#i just want to erase my memory and replay the whole thing all over again

[sssseazu]

just finished playing ME trilogy for the first time ✌️

no thoughts in brain only garrus vakarian

[daydreaming-in-letters]

From the Shrike Windmill Studios vid! Which is possibly my most favorite look of his my god. Whatever you want to do with this—fluffy, steamy, whatever—but my god his eyes 🫠 had to share it

This was a most unfair attempt to ruin me. How dare you throw that picture my way? I hope this is what you had in mind. I tried to stay as close to the scenario of the video and the song as possible.

Warning: brief talk about alcohol; slightly smutty

This was torture. He had never felt more alone or more out of place even though he was surrounded by people he loved in a place he usually felt so at home in. But today, it was not merely hard to focus, to remember the lines and notes that had sprung from his own mind, it was impossible. Images of you, of you and him together, kept constantly replaying on the oversized screen at his cinema of memories. 

Last night, you and him, it had been messy. The best kind. Tangled limbs and sweat-soaked skin, and those kisses. Deep and passionate, set on consuming the both of you whole. He was sure they had left an imprint on his soul, never to be erased again. 

It had been everything his heart desired, but not at all the way he had wanted it to be. And now all he could think about was that it might have sent the wrong message, that instead of bringing you closer to him, it had driven you away for good, especially since you had been gone this morning, not a trace of you to be found, as if you had never shared that night in the first place. No forgotten items of clothing, no lipstick on the pillows, not even the tiniest mark left on his body to prove that he had been yours. 

Only his shirt had held the faintest scent of you, a little reminder that his lovesick mind had not just dreamed it all up. But even that might be nothing but his imagination running wild. He had put it on this morning anyway, keeping you close, just a little longer. 

In the end, it had not turned out to be his wisest choice. It was distracting, making him forget the words he was about to sing or pick the wrong strings, so much so that he could feel the nerves of his band members wearing thin upon his lack of concentration. 

Luckily, this time he had almost made it to the end of the song without messing up, when another wave of your scent forced his eyes shut in a feeble attempt not to lose focus. Thick and heady it invaded his nostrils, sparking the memory of your moan close to his ear. It had been his name that had rolled over your lips on the peak of your passion, it had echoed from the walls of the dimly lit room, and set every last fibre of his heart into motion. It was still humming in the reverberation. 

But when he finally opened his eyes again, it suddenly stopped. There you were, looking just as miserable as he felt, his chest pierced by a violent sting upon the hint of puffiness around your eyes. 

“Can we talk?” you mouthed without making a sound and the casual wink and nod he chose to answer your question with could barely hide that these three words had been enough to pull the rug and send him spiralling into an abyss of anxiety. 

He had no idea how his legs had mustered the strength to move, but he found himself walking anyway, following you to some place quiet while the rest of the world drowned out around him. He could barely make out someone’s annoyed voice over the white noise in his ears, uttering a miffed, “Let’s take five then, shall we?”

He felt claustrophobic, the walls slowly closing in on him as he let you lead him down the corridor and into some tiny room at the far end he was sure he had never been in before. 

“Look,” you began, your voice frail and choked, and even the tiniest drop of hope he had been harbouring like a miser until now, that this might somehow still end well, evaporated, “about last night. I…can we just…well, I know you didn’t mean to…you’d probably had a few drinks and…things just happened, I guess.”

His brain needed a moment to process your words.

“A few drinks?” What were you even talking about? “I’ve never been more sober in my entire life.”

He watched as a myriad of emotions washed over your face, leaving deep creases on your forehead.

“You mean…”

A frustrated sigh escaped his lungs and he immediately wished he could take it back. You would surely take this the wrong way, assuming he was annoyed by your lack of comprehension, when he would never. Instead it was his own inability to make his feelings for you clear that vexed him beyond reason.

“What I mean is that everything I said, every single thing I did, is exactly what I meant to do. What I have been meaning to do for so long now. But if this is not what you want, just say the word and we’ll never have to talk about last night again.”

Moments went by, possibly mere seconds of your silence, and still they felt like an eternity in the depths of Tartarus. This was agony, his personal living hell, and what made it even worse, it had been born from his own reckless behaviour. This needed to stop, and if you could not end this futile endeavour, he would.

“I see.”

Two words, it did not take more, and still they had cost him everything. He needed to leave, now, because he could not stand being so close, knowing full well that the two of you would never be close again. And so he turned, not sure if there was anything he could say to make this less awkward, when your hand wrapped around his wrist out of nowhere.

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice was dry and measured, forming the perfect contrast to the language your hands spoke. Frenzied fingers fisted his grey undershirt to pull him closer until your bodies collided, the momentum sending you stumbling backwards. He barely just managed to soften the impact, one hand pressed against the wall, the other cupping the back of your head. 

In the blink of an eye the same fever that had befallen you last night took hold of you both again. You moaned against his lips as his mouth met yours, falling open instantly to taste you and allow you his familiar taste in return. 

He wanted you, more than he had ever thought it possible to want someone, but he could not. Not here. Not like this. He wanted to properly make love to you this time. To show you what he truly wanted, how his heart was beating for you, so you would never doubt his feelings for you ever again. 

And so he stopped, his hand finding your cheek, tender thumb gliding along your cheekbone in a silent apology. He knew you understood, you had always understood him better than anyone. Still it was him who could not resist the lure of your lips now. They were still trembling from the sensual kiss you had shared, and he needed to feel them again, just once, just for a blink of time. One last taste to get him through the rest of the day before he would at last have you all to himself again tonight. 

[kittydcoxx]

Stay with Me.

KAEYA X READER.

Warnings: light angst/heartbreak but nothing bad (happy ending)

The tavern was as crowded as usual, and by that meaning almost completely baren for a rainy Wednesday afternoon. As you order a apple cider from Charles, the tavern door bell rings and you instinctively turn to check.

"Ah~ it is pouring out, I need a drink to combat the dissapointment of getting my fur cape wet."

Kaeya. Of course he wasnt the last person you'd expect to see open the tavern doors, he just wasnt much of a "afternoon delight" type drinker. Still, you stare as he tries to cooly swipe off the wet rain from his uniform as he walks towards the counter and takes a seat next to you.

"Well, well! Good afternoon y/n! What a suprise to see a beauty such as yourself here at this hour."

He raises an eyebrow and smirks as he turns to look straight ahead and run his fingers through his hair, not allowing time for you to respond before he has a drink in his hand.

"Afternoon Captain,"

You face him and smirk with the same intensity of flirty-ness as he just had.

"Of course you would be surprised to see me at this hour, you usually drink yourself to sleep before i order a evening drink."

You chuckle and look straight ahead and take a swig of your beverage, the confidence of your little witty come back replays as the cider burns your throat.

"Oh ho, well thats quite the attitude! I must ask, whats the purpose of this?"

"Hmm?"

"The occasion? I've never seen you drink three days in a row, I've been sober enough to pay attention to that."

The truth is, the last few days you've been at a bit of a crossroads. You know you and the Cavalry Captain share feelings, but you have a job offer in Natlan. This job is a dream to you, ever since you were a child. You could never dream of passing this opportunity, but you question if this possible romance could be the first significant one. You've been meaning to bring it up to him, but recently you just havent seen enough of him to bring up the subject. As a result, you turned to the more than occassional drink at the tavern to brighten your mood from the decision that faces you.

"Well then if you're interested, it actually... might concern you."

Your face is flushed red due to nerves, of course it doesnt directly concern him since nothing astronomical has occured in order to absolutely weigh your decision based on a man, but you didnt want to leave without warning.

"I see, well, we haven't..." His cheeks grow the slightest bit red as his eyes skip to look around then back at you.

"we haven't progressed to that yet, have we? I mean, you're not pregnant are you?"

"What?!" You're taken aback by the direct-ness of his statement, about the fact that he thought it could even have been a possibility. Was it confirming your suspicions of him returning feelings? "No, i- its not that! That is out of the question completely!" You yelp as you shake your hands as a frantic meaning of saying "Absolutely no way".

"Of course! of course.. i just figured i'd ask in case, but i guess drinking for a few days regularly isnt particularly healthy for a baby."

You roll your eyes and take another swig. Oh boy.

"It's actually more of an advice thing, i suppose."

"Ah~ well! lets discuss then, hm!" He happily takes a sip of his wine, his face surprisingly relieved.

"So? What do you need the great Master Kaeya's guidance on?" He smiles and giggles slightly.

"Actually, I'd like to take this outside."

"But its raining cats and-"

"Outside. please."

Your tone picks up more aggresively and he gets the memo. He takes one more sip of his beverage and you do the same with yours. You pay Charles and meet Kaeya right at the door.

"Get ready for the rain, sweetheart"

Your heart jumps as he grabs your wrist and swings open the door, pulling you with him down the street, stopping at a small archway behind a building, big enough to comfortably converse without being cramped or drenched.

"Now, where were we?"

"right.. well.." You look down and fidget with your thumbs, only to look back up at him and see him gazing into your eyes, examining your soul and what felt like your heart. Did he already know? It sure felt like it.

"I have a big decision to make, but i want to ask you before i come to a concrete decision."

He nods as a sign to continue talking, acknkowledging his position in helping you decide.

"I might have to move away. To natlan more specifically. I've recieved a dream~ job offer that i simply cant refuse, unless i was faced with new circumstances here in Mondstadt."

"Hm, And how do i play a role in this?" He asks as he folds his arms and leans back against the stone wall.

You explain to him his part, and he lets you talk until you are completely finished. you tell him your feelings, your worries, your doubts, and your hopes. Every single one that included him in the package. He looks at you sternly the whole time, but he looks hurt at the same time and you wonder why.

"Well, i honestly dont know what to say to this y/n. You know i cant leave Mondstadt if we were to persue eachother."

"I know."

"Then why bother telling me? Why not just leave, hm? Before damage could be done? before you told me all this, confirmed my hopes in our relationship but crushed it with the fact that you 'might' leave? You should have just spared me and left!"

He looks emotional and teary eyed, much more that you're used to seeing from a man who held such a cool composure 24/7. Have you hurt him that much? Does he hate you?

"I can always stay if you wan-"

"No. Its your dream job, and you shouldnt pass it off. I just cant promise that i'll wait for you."

He steps closer to you, inches from your face. His breath is warm and it contrasts with the cold rainy air. He slowly takes your hand and hold it in his, then lands a soft passionate kiss onto your lips. A few seconds of the kiss pass and he breaks for air and looks at you, making strong magnetic eye contact with you.

"Y/n, I can't wait for you."

"You dont have to. I can stay."

He runs his hands up your arms and grips firmly onto your shoulders and kisses you again, and when he pulls back he lets out a heavy sigh.

"There's no staying, just be safe. Please."

Your throat swells like a rock is stuck and your eyes burn hot along with your ears. You cant muster any words, you just stand there maintaining a sorrow eye contact for a few seconds.

As you both stare in silence, he slowly lets go of you, and as soon as his hands depart from yours, he turns and walks out and into the road. The further he walks and fades from your vision, the further you slide down the wall until your behind hits the wet floor as you curl up to your knees. Hard, Hot tears stream steadily down your cheeks as you hide your head in your knees, sobbing hard yet silently. Your heart aches and your stomach churns.

You want to run and look for him, grab him by the waist and embrace him in a hug from behind as you cry against his back, but he has already erased you from his plethora of memories as he sulks in his room with a drink. The night is weary and so are you. You walk home, replaying the scene in your mind over and over, and the instant you step into your home, you fall to your knees and sob once more.

You dont even close the door behind you. You cant do anything but cry, you had no idea you felt so strongly for Kaeya, but you had to put it all behind you.

He probably had.

What feels like an hour or two goes by and you barely made it to the couch, where you lay sprawled out, half on the couch and half not as you stare into empty space, thinking of nothing but everything at once. Why did his mood snap so quickly? Why did he cut you off? Was it self defense? What could he gain by pushing you away? You had no clue, but you didn't want to dwell on it and start crying again, so you just lay there trying to fall asleep.

Suddenly, a warm, slender hand grazes your back and rubs up and down softly.

"I'm sorry."

You jolt a little, but you dont get up immediately.

"How long have you been like this? Its almost night again y/n. Have you gotten up at all!? Your door was wide open, I was worried."

No response from you as you try to analyze the voice. It sounds like Kaeya, but you had remind yourself that he wanted nothing to do with you.

The man sighs and walks away. A hallucination for sure, you thought. The male comes back and lifts you by the shoulders. He sits on the couch and then lays your head onto his lap.

You look up and are met with blue eyes, one scarred and one as normal as you're used to seeing on him, though both glossy as if about to cry.

"Kaeya?"

"Mhm. Sit up Darling, you need to drink water."

You obey and sit close beside him, sipping the water he hands you with both hands on the glass like a child. He puts his arm around you and his hand on your head and gives you a soft yet quite long kiss on the head as you finish your water.

"Im sorry. We can work something out. I know that i shouldn't.. I can't push you away."

You dont fight his embrace as it gets firmer, and his body trembles slightly as if he is crying.

"Do you want me to stay?" you ask sheepishly.

"My dear, its up to you what you want. I'll follow you in whatever you decide. Im choosing to persue you, the rest is yours to seal."

"I want to stay." you state calmly.

"As you wish." He eyes your empty glass of water and gets up to pour you some more. When he comes back you sit against him again, and drink the glass empty, then put the glass on the coffee table and lay your head on his lap.  

"Sleepy?"

"Mhm.."

He chuckles and holds you as you fall asleep, giving you tender kisses all over your face. When you fall asleep, he carries you bridal style upstairs to your room and tucks you into your bed. For a moment he stands there and ponders leaving you to rest, but the guilt of the words he said yesterday and seeing your state today convinced him to stay at your side. He walks to the other side of the bed and crawls in beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist and gives you one more peck before falling asleep.

You wake up once in the middle of the night to use the restroom, and when you come back to your room you're awake enough to process the fact that Kaeya was indeed in your bed. You crawl up into where you were in the bed before but this time facing him. You run your fingers along his face, feeling every bone and inch of his smooth skin, his tan beauty enhanced by the glow of the moonlight that peeked in through the window across the room from the bed. Your run your fingers down his hair and admire how his hair falls down his body. You've only been this close to him once, but never had you touched him like this. Your face was red and your smile was definitely pronounced, and as you stroke his cheek his eyes slowly open to see your expression.

"Good morning y/n~" he smiles and wraps his arms around you softly.

"How did you sleep?"

"Actually, its midnight."

"Oh, i see. Well, lets fall back asleep shall we? Or are you wide awake?"

You don't respond immediately but instead wrap your arms around him and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"Back to sleep.."

He chuckles and brings you closer to his body, rubbing your back and stroking your hair until you both are hazy and about to fall asleep.

"I love you..." you whisper, half aware of what you just said and half not.

He pauses for a second, then gently squeezes your body as if to be his response back.

"I love you too.." he whispers back, his words echo in your mind as you drift to sleep, your dreams filled with nothing but happiness and him. 

You would stay in Mondstadt, but occasionally take trips to Natlan for a few weeks, and would try to take Kaeya with you if he wasn't too busy. The two of you became inseperable, and quite the item for some time, the story of your romance left most who heard it in tears.

After every time you tell the story, he grips your hand and grabs your face softly making you look into his eye.

"I'm glad you stayed."

He says as he pulls you in for a tender kiss, which is usually embarrassing in public but you dont mind in this case, because it was of genuine emotion and not of his flirtatious teasing.

You really do love him.

NOTES!!!!!!!!!!!

