#i immediately went “i imagine death so much it feels more like a memory” Tumblr posts

[pardonmydelays]

me when i'm trying to make a fun playlist:

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! I loved your last hobie fic btw it was really good!!

Imagine that in hobies universe you died but when he travels to miles universe he sees you alive 😭 and then the reader introduces themselves to him the same way they did in his universe

Keep feeding us with these ATSV fics 😈😈

Have a great day!!!

Thank you for enjoying my Hobie Brown stuff anon cuz he’s been invading my mind recently. I hope to god this is okay for ya. 🦦

Hobie remembered first meeting you as though it were yesterday, you were within an alleyway vandalising the walls with your spray paint, he happened to be passing by when one of your masterpieces caught his eye; it was of him…well him as Spider-Man clocking a cartoonish Osborne -appropriately adorned with devil horns and a tail- in the head with his eyes crossed out in red spray paint as though he were dead.

It got a good chuckle out of him that was for sure and from that alone he knew he had to know you more on a personal level. ‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ He asked aloud, making you jolt, you were pretty sure you had chosen a spot where you weren’t going to get caught by the authorities or those that’d grass you up for expressing how you truly felt about Osborne and all those just like him. You shrugged, looking up at your finished product before looking back over at Hobie, ‘dunno yet,’ you told him truthfully, ‘my working titles are either anarchy incarnate or death to capitalism.’

Hobie hummed in approval, but he thought you could do better, ‘how about anarchy is the death of capitalism?’ He suggested and he couldn’t never forget the light in your eyes upon hearing his working title, that in the midst of your excitement you had grabbed him by the arm, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it, you’re a genius man!’ You cried before realising what you did and immediately removed your hand from his arm, ‘sorry about that.’ Hobie dismissed your apology by slinging an arm over your shoulder. ‘Nah, don’t give me that shit, you shouldn’t have to apologise for being yourself for that’s what they want you to do.’

‘I don’t think I ever got your name.’ You said. ‘Hobie. Hobie brown and may I get to know the name of the amazing artist behind this.’ Hobie gestured to the spray painting. ‘Y/n l/n.’ You replied. ‘Well y/n, I think we’re going to get along quite well.’ And you did.

So when your untimely death happened, Hobie felt as though he were Achilles having lost his Patroclus. He cradled your body into his arms even long after you had said your final words, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’ and much longer after it had already gone cold. You had told him that you were heading out to go spray paint with some people you’ve met and the worst soon came when despite knowing that you didn’t have to, you still went out of your way to act as a distraction so that the rest may escape; which resulted in the way that it did.He knew he should’ve gone with you that day because then maybe you would still be alive and taking the piss out of him for worrying about you but he didn’t, so you weren’t.

Ever since then Hobie had made it his goal to keep fighting for not only his chase but yours as well in your memory. He made you a memorial in the exact same place where you first met, always paying it a visit whenever he felt as though he needed you with him, which has lead him to start talking to your spray pairings as though they were actually you. There was without a shadow of a doubt that you were quite possibly one of the greatest artists to have ever lived, alongside with being an avid inspiration to many to the youths who felt as though they had no way of expressing themselves when feeling slighted by the society they were born in. Hell you even inspired him! So much so that there were a multitude of songs he would perform that depicted a individual with stardust in their eyes, a rebellious fire in their heart and a insatiably need to insight the themes of anarchy within anything they touched.

After your death Hobie kept a good portion of your things; such as your spray cans that would never get used, your clothes that still clung onto the very last essence of you much like he did and even kept the picture you took together after helping you finish a project you had been wanting to pursue for a long while; and who would’ve thought that it would be him, not as Spider-Man, just good old Hobie Brown with the message, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’

So when he caught himself walking down a alleyway much like he did long ago but this time in a completely new place, he felt as though he was being hit with a wave of de ja vu when his ears picked up on the familiar hissing sound of a spray can. It was like he was back there again and if his memory serves him right, he knew what was to come next the moment he, Gwen and Miles made it into a clearing where they were greeted with the sight of someone’s back as they were deeply engrossed with their own handy work. ‘You’re going to love them Hobie, they’re like super cool and awesome.’ Gwen told him but her words went in one ear and out the next as he stared up at the spray painting of Miles as Spider-Man mid swing; it was beautiful without a doubt but they style in which it was drawn was all too familiar.

‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ Hobie had said without realising it until you jolted before turning to look directly at him, regaining your composure, ‘dunno yet.’ You shrugged and your voice sounded like an echo to the past for Hobie who so desperately wanted to pinch himself in that moment. ‘my working titles are either a bright new era or rising above all expectations.’ Hobie didn’t say anything for he knew he was going to say something that would only scare you away, just because you were another version of his y/n didn’t mean you shared the same memories; to you, he was just another spider-man from another reality, he wasn’t your Hobie despite how he wish he was but he knew he couldn’t put that on you.

He also couldn’t blame you for being alive while his version of you was dead. It wouldn’t be fair on you for being blamed for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with and it wouldn’t be fair on him either, as despite how many times he made himself believe that he has accepted your death, his heart would remind him that he truly hadn’t. You were such a pivotal part of his life that he couldn’t seem to let go of. ‘Hmm, both titles sound cool but I think we can do better.’ Miles pipped up, breaking Hobie out of his headspace that was running rampant with all the best memories you shared together. ‘How about…the bright new era of rising above all expectations?’ Hobie interjected.

You made a face at the suggestion before a wide smile spread across your face as you lost yourself in your excitement and grabbed ahold of his arm like you did when your first met, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it! You’re a genius dude, thank you.’ But before you could remove your hand from his arm, Hobie grasped your hand and held it firmly. ‘I don’t believe I told you my name, it’s Hobie by the way.’ Your excused his actions as an exchange of formal greeting and grasped onto his hand with the same about of force. ‘Nice to meet you Hobie, I’m y/n.’

‘I know’ is what Hobie desperately wanted to say but kept it all contained under a strained smile.

[megwritesriddles]

Secret's Safe ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 15 - Blackmail. Reader discovers Riddle's true blood status and divulges this information to him. Riddle assumes she must be here to blackmail him and immediately attempts to seduce her, but things aren't all that simple for him actually going through with it.

Tags: Blackmail, Mildly dubious consent (barely), P in V sex, Biting, Virgin!Tom (implied), Pureblood politics, Sexism, Implied/Referenced death, murder and violence, Unspoken feelings, Feelings realisation, Oddly quite fluffy, Tom is forced to be vulnerable emotionally.

Word count: 5.5k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Lets not discuss how long this is or how late it is, thank you!! This ended up way different than I imagined going in, Tom is a bad guy in this like he's committed murders... but he's also inexperienced and realises he loves you so... This is nowhere near as dark as I thought it would be, the blackmail is barely blackmail!! Hope you like it mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Well, this was certainly interesting. You’d never expected this, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The surname Riddle had never sounded familiar to you, and growing up, at all the Pureblood parties, no one had ever met Tom or any supposed family members. After the first year, he had started attending, but never with any family in tow, usually as a guest of Abraxas or somebody else. Why you hadn’t questioned it before you had no idea, you felt rather foolish now. Hindsight was always 20/20. Of course, there were those few pureblood families, like the Weasleys, who didn’t bother about those sorts of events, but Riddle had never given the impression that he came from such a family, always implying very powerful origins. In a way, he wasn’t wrong, with one discovery came another, that he was the heir of Slytherin. This was peripherally problematic to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on why it bothered you so much. Some distant memory writhing in the back of your mind, not making itself known. But the most glaring discovery for you had been Riddle’s muggle father. You were sure nobody knew about this, or else he certainly wouldn’t be in the circles he was in. 

The way you had discovered it had been rather unlikely, something Riddle surely wouldn’t have been counting on. You and Walburga were partnered on a project for Advanced Charms, it being the final year of Hogwarts, standards for what you came up with were high. After weeks of deliberation and workshopping, you’d settled on a book which could tell you family histories. Initially, the book’s function was for you to write in a plant name, and to see which other plant species it was closely related to and other pieces of information. Certainly interesting, but a little too Herbology for either of your liking, spitting out information neither of you could quite understand. After presenting the book to Professor Beery for a hefty extra credit and house point sum, you went back to workshopping. You’d figured out one evening how to get it to trace family histories, and this was the perfect idea, as all the information that came out was easy to understand, but could also be deeply valuable. You’d spent all evening fine-tuning it with Walburga. She was intimately familiar with her family history, so you used her as a control, making sure the facts remained accurate as you messed with the magic. It was finally done, and you would be presenting it next week. You’d taken the book back to your dorm and messed around with it before bed, taking great amusement in some of the ancient wizard’s names. Naming conventions had been so odd at some points. You traced practically every single one of your friends' histories, before landing on Riddle’s. 

Riddle wasn’t really a friend, as such. You sort of ran in the same circles and you were courteous to one another, but you weren’t close and at times you found him a little irksome. Perhaps it was this mythos that surrounded him, the idea that he had slept with three-quarters of the girls at Hogwarts who were of age. The idea that he could have you undone with one touch and that he did so often. Part of you was almost bitter he hadn’t propositioned you, given how much he allegedly got around, but you always felt he was intimidated by your intelligence. All the other girls, sure they were driven and intelligent, but they seemed to dumb themselves down around him, make themselves smaller. It was probably not even a conscious thing, many of the pureblood girls had been taught growing up never to threaten a man’s ego in any way. You’d always thought this was nonsense, that if you were more intelligent than a man that he ought to know it and needn’t be coddled, but for most of the girls, it just came naturally from a lifetime of training. You never bothered to shrink yourself around Riddle, to giggle and write off your high marks as a fluke if he came asking, you would simply say you did well because you were intelligent, and you guessed he didn’t like this because he avoided you for the most part. Whenever he did speak to you, it was usually to compare grades, or, in a group setting. He always seemed to know just a little too much about what was going on with you, what grades you’d gotten, what teachers you were meeting with. You chalked it up to him being Head Boy, but no one else received quite this much attention. 

You wrote down his name into the book anyway, figuring the surname ‘Riddle’ begat some entertaining first names. What immediately greeted you as the information materialised on the page had been a bit of a shock. His father, whose name was otherwise completely unfamiliar to you, did not have any parents listed, or further back. You sat in confusion for a moment trying to figure out why that could be, but came to no conclusions. You pushed the thought away and studied his mother’s heritage. Merope Gaunt. Gaunt, finally a name you recognised, but not a woman you could ever attest to having met at any pureblood events. You realise she’s listed as dead, that would perhaps explain a thing or two. You feel a hint of sympathy creeping over you at the realisation that both his parents are listed as dead, his father only rather recently. You wondered why he hadn’t mentioned to anyone that his father had died over the previous summer.  You trace his ancestry back all the way to Salazar Slytherin, momentarily impressed, before the realisation of why his father has no listed relatives hits you. The book was made only to track wizarding blood. His father was a muggle. 

The realisation was immediately brushed off. No, there was some other explanation, Riddle was one of the most pompous purebloods you knew, even by your standards, the idea of his father being a muggle was preposterous. You went back over the enchantments on the book, trying to figure out what other reason there might be for his father’s heritage to be blank, but come up empty-handed. He had to be a muggle. 

You keep the information to yourself for the next few days, turning it over in your mind. A muggle, it was very hard to believe, especially with how Riddle acted. He probably noticed your staring, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it, seeing him in an entirely new light. Tom Riddle, the orphan, the half-blood. It was confusing, to say the least. Your staring problem must have been worse than you thought because one day he sweeps you aside in the Slytherin common room and smiles charmingly.

“Is there an issue?” he prompts politely, eyes drinking in your face. “Only you keep staring,” you blink at him. You’re almost tempted to tell him ‘I know who you are,’ but you keep it inside for now.

“Shouldn’t you be used to that?” you smile. He chuckles slightly. 

“I don’t get the feeling you’re merely admiring me,” his eyes study yours for a moment and then he takes hold of your arm, leaning a little closer. “Tell me what it really is,” his voice is low and smooth as velvet, and for a moment you understand his mythos a little better. You glance around the busy common room. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to say it here,” you try to subtly warn him, but he clearly understands this to mean something suggestive, his brow raising. 

“I see,”

“If you really must know, then we must go somewhere private,” you insist, knowing how much this could blow up in his face if word spread around the common room. You’re not even sure why you’re shielding him from it, perhaps the revelation of his mother dying in childbirth makes you more gracious toward him. You’re surprised how much he hesitates, given how he’s interpreted the situation. If he’s supposedly slept with most of the girls in the year group, why would it be you who gives him pause? You know you’re not ugly enough for him to be this apprehensive, does he really feel so threatened by you? It all seems odd. Finally, he leads you away, toward his dorm room, private quarters for the Head Boy. You realise how this must all look, to him and to onlookers, but you’re sure he’s in for quite the disappointment when he discovers what this is really about. He gestures for you to sit at his desk and he sits on the edge of his bed. The distance he puts between you intrigues you, what is this about? 

“Well?” he urges, swallowing a little. Why is he so anxious? Does he know somehow already? You’ve never seen him like this before.

“This really isn’t what you think it is,” you begin. His brows furrow. “I uh… know about your father,” Riddle goes unbelievably tense and red in the face, his breaths becoming laboured. You watch him, curious. He glares at you scruntinisngly. There are several things you might be referring to, all of them bad, he doesn’t know from your expression which it is. 

“What?” he croaks, his usual composure hanging on by a thread, you’re worried he’s about to lash out and start smashing up the room and you with it. His body is taut like a bowstring.

“That he’s a muggle,” you respond. You can’t understand why he relaxes slightly at this, but he does, though he still looks tense and mortified. He puffs out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s not arguing, so you know it must be true. “And that he’s dead,” you add. He tenses all over again, his eyes flicking back to you. “Sorry for your loss,” he relaxes once more.

“Right yes… that was… terrible when he… died,” he puffs out, unsure how to interpret this situation. You don’t look angry or scared, so you must be missing a few puzzle pieces here. He should have expected that someone would discover this one day, his surname wasn’t a part of the sacred 28. He hadn’t known about that in the first year, and once he’d already introduced himself as pureblood, he could hardly backtrack or change his name, so he just prayed his confidence would keep him getting by, and surprisingly it had, until now. It wasn’t a surprise it was you who found out, you were always irritatingly observant, it was honestly more of a surprise it had taken this long. He stares at you for a moment and you stare back. “What do you want?” he asks, figuring you’ve come to gloat in his face and demand he do your homework for the rest of the year or something. He would do it, he really couldn’t afford this getting out, especially not to his Knights. The fact you hadn’t already told everyone indicated an intention to blackmail him, you could have easily spread the word already, but you were smarter than that, he knew you were.

“What do I want?” you tilt your head quizically.

“I assume you’re here to blackmail me, so just tell me already,” he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t prepared in any way for this eventuality. What would he have done if you’d spread the word without coming to him first? His whole plan, everything he’d been working for would have crumbled in minutes. He would have probably killed you, although the thought gives him pause now, it wouldn’t have really fixed things anyway. 

Blackmail hadn’t actually crossed your mind, but you supposed you were in the perfect position to do so. As you watched him, discomposed for seemingly the first time in his life, you realised just how much he needed this information to remain secret with you. You could ask him for anything and he would probably do it. At your silence, Riddle lets out a frustrated howl and collapses back onto his bed, clearly thinking you’re playing some game with him. He runs his hands through his hair, staring up at the canopy above his bed. His hair is messed up, you realise you’ve never seen it like this, free of its immaculate style. The look suits him. His arms thud onto the bed at his sides and he groans again. You stand and come to kneel beside him on the bed without much thought. He looks up at you through his lashes, half angry, half intensely vulnerable. It's odd to be looking down at him like this, but it’s also a little exhilarating.

