#i wish i had the willpower to just fucking die already

[normystical]

i should stop fucking replying to things ever. or even making posts ever. i feel like thr*wing up

[callofdooty]

WIP Wednesday! Not too much has been added since the last wip for this, but progress is progress! Plus I refined some of it so I'm happier with it! (Though honestly I'm already vibin pretty well with this so far)

Woe, COD: Ghosts angst be upon ye!

This is a prompt fill for Whumpuary! And the prompt is Betrayal. It's sitting at about 400 words rn and i have no idea how long it's going to get.

CW: Death, Grief, Heavy Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, minor spoilers for the COD: Ghosts story (though this is set pretty early on)

The ride back was quiet. The occupants of the helo half expected the heavy weight of the atmosphere to pull the damn thing back down. No one dared speak that thought aloud, though.

It pressed on all of their shoulders. Keegan’s quite literally. He’d carried Ajax out of there, after all. Thinking about it too much made him feel sick. 

But here, that’s all he can really do. Think, think and think again. 

It was Rorke…

His hand balls into a fist, knuckles undoubtedly paling underneath the patchily stained fabric of his gloves. Rorke. Their leader. Their protector. He’s behind all of this; culprit of the unspeakable. It all feels like some kind of fucked up nightmare, something that’d have him startling awake in a cold sweat, heart stuttering wildly behind a beaten ribcage. But it’s not. It’s not a nightmare, or some twisted, intrusive daydream dredged up from the darkest parts of his mind. It’s painfully real. The way Ajax went frightfully limp in his arms was real. That one, sweet constant in his life slipped through his fingers like ashes. Though not as gruesome as sand congealed by blood and tears, it shattered his world with the same force. 

Hope, love and willpower. All obliterated in one fell swoop. Would be impressive if it wasn’t so agonising.  ---

He slumps back against the wall, unable to settle his trembling. Gone. Ajax was gone. He…He was…Keegan would never hear that laugh again. Would never see that knowing smile again. Would never share the joys and sorrows of life with his best friend again. 

Oh God, Ajax was dead. 

And the most fucked up part is that the confirmation is a relief. He’s relieved that he had to behold the worst sight in his life; relieved that Ajax died right there in his hold. Because at least then he knows that this Ghost - this spark so dear to his heart - wouldn’t come back to hurt him. Wouldn’t resurface after over a decade of silence just to tear apart everything he loves. 

What’s more painful? For a loved one to die so soon, but be left with memories bathed in light? Or for a loved one to return from the dead, only reduced to the darkest version of themself?

Keegan had spent a long time wishing that his hero would someday come back. Now? He’s learned that sometimes, it’s better to wish for them to stay buried.

[gwen97]

roommates, best friends, lovers

Mexify x female Reader

Mexi and I had been living together for almost a year. It was nothing new for us or our friends that we did not always behave like best friends. Often it happens that his hand is on my thigh and to be honest it is rather the moments when we sit apart from each other in the same room, where it is difficult for me not to just sit on his lap. It feels weird not to have his hand on my hip, dragging me to sit on his lap, resting there the all the time.

Or when we fall asleep cuddled together on the couch in the evening, sometimes in each other's bed. I'd be lying if I hadn't already wished I would wake up, and my best friend wouldn't be my best friend anymore but my boyfriend.

I never thought that one of the worst days of my life could change that.

It was Saturday night, my day sucked and with every minute going by it got worst.

When I got home, Mexi was already lying on the Couch. ,,Y/N! Is that you?",he shouted across the hall. ,,No santa."

,,Bad Day?", he asked look in at me. ,,If you know a word that's worse then terrible, Can you answer yourself the question?", I mumbled. I lay down next to him on the couch with my head on his chest. My fingers run over his newly trained chest. Even with the fabric of his T-shirt under my fingers, I felt the goosebumps on his chest. I already had a crush on Mexi when he wasn't training, but now it was happening more and more often that I was turned on by his muscles and the way they were touching my body with every hug or unintentional touch. And so it was this time, his muscles and the way he wrapped his arms around my hips protectively and almost possessively turned me on. The way his breath whizzes past my ear, the way his hands are perilously close to my ass, and that hot voice that's not quiet enough to be a whisper, but not loud enough to even out as normal room noise either. "Was it really that bad love?" he asked and I felt his hot breath on my neck. In a split second my body was covered with goose bumps. He could feel it, his warm hands on my back and he felt the goose bumps , his hands were so close to my ass that it took all my willpower not to push them further down. Or I could just keep sliding up, it would be enough for our lips to touch, but it could also be enough to create a bulge between his legs. "Love, everything alright, your heart is beating like crazy, sure everything is alright?" Gosh that voice, if he keeps this up I won't be able to contain my longing for him anymore.

Suddenly Mexi pecked me in the side. Startled, I sat up and looked at him. My movements were very frantic and even though my pussy barely touched his dick it was apparently enough to make him hard. Despite the fabric of our clothes, I could clearly feel him. He stared at me in shock. "I... I'm sorry... I...", Mexi stuttered. He put his hands on my hips to lift me off him, but without thinking about it I put my hands on them his and started moving on top of him. His grip on my waist tightened immediately, a soft gasp escaping his mouth. So I repeated it again and again and with each time his cock got harder and I got wetter. It felt so good even if he wanted to deny it he couldn't his body spoke for itself. The whole apartment was silent, the only sound being our rapid and uneven breathing and the gasps escaping from us. It didn't take long for Mexi to push against me, but soon the gentle and slow emphasis of his pelvis turned into a rough and firm thrust. To say I was turned on by it would be an understatement, I was horny, really horny. And this time it wasn't a sex fantasy with my best friend, no it was dry fucking. If we don't slowly get out of our clothes now, I'll die.

"Shit YN, take off your clothes, I want to be inside you, really deep, I'll fuck the shit out of you love." "Oh please, please baby." I groaned and I had never removed my shirt as quickly as I did at that moment. His hands wandered over my breasts and to the clasp of my bra. In one elegant movement he pulled it off me. Slowly I leaned forward without stopping moving on top of him, rough and greedy I pressed my lips on his. Our lips moved insinc and with passion. But I needed him inside me. So I put my hand on his pants and slowly undid them. A harsh moan brushed his lips. "Stop teasing me like that or I'm definitely not going to start with you easily." "Trust me I don't want it easy." I whispered in his ear, slipping my hand into his boxers and around his cock. With a hot moan, he swung us around so that he leaned over me. "And what do you want love? Do you want that?" he asked, thrusting into me roughly. It felt like heaven and he wasn't even inside me. "Oh fuck... I want you! I want your big cock inside me! I want you to fuck me, like it would be the last time! Fuck Mexi... now please fuck me!" He didn't slow for a single second as he banged his pelvis against mine while I screamed my heart out.

