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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: yuhhhhhh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Gulls flap across the cornflower sky. Thin wisps of cloud crest beneath the gemlike sun, shining at you with a blinding gleam. You shield your eyes with your hands as Sy steers along the crooked backroad around the cliffs the face the coast.

Aika pokes her head out between the seats as she sits in the back. She is your only comfort on the long journey to a beach you’ve never been before. 

You don’t ask where you’re going. You wouldn’t know the difference, you only know that most people head to West Cove. You jostle with the truck. The sun reaches its apex. It’s a bit late to just be getting to the beach then. 

Yet, he doesn’t stop. He keeps driving. Around the rocky crags and cliffside, on and on, through the scatter of trees, and past that. You can still see the water but the clock ticks on. 

You sit up, more rigid than ever. You haven’t been able to relax but you’re on edge as you realise how far you’ve gone. How long he’s been at the wheel. 

“Everything okay, sweetie?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah. Um... does Aika need to go?” 

“She’ll let us know, don’t ya worry,” he chuckles. “Pretty, ain’t it? The water?” 

You peer around him as the water now stands at his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’t we be going towards the coast?” You ask. 

“We’ll get there, sweetie,” he assures you. “Just a little further. Didn’t I mention I got a surprise?” 

“Erm, no. A surprise?” 

“Don’t wanna spoil it,” he smiles and runs his hand over his beard.  

You shrink down and go silent. You don’t want to push him. You can’t help but hear the echo of his booming voice and the crack of plaster around his head. No, you won’t do that again. 

You come in sight of a house. The siding is beaten wood, the blue paint chipping away, and there’s a crooked shed around one side. The pillars of the porch are dusted with dirt and the old windows boarded up. A tickle creeps up your spine as Sy steers toward it. 

“Surprise,” he blusters excitedly. 

“Surprise?” You squeak and stare at the house. 

“It’s a beach house,” he proclaims proudly. You don’t have the heart or the courage to extinguish his excitement. Does he not see how decrepit it is? 

“A beach house?” 

“Oh yeah,” he shuts off the engine. “Just us.” 

“Wow,” you breathe. 

He laughs so loud it makes you flinch. He slaps his hand down on your thigh and squeezes, “don’t be so nervous. We’re gonna get it all cleaned up. Won’t take much.” 

“Mhm,” you hum as you look down at his large hand. You gulp and he lets you go. 

He gets out and you look at Aika. Her wet nose touches your cheek. Sy whistles and she hops between the seats and follows him out the open door. You climb out on your side and peer up at the house in dread. 

“Sy, it’s... it’s gonna be dark in a few hours though.” 

“Well, we won’t be driving back now,” he scoffs. “We’re gon’ be here a while. Just you and me. Like a honeymoon or such.” 

Your heart sinks. This man took over your life barely two days ago and he’s talking like you’re married. Worse, you let him bring you out to who knows where. Why hadn’t you been paying attention? 

“I’ll just get it opened up and air it out,” he says as he marches up to the porch. 

You watch him. Stunned. You really can’t believe this. It can’t be real. You scratch your scalp as panic razes through your skin. Aika sits on the steps and you turn back to the truck. You don’t understand... 

You go around the bed of the truck. It’s covered. And locked. You can’t pull it open. 

You hear him stomping before he appears. You quickly move away from the truck and pretend that you’re admiring the wooden bench amid the patchy grass. He calls your name and you turn to him, swallowing your fear down deep. 

“Wanna come see? Got a flashlight.” 

He wiggles the yellow plastic and clicks the button. He hits it to make it turn on. You blow out a breath and nod. You go to him, choked of your voice. 

He waves you ahead of him. You enter as he shines the flashlight around you. There’s furniture draped in sheets and an old cross stitch hung over a chest of drawers. There’s a fire stove that could be a century old and a carpet with fraying edges. You don’t know if this place is forgotten or condemned. 

“Get the boards down, get the dust out, and it’s perfect. Isn’t it?” He purrs as he comes up and puts his arm across your shoulders. 

You wince and nod. He guides you along as he aims the light into the kitchen and the stove that looks right out of a mid-century advert, well maybe if it got a fresh coat of paint. He squeezes you closer and stops. 

“You alright, sweetie? You quiet?” 

“Yes,” you sniff, “y-yeah. Like you said. It’s a surprise.” 

“Now I know you wee probably looking forward to the beach today but we’ll get this place nice and cleaned up and have a good fire. I brought stuff for smores. Heh, another surprise. Then tomorrow, we’ll have the whole day in the sun.” He waves the flashlight around, “you know, it’s not ten minutes walk to the shore. I know a shortcut.” 

“That’s... great,” you eke out. How does he know this place? 

“I’ll get the windows open. How about you pull them sheets off the furniture?” He suggests. 

“Okay,” you agree softly. 

You turn and go back down the hall. Aika watches through the door. You’re trapped here with this mad man and his trained dog. There’s no way out, even if you did know where you are. 

All you can do is distract yourself for as long as you can. Take your time, stay busy. It’s once you have nothing to do that he’ll be able to do anything he wants. 

You work at uncovering all the furniture. Then you find a cloth to dust the surface. Sy tosses the boards from the windows in the yard and you take the straw broom form the corner to sweep the floor. The sky ripples as the sun sets and you work in the dimming haze. 

Sy lights an old lantern, struggling to catch the wick. He leaves it with you as he takes the flashlight. He mutters something and continues into the shadows the hallway. There’s a clatter and Aika taps through the open door with breeze. She stops as her snout points after her owner. 

Thump, thump, thump, thump... the noise whittles off and you look down as you hear noise beneath you. There’s a basement? You wait as Aika keeps vigil, unmoving. You scratch the floor with the bristles as you try to get up as much dirt as you can. 

There’s a crackle and some more creaking. Sy thunders back up the stairs and you look up as he searches the wall. He twists a switch and shuts off the flashlight. The tinted bulbs on the wall light up.  

“Found the generator,” he says. “Look at you. Looks good in here.” 

“Um, yeah,” you continue to brush the floorboards. 

“Should I make up the bed?” He asks coyly. 

You put your head down as you move with the broom, “well, I am getting tired.” 

“Tired...” he mutters. “Mm, sure, but we’re still gonna have a fire, huh? It’s a nice night.” 

You nod, “if that’s what you want.” 

He sighs, “hm, I’ll... I’ll go fix up the bed then.” 

You know he’s disappointed. You’re trying to play along but you’re terrified. As the crickets buzz louder and you hear the forest cracking and swaying, the desolation sets in. Your hopelessness cannot be staved off much longer. 

Mistake after mistake, you can’t help but blame yourself for this. He might be the villain, but you set yourself up. You started that Instagram, you didn’t pay enough attention to security, you spoke to him at the grocery store, and you let him take you home. You let him invade your life and when you finally tried to get him out, it was already too late. 

It is too late. 

You still the broom and squeeze it. You stare at the window. You're lost. Entirely. 

He comes back out and you flinch. You try to shake off your despair. It clings but you make yourself smile. You lean the broom against the wall. 

“Can I help?” You ask. 

“Help, er, sure.” He accepts, “I got some fresh stuff in the truck.” 

He ushers you ahead of him. You go outside and he’s close behind. The keys jangle as he comes up next to you and you walk with him to the bed of the truck. He unlocks it and you nearly collapse. He drags out a large plastic bin. What is all this? It’s like he’s moving... 

How long has he been planning this? 

You step back and blink. You’re woozy with horror. All this stuff, you don’t think he’s planning on leaving. 

“Ah, this one,” he drags out another container. “Got the sheets in there.” 

He lifts the big blue bin and you take another step back. You shake your head as you stagger around dumbly. He doesn’t notice as he hauls the container in his arms toward the porch. 

“Be a sweetie and get the door,” he says. 

“No,” you wisp and clear your throat. “No,” you say loud as you stumble back. “No, no!” 

You shake your head as he turns to you, his face contorted in confusion. You spin and nearly trip over your own feet. You burst into a sprint. You’re not thinking. It’s purely your body moving on fear alone. 

You pump your arms and lift your knees, heading for the spatter of trees. They aren’t thick enough to hide you completely but you might be able to weave around fast enough to lose him. And then... 

Then... 

You don’t know. All you know is that you have to keep going. You can hear him. His footsteps crush through the twigs as he hollers, “Aika.” 

He whistles as you puff shallowly through the pain in your chest. Go, go, go. It isn’t fair. It’s two against one. 

You get past the first few trees as you hear his next order but don’t understand it. It’s in that other language. You’re hit from behind, a toppling force that sends you onto your stomach. You land painfully in the dirt as Aika stands on your back and growls in your ear. 

“Aika, please. You’re a good girl,” you plead, “Aika, off! Aika--” 

“She don’t know English,” Sy snarls as stomps up behind you and kicks your foot.  

You whimper and drop your head down. Your stomach, knees, arms, hands, legs, even your cheeks are scraped from your fall to earth. And fall you did. Back to reality. 

“Please,” you snivel. “Please, Sy. Take me home. I’m scared.” 

He sighs and snaps his fingers. Aika quiets and hops off of you. She turns as she stands by your head and Sy approaches you from behind. He pulls you up and turns you to face him. 

“You are home, sweetie,” he grits through his teeth. 

You pout and shake your head, “no, Sy. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Doing what?” His forehead wrinkles and his eyes dull. “I’m takin’ care of ya. What do ya mean?” 

“But... we can’t stay out here.” 

“Why not?” 

You stare up into his eyes. They’re empty. Like before. Like when he went rabid. You squirm and grab at his thick fingers. 

“Because,” you exclaim. “I don’t know you.” 

He winces and blinks. His throat bobs as his head tilts back and forth. He squeezes your shoulders and huffs, “no, no, you know me.” 

“I don’t,” you whine. “I don’t know you.” 

“You do. You do.” He insists. “You spoke to me. You smiled at me. Every night.” 

Your lip quivers and your tears overflow, “Sy,” you sniffle, “Sy, you... you... you’re not a bad guy, you’re just confused. Please, I know you don’t want to hurt me so take me home.” 

He closes his eyes and sucks in through his nose. His chest rumbles and he his breath out slow. His lashes lift. His pupils swallow up his irises. You shiver at the pools of black. 

“Captain,” he snarls. “I am your Captain.” 

[edges-of-night]

Hii! <3

I wanted to request imagines for reader taking care of the lotr characters (preferably all, but if that’s too much then at least the women and maybe Aragorn and Faramir too) when they’re sick/injured for whatever reason

(I love your imagines so much, the way you characterize them all is so perfectly amazing💜)

Thank you for your kind words! I did all of my usual characters because I love hurt/comfort and sick!fic scenarios that much haha! I hope you will enjoy your post ♡

Have a great weekend everybody!

CW: injuries and illnesses, mention of blood

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

While Aragorn’s heroic sacrifice didn’t cost him his life, it took a heavy toll on him. Lucky for him, you’ve spoken often enough about medicinal herbs and healing practices – you are able to take great care of him, bedded on his white linens. Even when he is still too weak to speak, Aragorn will hold your gentle hand.

.

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

You return so often to Arwen’s bedside that you wonder if it would be easier to just stay – but you know that privacy and rest are just as important as her wish to hold your hand. Whenever you’re with her, you tend to her wounds or read her passages from her favourite book to make her smile, which Arwen appreciates immensely. As she rests, she plans on properly kissing you as soon as she’s healthy.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir hates that a common cold has him chained to the bed for over a week now. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t enjoy you taking care of him – even though you do tease him and his constantly red nose from time to time. It’s all in good fun though, and he cannot wait to hold and kiss you again!

.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

When Lord Elrond returned to Rivendell injured, your heart skipped a beat – he is the most skilled Elvish healer around – who else could treat the gaping, magical wound in his side? The honour is bestowed on you, and you master it despite your nervous mind. Nothing is greater encouragement than finally seeing Elrond’s summer eyes greet you again ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

The Rohirrim have all kinds of names for the strange fever that has befallen their dear Éomer – but no methods of healing. They consider it an impossible challenge for you to tame his feverish, sweaty body and nonsense mumblings. But, somehow, the horse lord calms whenever you reach his bedside, sighing when you change the wet cloths on his forehead and rest your hand on his chest.

.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Initially, Éowyn thinks nothing of the cut she got during sword lessons. But days of ignoring the wound on her hand could put her in grave danger, you know that – and thus offer to take a look and do what you can. At first, Éowyn protests, but she falls silent as soon as you turn her hand in yours, unaware of how soft her expression grows… She admires your medical knowledge, too! “Is there at all something you cannot do, you marvellous creature?”

.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

It takes days for Faramir to wake up. Many others believe him doomed and have given up on sitting by his side, trying new herbs and waters, only to see his crystal blue eyes open once more. But you have the matter-of-factly patience of a boat pushing its way through a deadly ocean. And indeed, on a moonlit night, Faramir’s gentle gaze awaits when you return to his side, whispering, “Thank you for believing in me, my love.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Sometimes you wonder if you are the only person to have consideration for both the physical and the mental wounds Frodo has endured. You always make sure he’s fine and support him when thoughts of the big scar on his chest sends him to dark places inside his mind. You both know that those wounds take much more time to heal than the cut itself, and Frodo is more than glad to have you by his side. To soothe him, you caress the scar.

.