“Just tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you,” he pleads, staring up at you. “Come on, darling,” he tries his best to be his charming self even in this state, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do anything,” His cold hand on yours stirs something odd in you, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it, his eyes locked on yours. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but it’s working, he watches as you blush. He kisses slowly up your arm, eyes locked on yours the whole while. As his lips brush the ticklish skin of the inside of your elbow, you finally withdraw your arm. He frowns, thinking he’d figured you out.

“Why have you never propositioned me?” you ask, your voice a little too serious for how insecure the question sounds leaving your lips. His brows furrow and he moves to sit up in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve supposedly slept with nearly the entire legal female population of Hogwarts and you’ve never propositioned me?” you hate how insecure you sound, but it’s something that you realise has been bothering you for a long time, as stupid as it is. He stares at you.

“You’re supposed to be smart,” he scoffs, and then changes his approach, figuring offending you is a terrible idea at the moment. “Have you ever actually spoken to any girl who has a story about sleeping with me, or is it all hearsay?” his words make you comb back through all the wild stories you’ve heard. He’s right, none of them have ever come directly from someone, all having started with something to the effect of ‘my friend heard…’. You study his face for a moment and he raises a prompting brow.

“No, I suppose you’re right,” you admit, chewing your lip. There are so many things that you should have been paying more attention to, this was another plainly obvious fact with hindsight. “So… what’s the truth?” he looks away from you, hesitating. “Oh come on, as if I don’t know worse things about you by now,” you tease. He glares for a moment but concedes that you’re right about that. 

“None of it is true, no girl at this school is… good enough for me, I suppose,” he mumbles, sticking his chin up. 

“Good enough for you?” you hum.

“I can’t give myself away to just anyone… it’s…” he hesitates, knowing he sounds completely pathetic despite his attempts to reframe this. 

“You’re waiting for the right person?” you chuckle. “How uncharacteristic of you,” he huffs.

“Oh shut up, will you? It’s just… I don’t trust… very easily… and people underestimate how much trust is involved in an act like sex… you are completely vulnerable, physically and emotionally,” he crosses his arms defensively as he explains himself. “You could hardly defend yourself if the other person were to attack you during it,” you tilt your head at him. “It leaves you weak, in every sense of the word, so I have seen no need to participate,”

“That must have been a big disappointment to many witches,” you tease. He rolls his eyes. 

“I can usually charm my way out of any issues, and the gossip around my ‘conquests’ has persisted, so it can’t have caused that much strife,” he finishes. You hum, supposing he’s right. “None of the girls are intelligent enough for me here,” he asserts. You scoff.

“Awfully sexist of you,”

“Hardly,” he snaps back. “None of the boys are suitable either, but I don’t consider them because I’m not… that way inclined,”

“Anyway, I didn’t think you liked intelligence in a woman,” you add. 

“Why would I not? I love intelligence, I require intelligence, I would never fraternise with somebody lacking intellect, I would be far too bored,” he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“But you don’t seem to like when I assert my intelligence,” you shrug.

“You’re different,”

“Why?” you laugh in disbelief. “I’m too intelligent that it threatens you?”

“No!” he hisses. “For one, you use your brains for the most infuriating of things, such as looking into my family history,” you’re tempted to interrupt him and tell him that the discovery had been an accident but you stay quiet. 

“And for two?” you press. He’s silent for a long moment. 

“Is this what you wanted? Blackmailing me into an argument? Because I’m sure we could have found a reason to argue without all this,” he griped. You sighed. No, you hadn’t particularly wanted to argue, you hadn’t particularly wanted anything, you’d intended to keep this information to yourself really and then when it had come out, you hadn’t considered blackmail until he brought it up. Your mind flashes back to his kisses up your arm, a warm tingle going through you. 

“Were you attempting to seduce me earlier?” he glances at you, his cheeks just slightly pink. “Even though you’re waiting for the right person?” you add with a chuckle. He sighs. 

“I might have been, I figured it was my best bet,” he shrugs it off, feigning nonchalance. 

“What would you have done if I had gone with it?” you tilt your head curiously.

“Gone with it, I suppose,” he looks down, fiddling with his tie pin, feeling more uncomfortable than he was ever used to feeling.

“You’d have slept with me?” you enquire. He nods subtly, puffing out a short breath. “Even though I might have stabbed you in the back or something?” you tease. He glares at you.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he dismisses.

“So you trust me?” you challenge. He immediately opens his mouth to protest but then falters. Does he trust you? He knows you would never attack him physically, and he tries to brush that off as the belief that you are physically weak, but he knows that’s not true. If he were to attack you, he has no doubt you would put up quite a fight, but that you would never initiate. He hadn’t even thought through the fact that despite all his reservations, he really had been trying to seduce you, and not even reluctantly. He would have slept with you, and he wouldn’t have been afraid of what you might do to him. Sure, the emotional vulnerability was still a point of contention, but initially, he hadn’t had the time to consider that. Now that he’s given it some proper consideration, why is he not changing his mind?

“I suppose,” his voice is strained, like this is taking a great deal of effort for him to say. ��That in some weird way I do trust you,” his expression is pained and he won’t look at you, but you know those words mean way more than they do on the surface. He’s never admitted to trusting anyone before, at least not truthfully, and to admit it to you… it’s frightening, and yet he did it anyway. You hold out your hand to him to see what he’ll do. He takes your cue despite himself, taking hold of it and kissing the back of your hand a few times. His lips are gentle and you quite like the feeling. Sure, he told you the rumours about him were false, but perhaps he really could make you come undone with just one touch, if you only showed him where to put it. “I’ll sleep with you if that’s what you like,” he admits quietly. “I need you to keep my secret, I’ll do anything,”

“Would you like to sleep with me?” you ask. He looks up at you, lips pressing against your wrist. His look is a little pained again, you’re not sure how to read it.

“I’ll do it,” he grits out.

“But do you want to? I don’t want to force you to sleep with me…” you try again. He gives you that pained look once more. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, to admit to such weaknesses as need and lust, he hopes you understand without words. He kisses all the way up your arm, leaning closer and caging you in as he starts to press kisses to your neck. You exhale shakily, placing your hands on his shoulders as he continues to lavish you with tender kisses. He presses you back, back until you fall onto his pillows and he follows you down, positioning his body over you, his hands on either side of your shoulders. He’s breathing hard as he looks down at you, his pupils dilated. You stare back up at him, still a little unsure. “Riddle… don’t force yourself, I don’t–”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss to your lips, you gasp slightly and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring slowly. This kiss is not forced, this kiss is genuine and furiously wanting and the thought makes you moan. He shivers in return, kissing a little harder. Your hands come to his shoulders again as he comes to rest on his forearms, his neck no longer straining to you. You part your legs so he can settle between them, his hips pressing to yours. You can’t help but gasp again when you feel his erection press against you. He smiles against your lips, his signature cocky smirk returning. 

“You sound amazing when you gasp like that for me,” he taunts. You roll your eyes, kissing him once more. It’s almost impressive how he’s able to maintain that arrogant air throughout all this. You hate it, yet you can’t deny the soft pulsing feeling between your legs. He continues to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slowly swirling and caressing, the sound of your lips meeting is both erotic and hypnotic, lulling you further into your aroused state. Your eyes are closed in bliss, but occasionally you open them for a glimpse of him. His lashes flutter as he kisses you, his cheeks are flushed which you didn’t even realise was possible before today, and his hair falls forward, surprisingly curling up a little as it encounters the sweat forming on his forehead. He kisses you like it’s his favourite thing in the world, gentle yet thorough, and you hope it is so that you might get to do this with him again. His kisses get a little needier as you feel him hardening further against you, pressing against you more insistently. Your hand settles on the back of his neck and you hold him in place as he kisses you. He grunts appreciatively, sucking on your bottom lip. He sits up suddenly, disconnecting your lips. You pant as you stare up at him in confusion, wondering if he’s stopping this from going further, but instead, he’s loosening your tie. You lie there and let him do the work, after all, he’s meant to be keeping you sweet. He doesn’t seem to mind. He takes great satisfaction in slowly peeling away your clothes, discarding your tie, and then unbuttoning your shirt. He’s making you vulnerable beneath him and he’s drunk on the feeling, although, he doesn’t intend to hurt or exploit you, he’s never had such pure intentions in anything he’s done before in his life. Which is odd, considering you’re about to sleep together. He traces the lace of your bra with his fingertips. “Been expecting me?” he teases, wondering about how nice the bra is, black and lacy.

“No, just a happy accident,” you chuckle as he runs the lace between his fingers. He’s a little disappointed that you hadn’t had this all planned out all along, but he figures there’s plenty of time for that in the future. It doesn’t occur to him at the moment that he’s just admitted to himself that he intends to do this again with you. He takes hold of your waist and eases you up to sit. He gives you a few gentle kisses on your neck, making you throw your head back and then he reaches around to your back to unclasp your bra. He’s heard horror stories of embarrassment from his peers, so takes a moment to acquaint himself with the mechanism, running his hands back and forth along your back as you rest heavily against his chest, your chin on his shoulder. Once he understands how it works, he uses both hands to unhook it easily. He slides the straps down your arms and bares you to his gaze. You lean back to give him a view, enjoying his wide-eyed look. He cups your breasts in his hands and kisses you once again. He lays you back down, gently kneading your flesh, groaning at the feeling. You’re soft and warm and it feels so good that he wishes you’d found out he was half-blood earlier, or that he’d been less stuck-up this whole time and propositioned you like you seem to have wanted. He moves his hands down to your stomach, stroking for a moment before popping to button on your skirt and sliding down the zip. He then eases the fabric down over your hips.

“Matching set,” he comments upon spying your lacy black underwear. “Sure you weren’t expecting me?” you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure,”

“Someone else?” he questions as uninterestedly as possible. You chuckle, sensing the hint of jealousy in his tone.

“No, just wanted to feel good for myself,” he nods at your answer, hoping you don’t spot his relief. He runs his hands up and down your hips and waist, occasionally squeezing the supple flesh. 

“The female body is quite… pleasant under the hands,” he comments, kneading your hips gently. You give him a look. “Well… your body is anyway,” he runs his thumbs over your stomach. You smile up at him and he avoids your gaze, not wanting to confront the way that look just made him feel. He decides to speed things along, desperate to come out of this alive. He moves back enough to remove his own tie and shirt, secretly enjoying the way you’re watching. Then he stands and slowly lowers his trousers, taking his boxers with them. There’s no use delaying the inevitable and he’s hardly ashamed of his body. He steps out of his trousers and sits back down between your legs. He kneads your thighs as he lets you look him over.

“That scar on your chest–” you begin but he cuts you off quickly with a kiss, not wishing to discuss this right now when he’s so close to you, to having you. If you started asking about all his various scars, you’d be here a long time, and you’d run away from him well before he finally got to sink into your cunt for the first time. The thought stirs his cock. No, he can’t let you ask questions until later, he needs to have this at least once, he hasn’t even realised how much he’s been waiting for it. For… you. His cock rests heavily on you through the lace of your underwear, hot to the touch. He kisses you intently, sensual and all-consuming until you forget your line of questioning. He’s smug that he’s able to do that to you, perhaps he should have kissed you the second you started bringing things up you weren't supposed to. Perhaps by the end of this, you’ll have forgotten how it started and only remember the way he’d made you feel. Yes, that would be good. The thought urges him on, he nearly rips off your underwear. You squeak indignantly and he kisses your neck in an effort to placate you. He didn’t really care if he’d ripped them or not, but he couldn’t have you turning your back on him now. Not after he’s bared himself like this. He reaches down and lines himself up with you, ready to plunge in, but one last thought keeps him at bay.

“Are you on the potion?” he grunts, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Yeah,” you swallow, staring down at where the two of you are about to be joined together. He waits for nothing else, easing himself into you, he groans loudly against your neck, the warmth surrounding him feeling euphoric. Your arms settle around his back, holding him close to you and he lets you, leaning against you heavily. He grits his teeth, trying to keep in control, but he can’t. His hips start rutting into you fast, he needs this and he has you now, he can’t stop himself. You grip his shoulders hard, gasping and wailing, the sounds only egging him on. 

“Yeah?” he groans between thrusts as you whine sweetly in his ear. “That feel good..? fuck…” he’s not one to usually swear in this way, part of his charming demeanour, but he can’t help it slipping out with you. You make him all sorts of vulgar that he’s never been before. He pounds into you, glad that you don’t seem to mind his ferocity. He’ll be gentle with you some other time, but right now, all this pent-up energy needs to come out, and you’re receiving it so well. “Taking me so well, darling,” he chokes out, and you moan in response, seemingly touched by his words. He lifts himself up onto his hands, staring down at you, his hips slamming into yours. He watches your beautiful face in fascination as it twists with pleasure. He’s never taken so much enjoyment in making someone feel good before, it reminds him of the feeling he gets when he exerts power over someone, but better, because it’s you and he– 

He can’t finish that thought, he refuses to. It’s too much. He keeps up his relentless pace, closing his eyes because the sight of you is stirring his chest along with the stirring in his stomach. His thrusts slow, but become deeper and more powerful. You moan unabashedly under him and the sound invades his mind, consuming him completely. He leans back down and buries his face in your neck biting down as his hips stutter and he spills deep inside you. The biting is the only thing preventing him from saying something he knows he’ll regret in his dizzy orgasmic state. Three disgusting little words that he’s never thought before in his life, that surely, he can’t mean now, even if they’re fighting their way out of his mouth. When he feels you orgasming around him, he clamps down on your neck harder, tasting a little blood. He finds himself feeling sorry for doing it. He lets go, gasping for breath. He presses a kiss to the bite mark on your neck, reluctantly apologetic. You whimper beneath him and he pulls back to check you’re okay. You are, just overwhelmed, he is too, though he’s not letting it show as blatantly as you are. He withdraws slowly from you, whining in tandem with you at the feeling. He sits back up between your legs, looking down at you. Your eyes are closed as you gather yourself. You trust him enough to lie there with your eyes closed, he could do anything to you right now. Things he has done to others before, and yet there you lie, trusting him like he trusts you. He scoops you up into his arms and rests your head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for drawing blood,” he mumbles as if it’s enough of an excuse for him to hold you like this. He kisses the bite mark again, secretly a little thrilled that it’s there, a physical reminder of all this. He soothes your back, rubbing soft circles, an action he’s never performed before. “You’ll keep my secret right?” he asks, and realises suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s referring to. The fact of his blood status? The lie of his mythos? The fact he’s just slept with you, been this vulnerable? Or… the worst one of them all? The unspoken words that he’s sure you’re smart enough to have heard in the silence by now. You don’t know which he’s referring to either, but you answer sincerely nonetheless. 

“Your secret is safe with me, Tom,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

thank you to @i-live-in-spite and several anonymous asks whose ideas I pulled from a little to form this plot, lots of love ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[ladyrijus]

TOTK where everything is more or less the same except the dragon tears are as giant as the springs that Zelda went to, and Link has to wade through them to experience the vision. On top of that, after he sees the vision in full, he can relive that vision for as long as he stays in those tears.

Now, the reason why I want that is because I want to see Link witness the final memory and turn numb with denial and guilt and grief. It should not have surprised him the way it did; he knew in the previous memories she had planned to do it. But there were still more geoglyphs to search, still more time and hope for her to realize there was a different way, a better one that didn't ask her of so much.

He was wrong, of course. Destinies like theirs were never so generous.

Imagine that he appears expressionless, a stark contrast to his more emotional nature that has come out during gameplay. And yet his eyes are noticeably glazed over and he's frozen to the bed of the spring. The sages watch him through their vows, knowing this to be the last memory, and they feel it, immediately, that something is wrong. They desperately try to talk through their avatars, much to the surprise of their loved ones.

"Link? Link, snap out of it!"

He hears nothing.

