cracked with emotion. “I won’t be here when you come back. If you choose drugs over me then we’re over, Spencer.” 

There hadn’t been even a hint of hesitation when he’d suddenly let you go, stepped back, shrugged and spoke again. 

“You can see yourself out then.” 

And that was the last time you saw him until, a little over a year later, when you received a phone call from the one person you never expected to hear from again. 

***

Spencer Reid was not a perfect person. There were many, many things he wished he hadn’t done. 

But taking the vials of dilaudid from the dead man who’d held him hostage was probably one of the dumbest. 

He tried to get sober but the longer he used the harder he found it to quit. For a time he managed to hide his addiction from everyone, you included, but it quickly spiralled out of control. 

Had he been in his right mind, there was no way he would have put anything above his relationship with you. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, he still remembered meeting you like it was yesterday. 

You were a student in Gideon’s class around his age and on the occasions when he spent his time away from the BAU shadowing his mentor at the university, the two of you had grown close. 

You were his first relationship, he still even now didn’t really understand how someone like you was interested in someone like him. But he counted his lucky stars every single day. 

But his drug use got out of hand and really the moment you walked away should have been the wake up call he needed. Unfortunately it wasn’t. 

After that night he continued using for another ten months. That time passed him by slowly and rapidly in equal measure.

His whole life had fallen apart but all he could think of was his next hit. The small windows of clarity that came when he woke up in the morning didn’t last long as he often shot up before he’d even indulged in his first coffee of the day. 

Being sober terrified him. If he was sober too long then he would have time to reflect on all the things he’d lost and all the things Hankel had done to him. 

But then one morning before he stuck that needle in his vein, he ventured into his living room. 

It had been months since he’d seen this particular room through sober eyes and maybe that was why it had taken him so many months to notice it. 

It was innocuous in its smallness which paled in comparison to the rest of the room. Perhaps it was the sunlight seeping in between the cracks in the curtains, causing the item to shimmer that caught his attention. 

He padded towards it, the small glint of silver set against the dark wood floorboards just to the left of his front door. When he reached it, he fell to the ground and picked it up between his fingers. 

The cool metal of the chain tingled against his fingertips and he cradled the small pendant in his palm. 

On your first official date when Spencer had taken you for dinner you’d told him about your affinity for birds. 

Since you were a child you’d always loved the symbolism of them, of freedom and hope and new beginnings as well as courage and strength. 

He kept that piece of information with him and on your first anniversary he’d gifted you the small silver bird necklace he now held in his palm. 

You’d never once taken it off since he’d given it to you. And somehow it had remained on his floor for some ten months since the last time he’d seen you. 

And for whatever reason that necklace was like a beacon to Spencer. It was a sign that something needed to give, that he couldn’t carry on this way. 

So with the necklace still in hand he marched back to his bedroom and flushed the dilaudid down the toilet. 

Then he called JJ. 

Despite not talking to him in months she was more than happy to help her best friend. She checked him into the most elite rehab facility in the state, for which Rossi was footing the bill for. She stood by his side through the worst of the withdrawals, and he was visited by the members of his old team. 

During the course of getting sober he needed to make amends. One by one he did this, first with JJ and Rossi, then Penelope, Hotch and Emily and finally with Morgan. 

He was two months sober and still residing in the facility when he finally called you. 

He didn’t expect you to come, that’s not why he called. But you came anyway. 

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how hard it was for you to visit him after a year had passed, after everything he’d put you through. 

Yet somehow you’d put your hurt and your anger aside simply because he’d called you. 

Sitting opposite you in the recreation room, all the things he’d thought he would say to you left his brain. Seeing you now the extent of the pain he’d caused you spread across your features and the only thought left in his head was how much he hated himself for putting you through that. 

He looked down at his hands, the paper beneath his fingers. The twelve steps. The twelve steps of which he was stuck right here on number nine. 

“The eighth step,” he whispered, tearing his eyes off the page to look back at you. “I managed the eighth. We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. The, uh, making of the list was the easy part. It’s the part that comes next that’s really hard.” 

You stayed silent, lips drawn in a tight line and back rigid in your seat. You waited for him to continue. 

“Step nine is the part that requires us to actually reach out to the people we’ve hurt and make amends with them. They tell us that the only exception to this should be in cases where trying to make amends will do more harm than good. Opening up old wounds, causing more pain. 

It’s why it took two months of being here to reach out. I’m worried that in doing so I may have very well done more harm than good. But uh, selfishly, I needed to apologise to you face to face. And I’m sorry if that’s opened all those old wounds for you.” He ran his fingers over the paper by way of keeping himself tethered. 

“I got used to you being selfish.” You replied passive aggressively and Spencer knew he deserved that and a whole lot worse. 

“I don’t have any excuses, Y/N.” He sighed, rolling his lip between his teeth. “The drugs turned me into someone I don’t even recognise. They brought out the worst in me and you had to suffer the brunt of it and for that I am truly sorry.” 

“Is that it?” You shrugged, sliding your chair back. “You wanted to apologise. You said it, I heard it. Are we done here?” 

Spencer watched with a confused frown as you got to your feet, slinging your purse over your shoulder. He picked up the sheet of paper and stood too. 

“Uh, I mean I guess so?” He pulled a face. 

Why would you agree to see him and come all this way for only a few minutes? 

He watched you turn on your heels and start towards the door while he stood scratching at the back of his neck. He stuffed the wrinkled paper into his pocket and as he did so his fingers brushed against the metal chain. 

He freed it from his pocket and held it up so the pendant was in his eye line, the little swallow with its wings spread wide as if in mid flight. 

Freedom. Hope. New beginnings. Courage. Strength. 

Suddenly he took off after you, catching up to you in the gardens as you headed up the path towards the parking lot. 

“We’re not done.” He called after you. “At least I’m not.” 

Your back straightened and your pace slowed until you were at a halt. Cautiously you turned back to face him. 

“What else is there to say, Spencer?” You exhaled loudly. 

He walked closer to you and you noticed the necklace dangling from his fingers. 

“Y/N, I am sorry that I hurt you. It’s something I’ve had to live with every day I’ve been sober. I wish I could take away all the pain I put you through but I can’t. But there’s something I need you to hear.” He gently reached out for your hand, turning it over so your palm was up and he placed the little bird inside of it, coiling the chain into your hand. 

You wrapped your fingers around it once he let you go, holding it tight as if it might come alive and fly away. 

“What? What do you need me to hear?” Your eyes gave way to your sadness, to the pain he’d caused you. 