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Ever since a mysterious malady has befallen Lady Galadriel, Lothlórien is in turmoil. No one would even let you near her – until she ordered her guards away, to allow you to treat her with your medical and arcane knowledge. In fact, you become the only one she wishes to see in her elegant rooms at all. Despite her current weakness, her ethereal beauty and soft smiles make it hard for you to concentrate…

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Out of breath, you hurry to Gandalf’s beside with that one legendary flower needed to cure him. He insists you be the one to prepare the potion, too. Day and night, you try to perfect his medicine, always worried his state might get worse. When Gandalf finally drinks your potion, the wound on his chest closes magically. But it’s nothing to Gandalf, who has trusted you entirely: “I never doubted you for a moment, my dear.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

After Gimli’s accident in the mine, you were right by his side to ensure his head injury wouldn’t get much worse. His headache is hurting badly though, and your proud Dwarf is but a shadow of himself. He knows rest would be best for him, but it’s hard for him to stay away from work and banquets alike. Still, he appreciates that you pamper him with his favourite baked goods and healing kisses on his head ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir is not an easy patient, but that doesn’t stop you from treating his catastrophic shoulder, which he has ignored for days on his way through the woods of Lórien. Spread onto linen sheets beneath you, he grunts and cringes – as much as his half-dead stone face can, that is – under both your touch and your harsh words. But deep down, he knows you were simply worried – and honestly, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with that!

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

It seemed inevitable that Legolas would someday break a leg because of his acrobatic archery skills, and yet you are surprised. Elves heal quickly, but Legolas suffers greatly under his involuntary immobility. You help him by recounting his favourite quest stories and eventually by supporting his first tentative steps outside, which he thanks you for with the stormiest embraces ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry thinks he can walk of anything – even an injured knee. He doesn’t want you to think of him as weak or unable to take care of himself. But even Merry can only play down a limp for so long. Truth be told, he is actually relieved that he no longer has to hide the pain, and that you spreading balm on his knee is no ordeal but in fact a very sweet gesture.

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin has been sneezing and stumbling for days, eventually falling into bed with the biggest groan you have ever heard come out of him. He is a “suffering” patient and you know it. But while Pippin greatly enjoys you pampering him with food, tea and blankets, he secretly cannot wait to take care of you in return – no matter if you’re sick or not! “It’s you’re not actually sick, or else I couldn’ave kissed you!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Gardening involves many dangers, and although Sam has been practising it since childhood, he eventually hurts himself on his gardening knife. The cut is deep and won’t stop bleeding, but you are quick to bandage it and remind him to change the fabric once a day. But Sam has trouble keeping his thoughts straight, when all he can think about is you holding his hand in yours, all close…

[rebo-chan]

Hello, everyone. To today's episode of Tumblr user Rebo-chan loses her mind and assigns each and every Vongola guardian a flower that I have painstakingly searched high and low for (I wish I was being dramatic, I got too invested in this as I worked on it). Is this done in a state of mania? Perhaps, but I am diseased by COVID-19 as we speak and this is what I will do with the time I am meant to be resting with. Nonetheless we must get started. Content under the cut, because I can NEVER make a short post. It's against my core beliefs clearly.

Sawada Tsunayoshi:

The European Orange Lily (Lilium bulbiferum)

My reasoning for this starts with the fact that the "lily" itself has a lot of different meanings, but the important aspect of the lily is that its considered the spring flower and represents often meanings of renewal and rebirth. The very messaging for our sweet boy, a life restarted after he meets his mentor. An orange lily specifically has meanings dipped into warmth, joy, passion (In regards to his devotion to those he loves), 'welcoming' to new opportunities in your life (lol), and most importantly - confidence and pride. Something that he grows to be over the course of his renewal, pride in his friends. Confidence in his strength to protect them. KHR is a story about a nobody becoming somebody strong enough to protect them, even and especially when they falter themselves. It should also be noted that in Hanakotoba (Japanese flower language), orange lilies represent 'revenge and hatred'. Which I think is a factor of Tsuna we can't ignore, as sweet as he is, TYL Tsuna's actions become darker the more you think about them. Tsuna can and has killed when a villain has overstepped too far, and never forget that he just wanted to know "who" Yamamoto's attacker was. For no reason, just to look at him, maybe shake his hand lol. Fr though, that boy's made of fire, both to keep his loved ones warm and to burn their enemies. I think the orange lily fits him nicely.

Also yes, I'll do my best to color-code these flowers~

Gokudera Hayato:

A Red Fressia

So, its quite hard actually to find any sort of 'red' flowers that aren't about some sort of romantic-esque devotion. Just being a red flower inherently puts you in that category of 'passion, love, marriage' meanings when it comes to flowers. It's a real struggle, but luckily he's our only red character amongst the Vongola kids. Okay, so the Freesia is represented by the concept of friendship and ultimate trust. I think it was easier for me to find a flower that represents devotion or duty and tack it on to Gokudera, but I think that's just looking at him on the surface. The story behind the freesia is that the botanist who found them in South Africa decided to name it after his friend as a symbol of their friendship. Very lovely :)<3 For all of Gokudera's dutiful affection for Tsuna, a lot of it is based on the fact that Tsuna was his first friend and the person who he trusted first. His eventual character growth and bonding with the other guardians came as he allowed himself to trust them, when he realized that his 'duty' that he believed to be absolute was above his bonds. Rather, it's his bonds that strengthen his resolve to be the perfect right hand man. Due to the intense representation of friendship and trust, freesias are given to a loved one to represent commitment to them, not unlike Gokudera's commitment to Tsuna and therefore the Vongola family unit. It should also be noted that in Hanakotoba, freesias also have a negative meaning which is childishness and immaturity which I do feel is something that Gokudera has to work through in order to become the best version of himself and has done quite well at by the end of the series. He's our little friendship blossom :)<3 Yamamoto Takeshi: Himalayan Blue Poppy

Let me start this by complaining that 'blue' flowers are so fucking rare, it took me forever to find something matched and was also color-coded with Yamamoto, that didn't dip into too indigo, because of the rarity of a nicely blue flower. To start, blue as a color has all those lovely Yamamoto vibes of being calming, easy on the mind, tranquility, all that beautiful stuff we know Yamamoto to be. (It's almost like Amano color-coded her characters guys..) Poppies themselves got a bit of cultural significance in the West, being the flowers given to WW1 soldiers after they'd passed as a way of remembrance. They're also known for growing in desolate war-torn areas, just a patch of poppies as well as having many soldiers buried with a poppy with them in honor. With that the poppy itself has themes of death, honor, lessons, tradition and remembrance. With Yamamoto’s connection to the Poppy flower, Yamamoto himself is..pretty death-coded. HEAR ME OUT. HEAR !! ME OUT!!!! Varia arc, Squalo ‘dies’ against Yamamoto. Future arc, Tsuyoshi is killed for Yamamoto being involved with the Vongola, Shimon with Yamamoto himself getting nearly killed and then that big moment where he offers to kill Daemon in retaliation for what was done to Kaoru. While not canon as well, the primo fillers are about Yamamoto dealing with the fact he DIDNT kill daisy and how he felt he had to be less easy-natured and actually go for the kills from now on. And of course, his attempt during daily life when he could not do what he loved anymore. He’s VERY death-coded y’all. But the poppy itself isn’t just some omen of death, but the lessons one can gather from those who have passed. Yamamoto’s own battle style is about taking the lessons of those before him who carried Shigure Soen Ryu and then growing upon that to carve a new and improved future for himself and those he cares about. He adapts to their lessons, what Squalo and Tsuyoshi have to teach him. On the fly, continuing the Shigure legacy and creating more moves to eventually pass on to the one that succeeds him. In general, he carries any lessons he has up until the end of the series and tries to never make the same mistake again. Whether that’s his lessons against the Mists he’s battled, his loss against Squalo for not having a proper sword style, and though he doesn’t get a chance against Gamma again, he’s always understood the importance of teamwork. That being said, he’s not just a poppy. He’s a Himalayan Blue Poppy. You see the himalayan blue poppy has a different meaning outside that of the ones that the other poppies do. With its rarity, it also represents success, potential, pursuit of dreams, and possibility.  Yamamoto is the Vongola family’s prodigy, a natural born hitman, the star baseball player on his team. Stuck at a crossroads between his dream and being able to be in a position to protect the ones he loves. An impossibly difficult choice to make, yet Yamamoto handles it with ease. He just won’t choose! He’ll do both! Which fights very nicely with the Hanakatoba meaning of the poppy. “Fun-loving” “A reminder to remember happiness.” Along with general blue color meanings of tranquility, that is Yamamoto to his core, I believe. When things get their worst, he is there to remind everyone that it is never as bad as it feels. To wash away the blood spilled, that is the role of the Vongola Rain Guardian. His crossroad isn’t an issue to him, because that’s not what he fights for! He fights to make things easier for everyone, so they may remember happiness. That sort of thing doesn’t exactly need him to make a choice on his path. Now, does it? If he’s forced to choose, he will just carve out new possibilities for himself and the ones that he loves with the lessons he’s learnt. 

Lambo Bovino: Green Envy Zinnia

Contrary to the title, the green envy zinnia has nothing to do with envy. Quite the opposite, actually. The zinnia itself represents endurance (HEAR. ME. OUT LOL), lasting affection, joy, and various other things. So, the zinnia is super fucking tough, again hear me OUTTTT. They bloom all the way from springtime to autumn, something pretty unheard of from flowers which gave them their meaning. A green envy Zinnia specifically represents growth or a journey. Wishes of a healthy and successful growth. And I believe that is the hope for Lambo, as he progresses through the series. He is quite literally a child, both himself and TYL. But that’s just the thing for him, to the one that chose the guardians (Iemitsu, it’s very implied that it was Iemitsu), Lambo is an INVESTMENT. And a correct one if twenty years old Lambo was anything to go by. Not only that, the zinnia represents a joyous endurance. This doesn’t have to be painful for him, and it’s not as he’s allowed to both be a kid in Tsuna’s care while also holding on tight when told to stay out of the fight. (“You have to take the younger me wherever you go, he wants to go with you.”). And as a bit of an angsty little hehe on my part, the zinnia also represents missing those who have passed, that you remember someone and love them even now that they’re not with you. (“Seeing you all again, I thought the day would never happen. It’s making me emotional.”) Honestly, judging by how Lambo fights when he gets the opportunity to properly do it, he just isn’t weak. Destroying Kikyo’s box animal, fighting against Ooyama, and of course against Levi too. In Hanakotoba, the Zinnia represents loyalty. He is their youngest blossom, enjoying being around the one he considers a brother with hidden potentials to grow into someone with the ability to be Vongola’s shield. If the ones he loves ever make it to see that sight, of course. 

Ryohei Sasagawa: Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) 

Okay, so the yarrow is first of all a funky flower. If you’ve never seen OTHER colors of the yarrow flower, I implore you to google it. Especially the red ones? Why are you so pretty? Lucky enough for this flower (and me I’m starting to lose my mind here, this was a much bigger task than I thought it would be) the different colors don’t change the meaning of the flower here which is neat. It also unfortunately has no hanakotoba meaning either. So, anyway. The yarrow. It represents a warrior’s bravery, protection, and healing. The healing comes from the fact that its a commonly used herb for bruises, cuts, and sprains. There’s also huge folklore around it which affects its scientific name, as Achilles used yarrow to take care of the men he was in charge of. This flower was also used as a ward against evil, where people would hang this outside of their homes in order to protect them from evil getting inside. A superstition developed around this leading to Yarrow to be named the devil’s nettle to refer to the belief that the devil would come around and shake the yarrow that people hung up due to wanting to curse them. This flower also represents strong everlasting love, to the point where a little tradition propped up where people would shove this flower up their nostrils whenever they had a nosebleed so if they dreamt about their crush it meant that they liked them back lol. Yall there was so much rich lore on this flower, it’s super neat. More than I could fit in here. Anyway, I’m sure yall see the connection with Ryohei acting as the group older brother, being the motivating factor for them. He was the first to go up during Varia arc and set the tone for the rest of the battles, that the Vongola would win. Last to show up during future, representing that all of them had finally been reunited. A draw against Aoba, again the very first battle, almost symbolizing HOW shimon would end. He’s the strength in their arms, acting as the last person to leave in future arc until they were ready to go. Taught them and helped lead them to make decisions during that arc. It’s almost his duty to protect the younger ones, even getting up on Hibari’s case in the fillers for not helping out his younger classmen. We can’t even dismiss the way he would prefer to shield Kyoko from everything that they go through, and getting aggressive with Tsuna when Tsuna broke something he thought both of them saw eye to eye on.  Not much rattles him, honestly if you pay attention to his scenes, only getting the most nervous and agitated TRULY when he fears he won’t be able to protect someone (Asking Tsuna how Kyoko reacted to the news, Tozaru getting on his case about Lambo coming to the battle) Otherwise, he’s his happy loud confident self ready to tackle on anything for the sake of the family. Destroying the misfortune that attacks the family with their own body, the yarrow represents that duty well. For every bruise the younger one gets, Ryohei has the ability to heal it. For every fear, Ryohei tackles it first. Acting as a ward and protector for his family. Hibari Kyoya

Clematis (Etoile Violette)

Clematis is a climbing flower, to start with. One of those flowers that grow along walls and vines. It’s a very adaptable flower, able to work with various environments and thrive amongst them. They’re known as the traveler’s joy, meant to wish travelers good luck and act as protection to those who pass by them. While also having a more negative reputation, having “killed” other plants by outcompeting them considered having done the devil’s work. (The plant is actually considered invasive aha oops) The clematis though, itself represents mental fortitude, cleverness, and the ability to find hope in perilous situations. Hibari himself, I mean just that back and forth reputation is just him, no? Acting as Namimori’s protector, keeping a watchful eye on the town while also being utterly terrifying for Namimori students and almost overwhelming to those competing with him. (Dino will only find escape from Hibari in death, Mukuro is the same) But, he is also undoubtedly Vongola’s wall. Similar to Ryohei, not once throughout the series really and truly faltering. The clematis itself with its representation in mental fortitude can be given to someone when they need mental strength. I think the best way to represent this is directing you to that moment in Shimon arc when Tsuna, while not physical beaten, had been mentally tormented by everything that had happened and Hibari came to his battle to Adel. A simple, but strong “Little animal, your face right now is dull. Watch my fight.” It’s in that fight Tsuna gets his mental strength back, being given a hint to answer the question he’s been stressing and faltering over. Then there’s future arc, having been the only one TYL Tsuna trusted with the plan. Kokuyo Arc, Gokudera seeing an already defeated Hibari and taking him to the battle. Varia arc, the gang realizing that if Hibari is fighting next then they may have already won it and refusing to succumb to the poison in the sky battle. Rainbow arc, Tsuna considering them in that list of people he “just expects to help him.” He has the ability to be their hope, to be another factor of their strength. Where Ryohei is holding them up on the physical aspect, Hibari is absolutely their mental strength. (Isn’t it charming that the two eldest are the pillars of their group? I think it is). Also, in Hanakotoba, the clematis represents moral beauty and order. And that’s just the kinda man who could run something like the discipline committee, isn’t? The special thing, finally is that the etoile violette represents a sense of freedom from troubles. A free man, unchained himself and choosing to help those younger than him. Sometimes for the thrill of a battle, sometimes to actually help them with the reputation of a devil. Unpredictable, but still trusted.  It’s the sky that allows the clouds to roam freely, but even someday that sky will be beaten to death. 