And so the scene parallels to the off-screen moment Urbosa had with Zelda -- a careful Sidon wills his avatar to carry Link away from the cursed waters, and is pained when he's met with vehement resistance. Why would his wonderful friend drag himself back there, when whatever he saw tore his heart and shattered his soul? It wasn't good for him, to deal with grief in such a poisonous manner.

But for Link, he would weather the heartbreak in watching that bright, curious, ambitious girl sacrifice everything that made her who she was infinitely if it meant he could commit her face to memory. The Sheikah Slate that he took pictures of her with had been dismantled, and the Purah Pad contains no recollection of Zelda. He would watch his princess lose herself, over and over again, in that damned tear, than forget what she looked like.

He couldn't do that to her. Not again.

In the meantime, Tulin, Riju, and Yunobo have created a circle around him together, blocking the hero from hurting himself any further.

By this point, Link's expression is wavering, brows furrowed and lips pressed to a thin line. They don't get it, do they? All of the closest friends he had from an era past are gone; yes, Impa, Purah and Robbie are still alive, and they belong to that era too, but they didn't know him like the Champions did. Like Zelda did. She fought for him in death as much as he fought for her in life, and now he lost her too.

He finally collapses to the ground, shaking, and cries.

He had one job: Protect the princess. And he failed her. Twice.

[emi-the-gremlin]

Follow up to my Palasakiweek post: it’s the alive boys:D

POV me while drawing this: “wow this sure is going great!” gets to the hands

Immediately starts fucking screaming

No but I swear to God, if you even so much as fucking look at the hands, I will come for you, and boil your fucking eyeballs when you least expect it.

Ok now to actually get to the point, instead of whatever the fuck that was:

I’ll start with a few short details, I didn’t include in the original, and then I’ll go onto the design, cool? Cool.

This first, one was probably pretty easy to guess, but I completely forgot to mention it in the original, so I’ll say it anyway, just to make sure we’re all one the same page: Charles will obviously not be able to see the girls in the beginning, not until he goes through his “canon death” , which Edwin and the girls obviously save him from. But this time instead of classmates, they’re other boys from the home (who do get arrested and kicked out this time:D)

On the subject of Charles, I think he’d have a very similar character arc to Niko with the letters from her mom, just with a very different context, obviously.

Now onto Edwin, I never really thought about why he could see ghosts, but I’m thinking maybe he’s from a long line of witches or something? Since that would both preserve his magical skill from canon, but also explain his interest in the occult.

Lastly, I really just wanted to talk about how funny I find the whole memory thing in its current state, because I just imagine Sa’al yoinking Eds memories, and then immediately fucking the hell off (being banished by Crystal)

Design:

Edwin: I started with the simple vision of a sweater –I don’t know why, but every time I draw that boy I have the uncontrollable urge to put him in knitwear, and this time that urge won out– then I went onto shoes, and I knew I wanted to do something different this time, so I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that ballet flats would be perfect both because they fit well with his whole vibe, but more then that I feel like a modern Edwin would definitely take the opportunity to express his femininity more. And with that thought in mind I obviously had to give him some earrings. And then I added the little lace detail onto his collar, because…ok I don’t know, it was cute, sue me!

Charles: most of Charles’ outfit is already pretty timeless, so really I just tried to differentiate his outfit enough from the original, without losing the core of it. Also I gave him a messenger bag, for no other reason then I really like messenger bags. In addition to that I gave him my shoes, because they kind of reminded me of one of his pins, and they’re hella cute ‘nough said.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑨 𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, romance, smut, forced proximity

word count: 2.8k

summary: A friend, lover, then stranger. The last thing you expected was to be snowed in along with the bounty hunter. Tension rises as the past circles you both, trapped in the Razor Crest with no where to run or hide.

warnings: established past relationship, piv, touch starved din, creampie, also this takes place after S2 but the Razor Crest is still here because I love it so much and miss it

a/n: As some people might remember, I had a winter WIP list called 'Psychedelic Winter,' and this was one of the fics that I said I would write. And I thought, 'Hey, what better moment to post this than the day Mando S3 drops?' Enjoy everyone, happy mando day!

When you were thrown onto an icy planet by your so-called colleagues, you didn’t really have a plan for survival. It was your fault really, you were too trusting, too eager to help and be useful. It was a stupid habit that you had since very little, forced to feed yourself in this lonely lonely world. 

However, it wasn’t always like that. 

With a shudder, you hug yourself, your boot-clad feet buried in the snow. The flakes feel like glass shattering across your skin, painful and cold. Even your lungs tremble from it. As you walk forward, your mind brutally reminds you of him. A man that became a friend, a confidant which had quickly turned into something more. Heat pools between your legs at the mere thought of it, the feeling of emptiness and cold prominent. 

The Mandalorian. Mando. Din Djarin. Din. 

You miss him still. You can’t really help it. You loved traveling with him, and after such a long time, you truly felt like you belonged. He became family. He became your everything. Soon after your little family grew, Grogu joining the fray. It felt like a dream, you were finally living out what you’d been searching for. 

But that all changed when Grogu had to return to his own kind. The Jedi. Din grew distant, he pulled away, not responding to you or your touches. You just felt grief emanating from him, something that you couldn’t fix. He didn’t ask you to leave, you just left. Once again alone, once again without a home. 

In your desperate attempt to replace it, you went with anyone who would tolerate your presence. You’ve met some good people, but you’ve met some assholes too—obviously. 

Your lashes turn into cold crystals, stinging every time you blink. In the distance you see a hint of yellow light that bleeds into red, you can feel the warmth of it despite being far away. Like a moth to a flame, you walk towards it, your steps fighting against the cold wind and the snow. You can’t feel your fingertips anymore, or your legs, or your face for that matter. You’re flirting with death. 

You notice that the ship most likely crashed. You press your freezing palms into the metal, still hot, a soft heat spreading throughout your hand and blossoming across your arms. You let out a sigh. It feels familiar like you’ve been here almost. Teeth clattering, you reach the door and give it a loud knock, your fists hurt when you do it, but you manage to muster your last bits of strength. 

The door opens with a muffled hiss and you find yourself immediately staring into a blaster. 

A very familiar blaster. 

You quickly realize why this ship felt familiar, it was the goddamn Razor Crest. Your home—once upon a time. 

The blaster falters, and you stare into the familiar dark visor, he tilts his head. You like to imagine that he’s happy to see you despite the shock. With a crooked smile, you mimic his movement, cocking your head to the side. 

“Hey, Din.” 

Everything is the same. Everything is different. It’s weird to be back within the Razor Crest’s metal walls. The ship creaks with the wind, metal groaning as Din sits across from you, his legs spread and elbows leaning over his knees. You chew the inside of your cheek. Having such intimate memories with someone is an odd thing, your body still remembers what it felt like to be filled so thoroughly by him, to have his large hands squeezing and kneading your ass as you dripped and begged for more. 

Heat settles right below your spine. You wonder if it’s the same for him too. Had he thought of you after you left? Had he rutted into the pillows imagining that it was you instead? 

Probably not. 

“The engines are messed up from the cold but as soon as the storm lets up a bit we should be good to go,” he says, refocusing your focus back on him. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while.” 

You nod, not really knowing what else to say. To be honest, you’re slightly embarrassed that he’s seeing you like this. 

“How did you end up here?” he asks. 

The question surprises you because you hadn’t expected him to make conversation. You can’t tell if he’s angry or not from the modulated voice. He sounds like he always does. You look up to him, wishing you could see his face. 

“Grouped up with the wrong people. You?” 

“After a bounty.” 

“Ah, the same old.” 

“Pretty much.” 

The following silence is uncomfortable, it makes you feel unwelcomed and slightly gross. You don’t know what to say. What can you say to the man you basically abandoned? That was never your intention, but it was what he wanted. He didn’t need you around, reminding him of something important that he’d lost. 

Your mouth acts unfiltered, the horror sinking in as soon as you ask. 

“Have you heard from Grogu?” 

He stiffens quite visibly. His shoulders raise, his visor looks down. You curse your tongue from moving on its own. Din’s anger is physically felt by you, it chokes out the air from your lungs, forces the soles of your shoes to be glued to the floor. Your eyes go wide and you swallow. Your lips are sealed shut when he stands, his figure suddenly larger and taller than what you’ve been used to from your memories. 

“You don’t need to ask about him,” he answers curtly. “We don’t need to talk at all.” 

Din storms towards the back of the ship, his long strides reverberating through the metal walls. His sudden outburst leaves you stunned, your thoughts scrambled like the tangled wires of a circuit board. The sound of sparks and him tinkering with something echoes within the confinements. You’re stunned. Confused. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do, before the ship groans and shudders again. A loud groan vibrating from your feet to your chest. 

Your feet move of their own accord, propelled by a mix of curiosity and concern. As you approach, the cacophony of tinkering grows louder, the metallic clinks and whirs blending into a symphony of sound. At first glance it looks like he’s doing nothing, crouched over, just occupying his hands. You reach out to touch his shoulder, a hesitant gesture. To your surprise, he leans in instinctively, his body responding to your touch like a magnet to metal.

But then jerks away, as if he’s been burned. 

“What did you mean by that?” you ask, pulling away.

He huffs, his hands falling. “I just said we don’t have to talk.” 

“What if I want to talk? I missed you, Din.” 

It’s an unexpected, sudden confession but you decide to go with it. It isn’t a lie. You did miss him. 

“Miss me?” he hisses out, his head falling back, he stares at the ceiling. “You left.” 

“What? Are…are you blaming me for what happened?” 

“No,” he stands up, his masked face an inch away from yours. You fight the urge to take a step back. He wouldn’t hurt you. He slowly tilts his head as if he’s amused by whatever expression you’re pulling. “I’m stating a fact. Didn’t you go?” 

Your eyes fall to his chest, “I did but—” 

“Then I find you on the brink of death, shivering, helpless,” he lets out a deep breath, chest heaving. “Was it worth it?” 

“I left because you didn’t want me around.” 

Your gaze snaps back up. He doesn’t move, the visor staring back at you feels colder compared to the storm raging outside. The build-up of tears is sudden, overwhelming. Your face controls with anger, your brows pinched and your lips curling down. The rage twists in your gut, you’ve been suffering, doing jobs left and right to feed yourself. And he has the audacity to tell you that it’s your fault? That he never wanted you to leave? 

Bullshit. 

Without thinking you push him away, your hands finding the cold plates that decorate his chest. He doesn’t move. An indestructible wall. Shaking your head, you push at him again, and again, and again. When nothing works, you hammer down with fists. Your heart beats loudly and painfully in your chest. You can’t breathe. You can’t speak. It’s suffocating and cold. So fucking cold. 

Your fists stop mid-air when he holds them, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists. 

“I never asked you to leave.” 

“You didn’t have to,” your eyes fall, shame heating your cheeks. “You barely spoke to me. Touched me. It felt like I was reminding you of a tainted memory. Something you could never have again.” 

“That’s not…dank farrik—” 

He pulls you in, arms coiling around you with the intent to never let go. The beskar is uncomfortable but comforting. Your hands shake as you return in like, wrapping your arms around him weakly. His hand cradles the back of your head, the other one sliding down to rest against the small of your back. He doesn’t say a word but you know this is his own peculiar way of apologizing. Even if he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. Neither of you are. Luckily, you have a very functional mouth. 

“I thought you wanted me gone after…I didn’t know. I should’ve realized you were hurting. I was so afraid of what you might say that I acted before you actually said it.” 

“I was never planning on saying it,” he answers. “I missed you too, mesh’la.” 

His scent; metal, musk, and something sweet fills your lungs. You take deep inhales of him, grounding yourself back to reality. The hard surface of his helmet presses into the top of your head. The ache between your legs is uncomfortable, you want to touch him, feel his bare skin against yours. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. 

You answer. “With my life.” 

“Then close your eyes for me. Let me guide you.” 

You do as you’re told. A dance that you’ve grown accustomed to once upon a time. The hiss of a helmet, the touch of his lips, the feeling of his hands cupping your bottom. He slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, reminding himself of what you felt like all those times ago. He tastes the memories he hasn’t been a part of, he gets used to the differences. 

When he parts, it’s hard to keep your eyelids from fluttering. You don’t open them, but the tease of the what if always remains. What would happen if you gave into temptation? Would he know you’ve seen him? Would he be angry? Would he never see you again? Would it be worth the risk? 

No, you think, It wouldn’t. 

“Touch me, riduur, I need you to touch me,” the last plea is spoken brokenly. “please.” 

Your hands roam his armor, blindly helping him out of it, touching every exposed skin and muscle. He’s trembling under your touch. You feel the thrust of his hips into yours, still clothed, desperate. Your skin prickles when you feel the hardness, heat pooling between your legs, and tingling. You’re just as desperate as he is. 

He takes your hand and leads you to the bunk. You feel him everywhere. His lips are on your breasts, kissing a trail down and circling the pebbled nipple with the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth wide, fitting as much as he can as he sucks and bites. You arch into him, your hands still touching—tracing his back, cupping his ass, pulling him closer, asking him to thrust against you in the same desperate manner he had not moments ago. 

“Why did you leave?” he asks between wet, needy kisses. “Why did you go?” 

“I don’t know,” you say over and over. “I was scared, I’m sorry, I love you.” 

It was like a song that was whispered for their ears only. It’s a symphony of reminding themselves what they’d lost, and what they’d gained. 

Feeling him inside is a beautiful thing. Din is not a small man, not in the slightest, and he has to cover your eyes just in case when he fills you. It’s a smooth entry, your wetness enough to pull him deep inside. Your walls flutter, the blissful pain of the stretch makes you moan his name. The first thrust is like fireworks in your mind, bursting with pleasure. The second one you feel like ice, melting into the motion of his hips and the warmth of his cock. 

“Harder,” you breathe out. “Harder, fuck me, Din.” 

His teeth sink into your neck, his pacing fast, hard. The sound of skin against skin is loud enough to drown the sound of the snowstorm outside. You push against each thrust, albeit your movements not really doing much, uncoordinated and unpracticed. Din pins your hips down, his fingers like iron branding your skin. He hammers into you, the dark curls stimulating your clit forcing out a gasp from you. 

“Look at me.” 

“What?” 

“Look at me. Open your eyes.” 

His hips slow down into a tortuous grind. Your bottom lip trembles at the thought. You’re scared to open your eyes, and frankly, you’re not sure if you heard him right. His thumb smooths over your closed lid, gently pulling them down.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “I want to see you. I want to see the look in your eyes when you come for me. I want you to see mine.” 

“Are…are you sure?” 

Your heart feels like a ticking time bomb, your chest ready to explode, the ticking in your ears too loud. 

“I’m sure.” 

Your eyes open incredibly slow, fearful. Din’s face clears up and you see him smiling down at you, his hair mussed, sticking to his forehead due to sweat. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his cheek, feeling the trimmed down hairs with the pad of your thumb. He leans into your touch. 

“Now, that wasn’t so scary was it?” he asks, you smile and shake your head. 

“No, it wasn’t.”

He kisses you. It’s different this time, softer, slower. He resumes his thrusts, hips snapping into you with the intent of release. His one hand slides between your bodies, thick fingers finding your clit and starting to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive nub. The skin above your stomach grows tight, your thighs shaking against the broadness of his hips. You can’t get enough of him. Kissing him and at the same time trying to look at him. You engrave his face into memory. 

Din breaks the kiss with a rush, his one hand cradles your cheek, tilting your head up to him. He holds your gaze, his lips parted. You feel your cunt fluttering around him, his cock heavy and throbbing deep inside you. Din spills into you with a groan, his hips stuttering forward. You follow right after, the sight of him too much. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and his eyes roll back, you gush around him, your body convulsing as a silent promise never to let him go. 