This was my first fanfic LMAO

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw​ @commonintrest​ @emmojoy​ @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​​

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever  since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones. 

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant.  “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

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[thefinishpiece]

Remember The Rain

The lawn has gone again.

Memories of rain torn apart by thunder. Faces faded, nearly disappearing, forgotten to be full. And lullabies wading through storm, as if softness could overpower colossus.

Driving on a street, splashed in misplaced sea, wondering if we should count the lines or the shrimp. But it wasn’t a Friday, it was someday, somewhere, a place I must have been, to be here drenching my mind.

Hopelessly nostalgic. Maybe it is all display. Some theatrical thought for me to replay over and over, hypnotizing myself to believe in its own certainty. Life happened here—it cannot be erased.

And yet, where is it?

Down waterslides and carpools it must have been slithering there, through all these things, wet and lurking. Too young to be independent but old enough to feel like that’s what you wanted.

Drowning in a lunchroom, tables and chairs upturned in the flood, clouds of mustard and soggy biscuits floating the airwaves beside my face.

I am barely there. Hovering. My legs swirl in the deep so my body stays unsubmerged, but I can barely breathe. I see bodies like lily-pads—motionless, complacent. They have all perished but I remain. Just a remainder.

All this talk of I—memory can be so narcissistic. Spaces which you cling to specialness, all for yourself, as if they had been spaces designed just so you could occupy them. Holy relics. Sacred secrets. They told you something they told no one else.

But that must be wrong. Because these spaces go on without me. But they are impressions, furious and sensual in my mind, touching me and cooling me off. Maybe I’m the only one who thinks they’re special—that’s why they let me remember them.

And yet, where are they?

Integration is a slow process. One mired by mires of placement. If I could classify every object I ever felt, every feeling I ever expressed, every motion I ever carried, would I come any closer to being fulfilled by leaving it all behind?

Maybe the weight would disintegrate. All the things which shaped me and defined me would be conditionally completed, and I could be reborn in layers of new and future me. Like the only thing holding me back this whole time were the times before this. But—they appear as fantasy now.

You cannot be stymied by imaginary obstacles. Especially those you made yourself.

But I am so sure my memories are real—they must be real, or else what good is the rest of me? What definition can I chain around my neck and submit to? Do I bathe in clarity or despair?

Liquids inside me turn more murkier by the minute. Until I am a swamp walking upright; a swamp thing being upstanding. Until I am the steps of a temple becoming reef, stone becoming coral, flesh becoming seaweed.

Still I hang my head. Forget the rain falling in my eyes. I was blind once—never again.

And yet, here I am.

[rason-rodd]

All The Time We Need - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Reader and Jason meet again after two years being apart and reconnect with their long lost love.

Warning : Angst, Fluff, Smut  

Author’s note: A OS definitely inspired by my 2-years long hiatus and that somewhat acknowledges it. It was almost cathartic writing it and allowed me to reconnect with Jason on a writing scale. You can read it as a sequel to “Summer Love and Swimming Pool” or not. Some moments are a bit too cheesy to my taste but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. NSFW Part is at the end. You can skip that part if you want to.

You actually realise Time flies when you take time to acknowledge it. And sometimes acknowledging is like getting buried under a mountain of sand and feeling each grain slowly chocking you and reminding you there is no escaping. The sands of Time cannot be stopped, nor can they be shoveled. They run and slip through your fingers like dust in the wind and the tighter you try to grasp them the faster they go. And when they’re gone, there is no catching them back.     That’s why Time is scary. Because no matter what you do, it won’t allow you to go back or to put an end to it. And it will certainly not allow you to forget about it either. Time will pave your life until the day you die with a constant reminder that, unlike it, you’re not eternal. And the saddest thing is it doesn’t care about what you think of it.           And yet, it seemed like Jason Todd had managed to tell Time to go fuck itself. “How long has it been?”

He hadn’t changed a bit. Looking as handsome as ever. Always and eternally sporting the same disheveled short black hair and the same mischievous yet tortured blue eyes, eyes that had put you in more trouble than you could remember. “Two years or so … I don’t know.”             All you could remember was a passionate summertime infatuation that had burnt your body and your heart night and day like a hot and dazzling sun. A fading yet intense memory you secretly cherished and replayed in period of loneliness and that you couldn’t seem to be able to replace on the timeline of your life. “Still so beautiful, I see.” You scoffed and he chuckled. “What?”       “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He scratched his head; arm muscles compressed in a leather jacket à la Jason that made you wonder how he could bear wearing such a light jacket in such freezing weather. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You goggled at his smile, childish, adorable yet naturally so seductive. The same smile that used to make your legs shake and turn to jell-o. “I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.”         “Right back at you. Last time I heard of you, you were in this little town … Hopletown, was it?”   “Appleton.” He corrected. “Looks like Timbo talks about me in my absence.”           “You’re his brother. Of course, he talks about you, just like everyone else in your family.” Judging by his signature small crooked smile on his face he seemed touched by your words, taking even time to ponder over them. Did the family really think of him in his absence?

Shivering, you tightened your wool coat around you, attempting to prevent the cold wind to infiltrate under the cloth and steal your body heat, as you let Jason think about what you had just said. But your reaction didn’t go unnoticed and it managed to pull him out of his train of thoughts. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer? We could have something to drink, catch on. I’m sure you got plenty to tell.”         “Not plenty but I could use a hot tea.” You confessed, already imagining the spicy smell of cinnamon and chai in your nostrils and the hot steam caressing your cold face.     “Amazing.” He grinned, genuinely happy and excited, a bit like a little boy at a toy store, and lowered your beanie to properly cover your ice-cold reddened ears. That gesture got you confused for a small second but it was so sweet and caring you eventually smiled. Ah Todd, always the overprotective type I see.

***

“So, what are you doing in Gotham City? I thought you wanted to ‘travel the world Dora The Explorer-style and get the hell out of this cesspool’?” He quoted you and your genuine chuckle made him smile but only briefly as you gained back your seriousness in a matter of seconds.

He could tell you were not the same girl he used to date two summers ago. You had changed, matured. You had become a woman, a woman who seemed to struggle with responsibilities so heavy they could crush her at any second. You looked tired, weary… sad even. The cheeky light in you was gone. And he wanted to know why. Not out of curiosity but to help you.           “Well, I did travel and it was awesome, like a dream come true. But I guess we always wake up from dreams eventually.” You looked down at your tea, looking at your pale reflection in the hot water, melancholia hitting you like a train. “My mother got sick and, well, her savings were not enough to pay for all the medical care so … let’s say I had to swap my backpack for a satchel… I work at Wayne Enterprises now. Bruce hired me, out of pity I suppose.”         “I’m sure it wasn’t out of pity.” You shrugged and Jason grabbed your hand and you looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about your mother. I know how it’s like to …”     “Do you still think about us?” You abruptly cut him short, not willing to keep talking about your personal issues or to plunge Jason back in dark memories that you know were very hard for him to handle.     Sure, you could have chosen another question, another topic of conversation but the thing was that those words were niggling at you since the moment you two broke up. “I mean do you happen to think about what happened between us?”

Jason didn’t answer at first, more out of surprise than out of hesitation because there was none. There was just one answer to that question. Of course.             Of course he had thought about you all over those two years. Of course he had thought about what happened, about the moments spent with you – however ephemeral they had been -, about that love he had felt and had never learned to completely erase despite the women who had entered and exited his life. Of course there had been nights in which he had replayed the lustful burning memories of you in his arms, against him, against his naked body. Of course was the answer. But not the answer he gave you. “Come with me.” He forced you to get up and slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the table, not caring about the hot chocolate he hadn’t finished or the blueberry muffin you had barely touched. “But … the change.” You tried to protest.         “Fuck the change. I want to show you something.”

***

           Out of all the places in Gotham, you never thought he would have brought you here. “Why are we here, Jason?”       It was an ancient building, far from the fancy city centre and only a few blocks away from Crime Alley. Dilapidated, covered in colorful yet ugly graffiti, this place looked liked a landmark for drug dealers and junkies and it was an understatement to say that, without Jason’s company, it would have normally made you feel unsafe and uncomfortable.         “I grew up here, before Bruce took me in.” You glanced at Jason who was staring at the place with both disgust and melancholia. “I’ve always hated that place. But it was home. And I guess it made me… I guess that is because of that place that I somehow became the man I am today… I mean, if Jason Todd hadn’t grow up here with a junkie mother and a lousy father he would have never met Brue Wayne and never became …” He stopped, on purpose, you could tell it. “Even if I hate to, I come back here when I want to think of my past, when I’m looking for a reason to keep on fighting. This place is like my temple, a memento of who I am. Damn, you must think I’m crazy.”         “ No, not at all… ” You smiled and put your hand on his arm to reassure him. “Just very Romantic for the bad boy of the Wayne family.” You teased him, knowing perfectly that literature always been Jason’s hobbyhorse and that the whole bad boy thing was a persona, a thick armour he had made to protect himself.     “Blame Alfred. He’s the one who made me ready Wordsworth.” He joked, appreciating the small banter. “Follow me.”           You took the warm hand he offered you and followed him inside the decaying building, minding your step and trying to ignore the dirt and the potential rats.          

Once on the third floor, Jason pushed a rackety wooden door that cracked and squeaked on its hinges and you entered what once was his house. “You grew up here?” You asked only to fill the heavy void caused by this dreadful place. “It was the living room. Used to hide under the table there when my parents were fighting.”

You looked around you, trying to imagine a small Jason living in here. You always knew about his crappy childhood but there is a huge difference between what you had imagined based on the stories Jason had told you in the intimacy of your bedroom and this place.       “You asked me why we’re here.” You turned around and spotted Jason knelt on the dusty wooden floor, a small dusty shoebox that he had just taken from under a floorboard between his hands. “I’ve had this since I was a child. Used to keep the things I loved most in it. Somehow, even after I left this place, I never could take it away from here.” He handed it to you and you slowly opened it, careful not to drop it. You could tell this box was important to Jason.

The content left you silent and you sat on the floor near Jason to study it. “I never really opened it. I don’t like getting stuck in the past. It terrifies me.” You frowned, thinking about all the nightmares, all the anxiety attacks he used to have back in the days you were together. “I never showed it to anyone either but hopefully that’ll answer the question you asked me in that coffee shop.” The question? You had forgotten about it, way too overwhelmed by the sudden solemnity of this moment.  “Never?”           “You’re my first. You should be proud” He tried to joke to lighten the mood and it worked for a couple of seconds. Then, you saw it, among a dog toy, a broken necklace, a batarang and other small tokens. A photo of you two kissing and smiling. A Polaroid you had personally taken on the day when Tim had offered you the camera to illustrate your travel book. “You kept it.” You declared in a whisper.     “I told you. I keep the things I love most in that box.” You stared at Jason, at the cracks of melancholia and the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes he allowed only a few people to see. “Of course I thought of you over the years.”       You were not the cheesy romantic type. Jason was - something rooted to his love for gothic literature and poetry you supposed. But that sincere and pure confession got you all … flushed? bothered? You couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling but you could feel the shaky warmth spreading in your body, now paralyzed by the beauty of that moment. “Did you … think of me?”

If Time could stop, you would have chosen this moment to stop it. Here, now, away from your stressful life and its issues, away from all fears and all pains, with Jason and only him, forgetting about the past you’ll never be able to change or the future that vows to be uncertain and scary, thinking about what truly matters, now. “What do you think?” He chuckled and you saw his hand slightly twitch, as if he was hesitating to do something. And so you took it in yours and shared an umpteenth intimate look only he could read. “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” Meaning, sometimes I wish I would have stayed and be with you.           “Trust me, princess. You made the right choice. Your life would have been miserable with me.” He tried to reassure you, in vain. After all, he could barely convince himself? “More miserable than the one I have right now? I seriously doubt it, Jay.” You frowned and finally got up, leaving Jason’s box on the ground, to watch at the sunset and its red golden rays from the shattered window. “What do you think would have happened had I stayed?” You had your ideas; small little ones of pure love, happiness and bliss that Jason would have managed to lock in that little box of his. “I have a better question, Y/N. What do you think can happen right now?” He was towering you, expecting an answer, waiting as he was gazing at your skin glowing under the soft light of the sun and at your shining eyes. “You tell me, Todd.” This sentence echoed in Jason’s head as a call.

And so his thumb brushed your cold cheek and you looked up at his face, your eyes glued to his features observing them and all the small details you hadn’t noticed before. A little scar thin as a needle on his right brow and a much bigger one, an invisible one that you could see in his eyes, the scar left by all the losses and the pains he had gone through recently. Roy, Bizarro, Artemis. Maybe Jason had changed as well after all. Maybe there was no secret to stop time. But he didn’t let you ponder over this and gently pressed his lips on yours.

He needed that. He had thought about it all day and the truth was, you had too. You welcomed his kiss without hesitation or second thoughts and came to press your small body against his - which seemed so tall and strong in comparison to yours – to instinctively look for safety and protection. “I missed you, princess.” He whispered close to your mouth for a brief second before capturing your full lips with his again. “I missed you too.” You confessed, hands over his hard chest, feeling his heart beat loudly under your palms.     Jason was holding you close now, his arms tightly circled around your form as if he was scared for you to leave, scared to be alone again. His fingers weaving in your hair, his head buried in the nape of your neck, he was pecking your delicate skin, smelling the sweet and heady perfume, glad it was exactly like the one he remembered. “Damn, Y/N. You’re still driving me crazy.”  He murmured as he allowed his hands to slide in your coat and under your jumper to caress your bare back, awakening a cheekiness that you thought was long gone. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You quoted him.

***

           As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut, your coat dropped to the floor and with hasty hands, Jason threw your beanie across the room, showing an excitement you had almost forgotten. It almost knocked an old crystal vase over but he couldn’t care less.   He had waited long enough. Two years to be precise and he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Bedroom?” He asked between two hungry kisses that were making you almost suffocating against him. “ At the end of the corridor.” You whispered, already breathless, as you managed to finally get rid of his leather jacket.       “Okay.” He suddenly grabbed you to hoist you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, squeezing it on purpose. A lustful yet cheerful action that made you yelp in surprise.  “I’m already making you scream? Perfect.” He declared with an amused smile as he rushed towards the bedroom, with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring yours.     “Wrong door.” You said as he tried to open the bathroom. “Fuck.” You giggled and very soon your body finally bounced on your bed as it landed on the soft mattress.