Chrome Dokuro

Lupine (Blue Bonnet)

The Lupine flower is before anything else, a second chance at life. A recovery from one’s trauma and the admiration that comes from that. Its gratitude and kindness put into one. There’s a legend around the lupine flower about a land full of drought where Native Americans had believed would be saved by selflessness and yet no one had come forward to do anything, until a young girl came forward and offered the last of her possessions. The rain came to fall at her sacrifice, and hundreds of lupines had blossomed from the ground saving the tribe from drought and hunger as the seeds of the Lupine could be harvested to be eaten. The Lupine represents that the world will always give back if you are willing to help. Chrome, from her introduction, is told to be a girl who has nothing. With two parents who want nothing to do with her and no friends by her side. She runs forward to save a kitten and is gravely injured. With neither of her parents willing to help her, Chrome wonders if she is going to die here but is offered a deal by Mukuro. It’s here that Chrome is offered her second chance and she spends the whole series trying to return the favor to Mukuro. All while healing from her own trauma, the type of trauma that “no one could care about her”, as she is offered food and bonds from Tsuna, Kyoko, Haru, I-pin, Bianchi, Hibari, and so many others. It's in her second chance that she gets to experience what life truly had to offer her, as thank you for her continued selflessness. It’s that gratitude that she represents and the never-ending desire to give when she doesn’t accept Mukuro’s assistance anymore with her organs because she can no longer give him anything now that he’s out of Vindice Prison. She resolves that she will become someone who can protect the people she and Mukuro like. Her confidence isn’t perfect and she falters quite a bit, not believing that her powers are as great as those around her. But, that’s okay, because her goodness has brought her to people who have got her back until she can figure herself out. She has Mammon to correct her when her illusions are seen through that they are well made, but she’s just dealing with professionals and that’s why they’re seen through. There’s Tsuna who relies on her blindly, never doubting her strength to protect them as he asks her to act as defense during Shimon arc and protect Enma from his attack. Alongside with Fran, she is trusted to protect Yamamoto and Gokudera in the final battle against Vindice and taken with Tsuna against Jaegar. She has a lot of space to continue growing, but Lupin also represents voracity and happiness in Hanakotoba. She has her second chance to learn all about that, or as Mukuro put it to her, “An ending is merely the beginning of another cycle.”

Rokudo Mukuro

Aconitum (Wolfsbane)

Wolfsbane is also referred to as Monkshood. This is another one with pretty rich lore with its connection to werewolves. It’s referred to as “queens of the poisons” and has a pretty negative message to it on the outside. First of all, this thing’s poison? TOUGH AS HELL. Delirium, frothing at the mouth, vision impairment, and of course the classic coma<3 It’s got an uncanny resemblance to what rabies actually looks like. Fun, right? Okay, fr though onto its meaning. Wolfsbane is an omen that danger is nearby, not unlike the unnerving feeling Tsuna gets whenever he senses Mukuro nearby. Said to have come from Hell itself, the saliva that has dripped down from Cerberus himself. Not unlike our sweet boy. But, being an omen does not always represent something bad. Is he bringing the danger to you, or is he warning you of the true danger that lies past him? It’s a little bit of both. Aconitum represents concealed wisdom and caution in decision-making. But it also DOES represent protection, a proper and true warning of the dangers of the wild. That beauty does not always mean safe. For his twisted sense of vengeance and believing that taking over the world is the only way to destroy it for the sake of what was done to him, he isn’t necessarily wrong for being enraged about what happened to him. Yet, despite his hate, he doesn’t drag those who he cares about further down into it than he has to. He sends Ken and Chikusa away when they are going to get caught, he never uses Chrome for anything besides as a vessel to help her, and he says during Rainbow arc that if he forced Fran to continue past his limits he’d be no better than those nasty adults of his past. Aconitum balances sweetly between light and darkness, similar to Mukuro. He won’t admit it, but he cares for those amongst the Vongola. He infiltrates the Millefiore and sends the Vongola information after Tsuna’s death, he helps Chrome form a barrier around Enma so he could be safe from Tsuna’s X-Burner. And, of course he teams up with Vongola’s team during the rainbow arc. These are undoubtedly kind actions,  but when Tsuna gets angry at Mukuro during Rainbow claiming that he didn’t believe that Mukuro was the type to abandon his allies, Mukuro says that that was just his idea of him. Even though it was Chrome ultimately rejecting him, he instead pretended that he really was some big bad heartless person. Definitely, Mukuro is no angel, but also he’s no demon either. He’s.. just a human at the end. The aconitum’s dance with both light and dark, a flower that tries to warn, can be read both good and bad depending on how you look at it. His rejection of his ‘official’ position as part of the Mafia, yet acting as the Vongola Mist Guardian when their goals align. He’s as confusing as the duty he embodies, but he succeeds nonetheless in ensuring the family is untouchable in his deceptions. After all, the best way to fool your enemies is to fool your allies first.

[keystonepublishing]

The Saga of Hermitcraft on r/Place (1 April 2022 - 4 April 2022)

On the 1st of April 2022, Reddit unveiled a white blank canvas where every user had the ability to place one colored pixel in every 5 minutes. At its height, about 4 million people participated in one of the biggest internet collaborations ever made. The ripple effects reverberated into news reports as far away as Turkey, and the final canvas represents a snapshot of the multiple communities, events, memes, and what was popular around the world at that time.

This is a documentation of the Hermitcraft mural on r/place 2022.

aka.

Remember what I said about my latest ficbind being a distraction? This is what I wanted to be distracted from.

After Reddit's API fiasco of this year and the subsequent controversial event that was r/place 2023, I decided to save as much documentation about the 2022 event as I could. Luckily, I remember how there are already a series of posts by @riacte who documented the progress of the Hermitcraft mural throughout the whole event, from beginning to end. Her blogposts form the bulk of this book (like, 95%!) and I cannot thank her enough for preserving the happenings of the block men mural.

With that said, I quickly realized that someone who's not a Hermitcraft fan - or me if I'm older - might not get the gist of who's who on the mural. The solution? Make several pages dedicated to just listing who's who on the murals! Because of the sheer number of heads, the mural was divided into several pieces for easier labeling. As a bonus, I also threw in another mural nearby which was connected enough to the Hermitcraft community.

For consistency's sake and preserving focus, I decided to not label the peeps from Dream SMP or the MCC secondary mural. Wrangling Microsoft Word to create an infographic was hard enough, let alone 3! If I inadvertently left out a few bits of extra context from this decision, mea culpa.

When it came to typesetting the entire text block, I decided to make some consistent rules. Titles denoting each day or stage of the mural are on their own pages. New sections are titled using the Bahnschrift font and colored blue, while the first paragraph has their beginning lines look Minecraft-coded and topped with a drop cap (aka. those super-large alphabets).

The names of Hermitcraft and Minecraft players in general are bolded when they first appear in the text. Afterwards, they are bolded if they are contextually important to what's being said.

Extra context would be placed in the footnotes section at the bottom of the page. This is also where I dump some background information that would be invaluable for any readers who aren't Minecraft fans, which is why the SpaceX page looked like... uh, that.

My image policy is to go with the flow; I used as many images from riacte's posts as possible, but I also added-in some of my own if more context is needed. Placing them to look smooth with the text was harder - some are small enough to not cause any problems, others are large enough to fill entire pages without any problems, but a few like the Dream SMP mural (hey there! I managed to put you in!) are too wonky to fit perfectly without leaving no empty spaces.

So in that mural's case, I placed them to the side and let the contextual text flow around it. This principle was also used for the Dota2 / Love Live images and in a few other places throughout the book. The biggest case of this are the few images that are just too wide.

Like this one.

Making double-page spreads is not the easiest thing to do in Microsoft Word, and there are a few r/place images that are too wide to fit perfectly in a single page. Confining them to one page would also mean losing all their details, so making them a double-page spread was necessary.

Didn't make it easy though, especially when there are paragraphs of text and other images that needed to be shuffled around. Mess up the double-page images, and they won't meet in the middle. Mess up the text and other pics? There goes the layout and overall flow!

In the end, making this book took a lot longer than I expected, but I am still grateful to have made this as I have now read through many posts from Tumblr, Reddit, and even Youtube - people expressing joy that they have collectively made something together. I can only hope I have made some justice to them by compiling their work and (even if a small sliver) preserving their testaments.

May this r/place be remembered.

[hobiebrownismygod]

Hey!! I love your acc sm sooo I have a request ^_^

I’m not sure if you’ve done something similar to this already, but my request is how the spider gang would reveal their identity as spider man/spider woman to the reader. It could be a list of headcanons or a fic, whichever is better 😭

ty!

wait I love this im glad you requested it its so cute!! I decided to do head canons rather than fic cuz I think that makes more sense, so here you go! thank you for requesting <3

______________

Hobie ⋆｡°✩

If you guys were roommates or lived together, he'd probably just show up one day in his suit and not say a word about it. He'd act like it was the most normal thing and if you really wanted to know how it'd happened, or when it'd happened, he'd beckon you over with a smile and hold you in his arms while he answered whatever questions you wanted him to answer (as long as they weren't about his canon events. he doesn't talk about those) If you guys didn't live together, he'd just tell you out of the blue on some random Tuesday. You probably wouldn't take it seriously at first, but after a while you'd realize he wasn't joking and you'd eventually get used to him being a superhero. It definitely made things easier now that he didn't have you questioning why he was showing up all bloody at night and turning everything that went into the washer red and blue.

Miles 1610 ⋆｡°✩

He'd be pretty scared to tell you at first, because he'd be terrified that you'd leave him, or that you wouldn't be into the idea of being with a superhero. He'd put it off for as long as possible until he'd muster up the courage and just bring it up out of the blue. You could be in the middle of telling him about your day or asking him about homework and he'd just rip open his jacket and show you his suit and go "I'm Spiderman!" The two of you would just stare at each other in shock until one of you broke the silence. After that, he'd be pretty relaxed though, like a huge weight was taken off his shoulders.

Pavitr ⋆｡°✩

He'd probably come up with a whole plan on how he was gonna tell you, whether it'd be taking you out on a date, or slowly easing you into it or even surprising you like it was a pregnancy announcement with a weirdly cut card or a balloon(😭). It'd be a very intricate plan. Except he'd see you and his mind would go blank and he'd just blabber out the fact that he's Spider-man and you'd just stare at him in shock. It'd take you a second to really let it sink in but he'd answer all your questions eventually, and he'd make sure to share everything with you because he hates keeping secrets.

Gwen ⋆｡°✩

She'd sit you down and have a talk with you about it. She'd put a lot, and by a lot I mean a lot, of thought into the whole thing. She'd plan out what she was gonna say and what she was gonna do and (unlike Pavitr) she'd stick to her plan all the way through. It would probably end in her hugging you for a pretty long time and not wanting to let go until she was completely sure that you were okay with her secret identity. She's pretty scared of losing you. Afterwards the two of you would laugh it off and you'd probably go out to grab a snack or catch a movie. It would definitely be a huge stepping stone in your relationship together and she'd be very fond of this moment for the rest of her life.