When both of you come down from your highs, he kisses you. Again and again. A man starved. A man desperate. Only one plea falling from his lips. 

“Touch me.” 

You wake up with his touch on your shoulder. When you open your eyes memories come flooding back, you and Din, again you had found your home. You wince as you slowly get up, the ache between your legs uncomfortable but missed. You notice that Din is in full armor, waiting for you outside of the cot. 

“Come with me,” he says, voice hoarse. “I want to show you something.” 

He helps you into your clothes and his hand never leaves your waist as the two of you make your way up to the cockpit. The storm had subsided, only snow falling scarcely from the heavens above. He points you to look up, and you do. 

Your breath catches in your throat. The sky is alight with an otherworldly dance of colors - the aurora borealis.

The lights shift and shimmer, painting the sky with vibrant hues of green, blue, and purple. It's as if the entire galaxy has come to life, it’s beautiful. 

Din's arms wrap around you from behind, and you melt into his embrace. The warmth of his body against yours, the strength of his grip, and the steady rhythm of his breathing all serve to ground you in the moment. You feel safe, and you feel loved.

The aurora continues to dance above you, you lean your head back against Din's chest. It's like nothing else matters in the world except for this moment - just the two of you, surrounded by the beauty of the cosmos.

And as you look up at the lights, you know that you are home.

[neoameba]

hey there! how are u?

hope I'm not bothering but could u write (separate) Headcanons of Sanemi Shinazugawa and Kyojuro Rengoku x Male Tsuguko! Reader?

Reader went on a mission alone and never came back, he was missing. Weeks later, Sanemi/Kyojuro finds them as a demon.

If u only write one character per request, i prefer Sanemi! But it's up to u

Thanks in advance!

"You... As a demon?"

Sanemi/Rengoku x Male Tsuguko! Reader

Summary: Where the reader disappears on a mission and weeks later is found by them, but not in the way they imagined.

Warnings: mentions of death (beheading), angst with no happy ending on Sanemi's part, angst with two endings on Rengoku's part (happy and sad). It can be read as platonic, or romantic.

Rengoku Kyojuro:

☆ When [Name] was called for a mission, he immediately felt a bad feeling. But the smile never left his face. He trusted his tsuguko. He trusted in his strength.

☆ The young man was at Rengoku's house, training with him a few minutes before going to the mission location. When the training was over, Rengoku couldn't help but pat his head gently, and whisper some sweet words: "Come back alive and well, I'll be waiting for you."

☆ And with a wave of his hand and a smile, he walked away from Kyojuro's mansion. That's the last memory he has of [Name]. His tsuguko disappeared a few days ago and it bothers him a lot.

☆ He knows that that mission should have ended in a short time, no ordinary mission takes that long. This releases a very rare Rengoku to see, he seemed a step calmer and more thoughtful, but still hopeful.

☆ And that motivates him to go after [Name]. Normally, the corps would have already declared the young Tsuguko dead, but Kyojuro wouldn't allow it. He would never consider something like this before seeing it with his own eyes.

☆ And that's where he finds his much-loved Tsuguko. But never in the way he wanted to find him. Here, we have two options: If [Name] was an oni like Nezuko, he would definitely believe in his purity. He was the first of the Hashiras to support the Kamado siblings after Tomioka, and if he knew that he refused to kill any human all this time, he would be touched by his self control and kindness. Even if the boy refused to be helped and didn't trust himself, Kyojuro would never leave him in that state. And even if Nezuko didn't exist, he would see the nobility in his heart.

☆ But if the young tsuguko isn't acting rationally and doesn't seem to regain his humanity, he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate him. He wouldn't do it coldly, though. He would try to talk to [Name], understand why and how this happened. But the boy was unable to respond. So, in order not to soil his past, his legacy and his old self, he puts an end to the demon.

☆ He spent many days sad. Kyojuro knows that this is the destiny of demon hunters, death. Oyakata-sama always told him that, and so did his father. Still, it hurts. Killing someone you truly love is never and will never be easy. Even so, he managed to return to normal. [Name] would hate to see him cry, and now that he's no longer here to show his happiness, Kyojuro will have to smile for two people. For him, and for his tsuguko.

Shinazugawa Sanemi:

☆ Sanemi was the typical annoying and aggressive teacher. Do something wrong and his tsuguko will receive at least one ear tug. It's just his way of showing that he's afraid of losing those he considers important.

☆ That's why when [Name] is called on a mission alone, he doesn't let his tsuguko participate. "You're not going without me, you idiot. You're as weak as a leaf and I'll punch you until you lose consciousness if you come back hurt." [Name] knows he doesn't mean it.

☆ But, it's not like he could override a request from his superiors. Very reluctantly, he lets [Name] go on the mission. Secretly, he prays for his safe return. Not that he confesses that he ever did it. But when the boy doesn't come back, he feels that something very bad has happened.

☆ It doesn't even take two days for him to run after [Name]. His tsuguko didn't send a single letter, and that was a problem for him.

☆ When he encountered [Name] as an oni, he would panic. But not the ones where the person starts crying, no no. He would fly into a rage. If his tsuguko was like Nezuko, he would be incredulous. That would irritate him even more, how can an oni still carry the personality it had before? Shinazugawa would never believe that oni could be trusted, no matter who they were.

☆ But it's still hell. He hates this feeling. He hated seeing how [Name] cried while looking at him. Hated seeing how gently he smiled as he was decapitated, as if it didn't hurt and as if it was the right thing to do. His legs weakened when he saw his body gradually disappearing, and he couldn't help but hold his head in his lap before he ceased to exist.

☆ As I said, hatred and rage would invade him. Not for [Name], but for all the oni, and especially for the one who took away one of the people he cared about most. Sanemi cried hugging his clothes, and cried again in his grave, alone. After that, he became much more protective of Genya, and never considered the idea of having a Tsuguko again. He could not bear another loss.

☆ Is he really doomed to be alone forever? Why is fate so cruel and sadistic towards him? He doesn't deserve this, [Name] didn't deserve to have his soul soiled by a disgusting demon.

Author's note (my notes :P)!

I hope it was the way you imagined it, and that it met your expectations! Btw all of you who send asks never bother me, ok?

I really enjoyed doing this here, seriously. (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ

[bonefall]

PLEASE make Whitewater be the one who kills Weaselkit. It would be so (tragically) cool, like just thinking about it reminds me of other amazing BB scenes like the Elderberry and Ferncloud scene but on a smaller, background character scale. It would also be a cool parallel type thing to Spiderleg who attempts to kill his son during the same battle. Obviously Spiderleg and Toadstep don’t personally care about the death of a non-Thunderclan kit, so it’s not like they would be aware of the other family murder happening, but WE would know. And we would be shitting our pants. (I’m a sucker for generational trauma and parents failing to protect their children in fiction please mister bonefall)

I HAVE to do it. It fits too well. It's absolutely shockingly tragic and horrrible. Hell opened up and Owlclaw's worst nightmare came lunging out. I have so many thoughts.

Owlclaw has had a whole life dealing with the neglect and abuse he went through, taking it out on others as a bully, and it's only now seeming to get any better

Mentor Oakfur being even more of a parent to him than any other apprentice he's had, knowing Owlpaw needed it.

Whitewater had FINALLY died. It hurt like nothing else, because in spite of everything he loved his mother... but he was FREE

And maybe she was, too. Maybe in StarClan she could watch over him, perhaps now with distance her memory can be something positive.

There was a time he might have wished suffering on her. But he's going to be a dad, now. He's learned that holding onto grudges never seems to do anything constructive.

He started his new life with Pinenose, still in their honeymoon phase. They're a young couple and everything is moving fast, they're welcoming two little twins.

Weaselkit and... Happykit. He still thinks it's silly, but he said it as a sardonic joke because he couldn't think of a good name and Pinenose beamed. How could he burst her bubble?

He has NO idea that his mother didn't ascend to StarClan. Shes doonstairs. He's daring to assume the best, and she's embracing the worst.

She doesn't need long to be completely onboard with Tigerstar's scheme. She didn't even need a discussion with Hawkfrost. The only reason StarClan would throw her down here is because there's a problem.

So, she'll put it right.

The IMMEDIATE validation she feels seeing Harespring training in the Dark Forest is intoxicating. They ARE cursed!! One of them already found its way here!

(AND the spawn of that damn TRAITOR, Crowfeather. The bastard who betrayed Mudclaw's coup.)

Harespring started training here out of curiosity, and a speck of heresy to be totally honest. He wanted to know his biofather, Mudclaw, and StarClan couldn't be all that wonderful if it would allow his brother Kestrelflight to be forced into the Cleric's den so young.

But NOW, having met Mudclaw and hearing his side of the story, and now WHITEWATER landing here as well...

...he has never had stronger faith in StarClan before. Mudclaw was horrible enough. Whitewater is unhinged.

There is no doubt in his mind that these two belong here. The sad stories are outweighed by cases like these, so in his opinion, there SURELY must be things he doesn't know about innocuous cats like Houndleap and Featherwhisker.

He hates coming here, every moment he's trapped with one of his bioparents is a moment he wishes he was spending with papa Torear.

Harespring betrays the Dark Forest the minute he has a chance to. But it doesn't stop Whitewater.

Weaselkit's death happened so fast and they were so young that Happykit can barely remember it. Was it after Dustpelt crunched? ...he thinks it was during.

I can't imagine Happykit will be told about Whitewater until he's much older, but... he knows Weaselkit's death is what drives the wedge between his parents

(Of course that's too simple to be correct. Happy's smart in the way that you get when you have to grow up quick, but still a kid at the end of the day. Owlclaw backslid into old, destructive ways. Pinenose can't handle him and their child and her grief at the same time. They were a young couple to begin with. It shattered like glass.)

I'm not sure who dealt with Whitewater during the Battle of the True Eclipse, but she is definitely double dead. Part of me wants to make it Spikefur, Pinenose's next mate. But Owlclaw dealing with his mother a minute too late, after FINALLY finding peace with it all, is also gut-wrenching.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey, I saw you take request and so I wanted to ask if you could write some fluff, maybe some Astarion comforting Tav after they went through a panick attack

Gender neutral if possible please, I just had my first ever panick attack and would love some comfort from my fav Vampire <3

- Astarions-Imagine-Archiche [Would love to go off anon but sadly, Tumblr dosent let me send asks through sideblogs]

Hi! Hope you will enjoy it!

FEAR

Sometimes it's just too much to bear TW: A description of a panic attack Tags: hurt \ comfort, gn!reader, nurturing Astarion, post game, established relationship Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Surrounded by a fiery inferno, you sense the escalating heat in the air. The thick layer of fabric shields your skin from immediate harm, yet your body responds almost primally.

Scorching and stifling air leaves you struggling to breathe, and the smoke stings your eyes.

Fire.

An indiscriminate devourer of all, whether mortal or undead, demon or elf, it rages like a starving beast. Discarding your sword, you decide to leap, knowing the flames will only graze your skin a bit.

"Ig-nis!" Astarion's voice rings out, casting a fireball into the necromancer. The half-orc topples, weakening the ring of fire around you. Muscles tense, preparing for the leap, but an abrupt freeze takes over just as your feet are about to propel you forward.

Attempting to move your hand, your brain feels detached, as though subjected to a Mindflayer's experiment. The fire intensifies, yet your legs remain unresponsive. Trapped within the confines of your own body, you are helpless and silent.

It's merely a "hold person" spell, lasting a minute or two or until Astarion dispatches the necromancer. Nothing harmful, nothing scary. The enemy just wants to win some time. 

Immobile, you manage to shift your eyelids just slightly. Astarion is nowhere to be seen while the necromancer looms ten feet before you. Approaching like a ghoul, his eyes scrutinize you as if you're a specimen in a lab.

Astarion. Astarion, where are you? Panic sets in. What if he's wounded, dead, or worse, turned into a mindless ghoul under a new master's control?

The necromancer, eyeing you with a sinister hunger, licks his lips. "Pretty creature. You will serve me well once you die."

His touch on your right temple triggers another memory—a Mindflayer's pod, helplessness, fear, disgust. A tadpole approaching your eyelid.

If you could scream, you would. 

"What is your worst nightmare?" the sorcerer whispers, casting the second spell.

Suddenly, you're back in the Nautiloid. A Mindflayer cracks your skull open, and the scent of burning bone fills the air. The monster probes your bare brain, and it sprouts thin black legs. Your organ is no longer yours; it's an intellect devourer.

A vision unfolds. Astarion's body writhes and transforms into a Mindflayer. "Don't do this to me. I can't do this again!" he cries for help until his face explodes, tentacles burst forth. 

You fall again, from the Nautiloid to the seashore, but the Emperor is unwilling to save you. Your spine breaks on the rocks.

Baldur's Gate. The day of the attack. The Nautiloid inches forward, missing Astarion, who escapes to the sewers. You'll never see him again; he's condemned to be his new master's slave.

No, no, please, no, gods help me.

Suddenly, the fear releases its grip, your hands and legs regain movement, and you collapse onto the scorched ground. 

"Fuck!" you curse. "Fuck you, bastard!" 

The necromancer lies dead. Fat flies crawling on his rotten flesh.

"Well, someone needs to learn how to dodge”, Astarion chuckles. “Next time, it'll be something more dangerous, like a power word spell or a death finger. Instant death, and you're resurrected as a ghoul," strong hands lift you up, and you stand on your feet once again.

"Where have you been," you mutter, your voice trembling.

He pulls away. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't see you. I thought you were dead. Where were you?"

"Darling, I made sure to disappear from his decayed eyes. I prefer an advantage when the enemy... let's say... has their ways with the undead and the dead." He tilts your chin up, making you look into his crimson eyes. 

If you weren't as tired and numb, guilt might settle in. That's how he fights—no knight, no warrior. He hides and attacks when the enemy forgets about him. It's not his fault you were knocked out, but the bitterness lingers in your heart, replacing the fear.

Returning to the small camp silently, you muster the last remnants of your strength to pull off your armor. Astarion sits by the fire with a book, not attempting to join you in the tent. Guilt pervades your thoughts. What if your rudeness jeopardizes the progress, you've made together?

What if you wake up the following day, and he's gone?

Your mind spirals in twisted ways. What if a piece of the tadpole remains in your brain? Powerful creatures aren't to be trusted. What if it's still there, waiting to hatch? What if Astarion harbors one inside his head as well? What if this isn't the end, and unthinkable horrors lie ahead? What if one day you wake up and hear a voice subduing you to some eldritch, horrible, and insane entity?

You feel like you can't breathe. The heart races, heavy as a tombstone, and your hands are numb and cold. The uncertainties weigh on you like a suffocating shroud.

A lump rises in your throat, an unbearable sensation that makes you want to vomit. You press your hands to your chest and breathe heavily as if you are short of air.

Light steps approach from behind. "Darling, your breathing can be heard in a nearby village. What's wrong?" The voice sounds distant, echoing through thick walls. Suddenly, your eyesight blurs, reality becoming an illusion, disconnecting you from your body. The voice sounds unfamiliar and distorted.

Astarion wraps his hands around your waist. "It's okay, everything is alright. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." 

 It still feels unreal, as if someone tries to imitate your lover's voice.

"I- I am…I am dying", you whisper.

"It's just a panic attack, nothing more," he replies. "Let me guess, he casted the fear spell on you? You saw something unpleasant, didn’t you? Illithids, I bet." 

Astarion brushes your hair with pale fingers and then kisses the crown of your head. He gently touches your hand, then your leg. "You are here. You are safe with me. And if someone threatens you, I will rip their throats." He holds you tighter, speaking comforting words. The lines he once used for seduction and manipulation now sound like a weird, soothing spell.

You don't feel your body. You don't understand where you are. You remember the Nautiloid, the blood, the fear. 