“It was finding that necklace that gave me the courage I needed to ask for help. It gave me the strength I needed to get sober. It offered me the hope that I could get clean this time, the freedom of knowing I didn’t need drugs to survive. It gave me a new beginning, it opened a door for me to start over.” He felt tears in his eyes and he fought to keep them at bay. 

“Spencer, I’m really pleased you finally got sober, I am. But let’s not pretend it had anything to do with me or that necklace.” You swallowed, holding the chain tighter still. 

“No one’s pretending. It shouldn’t have taken me as long as it did to realise and I can’t change that. But I found a reason for me to change who I used to be. A reason to start over new.” He sniffed, unable to stop reaching for you and cupping the side of your neck. “And the reason is you.” 

Your own tears overflowed, one’s you didn’t realise had worked their way to your eyes. You loosened the grip on the chain slightly, letting your fingers brush over the metal. 

“Spencer,” you mumbled. “I…”

“I know it’s probably too late for all of this and I can’t expect you to just forgive me overnight. But if you think there’s ever a chance you might one day forgive me…it would mean a lot of you would come and visit again.” He let his hand fall to his side again and took a step back. 

You wiped your tears with your free hand and nodded slowly. 

“Can I…I need to think about it, ok? I just need to process all of this.” 

“Of course, take all the time you need.” He nodded. 

You said your goodbyes after that and Spencer slumped back inside, convinced he would never see you again. 

One week later when he arrived in the rec room to meet his visitor, you were sitting at the table waiting for him, smiling softly in his direction. 

And taking in the small silver swallow in its rightful place hanging around your neck, Spencer felt hope. A new beginning unfolding right before his very eyes in the recreation room of his rehab facility. 

As he slid into the chair opposite you and you reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his knuckles, he knew he’d found his reason for being put on this Earth. 

And the reason was you. 

[tgmsunmontue]

PROMPT THREE “Surprise visitor”

3rd December 2024 - an angstier one today.

                He stares at the glass in front of him, its outline a bit fuzzy. He hears the knock on the door and wonders if he should even bother getting up to answer. He’s not good company right now, realises just how monumentally he’s fucked up. Made his bed, now he has to lie in it. He hadn’t thought Bradley would find out, which was naïve of him he supposes, and Ice told him that he shouldn’t do it; that Carole couldn’t protect Bradley anymore than she could protect Goose, or Maverick. And now it’s Christmas and he has no idea where Bradley even is. Ice currently isn’t talking to him, sick of his self-pity which he knows he should shake off but he’s sick with worry. Has been since Bradley stormed out of the house six months ago, not yet eighteen.

                He’s eighteen now though.

                Fuck.

                He really hopes that wherever he is, Bradley is alive and eighteen and he can be angry with him forever as long as he stays safe and alive.

                And happy Ice’s voice adds inside his head.

                The knocking on the door starts again, louder and more insistent and he stands, sways a little and hmm, maybe he shouldn’t have started in on the whiskey so early.

                Or so alone.

                He staggers a little, wonders just how much he’s had but then he’s at the door, pulling it open and feeling the blast of cooler air against his face. There is a man standing there.

                He blinks.

                It’s Goose.

                A ghost of Christmas past sent to really tell him how bad he’s fucking up.

                “Goose?”

                “No…” the man says, but he looks so much like him and he looks… sad.

                “Bradley!” he blinks, wonders if just thinking about him has conjured him into being at his door. He’s somehow grown several inches, which shouldn’t be a surprise considering he’s an eighteen-year-old young man, but as he reaches for him and pulls him in to hug he can’t help but feel old and the arms that wrap around him remind him so much of his friend that he clings tighter.

                “I’m so sorry…”

                “I… Can I come in?”

                “Of course! This is your home. Always will be.”

[fair-city-reporter]

Commemorating the Anniversary

Well, this blog was made just in time for the Wordgirl Anniversary - even if it was almost entirely by accident. The series premiered 17 years ago (excluding the shorts-) on September 3, 2007 and while I hardly remember the original shorts - let alone the first episodes, I returned to it just now and with the anniversary at the eyes of its adoring fans.

If anything, Wordgirl changed me in a way I can't describe. Everything started with Randy Cunningham, and the return to my beloved Secret Quartet but now Wordgirl has become a show dear to my heart. Not only is it an educational program with an amazing cast of characters - but because there's so much more it could be. Wordgirl has a lot of deeper episodes, shining brightly against its usual more comedic, lighthearted approach.

I can't thank enough how much being part of the community, being part of the fandom, has made me a lot happier. I've yet to see much toxicity and let's hope it stays that way but to move onto something fun for this post - I'm going to be posting headcanons and lore ideas here, the same way I did when I first joined Randy Cunningham.

I hope you enjoy the show!

WORDGIRL HEADCANONS

💫 Becky Botsford 'presents' herself as Afro-Latina, much like the rest of her adoptive family. Though she is alien, I have this distinct feeling there's some cloaking thing going on (because I am also very much for a separate headcanon I will talk about shortly-)

💫 She met Violet Heaslip when they were still in preschool and became inseparable ever since.

💫 Due to the connections with Superman, Becky can heal faster than the average human; she can still scar, of course but she won't easily be killed by normal means. What this means for when it comes to Lexonite - we'll get to that later!

💫 Her first crush wasn't Scoops! It was Violet, but Becky didn't seem to pick up on it - as she didn't have a concept of the word back then, at least not fully, and well - she dismissed it for something else. Personally, I don't think she cares about giving her sexuality a label. It just exists!

💫 She craves validation but she doesn't want to be arrogant. I know canon seems to treat this a little weirdly; though I like to see it as her wanting to be seen, as more than just Wordgirl and after all - heroes should get their recognition for protecting their city which is more than can be said for Fair City!

💫 I love the idea that the Botsford's always suspected there was something special about Becky, but they never brought it up - not wanting her to feel cornered.

💫 Becky and Violet are often partners in projects. Where Violet's more artistic, Becky works on making sure it's presentable and other notecards where her writing excels.

💫 Fair City cannot possibly be that dumb, but then again - it is an educational show. Even then, they make me mad though I can rant about that in a meta post; for now, here''s the headcanon: featured words have to happen in the episode, and so there's a bit of 'programming' where they need to ask in order for Wordgirl to define it!

💫 Divorced McAllister parents moment!

💫 Literally most of the cast is neurodivergent. I don't make the rules (except I do /lh-). This is canon now!