[exitwound]

Amazon search crossbody bag shaped like a fish. Amazon search crossbody bag but it has to be shaped like a fish. A codfish with its many lovely fins a rainbow trout with all its color options. A herring quality for a good price with pockets meant for collecting shells and sea glass. A prickleback waterproof breathable fabric A pufferfish a school of sea needles a guppy an embroidered coelacanth Please why are you showing me another polygon zippered multi compartment single color nylon usb port rfid tap to pay apple pay portable cash register for traveling merchant traders of the future theft proof pocket with bluetooth encrypted lock Please stop Amazon please Amazon Im searching for a bag shaped like a fish Amazon you are supposed to have everything but you only have the same product a thousand times Amazon you are named after a rainforest I thought you would have the creatures of the earth Amazon you you do not even have bags shaped like the fish of the sea Amazon I want something you can not give me Amazon I am scared of your false utilitarian gods Amazon usefulness to a fish is only as good as aliveness Amazon millions of years have formed the swimming bodies of the fish who could think better forms would be found in computer modeling design programs by designers who job it is to play dead and browse for something copied to copy and add a pattern from the package of default patterns and Target will just love it Target is salivating Target can smell In Color: Dusty Rose like a sharks goosebumps at a drop of fresh blood of course it is a beautiful color of course I found myself alone and hungry for In Color: Dusty Rose (2 Left) Amazon’s Choice which brand will you Choose Tommy Republic Banana Bahamas Old Navy Teen Marines and Amazon You’re My Baby Blue Amazon please swim home Amazon I will never love you Amazon I’m still here because I want to own something from you I want to own a crossbody bag shaped like a codfish with its many fins I want to put my phone wallet water bottle inside it I want to carry it around all the cities of the world Amazon my manager gave me a $10 Amazon gift card to keep me from quitting I quit anyway Amazon now I have $10 to give to you only you I only have $10 for you it’s not romantic but isn’t it? Makes me want to say Hey Amazon what’s your number I think we could be twin primes because Amazon you amaze me you really do and Amazon I want to own a fish shaped like a crossbody bag or maybe it was the other way around was it the other way around I cantAmazon I just want you make it all easier Amazon if you won’t take the weight from me can you distribute it more ergonomically around my shoulders Amazon Amazon I have forgotten a world that was Amazon I can’t remember what a fish is Amazon can you describe it to me Amazon Amazon Amazon 10 Best Known Fish Species of the Amazon River of the Amazon fish described so far by science 40% are catfish and caracines including the neon tetra (Hyphessobrycon innesi), pearl headstander ... Amazon Fishing Species Guide · Peacock Bass · Payara · Arapaima · Piraiba Catfish · Redtail Catfish · Wolfish · Jau · Flat Whiskered Catfish. The Amazon has some 1,100 tributaries, 17 of which are over 1000 miles long. The Piramutaba catfish, a giant Amazononian catfish, is thought to migrate a ... The Piraíba is the biggest leather of fish in the Amazon Basin, reaching 3.2 yards (3 m) in length and 330 pouns (150 kg) weight. It has plump body, ... Category:Fish of the Amazon basin P · Panaque armbrusteri · Panaque bathyphilus · Panaque nigrolineatus · Panaque schaeferi · Paracanthopoma parva · Pareio... Amazon is home to several river monsters including the arapaima which needs to surface to breathe. The arapaima is unique in that its scales ... When it comes to eating the fish of the Amazon River, gamitana (Colossoma macropomum) is one of the most sought after due to its tasty flesh. CARAUARI, Brazil (AP) — Even in the most biodiverse rainforest of the world, the pirarucu, also known as arapaima, stands out. Top 8 most intriguing fish species that live in the A

[libraryofneith]

Out of Mind - Chapter 10 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul @taz-97

I'm baaaaaack! Apologies for yet another delay but I have finished my finals, all set to graduate (hopefully) and that means I have more time for you lovely people. Thank you once again for your patience, please enjoy. Also I'm going to compile a series list with all the chapters since some seem to be harder to find than others.

If anyone else wants to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I'll add you to the taglist.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Summary: You and Joel deal with the fallout of what happened with Marcus

Warnings: [whole fic is 18+ minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, cursing, allusions to PTSD due SA but no actual descriptions of SA, hurt/comfort, Joel is nice for once

You wanted to push him away, to fight him, to tell him to go to hell, but the warmth encompassing you, the soothing words in your ear and the smooth circles on the small of your back were too good to resist.

You

You were on your back. That much you knew. You were in utter darkness, couldn't even see your hand in front of your face, the oppressive weight of nothing surrounding you. There were only two things you knew: you were lying on your back, and somebody's hands were on you. You tried to crawl away but they snuck around your waist and pulled you back. In the darkness you could hear voices whispering.

This'll go a lot easier if you don't fight back…

I'm gonna enjoy this so much more…

This'll go a lot easier…

Sweetheart…

Don't fight back…

Don't…

Fight back…

Hands were grabbing your shoulders now and shaking you violently. You tried to scream, to tell them to stop but your throat was raw and nothing would come out. Instead you thrashed wildly, hands flailing everywhere, connecting with something - chest, arms, face? You didn't care you just wanted out. Then you heard another voice in the darkness.

Kid. Stop.

You turned away, the fear replaced by anger burning hot and sore in your chest. You didn't want him either.

It's OK.

The voice was so soft and so close, right in your ear. You shook your head, your hands still flailing in the dark, looking for anything to grasp, then they found two other hands, holding yours in a firm but gentle grip.

I'm here.

I don't want you here was what you wanted to say, but when you tried to speak nothing came out but sobs, and suddenly you could feel heat and moisture on your face as tears gushed out of your eyes.

Arms were encircling you now and you could feel a hand rubbing slow and even circles on your back. You knew who it was. As the blackness gave way to dark blue, white, grey and the nothingness became trees and bushed and rocks, you remembered where you were and who you were with. You wanted to push him away, to fight him, to tell him to go to hell, but the warmth encompassing you, the soothing words in your ear and the smooth circles on the small of your back were too good to resist. So you allowed yourself to fall into his embrace, head resting in the crook of his neck as your tears continued to fall.

"You awake now hon?"

"Shut up."

"OK."

Joel

It wasn't the first time she'd woken him up. That first night after, well, it had happened, she had slammed her sleeping bag down as far away from him as safety would allow and he hadn't objected, even as they fell asleep to the sound of each other's teeth chattering. He'd woken up who-knows-how-long later to the sound of her crying out. He'd jumped up, thinking they were being attacked by infected or more of Marcus' men but instead it was just her crying in her sleep. She looked like she was trying to hit something or someone but her arms were trapped by her sleeping bag.

He hadn't meant to scare her, he just wanted to wake her, or help get her arms free because at this rate she was going to hurt herself. But the minute his hand made contact with her shoulder, her eyes snapped open and her fist made contact with his nose.

"Ow, shit, what was that for?"

"Don't. Touch me" She spat, eyes filled with venom.

"I was only trying to.."

"I don't need your help. I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you." Joel flinched.

Her words had cut him deeper than he'd admit even to himself. But he didn't want to sleep with a broken nose every night so he did as she said, he didn't go near her. Even when the sound of her teeth chattering kept him up, even when she thrashed about so wildly she had bruises the next day, even when he could hear her crying in her sleep, and even when he could see bags under her eyes and her skin grow pale from exhaustion.

Until tonight. He was astonished when she put her sleeping bag next to him, but she'd simply glowered and said "it's too cold to sleep separately. This is just so I don't have to listen to you shivering all night. Got it?" He'd nodded. Got it.

And that's how he'd woken up to an elbow in his gut as she flailed helplessly. He'd tried to leave her alone, but this didn't seem to be going away, and he realised, with a stab of guilt, that it was probably worse because she was making prolonged physical contact for the first time since the attack. And that's when he decided, screw it. He couldn't leave her like this anymore. She could hit him if she wanted, which she did as he tried to wake her up. Shaking her only made it worse so he did the only other thing he could think of, something that he was sure would earn him a verbal or physical lashing later, and he took her into his arms, held her, stroked her back and whispered "it's OK" over and over again until her body relaxed and he could feel a wet patch where her face met his shoulder.

"You awake now hon?"

"Shut up."

"OK."

There she stayed, not saying or doing anything. He wasn't sure what to do, what she wanted, but when he slowed his circles on her back, she mumbled "don't stop" into his chest, so he kept going until her breathing evened out and her quiet snores indicated that she had finally fallen into deep and undisturbed sleep, but even then he didn't stop. He just held her, listening to her snores, crickets chirping, birds starting to sing in the early hours of the morning. He was almost starting to fall asleep himself when he spotted the first snowflake.

Shit.

"Get up." She gave a muffled groan of protest. "C'mon, we gotta move." She blinked slowly then shot up.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Her face was panicked.

"It's just snow. We'll live but we have to keep moving, maybe find some real shelter." If Joel remembered right there was a cabin not too far away that was (usually) abandoned.

She groaned and he could see her trying to gather her strength. That must have been the first decent sleep she'd had in days and he'd cut it short. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she glanced at it but didn't shrug him off.

"I know you're tired but we can't stay." She nodded and took the hand that he offered, allowing him to pull her to her feet. His stomach lurched as she swayed slightly before gathering her things. This was not going to be a good day.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 23

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: You know this man don't quit.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The movie ends but Andy doesn’t wake up. You daintily touch his shoulder again, gripping firmly as you try to shake him awake. Your legs are starting to tingle. You move your feet, trying to wake up your muscles. He’s snoring louder than before.

You squeak out his name. The panic clusters in your chest, your heart starting to race as your ribs ache. You’re trapped! You hate that feeling. The sort of claustrophobia you get on the bus or in most public spaces. Your body is so hot that your skin itches.

“Please, Andy,” you beg as you push on his shoulder, only managing to rock him, “please, wake up.”

You sit back as he doesn’t respond. Not the way you need him to. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t stop snoring. He only nestles into you closer, his hand slipping under your leg.

You let your head drop against the cushion. The credit music plays as you wallow in your predicament. You’ll just have to wait. He’ll get up eventually. The way he’s slumped over can’t be comfortable.

You deflate and drag your hand off his shoulder. You close your eyes, knowing you’re stuck there until he wakes. You can’t sleep like that. So you’ll sit and try not to combust.

The longer the wait, the slower time feels. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the idle menu of the television. You can’t quite reach the remote so you sit there as the title cards for various new releases fade across the screen. 

You’re so so tired but you can’t sleep like that. You put your hand on Andy’s shoulder again, feeling the muscle under your hand, the rise and fall as he takes slow breaths. You keep from trying to rouse him again. You feel too bad to do that. If he’s that tired, you’ll let him sleep.

Your head gets foggy as the screen times out and goes black on its own, the back light still glowing. You hear the wax bubble in the candle as the wick burns itself out and you sink into the cushions further. You let your eyes close again, lingering in your incapacitation but unable to succumb to it.

The hours skew by and you see the night roll into morning through the window. It’s beautiful despite the pounding in your temples. Your body aches and your head thrums. Andy sleeps on, his breath lending a soothing rhythm to the silence.

The sky lightens gradually through the pane, deep navy fading to swathes of violet and rose, finally revealing a bright blue. You feel Andy shift as a groan escapes his lips. He drags his hand out from under your leg and you tense. He rubs his nose before pushing his fingers back through his hair.

“Dove,” his voice creaks dryly, “I’m sorry–” he coughs hoarsely, “I must’ve–” He grips the edge of the cushion and tries to push himself up, only to keel over again. He grunts and reaches back to grasp his lower back, “shit– sorry, I… I think I hurt my back.”

“What?” You murmur with a tinge of panic, “you’re hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he plants his hand flat and snarls as he forces himself up, falling back limp against the couch, “I pulled a muscle… sleeping like that–” he blows out as he tries to sit up, only to cry out, “I… you could’ve woke me up–”

“I… tried,” you utter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t–”

“Hmm,” he rubs his neck and winces, “yeah, I’m a heavy sleeper…” he lets his hand trail down the front of his shirt, “you… you sat here all night?”

You look at him. You don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does. You don’t mention that you couldn’t move him and leaving wasn’t a choice. Not as the pain needles between his brows, stitching a line between them.

“Can I… help?” You offer.

You slide forward, your own muscles racked from the tense hours of your confinement. Still, you can move through the slight burning in your thighs and the tightness in your back. You stand carefully, stretching your arms high above you. Andy watches you, his head resting against the couch.

“I don’t know,” he puffs as he puts a hand behind him, “maybe… some ice?”

“Oh, alright,” you step back on your heel, “I can do that.”

You go into the kitchen and open the freezer. You shiver as you lean in, searching for an ice pack or maybe a tray. You find an ice bag and grab it along with a dish cloth and bring it back to Andy. You find him leaning against the armrest, his face contorted in agony.

“Sweetie,” he huffs, “help me.”

You don’t know what to do except what he tells you. You didn’t expect this but you suppose this happens as you get older. You’ve woken up with a crick in your neck and it’s never pleasant. 

You put the ice bag on his stomach and lift his legs up onto the end of the couch. You put a pillow behind him and help him reposition himself before you put the ice beneath his shoulder. He closes his eyes and groans again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I never wanted you to see me like this.”

“What?” You stand back, wringing your hands as he folds an arm over his chest. “Does this happen a lot?’

“Once in a while… usually stress…” he admits and tries to turn his head, only to yelp and stop. “Dove, please, I don’t want you to see this.”

Stress? Does he mean you stress him out?

“But… you need help,” you cross your arms, “and I’m the only one here so…”

He frowns. You aren’t sure what to do but you feel awful just letting him suffer, even if he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t need to be. Besides, he saw you at your worst and he didn’t just abandon you. You owe him this.

You reach over him and pull down the throw blanket from the back of the couch. You spread it over him as he opens his eyes. You sense him watch you as you stand straight and chew your lip.

“You… you don’t have to take care of me,” he rasps.

“You need me to,” you shrug and look around, “um… should I… should I make coffee or… something?”

“That would be so nice, honey,” he says softly, “thank you.”

“Yeah,” you back away and turn on your heel, “of course.”

You go into the kitchen and rub your eyes. You’re so tired. You could fall over right there but you can’t. You’re not helpless anymore, but he is. Maybe you need this, to learn how to be the strong one.

🕊️

Andy doesn’t seem to get any better. The ice pack melts and you put it back in the freezer. You’re worried. He’s too big for you to move and you can’t drive.

“Um, Andy,” you enter the living room as he stares dully at the television. The tension hasn’t left his cheek, “should I… call someone? Or an ambulance?”

He laughs but not for long as he grunts and once more braces his back. He shakes his head and tries to roll out the pain. He only grimaces and wriggles as he tries to get comfortable.