You start crying. You haven't cried for ages – first, there was no time to reflect on awful things happening to you. Then, it was Astarion who needed you to be strong because he was a mess after 200 years of abuse and sudden freedom he didn't dream of having. But now it’s you who is overwhelmed and scared.

"Hush, everything is okay. You are safe with me," Astarion whispers.

Suddenly, you come to your senses. The racing heart subsides, and the looming horror fades.

You breathe freely. Astarion strokes your hair. "Feeling better?"

You nod and find the strength to sit up. "What can I do for you, my love?" Astarion asks.

Licking your dry lips, you realize the intense need for water causing your dizziness. Before you can utter a word, the vampire reaches for a flask. In three big gulps, you drain the bottle and collapse onto your back in the tent. The thick black fabric, enchanted with the "darkness" spell, feels like a reassuring wall, offering a sense of safety rather than claustrophobia.

Astarion lies beside you, wrapping his hands around your waist. But instead of pressing his face against your collarbone as usual, he pushes against his chest. If he were alive, you would hear his heartbeat. 

"I am just—I don't know—afraid?" you finally admit. "I'm afraid this Illithid madness isn't over, and something is stuck in our brains waiting for the right moment. I'm afraid to die. I'm afraid you will die. I'm afraid that one of these powerful creatures we pissed off will come for our souls. I'm afraid you will slip into feral madness, and there's nothing I will be able to do to prevent this."

He presses you even tighter. "You are a very brave little thing, you know that?" he finally says. "I insist on that. Leading the way from this Illithid madness, letting me close despite knowing who I am. Facing any danger or monster. But sometimes it's just too much, right?"

You nod and receive one more kiss. "I will always be with you; I am not going anywhere. And when it just feels too much, you tell me. I will gladly take a nurturing role. Besides, you've been caring for me for far too long. Time to change roles."

Slowly, you drift into sleep, the last thing you remember before slipping away being Astarion whispering, "I am lucky to have you."

--

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive

[kit-walk3r]

I’m Not Me (Kyle Spencer x fem!reader)

Kyle opens up to you about his insecurities with his new body.

Warnings: sort of body dysmorphia, brief mentions of sexual abuse by a parent

Note: can be read as a companion to Together Not Forever and it’s alternate ending or separately. I always wondered how Kyle would actually feel about being made up of his dead friends’ body parts and was inspired by the scene where he finds the tattoos on his body.

Ever since the two of you had reunited you and Kyle were on the path of getting to know each other again. Kyle’s memory was still a little shaky, he had trouble remembering certain things and he would often get frustrated if he couldn’t recall something from your past. You were still trying to get used to this new version of Kyle, who was a little more tense and easily frustrated than he was prior to his death. Basically, the two of you were trying to move past the differences and reach a new sense of normality, but new issues would keep arising.

Prior to the bus crash you and Kyle were frequently intimate with each other. It took a while for the two of you to reach that point (due to his issues with his mother) but once you did it was a very passionate relationship. But since the two of you were reunited? Not so much.

It wasn’t necessarily an issue for you, you had Kyle back and that was the biggest blessing of them all, but a part of you did miss the warmth and the love and the passion you often felt when the two of you were together.

You and Kyle had been getting closer, however. Physically. At first it was just a reconnection of memories, the two of you would sit together and talk for hours, going over all the tiniest details of your relationship to properly refresh Kyle’s memory. It took a while for you to just kiss again, you not wanting to push Kyle further than needed and Kyle also fearing overstepping. But once you shared your first kiss since Kyle’s resurrection the two of you were soon finding it difficult to stop.

One afternoon you were attempting to help Kyle with his reading (since he still struggled with it) and that difficulty was soon apparent but the book he was studying was discarded and the two of you were back to being attached at the mouth yet again. You kissed Kyle heatedly, and from the intensity in which Kyle was responding you presumed that he was ready to take things a little further.

Your hand gripped the hem of Kyle’s black sweater and you tugged, gesturing that you wanted him to take it off. However, instead of pulling it off over his head like he had done many times in the past he pulled back from you and turned his body away.

Your face mirrored confusion at Kyle’s actions, wondering what had happened for Kyle to be distant again. You thought things were going well, he was just as passionate as you were moments ago.

Then you realised.

His mom.

Zoe had told you about how she had taken Kyle back to his mom when he was first revived and that something happened there and he bludgeoned her to death. Zoe didn’t know what happened, but you had a pretty good idea and it made you feel sick. You knew all about Kyle’s mom and the abuse she liked to inflict on her son, and you could only imagine what she had done to Kyle to make him react so violently.

Your hands shot back away from Kyle as if you were burned and your eyes widened. “Kyle, I’m so sorry,” you immediately apologised, feeling guilty. You knew what Kyle went through with his mom and you still tried to push things forward without discussing it with him first. You felt awful. “Your mom… I forgot… I’m so sorry.”

Kyle reached out and grasped your hands in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of them to try and soothe you. “Y/N, it’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “It’s not you, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he paused for a moment. “And it’s not her.”

You felt yourself relax in Kyle’s grip. “What do you mean?” You asked softly. “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Kyle?”

Kyle let out a shaky breath. “I’m not… me,” he finally said.

Confusion filled you. “What do you mean?”

“My body,” Kyle looked down at himself. “I’m not me.”

You were still confused. You didn’t know much about Kyle’s resurrection. You’d seen the scars around his neck, you knew that he was sewn back together, but that was the extent of your knowledge. Zoe didn’t say much about the process, but honestly you never asked. The idea of witchcraft was new to you and still creeped you out, and you hated the idea of your boyfriend being dead and in pieces. You’d rather not think about that part.

It was as if Kyle could sense your confusion, because he continued to speak. “I’m a mess. A mash-up of different parts. I’m not how you remember me.” To prove it, Kyle rolled up his sweater sleeve to reveal a small four leaf clover tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

You felt sick as the realisation of what Kyle meant by ‘I’m not me’ dawned on you. Kyle had no tattoos, you knew this. Yet there one was, clear as day against the pale skin. And you recognised that tattoo. You’d been there when he’d got it, having tagged along on their little trip to the tattoo parlour at Kyle’s invitation. That wasn’t Kyle’s arm. That was his frat brother’s arm.

“Oh my god,” you couldn’t help the tiny gasp and Kyle quickly pulled his sleeve back down at the noise.

Kyle sniffled and you looked up to see his dark eyes filled with tears. “I’m them,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

Your sickness was replaced with anger. When they stitched Kyle back together they didn’t even use his true body. That was sick, disgusting. It was as if they were trying to build him into something better. Kyle was perfect the way he was, he didn’t need bigger biceps or a more muscular chest or to even be taller. It disheartened you that those girls who remade him thought he needed the physical change. There was nothing wrong with him, he didn’t need ‘improving’.

“I’m not me anymore,” Kyle continued. “They changed me. When they put me back together they didn’t use me, they used them,” he pulled up one of the legs of his jeans to reveal the black markings of a Chinese symbol. In your head you could hear the laughter as Kyle mocked the tattoo and his friend and your own eyes began to water at the memory of Kyle’s boyish smile and carefree laughter. “I’m not Kyle anymore. I’m really sorry.”

Your heart broke. Not at Kyle’s different body, but at how much he was hurting. He was apologising for something way beyond his control and was really tearing himself up over it. Did he really think you cared that much about his body?

“I don’t care what you look like, Kyle,” you tried to reassure him, but Kyle just shook his head.

“I’m not me. I’m not your Kyle,” he sniffled. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“You are my Kyle,” you insisted, reaching out to cup his cheek and wipe the tears away gently with your thumb. “You’re my Kyle and I love you. I don’t care what you look like, what your body looks like. You are you. And you’re perfect,” you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Kyle smiled at you through his tears. “I love you,” he murmured.

You smiled back. “I love you,” you reciprocated.

Kyle looked down at the bed before looking back up at you. “Can we just lay here for a while?” He asked almost sheepishly.

You nodded and Kyle pressed a kiss to your cheek before laying back on the bed. You copied him and laid down too, tucking yourself into Kyle’s side and resting your head on his chest. Kyle’s arm wrapped itself around you protectively and he nudged you even closer to him, wanting there to be zero distance between the two of you. He wanted to lay like this forever, and so did you. Just the two of you tucked away in your own little bubble, away from the dramas of the world.

“You’ll always be my Kyle.”

•———•

There was so much potential in Kyle that never got explored in Coven so I love writing about it. I really wish we got to see his reactions and attempts to come to terms with what happened to him but since we didn’t I hope this was an okay substitute! Thanks for reading 💗 (also only just discovered that Kyle cries “what am I?” to Zoe when she comes to him in the greenhouse 🙃)

Taglist: @jellyluvr @howtobesasha @dewberryobssesed @luv4evan @kaismanwich

Want to join my taglist? Just reply here!

[pinkypromisepascal]

𝙰𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 (𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

Summary: Tommy finds your diaries after you passed away

content warnings: angst, emotional Tommy, mention of character’s death

word count: 2.2k

/// this piece has only been proofread by myself, so forgive me for possible mistakes ///

It had been one month since Thomas Shelby had lost you, his beloved partner. Killed by one of Major Campbell’s minions during the Epsom races which you had accompanied him to to make sure the assassination of the Field Marshal went according to plan.

Although the plan had worked out like Thomas had imagined it with Lizzie luring the Field Marshal to a secret place, away from the busy race tracks, Thomas had been kidnapped by The Red Right Hand, leaving you on your own. While he had been busy fearing his own death, he would have never thought his significant other could be another target on Campbell’s list, he wasn’t even sure if The Red Right Hand had known about the sniper that had been hiding in the bushes near the wide and lonely field.

You had watched Tommy being dragged away by the three men. You had found a way to follow those men, unnoticed by them, and had hidden behind their car to listen to them.

After taking deep breaths, you had reached for the gun Tommy had given you and tucked behind your pants on that day. “Only for when you’re in danger, eh?”

Thomas had been ready to let go of his life right then and there, as he was taking the last drag of his supposedly last cigarette in his life. He had gotten pushed to his knees and had just sat there, eyes closed, taking a final deep breath. “In the bleak midwinter…”, he had mumbled.

At that point, his memories got foggy and confusing, and definitely one of the most haunting memories he had ever collected in his life. He only remembered being pushed into the grave that had been dug out for him, guns firing, but none of the bullets hitting him. And he remembered one very distinct sound. Despite his state in that moment, he had heard someone run across the field, the dirt scattering away beneath their shoes, and two final shots, more silent than the others.

Tommy had needed a few seconds before finally pushing himself up, taking in the scene in front of him. All three men that had kidnapped him were laying dead around the grave. A few steps behind, the other body had caught his eye. A wave of shock had run through him, his heart immediately sinking at the sight of you. He had slowly walked up to your corpse, as if he could have scared you if he was too loud.

He had knelt down next to you and pulled you onto his lap. The bullet had went straight through your forehead, just a few inches over your beautiful eyes that were still open. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry I took you with me.”, he had mumbled as he pressed your against his chest, tears streaming down his face.

It still pained Thomas to think of that day. Most of the days he felt like he was alright, but on some days your face flashed in front of his eyes, blood dripping down from the bullet’s exit wound and staining his clothes as he had held you against him. He still blamed himself for what happened, despite Pol telling him several times that it had been your own decision to risk your life and that you been aware it could go wrong.

Since your death, Thomas had avoided your room in Arrow House, the desire to find you there, sitting at your desk or on your bed and reading was too strong to be confronted with the harsh truth again.

But today, he felt like he needed to take in everything that was left of you. He wanted to feel as if you were still around, felt like it could clear his mind.

As soon as he entered your room, his heart started beating faster, a feeling of nausea started spreading. He could usually keep his emotions under control, but this time was different.

When Tommy had decided he wanted to have you around at his house to spend as much time as possible with you, you had talked him into turning one of the many bedrooms into your very own, where you could keep more personal things and where you could go to when Tommy was too much to handle. It had taken some convincing, but Tommy felt like he was falling for you all over again as he had watched you decorate your room, happily sorting your books into the shelves. “Should I order them by genre or by author, what do you think, Tommy?”

Standing in your room now, it still felt so alive to him. A scarf he had gotten you as a birthday present hung over the bed frame. He ran his hand over the soft, silky material. He knew it would still smell like you, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing and wrapping it around his neck. He took in your scent that immediately hung in the air.

Memories flooded his mind again and flashed in front of his eyes, your voices nothing more than just an echo bouncing of the walls of his mind. The first conversation with you at the garrison, your first time making him laugh after blurting out a nasty joke, your first kiss in your apartment where you had taken care of a wound on his chest. “It’s just a cut, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up, Tommy, I just don’t want to hear you whining when this gets infected”, you had insisted with a smirk.

Thomas smiled at the memories and thought about how your laugh would fill the room if you saw him wearing your scarf. He liked the idea of carrying something from you on him. “God, I miss the sound of your laugh so much…”, he breathed into the silence and ran a hand over his face as his feelings started to be too much again. He kept looking through your room, his eyes falling on the numerous bookshelves. He had never really been into reading, he always said he was too busy for that. Yet, he had adored the look on your face when he had bought you another pile of books.

Regret filled him now, realizing he should’ve taken the chance to read with you together and just enjoy a peaceful day. He regretted so much. He regretted taking you to Epsom with him, he regretted thinking you would be safe. And he abhorred the ugly truth that he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye, you had died right after impact.

Thomas’ whole body tightened, a pressure built in his throat that made him want to scream. He clenched his fists at his side, his nostrils flared and his emotions cut off his air to breathe. He closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths. He turned his face towards the sun falling through the big window and let the warmth run through his body, giving him a sense of safety for now.

When he opened his eyes again, he noticed the big desk standing in front of the window. It always looked like you had just gotten up from it. You had never really had the urge to keep that desk neat and tidy, it was meant for getting lost in your own thoughts anyway, and not for work.

Tommy stepped closer and saw the notebooks scattered on the desk. He grabbed the nearest one and sat down on the floor, his back resting against the bed frame.

“Hope there’s nothing too private in here… If I find a dirty little secret of yours I can’t even confront you about it.”, he joked to make himself feel a little better. As he opened the book, several loose sheets of folded paper slipped out and fell into his lap.

He picked up one paper and unfolded it, discovering a drawing of himself, looking to the side and smiling with a cigarette in his hand. He couldn’t exactly make out the background of the drawing, but he assumed it was his private booth at the garrison. Thomas grabbed the other sheets of paper, finding another drawing of him and less detailed sketches of Aunt Pol, Arthur and Ada. “It’s a shame none of us were talented enough to draw you, love”

Another sheet happened to be a letter Thomas had written to you. He chuckled in disbelief. He remembered writing the letter after you told him that you loved his handwriting and suggested he’d try to put his feelings into written words instead of spoken ones, as he had always had trouble with that.

Tommy didn’t need to read the letter, he knew every word on that piece of paper by heart, he knew the feelings he had expressed on it. Instead, he turned to the journal again and started reading.

You had written about Tommy’s family and how they treated you. Arthur and John hadn’t been sure about you at first, Aunt Pol on the other hand didn’t need much time to accept you as part of the Shelby family, as well as Ada as soon as she saw how well you were taking care of her son Karl one night. Tommy was the last one to trust you. He had liked you from the beginning, he couldn’t deny that, but it had taken a lot of time to open up to you.

Another entry was just about him, and Tommy almost felt overwhelmed at the love that shined through your words. He read about how you thought he was one of the most interesting persons you had ever met and how you adored his soft, caring side he barely showed. Tommy remembered seeing your adoration for him in your eyes. Of course there had been times where you were mad at him for overworking or getting his family into trouble, but when he had a day off and took some time to relax, he was the best company you could wish for.

At the end of that entry, Thomas’ eyes widened and his heartbeat increased again.