He ripped off his pants and boxers and I did the same. I didn't want to wait a moment longer to see how it would feel to feel him inside me. He looked me in the eye, kissed me and thrust into me without warning. I broke the kiss and cried out, "Fuck... Oh.. Oh my fucking...". He thrust deeper and harder with each thrust and his moan was like the voice of God in my ears. "Holy Shit! YN! Oh my god YN you're so damn tight." I've never wanted him as much as I did at that moment and the best thing was that he wanted me too. He buried his head in my neck and sent kisses and lovebites all over my collarbone. One hand gripped his hair tightly and the other claw gripped his shoulder. The apartment was filled with moaning and screaming, the neighbors had to hear us, there was no other way, I didn't want it any other way.

"Oh fuck... Fuck I love you!" Those were the words that shot me over the edge. I came harder than I've ever had and it only takes a few more thrusts until Mexi came too.He collapsed on me, out of breath and sweaty. Suddenly he jumped up and looked at me: "Fuck condoms, we didn't have a condom!" I put my hand on his cheek towards him and kissed him softly and lightly.

"Don't worry I'm on birth control."

Mexi smiled at me, kissed my forehead and lay down next to me on the couch where I fell asleep in his arms.

[ink-and-sheet]

Chapter one- A call of duty

Iris POV

My name is Iris Doukas, the niece of Hatzis Doukas, the fierce and feared leader of the white fang pack.

My uncle was a cold man who cared only about battles and nothing else. Other than the prostitute he slept with, he didn't have a mate and refused to have an heir.

My childhood was beautiful and also filled with gruesome scenes because uncle Hatzis was ruthless to anyone that's not me since I was his little brother's only child and his last surviving blood relative since my parents died.

Our pack and territories had flourished and expanded over the years because of the several victories he won in the wars with other packs and the slaves he had captive.

Although our lands and people are enjoying peace. But the threat of war is very real and that's why one of uncle Hatzis's priceless hostages was Alpha Thor, the leader of the Storm Riders Pack.

My uncle kept Alpha Thor tightly in his grip because although his pack lost the war and its members were now rogues, they didn't lose their willpower to fight.

The only thing that stopped the Storm Riders pack from attacking us was the captivity of their leader who had their fear and respect.

It's said that after Thor got captured by my uncle, not even his beta will step up and take his place as the next alpha because of the terror he felt for Thor, and the loyalty the pack members have for him

Sadly, my uncle passed away a month ago to the cold hands of death, and I as his niece is forced to pick up from where he left off.

My body feels glued to the bed just by thinking about it, and I wish that such a heavy obligation wasn't placed on my shoulder at the age of eighteen.

It wasn't strange to me after he passed for the park members to get down on their knees and pledge their allegiance to me because uncle Hatzis made them do a blood oath and swear upon their lives that I would take over after he die.

For the past one month, I have been trapped with the burden of making decisions for the pack, worrying about finding a mate to rule beside me, and pleasing the elder who are a bunch of old dudes that are annoying as fuck.

When the echoes of footsteps in the hallway grew louder and closer to my room, I raised my eyelids and stared at the masterpiece on my ceiling.

"Why is it so bright?" I mumbled without blinking, trying to pull myself together.

Finally, when reality settled in, I hastily sat up and gazed around the room before burying my face in my palm and sighing deeply.

It was morning already, and that means I did it again and stayed up all night thinking things over in my head to the point that I forgot to sleep.

All this leadership stuff was so tiresome, and yet, I couldn't stop thinking about matters about the pack because my uncle had made quite a lot of enemies, one being the Storm Riders Pack.

A gentle and sweet voice suddenly echoed into my ears after my room door opened, "My Luna, you are awake?"

Swaying my gaze to the right, my sight rested on my maid, Rona. From since I can remember, she has been by my side and so gentle to me.

With a soft smile on her lips, she brought a tray towards me and set it on the bed.

"Please eat, and afterward, I will help you get dressed, my Luna," Rona mumbled, taking two steps back.

Every time she refers to me as her Luna, I feel the weight upon my shoulder getting heavier, and yet, it was my burden to carry.

Drained and frustrated, I looked down at the tray of food, reached my hand into the bowl of grapes, and took a bite into it.

"Have the elders arrived at the mansion yet?" I asked, reaching for another grape.

"No, my Luna," Rona said with a look of hesitation in her eyes. "Do you want me to send out words for them to gather in the great hall?"

Another meeting with those suffocating dictators will drive me mad. How was I supposed to run a pack that is used to iron hand leadership when all my uncle did was pamper me with love and treated me like a princess!

Unexpectedly, Rona rushed to my side, squatted with a napkin in her hand, and whispered, "My Luna, you are crying… I know it's only been a month since our former leader passed away, but you need to pay attention to your health and not grieve for too long."

I love my uncle, but right now, I am not crying because of him but because the future seems worrisome. Uncle Hatzis was obeyed by everyone.

But I'm not him, and I feel like I'm just a wolf that got ascended to the title of a pack leader to get used as a puppet by the elders because they know the respect the pack members had for my uncle is now passed onto me.

However, since fate has given me such a burden, I should accept it, even though I'm nothing compared to my uncle or father.

"What's my schedule for today?" I asked, looking into Rona's eyes.

Immediately, she looked a bit uncomfortable and glanced at the floor as she mumbled, "The elders want you to meet slave number one."

"Oh, they want me to visit the cell," I whispered, feeling a bit calm.

Then my eyes widened when I realized who slave number one was. Instantly, I started to freak out because that number belonged to Thor, the alpha of the Storm Riders Pack.

They wanted me to visit him. No way! Rumor has it that he has no soul, and his eyes are cold and dark.

His story is nothing different from the one my uncle shares, maybe it's even bloodier than that of uncle Hatzis, and I don't know how he managed to capture Thor, but I rather not face him or look into his cold eyes.

[finsterhund]

I also attempted to make the head of a crying dog using felt and the pattern and it is fucking hard fucking hard. all my hard work made for a recognizable result but it's still not good enough. I hate my own work so much it's not good enough. Extremely frustrating because the only person I can use my willpower and pure unrefined hyper obsession to force meticulous crying dog recreation is me. And I'm the only person who's work I will never accept. I will keep trying though because I have no other choice. I hate this body I hate having to settle for this stupid body I fucking hate it I want to reroll this sucks so much ass.

I hate this. I just want more of them. I want to clone the little red dog but the only way to do that is to take him apart and I don't want to he's already showing his age after his bath his face looks weird and I don't know if it's just because I'm on my meds or because I damaged him and I'm really stressed about literally everything and gah why can't I have any sort of creative skills or abilities waahhhh 😭

And everyone fucking goes "oh just practice" when it comes to literally everything that my muscle tremors are literally always going to interfere with. Motherfucker I am trying. There's only so much practice can do when it comes to being physically fucking disabled and also I was never valued for anything I ever did growing up except being a literal musical savant which is a fucking parlor trick so I have a goddamn perfectionist complex and I fucking hate everything I produce because it's inferior simply because I'm the one who did it I fucking wish I had adults in my life who actually fucking treated me properly I want to die.