You attempted to sit down to admire Jason but before you could do anything the hasty young man was already on top of you, right in between your legs, his lips already kissing your hot belly as his hands were slowly pulling up your jumper above your lace-covered breasts.           That’s when your first moan finally escaped your mouth. “God. I missed that sound.” Jason mumbled against your shivering skin as he cupped and squeezed your round breasts. “Do it again.” He demanded, his tongue licking you up until it reached your cleavage. “Jason.” You moaned his name, feeling a very specific humid warmth forming in between your legs as you fingers were struggling to get rid of his green t-shirt.   He cursed and knelt on the bed to take off your jumper that he carelessly tossed on the nightstand. It knocked the lamp and the radio alarm clock to the ground with a loud clinking noise. “Can you stop breaking my stuff?” You joked and he apologized with another amused bright smile. “I’m sorry, princess”             “Are you? Show me how much.” You declared with an audacious confidence you hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes, ma’am.” Jason winked and immediately unbuttoned your jeans to pull them down along with your panties, revealing your wet and rosy womanhood begging for his attention. He sighed and took a deep breath when he saw it, glad to rediscover that little part of you. Slowly, his calloused fingers went to caress it, making you draw a sharp breath as your fingers tightened around the covers. You didn’t want him to tease you too long and you somewhat you know he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too excited and needy for that.     And so were you in a way judging by the certain frustration that made you mewl when Jason’s expert finger slowly entered you while his thumb came to tickle your swollen clit. You wanted him now but you had to admit you had missed his fingers down there, the same way you had missed everything about him. Which reminded you there was something you had to do. “Let’s even the odds, shall we? I want to see how you handle such a sweet torture.”   “Sweet torture?” He repeated with a cute chuckle as you unbuckled his leather belt. “How am I torturing you, Y/N?” You unzipped his black trousers and immediately plunged you hand in his underwear to gently grab his already hard cock, making Jason curse even more crudely than before.           You chuckled and free his shaft from his boxers to jerk him off. He was as thick and long as you remembered. You bit your lower lip, impatient to feel him inside you. “Like what you see?”             “Shut up.” You knelt on the mattress and immediately took his tip between your lips to suck it like a lollipop, enjoying the taste of his bitter pre-cum on your tongue and the sound of Jason’s sharp breath in your ears. “Damn it, princess.” He managed to say with half lidded eyes.   You licked his penis with a grin before finally welcoming it in your mouth with a lustful moan. How much you had missed it. “You know. I think I get what you mean by sweet torture now.” Jason confessed as he weaved his fingers in your soft hair, torn apart by two ideas: one, let you continue your amazing blow job. Two, fuck you like he never did before. But you did not listen and started bobbing your head the way you knew he loved, taking his dick as deep as you could without gagging around him. “Fucking hell, Y/N” Jason groaned as he grabbed your head between his hands to accompany your pace. “You’re fucking amazing.” Then, his hand gently slapped your ass and he bent over to kiss it with a loving smile that was swallowed by another growl of his as his abs violently tensed with pleasure. “Alright, enough.” He pushed you flat on your back and placed himself between your legs again. He kissed your folds and licked your slit to wet it even more than it already was to finally lingered on your clit that he sucked eagerly, forcing a guttural crying moan out of your tightly sealed lips. Damn, that tongue! “I thought you said enough.” You complained, your voice as low as a whisper.

Jason chuckled and smiled brightly before he eventually knelt in between your spread thighs. “God, how gorgeous you are.” He declared as he tapped his hard cock against your reddened lips, a cheeky gesture whose sole purpose was to make you beg. You knew it. “You want this?”       “Fuck, Jay.” You grumbled, moving your hips vigorously against his shaft, looking for a way to finally welcome it inside you. But Jason ignored your whim and bent over your body. “You want me?” His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath caressing your lips. “Yes.” You murmured. “I want you, Ja…” He did not let you finish your sentence and caught your lips with a burning eagerness, his hand around his cock guiding it inside you, making you moan in his mouth. “Fuck.” Jason growled between his gritted teeth as he felt himself slowly sinking inside of you. “I almost forgot you felt so tight.” “ I almost forgot you were so big.” You cleared your voice, an inexplicable mechanism to relax and allow his cock to fully enter and stretch you. “I know. Sorry.” He winced, adjusting his position on top of you to admire how beautiful you were around his penis and how perfect you pussy was for him. “Damn. I don’t know if I’ll last long, princess.” Jason admitted with a shiver and you cried out when he suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one long exquisite move. “That’s alright. We’ll do it again.”

Those last words made Jason grin in a way he had never done before as he was genuinely happy that you didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a casual lay to remember the old good days.       So he immediately took a nice pace that quickened after each new thrust and you let your hands caress his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply handsome. Then you nudged his rear with your ankles, pressing his hips closer to yours to take him deeper inside of you, and started moaning his name again, a strong wave of pleasure forming in your core, ready to drown you. “Jay!” His mouth met your neck and sucked on the thin skin with ardour. “Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” That was too much to handle. “Yeah” You cried out, tears of bliss watering your eyes.       “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice. You dug your nails in his back and screamed loudly as your walls clenched around tightly his thick cock. “That’s it, princess.” He said as you kept calling his name on and on, sending him closer to a most awaited orgasm that he eventually reached and let explode in you under the shape of a loud growled “fuck” and beads of white seed right inside of you. “Y/N” Jason groaned between his gritted teeth as he thrust hard and deep in you for the last time, his sweaty forehead against yours. “Jay!” You shouted again while clawing at his back painfully enough to make him wince and hiss.     Then he stopped moving, exhausted and breathless just like you, and watched you sink in the mattress trying to catch your breath. He caressed your hair as you both slowly came down from cloud nine. A kiss on your nose and he whispered. “You’re okay?” and in spite of the silliness of the question you nodded. “Never been better.”

Your lips found each other again and Jason let himself lie down on you, placing his head on your breasts, listening to your hearts pounding and to your loud ragged breaths. “I missed you.” He whispered and he held you body against his.     “I missed you too.” You repeated as you planted a kiss in his wet dark hair. “Did you have to keep your jeans on?” The question escaped with a laugh and Jason chuckled. “You know me. Didn’t want to waste any time.” He managed to gather the little energy he had left to sit down and finally remove his trousers as he thought he would feel more comfortable without them. ��Oops. I think I broke your clock.” He grimaced as he noticed you the broken device on the floor and the flickering numbers flashing up endlessly on the screen. “I don’t care.” You said as you pulled Jason back against you. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

[cindersnightmare]

a deal with time (cath x jest au)

summary: after cath pleads with time to bring jest back, he responds and gives her instructions.

warning: this is pretty long so get ur snacks ready and enjoy

***

a day had passed since the dreadful battle on the pumpkin field. cath hadn’t stopped crying, all she could think about was jest’s lifeless body. she went over the event in her head, replaying her mistakes, imagining everything going differently. it made her feel even worse. 

her mind and body had become a dark wasteland, all light and hope snuffed out, with no chance of returning. how could she ever smile again if jest was gone? 

cath lifted her head from her pillow and walked to her vanity. she sat on the stool and looked at her reflection, not surprised by the dark circles and tear stains. she closed her eyes and whispered, “please. please bring him back.” her hands gripped the edge of the vanity. “i will do anything. i will serve you until i am nothing but bones and dust. i will give anything if you bring jest back to me.” 

her pleas were quiet but passionate, every word racked with a small sob. any faith she had left was poured into every syllable as her knuckles turned white and her throat burned from the promises. she had to believe time would hear her. she had to believe that there was a chance for all of this darkness to go away. 

“child, why do you ask such an impossible request?” 

a deep voice startled her, and she opened her eyes. when she looked back in the mirror, there were faint features of eyes, a nose, and lips. she froze as her face collided with the spirit in the glass. “time?” she wavered.

“yes, that is me.” the reflection rippled as he spoke. “it’s not easy bringing someone back from the dead. they travel so far, and it’s a task that needs to be done quickly. why should i do this for you?” 

a million reasons popped into her head as soon as the question hit the air. “jest didn’t deserve death. he deserves to be happy, he should be with me. please, i will do anything you ask.” cath cried, willing to give up everything for jest, like she had done the night before at the ball. she still couldn’t understand how the night had started so hopeful for them and then ended in terror. 

time seemed to calculate her response, taking a moment to speak. when he did, a ripple moved through the glass, catching the afternoon light coming in from the window. “lots of people don’t deserve to die. i cannot bring back all of them. why should i do this for you?” he asked again. 

“i made a mistake. i shouldn’t have gone through the door, i shouldn’t have come back to hearts. this place and its people have done nothing but hurt us. i should have gone to chess with jest. he didn’t deserve to die for my foolish decision. i will pay any price, please.” she pleaded again, tears clouding her vision. a pit of regret had been growing in her stomach for hours. she was sinking, drowning, grasping for a life raft. 

“the sisters told you your fate.” time said. “you knew what would happen if you went through the door. you chose the fate you were given, so why should you be able to escape it now?”

cath sobbed and grasped at her chest. it was hurting more than ever. “hatta has been able to escape his fate. you made a deal with him, you’ve helped him run from his inevitable madness.” she stated, watching as the face in the mirror remained still. “your deal with him is broken, but not through hatta. if you want to make good on your deal with him, make one with me. then everything will be as it should.”

silence engulfed them for a few moments. cath had developed a headache along with the pain in her heart and the pit in her stomach. she would put her all into this until a deal was made and jest was in her arms again.

“you have given me good reasons, child.” he spoke, his deep and somber voice filling the air once again. “escaping fate is my specialty, but i always need good reason, and someone willing to do anything for what they wish. hatta had always kept good on his promise and paid every price. his deal did not deserve to be broken, and your fate was unfair and unkind to you and your companions. i would like to change that fate for you.” 

air filled her lungs, a weight lifted off her shoulders, and the tears had stopped falling. “you will? oh, thank you! anything you ask, i will do. i promise.” she rambled as relief and gratitude filled the empty wasteland.

“i will have to give you instructions, i cannot bring jest back by myself. you need to go back to the pumpkin patch.” time said and a shiver rolled down her spine. “you will have to wield the weapon that killed him and pour this over it.” a small bottle fell out of the mirror and onto the vanity next to cath’s hand. it contained a clear liquid, but surprisingly had no note attached. “once the potion is poured, stick the axe in the ground where he died. i will do the rest.” 

cath picked up the bottle and shoved it in her dress. “how long will this take?” she asked. 

time rippled the mirror again. “retrieving a wandering soul is not an easy task, but it must be done before sunset. after the sun goes down, he cannot be saved. i cannot extend time enough to save the dead from leaving this world. you must go now, child.” 

as soon as the words were spoken, cath was leaving her room. she ran past her mother and father, who were shocked to see her out of her room, but didn’t get a chance to talk to her. she was already out the door and running through town. everyone stared at her with curiosity and bewilderment as she raced past them. they were sure she had gone mad and made sure to stay away.

once the pumpkin patch was in sight, cath’s nerves had started to riot. the memories from the night before were haunting her, filling her with desires of setting the whole field on fire. but she had a job to do, so she shoved those feelings aside.

the patch had almost looked like it did when cath first visited. the only difference was the broken pumpkin jail and the large spot of dark blood on the dying grass. cath walked towards the dried pond, tears welling in her eyes, remembering jest’s body lying there just hours ago. the axe was only a few feet away, and it wore the same red stains. 

she picked up the weapon as hatred for peter grew in her heart, but she quickly erased him from her mind and pulled the bottle out of her dress. she tore the cork out and threw it on the ground. as she poured the potion onto the axe, the blood disappeared, as if it had never existed. she watched as every drop collided with every inch of the weapon. once the bottle was empty and there was no hint of red on the metal, she lifted the axe, and used all her strength to lodge it in the middle of the dark spot on the grass. the dried blood faded away quickly. 

cath stood and waited. a mantra played in her head, telling her that this will work. she willed herself to be patient as she watched the ground closely. 

the dead, yellow grass started to turn green. a bright light flashed and blinded cath for a few moments. she covered her eyes with her hands, scared she did something wrong, scared something was going to kill her for trying to disrupt fate. but that fear quickly faded once the light did. she lowered her hands and saw her joker standing on the newly revived grass.

her heart had stopped for a second at the sight of him. it was like nothing had happened, like it was all a very, very bad dream. he was still wearing the suit from the ball. he didn’t have a scratch on him, not a bruise, not a spot of blood. she almost fainted from happiness. 

“jest!” cath exclaimed, his glowing eyes meeting hers, causing his confused expression to melt into a smile. she ran into his arms, burying her face in his neck. he quickly embraced her, filling her dark heart with joy. after a few moments she pulled back and kissed him. the empty wasteland was now a blossoming garden, a colorful and beautiful haven that would never die. as their lips collided and their arms wrapped around each other, cath had felt her broken pieces come back together. when the feeling was almost too overwhelming, she pulled back a few inches “i thought i lost you forever! i’m so sorry, jest, i never should’ve went through that stupid door!” she cried, holding him close. 

he cupped her face, his yellow eyes gleaming as he spoke. “don’t blame yourself, catherine. anyone would’ve done the same thing. you’re a good person, too selfless for your own good.” a teasing laugh escaped his lips, causing her to smile at the sound. “what happened, cath? how am i here?” he asked, his confused expression returning as he placed a hand to his throat, as if feeling for a wound or the axe that had caused it. 

“i made a deal with time.” cath said. “i couldn’t let go of you, i couldn’t accept your death. i had to bring you back.” she explained, reaching for his hand and holding it. 

jest’s eyes widened, worry clouding them. “you made a deal with time? what is your price?” 

“i’m afraid we didn’t get a chance to discuss that yet.” a somber voiced startled the reunited couple. they looked down and saw a face gleaming in the metal of the axe, staring back at them. “i apologize, we had to act quickly. i will declare your price now, and i’m sure it’s one you’ll be glad to pay.” 

cath nodded as she gripped onto jest’s arms. “yes, go on.” 

“jest cannot stay in hearts.” time began. “this is the place he died, the place where he is supposed to be dead. this land had his soul and now it doesn’t, and if his soul remains above ground in hearts after sunrise, it will take it back. once his soul is returned, the rest of your fate will resume and you will become queen, catherine.” 

she shivered at the thought of losing him again and held him even closer. “so what do we do?” she asked, hoping this fate would not destroy her like the last one. 

the reflection surged as if it was eager to answer her question. “you must leave hearts and never return, just as you wished to do last night. you cannot communicate with anyone in hearts. no one can know jest is alive. they will talk and the land listens. i am feeling quite generous, so that is all you will have to pay.” 

cath and jest looked at each other, smiles growing on their faces. “i’d say that’s a very good price.” he said as he brushed her hair away from her face. “tell me, time, are we able to bring a couple friends with us?” 

“if you are referring to the others who were affected by your last fate, then yes. the hatter and the raven may accompany you.” time responded. “i must leave you now. be quick, children.” the reflection faded and all that was left was a clean axe. 

a laugh escaped cath as if she wasn’t able to contain all of her happiness. “i think we struck a good deal. now let’s get our friends and leave this awful place.”

jest kissed her again, cheeks hurting from smiling. “lead the way, my love.”

***

tag list: @jacihayle @lothloriien @littlegreenfrog @cerenoya @winterrhayle @half-heaven @strawberry-seraph @lethughandsimonkiss @lavenderbloo @horton-hears-a-who @plain-jane-mclain @thepurpledragon4444 @lunarchroniclesnet @nodrianbcyes @artino-nova @princesspri222 @dawniebb @healing-winston-pratt @annoyingfangirlblog @idkchatie @dancing-in-my-bedroom @angstycatthatlikestea @queen-of-self-love @love-andanarchy @moon-swoon @girlfriendisthemoon @disco-funk-and-soul09 @jimenaatrash @hackergeniuscress @heartless-fanblog @princessselenecinder

[kanawuts]

The Girl Who Loved Fairy Tales

Inspired by this post by @panncakes

I haven’t written anything in years, so apologies if this is terrible. This is set in alternate universe where Jane doesn’t die and none of the characters are involved in sex trafficking. 

Part 1

“Wait, you know him?”

Tan’s voice cut through Jane’s thoughts and she glanced up from her phone. “Hm?”

“Did you just say that you know the doctor?” He leaned closer to her, eyes wide and eager.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, tucking her phone back into her purse. Pued was calling her. Again. And she was ignoring him. Again. “He used to live here when we were kids. We were best friends.”

She and Tan had been holed up in the back corner of the only coffee shop in Viangpha Mork for the last twenty minutes, under the guise of “grading papers,” but so far neither of them had gotten much work done. Tan had seemed distracted since the arrived, fiddling with his pen and shuffling papers around and not saying much at all, until suddenly he’d looked up and said, “Did you hear that the hospital hired a new doctor? I saw him at The Mist last night.”