𝐼 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝒯ℴ𝓂𝓂𝓎, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒹ℴ:

𝐼 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓈ℴ 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽, 𝒯𝒽ℴ𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝒮𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒷𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒽ℴ𝓅ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒶 𝓁ℴ𝓉, 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ ℯ𝓍𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒸ℯ𝒹 𝓈ℴ 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻ℯ, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎ℯ𝓉, 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂ℯ ℯ𝓃ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉ℴ 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝓂ℯ 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃ℯ𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ.

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝓂ℯ 𝒷ℯ𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 ℴ𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎. 𝐼 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓈ℯ 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅ℴ𝓇𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓂ℯ, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓃ℯ𝓇, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹ℯ𝓇 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝓇𝓎 ℴ𝓃, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℯ𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂ℯ, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓁ℴ𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂ℯ.

That little note was what broke Tommy. He felt his throat close up, his eyes starting to burn. His breath hitched and he decided to just let it happen, to let the tears stream down his face. He covered his mouth with one hand to muffle his sobbing.

His emotions were rushing through his body like flashes, paralyzing him and stopping him from exiting this state. All the bottled up guilt suddenly pressed against his skin from the insides, making his limbs ache and burn.

How could he let this happen to you? Why had he been so naive? Thinking you would be safe from Campbell?

Tommy’s head started throbbing, his throat still closed up and his stomach turned. He wanted to scream, to cry out loud and exhaust his body until he’d fall unconscious. Sorrow slowly turned into panic and fear, his stomach turned and Tommy felt like throwing up.

Tommy pushed the diary away and laid down on the floor, trying to get as much sun shining on his frame as possible. His eyes closed, he took deep breaths and stretched his arms to the side. “You’re gonna be ok, Thomas. Deep, controlled breaths.”, he whispered to himself.

A few breaths later, Tommy slowly calmed down, and acceptance started to set in. He knew he had to accept your death one day instead of internally denying it the whole time. He needed to accept that all that was left of you was this room, his memories of you, and of course the scarf around his neck that he would never take off again. He needed to cherish those things before his sadness kicked him off the edge for good. You were gone, and there was no way of bringing you back.

Thomas knew he wouldn’t be alone in this, he knew that his family would help him wherever they could, that they would help him clear his mind of the heavy fog that kept him from moving on.

After a few more minutes, Thomas felt like he could feel you laying on top him, your fingers softly caressing his face. He imagined you humming the melody of your favorite song to him and he slowly drifted into a much needed sleep.

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author’s note: as promised in my previous post, my first story on here! I originally wrote this about a year ago, but I did rewrite it today in one go and my god, the time it took me to finish this, but I’m happy with how it turned out. I do kinda have a second part planned for this with kinda supernatural elements, but I haven’t really figured out how to put it into a good story yet, but I do like writing a very emotional and torn Thomas Shelby, so I might as well write that damn second part. 

Anyhow, I hope you liked reading this piece, feel free to give me some feedback, criticism is welcome, as long as it’s constructive lol. 

Have a great day!

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Chapter 3)

Summary: Your weekend with Mitch and Sarah doesn't start the way you thought it would. Struggles of your past are revealed, but now you have people who will listen.

Previous Chapter Links: Chapter One ; Chapter Two

I originally thought chapter 3 would be the full weekend together, but then the lunch scene became 2.5k words of hurt/comfort.

TW for this chapter: Mentions of past family deaths, including a car accident

Just a heads up about the series! Chapter one was just flagged as Mature by tumblr, so if you have settings to block or not show mature content you might not see future chapters come up, as I'm assuming more will get flagged.

Enjoy!

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During your drive home your mind was filled with the memories of that evening. You thought about the way their fingers felt dancing on your skin and sliding through your hair. You thought about how tight they each held you when saying good-bye. You especially thought about the kisses they each left on the top of your head, and how the sensation of being so cared for made you practically melt on the spot.

You got home and immediately fed your cats, who were in fact very unhappy about their empty food bowls. You got ready for bed and tucked yourself into your comfortable sheets. The cats quickly forgave you and hopped up to sleep on your pillows.

You started to wonder what the weekend would bring. You had no idea what Sarah had planned but were happy just to spend time with people who seemed like they truly cared about you. You had so much on your mind and feared it would take you forever to fall asleep, but it had been a long week at work with Ryan cutting two molars and fighting his naps, and so you quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When you woke up Saturday morning, you started to think about going back to stay with Mitch and Sarah for the night. You began to feel a bit anxious. You were worried that you would bother them, or that they would get bored of you, or that you would say something stupid. Mostly you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your crush a secret if you were spending multiple days straight with them.

To try and stop your spiral of thoughts, you started to clean your apartment. It wasn’t huge, but with two cats there was a fair amount of dusting and vacuuming that needed to be done. Next you drove over to the local supermarket, grabbing the essential foods you would need for the following week.

After getting home and putting away your groceries you jumped in the shower. You continued to drown out the anxious thoughts by singing “Watermelon Sugar” as loud as you could without worrying about the neighbors hearing. You got dressed, dried and styled your hair, and put on a little make up. Next you packed your bag for the night, set out plenty of extra food and water for the cats, and drove over to Mitch and Sarah’s. Since that was a drive you did almost every day to get to Ryan’s house, you pretty much got there on autopilot.

You pulled up out front and noticed that there was no car in the driveway. You knew Tammy and Mark didn’t have it since they were picked up that morning by their friends, meaning that Mitch and/or Sarah had taken it somewhere. You began to worry that they had forgotten they invited you, or that you had the time wrong, or that you totally imagined the conversation the night before. Which led you to freak out that maybe you imagined all of the interactions that happened with them the previous evening.

Before your mind spiraled too much, a curtain on the front window shifted and you saw Sarah peek out. You took a deep breath, grabbed your small overnight bag, and went up to the front door.

You hadn’t even reached the porch when the door swung open, revealing Sarah with a bright smile on her face. She ran out to give you a hug and led you into the house with her hand on your back.

“Mitch should be back soon; he ran out to grab some sandwiches for lunch. Oh, let me grab your bag, I’ll put that upstairs for you!” Sarah was definitely high energy at that moment. She ran up the stairs and a moment later you heard the front door open again. Mitch walked in holding a bag from the local deli. He noticed you standing there, and his face lit up into one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen on his face.

“Hey Y/N!”

“Hey Mitch!” You replied with a similar smile.

He held up the bag saying, “Went to that place downtown that you recommended. You like their chicken salad, right?”

“Oh totally, that’s the best!” You were surprised he not only remembered which shop you liked, but which particular sandwich you usually ordered. You had only mentioned it once in passing when discussing new places in town.

Sarah came back downstairs and slid into Mitch’s now extended arm, sharing a quick kiss with him. You couldn’t help but smile at the love shared between the two.

“As lovely as it is standing here together, I am starving,” Mitch said walking into the kitchen.

You all sat at the table and Mitch handed everyone their lunch. For a moment there was only the sound of chewing and the Technology and Teamwork record that you requested Sarah put on before sitting down. After everyone had eaten at least half of their meal Sarah finally started a conversation.

“I know it’s just a sandwich, but this is delicious. Y/N, you have seriously never steered us wrong with food, home cooked or take away.”

“Thank you! My dad’s family is Italian, so we express love through food.”

Sarah decided now was the time to finally dig deeper into you and learn about your family. “Does your family live close by?” she asked.

You immediately tense up, not quite sure how much information to divulge. You try not to get too deep, and half avoid the question. “I’ve got aunts and uncles and cousins kind of scattered all over the country. My cousin Erin and her fiancé Jeremy are only about an hour away, so I see them occasionally but everyone else is pretty far.”

“What about your parents? Or siblings?” Mitch asked.

“Oh well they’re all together, along with all my grandparents.” You paused for a moment, gathering strength to reveal the truth. “They’re all in St. Joseph’s Cemetery back in Connecticut. That’s where I’m originally from.”

There was a moment of silence while Mitch and Sarah processed the fact that you just nonchalantly informed them all of your immediate family members were dead. You simply picked up the last bit of your sandwich, trying to maintain an upbeat mood.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Sarah said as Mitch rubbed your shoulder.

“Thanks. I’ve been dealing with the grief for a while, so I’ve got a pretty good handle on it.”

Mitch spoke up next, asking, “When did they pass?”

You finished chewing your last bite and took a deep breath. Mitch shifted his seat closer to you and placed his hand back on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a comforting manner.

You leaned into the touch before starting. “Well, my dad’s parents both passed away when I was young. My grandfather had cancer and my grandma broke her hip. She had complications from that. I’d guess I was five and seven when they died? I don’t really remember. We were good for a while, no big health issues. My dad was next. He had a major stroke during my junior year of high school. He was in a coma for just over two weeks before he passed. We spent two weeks convincing ourselves he’d get a miracle and recover, but he didn’t. My mom and sister had gone to lunch, and I hung back for a minute. That’s when he died. It hit the two of them really hard. That’s why I learned to cook, to make sure we were all eating.” At this point Sarah also slid closer and clutched your hand in between hers.

“The summer before my senior year of college I was on vacation with a couple of friends. Nothing crazy, just staying at my friend Sasha’s family beach house. I got a call one night from a police officer. My mom and sister had been hit by a drunk driver. He said they were DOA. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I ended up selling the family house and moved in with my mom’s parents. I didn’t want to be alone, and they started to need more help with daily tasks. My grandfather had COPD and my grandma was developing Alzheimer’s. Grandpa died about a year and a half ago and my grandma followed a couple months later. Then a family friend reached out saying her daughter was having a baby and needed a nanny, so I moved here to take up that job. It’s nice working for someone from back home, even if we weren’t necessarily close.” You tried shifting the conversation at the end but when you looked up and saw tears swimming in Sarah’s eyes you knew you hadn’t been successful.

Not only had you lost your parents, grandparents, and only sibling, but you took care of everyone before they passed. Mitch and Sarah knew they were on the same wavelength, both wondering who took care of you during these incredibly painful times in your life.

Seeing the sad looks on their faces is what finally broke you down. You couldn’t hold it back anymore and let out a sob. Suddenly you felt Mitch pulling you onto his lap, gently rocking you. Sarah stood and walked around the table to crouch in front of you, once again taking your hands in hers and rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

You were never one to cry, keeping strong throughout everything. But you also didn’t have a lot of people comforting you through everything that had happened. You had one best friend who had been there through it all, and you don’t know what you would have done without her. There were other family members who tried comforting you, but they were all dealing with their own grief. At the time, you were so focused on taking care of everyone and everything, planning wakes and funerals, dealing with wills and selling houses, that you didn’t even stop to accept comfort when it was offered.

But now everything was taken care of. Medical bills were paid off, headstones were in place, cars were sold, and there were no more administrative tasks linked to your family members’ deaths. All that was left were the emotions that came with losing everyone who you were closest to in the span of just a few years.

You finally allowed yourself to feel the pain of all the loss you endured. More importantly, Mitch and Sarah had given you an environment where you could finally feel it and know that you’d receive the comfort and compassion that you crave. Their focus was solely on you.

You stayed tucked into the embrace for a few minutes while you let your grief run its course. Your sobs turned to sniffles and Sarah brought over some tissues which you used to blow your nose. You sat quietly for a moment, feeling embarrassed about your outburst. Of all your anxieties that had run through your mind that morning, you never expected you’d become a blubbering mess an hour into the weekend.

As though reading your mind, Sarah gently placed her hands on your face, wiped away your tears and said, “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, okay? Don’t close yourself off from us. We want to be here for you. You supported our family through a difficult time. Hell, you supported your own family at a time when you should’ve had the freedom to fall apart. We want to take care of you, love. Please let us.”

You sat for a moment, absorbing what Sarah was saying to you. “Okay,” you replied so softly that they barely heard you. Sarah’s hands remained on your cheeks for another minute. You watched her eyes, curious when you saw them glance down at your lips before she looked over to Mitch, who was still silently holding you.

“Uhm, I’m just going to use the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute,” you said, sliding off of Mitch’s lap and walking down the hallway.

Mitch and Sarah sat in silence for a moment. “Were you about to kiss her?” Mitch asked quietly.

Sarah hesitated for a moment before stuttering out, “I don’t….I think maybe?”

“It’s okay if you were.”

“But that’s not what we talked about. We agreed to find someone to have a little fun with and share a new experience together. A one-night thing. This is….”

“So much more. But not in a bad way Sarah.”

“You’re right, it is more. What I feel for her is more than I planned. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I feel the same.” Mitch lifted her chin up before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“We don’t even know what she wants. We don’t know if she’s attracted to men, or women, or if she’d be attracted to both of us, let alone open to entering a relationship with a married couple!”

“We have a whole weekend of quality time to learn as much about her as we can. You said it last night, we’re creating an opportunity for things to happen naturally. So, let’s just go with the flow, okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah answered before leaning in for one more kiss. You walked back into the room a minute later as Mitch finished throwing the last of the garbage from lunch into the trash. 

You had splashed cool water on your face to try and hide the traces of your tears, which mostly helped. Your eyes were still red from the irritation, making the green in your irises pop even more. 

For a second you all just stood there, and you decided to break the tension. “Okay so we can check off lunch and complete emotional breakdown from our sleepover checklist, what’s next?”

Picking up on your desire to move on from the earlier conversation, Sarah filled you in on the plan for the afternoon. “There’s this new adventure park not too far from here. It’s got rock climbing, trampolines, all kinds of fun stuff. And it’s only for adults, so we don’t have to worry about being surrounded by a million children. Does that sound like something you would want to do?”

“Are you kidding? That sounds amazing!” You were practically bouncing up and down with excitement at the idea. It sounded just like your favorite indoor playground you always went to growing up, only better. 

“Okay, great! Go grab your shoes and jacket and meet us by the door.” You ran to get everything you needed, thinking about how much fun this was going to be. With everything that had happened in your life, you had been forced to grow up quickly. Instead of a smooth transition, you were basically required to throw away the end of your childhood and become an adult too young. Maybe Mitch and Sarah would be perfect to help you heal from that. 

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Thank you for reading! LMK in the comments what you think so far!

Chapter 4 is in the works and should be up by the end of the week. It just clicked in my head that I move next week and need to actually start packing so I'm going to have less time to write over the next week or so, but I plan to not go more than a few days without any kind of update.

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

If you want to be added, let me know!

[kyndaris]

Preaching to the Chorus

About three years ago, Troy Baker pitched the idea of a video game musical called Chorus. What struck me, beyond the fact it was asking for donations as it was a crowdfunded project, were the high profile voice actors taking part, the art style, the bringing on of composer Austin Wintory and that it was being developed by an Australian developer! Years later, there was almost no word or hint of the game and I feared the worst. For a good long while, I wondered if I had just imagined the game being announced. Until, of course, Summerfall Studios announced the upcoming release of Stray Gods in August 2023! Suddenly, we had a release date and songs to enjoy after years of what had felt like absolute silence.

Yes, Chorus had changed its name but it was still the same premise I was promised: an urban fantasy Greek-mythology inspired musical where I got to make decisions on where the songs went. Needless to say, I was excited!

Despite it releasing in August, I didn't get to play the game until much later in 2023 when I finally got a bit of a breather between all my lengthy video games sucking up most of my time (and the fact I work full-time and commit to writing my stories and watching endless TV shows to be up-to-date on whatever is popular). Well, no. That's a lie. I've put a few games on the back burner like Octopath Traveler II and Like a Dragon: Ishin! (they are totally going to be played soon, I promise!)

In any case, I purchased the game while it was on sale (a measly 20% or so) and then stepped into the shoes of Grace. And almost immediately connected with her feelings of being cast adrift. Like so many people who have graduated university, and who didn't immediately apply for graduate programs, she's a little lost and unsure of her direction in life. Enter Calliope.