💫 You cannot sit here and tell me that Lexicon doesn't know Becky went missing from the planet. So either they know and don't care; or they know... and she's just too far away for them to reach her. (or there's the angstier approach where something happened to the planet, but that isn't supported by canon so-)

💫 Not all of the characters can break the fourth wall. This is something only attributed to Becky and some of the leads; others can talk with the Narrator, but they don't have direct communication with the viewers, or anything like that!

💫 Adoptive villain family supporter here-

I have a lot more, but these are the ones I'm starting with, because I am very lazy- and well, this post has gotten incredibly big. Also additional headcanon that since the series is educational, other planets exist based on school subjects! Loosely supported by the appearance of Kid Math, though honestly he should've had more episodes-

Lore thoughts will be posted separately as I realize this has gotten incredibly big, but I am just bouncing off of the walls - Wordgirl is my pride and joy right now, even if I love to angst anything I get my paws on! Without much further ado though, I leave you!

Happy Wordgirl anniversary, to the many years to come - and well, to the prosperity of this blog because I am very much not done yet!

[fang-and-feather]

Ikemen Vampire - Jean d'Arc x Vincent van Gogh x Reader

Words: 1,132

Summary: Jean can't help but still question his feelings for these two little lights that kept coming back to illuminate his life, but he also can't help but be drawn to them

Notes: this first chapter is a little angstier than my usual due to Jean's internal conflict. I don't know what possessed me while writing this one or to even have the idea to start this in this way...

Written for Polyam Shipping Day Prompt: Conflict from @polyamships

The Jean/Vincent pairing was inspired by @koco-coko (although I vaguely remember reading something with them on AO3, back before I was even a writer for this fandom) and I've been meaning to write it for a while, hope you don't mind me going along with the idea and that I went along with a xReader triad (is it a surprise to anyone at this point?)

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Jean had never been in love; he wasn’t sure what it felt like. But if he had to guess, that was exactly what he was feeling. He could give no other name to this.

Except that this couldn’t be love. Love was supposed to be such a pure feeling. This? This was temptation. Sin.

First sin was to fall in love with someone else’s woman.

You had been forced back through an incident; he didn’t expect you to return to what you had before, as if you had never left, but you did. What changed was for him when, by a twist of fate, Jean found himself spending a lot of time with you as you tried to teach him to write.

Vincent didn’t seem to mind so much. Although it wasn’t unusual for him to bring his sketchbook, sit at a distance and stay around until you were done. Jean felt a little guilty for taking so much of your time, but both of you were very reassuring whenever he voiced said guilt.

Then he found out what Vincent was so intently sketching. Most of his drawings were of you, but there were some of Jean himself.

Second sin was to fall in love with another man.

Vincent had already asked to paint Jean before, a little after Jean arrived at the mansion. He’d been a little insistent, until Theo got angry at Jean for continuously refusing his brother.

After the sketches, Vincent asked again, with you supporting him. And Jean couldn’t deny the two of you. Although you would say he didn’t need to, he thought it was a way he could repay you for all you were doing for him.

And that led to more time spent with both of you. And all the time spent with either of you was conflicting for Jean. You kept telling him how beautiful he was, or kind, or that he deserved forgiveness, deserved to live, and sometimes Jean caught himself wanting to believe.

Then he would realize his feelings once more, and how could he?

But was it still wrong when he wasn’t exclusively interested in him? When they would share a woman?

Probably.

Third sin was probably to fall in love with two people at the same time.

In fact, he wasn’t even sure if that was a sin, but it had to be wrong somehow. There was no way it was normal, and he would have judged it impossible had it not happened to him.

Was it so wrong, though? How could love be wrong?

Was it even love? How could a monster like him love someone?

He tried to run away then. From these questions. From your light and all its - in his mind, false - hope. He tried. But he was attracted to your light like a moth, and you reached back for him.

How could loving you be a sin, when you were so close to angels? That was how anyone would describe Vincent. And although that wasn’t attributed to you in words, they all loved you, and you were a light in everyone’s lives, helping each one of them heal from their own darkness.

But he was the one both of you chose to give your love to.

So, how could it be wrong? Would you make that choice even if it was wrong?

“Love is not a choice. Neither is it right nor wrong.” You spoke up, and Jean realized he’d asked it aloud.

“Is it another difference from your time?”

“My time is more accepting, but I won’t say it’s considered right. And maybe they’re right. Maybe it is wrong. But, as I said, it’s not a choice. Neither is it enough to condemn us.”

“I was conflicted too, when I started noticing these feelings. We’re not trying to say your views are wrong.” Vincent added. “We will understand if you don’t want to do this. But love is love, and our love is true. Never doubt that.”

Jean looked away from the two of you, with your bright, hopeful eyes and your all encompassing light, which was always too bright for him, but he couldn’t escape this time.

His gaze landed, unfortunately - or maybe fortunately, he would find out - on the painting Vincent had just presented him. The picture Jean thought looked nothing like him. Too bright. Too happy.

But Vincent said that was how he saw Jean, and doubting that would be doubting everything Vincent lived for. Because that was how Vincent painted; with that light he saw in everything.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is the same love we have for each other. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but this is the truth, and it will never change. But we’ll pretend this didn’t happen if you want to.”

“We just want to see you happy.” Vincent took one of his hands; his grip light enough for Jean to pull away if he wanted to.  “But we had to let you know. To see our side of the story.”He motioned at the painting with his other hand. “And I wanted you to see the you that we see. Beautiful, body and soul.”

This time you reached out, hand resting on his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear.

“And even if you step away now, we’ll still be your friends.” Your hand aliped down slowly, coming to rest on his chest. “We’ll protect your heart. Your light. For as long as you live. Because we’ll always love you, at the distance you deem appropriate.”

You always said such hopeful things to him, which made him feel happier every time. But now, his heart felt so full, almost overflowing with love for you.

A part of him still wanted to run and hide from all your light. All the hope. All the love he didn’t deserve, and that he wasn’t so sure it was right. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, his hold on Vincent’s hand tightened, and he pulled both of you to him, then hugged you.

Maybe he was a fool for it, but he wanted to accept your love and tell you how he felt. He wanted to hope for the future by your side.

He couldn’t formulate the words right now. Maybe it would take some time before he could. But here, with you, he believed both of you had been sent into his life to give him a second chance.

Could he believe that? Could he dare hope for tomorrow? Would he really be forgiven?