“Of course,” she said, wondering why he was bringing this up. “Bunn and I go way back. He—”

She was cut off by her phone screen lighting up, alerting her to yet another phone call from Pued. What was it? The fifth one today? Why hadn’t she blocked his number yet? She really needed to block his number.

Pushing her ex to the back of her mind and refocusing on the conversation at hand, she watched as Tan’s eyes seemed to grow brighter with excitement as she explained the childhood connection she and Bunn shared.

“No shit? You guys are friends? That’s great!”

She squinted at him suspiciously. “And why is that?”

Tan paused, considering his words. “He…kissed me. Last night at The Mist. He was absolutely wasted and he stumbled into me and…he kissed me.”

“Oh?” said Jane, raising an eyebrow. She’d always had her suspicions about Bunn’s sexuality. He’d never seemed interested in girls back in their middle and high school days, but she’d never asked him about it and then he’d moved away and they’d lost contact. “And how did you feel about that?”

“Um, have you seen him?” Tan asked. “How do you think I felt about it?”

She tilted her head, considering this. “I didn’t know you liked boys.”

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, of course not.”

Tan was a bit of an enigma. Despite the fact that they had been friends for several years now, sometimes she felt like she knew close to nothing about him. He never talked about his personal life. And then there was way he could shift from an earnest, almost innocent sweetness into someone downright intimidating and dangerous – she didn’t fully know what to make of him most of the time.

“Okay, great,” Tan said, leaning back in his seat. “So it’s settled then.”

“Huh? What’s settled?”

“You’ll introduce me to him! Officially.”

“I don’t remember saying I would do that.”

If it was possible for a person to actually make the pleading face emoji expression in real life, Tan was currently doing so.

“Jaaaaaane,” he whined. “Please. I really think he might be my soulmate.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Your what?”

“I know that sounds crazy but hear me out. I’ve met him before. Well, not really ‘met,’ per se, but…had a run-in with. It was like eight years ago, back in college. He dropped some papers and I helped him pick them up and then he hurried off before I could introduce myself or get his name or anything and I’ve always been pissed at myself for not chasing him down. We had this connection, Jane, I swear we did. I can’t explain it, but I saw him and something…clicked. That sounds stupid, I know. But I’ve never been able to get him out of my mind. I’ll be having sex with someone and I’ll close my eyes and I’ll see his face. That has to mean something, right? A guy I said three words to years ago having that much of an impact on me? It has to mean something.”

Jane stared at him, completely caught off guard. He’d never opened up to her about something so personal before.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “God, why am I even telling you all this? You probably think I’m crazy.”

She reached out, taking one of his hands in her own and pulling it away from his face. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said, though that wasn’t exactly true. She quickly racked her brain for something positive to say about the situation. “I think…I think you have good taste. Bunn is the best person I know. I’m not surprised someone would spend eight years pining for him.”

Tan smiled slightly at that. “He’s really handsome,” he murmured.

Jane shook her head in disbelief. She had never seen him like this. “Well, I assume he’ll be at the party tomorrow night. I can introduce you there.”

“The party?”

“The hospital director’s birthday party! Tan, don’t tell me you forgot. You promised you’d be my date.

“Oh…right…”

He had definitely forgotten.

“Don’t even try to back out. You brother is going to be there. And my sister. I cannot face them alone, Tan. I really can’t.”

If there was one memory Jane wished she could erase from her mind forever, it was the sight of Pued and Rungtiva, together in bed. Even now, thinking about it, she felt sick to her stomach. But she couldn’t stop replaying the events in her head. Finishing up work early and deciding to go to Pued’s place to surprise him. Walking in on them. Letting out a shocked scream. Watching them spring apart. The look on Rung’s face, slightly smug, as she dressed and slipped out the door without a word to Jane. Pued’s tears and frantic apologies. “Jane, I’m sorry. I can explain. Please. Just listen to me. I’m so sorry. I love you. Please don’t leave.”

But she had left.

She sent him a text later. “We’re done,” was all it said. He hadn’t stopped calling her and texting her since. She really needed to block his number. Why couldn’t she bring herself to block his number?

Deep down, she knew why. Because he was the boy she’d loved for nearly her entire life. Her childhood friend who had finally turned into something more a year ago. She had truly believed she would spend the rest of her life with him, had truly believed he loved her and only her. But he had betrayed her. Tan thought that Bunn was his soulmate? What the hell did that mean anyway? Soulmate? Pued was her soulmate and he’d fucked her sister. It seemed to her that the whole concept was overrated and meaningless.

Wow. So there it was. She, Janejira Sookyod, the girl who loved fairy tales, the girl who cried watching cheesy rom-coms, the girl whose favorite holiday was Valentine’s Day, had become cynical and jaded.

“I’ll be there,” Tan said, pulling her from her thoughts.  He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “And I’ll kick Pued’s ass if he comes anywhere near you.”

**

Tan had stayed true to his word on that one. And unfortunately, he had to walk away from a conversation with Bunn to do so.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Tan,” she said quietly, as he drove her home. “You should have kept talking to Bunn. I can handle Pued on my own.”

Tan stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. “He hit you, Jane. You think I was just going to stand by and let him treat you like that?”

“I said some hurtful things to him,” she muttered.

Tan turned his head, the disbelief evident in his eyes. “He slept with your sister. Of course you said some hurtful things to him. Anyone would. That doesn’t excuse him putting his hands on you like that. Are you seriously defending him?”

“No, no, I just…” She trailed off, her head spinning. All she wanted was to change out of this dress into her comfiest pajamas, burrow under the covers of her bed, and stay there the rest of the weekend. “I just never thought he’d do something like that.”

“I’m really sorry this happened to you, Jane,” Tan said softly, seeming to recognize that she wasn’t in the mood to say anything else on the matter.

They drove the rest of the way home in silence.

**

Over the next week, Jane did her best to avoid thinking about Pued at all costs. Luckily, his attempts to contact her had stopped, besides one text he’d sent her the morning after the party that simply said “sorry.”

Sorry.

One word.

As if one word could possibly be enough to make up for what he had done.

She shook her head, as if she could shake the thought of him right out of her mind. This wasn’t what she needed to be focusing on right now. She was heading to the hospital to have lunch with Bunn and she was taking Tan with her. Mostly because he’d begged her to when she’d mentioned her lunch plans. But maybe this could prove to be a good distraction for her. Her own love life was in complete shambles, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help out her friends with theirs.

She watched as Tan’s eyes lit up as soon as Bunn rounded the corner, and she smiled, really smiled, for the first time since the incident at the party.

Perhaps she hadn’t become completely jaded and cynical.

“I thought you were coming alone,” Bunn said, as he reached out to hug her.

“I was going to, but Tan was desperate to see you,” she murmured in his ear as he pulled her close, hopefully quietly enough that Tan couldn’t hear her.

Bunn pulled away, and she a saw a small, pleased smile dance at the corner of his lips before he cleared his throat and rearranged his features into an expression of disinterest, as if anyone was going to buy that. He was the one who’d kissed Tan, after all.

She grinned. The two of them were going to make the cutest couple.

**

An hour later, she and Tan were heading back to her car when she heard someone shout her name.

They both turned, and Jane was surprised to see a doctor running towards them. She recognized her, but she didn’t know her name. How did the doctor know hers?

“Sorry,” the doctor said, coming to a stop in front of them. “I hope I didn’t startle you. Your Ariel keychain fell off your bag.”

Jane let out a little gasp. “Oh my god, thank you so much!” she exclaimed, as the doctor handed the keychain over. “I would have been devastated to lose her.”

“It’s really cute. I love the Little Mermaid,” the doctor said with a smile. “I’m Fai, by the way.”

To be continued...

Part 2

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

I’ve lost to temptation so here it is

My interpretation of magolor lets fucking go

So first section: How this bitch works

So Magolor is from Halcandria, a planet who’s core is essentially magic. There’s so much magic on this single planet that it leaked into the life and even some objects that could contain it. Magolor is no exception. Magic energy is essentially stored in a second heart (tho it’s more of a container than a heart), and runs through the body very similar to blood. It’s created and flows through his body, and allows for things like his eye glow, floating, and obviously powers. When he’s asleep, it regenerates. If there’s already enough magic energy while he’s asleep, it disposes of the old magic mostly by floating in sleep or by more severe means like insomnia aka magical overdose (which I’ve gone over before).

Next, is the glowing eyes!! Why he have that, I’ll tell ya. It makes it easier to detect other halcandrians as well as make it easier to detect light such as fire. Which is very useful when you need to look through ashy clouds and make sure a giant rock isn’t about to slam into you from above. It’s also a way to show the health of a halcandrian. Though the eyes glow yellow, they have a brown color very similar to their fur. If they’re sick or very unhealthy, they lose their glow and it slowly reverts to the brown color.

As a side effect of the master crown though, Magolor’s magic energy got boosted by the crown so he didn’t just die instantly by overwhelming power. It sounds like a good thing on paper, having so much energy to the point where he can fight non stop without getting tired magically, but magic overdose due to him not being able to deplete enough of it fast enough is a bitch. He gets sick a lot easier, bad insomnia, as well as occasionally using magic without realizing. So this clears out how he works and shit!! Now onto...

Before RTDL

So before RTDL Magolor had little social skills or experience with interacting with other people that wasnt lying to them to get them to do stuff. It was just how Halcandria worked. People kept to themselves and if you needed help you’d have to twist the truth in order to convince them. Relationships of any kind are very rare in Halcandria as well.

So when he met Marx, it was weird. He originally planned to let him stay until he got better and told him about why he was found in a Nova’s wreckage, so he could hopefully get Marx to lead him to something else he could use to defeat Landia. It didn’t go as planned. Marx was an unpredictable dude who immeadiatly fell for Magolor (but mags didn’t notice cause he’s never experienced someone else crushing or a crush) and due to that Marx spent a lot of time with Magolor during recovery and grew on him. He also ended up showing Magolor what friendship was, and honestly: magolor liked it. He liked having someone around. It was a nice change, and it was nice to have someone around to help (and rarely give him affection). So, Magolor wanted Marx to rule the universe with him once he killed Landia. He didn’t want Marx to leave. Though things started going downhill when an accident happened one time while exploring and Magolor was distracted, leaving to Marx having to use Nova’s power to make sure Magolor was safe.

And Magolor was fascinated, and god he was excited. He pried Marx for questions about his wings, constantly stared at them when they were out, and started talking about if he and Marx used their combined powers they could finally kill Landia and get what they want. But Marx didn’t want to. His want for power by then left, and he knew the consequences. He was happy just hanging out with Mags, and didn’t want to risk his life fighting a dragon with a crown of infinite power. But Magolor, despite liking the change of company, was used to being a loner and believed he could do it again since he’s halcandrian. He said Marx could leave if he didn’t want to, and that was when Marx started to see just how desperate Magolor was for the Master Crown. It was all too similar to his own desperation with Nova, and all words were useless and failed to change Magolor’s mind. So Marx left, and Magolor continued. He felt a little bad (and lonely) but pushed it down and decided no turning back and opted to modifying the Starcutter more like a weapon and attacking Landia that way, but failing.

Though he had a backup plan, thanks to Marx. Which brings me to..

The Betrayal

So this is RTDL time, before the betrayal. His back up plan was going to the pink hero Marx ranted about and using them to get the crown. After all, if they could defeat someone with the gift of Nova’s power, they could defeat a wyvern with a crown. They landed, and Magolor met everyone, but he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain someone. Chilly, who volunteered to stay with him while the others collected the spheres and parts (tho it was because he was suspicious). Mags didn’t know this, and assumed he was being nice. So the second person who (he thought) was being friendly with him enough to stay with him, and fill that hole Marx accdientally left by leaving him. He couldn’t not get attatched. He became REALLY REALLY clingy, and did as much as he could to keep himself focused as well as make sure they were friends. It backfired, making Chilly agitated most of the time, but it also semi worked later on. Most of his time between the betrayal and his crash landing was spent monitoring everyone’s progress, and trying to get Chilly to like him so he could do what he had to do during the betrayal.

Now during the betrayal! The closer he got to achieving the crown again, the more desperate and ooc he got. By the time he was at Halcandria, there’d be no way to talk him out of it, since he was THIS close. But there was still one thing wrong that he assumed the crown would fix: he couldn’t go back to being alone. He assumed he would adjust, since that’s how it’s been for his whole life. But now, that he’s actually had two people really close to him (and one leave) that showed him affection and didn’t only use him like in Halcandria, he didn’t want to go back to being alone. He couldn’t. But he came too far to turn back, and continued anyway (not like he ever changed his mind, but he did have moments of doubt). He told Chilly to stay in the Starcutter, wanting to keep him safe, which obviously didn’t go well for him when Chilly responded with freezing the ship from the inside to stop Magolor from using it in its attacks.

And of course, when Magolor sees this, he has a moment of “oh shit I can’t let him do this. I can’t lose someone else.” And tries to convince Chilly to join him. He talks about the two of them ruling and even giving Chilly Popstar to rule. He means it. He wants someone with him, somebody that he genuinely loves and treats him like a friend. He assumed that if he didn’t force Chilly into working with him like Marx, he would join in the end. And like any person with common sense, Chilly denies, loyal to Kirby and Popstar. THIS was the moment Magolor became truly desperate, he tries to convince Chilly to join him but he can barely get any words other than “but you were only friend” out while crying (in the middle of battle lol). Kirby and everyone take this chance to attack, while Magolor is just kind of broken. He fucked up again.

And he’ll be alone.

He has one thing left now, and that’s the power to rule the universe.

And he’s desperate to have this one thing go right for him, and he uses the remaining power of the Master Crown... which brings me to the next topic!

The Master Crown

Full section for the master crown let’s go. It gets its dark power from a leader/creator of dark matter (think 0), and is sentient. It only knows to shroud the world in darkness, and will do whatever it takes to get it. It’s powers are held at bay by Landia, who is Halcandria’s guardian and can resist its powers due to being a magic guardian. Magolor however, isn’t a magic guardian, and can’t resist. To him, it’s a shiny piece of jewelry that’ll make him strong so things can finally go his way.

The way it works is by drawing people in, like a venus fly trap. It just amplify people’s interest in it, as well as bring out the more negative traits about them that makes them easier to control. The most common traits is desperation, impulsiveness, frustration, and determination. And once the crown is on their head, it locks on and is irremovable and works like a parasite, basically completely erasing whoever put it on and molding them to the perfect puppet. Magolor essentially just sped up the process completely by using the last of its power in a desperate attempt to get what he wanted.

After the Betrayal

Magolor, after the betrayal, is left just floating around Another Dimension. He’s exhausted, in a lot of pain, and completely magically drained. He couldn’t even float if he tried, and that uses the bare minimum of magic. He’s stuck here for a long time, and at first, he’s extremely frustrated and upset. He spends a lot of time replaying the events in his head (not magolor soul, he has no memories of that aside from snippets that come into his dreams that are partially due to the master crown’s lasting effect) and just getting more and more angry at everything. He was so close to having control over EVERYTHING, and he lost it over himself the second he used the rest of the power. He was infuriated that he manged to let that stupid puffball beat him, along with their friends.