After the two share a duet together, Grace returns to the apartment she shares with longtime best friend: Freddie. As she rests, there's a knock on the door and lo! Calliope staggers through clutching a ghastly wound. With her last breath, she passes on her eidolon (the soul? and memories of an Idol) before dying in poor traumatised Grace's arms.

As Grace, understandably, panics, at the sudden turn of events, Hermes steps through the front door and tells Grace she needs to meet the Chorus. Within moments, Grace is taken to an upscale office room where she is greeted by Apollo, Persephone, Aphrodite and Athena. Before Grace can get a word in edgewise, these Idols (as the Gods now call themselves - although it makes me wonder if other pantheons exist in this world created by Summerfall), decide to execute Grace for the crime of maybe-possibly killing Calliope. That is until Apollo protests.

And protest he must consider later plot points. Such as him divulging the prophecy leading to Calliope's murder!

Honestly, so much of the story could have been resolved if Apollo stopped being a sad boy and actually used some brains to more cleverly resolve Grace's predicament. Instead, we have Grace run around the city for a week in a bid to prove her innocence and figure out the truth behind Calliope's death.

But what a wonderful week it was as several Idols help out, from the fast-talking Pan to the scary Medusa (with a very cute monster voice from Anjali Bhimani). But who can forget, and forgive me as a I fan myself and swoon over, the dommy mummy: Persephone. The design! The voice! The attitude? Gosh, I just wanted Persephone to step all over me. And considering the height difference she had over Grace?

Just...

I'm just going to die in a corner over here now.

Anyways, diversion aside, the plot was serviceable. It wasn't the most mindblowing story to be told but I liked how it introduced us to many of the Greek Gods and mythological creatures hiding in America, whilst weaving it in the murder mystery plot at its core. While the game threw out new leads often, I didn't ever feel an urgency to solve the crime or fear I'd not be able to figure out the murderer. Sherlock Holmes, this is not.

Rather, no matter which scenes you may wish to complete first (and I always went back to the Underworld to chat up Persephone), I feel like the end-point is almost always the same with our villain being unmasked as the smiling cookie-giver!

From a gameplay perspective, Stray Gods doesn't offer much. It's pretty much a visual novel where the player selects dialogue options or the next part of the song they wish to sing. There's no walking around or exploring the wondrous set pieces you find yourself in. Nor is there any random clicking on background objects for some light commentary or to pocket away clues to be presented at some other time.

In fact, there's no real animation to the game either. Most of the characters are stills, changing their posture as the dialogue or songs demand. Like flipping through a comic book or going from pane to pane.

But what does make Stray Gods stand out are the songs. Yes, there are some where I felt like it faltered: Asterion and Hecate's song (with the volume turned way too low) and some of the weaker blue options in Challenging a Queen. To me, it just wasn't as melodic as they could be and sounded a little jarring. Still, these were glossed over by several other standout songs like The Throne and the Ritual.

Speaking of The Ritual, while I did feel for Aphrodite, I didn't much like her selfish actions of dying and passing her trauma onto another poor soul. Like, either go to therapy and work on your issues or just die permanently and stop inflicting someone else with your trauma! Forgetting is not the path forward. And maintaining the cycle of the next Aphrodite reawakening to your traumatic memories of the Second World War whilst your son, Eros, deals with the fallout is NOT healthy.

On a side note, I liked how the melody of Adrift was used in the background of the game and was also revisited during The Trial.

As for the actual singing, I'm still impressed by the singing of so many of the voice actors. I mean, I wasn't surprised by Troy Baker considering he was a musician before he was a voice actor. And Felicia Day...well, considering I'd stumbled upon her back in her The Guild days, knew she could sing because of the songs she released. And the fact she appeared in Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog alongside Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion.

While I did like Laura Bailey, there were moments when I felt her vocals were just a little too raw and weren't able to hit the notes as well as could be. No shade on Laura, though. I love Laura Bailey! And she had a tough task with so many variations to sing!

Still, I did like her rapping. MORE LAURA BAILEY RAPPING PLEASE! Especially in the Challenging a Queen song.

But I do wonder what Stray Gods might have been like if we had actual Broadway actors brought in for the singing with stronger vocals and/ or melodies.

But I must say, my absolute favourite singer was Mary Elizabeth McGlynn. How could I not? She voiced Persephone! And I so wanted to romance her!

In the end, though, I foiled my chances because I was trying to play in-character by asking myself 'What would Grace do?' in most situations, especially when she was down in the Underworld and was especially traumatised by her best friend's death.

So, yes. I obviously brought Freddie back and the two ended up getting together in one of the more wholesome relationships there is in the game. Because, if you ask me, Pan? He just shows up out of the blue and is all sneaky-sneaky. A girl with her head on her shoulders wouldn't immediately fall for him, even if his intentions were good.

And Apollo? I know my friend @mrsarmageddon likes a 'I-can-fix-him-sad-boy' but he was too set in his ways and a little too unwilling to be of any proper assistance until all his secrets had been unveiled.

As for Persephone, she's a very angry woman and also wouldn't have been a healthy choice considering her romance with CALLIOPE in the past. Still, I couldn't help but want her step on me.

I don't know what that says about me. I'm probably secretly a sub/ omega who just wants someone to take care of me.

But let's not dwell on what this revelation could be and instead talk about how Stray Gods pushed the gaming genre to try and be more inclusive in ways no-one had thought of before. Beyond that, I loved the characters. The narrative, while simplistic, was entertaining enough to pull me through my initial playthrough of six and a bit hours. So, it's not even all that long. Which is perfect when you're gainfully employed and have a ton of time-consuming hobbies.

The one major downside to me was the fact it didn't have a chapter select after the first playthrough. If it did have it, allowing me to skip ahead to say 'Act 3' to redo my conversation with Persephone so I could romance her, or skip to certain songs so I could try out different combinations or variations, it would have heightened the gaming experience for me. Instead, Stray Gods forced me to play through the entire game again just for the occasional tweaks I wanted to do in my playthrough.

And now, during The Game Awards 2023, there's been an announcement for ANOTHER musical game called Harmonium. And it features sign language! So, it's definitely something I want to keep an eye on!

YES! TO MORE VIDEO GAME MUSICALS!

But also, don't let it become too overly saturated. During the Game Awards, I couldn't help but notice more Souls-like battle systems, using Japan as a setting (for Western developers) and more mechs/ robots.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and admire the Queen of the Underworld a little bit more. For perfectly REASONABLE purposes.

[j0nika]

HOLD UP, since your mom bought Rebellion for you as a birthday present, is today your birthday?!

Also…how was it…? I hope you liked it! (Of course if you have trouble processing what happened, feel free to ask)

That was the best movie

i have ever watched.

i went through all 5 stages of grief within the matter of 5 minutes.

SPOILERS FOR MADOKA MAGICA REBELLION BELOW!

i feel like i have never been so touched by a piece of media in my life

since the movie is so long, im not going to touch on every part, only the ones that were the most important to me

I WAS VERY CONFUSED AT THE BEGINNING. it was a huge surprise that the world had been fake (pretty much), because i was almost positive that was homura in her early stages of time travelling....NO. everything had already happened...

when they had begun talking about how the world was created by a witch, i was confused on how Bebe was relevant, since there had been no previous mention of them...and for them to imagine this ENTIRE WORLD just didnt sit right with me. once they started to mention it a little more, i had immediately known it was homura.

still, i started to get emotional when the world started to burn, and it was revealed that homura really was behind this. homura had been the thing she had sworn not to trust, what she hated with all her heart, trapped in her own cage she was trying to escape from...quite literally. that in itself was pretty beautiful to me :(

after all of that, when homura had pretty much sentenced herself to death to make sure that madoka would not be taken advantage of, madoka ended up trying so hard to save homura...i think that their love for eachother is definitely mutual, even if it seems like homuras might overpower madokas, i know that madoks truly cares about keeping homura safe and even in a moment of sacrifice madoka still just longed to be with homura and didnt want her to end that way, it was such a heartwarming moment

especially when god madoka came down to help homura, i started tearing up, it was really pretty and i had these lighst going on in my room and i was wondering the whole time "what does fantasy mean by people dont like what homura does at the end? everything seems fine right now!"

........

HOMURA

WHAAAAAATTTTT?!???!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Holy FUCKING SHIT I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT.

I THINK THAT WAS MY *FAVORITE* PLOT TWIST THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN IN AN ANIME...IT SERIOUSLY BROUGHT OUT ALL THE EMOTIONS IN ME

i was STARING at my tv with my mouth open i could not believe it.....AND WHEN SHE STARTED TO SMILE, I GOT SUPER EXCITED!! I tend to accidently headcanon characters insanity as the smiling insanity, as if they broke, and i had started drawing homura like that but figured it wasnt fitting for her.....DAMN WAS I WRONG!!!!

i LOVE how homura had become an obsessive....not quite lustful, but more...PURELY EVIL DEMON....who had seperated madokas human form and god form to create a madoka who would be able to live happily (i believe?) with an altered memory...GOD, that scene was so POWERFUL, ive been stuck thinking about it all day today....DAMNIT HOMURA, I LOVE YOU EVEN WHEN YOU ARE EVIL!!! And this insane character development just made me love her even more!!!!!!!

then, at the end, when madoka had ended up quickly reuniting with her god form....and the way that homura said that the ribbons look better on madoka....JESUS...i was THIS CLOSE TO CRYING!!! it was almost a bittersweet ending, and that was the best route they couldve chosen...i couldnt tell if i felt sad, at peace.....it was really really beautiful!

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

that scene with the flower field....THE SCENE WITH THE FLOWER FIELD HAD ME NEAR SOBBING...i thought it was gorgeous and the way that they hugged...the thought that this would be one of the last times homura would be able to hear madoka say those heartfelt things to her, just seeing her sit there....it was really blissful :(

THE SCENE WITH THE STATUE TURNING TO TAR!!!! that was AMAZING symbolism, holy shit! i just kinda stared at the tv for a little bit...its as if homuras love was infecting madoka....i love it so much.

i cant quitteee remember this one very well, but when madoka started t-posing and sunk into the ground, becoming this liquid, the homura becoming liquid, then a mini homura smashing it up? I DONT THINK IM REMEMBERING IT RIGHT, but i just know that it kind of hit me, it reminded me of no matter how hard homura had kept trying to save madoka, she kept dying...and all she went through within all of the timelines were ultimately very small and hardly mattered, since in the end, she failed...THATS HOW I SAW IT!

(and also, the fight with mami was AMAZING!!!! The music, the combat, the intensity, oh my god!! and when homura shot herself, and then held it up to mami, i was like WHATS GOING ON?!?!?)

this movie was absoloutely beautiful, touching, intense, i....literally have no words to describe it.

I PROBABLY WOULDVE NEVER GOTTEN TO WATCHING IT IF YOU DIDNT RECCOMEND IT TO ME FANTASY!!! THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO MUCH...that was *seriously* one of the best experiences of my life, i went through so much in such a little amount of time...the fascinating scenery with the witches and the everything looked amazing as always, this was just a very very special and UNIQUE movie to me and i stayed involved the whole time...I DONT THINK ANYTHING THAT ILL EVER WATCH WILL TOP THAT, HONESTLY.....

thank you SO SO SO SO SO MUCH!!!! I LOVED IT!!! 10000000/10.....it genuinely couldnt have been better!!!!! and it only made me love homura even more!!!!!!!!

(ALSO, TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, it is not my birthday! my birthday is in 9 days, march 16th! STILL COUNTS AS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT!)

[collectorcookie]

YEAH, I think people forget that Subaru can be unapologetically mean (most of the time he doesn't do it to hurt people though) and it makes his dynamic with Natsume soo.. so nice.

You. You ask me this knowing fully well i won't shut up about subaru once i start talking. Well. Long post ahead.

But i agree. I think most people won't know much about him besides the kira-kira front he keeps putting out (unless they actually read some other trickstar stories). And i mean, yeah he's super adorable and cute and energetic but he's been through A LOT. And that energetic front is some sort of a weapon for him.

Like, he's not pretending to be happy, he IS MAKING himself happy despite all. Despite all his anger at the injustices that took away his father's life and his mother's happiness. Despite all the suffering he endured from the press that kept harassing him and his mom after his father's death. Despite the industry that covered up his father's death as a mere scandal rather than facing the uncomfortable truths and corruption within the industry. And the ungodly anxiety always surrounding him because all people think about when they see him is "son of a murderer"

And where does that lead subaru? Nowhere, really. All alone with no one beside him and nobody to guide him anymore, he just clings to memories of the past for guidance and tries to follow in the steps of his dad.

Which is i feel like why natsume reached out to subaru in the first place. Subaru is a natural genius but unfortunately a weirdo loner at a corrupted high school, natsume is also a weirdo loner genius at a corrupted high school. And unlike subaru, natsume is not traumatised and really likes helping people and making them happy (he will never admit to this, the tsundere tendencies are off the charts), so naturally he reaches out to subaru.

AND THEIR FIRST MEETING IN ROCKET START IS JUST AKSHDGSKAVVDKFKSJDV

it's like.... natsume starts talking to subaru, subaru automatically puts out this positive attitude regardless of who is talking with him, right. natsume cares about subaru but god forbid anyone knows that natsume has feelings and cares about people, so he starts talking aaaall mysterious wizard stuff. Subaru immediately notices something is up with natsume, he's not sure what, but this guy is not to be underestimated and there's something this guy knows about him, and he instantly drops his happy facade and gets serious. The more subaru talks to natsume the more he realizes that natsume...is actually really nice. And so he goes back to his positive attitude. And it pisses natsume off, tsuntsun is not pleased lmao.

But their first meeting is so wiiild to me. Like imagine meeting someone for the first time and immediately they metaphorically strip you off and leave you naked and vulnerable. Like literally your first conversation with this person. And then you do the exact same thing to them. And now you're friends???? Profit.

You know those videos of cats snuggling their sad owners and then their owner happily tries to kiss it and now suddenly the cat is pissed that the affection gets returned? Subanatsu. With natsume being the cat.

But yeah sometimes people forget that subaru has years upon years of anger that he never really had an outlet for and that's probably why he likes violence so much. Like the one thing that got changed in the anime is the fact that when anzu went to meet kiryu (famed strongest most violent guy in the whole school), the anime portrayed subaru going in with anzu to meet kiryu to protect her. This literally doesn't happen in the main story at all. Don't get me wrong, subaru IS overprotective of anzu, like everyone else in trickstar. But he didn't go with her, he sent her there on her own and then was like "ok, if anything happens to you, scream, and then i'll come in and ambush kiryu with a bat". I want you to imagine that. This dude was standing outside with a bat fully prepared and thrilled to hit the academy's strongest guy. He literally sent anzu as bait.

And then there's that one time he wanted to bomb the student council (jokingly). And that one time he took a hammer in front of rinne out pretending that he's going to hit him. And like. Every time he fights with hokuto. I genuinely have no idea how these two HAVEN'T physically hit each other yet considering that hokke also seems quite fond of violence. And also how unabashedly confrontative he was when he met eichi at the council for the first time. And please never forget the time he meets nagisa for the first time and immediately calls poor baby nagisa a bastard in a very happy tone.

Nagisa. You know. Godfather's legal successor. Leader of adam. Leader of eden. The top unit at that time. Subaru has Zero Fears. I love he

And honestly seeing how often natsume hits tsumugi for fun i can see why subanatsu get along

subaru 🤝violence🤝 natsume

[skaithis]

| Live for me | Cliso oneshot | VALORANT

🦋 pairing / ship : Clove x Iso 🦋 word count : 3,5k 🦋 tw : suicide attempt, suicide mention, death mention, terminal illness, primary character death 🦋 note : it's my first oneshot in the entire life. Not really sure if it's good enough, since english is my not first language, but I've tried my best. Let me know what you think!