Maybe he would always be conflicted like that, but you would always be there for him to reach out to whenever he had doubts. Whenever the darkness wanted to consume him again. The two people he loved more than anything.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[mothgodofchaos]

Do a Murdock x gender neutral reader thing where he like gets caught all bloody and stuff by the reader ( whos his lover) and is like "Oh shit" but the readers just worrying about if he's okay and is just over all super sweet to him

Exhausted

Murdoch x GN!Reader, TW: blood, angst Words: 637

This came out angstier than I originally intended, but I don’t really see people writing this side of him and I like how it turned out.

Murdoch runs a hand through his hair with a sharp exhale, fumbling with his keys through his leather gloves. He drops them, stomping his foot with a groan before bending over and picking them up. He manages to get into the house, ready to shower all of the filth from the hunt off of him.

You hear him enter the house, or frankly you heard his car pull into the driveway, and you’re excited to see him after a long few days of him being away. There’s very little you want to do more than just burying your face in his chest, hugging the life out of him. You turn the corner to see him in the entryway, covered in blood. His favorite sweater stained and the rest of him looking soaked to the bone. He made a slight effort to wipe his face, it seems, although he missed some on his glasses.

“Mur…?”

He spins around to see you, a look of frustration turning into defeat. Murdoch hates you seeing him like this, afraid that you’ll recognize him as the monster he is and leave.

“Fuck…”

His bad day is just getting worse by the minute. Almost didn’t get the guy, scratched up more than he’d like to be, and barely had any time for clean up because there was nothing more that he wanted than to see you and take all the frustrations away. Murdoch steps back from you as you get closer, staying just out of reach.

“Hey angel, don’t be upset, just gotta-“

His usual cocky self is nowhere to be seen. He looks exhausted and melancholic, this job really wore him down.

“Mur, are you okay?”

He pauses his steps towards the bathroom, not turning around to face you again. You step up behind him, taking off his glove and interlocking your fingers. Through measured squeezes, you get him a bit calmer, but you don’t miss the way that he wipes his eyes with his free hand.

“No, no I’m not, angel.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up then, okay? I made dinner, so we can just eat on the couch and watch our show. Does that sound good?”

Murdoch nods, not used to being the one being taken care of. But his mental exertion has reached its limit and he just wants to be with you now. He tries to protect you from the physical dangers of the world, but it’s you that he returns to at the end of the day, keeping him whole. You help him out of his clothes, putting them in the wash while he showers. You lay a tshirt and sweats on the counter for him, along with a roll of bandages for any wounds you didn’t catch. You turn on the television, hot plates of food on the coffee table and a fresh mug of cocoa for him. Something told you he needed it.

When he comes out of the bathroom clean, he makes a beeline for you on the couch. Food is ignored, quickly picking you up to hold on his lap, burying his face in the back of your shoulder. He holds you tight against his chest, like a child holding their favorite stuffie.

“Are you better now? Want your food?”

“In a minute, I need this…”

You start giving scritches to his scalp, and he seems to relax. Part of you wants to cry because you’ve realized he feels safe enough to be vulnerable with you. You are his safety, more than he is yours. He is coaxed into eating a bit, passing him his warm drink after a few bites.

“Thank you, love. I mean it.”

“I love you, I’d do this for you every day if I needed to.”

He kisses your temple, his killer grin returning.

“I love you too.”

[quietblueriver]

For your prompts, Avatrice, "do you ever regret it?"

Canon compliant and angstier than originally intended but with what I hope is a hopeful-ish ending. Thanks so much for the prompt. <3 Haven't been able to write them in a while for some reason and hoping this gets me back to it.

-

Beatrice sloshes the amber liquid gently, working to cover the artisanal sphere of ice taking up most of the room in the glass. It’s a moderately successful endeavor, but to get it all the way over the top, she’d need to put more force behind her movement, which she won’t do. 

She may be a sad, semi-drunk ex-nun, but she still has her manners. She's consuming outrageously expensive whisky from an outrageously expensive piece of crystal on an outrageously expensive sofa. She knows better than to put any of them at risk. 

She takes another sip instead, giving up on her game for the moment and leaning her head against the leather cushion behind her, turning to face Jillian, who has finished with her own drink and is making her way to join Beatrice. 

The ball of ice in her glass clinks against the wall of her tumbler as she settles on the other side of the couch, folding bare feet underneath herself. Her hair is down, not messy but no longer in its perfect updo, and Beatrice can see her shoes placed neatly against the wall near the small bar where she’d put together their drinks. 

Dipping her head toward Beatrice’s hand, she asks, “Alright?”

Beatrice hums and nods. It tastes terrible, like smoky mud, and it coats her tongue and leaves a film in her mouth, burning at the back of her throat with every sip. She imagines it’s about as far from a lemon drop as one can get, which means it’s exactly what she wants right now—liquor that feels less like an indulgence and more like a punishment. 

And if she has another glass or two, it may provide a separate kind of punishment tomorrow morning, although it’s not like she has anywhere to be, particularly. 

She’s staying at Jillian’s invitation, unwilling to go back to Cat’s Cradle at the moment and uncertain, since she formalized her renunciation, what her place there would be if she were to return. 

Mother Superion had been clear that she had one, if she wanted it, but she’d also said, voice filled with a kind of understanding that nearly broke Beatrice in half, “Take your time.”

So she is. It has been eleven days since Ava went through the portal, and Beatrice has spent most of those days with Jillian, making herself useful where possible, keeping up with her training, and disappearing every once in a while to sit quietly in a dark room and/or cry under the warm water of the shower until she can’t breathe. Jillian never asks where she has gone, and she returns the favor, continuing whatever task or project they are working on without comment when Jillian returns from an absence with red eyes and a raspy voice. 

They’ve discovered in their time together that it’s easier for the both of them to eat with the other, and better for the both of them to avoid drinking alone, so their evenings have processed generally like this: an easy dinner in Jillian’s kitchen followed by drinks in her favorite study. They talk or they don’t, and as one or the other finishes a second or third drink, they reach tacit agreement to say goodnight, leaving glasses on the small table by the door for Jillian’s staff to handle so that they can repeat the process the next night. 

Tonight is no exception. They’d had white wine with dinner, a bottle between the two of them at the bar in Jillian’s kitchen. They’d picked over a spread of bread and cheese and fruit with little interest but enough sense and determination to make it through more than half before packing the rest away. Now they’re sipping alcohol from Jillian’s impressive collection, settled into what have become their standard seats. 