He cries, screams, shouts, but it doesn’t matter. Rage can only last so long, and it’s not much before he’s just exhausted and tired. He’s given up on escaping, knowing he can’t. He cant form a dimensional portal strong enough to pull him out of a dimension. He only has the skill to use it for teleportation. After a few days, he’s accepted what happened, that this is his fate. He hates being alone, floating in space with no silly jester to crack a joke or scratch his head, and no snowman who’s bell jingled with an adorable tune whenever he laughed and even gave him hugs. He ends up getting habits of scratching his head (despite the pain because of master crown injuries) and hugging himself as a way to fill that hole the two left when leaving. He misses them, and starts to regret going after the crown in the first place. He comes up with scenarios in his head to pass the time as he basically waits for himself to rot. He imagines apologizing and having his friends back. He imagines Marx somehow finding him similar to how Magolor found him. He imagines not being alone, and being happy. Not plagued by agonizing exhaustion and self fury. He even comes to miss Kirby and their friend one he actually realizes the kindness they showed him, since he was too focused before to realize.

He spends a few days in the hell dimension before he finds something. He ends up finding an energy sphere that floats past that was lost during the battle. He grabs and clings to it, now having only one thing from before. It doesn’t make the loneliness any better, but it does make things a little less bareable. But of course, energy spheres are a sphere doomer’s favorite snack, and it doesn’t take long before one comes along really wanting it.

Magolor at first, pushes it away desperate to keep this one thing he had before, and the sphere doomer keeps coming back desperately wanting its food. Eventually, Magolor and the sphere doomer form a slight bond since this was when Magolor started slowly regaining magic again and tries attacking it with his revolution orbs, but it’s just a treat for the sphere doomer. The sphere doomer keeps coming back for more treats and another attempt at a snack, and Magolor feels a little less lonely. Over time, he actually gains enough of its trust to pet it and even talks to it. He names her Lor II.

Lor II is the reason he gets out of Another Dimension and back to Halcandria, via opening a rift. Lor II basically gives Magolor a second chance to make things right, and he immeadiatly takes it. Of course, he has to steal the Starcutter to do it, but he makes his way to Popstar to apologize, because he REALLY regrets his major fuck up and at the very least, he can make things better (and maybe get a chance at being less lonely).

So that’s all I got lmao hope you enjoyed

[harrywavycurly]

*a/n anddddd here it is! I haven’t written anything in quite a while so be gentle? It’s angsty and sad as per the usual for me lately. As always I appreciate feedback and likes/reblogs! Enjoy my babes!*

“A tumbleweed heart, chasin that wind. Goin’ too far, wherever that is.”

“I know I still can’t believe she actually agreed to go on another date with him.” You laughed as you shrugged at your best friend who was sitting across from you reaching for the bottle of wine that you had just opened and placed in the middle of the kitchen table.

“She’s always had a thing for men with a sense of humor,” You explained making your friend laugh as she poured herself a glass of wine. “She loves-“ You looked down as your phone began to vibrate making the table shake a bit, you felt your heart drop when you saw the name that was flashing on the screen.

“It’s him isn’t it?” You looked up at her just in time to catch her rolling her eyes as you stood up, grabbing your phone in the process. “This has to stop eventually you know that right?” She added while she placed the bottle of wine back onto the table and shook her head as she watched you wave her off with your hand while you walked into the living room. You slid your finger across the screen before bringing the phone up to your ear.

“Hello? S’you yeah?” The moment you heard his raspy voice you felt your shoulders slump as you looked at the clock on the wall above your tv, of course he would be drunk at three in the afternoon. “Ello?” You just shook your head as you took a seat on the edge of your couch.

“Yes Harry it’s me.” You answered, making a sigh of relief escape from his lips. “Do you need something?” You asked and you tried not to sound annoyed. You really did, but this was the third time he’d called you drunk in the past two weeks. You knew by all the noise you could hear in the background that he most likely was at the bar down the street from his house, the bar that you’d become a regular at with him during the time you were together.

“Jus wanted to hear your voice.” Harry looked around the bar and felt a frown form on his face when he noticed how empty it was. “S’empty today.” He smiled and nodded at the bartender, who pointed at Harry’s empty glass.

“Well it’s not even four in the afternoon yet in California Harry.” You explained as you ran a hand through your hair. “Most people aren’t at the bar this early.” Harry just chuckled making you let out a huff, you never did enjoy dealing with him when he was intoxicated let alone doing it over the phone from states away.

“We used to be here at noon an stay till it closed,” Harry smiled as a fresh drink was placed in front of him. “Member that?” You nodded your head as you scooted back and got comfortable on the couch when you realized this wasn’t going to be a conversation that was going to end anytime soon. “That was back when ya loved me.” Harry looked down at his drink and gave it a stir as memories of the two of you began to replay in his mind.

“Not tonight Harry,” You pleaded even though you knew it was useless given the state he was in. “You had a good week, don’t go ruining it with thoughts of us.” Harry just picked up his glass and spun around in his barstool so he could look out the window and watch the waves of the ocean come crashing onto the rocks.

“Yer not gonna argue with me?” Harry gave a small smile and a nod to a couple that walked past him to sit at a table by the window, the same table he’d sat at with you countless times while sharing a bottle of wine or just a few mid afternoon drinks. “You love to argue with me.” You rolled your eyes at Harry’s playful statement, Harry knew if he got you on a rant that would mean he’d have you on the phone for a little bit longer and that’s exactly what he needed, he just needed to hear your voice for a little bit longer.

“You’re right Harry,” You smiled when your wine glass came into your view from above causing you to look up and see your friend, she gave you a sad smile as she handed the glass to you as you mouthed the words thank you. “I’m not going to argue with you.” You stated making him laugh, a sound that made memories threaten to flood your mind with images of Harry with his head leaned back, his eyes crinkled and his nose the tiniest bit scrunched up as he laughed at a stupid joke you’d told or a story about your day at the office.

“How did you know?” Harry asked as he looked down at his drink and gave it a little stir before taking a sip. “That I’ve had a good week? How’d you know?” He added as you took a sip of your wine and looked over at your coffee table that held the little stack of magazines you’d collected over the past few weeks all with articles about various things Harry had been seen doing as well as a few awards he’d won.

“You’re Harry Styles,” You took another sip of your wine while Harry just raised an eyebrow as he waited for you to finish explaining yourself. “When aren’t you having a good week?” When you heard Harry chuckle you just sunk a little deeper into your couch before taking a sip of your wine.

“I mean for the most part you’re not wrong,” Harry couldn’t help it as he looked down at the ring on his right hand and shook his head as if it was going to help erase the memory of the night you gave it to him, to celebrate the fact he’d told you his second album was finished. “But I’ve also had my share of shitty weeks.” You bit down on your bottom lip as you watched the wine in your glass swirl around, the hurt in Harry’s voice wasn’t anything new, it had been something you’d found yourself growing used to and that’s probably the thing that caused you the most pain. The fact that all you were beginning to feel was complete nothingness when, the once love of your life, sounded utterly heartbroken on the other end of the phone all because of a choice you made.

“Do we have to do this every time Harry?” You sat up so you could lean over and place your wine glass on the coffee table. “Because it’s getting a bit redundant isn’t it?” You could tell by the sigh coming from Harry’s end of the phone that he was not in the mood for the conversation you were about to start with him.

“As is you telling me every single time we talk that what you did was a choice, one that I didn’t give you any other option but to make and that’s such bullshit.” You rolled your eyes as you stood up and began pacing the living room as he spoke and even though some of his words were slurred your knew he meant them all wholeheartedly. “You left. You, not me, you did this,” You stopped in your tracks as you heard Harry let out a deep breath. “This is broken because of you.” You felt the all too familiar lump begin to form in your throat as you looked out the window in your living room as it started to rain.

“I know.” Harry closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath as your sad voice hit his ears, admitting to him that you were aware that the whole reason the two of you were in the situation at hand was in fact all your fault. “I broke us. But you know why I had to do it, there wasn’t anything left for me in California.” Harry just let out a low chuckle and rolled his eyes.

“Right you didn’t have anything left for you here. Ya know besides me, and I’d like to think I was a pretty decent part of your life?” You just let out a sad sigh as you sat on the armrest of your couch and ran a hand through your hair. “At least back then, back when you loved me enough to write me a note telling me you were leaving.” You knew he wasn’t done talking so you just rubbed your lips together. “Oh right sorry. More so to tell me you had already left. Seeing as I didn’t find the note till the next day since you know I don’t check my mail every day, but that was the plan right? Drop a note in my mailbox and drive off into the sunset to a new life. How’s that life going for you by the way? Is it worth everything and everyone you left?” You felt a few tears stream down your cheeks as Harry’s words hit you like a smack in the face, he’d never talked to you like this before but you knew he needed to get it all off his chest if you had any hope of getting these random drunken phone calls to stop.

“I’m sorry Harry, I’m sorry okay? I left and you didn’t want me to, but I did it anyway and that’s something you’re going to have to get over because you calling me every week drunk and heartbroken isn’t going to change anything.” You felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest as you wiped off the tears from your cheeks with your free hand. “It’s been four weeks already.” Harry just let out a shaky breath and shook his head as he looked down at his drink that he all of a sudden had no desire for anymore.

“It could be ten years that’ve past by and I’d still want you to come back.” His voice was a little above a whisper and it made your heart sink when you heard him sniffle, letting you know he was fighting back a new batch of tears. “I think about you everyday and I know you at least think of me sometimes because you still keep up with me, how else would you know if I’m having a good or bad week? So what’s the point of all this if we still care about each other?” At this point you could tell Harry was just pleading with you to give him any spark of hope and you felt your heart begin to break as you let out a shaky breath and looked up at the ceiling as you gathered your thoughts.

“Caring about each other wasn’t the issue Harry,” You felt the lump return to your throat as you struggled to fight back the tears that so desperately wanted to flow down your face. “I just don’t want to be with you right now, I have to do my own thing for a while. I lost myself in California and I need to find myself again, and I have to do it alone.” Harry let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his hair after sliding his sunglasses onto his face so they could help hide his emotions from the people as they walked by.

“You don’t want to be with me right now.” He stated making you just nod as if he could see you. “You’ll be sure to let me know if that changes yeah?” Harry turned around in his stool and looked at the bartender before he laid a few bills on the counter letting the man know he was done for the day, the bartender smiled at Harry as he walked past him and towards the door.

“Of course.” You felt yourself fall backwards onto the couch so your feet were now hanging off the edge of the armrest. “I’ve gotta go now okay? Have a good rest of your day Harry, don’t forget to take some Advil and drink lots of water when you get home.” Harry just shook his head as a chuckle escaped him.

“It’s scary how good you’ve gotten at saying goodbye.” You closed your eyes as Harry crossed the street so he would be on the side his house was on. “You make it sound so casual but we both know this is it huh? No more calls after this one?” He stopped walking so he could make sure he heard your response even though he already knew what your answer was going to be.

“You’re right,” You swallowed back the lump in your throat and let out a sniffle making Harry’s heart feel like it was about to crumble into a pile of broken pieces right there on the sidewalk outside of his gate. “No more calls after this one.” You let out a shaky breath as Harry just ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his roots. “Goodbye Harry.” You took the phone away from your ear just as you felt a sob working it’s way up your chest.

“Goodbye love.” With that Harry pressed the end call button and never had he felt the urge to just throw his phone into the middle of the street as badly as he did in that very moment but he just took a deep breath and entered his gate code allowing him access to his driveway.

He felt as if his heart was truly ripping apart as he took a few steps forward allowing the gate to close behind him. He slid his sunglasses up into his hair as he felt the familiar stinging sensation so he just took a few step backwards until his back was flush against the metal of his gate so he could slide down it until he was sitting with his head in his hands and the tears freely streaming down his face as the conversation the two of you just had replayed in his mind.

You tossed your phone onto the coffee table before bringing both your hands up to cover your face as you let all the emotions you’d been fighting back come to the surface. You knew Harry deserved someone better than what you could offer him at this moment of your life and in the end what you did was for the best, and just because you left, didn’t mean you couldn’t hurt just as much as he was.

[imsofthelp]

Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing

A.N This was originally supposed to be done much sooner, but i'm just lazy like that, so here u go. Huge thanks to @velvet-kissesss for editing this so fast!! 🥰🥰

*~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

You tried to look away from the mirror, from your reflection that reminded you of everything that was going to happen just a moment later.

You focused on the wallpaper - blue hues were painted into the shape of waves that looked as if they crashed here, forever trapped in one moment. You couldn't help but feel the same, trapped in a moment that you couldn't escape.

You took in the view of the creaky old floor with an expensive yet tattered pattern of golden flowers. Your eyes drank in the view of small rays of sunshine that seem to bounce from one place to another.

As much as you wanted to avoid it, your body seemed to betray you as you turned to fully face your reflection. You looked flawless. Although it was a true irony as it was the most miserable day of your life. A most miserable day yet, probably.

The strapless white dress was made from the softest of materials, it reached the floor and resembled dove wings while hugging your figure perfectly. A corset was adjusted to make your waist look impossibly thin but it only made your burning lungs even harder to fill with air.

Lifting your head up, you put two fingers on your tear ducts to try contain tears from spilling and ruining your too flawlessly done makeup.

You didn't want this. Any of this. You didn't ask to be born with a powerful quirk. You didn't ask to marry a man with quirk that was deemed 'compactable' with yours to make perfect, hero worthy babies when combined.

All you ever wanted was to finish U.A with the best grades and then become a hero. To save people, to help those in trouble and to always be an inspiration for heroes yet to be.

You blinked. Then blinked a few more times. Sorrow clouded your mind, making you relive your happiest memories on replay again and again, as if your mind wanted to torment you - to put 'that's what you're losing' right in your fucking face.

You reminisced about your first meeting with a certain blonde-haired boy. You recalled your first date, looked back on the first kiss and awkward first sex. Your searches for an affordable apartment for starting heroes like you two and your late night talks. Everything. Everything was bright and clear in your mind.

You hated them. You hated them for forcing you into this. You were powerful, hell, they wouldn't of been able to make you comply. That's what you thought at first but... when they threatened to hurt Katsuki, everything was done.

All the stubborness, all the mean things you had to say and an offer to shove that proposal up his ass was erased as if it never even crossed your mind.

You could marry a man you didn't love. You could learn to live with the constant dolor of letting go your dreams and your career that had just started. You were fine with leaving your old life behind as long as... as long as he was safe. You loved him so much it hurt sometimes. You loved him so much that you could give up everything for him.

It didn't matter. Not anymore at least. You couldn't change your mind right now. Not when there were only five minutes left until the ceremony started. Five minutes until you stepped out there all dolled up with a fake smile as his companion, waving and smiling to all these people that thought you truly loved the man you were marrying.

Your dress was like dove wings... Ironic how doves are meant to be free, free to go wherever they want. Yet here you were about to be trapped by a fancy ring on your finger and your own words 'I do'.

You counted the minutes. Your heart thumping harder with every tick of the clock, almost as if it was threatening to burst through your ribcage.

When there were only two minutes left and you were struggling to calm yourself, you heard a silent knock on the door.

At first, you thought the knock came from the front door of the room. It could’ve been someone already inviting you to go, but no. It was at the emergency escape door.

You couldn’t even get to the door, almost tripping on your shitty fancy dress on the way when the door burst open and hit the wall.

There he was as real as in your memories - blond hair messy refusing to stay in any other style, his signature skull shirt and black sweats on, stance intimidating, his whole body tense and ruby red eyes radiating nothing else but pure fury. Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Seeing him made you question your eye sight or even more, sanity.

"Katsuki-" you managed to blurt out, feeling light-headed.

"We're leaving, get out of the stupid dress." he commanded, not explaining anything further, just tossing you a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Your sweats and hoodie.