[aerialflight]

Fic Rec (it's been too long and I read a whole lot of fics)

I've read so many fics these past couple of months and my need to share them to the world has seized me by the throat. Please enjoy and support these fanfic writers! They are the best. XD

-

[Naruto]

Nine-Tailed Foxes are Dead by RowlettLesbian

Ship: Shikamaru/Naruto

For Konoha, it's been one month since the preliminary Chunin exams. For Naruto, it's been six. And he wasn't in Konoha.

At the end of his ordeal, Naruto walks into the Chunin Exam finals without his left arm.

Shikamaru is very concerned. And, eventually, very precious to Naruto as they work together to solve the mysteries of Konoha and bring kindness to the Shinobi world, one adventure at a time.

(I would die for this fic. I know the summary sounds doom and gloom but IT'S NOT. This fic made me fucking cry, I don't think I've ever read a fic that characterized Naruto so right. He's so full of hope and love and develops into the best version of himself and I'm so HERE FOR IT. And it's not just Naruto, Shikamaru is absolutely amazing here along with Kakashi and surprise surprise Ino, I can't BELIEVE it took me this long to stumble across this fic. Also THE WORLDBUILDING IS TO DIE FOR!!! And the plot! Is! So! Interesting! Just, everything about this fic is just amazing so please PLEASE read this!!!)

The End of the Uchiha by RowlettLesbian

Ship: Naruto/Sasuke

“I promise, little electric spirit of this shrine,” he whispered into the soft dirt and fallen leaves, “I will never gain the eyes. I will never pass them on. And I will make sure the eyes end in my brother, so that they can’t hurt anybody anymore. I will be the last Uchiha, and see to the end of the Copy-Wheel Clan. Then all of the hatred here can stop, and my family can rest peacefully. I promise, little shrine.”

Sasuke is more than his brother thinks he is. He's more than any Uchiha has ever been. He will kill his brother, but it will not be vengeance.

It will be mercy.

(Same author as the one above, they are the gift that keeps on giving. Seriously, HOW did I NEVER FIND THESE FICS before now??? One of life's greatest mysteries. The author's sense of humor is so on point here along with the atmospheric writing that's so vivid in the mind. Their writing style is so recognizable to me now and makes me fall into the world they're creating, it's stunning. Sasuke here makes me want to hug him and the idea of him living like a feral ghibli character has me LIVING. Check the tags of the fic, all of it is true, hand to god. Please give all of the author's fics a shot, it's a rabbit hole I'm thankful I fell into!)

mil fantasmas (gritan en calma) by LegaciesandMemories

Post-Tsukuyomi, something in Uchiha Sasuke's mind shatters. The same night, Yamanaka Ino falls asleep and doesn't wake up for 15 days.

---

In which Ino and Sasuke both wake from the aftermath of the Uchiha Massacre with the ability to see ghosts, and no one is prepared for the fallout.

(This fic has arrested my curiosity and eagerness to know what will happen next. These poor kids need so many hugs and Ino is getting the spotlight she deserves. I am so excited for this fic and what it has in store! Please read! XD)

Lichtenberg Figures by Asteroid_Duck (JustThatOneGirl1815)

Name: Kakashi Hatake Rank: Jounin Status: Missing Nin Missing Since: June 15th, 271 AD Note: Flee on Sight . . . Haburashi looked his team in the eyes— three, fresh out of the Academy genin— and resolved to teach them as best as he could. And right now, his lesson was simple: “Stay. Away. From. Kakashi. Hatake.”

(Dimension travel fic with a slice of Kakashi being an absolute troll and dealing with the shitty hand he's been dealt with. Seriously, the man has the worst luck in all of Konoha. Also, the mystery of the other Kakashi's history has me leaning by the edge of my seat, I need to know.)

The Governess by Ysmirel

Ship: Kakashi/OFC

"“What,” he finally asked, “is so funny?”

Ibara bit her lower lip to keep the chuckles in, still smiling and making absolutely no effort to get more space between them, seemingly perfectly at ease within reach of a trained shinobi. Her self-control wasn't all that good, as she ended up snorting and was overcame once again by another fit of laughter. “I just- It's just-” She struggled to speak, trying to catch her breath and wiping away tears of mirth with the hand that wasn't still holding onto his vest. Finally, she looked him in the eye and said, with a smile that was all teeth and without a hint of her previous drunken stupor, “and who's going to believe you?”

As he stood there, stunned by her words and change in demeanor, he realized with dawning horror that she was right."

In which Kakashi finds himself at the other end of the troll shtick, and he doesn't appreciate it all that much.

(It's so hard to find self-insert fics with a fresh concept these days, especially in the naruto fandom. Not that I don't enjoy and devour a lot of self insert fics like it's going out of style, but it's just so nice to find something new and shiny and really damn good. I'm so pumped for this fic and how it's going to develop so please join me in rooting for this fic!)

half a league (until the valley of death) by SpectersShadow117

Kakashi can think of no reason for Sasuke's inexplicable and drastic change in behavior. He doesn't like the desperate, haunted gleam in his student's eyes, and he also doesn't like the nagging feeling that he's missing something very important. Aka: Future Sasuke goes to Past Sasuke and gives him a reality check with Specific Intentions, but as with most Uchiha, his methods leave much to be desired. (Featuring: Childhood trauma FTW, Konoha's shitty care of orphans, and absolutely no one having a fun time.)

(Sasuke wanting to change the future out of complete and utter spite has me LIVING. Sasuke is such a Mess here and the twist on the time travel premise is so good and the kid is so Traumatized and Desperate and Not Having A Good Time. Naruto and Sakura developing as better ninjas and Kakashi trying his best makes me want to scream. Also, how Sasuke thinks about Itachi makes me want to cackle. I am 100% down for this. I am rooting for this kid, go get them! XD)

-

[Harry Potter]

fruit loops in time (circle around me) by justprompts

Ships: Harry/Draco, Remus/Sirius

"This is Crabbe, and Goyle," the blonde boy says, pointing at the two boys next to him. "And I'm Malfoy, Draco Ma - "

Ron laughs, and Malfoy immediately bristles.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Malfoy says, angrily. "No need to ask yours - "

"You're honestly so cute," Ron interrupts, yet again, shaking his head. "So tiny. And so angry, all the time. It's adorable."

Alternatively Ron Weasley, Time Traveller Extraordinaire, is stuck in the same seven year Hogwarts Loop, repeating the same thing over and over again. Naturally, he's so done with everything.

(This is the greatest hp fic I've ever read. I LOVE RON WEASLEY and by the time you read this fic SO WILL YOU!! This is the fic I WISH I have the ability to write. I read this entire fic aloud to my brother and we spent literal hours howling and talking about how utterly insane and incredible this fic is, it's amazing. This is hands down my favorite Ron Weasley. You Can Pry This Fic From My Cold Dead Fingers.)