“No, it’s fine. It’ll go away, I just need… rest,” he collapses against the pillows, “honey, I got some pills. Up in the medicine cabinet. Muscle relaxers, they can help.”

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“Will you go get them for me?” He asks, resting his hand on his chest, “they’ll be with a white tube with a blue logo. Can you get that too?”

“Sure, I can do that,” you affirm, repeating the statement like a mantra, “I can do it.”

You scurry around the couch and hurry up the stairs. Your worry has chased away your own fatigue and the soreness in your muscles has receded to a tolerable ache. You go to the bathroom and ignore your reflection as you pop open the medicine cabinet.

You turn several bottles and find the muscle relaxers. You pause and look over as a red flash beams in the corner of your eye. The shower speaker flickers. Maybe the battery is low? You don’t think about it as you grab the pill bottle and the tube close to it.

You swing shut the door and leave the bathroom. You catch yourself against the banister as you descend the stairs, nearly tripping as a yawn forces its way from your throat. The bottle rattles as you enter the living room.

“I’ll get you some water,” you say as you put down the handful on the coffee table, "one second.”

You go to the kitchen and fill a glass from the fridge filter. You return and offer Andy the glass and the bottle of pills. He thanks you as you turn to look at the coffee table. The tray is still there with the candy and half-finished bottles of soda.

“I’ll clean this up.”

You lift it and take it with you to the kitchen. You take your time clearing it off. You transfer the candy into containers and baggies, sealing them up and put the chips in a ziploc to keep them from getting stale. You hear Andy moaning and grumbling.

You enter the living room again. He holds the tube, staring at it as he turns it in his hands. His eyes flick up and back down. He teethes his lip, a nervous slant to his mouth.

“Dove, I… can I ask you a favour?” He says, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Um, yeah, of course,” you step out of the doorway.

“I… I can’t reach,” he raises the tube, “it’s supposed to help but I can’t… can’t put it on myself.”

You blink. Oh. Oh. Does that mean you have to touch him? You can’t help but let your eyes round. 

“I understand if you don’t want to, once the pills kick in, they should knock me out long enough to forget the pain,” his shoulders slouch, “yeah, forget it.”

He tosses the tube back on the table, letting out a high-pitched noise. You feel a twinge in your chest. You don’t like seeing people in pain. You remember when Amber broke her wrist and cried every night.. That was so long ago but you can still hear her whimpers.

“I can do it,” you wisp as you come forward and take the tube.

Your hands shake as Andy watches you. His gaze weighs heavy as you feel every move you make is scrutinized. You raise your head and look at him.

“Help me sit up,” he reaches to you with one arm.

You near and bend, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and neck. You use all your might to pull him up, feeling him quake with the effort. He sits up and you slowly retreat. You focus on popping open the cap.

“My shirt…” he croaks.

You peek up at him and make a face. Oh. Oh, that makes sense.

You put the cream on the armrest and step forward. He leans in as you do and you help him roll up the bottom of his sweatshirt. You angle the fabric over his head as he struggles to get his arms higher than that. As you guide the shirt down his arms, you realise he has nothing underneath. You don’t know why you thought he might have an undershirt.

“Ugh, thank you so much,” he whines, tweaking your pity once more.

“It’s fine,” you murmur.

You glance at him and sway, unsure of how to do this. You realise you have to get behind him as he leans away from the pillows. You sit on the edge of the cushion as you retrieve the tube and squirt out some of the cream into your palm.

You stop and stare at his back. His shoulders are broad and straight, muscles bound beneath his skin, moles speckled here and there. You hover your hand, unsure what to do next.

“Just under my left shoulder, up along the blade,” he directs, pausing as you stare dumbly, “please, honey, it hurts.”

You make yourself touch him. You press your hand to his back and push it along the line of his shoulder blade. He groans and bends forward. You retract your hand.

“Sorry! Did it hurt?”

“No, no, keep going,” he insists sharply, “please.”

“But… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s gonna hurt but it’ll make me feel better,” he says, “please, sweetie, don’t you want me to feel better?”

You nod even though he can’t see it. You touch him again, his warmth adding to that of the cream as you spread it over his skin. Your breath catches as you hear something, a hum, a purr. You can feel the rumble in his as work at rubbing the lotion until it absorbs.

“That’s good, honey,” he says, “so good.”

You put the cap on the tube and stand. You look at your hand, the smell of the cream is strong enough to make your eyes water. Andy falls back, not bothering to put his shirt back on. 

“I’ll wash this off,” you show your palm.

He doesn’t answer as he closes his eyes. You leave him and wash off the lotion, drying your hand thoroughly, though the scent of the cream clings. Back in the living room, you find Andy as you left him.

You don’t know if you should do anything else. You peer over at the broad archway that leads into the hallway. He needs sleep, right?

“Thank you, honey,” he startles you, “for looking after me.”

“Er, your welcome,” you say, “I… should I…”

“Will you sit with me?” He plants his elbow and grunts as he strains to move himself onto his side, patting the space before him, “please.”

“Oh, uh…” you hesitate.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he says, “please, dove.”

Another pluck deep in your chest. It’s your fault. You let him sleep all night like that. You weren’t strong enough, not loud enough. Once more your fear kept you from doing the right thing. 

“Sure,” you shuffle forward and turn, awkwardly lowering yourself in front of his stomach.

He drops his arm to drape in front of you, resting in your lap as he nestles into the cushions. His other hand brushes your side and stays there. He squeezes you against him, pulling you snug.

You stare at the television, watching as a man works on refinishing a counter with laminate. You can do nothing else as you sit frozen in his embrace. Encased in ice despite the blaze of heat rising from him.

[captain-mj]

Maybe on a mission, Ghost gets knocked out and somehow (I dunno freestyle) Soap has to go into his mind to get him to wake up

At some point Soap comes across a memory of Ghost and his dad and he yells at his dad <3

Heavy on the angst pls and thanks

I've been thinking about this so long, I've been waiting for an excuse to write something like this. Kinda got long so the second half will be separate. 