"What-? Katsu, we can't just do that, I-"

He snickered, looking at the clock then looking back at you.

"You think I'm just going to let you give your life to some shitty extra with a powerful quirk, just because he and your parents want to?" he asked, arms that were in his pockets beginning to shake, his muscular arms tensed. "Over my dead fucking body, and I'm really hard to kill, princess." he managed to make something similar to a smile. "Now hurry, we don't want to cause a scene." With every word of his, you were more and more stunned.

"But... but they're going to hurt you if I don't do this! I would kill myself if anything happened to you because of me!" you said, clenching your clothes to your chest as you tried to keep your tears at bay.

"Deku will become the number 1 hero before they hurt me, babe."

You wanted to believe him. Oh god how you wanted to believe him.

Damn, what made you think he could be defeated at the first place? Who made you so sure that you could just give your life to someone you hated? Not for who they were, but for simply taking the right to make your own decision away from you.

Katsuki's look was quite unreadable. A mix of anger, re-assurance and confidence.

He raised his much bigger hand, taking your own into his to brush your hand lovingly with his thumb.

At that moment, you got all the confidence you wanted. He was your future. He was the one you loved the most and Bakugou was the one that made you braver. The one who made you say,

"Fuck it... Let's go."

His eyes lit up, a cocky smile finding its way to his face as if he knew that this would be your final choice from the start.

You turned, asking him to unzip the shitty, fancy dress but the feeling of his hand on your back almost made you break into sweat. This was wrong.

This was dangerous. You stripped out of the dress, the smooth, expensive material falling to the ground as if was a useless piece of fabric made for cleaning the floor. It felt satisfying as if you had nothing to worry about anymore. As if it was the only burden that kept you from running away from your own wedding.

You sighed, your mind running so wildly in your head almost making it hurt. You knew that this was gonna end up badly but here you were, letting him untie the ribbons of the corset and finally being able to take full breaths while watching him throw it to the other side of the small dressing room.

"These fucking assholes really just made you wear that fucking shit? It looks like it could crush your fucking ribs." he commented, frowning.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, a slight sigh of relief escaping your lips knowing that the corset didn’t make you any more attractive to Bakugou.

You slipped on your sweats before Bakugou made you turn to him, looking you up and down, making your face flush red since you were standing just in your sweats and lacy white bra.

"So you put this fancy shit bra on just for that asshole?" he asked, hues of hurt and jealousy painting his voice a different color than what you were used to. “Were you planning to have sex with him?” he asked, tone as casual as if he was asking what was for dinner tonight. Still, the way his teeth were subtlety clenched made what he was feeling clear.

"Ah, I-"

Warm arms circled around your body, pulling you close against his heaving chest as you could feel the slight tremble of his embrace but didn’t say anything about it, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already felt.

You closed your eyes, wanting to stay like that. Not bothering about the time.

Katsuki littered your jawline with unusually soft kisses, tracing shapes onto the small of your back in calming motions.

His lips trailed down your neck, soft and loving pecks turned into a passion that would definitely leave a mark. You tilted your head back, giving Katsuki better access as you softly caress his hair, tugging it caused him to groan.

When he was so close you could smell the lingering smell of caramel filling all your senses, making him feel so real.

Your breaths were sharp and short and suddenly he bit down, making you gasp but he swallowed all your protests by putting his lips on yours with teeth softly biting your bottom lip, demanding entrance.

You immediately parted your lips, letting his tongue explore your mouth to fill it with the lingering taste of sweet rum he must’ve drank earlier, making your head dizzy.

His hands explored your waist, one going up to caress your clothed breast.

You buried your fingers deeper in his surprisingly soft hair, tugging it, making the kiss even deeper as your tongues were fighting for dominance. Neither of the two wanted to give each other the satisfaction of winning.

The need to breathe was pushed to the back of your mind, afraid that if you let go, everything you had at this moment will shatter. A lingering feeling of irrational fear made you afraid to open your eyes.

Finally, you two parted with string of saliva that connected your lips still it broke. You could almost hear him murmur a quiet ‘i love you’ in his usual gruff voice.

The dream you so desperately held on, the one that felt so real it made your heart throb, was broken by a loud ‘you may now kiss the bride’ from the priest. You could only catch the heartbroken gaze and bittersweet smile of Katsuki as you were kissed by a man you hated and the crowd broke into cheers.

You had the first dance, thanked all the people for congratulating you and cut the cake as you tried to look at your new husband as lovingly as possible. It was partly because of the look you had to keep up, but partly because you thought that if you imagined hard enough, you could almost pretend it was your Katsuki.

Soon you got tired of all the people and told your husband that you needed to get some fresh air.

It was already dark as you closed the door to the hall where the ceremony was held, escaping from everyone with only quieted down music that was the wouldn’t let you forget you about what was still happening inside.

The fact that there were no people out here made you feel lonely as you crept through the garden that was buried in the silent tones of some shitty pop song.

In distance you saw the small light of a lighter flicker and then the most handsome face, recognizable to the point it hurt, lit by a light of a cigarette.

With a few short strides you reached Bakugou. His expression was unreadable, top of his top unbuttoned and tie already untied.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” you finally said, breaking the unbearable silence that lingered between you.

Katsuki let a line of smoke leave his mouth, looking you straight in the eyes,

“Yeah, I was surprised myself.”

Your gaze was turned downwards, almost in shame. You couldn’t look back into his ruby red eyes without a scorching red pain burning through every nerve of your body.

You didn’t say anything as you wrapped your hands around him, feeling him stiffen in your embrace. It almost made you jump back, your thoughts racing. Maybe he didn’t want to hug you. Maybe he didn’t want to even see you. Maybe-

That’s when he wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner, the smell of caramel with a hint of cigarette smoke taking you away. The feeling made yourself tear up.

Bakugou took a step back as soon as he felt your tears wet his shirt. You quickly tried to wipe every trace of them away, but he took the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping the butt and softly wiping your tears away with his thumb, his expression softening.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” his voice was so unusually soft it made you tear up all over again. You couldn’t answer his question. You were afraid that as soon as you spoke he would disappear all over again.

He softly took your face into his hands, his thumbs stroking the tear stained skin carefully.

“Y/N, please answer me.”

“Before he kissed me... before he kissed me I imagined you... we were kissing and you- you were so real and then-” you managed to whimper out before sobs rocked your whole body. Bakugou took you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around your body, one stroking the small of your back comfortingly. “You dissappeared. You said you’d run away with me and then- then you disappeared.”

Katsuki littered your skin with small kisses, making you wonder if the experience was real this time. It couldn’t be fake this time too, right? Everything felt far too real now, you could even hear the rhythmic sound of his heart thumping as he held you close.

“I’m real and I’m not going anywhere.” he assured, kissing the tip of your icy cold nose as you wrapped your trembling hands around his neck. “You said we wanted to run away in the dream you had, right?”

You managed to nod with the hot breaths of your lover tickling the skin of your neck.

“Well what if I told you that we can make that come true?”

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/ 

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

=

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened. 

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you? 

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way. 

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be. 

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits. 

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off. 

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day. 

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably. 

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that. 

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real. 

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

=

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

=

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone. 

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

=

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on? 

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks. 

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

=

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

=

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

[maybankiara]

Some angsty Topper? Like Topper x Ex-Girlfriend? Idk I just love topper

LIGHT THEM ALL UP, KISS THEM GOODBYE

pairing: Topper Thornton x Reader

summary: The Thorntons invite your family over for dinner and considering their son is your ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend whom you haven’t spoken to since the breakup almost a year ago, you think there’s only one way the night could go down. Except you’re wrong.

word count: 4k

warnings: mild cursing

additional: heavy angst; i genuinely don’t know how this turned into an absolute monster but hey, i loved writing it.

requests are open

In retrospect, you should’ve told them something closer to the truth – but hey, hindsight is 20/20, right?

  When your phone rings, you’re at the shopping mall with your friends on the mainland. It takes about twenty seconds of the phone call to ruin your entire day, all in an eight-word long sentence.

  ‘The Thorntons invited us over for dinner tonight.’

  You’re told to wear something nice, and you tell your mother that she doesn’t need to worry about that. She asks if everything’s alright, and you lie through gritted teeth, saying you’re getting frustrated with being unable to find anything nice at the mall.

  She buys it. You’re in the clear, at least with her. When you walk out of the changing room and your friends see your face, the only explanation you give them is, ‘My family is going over to Topper’s for dinner.’

  They nod, sigh, gasp, and let you rage in silence for the rest of the trip as you wrap up sooner than planned, so you’d have enough time to get ready.

  Mentally more so than physically, but somehow it’s almost the same thing.

  It’s been almost a year since you broke up with Topper – or he broke up with you. You’re still not really clear on what happened, mostly because you decided to erase the whole thing out of your memory.

  ‘You okay?’ your best friend asks.

  Wind blows into your hair as you’re on the boat for the island, and you know you’re going to need to wash it to get it all nice and prepped for the dinner.

  You nod, because it’s half-true, and that’s enough. ‘I’m not too worried. It’s just one dinner.’

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘Nah,’ you say, pulling a smile from somewhere. ‘I’m too tough for that.’

  It appeases her enough so she doesn’t ask you any more questions, and you breathe out when she isn’t looking. The rest of your friends are chatting, and you join in from time to time, just enough so they wouldn’t question you again.

  Nobody knows the whole story. Literally nobody, considering not even you and Topper know what happened.

  One minute things were good, and the next you were screaming bloody murder at each other’s faces, and then never spoke again.

  Truth be told, you don’t even know if you ever ended things. Topper just began dating Sarah Cameron sometime later, and you would hook up with both Kooks and Pogues at the keggers.

  And now…

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  You nod, smile again, and say that you are.

  The more you say it, the more likely it is you’ll end up believing it.

  Your friends drop you off at your house and you enter with three shopping bags, all filled with clothes that you somehow managed to like. You’re picky, usually – but as soon as your mom called about the dinner, you decided to go shopping for the best of the best.

  ‘Hello, Y/N!’ Your mother walks out of the conservatory, holding a book in her hand. ‘How was the trip?’

  You raise the bags in response. ‘What’s the dress code?’

  ‘Casual fancy, I think. They weren’t specific.’

  ‘In that case, I got some stuff for tonight,’ you tell her. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  She smiles, earnestly, like she always does – she has no idea what’s going on in your head right now, but it’s not her fault. ‘I’m sure you’ll look great. Topper will be there, so you won’t be alone with the adults.’

  You raise an eyebrow. ‘Since when is my brother considered an adult?’

  ‘Since he turned twenty-one, Y/N. Don’t be like that.’

  Whatever, you think, because you thought at least you’d be able to count on your brother to keep you away from the Topper mess. Turns out that’s not the case, because your brother is a big boy now, swimming in the open waters, and it’s time for him to be thrown to the sharks.

  There’s less than three hours until the dinner, so you hurry into the bathroom. You do all the preparations – shower, hair wash, blow drying (you make an attempt at a salon blowout except it really does not look like one) and prepping your skin for makeup.

  ‘Go light,’ your mother told you before you went to get ready.

  It’s not like you’d go any other way – there’s no one to impress there.

  So go with almost minimal makeup, just fixing up your blemishes, knowing it’s not worth suffering the heat with makeup on just for the Thorntons.

  Just for Topper, your mind corrects, and you groan.

  The dress you got for the occasion is a burgundy summer dress, made out of light material and loose below your waist, with short feathery sleeves and a modest cleavage that no one is going to give you shit about.

  In it, you look and feel pretty.

  A fleeting thought goes through your head; Is Topper going to care?

  The car ride is quiet, but that’s the usual for your family. Your brother’s on his phone, texting someone; your dad’s dealing with business things on the passenger seat; and your mom is making sure you don’t crash as she drives.

  It’s going to be a fun night.

  As soon as you enter the Thornton mansion, memories begin to overflow your thoughts, and you have to blink them away. Topper’s father welcomes you and his expression softens when he sees you, and that’s how you realise that Topper hasn’t told his parents the truth, either.

  A couple of liars – that’s what you were.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, ‘it’s lovely to see you all. Y/N, you look lovely.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Thornton.’

  You smile at him and he smiles right back, leading you and your family into the dining hall. Did Topper tell them we remained friends, like I did? Your families were too interconnected to fall apart because of the two of you.

  A couple of liars.

  You’d know your way around here in your sleep.

  The dining room, when you enter, is filled with chatter of Topper’s family and his siblings. There’s three Thornton children, and your ex-boyfriend is the middle one. His older brother is your brother’s age, and his sister is about ten years old. They’re all bringing food from the kitchen, and you’re assuming Topper’s the one maneuvering everything – he’s good at that.

  You take a seat, and so does the rest of your family, and the Thorntons are as lovely hosts as ever. The polite chatter is keeping on and you’re smiling through the nervousness, ignoring the unease in the pit of your stomach, because you’re cool. You can stick through this.

  And you manage to convince yourself of that – until Topper walks in, wearing a suit with the tie that you bought him for his seventeenth birthday, and his lands on you and everything just kind of…

  It drifts away.

  All you see is Topper. He’s standing at the doorway, frozen mid-step. His eyes are staring right into yours and your mind is replaying every single instance in which this has happened before – you see him right before your first kiss, before the first time you slept together, after you cried when your dad was in a car accident, after you consoled him when Rafe leashed out on him.

  It all comes back in a single moment, and you inhale, sharply.

  Topper looks away. The spell is broken.

  It seems that nobody else has noticed what happened between the two of you, so the dinner continues as normal. You are sitting opposite Topper’s little sister and your brother is sitting opposite Topper’s older brother, and you don’t have to see Topper’s face throughout the whole dinner. Your parents make conversation, you smile and answer politely when asked; you know better than to let anyone know that you are deeply uncomfortable.

  Thankfully, both your families consider themselves above the law, and you and Topper are allowed to drink despite being underage. You drink champagne, glass after glass, and out of the corner of you eye, you see him doing the same.

  Where the fuck did we go wrong?

  It’s been over an hour when the eating part of the dinner is finished. Topper’s sister miscalculated and the dessert she prepared is going to take longer, so the adults decide it’s time for chatter with alcohol.

  It’s all good, until Topper’s father looks at you. ‘You don’t have to be with us, kids.’

  You smile. ‘It’s all right, Mr. Thornton. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh, no need to be so polite, Y/N,’ your mother chimes in. ‘You don’t have to stay with us old people.’

  ‘Your mother is right!’ Topper’s mom says, grinning wide, alcohol already hitting her a little bit. She nudges the champagne bottle in your direction. ‘You kids go have fun.’

  Your eyes meet your father’s, but you don’t find what you’re looking for – he’s not opposed to the idea. Your brother, on the other hand, seems a little bit bitter about you having the ability to go away, and he doesn’t even know how much you’d pay to be able to switch places with him.

  Topper is the one who takes the champagne bottle. ‘Thanks, Mom. Tell us when the desert is ready, will you?’

  Once this is arranged, Topper looks at you – he doesn’t say anything, not for a second, but you see the question in his eyes.

  Are you okay with this?

  You don’t say anything. He smiles at you, a charade for the families, and asks, ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Yes.’ You smile back.

  It’s painful.

  Topper’s sister follows the two of you to the upper floor, and you walk her to her room. She shuts the door in your faces – the classic Thornton behaviour. You chuckle, because this is far from the first time she’s done this to you, and then you stop yourself as soon as you become aware of what you’re doing.

  ‘Look—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you right now,’ you say.

  Topper presses his lips together; you see him being on the verge of speaking up, but he doesn’t. He leads you to his room instead, gripping the champagne bottle in his hand.