-

[Boku no Hero Academia]

Kacchan's Cult by Ourliazo

Pro Hero Ground Zero is attacked, originally meant to be de-aged out of existence by a desperate villain but is instead launched into his 14-year-old self.

But Katsuki is a fucking pro so whatever, time to fuck up someone's day. And sure, maybe he's only one man, but that's why he conscripts the entirety of the UA student body into tearing down some criminal empires.

(It's time travel, crack, and Bakugou being his usual explody, competent self. What more in life do you want? Seriously though, please read. I'm obsessed with this fic and having a Good Time!)

Cleaning Crew; Teaching Kids to Value their Safety, for Fun and Profit by Reavv

Takenaka Hideo is a thirty-two year old, in mild desperation for money, who has just been hired as a new janitor for UA's support staff. He has a quirk that lets him find lost objects, a liaison with the police because of it, and desperate desire for competent co-workers.

Oh, and he's already lived a previous life, in a world where quirks and heroes didn't even exist.

Not a big deal, though. It's not like you ever see the janitor playing a big part in action movies. He's here to get paid, and that's it.

On the opposite side of the equation, class 1-A has to wonder at the new UA cryptid that always seems to show up when things are on fire, and who keeps trying to convince them to let the adults handle the fire extinguisher.

(A great deal of fun packed into one fic. That is how I title this fic and nothing will change my mind! Hideo just wants to quietly do his job and not get in the way. I Relate. Please read!)

Poltergeist by WriterGreenReads

Class 1-A is haunted.

Well, not really.

I AM dead, though.

World's friendliest poltergeist, at your service.

(I don't know how I got so sucked into OC fics, but I found some fantastic fics along the way so I have no regrets. The author really tries to push the premise and I just love all the interactions and dynamics that form as the fic gets further in. And the OC character and all the hijinks they get up to cracks me up! At the same time, it's pretty heartwarming and it's practically a friendships galore fic! Definitely recommend it!)

invincible by supercrunch for Engrin

Ship: Bakugou/Midoriya

This is the way the world works: the sun rises in the east. The strong come out on top. Bakugou Katsuki rockets through life like a comet and Midoriya Izuku stumbles after. If he believed in such things Katsuki would say it was written in the stars. That some god of war had looked at him and said this one. That he’d been passed along a line to get his blessings – genius, willpower, fearless ambition – and dropped off on earth.

Then, of course, there is the question of Deku. The spitfire runt. Deku, no matter what the world does to him, never stops hoping.

Until, of course, he eventually does.

(Katsuki broke him. Snapped him in half like a twig and now has to scramble to put Deku back together. “We can do this, Deku," he says slowly. "There are so many mysteries that never got put to bed. Criminals roaming around looking to hurt people and you and me, we can fix that.”

There’s a long pause. The comforter slips a little off Deku’s skinny shoulders and drowns him. “You mean like a team?”

In that split second, Katsuki makes a decision he’s never even considered. He swallows his pride. “Yeah, Deku. We’d be a team.”)

(If there was any other way canon could've gone, this is the story I would've wanted. It's perfect.)

Inadvertent Wilderness Therapy by Cacid

Following an unfortunate encounter with a teleporter on the last day of internships, Bakugou Katsuki and Hakamata Tsunagu spend some quality time in northern Canada.

In no particular order they will: build ugly survival shelters, stalk rabbits, run from polar bears, reflect on the chemical composition of trees, insult each other, and complain about krumholtz.

(THESE TWO. TOGETHER. IN THE WILDERNESS. IN FUCKING CANADA OF ALL PLACES. I still can't believe this fic actually exists and just how INVESTED I became in their relationship. Blue Jeanist instantly became my favorite ranked hero with this fic alone. HIS SENSE OF HUMOR IS TERRIBLE, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH FNIEWOPAF. BAKUGOU DOES TOO. IT'S FUCKING INCREDIBLE. *incoherent screeching into the wild*)

-

[Stranger Things]

Baci D'aria by RabbitDarling

“Love is worth the sum of itself, and nothing more.” ― Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

Steve learned a lot at his Aunt's side before she passed but his favourite thing she taught him was baci d'aria; special little spells that you created from the heart and put into the food you shared.

In opening his heart and gifts to those around him Steve slowly finds himself a family in a way he never thought he'd get to experience. One by One he collects pre-teens to trail in his wake like ducklings and Steve can't even refute it by the time he realizes what has happened.

(This fic is so soft and Steve is just collecting people and winning them over with his magical food (literally). I am always a sucker for heartwarming, good for the soul fics so if you want to make yourself hungry and feel all warm and gooey inside, read this!)

(Don't Fear) The Reaper by TeaFourTwo

Ship: Steve/Billy

He looks down at the blood on his hands and on the floor and wonders why the memory hasn’t broken yet, why he isn’t back in Starcourt mall with control of his body again, wonders if he's even still alive at all. Is this hell then? Or perhaps purgatory? It certainly isn’t heaven, that’s for sure. None of this makes any sense…but then what's new—nothing in Billy’s life makes sense anymore.

Billy laughs then, loud and long and unhinged. It's the only sound in the whole house, and it bounces off the walls like a fucked up echo, like the world is laughing with him.

“Jesus christ you’re insane…” It’s Max’s voice and it’s shaking. It only makes Billy laugh harder, because Max has it all wrong. Billy isn’t crazy, it’s the rest of the world that’s insane.

--

Billy dies a hero of sorts. He wakes up back in his bed on Saturday morning, the third of November, 1984...nearly nine months earlier.

(Billy is stuck in a time loop and it's slowly driving him crazy. And the fic shows just how much influence Billy did have in the plot and how doomed the world is without him in it. Great character exploration with Billy's character and all the ways he's so messy and human. Definitely recommend it!)

-

[Knives Out]

The Road Less Traveled By by UisceOneLove

Ship: Marta/Ransom

If Harlan wants to leave Ransom to be on his own, fine. He'll show him just what Ransom Drysdale is capable of.

or, where Ransom chooses to prove his abilities through means of the non-homicidal variety and finds himself becoming exactly what Harlan was hoping he would.

(I found this fic out of sheer chance and god, Ransom is just, so fascinating to me as a character. Marta of course is the Best here and I will forever stan her. Seriously, this is such a good fic! Please read!)

-

[Haikyuu!!]

Sky Full of Stars by grilledsquids

The Hinatas are twins. They're practically identical.

But while Shouyou seeks out Karasuno's volleyball team to become the next Little Giant, Natsu is scouted to to play soccer for Shiratorizawa. While Shouyou sets his eyes on playing volleyball at the highest level possible, his sister wonders how much longer she can play soccer... and if it's worth it to keep going.

A Natsu-centric story featuring: Shiratorizawa VBC shenanigans, too many soccer OCs, mild teenage drama, a little bit of plot, and Semi Eita not knowing what a period is.