Tw: child abuse, self depreciative language (including slurs), talk of suicidal ideation and very mild homophobia.

~~~~

Soap knew what he needed to do. He needed to go in Ghost's mind and find the door to wake Ghost up. In the normal plan, Price would be doing this as Ghost's must trusted ally, but he was also injured, leaving just Soap to do it.

Soap had laughed. “I promise not to violate his privacy while I’m looking for the way out.”

“Johnny.” Price had said to so seriously. “Ghost has a lot of stuff in his past. You’ll see something you don’t want to. Let him show you around, understood?”

Soap frowned, sobering a bit. “Okay. I won’t. What his way out?”

“Simon is one of the easy ones. Its just a door. Red with a black handle. It’ll be hidden, you’ll have to go through some of the rooms, but like i said, let Ghost lead.”

“How dangerous is it? I know some people have things up there.”

“Not dangerous at all.” Price shook his head. “Nothing there but a few ghosts.”

The process was shockingly simple. Soap closed his eyes in a hospital room and opened them somewhere else.

An unfamiliar home. It was… old. Slightly run down but the living room, he was in seemed cozy. Full of dark blue and green with blankets scattered on most of the furniture. A smell circled the home. After a moment, he identified it as the scent of something like copper and cookies. Odd blend.

The cold hit him suddenly, the freezing chill of Manchester. He threw one of the blankets around him and went looking around for…

Simon stood in the kitchen, well he was perched on the counter, eating a thinly iced cookie. Supplies were scattered around, bowls of dough and icing. He looked up at Johnny and smiled, stepping down.

He was… wrong. For one, there was no mask, but two, he was clearly young. Barely 18 it seemed. He was tall still, but lanky, like he didn’t quite eat enough or maybe just hadn’t finished filling out.

“Johnny.” Simon smiled at him and Soap’s breath caught. He looked adorable.

“Hey, Ghost. Where… is this?” Soap tried to remember what Price and the doctors had told him. The person was different In their mind. 

“Where i grew up!” Simon bounced on his toes. “I can show you some of the places? You want to know more about me, right?” He batted his eyelashes, looking….

Fuck was he shy right now? He looked like a teenager around his crush.

“Okay. And after that, we can leave right?”

“No.” Simon handed him a cookie and started walking away, humming softly. It didn’t leave much room to argue, but Soap decided it could wait a minute. Time here was a lot faster, a couple hours here were barely minutes out there, so he had all the time in the world.

The cookie tasted amazing. “Did you make this?”

“Yes. I’ve been trying to get Ghost to let me do it but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh. Are Ghost and you… separate?”

“No. Ghost is… a set of rules. A blanket i put on so pain doesn’t hit as hard.” Simon explained. “Personifying it makes it easier, but Ghost isn’t a person, I am.”

Soap wasn’t sure he understood but he nodded regardless. “Do you like baking?”

“I love it! My mom taught me.” He smiled again. “I used to hide in the kitchen with her when my dad got drunk.”

Oh. Oh that was…

Soap stared at him quietly but Simon didn’t seem to be bothered. “I wish i could do it more. Sometimes, on leave, I make some. I shouldn’t, I don’t eat most of it, but a couple of my neighbors are stoners so I just give it to them.”

Simon tidied as he talked, fixing things so they were military straight. “Be careful what rooms you go in, yeah?”

“You’re interesting.”

“Less of a filter here. That’s what Price says. I like Price. He acts a bit too much like a dad to me, but I let it slide because he’s nice.”

Soap smiled. He shouldn’t but… “What do you think of Gaz?”

“I like him. A bit wet behind the ears, clumsy, but he’s a great soldier.”

“And me?” Soap Maybe posed a little seductively.

Simon looked at him briefly and blushed before looking at what he was tidying. “You’re fine, I guess.” Something flashed over his head, just a little too fast for Soap to read it.

“Ouch.” Soap laughed. “You really don’t care about me huh?”

“That’s not very fair of you, ya know. Prying into me. Didn’t they tell you it’s impolite.” Simon… pouted. Honest to god pouted. His face was softer, not scarred yet besides an odd mark around his lips, like a burn. It was odd. It felt like his face was distorted, but maybe that’s just because Soap hadn’t seen it for so long.

“Hmm. I’ll let you pick my brain next time.”

“I wouldn’t let you get hurt enough to need this.” Simon said solemnly, catching his gaze. “Never.”

Johnny blinked. “Come on, Simon. Let’s get out of here, yeah? We can get some bourbon. I’ll even drink it with you.” He suddenly very much wanted to not be there. To be in the real world where Simon was older and didn’t just say things like that.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t want to leave yet.” Simon stretched, shoulders rolling.

“Do you know where the door is?”

“No. You can look in the rooms with yellow doors if you want to start searching. I need to clean first.” 

Soap had half a mind to argue that he had been told explicitly not to do that, but then decided it would be fine. 

Johnny noticed the room was rather dusty, but he brushed it off. He walked away from, looking down the hallway. No red doors, but that was usual. It would be hidden somewhere. Two yellow doors, two red, four blue and…

A creepy metal door at the end. How lovely. He’d come back to that. 

He went into one of the blue ones, surprised to find party music. Ghost went to high school parties? That was an odd idea to think about. 

He was so tiny. Soap had never considered Ghost as being short. I mean technically he wasn’t, he was still 5′8, but he looked so tiny. His hair was dark instead of the bleached look he was accustomed to. It fell in his eyes and...

He had pierced ears. Simon was just wearing some simple studs, but his ears were pierced. 

“I’m going to bully you for that one LT. Just you wait.” He followed him, watching him drink a can of beer, the shitty kind that you only drink because you’re at a party. 

One person was so much clearer than everyone else, most of Ghost’s attention on them. They were about Soap’s height, shaggy brown hair and a permanent smirk on his face. Soap watched them make eye contact and Ghost quickly looked away, blushing. 

Oh. 

Soap already had a feeling about Ghost’s sexuality. The man didn’t talk about it much, but he showed zero interest in women. He was always the first to start beating a man for trying to spike a drink or take an obviously too drunk girl home, but when flirted with, he’d just turn them down. It was an open secret that Ghost was not straight. 

Still nice to have confirmation. He glanced around, not seeing the red door or the door to go back to the hallway, so he decided to just keep following him. Eventually the memory would end.

The two boys ended up just a little too close on a balcony. 

The other guy hummed. “Cold?”

Simon nodded mutely, blushing hard. Instead of offering his jacket, the guy moved closer. 

The kiss was clumsy. Their teeth clacked but eventually, the guy’s arms ended up around Simon’s waist and they slowed down a bit. 

Someone made a noise and they sprang apart. Both blushing hard. 

“Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah Riley?”

Simon nodded immediately. “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” It was said with a grin, but Johnny couldn’t help how much that hurt to hear. 

Poor kid. 

The guy nodded and awkwardly punched his shoulder before leaving him there. Simon finished the can and smiled to himself, that soft blush still across his face.

“It was my first. Had a lot of better ones since then.” Slightly older Simon appeared again. 

“Ever tell your family?”

“My brother found out by looking through my room. Found some... magazines I had.” Simon turned bright red. “Luckily he never told our parents. Dad would’ve killed me.”

“Oh. Forgot you’re quite a bit older than me. Still looking at magazines.” Soap teased, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I’m only 29, you know that right?” Simon smiled at him. 

“What?” Soap turned to him. “The fuck do you mean??”

“Yeah, just 29.”

“I’m 24. I didn’t realize we were that close.”

“How old did you think I was??”

“Like Price’s age.”

“You know Price is 37 right?”

Soap rubbed his temple. “This is too much information for me.”

Simon laughed and something flashed above his head. Like a cartoon with flashing light and an arrow.

“Murderer.” 

Soap flinched but Simon didn’t notice. “Let get out of here. The door isn’t here.” He grabbed Soap’s hand, his skin warm against his own. Soap followed him, getting pulled into a new yellow door. 

It was a butcher shop. 

Simon hummed. “Nothing interesting happens here. Just hurry up and look around.” 

“Why were you in a butcher shop?”

“It was my first job!” Simon said excitedly. “This is how I learned most of my knife skills. The butcher taught me a couple of knife tricks too.” 

“Cool.” Soap nodded. Made a lot of sense actually. 

Simon showed him around the small building, including the freezer. There wasn’t another version of him like in the previous place. Now that he was really looking, there was no one. 

No red door. They stepped back into the hallway. 

Simon sighed. “I don’t want you to look through the other rooms. I can’t convince you to just stay in my head forever, can I?”

“Nope!”  Soap picked a blue door at random and went straight in. 

It was of him. More specifically, him training with the rest of the 141 for their yearly assessments. He hated those. 

After a moment, he picked up on it. Everyone else was in color, but slightly fuzzy like Ghost hadn’t been focusing on them. But just like the guy from the party, Johnny was in sparkling 4K resolution. 

“you pay a lot of attention to me, don’t ya, LT?” Johnny smiled and looked above Simon’s head just in time to see it.

“Faggot.” This time with several arrows pointed to him. 

“You’re loud. Draws my attention.” He was clearly lying, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Why is this door blue?” 

“Everything after the accident is blue.” 

“What was the accident?”

“When my entire family was murdered. Obviously.” Simon looked at him. “I know you read my file, Johnny.”

“Didn’t include anything about that.” Soap mumbled.

“Ah. Oh well. You would’ve found the memory eventually anyway.” Simon leaned into him suddenly, his head falling on his shoulder. “The red door is there sometimes. I get lucky occasionally and its behind one of these.”

“This happen often?” Johnny tried to pretend the amount of contact wasn’t making him flustered. He was pretty. He’d choose his Simon over this past one, but he wouldn’t deny they were both gorgeous. 

“Yeah. I tend to be rather reckless. Price thinks I’m suicidal.”

“Are you?”

“Definitely. I try not to make him worry though.” Simon saw the face Johnny made and backtracked slightly. “You don’t have to worry either. My therapist knows. I’m not actively. Just don’t try to keep myself alive as much as the average person does.”

“Oh.” Soap stared at him and he could see him getting uncomfortable. 

Simon went to pull away and Johnny turned, pulling him back so they were hugging now. He melted in Soap’s hands and wrapped his arms around him tight. 

They pulled back in tandem and avoided each other’s eyes before fumbling to a new door.

Johnny went to the red door directly across the hall. Simon grabbed his arm tight but didn’t stop him. He buried his face in his back as they went in. 

A man who looked a lot like Simon was sitting in the living room of the same house Soap had first appeared in. Simon and a small, darker haired child sat at the table with him. 

“Frank.” Ghost mumbled to him. “The man’s name.”

Frank had a snake, an extremely large one at that, wrapped around his shoulders. It moved slowly as it trailed along his arm.

“C’mon Simon.” His voice slurred and Soap could see his pupils were far too big. 

“What’s he high on?”

“Heroin probably.” Ghost hid his face in Soap’s hair, pulling him against his chest. 

Frank hummed. “Not scared are you?”

This Simon looked even younger than the other. Probably only 8 if Soap had to guess. He shook his head but Soap could see his hands shaking where they were pressed to his thighs. 

Frank moved the snake closer, its head coming so close to the child in that seat. Soap didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew it was going to be bad. Ghost trembled against him, the strongest person he knew, trembling at the sight of this fucking asshole.

“Dad.” Simon said softly, unable to keep the tremble out of his face. Frank moved closer and before Soap even realized what he was doing, he backhanded Simon out of the chair and to the floor. That tiny fucking kid. 

“You’re so fucking annoying. It’s a snake. It’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just a goddamn animal.” He grabbed Simon by his shirt collar, yanking him up he was dangling half on the ground, unable to get his feet under him. “Your bitch of a mother ruined you. Made you such a fucking pussy.” He shook him while he talked.

Simon didn’t flinch. Just stared up completely blank besides the tiniest wobble of his bottom lip. 

“He’s a fucking child.” Soap snapped, but nothing happened. 

Frank grabbed the snake, suddenly pushing it closer and closer to Simon’s face. It’s mouth opened, venom clearly dripping.

The burns around his mouth. Venom would leave those burns.

“You’re such a useless kid, you know that?” It was stupid of Soap, but he couldn’t just watch that. He shoved him, surprised to find Frank was solid. The man looked at him, dropping the kid.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re a shit dad.” Soap stared at him. Ghost might find him scary, but he had been a kid. Soap could see him for what he was. “You’re a fucking junkie and that’s it.”

Frank stared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“His...” Soap didn’t have a word. “I’m his. That’s all that matters. And you’re not going to fucking touch him.” 

Frank blinked before just disappearing. They were thrown back into the hallway this time. 

Simon leaned into him, his chest to Soap’s back to hide his face. He shook hard. 

“You’re okay, Ghost. I promise.” 

“I want to go home now, Johnny. Want that drink.” 

“I’ll get you out of here buddy. Promise.”

[riality-check]

platonic hellcheer coparenting part 6! part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Chrissy flattens out her skirt and tries to breathe. She shouldn’t be so nervous, standing on the front steps of a home she’s never been to. She can’t even blame her shaking on the cold; it may be the time in March when it’s still blustery and threatening snow, but her thermal tights and sweater do their job well.

(Soon, neither of those will fit. Chrissy tries not to think about that. She knows what happens once she starts down that road, and it’s never good.)

No, her shaking is exclusively due to nerves, and she’s perfectly justified in feeling this way.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Eddie says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“That’s crap, and you know it.”

“No, I know that there’s nothing to be nervous about. So long as you still want to do this.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket. How he manages to find anything on that cluttered mess of keychains and cards and multiple lanyards, for some reason, Chrissy will never know, but it’s another quirk that makes Eddie, Eddie.

It hasn’t been very long at all, but she’s finding, so far, that she really likes him. Not that she’s ever pictured it before it happened, but she can’t imagine being in this situation with anyone else at her side.

He doesn’t put his keys in the door. He just looks at her, eyes a little wide.

“You do still want to do this, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t-”

“Eddie,” she says. “Just because I don’t want to tell my parents-”

Just because I haven’t talked to them in years, she doesn’t say.

“-doesn’t mean we can’t tell your uncle.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Eddie,” she says again. “You’re allowed to want things out of this, too. Okay?”

He smiles. It’s different from the broad, mocking grins she remembers him having in high school. It’s small and almost secret, like he didn’t even realize it made its way onto his face.

She wishes, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that she could love him like that. It sure would make life a lot easier.

But, Chrissy supposes, I don’t think easy is in the cards.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and he turns the key into the lock. The door creaks open, swinging inside and Chrissy can feel the heat of the house bleed out, just a little bit.

“Wayne!” he calls. “I’m home!”

He takes a step in, motioning for Chrissy to follow.

She does because what else is she supposed to do?

“Living room,��� Mr. Munson calls back.

Eddie takes her inside to a cozy home. Straight ahead is a small kitchen with a little table and two chairs. To her left, a coat rack and a hallway. To her right, the living room.

Mr. Munson sits on a recliner. There’s a still-smoking cigarette in the ashtray to his right, and there’s a basketball game on the TV. Chrissy notes idly that the Pacers are losing.

Minus the ashtray, and if the TV were in HD, it could be Chrissy’s living room. The one at her parents’ house. Almost. It’s a little smaller, and the hats on the walls - that’s a lot of hats - make it feel… different.

Better.

Chrissy has been in this house for thirty seconds and already likes it better than the one she grew up in.

She wonders what her mother would say about her being in the trailer park. She finds that she really couldn’t care less, and she’s ecstatic about that fact.

Eddie grabs her hand. Squeezes once. Leads her into the living room.

They sit side by side on the little loveseat parked against the wall. Chrissy almost knocks her knee into Eddie’s, just for a little reassurance, but keeps herself from doing that.

She’s not really sure why.

She gets a good look at Eddie’s uncle this way, though. He’s an average-sized guy, bald, probably in his fifties. He has hard features and keys dangling from his hand and, most startlingly, really blue eyes.

Like, really blue.

She expected them to be more like Eddie’s. It shouldn’t be so much of a surprise - Eddie hasn’t told her too much about his uncle, nothing beyond the fact that he raised him and that he’s living with him again since he came back to Hawkins - but it is.

“How was your day?” Eddie asks.

Mr. Munson turns to the two of them. If he’s surprised to see Chrissy, he doesn’t show it. His face stays perfectly neutral, and his eyes give away nothing.

“Slow,” he says after a minute. “Got some good sleep. Little pissed that my team’s losing. About to head in to work in about an hour. Who’s she?”

He asks the question with the same inflection that he uses to report on his day, so it takes Chrissy a moment to realize that he asked a question.

“Chrissy Cunningham, sir,” she says. She stands up and holds out her hand to shake.

Mr. Munson stares up at her, and his eyes widen just a little bit. Chrissy thinks, though she doesn’t know what it could possibly be, that she’s done something wrong.

But then the corner of his mouth turns up, just a bit, and he stands slowly, taking her hand and giving it a good, firm shake.

“You don’t need to call me sir,” he says, and yeah, there’s definitely an accent of some kind. Southern, but not quite. Chrissy wonders why Eddie doesn’t have it.

“Sorry, Mr. Munson,” she says.

He wrinkles his nose and huffs out a little laugh. “Wayne is just fine. Mr. Munson makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” Eddie says from the couch.

“And you’re a brat,” Mr. Mun - no, Wayne - says, finally letting go of Chrissy’s hand. He says it lightly, like it doesn’t mean anything.

In what used to be Chrissy’s house, that would have meant a lot.