Nearing the bottom of her glass, Beatrice feels curious, masochistic enough to poke at her own bruises, so she speaks. “My father has a penchant for Japanese whisky. Or he did. I have no idea if it’s still true.” She takes another sip. “He taught my cousin all about it. Lined bottles up in his study. He took him to Japan for his sixteenth birthday for a distillery tour. I think he would have done the same with me, if I hadn’t been…” There are a hundred of her father’s disappointments she could use to finish that sentence. She shrugs. “Me.”

Jillian’s watching her, head tilted against the cushion to match Beatrice’s, glass resting on the arm of the couch. 

“It was Ava who first got me drunk.” Her heart pounds as she thinks about that night, the press of Ava’s body against hers, her breath on Beatrice’s neck uneven with laughter. “Lemon drop shots.” And it’s almost easy to smile, to feel the phantom drip of liquor down her chin, see Ava’s head thrown back in delight. 

“Sweet,” Jillian says. 

“Hmm.” She takes another sip of whisky, coats the memory in the bitter present. “She wouldn’t let me start with wine.”

A snort. “I believe that.”

They finish their glasses in silence, Jillian standing and offering a hand, taking Beatrice’s tumbler back to the bar for a refill. Her eyes wander the room, catch as they always do on pictures of young Michael, framed drawings, shelves of colorful board books and thin paperbacks. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Goodnight Moon. A whole line of titles in The Magic Treehouse. 

Following her gaze, Jillian says, “He loved those.” Beatrice takes her newly-filled glass back and Jillian arranges herself in her corner again, pulling a pillow into her lap, her shoulders a little less rigid than they were half an hour ago. “Read them over and over. He was so eager for adventure.” She meets Beatrice’s eyes and smiles, small and half-over before it can settle, which is how Beatrice knows it’s real. “They were similar that way, I think. Are,” she corrects quickly, but Beatrice doesn’t flinch at the past tense tonight. 

Jillian keeps the present for Beatrice, a kindness she can no longer provide to herself—they had both seen the remnants of Michael’s body on that floor—and Beatrice is grateful, but she also understands the slip. Understands it more and more with each hour. 

“Ava had a map. I have it now.” Tucked in her closet, something they’d brought from Switzerland. A fold-out map meant for primary school students that they’d found mixed into a bucket of postcards at the thrift shop Ava loved. “She put stickers everywhere she wanted to go. Different shapes and colors based on where each place was on her list. The whole thing was covered.” 

Jillian’s lips pull up at one corner, and they ease back into quiet, Beatrice caught in memories of big brown eyes watching the countryside on a train ride, a red swimsuit, gasps and clapping hands at the farmer’s market. Ava, alive and so eager to stay that way. 

She lets her eyes focus on the creased spines of Pirates Past Noon and Dingoes at Dinnertime, High Tide in Hawaii, thinks of gold stars and blue triangles on a brightly colored map. 

She weighs the question, lands on yes, with a qualifier. “Please feel free to tell me to fuck off.” 

Jillian turns her body fully toward Beatrice, resting her glass on a bent knee and raising an eyebrow. 

“Alright. I will.” 

Beatrice puts her glass on the table, pulls socked feet onto the sofa and wraps her arms around her knees. “Do you ever regret it? Letting them go, I mean.”

Jillian finishes her whisky in one long pull, sits the glass next to Beatrice’s. 

“Every day.” 

Later, after they leave their empty tumblers on the table by the door, Jillian goes to the shelf and pulls Dinosaurs before Dark, rests her palm on the cover for a moment before tucking it under her arm. 

In her own room, Beatrice fumbles through her closet to find the box she hasn’t been able to open yet. She still doesn’t, not really, takes a deep breath and lets her eyes slide over the contents without processing them until she sees what she wants. 

She spreads the map across her bed, straightening corners, and looks at the key Ava made in the bottom left, the hierarchy of colors and shapes. By the time she goes to bed an hour later, she has a list, a few possible first stops. She dreams of Ava and of places she’s never been. 

[dirtytransmasc]

“You can not ask this! The children, the forest, OUR SON! Everything! This is our home!” Neytiri yelled, Spider song chord in her hands as it fell when he was taken just hours ago.

“I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE EITHER NEYTIRI! THEY TOOK OUR BOY BUT I'M NOT LETTING THEM TAKE OUR OTHER CHILDREN! He had them under his knife and he got away with our Spider...” Jake's head faced down to hide the tears on his face. “ I failed our son, but I will not fail my people. As long as we stay here the more they are in danger, the more our children are in danger. He took one of us. Please I don't want him to take any more.” Jake covered his hands with his eyes trying to stop the tears from falling. Neytiri stood there grasping what she had left of her son before she started to cry again herself. Not knowing their other children are watching and feeling helpless about their brother.

I'm gonna make this so much angstier then it needed to be, and I'm gonna enjoy it.

neytiri felt sick; the chord had broken during the fall and all but a few beads had been found. she had gotten onto her hands and knees, searching the forest floor for the lost beads but to no avail; the bead for his first hiss, the first test of iknimaya he completed, his first hunt, and his adoption of all things. part of her baby's story was missing, the most important parts, to her at least. she had made the decision to adopt him, she was the first to hear him hiss, she was the one to lead his first test, she was the one to take him on his first hunt. she had lost her boy, she was losing her home, the home she raised her child in, and she could do nothing. she couldn't even hold onto his song chord, recite his song, his life, in its entirety, because it was gone.

She had tried to busy herself restringing it, but the gaps made her feel nauseous. now she fiddled it in her fingers as jake and the kids started to pack up their things to leave.

jake tried to speak to her, the kids kept trying to nuzzle up to her, but the grief of the situation made her freeze up. she tried so hard to answer, to ease her children's cries, but she couldn't.

"mom," it was kiri, "we'll look in the daylight, before we leave, we'll find them I promise. but, we need to pack his things, and... I can't do it alone. we can't take it all, you should decide what we bring to our new home, what will wait for him when we get him back." she spoke with a sense wisdom that proceeded her age, sounding just like grace.

she finally stood, unable to look her heartbroken child in the eye, before turning to his section of the pod; she finally cracked, balling her eyes out as she begin to shift through his things. the blade, now too small for him, she carved when he was only a few years old. the jewelry he helped make with her, his nimble fingers making intricate designs with ease. the weaved blanket she had made him the night after she first met him to replace the old scratchy one they had on hand in the lab. what remained of her child was right there in front of her.

kiri shifted under her arm, holding onto her torso, practically holding her mother up until she could get her to sit again. as they went through spiders things, packing up what was most important, both functionally and sentimentally, jake returned for wherever he had been.

she turned to look at him, and found anger boiling under her skin; she knew he was doing what was best for their family, but she was still enraged by his request to leave everything.

she didn't let him speak, cutting him off as he tried by gently releasing kiri before storming out of the hut, brushing past him, shoulder checking him before slapping him with her tail.