(It's just!! So cute and wholesome!!! The Shiratorizawa volleyball team is so fleshed out along with the OC characters for the girl's soccer team and I swear, it's been a long while since I've laughed this much at the sheer shenanigans that happen in a fic. It's surprisingly hard to find good gen fics in this fandom so finding this gem made me so happy! If you want a fic that brings a smile to your face, read this!!)

like water by speakingincode

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, and when Tooru looks at him, he can read My best friend’s an idiot off the crease of his eyebrows. “Are you telling me you spent the last three years weirdly obsessed with Kageyama – I still remember the time you made us play him on a dumb whim, you know – and now you’re at his beck and call? Are you okay? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m— I’m not at his beck and call! I said no last week. It’s… It’s like you said. I get bored easily. I saw him at the park a couple weeks after they played Nationals and called him a perfect little tyrant, and he pestered me into spending time with him after,” Tooru says. “I’m not a monster, Iwa-chan. If he wants the company of his cool, handsome ex-upperclassman that badly, who am I to begrudge him?”

Or: Oikawa doesn't know why Kageyama keeps asking to meet him on Saturdays. He also doesn't know why he keeps saying yes.

(The fact this fic is canon-compliant and covers post-canon too makes me want to shout to the heavens. Fucking incredible! One of the best Oikakage fics ever and it's a crime how it's not at the top of the ship tag. Please please read!!)

twist into your shape by kakkoweeb

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

The only thing better than sweets were sweets containing paper that told you whether your future would be good or bad--or in Kageyama and Oikawa's case, paper that somehow caused you to live inside each other's bodies.

(Everyone probably already read this fic but it needs to be said, you need to read this fic. How these two try and manage each other's lives and slowly start to care about one another is so beautiful and sincere and I am ready to wrestle anyone to the floor and comply them into reading this fic. Doesn't matter if you like the ship, you will become a fan if you read it, I promise. Please please read!!)

Take the Long Road Home by pepperfield

Ship: Kuroo/Sawamura

When Azumane Asahi goes missing before his engagement meeting with Kozume Kenma, what other option is there but for Daichi to impersonate his brother and fake his way through a first date with Asahi's fiance?

Okay, let's be realistic - there were probably at least four other options.

Unfortunately, Tetsurou couldn't come up with any of them either, so now he's here flirting with Kenma's future husband while trying to keep his web of deceit from collapsing.

It's going to be an eventful day.

(I got obsessed with this ship alongside Oikakage and SO WILL YOU. THE POTENTIAL. THE BANTER. THE FACT THEY'RE BOTH DORKS AND THE FIC HAS IDENTITY SHENANIGANS DANCING ALL OVER IT!! I had so much fun reading this and these two are MEANT TO BE FENIWPAF. If you don't see the potential of this ship, you will now.)

a misunderstanding a day keeps the boyfriend away by bartallen for betuls

Ship: Kuroo/Sawamura

Kuroo doesn’t fall in love hard and fast like many others do – he falls slowly, and very very softly. Most of the times he doesn’t even realise he’s in love with someone until it’s too late.

(Kuroo is the dumbest man alive and I've never related to someone so hard in my life. God help me.)

You like me. by roseknight

Ship: Daishou/Kuroo

Kuroo nearly lived a Daishou-free life, and sometimes he looked back and wondered how much better and how much worse that would've been.

(I didn't even know who Daishou was until I read this fic and now I can't unsee the potential this ship has. I'm a ruined woman and I regret NOTHING.)

Kings of the Road, Kings of the Universe by EzzyDean

Eight magical captains, one bus, an entire summer (and country) waiting for them.

What could possibly go wrong?

(The magic of friendship meets the magic of a summer road trip meets pure magic.)

(CAPTAIN SQUAD IS THE BEST SQUAD SOMEBODY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME SOME CAPTAIN SQUAD FICS I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS SQUAD IT'S A PROBLEM AAAAHHHHHH!)

宿縁 : See You Soon by MissKiraBlue

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

Upon arriving at the train station of death, an impure soul is granted a second chance at life against his will. Reincarnating into the body of Kageyama Tobio, a 15-year-old boy who recently committed suicide. Tobio's soul will depart at death and the soul needs to slip in to replace it. If the soul's reformation succeeds, he’ll reenter the cycle of rebirth and regain the right to be reborn. He will have three months to accomplish this task.

“Even though you had enough of life,” the soul whispered into the void of the room, “you were still afraid to hurt your hands, Tobio.”

Afraid of giving himself a scar, if he survived.

He touched his pulse and grasped life and couldn’t help but pity Kageyama Tobio.

"You wanted to die and now I’m here making you live again," he whispered into the night.

(I'm not even exaggerating when I say out of all the fics in this entire goddamn, too long list, this is the fic I'm anticipating and heart eyeing the most. It's only starting, but I already cried on chapter fucking 2, the power of this fic, holy shit. The author also wrote the hq time loop Every Tomorrows series, which I have an undying love for and am full on praying for the day it updates, so you KNOW this fic will be just as good. (Anybody who hasn't read this series, where the hell have you been?? Read it!!) Just, everything about this fic hurts me and something in my chest just aches when I read this fic. Go into it blind with an open heart and I swear to you, it's going to change your life. I'm already calling it. Seriously though, please please read!)

-

[Crossover]

Learning to Fly by Asteroid_Duck (JustThatOneGirl1815)

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia, Naruto

The number three hero is a walking (well, flying) contradiction in every sense of the word. This includes his teaching skills. Why had Tokoyami agreed to this internship again? Oh right. He’d thought he was actually going to learn something. …….remind him to never be so optimistic again. . . . OR, Kakashi Hatake is reincarnated as the pro hero, Hawks. Tokoyami Fumikage suffers as a result.

(The reincarnation fic I never thought I needed and it's so good!! I've never really paid attention to Tokoyami and this fic sent me headfirst into loving him. Their dynamic is so interesting and I just love how their relationship develops. Also, Kakashi trolling the poor kid made me cackle, it's great! Definitely recommend it!)

Si Vis Pacem by athenoot

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia, John Wick

Everything has a price. That's what John has always known and will forever remember, even in death.

Which is pretty ironic considering his current circumstance.

Instead of a grown, scarred, weary body belonging to a man as cruel and broken as him, he's inhabiting a younger, smaller, unblemished one belonging to a child with strangely colored hair, and is living in what seems to be a superhuman society.

Well. May it never be said that John isn't a strategist. He can live with this. Maybe.

(Somewhere out there in the universe, he's certain he could hear the laughter of his enemies from beyond the grave.)

-

Or: John Wick is reincarnated as Midoriya Izuku. The world should probably watch its back.

(This should be one of the crackiest fics I've read in a while, but it's taken so seriously and I'm so HERE FOR THIS. John Wick being John Wick in a world of quirks and heroes is the GREATEST, honestly, he's so badass. Bakugou, I feel for you, you must be so fucking confused lol. Bakugou trying his best to be a good friend is one of the best things about this fic. Trust me, this fic will make your day, promise!)