  You’re glad you’re the one carrying the glasses.

  The moment you enter Topper’s room, closing the door behind you, is the moment the illusion you’d forced yourself to believe in shatters.

  This is the place where you were in love.

  Topper walks up to you and motions for you to hold the glasses upright. You do that, and he pours champagne in them. The bottle is almost full, but you have a feeling there is going to be nothing left in it by the time the two of you are called back down for dessert.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ you tell him, without looking at him. ‘My mom just told me that we’re coming here.’

  He doesn’t say anything. You raise your eyes to look at him, but he’s turned to you with his back, looking out of the window with a glass in his hands.

  You feel awkward, out of place, and definitely somewhere you aren’t supposed to be.

  The alcohol in you makes you chuckle; Topper turns around, looking at you with curiosity on his face.

  ‘Never thought I’d be back here.’ You motion to the room, but you mean the situation, and you feel like he knows. ‘Last time we were here—

  ‘Yeah,’ Topper cuts you off, ‘it wasn’t nice.’

  Before you manage to think through your actions, you plop on the bed, sitting on your knees. Topper joins you, sitting right next to you, and you try to block away the memories you made on this exact bed.

  You look at him and catch him looking at you. Your lips part and you’re almost about to say something, but it runs away from you.

  Instead, you look at him, for the first time in almost a year.

  His hair is a little longer, a little more loose and carefree. It’s blonder, too, and that’s from spending a lot of time in the sun. His cheekbones are more prominent, his jaw more chiselled, his lips fuller, his eyes bluer. He looks more grown up, less foolish, less likely to fuck you over.

  You clear your throat. It’s not good to dwell on things that are no longer.

  ‘How’s you and Sarah?’

  Topper holds your gaze for a second, then looks away, taking a big gulp out of his glass. ‘We broke up, over a month ago. Left me for a Pogue. Thought you’d heard.’

  ‘My friends know better than to talk about you.’

  ‘Wow. Nice.’

  You’re the one who takes the big gulp, this time. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say that – but your mind is a little fuzzy, and all the things you’ve never said out loud are coming back up again against your will.

  Maybe it’s the same for him. Maybe his mind, too, is going through the last time they were in this room together, trying to figure out what went wrong, trying to remember.

  You finish the glass. Topper pours you another one, then does the same for himself.

  ‘Topper.’

  ‘Hm?’

  It takes you a long second to shift in the bed so you’d be looking at him. You realise you don’t know what you’re about to say – it’s not your head saying it, it’s your heart, but you decide you’re beyond giving a fuck.

  So you shrug and take a sip. ‘I’m sorry for being a shitty girlfriend.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ He shakes his head, leaning against the head board. His shirt is wrinkled and the tie you got him looks a little off, but he looks exactly the way you remember him. ‘It wasn’t you who fucked it up.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I couldn’t – It was too much.’

  His eyes hold your gaze again, and you feel the world slow down. You think of the screaming match and it’s the first time that you manage to recall what happened.

  It hurts. It fucking hurts.

  Topper chuckles, but it’s the dry kind, humourless. ‘No. I didn’t understand what I was doing. I thought I was doing all the things I was supposed to be doing, being caring and loving, and the only thing I was, was overprotective.’

  You look at him, at notice that he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are glassy and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows, clearing his throat. ‘I kept doing things that weren’t okay and I blamed you when you thought they were too much. I accused you of – of things that I shouldn’t have seen as bad.’

  ‘Top, hey—’

  ‘Don’t, okay?’ He turns his head to you and the weight of his gaze is almost too much for you to bear. ‘I liked the idea of loving you, taking care of you, more than I was actually in love with you.’

  You look away. His words echo in your head, and each time they do, it feels as if a part of your soul is being cut.

  I liked the idea of loving you more than I was actually in love with you.

  You feel sick, and it’s not the alcohol.

  Time wears on and you don’t know if you’re getting more drunk, or if the tension between you two is going into an odd direction. It’s not uncomfortable, per se – it feels almost as if there’s something fundamentally wrong about the whole thing.

  ‘Fuck this, Topper. What the fuck were you thinking?’

  He glances at you, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I keep fucking up. I didn’t even realise what I was doing.’

  ‘I was pissed off at you because you never listened to me when I said I was okay,’ you tell him, finally, for the first time. ‘I’d tell you that you don’t need to worry about me, but you’d go ahead and do it, and you’d tell me all those things, and I didn’t know how to react, and it got to the point where it was all too much to handle, and…and…Fuck, I don’t know anymore.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve been trying to keep you from getting hurt and…’

  You nod, chuckling, just as drily as he had before. ‘And you ended up being the one doing it.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Fuck,’ you say again. You haven’t sworn this much in a long time, but it’s pouring out of you. ‘I couldn’t be with you because I thought you were too in love with me. Turns out you weren’t in love with me, at all.’

  ‘What?’

  You glance at Topper, lazily, feeling the weight of the glass between your fingers. He looks a little hazy and it makes you smile; it makes you think of all the other memories you have of him looking hazy, and all of them fill your heart with warmth.

  ‘It’s okay,’ you reassure him. ‘I don’t think I would’ve let you love me, anyway. Even I couldn’t love myself back then.’

  Topper stares at you for a long second, as if comprehending what you’ve just said. ‘No. No, Y/N, you’ve got it all wrong, and I have no idea where all this is coming from—’

  ‘Shh.’ You put a finger against his lips, giggling. ‘Stop talking. You’re going to ruin everything.’

  Your fingers slips and Topper sighs, moving on the bed to be closer to you. You can smell his cologne – the fancy shit he’s always worn, the one that you loved the most.

  ‘What am I going to ruin?’

  ‘Everything,’ you whisper.

  Topper shakes his head. ‘I already have.’

  ‘Not this moment. That’s still ours to take.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ he states, and you laugh.

  He leans his back against the headboard again and you’re the one who comes closer this time, leaning your head against his shoulder. It’s a gesture that’s as natural to you as breathing; his warmth feels as if it’s never gone away. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you steady, you close your eyes and pretend the last year never happened.

  Topper’s fingers slither beneath the short sleeves, rubbing circles into the skin on your shoulder. ‘I never said I wasn’t in love with you, Y/N. I just thought it was a different thing.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you murmur into his chest.

  ‘I do, because of Sarah. I treated her the same, until I realised I just liked how people saw me when I was with her. With you, it was a completely different thing. I preferred being alone with you, to being seen, but I overdid it. It’s – I regret it. Every day.’

  ‘You weren’t in love with me.’

  ‘I was,’ he says. ‘I am.’

  You open your eyes, staring ahead of you. Your mind processes the words Topper’s just said – it can’t be real, right? You’ve spent the last year of your life believing he thought of you as his possession, as a trophy to be won, but somehow it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

  His fingers are still rubbing circles on your skin, and it soothes you. It’s not possessive; he doesn’t make you look at him and tell him you heard what he said.

  He doesn’t expect anything from you. Not anymore.

  You empty your glass and put it away. Topper does the same, and you notice that you were right – the two of you have managed to finish that bottle of champagne.

  When your hands reach for his, intertwining your fingers, it happens without a thought. It’s a mere instinct, based on years of confiding in the person you’re with, something that goes deeper than romantic love could. You’re best friends – you were, before you dated. You grew up together. You knew each other better than anyone else in the world.

  And then, you ended up loving each other too much how to deal with that.

  ‘We were young,’ you say, quietly. Your thumb traces over his, and you feel how he doesn’t know how to react. ‘We were foolish. Dumb. We thought we had everything figured out.’

  ‘It fucked us up.’

  You raise your head and shift backwards, so you could look at him. He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes, and you know there’s tears in yours, too. ‘We’re never going to have everything figured out.’

  He just nods, waiting for you to continue.

  You don’t even know what you’re going to say, but you still manage to find words. They come from a place you didn’t know existed – a place you thought you buried months ago.

  ‘We didn’t know how to love each other and we thought we did,’ you whisper. ‘We thought too much. Maybe if we don’t…’

  ‘I know myself,’ Topper says. His finger stop circling on your skin and instead hold you, safely. ‘I know the difference between the person I was when I fucked up and I know who I am now.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  He smiles at you. You forgot how much you loved it when he’d smile at you, except this smile was sad – please, don’t make me plead.

  Topper’s already confessed his feelings. You shouldn’t be thinking this way.

  You lean into him again, letting your body react to his in all the ways that feel like home. ‘I couldn’t let myself be in love with you because I couldn’t figure out how you felt about me. I always felt like your possession.’

  ‘And I treated you like one. But that’s not me anymore.’

  ‘I know. I can tell.’

  ‘You can?’

  ‘Yeah.’ You smile in his chest, pulling his hand up to his abdomen, so you could see it. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, but you can’t ignore how right it feels. ‘I’m still in love with you, too, Top.’

  You hear him breathe out; you feel his body relax underneath you.

  ‘Do you think we could not hurt each other again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ you admit, ‘but we’ll never know, if we don’t try.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I do.’

  You shift away from Topper, fully separating from him for the first time since laying your head against his shoulder. You shudder at the lack of his warmth surrounding you, but you smile at his face – at the way he looks at you.

  His lips are parted a little, and his cheeks are a little wet, and you remember the Topper you used to date would never allow himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, not even you. Now, his eyes are glassy but full of excitement, of thrill, of all the same feelings that are in your chest, too.

  Topper reaches for your cheek and you lean into his touch. It’s all too familiar, and all too new at once; you’re excited. It feels Right.

  His thumb brushes the edge of your lips and he straightens his back, but he doesn’t move. He’s always been respectful – before, it was because it was expected of him. Now, it feels as if he understands it.

  ‘Let’s try not to break each other’s heart again,’ you say.

  Topper nods, and smiles, but it’s cautious, as if he’s waiting for the moment to burst. ‘Are you sure?’

  Instead of a response, you press your lips against his, and when he pulls you into his arms, against his chest, you feel at home again.

[darling-dummy-blogs]

Grieving Memory- Victor Li

Summary: Victor lost Mia before. He took her death very harshly, fast forward a few years later, Victor was able to fall in love again with Emci. However, throughout their relationship she begins to see how much he was grieving over Mia's death.  

Paring: Victor Li X Emci (Another MC)

Genre: Heavy Angst

Warnings: Chapter 18 Related. (There are minor implications of this, but just to be aware of, this is based off of the events that took place at the end of Chapter 18. However this is my own interpretations of it.)

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen's Choice

Word Count: 2.1k

Notes: 

This also will be told in Emci’s POV (The first half at least (Which will be a mixture of 1st Person & 3rd Person POV)

Based off of the prompt below: “I can’t erase it from my mind. I just replay it over and over again. I think about it all the time.” 

There were days where Victor seemed fine.  Everything had been great. However there had been days where Victor had seemed off. It wasn’t like he was another person or anything. He was still the same cold and emotionless CEO. 

But as we began getting close and began our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, I’ve begun to notice differences that he has made since the start of our relationship. 

Victor normally isn’t one to make mistakes. I’ve learned that over time, but. The recurring issue just keeps happening the further we get into our relationship.

It started in his sleep, there were sporatatic times where I’ve woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of Victor calling out the same name of this person. 

“Mia…!” 

It sounds like a constant nightmare on loop, normally I would try to help him by waking him up from said nightmare, but even when I do, he completely shuts himself off and just avoids the topic of the dream as though it was none of my concern. 

I’ve grown used to the same responses. “It’s nothing.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I’m sorry for waking you, go back to sleep.” “It’s fine.” “It's nothing important.” and lastly, “You don’t need to know.”

I’ve let it go for the past couple weeks, however, this was beginning to get to me. My curiosity of who Mia was only grew. 

 Just who was Mia? Was it a relative? A friend? ...A past lover? I would never know. He hasn’t told me anything about who this Mia person was. 

Days go by, the nightmares get worse and worse and he still refuses to tell me about those nightmares. 

Not only has it affected his sleep but it's also gotten into our outings as well. 

There will be times where we are out together, having a lovely evening, or even just having soft and loving moments between the two of us,  he would suddenly call me by the name of ‘Mia’

Which was not my name.

At first I didn’t mind it. Usually I get called by the wrong name all the time so it was nothing I wasn’t used to. 

 But now...

It's become an everyday occurrence. 

Like today. Emci  had woken up extra early to make Victor some breakfast, something that he normally would do but she had decided to make him breakfast since he had a rough night. 

It was a lovely and peaceful morning. The sun slowly began to rise, which shone throughout the house. The smell of fresh pancakes wafted throughout the kitchen making its way throughout the whole house. 

Victor made his way to the kitchen, spotting Emci working in the kitchen, one sight that he enjoyed finding whenever she were to be the one to cook. A small smile graced his lips as he quietly made his way over to her. 

She worked on making the batter for the rest of the pancakes, humming delightfully, until she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind, she smiled knowing it was him. “Good Morning, Victor.” 

After a moment of silence, he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head, he replied with, “Good Morning, Mia.” 

She suddenly froze. Once again, hearing that same name that he has been calling her by for the past couple of weeks. She was tired of hearing that name and it only fueled her to suddenly ask him. 

She pulled herself out of his embrace, looking at him, a frown now adoring her features. She grew rather frustrated and paranoid. “Victor...Who is Mia?” 

He looked at her, that smile on his face immediately shifted to his neutral expression. “...It’s no-” 

“DON’T.” She started, raising her voice, she looked down, bawling her hands into fists, she continued, “Don’t tell me it’s nothing… I am tired of hearing that same exact excuse.” 

His eyes narrowed at that, “It isn’t an excuse. It’s nothing that you need to worry about.” “Oh really? Is it really not something I shouldn’t be worrying about? Because YOU haven’t been calling me by the right name in WEEKS. And to top it all off, your nightmares you’ve been having, that YOU WON’T TELL ME ABOUT, have made me worry more and more!” She finally let everything out, something she should have done many weeks ago. 

He began to grow angry from her sudden outburst, “I said. It's nothing. Just stay out of it, alright?” He dismissed it, giving her a small glare. 

Oh but she wasn’t done, she scoffed, “No. We aren’t done having this conversation. You cannot dismiss this like it doesn’t exist. Answer my question: Who. Is. Mia?!” 

He turned to walk away, trying to ignore her pestering question but she grabbed his arm. He stopped, “Let. Me. Go.” He warned, as he refused to say a word about her. 

She stood in front of him so he couldn’t leave. She glared at him, “Not until you tell me who she is! I deserve to know just who this woman you keep speaking of! She is practically all I hear coming from you!” She raised her voice. 

Victor snatched his arm from her, glaring “It's none of your business.”

“Well guess what? I’m making it my business now! After everything we have gone through in the past couple months, you are hiding something and I deserve to know!” She screamed at him. 

“When will you drop it? I don’t have to tell you every single thing about me! Just stop asking already!” He began to raise his voice, he was already getting fed up with this conversation. 

“If it is something that is affecting our relationship then you should tell me! I’m not going to stop until you tell me who she is!! So I’ll ask again… WHO IS SHE??” 

“Again, IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.” He screamed as he stormed off, leaving to get ready for work. Forgetting about the breakfast she prepared for them both. 

She did the same, leaving to chase after him. “Victor! IT IS MY BUSINESS! WHY WON’T YOU JUST TELL ME ALREADY?! WHY ARE YOU HIDING THIS FROM ME?!!”  

‘I already told you, WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP REPEATING MYSELF?!” He yelled, both of their voices echoing throughout the whole house as they made their way to their shared bedroom. 