But Eddie laughs, and Wayne smiles, and Chrissy thinks, again, that this house is very different from the one she grew up in.

She sits back down next to Eddie. He knocks his knee into hers, and she knocks it back.

Wayne looks at them, amused. “You his girlfriend, Chrissy?”

“No,” the two of them say in perfect synchronization.

“You sure?” Wayne asks, eyebrows raised, clearly not believing them at all.

“I’m gay, Wayne,” Eddie says. Which. While that’s true, that’s definitely a route to take this conversation.

If Chrissy said that… well. She doesn’t know how that would have gone, specifically. Definitely not well. Maybe to church. Definitely to a therapist, but only one that would have agreed with her mother.

“Okay,” Wayne says with a shrug.

Eddie doesn’t even sigh with relief or do anything of the sort. Chrissy is getting more confused by the second.

“Did you know that?” Wayne asks Chrissy, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s cracking a joke.

She takes a breath, then says, “Yeah, and I’m a lesbian.”

It feels good to say it out loud. Maybe even better saying it the second time.

Eddie knocks his knee into hers again. She knocks his back.

Wayne snorts. “Okay. Got all of Hawkins’s gay population in this trailer, with us three queers.”

That definitely explains his reactions, then.

Eddie chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“I got a feelin’ that’s not what you wanted to tell me, though,” Wayne says.

Chrissy does the slightly cowardly thing and turns to Eddie, who looks like he’s thinking really hard.

Whatever he comes up with has to be better than what she has, which is nothing.

“Wayne, remember how you’ve always wanted grandkids?” Eddie says.

Chrissy stands corrected.

“Somethin’ tells me that’s a lot less likely now,” Wayne says.

“Yeah, well. Less likely doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

Chrissy wants to sink into the couch and never be seen again.

“What?” Wayne asks.

“Surprise,” Eddie says weakly. “One grandkid, due in November.”

Wayne turns to Chrissy. “Is he bullshitting me?”

“No, sir,” she says.

“You can drop the sir,” Wayne corrects, almost like it’s habit.

He turns back to both of them. “Do I want to know how-”

“No,” they say in unison.

Wayne nods like he was expecting that.

“You better get used to being called Grampa, because it’ll happen before you know it,” Eddie says.

Wayne smiles, for real this time. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you don’t already know,” Eddie says, but he gets up and hugs Wayne bone-crushingly tight. Wayne hugs back just as tight.

Chrissy stays on the couch, watching. The ache she thought she’d feel isn’t that bad. It’s bearable. It’s there, a low thrum deep in her chest, but it doesn’t hurt all that much.

“Chrissy, get over here,” Wayne says.

“What?” she says.

“Get over here,” he says. “You’re family.”

“But we’re not-”

“You’re family,” Wayne says seriously.

“Chrissy, get in before he comes over there,” Eddie warns, but that’s lighthearted, too. 

Chrissy stands up and lets herself be hugged by the two of them. She could get used to family being light.

And, she realizes, I’m gonna make sure mine will be light, too.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Rewind, Remix, & Replay 6x4

You can read the rest of the series here

This chapter took on a life of its own. But I like the way it led me. I hope you all do too. <3 On that note- nobody come for me.

Kim was slumped over the table peeling the label off the beer in front of her. Trudy watched her with concern. They had been going for a latte, but after sitting in a car and feeling the emotions roll off her, Trudy quickly decided they needed something stronger. They had ended up at a table at the back of Molly’s bar. “Did I just end my career in Intelligence?” Kim ran a hand down her face. “Voight was so furious. He threatened to bury me. And I don’t blame him. I can’t believe I did something stupid.”

Trudy caught Herrmann's gaze and gestured for another round. He nodded in acknowledgment as he eyed the younger cop who seemed to be in the midst of a downward spiral. “He will get over it- he knows you are a good cop. But even good cops make mistakes. Voight understands that he just needs time to cool off.”

“I knew the detective exam was coming up and Brennan was giving me all this praise. And I just… I just wanted my work life to be good. Something to be proud of. My personal life is…” Kim pressed her lips together trying to gather herself as she blinked back the tears that sprung to her eyes. “Well to be completely honest it’s been a complete shit show.”

Trudy watched as Kim ran a frustrated hand through her hair tugging at her locks and she felt her worry grow. “Nicole has been on a spiral since her rape. She was really struggling at the beginning but at least she was trying. She’s flatlined now- totally given up. Won’t leave her house. I helped as much as I can-I'm still trying to help… You know she won’t even answer my phone calls anymore? But Zoey? She calls me almost every day. She’s been staying with her dad more. She says that it’s been okay. I wish I believed her."

Herrmann sets down a Sour Cherry Gin in front of Trudy and a Long Island in front of Kim. Kim looked up at him, she hadn’t ordered another drink. Herrmann put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Looked like the two of you could use something a little bit stronger. Rough day on the job?” Kim twirled her straw around her cup and then took a long pull. Herrmann took notice and immediately changed the subject to something safer. Something he was hoping would bring a smile to her face. “So, I heard you and Halstead are shacking up.”

It had the desired effect; Kim couldn’t help the smile pulling at her lips. It made Herrmann breathe easier knowing she had a strong man to help support her through whatever she was going through. “Yeah, been together for a while now.”

“I’m happy for you guys. Jay is a good man. He will treat you right- and if he doesn’t just let me know and I’ll take care of it for you, alright sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Herrman,” Kim gave him an appreciative smile. Herrmann might not have known about Kim’s lack of a father figure but when Molly’s opened and became the go-to place for the blue bloods he unconsciously started to fill that void. Not by overcompensating something she had lost but just through the consistency of being there, listening, and caring. Kim thought about the missed calls on her phone. Calling her dad was a mistake- she wasn’t ready to talk to him or deal with their issues yet. Especially not when life was like this.

The older man sighed wistfully, “It’s a shame about his old man. Losing a father that young.” He shakes his head, “Is he holding up, okay?” Kim pressed her lips together before she took another long pull of her drink to give her time to figure out how to answer. Jay was pushing through but he has not been as unaffected by his father’s death as he wanted people to believe. He went through phases of being distant and withdrawn to irritable and angry. Will issues with the FBI and his CI status had also contributed to Jay being on edge lately.

“He is working through it.” Kim offered vaguely not wanting to say something Jay wasn’t comfortable with.

“I’d say,” Trudy pulled a cherry of the stick that had come with her drink. “He laid Ruzek out today.” Kim sighed downing more of her drink as Herrmann whistled sharp and low. “Left him with quite a shiner.”

“I’ve seen Halstead fighting with a perp at a scene. He is not someone I would want to go toe to toe with. He has a mean swing.” Chris looked between Kim and Trudy, “Alright if you’re going to make me ask- I will. Halstead has good control over his temper-What did Ruzek do to deserve his wrath.” Kim shook her head rolling her eyes and taking another strong pull of her drink.

“Adam needs to learn not everyone wants to hear his commentary.” Kim had been trying to warn Adam to back off with his “jokes” for days. Jay's patience was already running thin because of his nearly consistent fighting with his brother. She was honestly surprised Jay had put up with them for as long as he did. Kim didn’t catch the comment he made but she could still hear the distinct thwack of Jay’s fist hitting Adam’s face.

“Ah,” Herrmann felt the pieces click into place. Kim had been engaged to Ruzek so there was history there. Add the fact that Adam tended to put his foot in his mouth and push on things he should let go of and Jay’s need to protect those he cared about- It painted a pretty clear picture of what had probably gone down there. Herrmann’s name was called and he nodded his head to them, “Well you ladies let me know if you need anything else.” He patted Kim on the arm before heading back to the bar.

They finished their drinks but didn’t linger at the bar for much longer. Kim had calmed from the alcohol but exhaustion was written on her face. Trudy knew the girl needed a good night's sleep, some time to process what had happened, and support. Kim didn’t notice that she had been driving her to Jay's apartment instead of hers until she was parking in front of the building. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, Burgess.”

Kim only hesitates for a moment before letting herself in the apartment. Her eyes find Jay on the couch. He has showered recently and has his sweatpants and a black T-shirt on. Kim thinks for a moment about talking to Jay about the ride along, Kendra being there and her lying about it to the board, her hiding that she knew Kendra had seen the shooter, and Voight's threats to bury her. The thought exhausted her even while his passionate words from months before about always having her back echoed in her head. How would Jay view her if he knew the truth?

He looks up his blue gaze catching hers. Jay shifts on the couch. Kim’s dark eyes were half-lidded with alcohol consumption. Kim had been upset since he took a swing at Ruzek. Jay had taken his stupid little comments in stride for the last two weeks but he had hit his limit and then some. Ruzek needed to learn when to shut up. Now Kim was pissed at him. He flexed his fingers. The knuckles of his right hand were bruised and slightly swollen. It caught Kim’s gaze as she headed for the kitchen. “I’m not going to apologize to Ruzek, he had coming it today. He has for a while. He needs to learn when to keep his opinions to himself and his mouth shut.”

“Okay,” Kim’s agreement was monotone as she stopped in front of him putting the ice pack she had grabbed from the fridge on his battered knuckles. All Kim wanted was the reprieve of his soft mattress and sleep. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it into work.” It was as close to an apology as he was willing to give at the moment. Kim paused in the hallway turning to look back at her boyfriend. “Things should be settled now though.” Jay wanted to talk things out with her. But he felt a glimmer of insecurity in her being so upset about him. Did she still harbor some feelings for Ruzek?

“I’m glad you boys finally got it out of your system.”

[ellalalala]

Let It Through

Tags: Il Dottore/OC, Il Dottore x Female Original Character, half-assed hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, slightly iffy dynamic, suicidal thoughts

A/N: No, I've never written for my OC and yes, only 3 people in total know her name. I'll dedicate a separate post to her eventually but for now I wanted to put this out because I needed Dottore to do The Thing (be somewhat nice) for personal reasons. Not proofread. Title comes from this song.

"Why are you here?"

Eir sat on the windowsill when Dottore approached, her eyes glued to the snowstorm outside Zapolyarny palace. The sky was pitch black and there was hardly anything of note to witness - not in the snowy wastelands of Snezhnaya - not like in Sumeru.

"Where else would I go?"

Dottore exhaled softly. "You are not my prisoner. Quit acting like one."

How could she, when it felt as if this was exactly what she had been reduced to? Now her life had lost its meaning, now she had been stripped of everything that defined her. There was nothing left.

Eir pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them to make herself appear smaller. She had no interest in talking to him - but to her dismay, Dottore didn't share that sentiment.

He sat on the opposite side of the windowsill and asked, "what ails you so?"

Everything. My existence - lonely and miserable, the past, the present, you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but Eir could never say them aloud. It hurt less when the truth was concealed from the rest of the world; when the reality of things was known to none but herself. Were she to express what she felt now, Eir would be overtaken by sorrow far worse than any curse inflicted upon her by Celestia.

Besides, Dottore would never understand. They were fundamentally different people - he did not share her pain nor had he seen what she saw so long ago. It was easier, Eir realized, to stay quiet and unassuming.

"Trivial matters," she murmured, "nothing of importance to you."

"You speak with little conviction." Dottore remarked. Irritating man. Could he not leave her alone? Eir peeked at him from the corner of her eye and found him without his tailcoat. The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he appeared as relaxed as could be, but that intricate mask of his remained fixed to his face. Whatever could be so despicable, Eir wondered, what could you possibly hide?

"Perhaps that's what you want to believe."

"I am not in the habit of deluding myself with wishful fantasies. You stubbornly refuse to tell me the truth. Why is that?"

Eir spat, "why would I tell it to you?"

"Unless you have other options, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I would sooner seek solace from the Regrator than I would from you."

Dottore gritted his teeth. "You-"

"Look," Eir breathed, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I am in no mood to bicker with you. If you have nothing good to say, let me be alone; I could use the silence."

All was quiet. Eir's eyes remained trained on the view outside the window as she desperately ignored the wild beating of her heart. She could imagine the angry scowl on his face; for Dottore despised rejection, especially from those he deemed beneath him. Surely, even with her privileges, Eir could not get away with this...

But Eir's thoughts were interrupted by the feel of a gentle palm on her knee, the sound of Dottore shifting until he sat unbearably close.

"I cannot fault you for being distrustful of me, however you must understand that I will not harm you in any way. If there is something that troubles you, tell me so this instant; I only wish to help."

Eir regarded him with a surprised glance. As her frustration melted into longing, she considered giving in, allowing the truth to pour from her mouth until there was nothing left to say.

But she would be crossing the line. There would be no coming back if she told him - Dottore must have been aware of that, too. And yet... Eir could continue to push him away for as long as she desired but he would keep coming back to her anyway; trying to defy fate was a losing game.

Eir looked at his gloved hand on her knee, the beak-shaped mask he refused to discard and thought, just this once. Just once and never again. So she said:

"I'm tired of always losing: my family, my nation, my friends. Everything I love is always taken from me. The only person who could understand my feelings," she inhaled shakily, "left me without a second thought. Now I have nothing but the grief I have carried for five hundred years and I don't know what to do with it. I'm tired... I no longer yearn for the past but for the eternal slumber which I was robbed of."

Her lips trembled as she spoke, and ignoring Dottore's gaze, she continued, "I don't know what else is left. I miss being young; I miss having hope. I was so good once, do you know? I was a good alchemist, a good student. Now I am half human, half monster, with nothing to show for myself but all the pain Celestia gave me."

She touched the rough scars on her cheek as if by instinct. Memories of scorching sands and sharp claws tearing through her skin clouded Eir's mind.

"Is this what I was born for?" She asked softly. "Is this all I'll ever be?"

Now her secrets had been laid bare for Dottore to use as he wished. He would think her weak. He wouldn't understand the depth of her despair - how it had fused with the blood in her veins until Eir couldn't tell who she was without it.

The weight on her knee was no more. Eir looked at Dottore to find him taking the mask off his face with careful hands. Before long, she was met with a pair of bright ruby eyes, furrowed brows, and-

"Let your scars be proof of what you have endured but never allow them to dictate what you are." He spoke solemnly. Eir's breath hitched as she gazed at him, wide-eyed, as his words slowly sank in.

All she could see were his scars. He has them, too. That's what he has been hiding all along. Why? What happened to him? What has he endured?

There was a long, ragged scar that fell across the bridge of his nose. Another thinner scar on his forehead, which reached his hairline and disappeared there, between the long cyan strands of hair that framed his face. A faded scar on his cheekbone, one more on his temple - they were littered on the upper half of his face as if someone had deliberately wounded him.

Eir would have touched them, if she could.

"You cannot give up; not until every last leaf on the Irminsul tree has been burned and the wretched island in the sky has been brought down to earth. You," Dottore fixed her with a stare so grave that Eir was rendered breathless, "cannot give up. Do you understand?"

"I know," she whispered. It didn't take much thinking to understand what Dottore tried to convey with this dramatic display: I have lived through terrible things, too, but look at what I have done with myself. If I could, so can you.

Did it look so simple to him? Did he truly assume that she hadn't tried before, again and again? This was all the proof she needed: Dottore would never fully grasp what Eir felt. Irminsul, Celestia- these things hardly mattered to her. She did not care if the palace burned with her in it. Her life, Teyvat itself - things that had become inconsequential with the agonizingly slow passage of time.

"You will find meaning again," said Dottore, and somehow, these were the most comforting words she heard all night. Eir blinked rapidly so as to not make a complete fool of herself - Tsaritsa knows she could never live this down.

Dottore took her left hand in his - the one painted midnight blue and adorned with bright purple veins. She could not feel his touch there; but when he tilted his head down to press a tender kiss to her knuckles, Eir swore that her skin felt like it was on fire.

He looked at her once more, with eyes like the trishiraite that she had studied so long ago. In those eyes swirled sincerity, understanding, a promise of something that was still out of Eir's reach.

For now, this would have to suffice.

[supern0vashii]

im gonna dump so much au lore OH MY GOD

okay ive been cooking up a little SOMETHING

BASICALLY A 50 FOLLOWER SPECIAL 💥💥

rubs hands deviously /j

SMG4 SHOWTIME AU!!

SMALL HEADS-UP: MOST OF THE AU SURROUNDS AROUND MY OC'S (ST4RSTRUCK, CALLED STAR IN THIS AU) LORE

MAIN STORY:

CW: BRAINWASHING / GORE

( i don't know if its heavy gore but there's some headcutting here so yeah )

its really long 💔💔 its basically a fic idk

This all started when Mr. Puzzles had finally taken the SMG4 cast and brainwashed / forcing them so they can participate in his goofy cartoon TV parodies.

As he released more content for his company, he realized that SMG4 and his crew weren't going to be enough to hit his beloved five star rating.

That same day, he received a text from his daughter, Star. She had asked him if they could meet up, since they haven't seen each other in almost two decades.

After the two had their father-daughter chit-chat, Star mentions that she got the main part in a musical that was happening in a few hours. Intrigued, and happy to be there for his daughter, Mr. Puzzles decided to go to said musical.