"I go, kiri can finish packing his things... I will say goodbye to my home now," she bit at him, not yet ready to accept her fate, not without a fight.

she needed air, she needed to find those beads, she needed her son's story back in her hands before her mate pried her from their home.

[mountain-in-springtime]

lying eyes

pairing: jake x reader, josh x reader | word count: 1.2k | warnings: kissing (?), implications and mentions of nsfw, cheating/infidelity | my masterlist

summary: the reader is torn when she must choose between the two loves of her life

author's note: so this is way angstier than anything else i've written, but i hope y'all like it anyway. i really enjoyed writing it. also, this fic is inspired by the song lyin' eyes by the eagles (as well as love you goodbye by one direction but to a much lesser extent)

*******************************************************

Your eyes slowly drifted open, vision blurry with sleep as you took in your surroundings. The room was still and engulfed by the darkness of the night, but you could make out your discarded clothes on the floor, paired by Jake’s thrown beside yours. A smile drifted onto your face as you remembered the events that occurred just a few hours earlier, but it soon faltered as you felt a familiar weight begin to find its place in your heart.

You slowly turned your head, careful not to wake the man beside you. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his face was marked with the look of peaceful slumber. At this moment, you swore that he had never looked more angelic. You desperately wanted to reach out to him. You wanted to run your hands over his features and comb your hands through his hair, burning each one into your memory so that you may never forget how he felt. 

But the longer you looked at Jake, the more you were reminded of why you shouldn’t be here. You contemplated pushing back your guilt and going back to sleep, allowing yourself to find solace in your love for at least a few more hours, but the sinking feeling in your chest grew until it became unbearable. You reluctantly peeled yourself from his grip, your heart breaking upon hearing a small whimper leave his sleeping form. As you crossed the bedroom floor, you tried to remain as quiet as possible, picking up your clothes and quickly getting dressed. Before you could leave, however, you heard the rustling of sheets behind you, followed by the voice of the man you were trying to forget. 

“You’re leaving?” Jake’s question hung in the air. Fighting against yourself, you kept your back turned to him, willing yourself to answer. 

“I have to, Jake. You know that.” Your voice was ice cold, and you hated yourself for it.

“No, you don’t,” was his response, barely above a whisper.

A long sigh left your lips as you collected yourself, forcing your voice to remain even. “What other choice do I have?” you asked him. The question sounded like a desperate plea as if you were begging him for a way out. 

He fell silent for a moment before giving you the one alternative you couldn’t take: “You could stay.”

You shook your head as tears began to blur your vision. “I can’t,” was the only reply you could manage. You reached for your purse on the dresser and moved toward the bedroom door. You told yourself that this was the last time. As soon as you touched the doorknob, you would be a new woman, a better woman, but your hand stopped short as Jake’s voice filled the room again.

“So that’s it?” he asked, “You’re just gonna go back to him and pretend like nothing ever happened between us?” The hurt in his tone was undeniable, and it broke your heart to know that it was all your fault. 

You finally turned to face him, and you immediately regretted it. Seeing the rise and fall of his bare chest paired with the soft expanse of his relaxed stomach made you want to rush into his arms and feel his touch against you, but one look at his face solidified why you could never do so again. Looking into his pained eyes, you were reminded of your other love, and you knew that he would feel the same anguish if he knew where you were. That was the thought that plagued your mind as you nodded at Jake, betraying your own heart, and answered him with a quiet, “That’s the way it has to be.”

“So it all meant nothing to you?” he murmured as tears threatened to shake his voice, “I make love to you and share a bed with you, and it means nothing?” The questions were absent of any animosity, instead carrying all the pain and desperation in his being.

Warm tears began to roll down your cheeks as you shook your head. “It meant everything, Jake. You know it did.” 

He rose to meet you and began his plea, “Then why does it have to end? I love you. Can’t that be enough for you to at least try? I know things seem messy, but if we love each other then none of that matters.” His hands reach out to grab yours, but you pull them away. 

“Jake,” you answered, your voice reverting back to its cold infliction, “I’ve made up my mind. There’s nothing you can do to change my decision.” You looked away from him, reaching for the doorknob until his hand gripped your forearm. 

“Wait,” he whispered. You turned to face him, and his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you into one final kiss. Against your better judgment, you melted into his touch. One of your hands moved to grip his bicep while the other found its way into his hair, tugging at the locks at the base of his neck. Small whimpers left you as he devoured you, allowing all of his passion to flow out of him. His hands traveled across your whole figure, knowing each touch would have to be enough for a lifetime. 

As you eventually pulled away, you felt him lingering against your skin, afraid to let go for the last time. Making the move for him, you took a step back, removing yourself from his reach. “I’m sorry, Jake,” you whispered as your hand finally turned the doorknob, “Goodbye.” And with that, you disappeared behind the door, leaving behind the man you loved. 

After a long drive home, your vehicle finally approached your driveway. You looked at yourself in the rearview mirror, making sure to remove any smudged makeup that could reveal the tears you had shed earlier in the night. You pulled into the garage and took one final breath before turning the key and exiting the car.

For the second time tonight, you tried to be as quiet as possible, unlocking the front door and slipping into your bedroom to don your pajamas. Glancing behind you, you saw your husband’s sleeping form, his mess of curls unruly but his face relaxed and angelic. Your heart ached as you were reminded of your love left behind, and you prayed to yourself that you could save the love you had left. 

Once clad in your nightclothes, you slowly climbed into bed. Your lover gently stirred as his eyes fluttered open. A small smile graced his lips, and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his bare chest. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too, Josh,” you replied as you felt him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, “Sorry I’m back so late, me and the girls lost track of time.” The lie burned as it passed through your lips.

He softly shook his head, “That’s alright. I’m just glad you had fun.” He pulled you in for another kiss, his lips lingering against yours as they curled into another smile, “I love you.”