A Girl's Mind is a Dangerous Place by clenastia

Fandoms: Naruto, Fairy Tail

Natsu wakes up in Sakura's body. It only gets worse from there. Also known as: In Which Natsu has No Idea what to do with Boobs.

(I binged this in two fucking days, I couldn't put it down. This fic reminded me why I liked fairy tail when I was younger and why Natsu is honestly such a great protagonist, god. And the fic does that thing, you know, the Thing where when two worlds collide, the characters struggle to acclimate and adapt to a completely another world with different rules and mindsets against their own. This fic is seriously one of the best when it comes to that aspect, it's incredible. I am going absolutely feral over here for this fic to update, I'm waiting in the wings, ready to pounce like a tiger, all the metaphors man. For the love of god, read this fic.)

Give me a landscape made of obstacles by Melise

Fandoms: Naruto, Natsume's Book of Friends

Kakashi Hatake isn’t who he says he is.

Because the truth is that he’s actually a youkai in disguise, a wolf spirit named Madara who stumbled across the Hatake clan during the Warring States Period. Intrigued by the shinobi he saw, he’d proposed a temporary alliance in which he would offer the clan protection in exchange for their teachings.

Decades later, Madara is surprised to find himself inadvertently summoned to Konoha by the last living member of the Hatake clan. Sakumo Hatake, who is mourning the recent deaths of his wife and stillborn child, doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So with his permission, Madara takes the place of Sakumo’s deceased son in order to watch over the last Hatake.

(Fusion in which the youkai of Natsume’s Book of Friends all exist in the Naruto world. No knowledge of Natsume’s Book of Friends required).

(Before this fic, I only had a very vague idea of what Natsume's Book of Friends was, and honestly, I still don't know much about it. But I didn't really need to know to get into this fic. I love the worldbuilding and the relationships Kakashi forms, both supernatural and mortal. I love how Kakashi's inhumane ways affect others around him, whether to stress them out or become used to the strange. You can go straight into this fic without knowing anything and absolutely still have a fantastic time. I definitely recommend this so please read!)

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Can you do 21 from prompt list for Draco Malfoy?? NSFW or SFW, your choice. Thank you so much❤❤

A/N: Wait, wait, wait... I just realized I'm writing my first smut ever. And I'm undertaking the challenge, y'all. Wish me luck, haha. It's also me turning against some of my mutuals from Tumblr now. Granted, Draco-x-reader is changing into the dirty territory. #Ihatemyselfforthat

Warnings: smut, so... hella yeah! for sure NOT pg-13 + language + allusions to the alcohol

XOXOXO

Prompt 21: “Stop teasing.” / “Make me.”

Draco's lips tasted like a mixture of cigar and wine he had drunk in the restaurant.

His skin was so soft under your fingertips, and you couldn't help yourself but run your hand over his jawline, cheekbones, chest, arms, eventually stopping in his tousled hair to slowly caress his scalp. Enthusiastic as it was, he was responding to your kisses with as much eagerness and desperation as were you, and you couldn't help yourself but wonder how excellent kisser was he. Titling your head, you deepened the kiss over and over again, your tongues dancing in each other's mouths and fitting into the perfect rhythm of movement. You were desperately trying to press yourself closer, if it was possible, to him, but none of it was enough, and your body longed to every inch of him. His hands, on the other hand, didn't embed too long in one place and were marveling all over you -- your hips, your breast, your back, your face. Every time and everywhere he touched, a pleasant and tickling feeling burst in the place, being the worst encouragement to develop a remaining tension below your navel. At that point, you felt as if your body was on fire, expanding in your veins and only building up desire.

Draco nibbled your lip between his teeth, gently and carefully, and you couldn't help the inevitable gasp which escaped out of your mouth, spreading a feeling of lust across your chest. To that, he as well reacted with the faintest of whimpers coming from his throat, and soon enough, he rapidly turned you on your back, pulling himself on top of you and never breaking the connection between your lips. Wild and on the adrenaline boost, your kisses were passionate, and your hands started roaming with clothes, desperate to reveal more skin to fulfill each other's eager needs. Almost as on cue, your breathing sped up into much faster respiration, quickly turning into pants and loud puffings; but that didn't stop you from kissing, rather sporadically breaking off to catch some air and then attacking each other with zealous lips again.

Draco felt like a blessing, ramming his weight at you, and it was so tempting that you suddenly needed to be even closer to him. And so you did, by arching your back and releasing yet another long, covetous sigh, which --try as might-- couldn't be suppressed by anyone's willpower. Your sigh wasn't, however, left without a response because something like a low growl rumbled in Draco's chest, and his hands traveled from your chest to the wrists, pinning you to the mattress.

For the last, he planted the kiss on your mouth, hard, and then lowered his head, only to press his lips against your neck; at that point, you started wheezing like an angry rhinoceros. Releasing your hands and allowing you more room for maneuver, your clumsy fingers started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt; meanwhile, his hands found themselves on your hips, putting a lot of force to keep you in the stable position. You disagreed, however, with this arrangement, because still unsatisfied with the proximity of your bodies, you began squirming impatiently.

He probably understood your allusion because a small smile painted on his face, as you felt against your skin, and his palms wandered all way long to the calps of your bra, attempting to unbutton it. And within mere seconds, he succeeded, tossing it off the bed to the other side of the room, clearly pleased with himself. With a deficit of self-control, he ripped off his mouth of your neck only to admire your chest with great interest and lust flickering in his dilated eyes. But he was only absent for a moment before locating the sloppy kisses between your breast, slowly making his way down, and down, and down, where the biggest need was torturously pooling up.

"Beautiful," he was muttering between kisses, and your sighs were only doubled by his breath which softly tickled your skin. His hands never left your body, slowly tracing the patterns on your bare arm, and your chest was rapidly falling and rasing at the desire and pleasure you felt. He, as well, was lost in the great ardor, as if in trance -- his breath blasted in the shaky pants; his palms touching every inch of you, doing the closest studies to your anatomy; his lips grazing your skin with the biggest curiosity; and his heart racing at the highest rate in the rib cage. So was your pulse very unsteady.

He pulled away suddenly, stopped kissing you; and as you were about to let out a loud sign of protest or pull him back to your lips, you realized he had ducked his head to your inner tights, capturing them passionately with fierce kisses.

Holy fuck!

You gasped at the most wanted touch and arched your back until at least half of it was off the bed, feeling as if the tension was about to tear you up in the pieces. But that didn't matter now. If you had to die, it would be committed during the most pleasurable time of your life, as was now.

You wanted him so, so bad to press his lips at the exact same place he was omitting, and soon enough, you figured out what he was playing at. And his playful smirk only confirmed your assumptions. That only made you more flustered.