That's when Star's talent was truly shown, and the idea clicked so fast in Mr. Puzzles's mind it would have made his head spin.

"Why force a group of amateurs to do something when you have your own star right in front of you?"

That same night, after the event, Mr. Puzzles asked Star if she wanted to work for her as the star in his entertainment company, Puzzlevision.

Star declined, with the reason that she wanted to finish college before she did anything big.

Mr. Puzzles was furious. Not furious at the fact that Star didn't accept, but furious at the fact that he won't be able to get those precious five stars.

Mr. Puzzles thought, why even ask when I can make her participate unwillingly?

With that, Mr. Puzzles brainwashed Star and forced her to become the singing and dancing mascot of Puzzlevision.

But something was wrong. The way she looked, her appearance.. It didn't fit the company's vision at all. Mr. Puzzles thought of an extremely gorey solution to make sure Star fits in with the rest like a puzzle piece.

HE CUT OFF HER FACE AND PUT A TV IN ITS PLACE.

But he wanted Star to be happy in his little circle of entertainment hell. So Mr. Puzzles kidnapped and also brainwashed Star's friends SMG6 and Amber. Mr. Puzzles erased Amber's memories, and the well-being and status of SMG6 is currently unknown to the public eye.

As for the SMG4 crew, they're still stuck in Puzzlevision.

EXCEPT FOR FOUR.

And thanks to Star, Mr. Puzzles had finally gotten his precious five stars.

SMG3, Boopkins, and Luigi escaped Puzzlevision somehow. And thank God that Mr. Puzzles hasn't noticed yet. Mr. Puzzles has taken notice of Melony and has brainwashed her as well. As for Saiko, she stays with 3, Luigi, and Boopkins.

SMG4 STATUS AND INFO:

SMG4: Mr. Puzzles decided to keep SMG4 in his perfect video craze. He's much easier to control that way. The difference between the normal SMG4 and SHOWTIME!SMG4 is that he is way more aggressive and has a light-blue scarf with stars, and star earrings. Both whom he acquired from Star. SMG4 has a necklace with a puzzle charm on it, just like Star, Mario, and Amber do. I wonder what that's about.

MEGGY: Meggy is still stuck in the Western Spagetthi Simulation with Tari and One Shot Wren. Like ever since she has arrived in the simulation, Meggy has been being shot repeatedly by her "idol." Meggy has begged Mr. Puzzles for mercy many times, she had eventually found out that he was the one behind the simulation all along. She has seen Star make a few cameos in Western Spagetthi due to her popularity throughout Puzzlevision. Meggy does not wear a puzzle-charmed necklace.

TARI: Like Meggy, she stays in the Western Spagetthi Simulation. She is attempting to make a small safe spot where the two can talk to each other and relax. But that hasn't been easy since Clench has been malfunctioning lately. It's terrifying having to watch your best friend, and coach, be shot and die in front of you over and over again. The emotion was just so raw. Tari does not wear a puzzle-charmed necklace.

MARIO: Mr. Puzzles despises Mario. He keeps Mario on full lockdown (completely brainwashed, and locked in a room) when he isn't on air. When Mario is on air, he usually does his goofy shenanigans, since he is completely oblivious to what's going on. Mario is kinda sad that SMG4 won't talk to him. Mario sometimes flirts with Star as a joke. Like he always does when they're paired together for a scene. Star is just confused. Mario wears a puzzle-charmed necklace.

BOB: Bob can mostly be seen in the comedy scenes, he's not too popular in the Puzzlevision community. Like Mario, Bob is completely oblivious to the crew being brainwashed. He asked SMG4 if he was on crack when 4 asked him if he remembered anything before Mario's Mysteries. Bob does wonder where Boopkins is though. Bob does not wear a puzzle-charmed necklace.

MELONY: The only reason Mr. Puzzles brainwashed Melony is because of how powerful she is. A deity that could foil his plan in seconds cannot do! All Melony really does is sleep in the Western Spagetthi Simulation. Melony does not wear a puzzle-charmed necklace.

STAR: Star isn't doing too well. She had most recently found out of her father's true intentions. And she is mad. But, sadly, there is nothing she can do about it since Mr. Puzzles has eyes everywhere. Her relationship between her and SMG4 is complicated. She has tried contacting him and telling him what he doing isn't healthy. Yet he continues to work on his computer all the time. Star is worried for SMG4. Star has tried contacting anyone outside of Puzzlevision, she has reached someone outside once, but they didn't respond in time. Before 3 escaped, she gave him her star necklace so he can remember her when he, Saiko, Boopkins, and Luigi break the crew out of Puzzlevision. Star wears a puzzle-charmed necklace.

AMBER: Amber works for Mr. Puzzles, since she doesn't remember anything before waking up and being sat down in a vacant office. Except for the fact that Mr. Puzzles was sitting at the other side of the table, telling her that she worked here. Amber feels a familiar feeling when she is near Star. She's not sure why though, she's never seen her before. Right? Amber writes scripts for Mr. Puzzles's cartoon parodies. And is one of the best workers in Puzzlevision. After Star, of course. Amber wears a puzzle-charmed necklace.

SMG6: N/A

AHHHH THAT'S IT

my fingers hurt KDJFKFKFKFK

Taglist (VOID THIS 🙏🙏): @3nvymist @cudiess @bookofwhimsy

[bobcross1010]

I WANNA HEAR AU YAPS

3

MWHAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! Chugga chugga choo choos my way into the void

THOU HATH CHOSEN... THE REALLY WEIRD YOKAI CULT AU THING I HAVE..?!!!!!!!!

SO BASICALLY.

Insert kingdom ruled by Mafumom here!

Insert forest full of yokai and spirits here!

Insert... propaganda against the forest here!?

LONG STORY LONG!!! YAPPING UNDER THE CUT

Years ago, Mafuyu ran away from the kingdom, leaving her mother to grieve her loss. But her grief turned into anger, turned anger into obsession. Blaming the disappearance of her daughter on the Yokai, she spread propaganda against the forest outside the kingdom- the forest full of all those wretched spirits and myths and yokai. She made her people praise her like a goddess. She made a vow to destroy the forest and its inhabitants.

But... that's wrong. All wrong.

Ever since she was little, Mafuyu's mother had put such high expectations on her. So high, and she didn't know what to do.

So Mafuyu ran away. She ran, and ran, and ran, until she found herself lost in a forest. And she cried.

She cried, until a pink-haired girl holding a lantern with a blue flame approached her. Airi was her name. She was a human who had lived in the forest her entire life, raised by the kind spirits she now called her family and friends. And just like Airi, Mafuyu quickly found this forest to be her new safe place. Her new home.

Airi's girlfriend- Shizuku, and her friends, Tsukasa and Rui, were introduced to Mafuyu shortly after. Shizuku was a ghost, Rui, a gashadokuro in disguise, and Tsukasa, a qilin in a humanoid form accompanied by his companions, a kitsune and tanuki (respectively nicknamed Kitsu and Nuki). They became good friends.

Until one day... Tsukasa went missing.

He just disappeared. Not even Kitsu and Nuki were with him, either. They were still in the forest along with everyone else.

But soon, they quickly discover that it was Mafuyu's mother who had orchestrated this cruel kidnapping. She had a Yokai hunter capture him. But the remaining four would not stand for this. And so, they devised a plan.

Airi, with a special bracelet constructed by Rui, would infiltrate the kingdom. She was human- so she was safe. From there on out, she would communicate with the others through this bracelet, finding the whereabouts of Tsukasa. And after they discovered where he had went, they would get him back and bring him home.

..But that's easier said than done.

[ravennaortiz]

Summary: Quick glimpses of how Tig navigated becoming a widow and single father to his daughter OC Raven Trager.

As always my stories are 18+.

General Tag List: @keyweegirlie @hatersaremymotivators

Sons Only Tag List: @youngadult9016

Tig Tag List: @kikijackson-blog

How It Started

Tig stood staring down at the bullet riddled body of his beautiful wife. He willed her to take a breath, open her eyes, do something as the tears continued to slip from his icy blue eyes. His knees buckled and anguished sobs spilled from his chest. How could this have happened? How could one of his brothers betray him like this?

Tig had no idea how much time had passed. He had moved from the floor to the table. Cradling his wife to him. The chill didn't bother him and he tried to ignore how her body was now hard and stiff when it used to soft and giving to his touch. Tig shook off the hands that touched his shoulder.

"Tig. Your daughter still needs you. Melanie would want you to put your attention onto Raven." murmured Chibs as he grabbed his friends arm again. This time firmly pulling him off the table and back onto his feet. "The wrong parent was killed man. It should be me on this table." sobbed Tig as he shook his head. "How do I tell my daughter her mommy got killed because daddy was an asshole to a friend?"

Chibs pulled Tig into his arms. Letting the other man get his emotions out before speaking. "She will understand when she is older. She is too young for any of this to make sense. Don't beat yourself up Tig.

6 years later

"Alright Dad. She has to walk by herself from here" stated the teacher as she held out her hand to Raven. Tig let out a nervous chuckle as he knelt next to his daughter. "Don't know whose more nervous her or me" he stated as he ruffled Ravens long black hair making her giggle even as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"It will get easier I promise" soothed the teacher as she sent him a warm smile and took Ravens hand.

"Bye bye Daddy" stated Raven after she kissed his cheek and let the teacher lead her into the school.

Tig was too choked up to reply so he gave her a wave before turning and wiping at his eyes. He had cried more since becoming a father than he had the rest of his life. He always thought he would want a son but he wouldn't change having a sweet little girl for the world.

5 years later

Tig was frantically pacing his kitchen, hands in his curly hair as he waited for Gemma to arrive. How could he have been so stupid? So unprepared for this? Melanie would have had all the supplies Raven would need and would have had the womanhood talk with her already. How could he have fucked up this so badly?

He was a failure as a husband and now a failure as a dad. Tig was so deep in his thoughts he hadn't heard the back door open or Gemma greet him.

"Tiggy?" repeated Gemma as she stood with bags and cleaning supplies. "What's wrong?"

I failed her" stated Tig as he started to tear up. "The most important day of a little girls life when she becomes a woman and I fucked it up" he continued as he sat in a chair resting his head on the table.

Gemma rolled her eyes before moving out of the kitchen. "Its a period Tig. Don't be so dramatic"

3 years later

"Who was that?" asked Tig as he handed his daughter a helmet as she got on his bike. "Just a friend" replied Raven trying to hide a smile as the young boy waved at her as they pulled out of the school parking lot.

Tig frowned. He knew the day would come but it felt too soon. He wanted his sweet little girl to stick to baby dolls and tea parties forever. Never thinking of boys and the other things that came with them.

"Well better stick to just friends. You are not allowed to date until you are fifty at least" stated Tig firmly.

Raven rolled her eyes before replying. Purposefully riling her dad up was becoming her favorite pastime. "What if it is Jax or Opie? Can I get an exception for them?

Tig gritted his teeth. "Too old for you. Not another word on the matter" he practically growled as they pulled into the lot at TM.

2 years later

"I hate you!" screamed Raven as her hand caught Tig's cheek, the force turning his whole head to the side. Before Tig could reply Raven was out the front door, the slam echoing through the house.

Tig sighed in defeat as he turned to the barely clothed woman in his living room. "You should go"

The woman nodded meekly before pulling her dress back on and making her way quietly out of the house.

Hours passed as Tig searched for Raven. It was storming and late. He was worried she would do something stupid. He was getting ready to call Clay and have him assemble the club when his phone dinged.

Juice: Hey. Just wanted to let you know Raven showed up here. I can bring her to TM with me in the morning. That cool with you?

Tig: That is fine. Thanks man. Sorry.

Juice: No worries.

Tig sighed as he made his way back home. He tried to remind himself this would pass like Gemma had told him. All teenage girls go through a hate my dad phase.

1 year later

"What do you think Gem?" inquired Tig as he sat at Gemma's kitchen table his hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

"Some space may do you both some good. She would be close and you know she would be protected" replied Gemma as she sat across from him. Her heart ached for Tig. She knew his relationship with Raven was important to him and that he had always strived to be a great father. The last year had taken its toll on the two.

"Juice would not make a move on her. They are just friends and she ends up at his house anyway after ya'll fight. Might as well let her move in" continued Gemma with a shrug of her shoulders.

Tig nodded. A change would be for the best and hopefully it would let him repair his relationship with Raven. Even if it meant she no longer lived with him.

Return to Series Masterlist

[bokettochild]

Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

-

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words. 

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake. 

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain. 

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less. 

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so. 

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door. 

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive. 

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon. 

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.  

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here. 

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent. 

 The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment. 

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this. 

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all. 

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back. 

“I’m fine.”  

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again. 

“We’re here.” 

His hand stalls at the door. 

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them. 

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes. 

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat. 

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only... 

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help. 

“What do you want?” 

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-” 

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.” 

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops. 

It’s almost like he never left. 

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire. 

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows. 

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house. 

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.” 

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury. 

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.” 

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?” 

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-” 

“Where?” 

A shudder. “Everywhere.” 

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?” 

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.” 

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm. 

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers. 

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?” 

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile. 

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob. 

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.” 

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath. 

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects. 

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next. 

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. 

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment. 

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.” 

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness. 

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.” 

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.” 

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put. 

“No straining yourself. I will get you.” 

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop. 

 His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.” 

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow. 

 Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.” 

“Who is-” 

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.” 

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family. 

It leaves him alone. 

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys? 

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering. 

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense.  It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself. 

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it. 

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.” 

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.  

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though. 

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?” 

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them. 

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange. 

It’s strange to be without. 

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started. 

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse. 

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back. 

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath. 

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs. 

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.  

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway. 

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago. 

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice. 

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.” 

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.” 

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does. 

“They are heroes?” 

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.” 

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it. 

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate. 

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away. 

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop. 

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.” 

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it. 

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already. 

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.” 

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it. 

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest. 

He tries. 

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part. 

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric. 

He should say something. 

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs. 

He should say something. 

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away. 

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer. 

Her feet tap away. 

 “I love you.”  

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.  

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.