A moment of silence fell between you until you finally answered, mumbling a quiet, “I love you,” in return. You molded into his embrace, trying to find comfort in his arms as silent tears fell down your face, only stopping once you were fast asleep. And in the night, your husband found himself fighting back the same tears, knowing that your love was both one he had to share and one he couldn't live without.

taglist: @westernwoods @sunfl0wer-power @gold-mines-melting @alwaysonthemend @andtherestishistory13

[sitp-recs]

okay i totally understand if you have no idea what to make of this... but do you know of any fics that have fine line by harry styles/im your man by mitski vibes??? like the fic is lowkey filled with doom and regret and melancholy and is overall kind of miserable but like draco and harry find love and its like not gonna heal everything magically but theyre gonna pick up the pieces of their lives and theyre eventually gonna be okay

Hi anon! That’s a really interesting ask, I wasn’t familiar with either song but I looove the gritty, melancholy “doomed lovers” vibes. I feel like apocalypse AUs are perfect for that so I’ve included some. I hope you enjoy these, some are angstier/darker than others but I think they all fit the bill nicely:

Intelligence by aideomai (T, 6k)

“I don’t believe it,” Ginny said, voice low with venom and fury. “Did you know?” “I knew there was a spy,” Hermione said.

Silence series by RurouniHime (E, 10k)

It was his battle, yet he never hurt me, and he could have.

The Taste of Magic by @romaine2424 (M, 10k)

As the world's atmosphere changes, magic starts to disappear. Only a "lucky" few will stay in the magical world until the earth begins to heal.

Put a Price on My Soul by lamerezouille (E, 12k)

Harry has become used to being a whore in the crapsack Wizarding World that’s now governed by Voldemort. Everything changes when Malfoy becomes his new pimp.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

The Seventh Life by @corvuscrowned (E, 18k)

If Draco had looked the other way, he may never have seen him again. But Draco turned, because he always would have turned. He found him, because he always would have found him - in life, in death, or in Paris.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

All the Ashes Like Leaves by @firethesound (M, 21k)

Nothing about being the Chosen One had prepared Harry for this. With most of the population blinded and man-eating plants running amok, he can only stay close to his friends as they make their way to safety. Not that he’d call Malfoy a friend, but the end of the world does rather make their ongoing feud seem trivial. And it just figures that it took nothing short of an apocalypse to make Malfoy seem like less of a git.

The Boy Who Died by @magpiefngrl (E, 27k)

Harry dies in the forest. Sixteen years later, he comes back to life.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared. Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

Bonus: my favorite WIP!

In The Dark by @bixgirl1 (E)

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

On My Bedroom Floor

A/N: Both crazy and sad to think today is the last day of @sjmromanceweek! It went by so fast! Since this year, confessions did not make it onto the prompt list, I decided to make Day Seven: Free Day my own little confession prompt. This is probably a bit angstier than is warranted for a week dedicated to romance, but hopefully, everyone enjoys anyways :)

The brightly colored fae lights overhead start to blur together as Elain twirls and twirls and twirls. Her hair whips around her face with each rotation, her curls already starting to frizz from all the dancing, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She pushes the sweaty strands up off her forehead and continues to move, hips swaying in a circle and arms stretched up high toward the ceiling.

The music is loud around her, but that’s how she likes it. She likes the way it leaves her ears ringing for hours afterwards, likes the way she can feel the beat thrum up through her feet and all the way down to her bones. It’s certainly different from the more formal string quartets that often played at the balls her mother hosted. Rita’s is certainly different compared to what Elain had grown used to, but with the sweet taste of the pink drinks Mor has been passing her way all night, with the warm, fuzzy feeling flooding her veins, Elain finds she likes that too.

“Elain!”

Elain turns, blinking a few times before Feyre’s face comes into focus. Her younger sister’s smile is wide, her eyes bright if not a bit hazy. Feyre’s hand curls around Elain’s forearm, gently tugging her out of the crowd of dancing bodies and leaning in to speak over the music.

“We’re going to go. Are you ready?”

Elain’s eyes dart over Feyre’s shoulders, taking in Rhys and Mor standing by the doors. She sweeps her gaze over the rest of the bar, but it seems they’re the only four remaining from their little group, Nesta and Cassian having retreated back to the House of Wind along with Azriel and Nesta’s friends. When she looks back to Feyre, her sister is looking at her expectantly, but Elain merely offers her a small, sweet smile.

“You go on ahead. I’m going to stay a while longer,” Elain tells her, quickly continuing when Feyre frowns, “I’ll be alright. Don’t worry.”

Feyre’s mouth pinches like she’s still unsure, but in the end she nods, turning and walking toward the door. Elain watches them all go before turning back to the fray.

She’s not sure how much time passes as one song bleeds into the next, but soon, her feet begin to ache, tiredness settling into her limbs and weighing them down. She pushes through the crowd and toward the doors, stepping outside into the cool, night air of Velaris. It prickles along her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but it’s a welcome reprieve after the heat of Rita’s. Elain takes a deep lungful, tipping her back and toward the star flecked sky. It must be later than she thinks, the streets around her all quiet save for the steady beat of the music through the closed doors at her back.

Another moment to enjoy this bubble of peace wrapping around her and Elain turns to head back toward the Townhouse, walking straight into a person stepping out of one of the side streets. Hands grasp at her shoulders, steadying her, and Elain’s senses are flooded with the scent of cinnamon and the forest after it’s rained. She’s not sure how she hadn’t realized it before, that the steady beat echoing in her ears wasn’t the music from Rita’s at all, especially not as it ticks up in pace.

“Lucien,” Elain breathes, scrambling back and away from him.

Lucien drops his hands back down to his sides, but Elain doesn’t miss the way they flex before he tucks them neatly behind his back. He has his red hair half tied off his face in a bun, the rest of the strands falling softly along his shoulders and the dark green jacket adorning them. His eyes skate over Elain’s frame, seeming to drink her in. They dance over her shoulder briefly, to the closed doors to Rita’s still behind her, before returning to her face, that golden eye clicking quietly.

“Enjoying your evening, my lady?” Lucien asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking slightly.

“I am actually, yes,” Elain tells him primly, running her hands down her skirts to smooth out the wrinkles there. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Elain moves to side-step around him, but Lucien shifts to stay in her path with ease. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

“I am perfectly capable of walking home myself. I don’t need your help.”

“Of course. Merely, it is quite late. I’d hate for some gentleman to see you walking alone and think it's some invitation to approach you.”

Elain crosses her arms and scoffs, not caring that her mother always said the sound was unladylike. “Perhaps I want gentlemen to approach me. They’ve been approaching me all night and I’ve quite enjoyed it.”