"Stop teasing," you mumbled in a shaky breath, barely able to create the coherent sentence due to your unsteady respiration and a pure want that overcame your voice.

"Make me." His voice was laced with craving, low and deep as never. As you lowered your gaze to look him directly in the eyes, you saw that his pupils were dilated to the point that at least half of them were black, and his stare held something more than passion in itself. It was piercing, actually. His chest was heaving so much at the sight of you sprawling beneath him, and his hair was disheveled, standing in every direction, making him look wild. But in a good way.

"Please," you pleaded, desperate as never before and forcing the most persuading tone to convince him. He, on the other hand, had decided to say nothing and only let out an amused chuckle.

To your enormous surprise, however, he succumbed to your begs and, in the next second, shifted so quickly that it startled you a little, making you jolt in the positive shock. His fingers almost aggressively grasped your undergarment, and you laid your head on the pillow, letting him take it off in the passionate haste of your legs. Even without your noticing, he swiftly and speedily removed it, shoving it in some unknown corners of the bed, and in the next moment...

Oh, boy...

In the next moment, he was slowly yet fiercely pressing his lips into the most tension-bearing spot; exactly where you wanted from the very beginning. Trying to cover up your blasting gasp, you inhaled sharply, clenching your jaw to do your best to repress any sound out of your mouth. Draco, on contrary, seemed to take great enjoyment of your reaction because he groaned and took another chance into pressing his lips to your clit, his fingers digging roughly into your hips.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, trying but failing to lower your voice, and Draco emitted another groan, sending delicious vibrations all across your body, feeling like an electric shock straight to your core.

A few curses and endearments occasionally escaped Draco's mouth, and he started kissing the insides of your shaking legs -- once, twice, again, and again -- and inducing the loud pants, moans, and pleads from you. Eventually and finally, his hands grabbed your tights, spreading your legs a little bit wider than they already were and allowing him better access to your... intimate parts. Wasting no more time, he dropped his head and slowly entered you with his tongue, caressing your sensitive and swelling bud.

"Yes! Oh--" you sighed, relishing the pure mixture of his fingers roughly holding you into the position and the flickering of his tongue in your private parts. Thrusting your head even harder into the pillow and closing your eyes in pleasure, you tried to fit in into the rhythmical motion of his tongue by wiggling your hips with as much power as you had in yourself; you met with his mouth, which as if on purpose, accelerated the movement.

Fucking wonderful, it felt!

What came next, however, almost undid you right there and then -- Draco started sucking on you, gently swirling his tongue in the delectable little circles. Gripping even tighter on sheets, you let out the cries of pleasure on the fucking enjoyment of his every action, breathing even too rapid to be called pants. You rolled your eyeballs over and over again, partly believing it was what heaven feels like, and bouncing on your bed like mad.

"Draco --oh my god -- I think I'm gonna..." And then the strain snapped, sending a wave of ecstasy over your body, making you harder than you had ever been. Obtaining the fulfillment, your whole body was quivering violently and slowly, step by step, the tremors began to subside.

Draco pulled away, leaving you laying still and saturated, all of your muscles feeling strangely flabby yet content.

Before you knew it, the scent of his cologne was again hitting your nostrils, and he was by your side, tagging you even closer to him by lifting you up with one arm, and the second one throwing on the duvet and entirely coating your nudity. Then he was kissing you again: on your forehead, cheeks, nose, neck; with the same vigor but less tense atmosphere than the moments ago. You let out a small satisfied and relieved sigh before hiding your face in the crook of his neck, pressing your lips against his skin, and waiting for the return of your strength.

"Perfect," Draco muttered under his breath, setting a few more kisses on you and eventually resting his head next to you.

XOXOXO

A/N: No comment :?

[halcyonstorm]

Levi notices she looks lighter and happier and is glad shes getting used to the commander post but also notices shes getting distant and blames it on commander duties. He thinks do i miss her? Nah maybe its just habit. Buuut theeen. He then finds out about it one day during an after training drinking session with 104th at the same bar and his breath hitches in his throat. Hange all pretty in a dress very drunk laughing at something this guy said and the world stops around him. He doesnt understand what it makes him feel. He feels like shit. Terrible. He hates it. He wants to smack the guy's face but doenst understand why. 104th notices his sudden unease and follows the direction he's staring and see hange with a guy. Sasha and Armin sigh dreamily happy that hange found someone she likes and that 'this is the happiest ive ever seen her" Levi dies at that. What does that mean? He wasnt enough? What does this guy give her that he doesnt? Wait. Why does it matter why am I even comparing. She cares about me too. But not like that. He thinks. It gets confusing and he leaves in a rush leaving everyone else stunned. Except connie who laughs at how hange made him jealous. The rest is just levi childishly following hange around mocking her happiness and the guy, finding out WHY she likes him. But gets nothing the guys actually nice and cares about hange. He hates himself and accepts her happiness but falls for her even harder since now he knows what shes like when shes in love and he wants it to be him. He accepts that hes fallen for her with the help of a very drunk man next to him at the same bar to whom he spills his secret to. The story continues and pls can someone write this already before i kill myself daydreaming about it

hi anon! sorry it took me a while but I finally got around to writing this. thank you for suggesting the prompt! i hope you enjoy. you can read it below OR check it out here on Ao3.

Title: Get Your Shit Together, Levi!

WARNING: ANGST

note: this is gifted to @tundrainafrica. i hope this satisfies your angst cravings. i hope you enjoy as well <3

Levi and some members from the 104 went out to a bar one night. It was a warm, summer evening and the sun had just begun to set. They all had a long day training out in the field, and Connie somehow convinced Levi to go out with them. Perhaps it was because Connie batted his puppy-dog eyes at Levi in such a way where if Levi didn’t, he thought Connie would break down and cry. Besides, Levi had asked Hange and she declined stating she had other plans. The bar was hustling and bustling that evening. They sat in a booth: Levi, Sasha, Connie, and Armin. They all ordered food, Sasha ordering herself more food than she looks like she can eat. The kids talked amongst themselves. After all, who was going to talk to Levi? He was their superior, almost like their parent who disappeared for years before showing up unexpectedly, expecting the kids to take him back. Armin made some small talk with Levi, but no one knew much about Levi. They knew two things for sure: he loved to clean and he loved tea. He usually hated alcohol, but somehow managed to down an entire beer glass before receiving the food. He was exhausted from the day, as was everyone else.