“Because... YOU KEEP HIDING THINGS FROM ME! WHY ARE YOU SUDDENLY ACTING SO DIFFERENT?! YOU WON’T OPEN UP TO ME, YOU ALWAYS SHUT ME DOWN WHENEVER I ASK ABOUT IT AND YOU ARE ESPECIALLY DISMISSIVE WHENEVER I ASK ABOUT MIA! WHO IS SHE? A FRIEND? A PAST LOVER? JUST WHO?!” She snapped, standing in front of him, coming face to face with him.

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HER, IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND?!” He growled out, his anger only seeping through his words. 

“If our relationship is not going to be built on trust then I have no choice but to break up with you.” She spoke those cruel words even though it utterly shattered her heart to say. 

He gave her the coldest look that she has ever seen on his face, one that she had not expected to see on his face. He was angry and upset. And with everything that had just occurred, his words came out unfiltered.

 "That’s fine. You're not even a formidable replacement for her anyway."  His words were laced with venom. 

Those words alone, snapped her out of her rage. She stared into his cold periwinkle eyes, as tears filled in her own, her heart shattered as she took a step back. “W-what?...” She gulped and held back a sob, “I was just a r-replacement?” She couldn’t believe it. 

Victor didn’t answer, instead, he turned away and left to get ready, giving her the answer she knew. 

“F-fine.. If that’s how you feel.. Then I’ll just leave.” She screamed at him, even though he had gone to get ready for the busy work day. She had already gathered her belongings that she needed for the day ahead, leaving their once shared home. 

There was no way she was going to come back. 

---

2 weeks.

2 weeks had passed. Victor had not heard from Emci. Even though he really wished he did. She had left the house the day they had that awful argument and he had not heard from her since then. 

During the time that she had been gone, he had realized his awful mistake, how could he say that to her? WHY did he say that to her...? 

She wasn’t a replacement. He loved her. But.. not only that, he had mistaken her for Mia for the longest time. Why exactly? Well she reminded him of Mia.

Mia, the girl who he had fallen in love with.. The girl who saved him over seventeen years ago.. The girl who had sacrificed herself for the better of the world.. The girl who he killed and held in his arms as she died.

Everything around him reminded him of her and her presence, whether he’d be at work, in Souvenir, anywhere for that matter. Ever since she died, he had not thought of anything but Mia. And even then, when he met Emci, it felt as though Mia was her. 

As days and nights pass, he’d get flashbacks of times he spent with Mia and even some fond memories of her that would create an aching and longing pain in his heart. Even when he is spending time with Emci. 

It hurt to think about Mia, and it even hurt to be around Emci at times because of how much she resembled her. The constant pain in his chest never went away. 

And the nightmares, oh those nightmares… They were haunting him every single day now. It wasn’t as sporatatic as they were before. 

The day when Victor had to kill Mia, it kept replaying that scene each and every time. 

Every time it occurred, he thought, ‘I can’t erase it from my mind. I just replay it over and over again. I think about it all the time.’

Why was it so hard to get rid of this horrible memory..? How can he move forward if he still misses her and is grieving over it? 

It often left him awake sometimes throughout the night. Even when Emci had wanted to help him feel better, the pain in his chest still was there, he would just dismiss it as if it wasn’t important. 

She’d drop it and go back to sleep while he stays awake, thinking of Mia and overall it would lead him to crying. Something he hardly did but ever since she died, it had been hard to let her go.

It became a grieving memory that replayed in his head over and over again. 

But now there was a greater issue that he created. Emci. She hasn’t come back… He had tried to reach out to her, but every time he tried, her phone calls would go straight to voicemail or his messages to her would be either unread or blocked. 

Victor had left many voicemails as well. Still even with that she didn’t reply. 

Meetings for work about her reports? All of them are now sent by one of her co-workers. She has not been seen by anyone. 

What scared him more as the fact that he might have ruined everything and that she was actually gone for good. That she would not ever come back to him… He couldn’t lose her too, not after what they have been through. He had tried to keep himself calm, trying to stay optimistic about it and had reassured himself countless times. 

Like right now, he sat at his desk, his head in his hands as he let out a shaky sigh ‘She’ll come back.. I just have to give her time. I know she will come back… I just know it.’ He thought. 

With what had been happening, Victor had hardly been able to do much work in his awful condition. He hardly slept much after the argument and after Emci had practically vanished from the face of the earth to god knows where. 

Victor wanted her back. He wanted to explain everything to her, he wanted to apologize for being awful to her as well. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way, but yet she was and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He glanced at his phone from the corner of his eye, hoping to see if she would call or text him. But just like every other day of the week, still nothing. “S-She will come back… She has to… S-She just has to come back” He spoke quietly to himself, he wouldn’t let himself think otherwise. 

 Tears welled up in his eyes, he rested his head against his desk, his arms hiding his face as he quietly sobbed. “P-Please come back… I-I’m sorry..” He whispered as he sobbed. 

“I can’t lose you too… Come Back… Please Emci…” 

[ieatsuffering]

Extreme trigger warning ahead lol

‼️NONCON// R*PE‼️

like seriously if these themes upset you or even make you uncomfortable please don’t read omg like this is 110% written for me. I’ve experienced more than one of the following scenarios, being triggered sucks I still can’t watch GoT with out having a panic attack . And again if these kind of themes are going to upset you in any way for both of our sakes DO NOT READ THIS IT COULD BE EXTREMELY TRGGERING FOR SOME READERS! I put the fic under a cut for a reason, if you read these warnings and still click the link, you are responsible for the content you view.

Summary and disclaimer:

Ok so here’s some headcannons/scenarios for when Asra, Julian, and Lucio (either intentionally or unintentionally) @ssault a gender neutral Mc. Nothing graphic or like pornographic but the EVERY TRIGGERING theme is still there. I honestly choose those three because their simply my favorite to write. I’ll admit Asra’s is kind of a stretch. I honestly believe there is absolutely no way Muriel would ever do anything like this. And I just don’t like writing Nadia and Portia, like I could but I do t want to this is by no means meant to imply that only “men” do this. I just don’t want to write them rn.

Asra

It happend when you first woke up after being brought back to life

Asra was so overwhelmed getting see you again, getting to hold you again, getting to kiss you again

He didn’t even realize the blank confusion in your eyes

He didn’t notice that you weren’t truly there, that you didn’t respond to his touch, that you didn’t kiss him back

Asra had missed you so much, your smell, your soft skin, your sweet voice. To have you under him again drove him crazy.

He continued ignorant that even if you knew what was going on you couldn’t even remember the words to tell him to stop

As he finishes looking deep into your eyes he sees it, the emptiness. He sees the way you look at him like a stranger and not with the warm loving familiarity you used to.

The truth of what he had done sinks in and makes him nauseous. How could he do this to you, bring you back just to treat you like some object for his own desire.

But he did desire you, even after r*ping you, he still ached for you. He hated it

He hated even more that you were still so far gone, you didn’t even realize what had just happened. Your eyes were as blank as ever, unaware of what he had done to you.

Despite this Asra raised his hands to your temple, and taking a deep breath he erases your first memory, the memory of the person you once trusted most defiling you when you were most vulnerable.

Julian

He was drunk and you were very very drunk.

After a long day of trying to fight the plague you both go back to your shop to have a few too many bottles

It starts with a very sloppy drunken kiss, both of your heads spinning, yours a little too much for you liking.

Julian loses himself in the drunken pleasure all of his frustrations from a long day in the palace going into fucking you as hard as he can manage like many nights before

Unlike those night however you had way more alcohol than you should have. You whole world spun violently fading in and out.

Every push and pull of his thrusts only made your world spin faster

Just as he was reaching his end you felt the knot in you throat release but instead of the words you had hoped would come out it was vomit.

Julian pulls away startled his head beginning to clear as you crumple up and continue to puke over the side of the bed tears streaming down your cheeks

He immediately goes into doctor mode scooping you up and placing you in the bath. As if completely sober he manages to clean the bedroom, wash both of you up, make sure you’re drinking water, and getting both of you tucked into the now clean bed.

By this point you’re completely blacked out and Julian is almost completely sober. He lays there holding you close and finishes himself off as he replays what happened over and over in his mind. Each time feeling more and more disgusted with himself.

How could he? How could he ignore you like that? How could he take advantage of you like that? He’s a monster. A selfish disgusting monster that violated the love of his life. Even though it was a drunken miscommunication he feels as though he had brutally beaten and r*ped you. He finally manages to cry himself to sleep holding you close.

You awake the next morning alone with a killer hangover and only the memories of Julian taking care of you.

Lucio

Lucio doesn’t see it as a big deal at least not at first. He wants you and the count gets what he wants.

Hoping to free Muriel and Asra of his manipulation you go to the castle to confront the count

It doesn’t go as you had hoped

Instead of bargaining with him, he threatens their lives.

Unless you submit to him, he’ll have them both killed.

So you do, you let him use you how ever he sees fit

That is until Muriel breaks free of the coliseum. That night you and Asra had follow him into the woods, that way if the count does go after any of you at least you can all fight him together

There sitting around the fire you tell them what he had done. There’s a look of disgust, hatred, and heartbreak on their faces as you tell them all of the horrible things he you did to you.

A few years later working at the palace with Julian puts you in contact with Lucio again. You thought you were fine until you see his golden arm. One glance and you’re a sobbing crumpled up on the floor.

Thankfully Julian is there with you and is able to get you away from him. Finally safe in the library you tell him everything that has happened. It breaks Ilya’s heart to hear what you had been through and from that point on he does everything in his power to keep you away from the Count.

Of course you forget all of this after coming back to life.

It kills Asra to see you with him now, completely ignorant to the trauma Lucio’s caused you. It hurts him even more that he can’t tell you with out risking having to wipe your memories again.

When your memories do return, Lucio begs and pleads with you that’s he truly wants to change and regrets how he used to be. The great Count Lucio is on his knees bawling his eyes out for forgiveness. He doesn’t want to loose you over one of his many many mistake

If you guys like these lmk cause I could totally write several fics based on these

[cosmiceverafter]

Whiskey Lullaby

Summary: The aftermath of Alex leaving Roswell. 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, depression, death, abuse (shed scene memory). 

This fic is for @michaelguerinweek - Day 3: “I don’t want you to go.” (distance/separation) It’s quite angsty. 

***

The whiskey was bitter and stung his tongue, but Michael devoured the pain.

Hell, he welcomed it.

Michael wanted to forget. Forget how the love of his life’s guitar calloused fingers felt caressing his naked body. The way that smooth tongue sucked deeply upon the sensitive skin behind his ear where it met his neck’s skin. But most importantly, he wanted to forget those damn soulful eyes and the way they had peered into his with a promise of forever.

More whiskey.

There would never be enough whiskey for this type of numbing tincture, the rational part of his brain exclaimed.

Michael swore loudly and chucked the empty glass bottle deep into the desert, hearing it shatter within the distance as if it had been his heart he had thrown instead.

God, he was so damn angry. Alex had just left, left without a word.

Fuck.

The reasonable and raw part of the whole ordeal was that Michael knew this was his own damn fault.

Michael bit his lip and tasted blood, cursing the tears starting to form in his eyes.

If only he hadn't pushed Alex away. If only he had told Alex the truth, not just about Rosa, but about who he really was.

God, he had wanted to and even replayed the conversation over-and-over inside of his mind.

But after that night with Rosa, Michael had changed. They were the monsters the humans believed them to be. How would Alex ever want him knowing what they had done? Rosa was like Alex’s sister, and they had erased her from oblivion.

Guilt, not for the first time, soaked his veins as the whiskey had.

The Pod Squad had covered up a murder and ruined the innocent image of a girl who had her whole life in front of her. All to protect one of their own. He would do it again for his found family, but it still made his stomach feel sick.

He had thought he was a good kid. One that studied and tried for more. But that was the lie, wasn’t it? Michael wasn’t normal. He was an alien from another planet. He’d never truly fit in. And after what had happened with Rosa, the realization had made him stop trying.

Michael tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but the way Alex had looked into his eyes every single time as they made love, he had felt like a fraud. It would push him to rebel even harder, even though he saw it was breaking Alex’s heart.

The guy believed in him for some reason, which he used to love but now loathed.

Alex was too good for this world. He would never truly deserve him. Jesse Manes had been the devil in his ear, haunting him at every move.

Michael looked down at his injured hand and clenched his eyes shut from the painful memory.

He had just wanted one good thing in this stupid life, even if he didn’t deserve it.

But it was too late for that. He had acted rash and ridiculous, throwing his future away as he drank himself into oblivion in the middle of the day, secretly pouring his stash of acetone into the glass.

Michael had gotten into bar fights and had once again been thrown into jail.

It was nothing new but this time when he had been released, everything had changed.

His love had left him.

The pain hadn’t settled in as he knew and hoped Alex understood he would’ve followed that human anywhere on this planet.

Michael had thought perhaps he was still in a drunken stupor, but the sad truth of the matter was that aliens recovered quicker to sobriety than the typical human.

This nightmare had been a reality check, the worst kind, and Michael felt sick in his truck’s back as he re-lived every second of it.

He had made his way to the Manes’ residence after he had been released, even though he had known Jesse would kick his ass. But he had realized this time in jail, that he needed to get his shit together before his once-promising future really did wash away.

Michael had wanted to go and find Alex and apologize for being a dumbass for far too long. He wanted to prove to be the man Alex believed he could be. And he also wanted to open himself up raw and finally tell Alex everything. Absolutely everything.

The thought was terrifying, to say the least, but it was worth it. He saw Alex by his side for the long haul. Michael didn’t know much, but he knew they belonged together. 

He had known this the first time he had heard Alex sing and play his music in school. The moment had touched him in a way nothing else had. For once, he had wanted to know someone other than his alien siblings. Michael had wanted something for himself. 

Perhaps there was more to earth than he had come to understand.

But that apology and the communication of who he was and what they had done that night with Rosa, wouldn’t happen, because as he had searched around Alex’s house, a neighbor had asked who he was looking for.

“Alex Manes,” he had said innocently, a bit out of breath.

The older gentleman shook his head and said the words that had crumbled Michael’s existence. “Sorry, son. Alex Manes enlisted into the army and left first thing this morning. He’ll be gone for quite some time.”

Michael had felt as though he had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest, yet the words refused to register inside his intelligent brain. “I’m sorry, what? He’s...gone?”

“He sure is. His father is proud of his choice to go. Serving his country and all.”

“I’m sure he is,” Michael had growled. That sadistic son of a bitch had forced Alex, Michael just knew it. This was no choice. Alex wouldn’t have left him...not like this. 

“I’m sure Sergeant Manes will leave you his son’s mailing address.”

Not in this lifetime. Michael shook his head, “Nah. Thanks, though.”

He hadn’t remembered walking away. He hadn’t reflected going to the liquor store and getting several bottles. He hadn’t recollected driving his truck out to the desert to his and Alex’s spot. But he had remembered taking his first sip that day.

Because that sip of whiskey had been a lullaby of a soulmate gone away; the missing void would now be a permanent hole shaped resident etched into his dead beating heart. It was the love who wasn’t coming back. The one that got away.

The only one.

“I’ve lost my human,” he whispered to the stars foolishly, talking to the family he’d never actually known, the ones who had left him, too.

Michael looked at the night sky, knowing that now the world would be a darker place. The sun would not shine as brightly, and the stars would be forever muted with their brilliance.

With each sip, he said goodbye to the future he had hoped to have. He washed away the dreams and desires and replaced them with self-hatred and a mask of someone he no longer recognized.

Which was fine by him.

This would be the new song of his life here on earth.

His whiskey lullaby.