It’s a half truth. Males had been leering at her the whole night at Rita’s, some being so bold as to offer to buy her a drink. Others had even tried settling their hands on her hips while she danced, but she would simply shift and move away every time. Of course, Lucien doesn’t need to know that. That same muscle ticks in his jaw, his russet eye darkening beneath the moon shining overhead.

“Did you enjoy the flattery then? The attention?”

“So what if I did?” Elain challenges, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Not my attention though, right?” Lucien bites back, not even bothering to cover up the bitterness lacing his voice.

The words cut through Elain like an icy wave crashing through her blood. She knows they’re meant to hurt, meant to bait her, but she refuses to give Lucien the satisfaction. She doesn’t care what is or isn’t between them. Doesn’t care what some damned Cauldron says. And she certainly doesn’t care that he’s clearly upset over her dancing with males that aren’t him.

Instead, Elain flicks her hair over her shoulder and settles Lucien with a look cold enough to make even Nesta proud. “Good night, my lord.”

Elain fully steps around Lucien this time, holding her head high as she makes her way down the road and toward the Townhouse. She can hear Lucien fall into step behind her, his footsteps against the cobblestones as loud as the beat of his heart. Every clip of his heel, every beat echoed in her ears, sends her hackles rising.

“Shall I ply you with pretty words too?” Lucien calls after her, his voice purposefully cool and snarky. “Tell you that your dress tonight looks lovely, but it would look even better on my bedroom floor?”

“You are a scoundrel,” Elain whirls around to seethe at him.

They stare each other down on the quiet Velaris street, Lucien’s face harder than Elain thinks she’s ever seen from the male, especially directed at her, and her chest quietly heaving with her untempered annoyance. The wind whistles between the building around them and the space between them. Elain waits for the inevitable remark from him, already preparing how she’ll ensure she gets the last word in, but some emotion Elain doesn’t recognize passes over Lucien’s face and he looks away from her, his shoulders deflating slightly.

“It’s true, you know,” he admits quietly, his eyes finally flashing back to meet her gaze. “Your dress would look better on my bedroom floor. Actually, all your clothes would. On my bedroom floor. In my wardrobe. Your soaps lined up neatly in my bathroom. The tea you prefer on the shelves in my kitchen. Perhaps one day… Elain.”

With a small bow of his head, Lucien turns on his heel, heading back down the road in the opposite direction and leaving Elain blinking after him, her breath stuttering painfully in her lungs. She can’t remember the last time she heard her name fall past his lips, anything other than a polite ‘my lady.’ How could a simple two syllables sound so beautiful and so wrenching at the same time? How can something as simple as her name have her heart fluttering even as it twists and sinks. His own name sits heavy on her tongue, urging her to call after him, but she can’t seem to squeeze it past her windpipe, can do nothing but stand there and watch him vanish around a corner.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

[password-door-lock]

I see you out there tagging posts with "#me and all my gummy worms ideas". You better write those, mister. I reread that fic on the regular.

Lol okay so the thing about Gummy Worms is that I started writing a sequel in like October and it’s basically just Saeran introspecting about his time as an idol and remembering specific interactions that he had with Rika interspersed with a "present day" narrative where he and MC are preparing for a Halloween party that Yoosung is holding, but then Rika shows up at the party and she and Saeran kind of come to terms with the general weirdness of their creative relationship, but then a) I realized that it would be out of character for Yoosung to allow that to happen... like he would not invite Rika and Saeran to the same event... like I don't think he would cut Rika off completely but especially without any context for her actions (outside of what he got from Saeran's album), I don't think Yoosung would want Rika at his Halloween party with his friends whom she victimized like 2 months ago b) I really struggled to make the sequel and the original seem like two parts of the same cohesive set... I think part of this is that Gummy Worms is MC's linear narrative of events that take place over the course of a few month and Gummy Worms 2 [Working title] is Saeran's very non-linear narrative of events that take place over the course of several years. But also, Gummy Worms is generally a pretty fun story and what I've written of Part 2 is a lot angstier and heavier in general, since it's largely dealing with a professional relationship between two deeply troubled people c) While I was dealing with (a) and (b) and also Mystictober, Halloween came and went and every time I think "maybe I should think about reworking Gummy Worms 2" I open it up and see that hALLoWeEN is central to both the past and present narratives, which I feel like would be a pretty weird thing to post at any time other than October

But, all that being said, I feel bad to tease content about Gummy Worms Unknown and Rika without delivering, so my favorite scene from Gummy Worms 2 [working title] is under the cut.

He slept and ate when he was forced to, and filled the rest of his time up with live streams. Life was so easy, a metronome in the background of whatever dance number Rika insisted on playing when tugging at his puppet strings. Saeran didn't know much about himself; he didn't know what he could do outside of what he was already doing. He had no idea who he wanted to be, let alone who he was. All he knew was that he was creating and destroying for Mint Eye, earning them money with every breath he took. That was his job: to make content, not art.

And it was so easy. It must have been the third Halloween that he went to get the tattoo— it was not a sign of defeat. It was pure rage, rage transmuted to become ink as if through an alchemical formula, rage penetrating his skin and leaving its mark on him forever. He was branding his likeness as a product distributed by Mint Eye Entertainment. He had no choice but to live as Unknown, and Mint Eye owned Unknown— so Saeran had no choice but to be a tool, a hit-maker under the discretion of Mint Eye. Easy, easy. Saeran didn't even flinch when the logo was added to his person, didn't cry, didn't register the feeling of it. He was numb to pain already, too familiar with it to care much about the needle carving out a home for itself under his skin.

He went and found Rika afterwords— she was working late, as always, blond curls falling in her face as she bent over some impressive pile of very important paperwork. Her champagne-colored blouse had a coffee or tea-ish stain on the collar, and Saeran wondered if she wasn't really just the same as him— somebody who took advantage of the music charts to claw their way out of a bad situation. Of course she needed to exploit him, he thought, deflating as she greeted him with that familiar cool smile. How else would she stay ahead? How else would she survive? If their positions were reversed, could he really say that he'd be any better than she was?

But he was already in her office, wearing her label's logo on his skin. It was permanent, part of him forever, just like every sacrifice that either one of them ever made in the name of all this. "Rika," he breathed her name, and she looked up, eyes red. From crying? From lack of sleep? Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Saeran still isn't sure to this day. "I hope you're happy." The words tumbled out, unfair and bitter and entirely justified.

"Oh?" She took some time to process his words, not looking half as horrified as he wanted her to be. "Thank you, Saeran." She didn't even notice the tattoo. The conversation did not comfort him, and he left her office feeling just as angry and guilty as he did when he came in.