“You should stop doing that, Clove.”

“Why? I don't understand why you don't believe in me, you saw it wasn't a coincidence, I've proven it more than once!”

“You’re not a superhero. Please stop, this is going too far. You don't even know how fleeting life is.”

“...duh. Shut yer gob.”

His words to them were like a cold bucket of water on a body warmed with enthusiasm and excitement. He didn't believe in them? Clove's been trying it a few times... and all because of this bizarre and still unexplained media incident.

That attack near the gym they went to… were they lucky or not? Clove didn't remember much, except the flash of the knife, the vague words echoing down the cramped, stuffy alley in which they were attacked. The man probably wanted money, or their belongings… the only memory that could awaken in Clove was a strange, sudden prick, when they saw again, with the eyes of imagination, a knife thrust into their body, the heat dissipated by an enormous amount of adrenaline... they felt not too much pain, just overwhelming fatigue. Or was there so much pain that the mind wanted to forget it, erase the traumatic struggle for life?

It was just a memory now. It's been a year and a half. No one could explain so many stab wounds that didn't hit any vital organ. None. Luck? Magic power? Destiny? Everyone says it differently. Clove didn't believe it until another accident happened over three months ago, with a lot of fatalities, and they came out with a few scratches and a broken arm. It was supposed to be a simple trip to another country; no one thought what would happen near the end of the trip...

These memories were horrible, painful; howling sirens, glaring lights, screaming echoing, ringing in their little aching head... every time they thought it was the end, they would never see Zhao Yu again, they would never go back to university, they would never laugh at bubble tea with friends, exchanging stories and gossip. And every time they were wrong, leaving the hospital building sooner or later.

It was no different now.

Maybe that's why Iso was so mad at them? Clove's mind didn't get much of his concern for them as they breathed in a bubble of abstract fantasy about their powers. More and more, with each passing day, they believed that it couldn't be a coincidence, that everything that happened to them couldn't have been random luck. And more and more insistently, Clove wanted to prove to him that it was worth believing.

A deep inhale and exhale escaped from their mouths as they gathered thoughts on how to respond to their beloved. But before they opened their mouths, Iso continued.

“Clove, one day your luck will run out. I don't want to lose you because you want to prove something to the world or to yourself. Or me. You know I won't be able to be with you all your life.”

“Eh, fuck up, okay? I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to hear anything about it, not now,” Clove interrupted him immediately, feeling their heart trembling with fear, filled with thoughts that Zhao Yu is not destined to live as long as they are. ”...I wanted to have a good day, ya know.”

There was a clear definition of distress in his purple, flowery eyes; he felt as if he were slowly losing his beloved, and he could not grasp them, unable to follow them into the inevitable darkness that the Clove had chosen as their path. He was afraid; it was harder and harder for him to look into that charming, unpredictable head on which he kissed tenderly every day. Physical pain often took control over him, occupying his thoughts, robbing him of the happiness he had been striving for with Clove. Which made him think of the darkest questions and scenarios that forced him to reflect.

Will he ever be able to look into their minds again? Understand them, like he used to?

Will Clove want to be understood?

Zhao Yu grabbed their hands, gently drawing circles on their soft skin with his thumb; he always did so when he thought intensely, holding his beloved hand. It was the unconditional reflex that Clove had always seen, trying to guess his thoughts, to understand what was going on. But now it was quite different, Clove could not guess what was in the boy's mind; or rather, they were afraid to guess, so they chose to say nothing, think nothing. For their own good.

The journey home passed in a complete, dense silence, which irritated the nostrils, hurting their throats; it could be said that the lovers were suffocating in the atmosphere they had caused, which in time took on colors of sadness, sorrow. They were both asking themselves the same question.

Why can't my beloved see all of this the way I do?

Silence accompanied them, grabbing their throats until Iso pulled out the keys to the dorm room. Clove dared to speak, looking sadly at Iso, who with a stone face opened the door for them, waiting for them to enter first.

“But... you still love me the same, don’t you?”

A childish question evoked a cheerful smile on Zhao Yu’s face, which he hid, stealthily turning his head towards the room, following Clove inside. He disliked such questions; they were definitely a waste of time and thought. It wasn't worth worrying about, since the answer was always the same. But he also understood that Clove didn't quite know how to start a conversation.

He closed the door behind them, slowly making his way to the kitchen to boil water for tea for both of them. Their little ritual every time they walked into the house together. Only when everything was ready he turned around, hearing the quiet footsteps of his beloved behind him. His hand wandered to their cheek, stroking it; he said nothing, staring at those charming freckles, feeling the remnants of the anger he felt, running away from his body and mind into oblivion, and his muscles relaxed, trying to be as gentle as possible towards Clove.

“Tiánxīn, I will never stop loving you. Even as your life decisions are increasingly worrying me. I know you don't want to talk about this, but we have to do this.”

“Ya promise me that never really means never? Like… never-never ye?”  Clove asked quietly, hugging the beloved, leaning their cheek against his soft sweatshirt, listening to his heartbeat. It was restless. Iso was nervous about starting this conversation, but they had to go through this together. They both needed it. Without anger, without convincing oneself by force, and without running away from the subject. It took too long. They had to understand each other. For their sake.

“…It really means that,”  Iso replied without hesitation, hugging them in his iron embrace, allowing them to endure that sweet moment, and the silence around them was warm and safe.

“But say it, please?” they whimpered with puppy eyes, wanting to hear exactly what they said a moment ago, but from their beloved.

“...fine. Never-never,” sometimes Iso didn't see the point in trying to get the conversation back on track right away. The little mocking and little words they used were their love language, and he loved to tease Clove, pretending to forget about them.

There was a pile of papers on the table, perfectly arranged; Iso apparently put them there before picking up Clove from the hospital. It was hard for him to begin this conversation, but he calmed down, looking into the innocent, silver eyes of his beloved, wanting them to understand his point of view.

“Clove,” he started, putting the tea aside, grabbing one medical file after another, slowly leafing through them, page by page. “I know what happened a year and a half ago was a miracle. I never meant to call it like that but... from the beginning, I believed you were extraordinary. Every time you’ve had an accident, I became more and more sure of what I thought. But look,” he continued, carefully rolling up the sleeve of their shirt to show Clove the scar on their own freckled skin.” This was from three months ago, a bus accident on the highway. It wasn't your fault, of course... but it left you a scar for life. And now? Clove, you fell off the fucking balcony. I’ve read your hospital documents today, and I can't believe it was an accident, the way you so brilliantly described it to the doctors, so smart. I didn't want to start this in front of the hospital building, but it was called a miracle again. It's a miracle you're alive. And how many scars do you have from that? How many painful memories do you write on your skin this way? Every time I look at this, I feel like I'm losing you.”

Tears gathered in his eyes, Clove felt his hands were shaking. Iso was right. How many times have they pushed themselves into the embrace of death, which casted an icy glance at them, only to turn away at the last moment? Why would they think only of themselves to prove it to the world? Why didn't they think about the emotions of those close to her? Zhao Yu, their friends... they were everything to them. So why did they act like they had nothing to lose?

Was the answer his cruel illness, slowly taking his life? Clove did not want to be left alone, yet that future was inevitable for them, waiting for their journey together, one day they would end alone. 

It's only a matter of time.

Tears flowed down their cheeks, the world became blurred. They cried loudly, looking at the hospital papers piled up on the table in front of them. Could they have died that many times? This madness... it seemed like an unreal dream, as if all the visits and the pain and the fear were already dusty fiction that they read a few years ago without believing a word of it.

And yet all these thoughts were obscured by an icy fact that screamed all the time in the chaos of thoughts whirling around.

Iso is slowly dying.

“ ... You promised me we’d finish college together and adopt a cat! Adopt our little stupid Simba, ae?! Where is my behavior all of sudden selfish when you will just… just walk away to the other plane of existence or something whatever they have up there and leave me forever? Why is testing my gift an act of selfishness for you when you're gonna die?”

Clove didn't quite know how to collect the chaotic thoughts scattered all over their lost head. They felt like a lost child, waiting for a clue, a path to take. When they looked into Iso’s eyes, everything suddenly seemed terrifying. 

Zhao Yu knew that words should not be spoken now; silence and their tears were the most precious when he again held them tightly in his arms, wanting to remain with them forever, to protect them from the world, from their lost mind wandering for too long. Even if words could explain or justify anything, he had no idea what he could convey to them.

“I know you don’t want to lose me, my butterfly, but... you have to be aware that it will happen someday. My illness is progressing, and I'm sorry to tell you this, but... we can't avoid this subject anymore. Every day I'm happy to have the chance to wake up with you, to live with you... you don't know how I feel when I think I can lose that.”

Sorrowful, lavender eyes looked deep into Clove's soul, wanting to ease their pain; though this not something material, he felt he could get into their soul with a very tender gesture, word, healing its bleeding wounds slowly, bringing comfort. Clove nodded as an answer, unable to say even the smallest word for a long time.

“Me too... I don’t want to wake up without you... and yet it will happen. When? When, ya numpty? So selfish…” they muttered, but their beloved did not know the answer. The trembling hands clamped on the soft sweatshirt of his.

“I don’t know, tiánxīn.”

His words echoed through the dorm, and the only answer was silence. Iso grabbed their face, giving them one, tender kiss. They looked each other in the eyes again, resigned, tired of the actual fight. It was too much.

“Let’s live. For both of us” Iso smiled tenderly, and Clove had no choice but to nod. They were helpless children who were exposed to a cruel reality, left to fend for themselves. They couldn't waste those moments, those crumbs of life they had left.

Their lives went on; they went to university together in peace, they met with friends. The wounds healed with every morning, a warm smile full of happiness, raindrops streaming down the glass on cloudy days... a sip of sweet white tea, a gentle gesture of hands... every crumb of their life together was another step to the future they might have before them, which they timidly built. Month after month, Iso's health got worse, but Clove's support helped him continue his normal student life.

This last semester, the hospital was inevitable.

Clove had to survive their first day alone in the dorm, the whole world became gray and just blant. No melody… no view was the same. Everything seemed dead, withered. This is how they lived now, going to the hospital to visit Iso was harder with each passing day. This little bit of light that these visits gave them was a still smoldering hope that things would get better.

They promised each other they'd live. Right..?

Another month passed, and loneliness became one of Clove's parts. They went to classes, talked to people, and the pain had become… some kind of a habit.

The last class went by very quickly. As the Clove left the university building, only the moon and a few stars illuminated the world around them, and the sound of the wind dancing through the treetops broke the silence. The Clove did not want to be left alone with their thoughts, slowly accepting that they must leave the past behind. It was hard, but with small steps, and with the help of their beloved, they knew they could do it. Step by step they walked towards the dormitory, feeling that this incredibly short journey was going far too long. More and more people passed by until Clove realized there were far too many of them.

They looked around; there were a lot of people standing in front of the dorm building, looking up, pointing at something, taking pictures, recording. When they raised their head like the rest of the crowd, their heart stopped.

The girl standing in the window on the fifth floor. The wind blew away her hair, and she stood barefoot on the window sill, looking down. Clove took off their headphones, suddenly hearing the noise of screams and chaos around her.

“Do you think she’ll jump?”

“Someone call the police! Don’t stare at her, you idiots!”

“Help her!”

Has time slowed down? All the memories Clove had in their head suddenly went quiet. They entered the building without hesitation, rushing up the stairs, not feeling the slightest bit of fatigue, the breath was even, but the heart was beating like crazy. No thought barged in their mind, not even a shadow of doubt, when they saw the door, which must have led to the girl's room. 

They tugged the doorknob; closed. Despite their small body, Clove managed to kick the right spot to break the door and get inside. They themselves did not know they had so much strength; adrenaline allows for inexplicable things.

Immediately they felt a strong draft; an open balcony, whose doors opened and closed in turn, slamming the dancing white curtains.

The girl did not see Clove, and apparently because of stress and fear she did not pay attention to the noise; she leaned over, letting go of the balcony rails. 

Time was non-existent at this short moment, nothingless was around; Clove jumped on the balcony, grabbing the girl’s clothes with all their might, holding her tightly. Their tiny body couldn’t cope with the girl’s larger weight, so Clove stood leaning over the balcony, looking into the eyes of a frightened girl who seemed to snap out of her trance, realizing what was going on.

“Take my hand! Fuck, I beg ya!“

Clove's voice was filled with despair as they looked at the girl with tears in their eyes, and their strength slowly subsided, hands shook with effort, and their fingertips became whiter and whiter. The strength returned once more when the girl made a gesture to show that she still wanted to fight, she still wanted to live. She grabbed their hand tightly; now they both were hanging in a dangerous position, but Clove shrieked with the remnants of their forces, throwing the girl in, and… losing their balance.

Those moments were like a slideshow happening right in front of their eyes. They didn't even remember the girl's face, except for those frightened, gray eyes that begged for help.

Maybe that's why it happened? Would the Clove have come to their senses, valuing their lives over hers, if it weren't for this silent plea for rescue? Now it was too late to guess and wonder. The last sight they saw was a cloudless sky and pale stars before dark.They closed their eyes to see their loved one's smile in their memories for the last time. 

Everything will be okay.

“It’s not the first time they’ve been lucky. There were already a lot of incidents in their files, the media talked about it.”

“It was no longer luck in my opinion. It was stupidity and nothing more”

“But they are hero after all.”

The vague words reached Clove's head before they opened their eyes. They learned the quiet rhythm of the hospital apparatus, which they had heard many times before. They were alive. They did it again.

They couldn't even whisper a word or move. The white coats in front of them suggested the voices belonged to the doctors. As soon as they saw Clove awake, they immediately came closer to talk and ask some questions.

“Hello Clove, please tell me how you can hear us,” said the oldest of the doctors, measuring their pulse and examining their body reactions. “You're very lucky to be alive. The surgery went well and it looks like you're doing okay for now. Keep it up and maybe you'll get out of the hospital as quickly as before.“

“What... surgery...” Clove could barely whisper the words that frightened them. Trying to get up, they felt a huge pain in their chest. Doctors immediately stopped them from even trying to get up.

“You had multiple organ failure caused by a massive fall. It's a good thing you didn't fall directly on your skull, or we wouldn't have been able to save you.“

The silence that followed these words was overwhelming, breathtaking, mercilessly catching the throat and forcing tears. They survived. They miraculously survived. But someone gave their life for it.

“Whose... whose organs do I have?” they whispered, looking blankly into space until they saw a letter on a small table next to their bed. They stretched out their hand in silence, and tears flowed uncontrollably down their pale cheeks, as the first letters allowed them to see who the handwriting belonged to.

“Clove,

For a long time, I felt my time was coming. When they brought you to the hospital, I felt like this was the time to say goodbye. I've always feared I'd lose you, and I would never stand one second of my life knowing you were gone before me. My last act to leave with dignity and peace was to agree that you could carry my heart and live.

So live for the two of us. Finish college together, adopt the cat we've always dreamed of. Make our favorite tea every day and laugh, smile, because I've always loved to look at you when you were happy.

Just live for me.

Li Zhao Yu.“

***

That day was exceptionally sunny. White tea, freshly brewed, slowly cooled on the window sill, from which there was a magnificent view of the endless sea. Clove watched the waves crashing into the sandy shore, thoughtfully. The scars were barely visible; besides, they often dressed so that those memories could be seen; then they felt as if Zhao Yu was still with them. The meow of the cat, which demanded attention, awakened them from their thoughts

“Yeh, come on, Simba, give me five minutes and we’re going for a walk as I promised aye? Just… let me finish my tea. It’s my sacred ritual ya know that.“ 

They smiled at their pet, which ignored the owner’s words and continued to make a noise. Clove rolled their eyes, looking back at the setting sun, smiling.

“So… what are our next dreams, Iso?”

Thank you for reading!~