Suddenly, a loud laugh caught his attention. It wasn’t just any laugh, but a familiar one. A laugh that sent shivers down his spine and his heart to throb hard in his chest. It was Hange Zoe’s laugh. Had he known she were going, he would’ve invited her to avoid the awkward socialization with his subordinates. He looked to where the sound was coming from and was shocked. Other plans, huh? She was sitting next to a dark skinned man with a buzzcut and a beer glass in one hand. He was laughing too. She was laughing at something he said. The sight of her took his breath away. She never wore a dress like that before, but tonight she wore an emerald green dress that went a bit past her knees, exposing her muscular calves. The neckline of the dress cut low, exposing her collarbones. Her hair was in a ponytail but was neater than usual. Was she on a date? The realization caused Levi to feel as if his heart was being squeezed by a fist that was wringing out all the blood from it. Squeezing it so tight Levi thought he was going to die for a brief moment. He rubbed his eyes and looked again to make sure he could believe what he saw. He could. There she was: Hange in her beautiful emerald dress, talking and laughing with the dark-skinned man. They were sitting across from one another at a table-for-two. Their faces were close to one another as they spoke and laughed, drinking glasses and glasses of wine. Why do I feel this way? He asked himself. But he knew why. This feeling was familiar. It happened a few times before, specifically with Hange. It happened when she gave Moblit all her attention, gushing over how competent he was as her assistant, and now. Seeing her face to face on a date with this man who was much more attractive than himself: honey brown eyes; aquiline nose; plump lips; big, strong hands; a deep voice; and most importantly, he was much taller than Levi. He saw her date place a hand on hers, making Levi’s rage fester even stronger. I’m gonna slap that man, he thought. Why was he touching her? And why does she not mind it?

Levi had been staring for a long time, longer than he thought, before Connie nudged him from across the table. He was clearly drunk.

“Leeeeeeeeeevi,” he slurred with a cheshire cat-like grin. “Gawking, are we?” Levi rolled his eyes, taking his beer glass from him.

“You’ve gotta stop drinking,” he ordered, finishing whatever was left of Connie’s beer.

“Are you looking at Hange?” Armin asked, turning his head left to look at Levi. Armin could tell right away that was what Levi was doing. He shook his head no.

“She looks soooooo happy!” Sasha chimed in, dreamily gazing at the couple. Levi felt his face contort into a wretched grimace.

“She does. I haven’t seen her look so happy in a while,” Armin added. He quickly regretted it though when Levi threw him a harsh glare. Armin looked through his glare after a moment. Levi had a look in his eyes that Armin never saw before: hurt. Levi was hurt. His eyebrows were knit together, expressing a look that one may give when they’re about to cry.

I am not enough for her.

Armin felt his heart strings tugged, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on Levi’s bicep. He knew how much he loved her, despite his harsh tone. Hange was the only one who truly understood Levi and his words. Armin was able to observe Levi with Hange one night.

It was a cool March evening and Hange was working hard that day. She had been cooped up in her office sorting through and reading stacks and stacks of papers. She never came out for a meal that entire day. He saw Levi knock on her door with a plate of food in one hand and a blanket folded over his arm. She didn’t respond, so Levi allowed himself in. The door was shut behind him, but Armin could hear him softly talking to her before leaving the office. She must’ve fallen asleep so Levi draped the blanket over her shoulders. He must’ve left the food on her desk. That was the moment Armin realized Levi loved Hange. He didn’t just love her. He adored her. Ever since that moment, Armin was able to decipher Levi’s words from his true feelings.

“Oooooooooooooh, is someone jealous?” Connie teased. Sasha slapped his arm. Levi felt like if he stayed any longer, he’d explode and say something he’d regret.

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi sneered, standing up to leave. He felt as if he should torture himself more and watch the happy couple, but he didn’t have the willpower to do so. He drank a bit too much than he would’ve liked, and the heat inside the bar was getting to a boiling point, and he felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t need to hear it from the 104 that he lost his chance with Hange. They called out for him, but he didn’t hear. The air outside was much cooler compared to the sweltering temperature of hundreds of bodies tightly packed in the small bar. He found a trash can nearby, barely making it before vomiting. The stomach acid and alcohol came spewing out of him. He smelt it in his nose each time he breathed. He spit into the trash can when he was done, starting to slowly walk back to the cabins.

-

A few days later, Levi goes back to that bar alone after another hard day training. He felt like the sun was draining him of his energy each time he dared to stay outside. He sat on a bar stool and ordered a beer. There was a man next to him of whom he didn’t recognize. He was a stocky older man who had short black hair and brown eyes. The man looked drunk, the type of drunk where you can remember half the shit that was going on. The man saw Levi’s face and did not recognize him which gave Levi an impulsive idea.

“Are you from out of town?” Levi asked the man. He gave Levi a small smile.

“Yes.”

Say no more, Levi thought. Suddenly, a few drinks in, he opened up the key on his heart and started spilling his emotions to this guy. A few tears came through. Levi was buzzed at this point, his words too jittery and his hands too shaky. The man to whom he spoke listened intently. Somehow, this man he met at the bar had this pleasant aura that Levi felt he could tell him anything.

“Sir,” The man said. “Why don’t you just talk to her? Talk to her like you’re talking to me. That is the only way you’ll find out her true intentions with her date.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is. You know how much more peace there’d be in the world if people just talked things out?”

The man’s unrealistic statement somehow gave Levi some confidence. That confidence, however, quickly went out the window when he caught a glance of a messy brown mop of hair. It was Hange with that dark-skinned man again. She wore a black dress this time with a high collar, her arms exposed. God, she looked beautiful. Levi wished she could dress up for him like that. In that moment, hearing her beautiful laugh and seeing her beautiful smile, Levi realized he was in love with her.

“Ah… is that her?” The man asked, looking over his shoulder inconspicuously (unlike Levi who starred with no shame).

“Yes…”

“Find time to talk to her,” The man said. “You got this, man.” Before Levi went to say something to the man again, he was gone. He tried to watch her as she talked with the man. She was radiant. She had a look on her face that he couldn’t quite place. Was it… No. It couldn’t be. Her eyes were glowing, she was shining. Was she falling for this man?

He felt like he was gonna be sick again. He abruptly got up from his seat and headed to the bathroom. He pushed the stall door open, vomiting once again. His throat was still sore from the last time, so this time the acid ripped at his throat even more. Hot tears started to stream down his face. He wanted her so bad. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh and smile. He wanted to be the one she fell in love with, not him. His heart ached so bad it was attempting to jump out from his throat. What hurt the most is that the guy she was with was nice. Too fucking nice. He laughed at her jokes, didn’t complain when she rambled, made subtle touches that weren’t inappropriate, and he was tall. He placed a hand to his heart as if it’d help put it back together. He took a deep, quivering inhale before standing up, flushing the toilet, and going to the faucet. He splashed his face with some cold water. How can I expect her to like me if I can’t confess? He looked at himself in the mirror.

You look like shit, he told himself. He murmured a few words aloud: “I’m in love with you. I am in love with you. Hange, I love you. I love you, Hange. Please be with me.” He took in a deep breath, stronger than the last, before exiting. He bumped into a person when he left the stall but paid no mind to it. When he was about to leave, he noticed the man she was with was gone. Maybe he was the one he bumped into?

“Oi, Hange,” he said, walking to her table. She smiled softly when she saw him.

“Levi, what’re you doing here? I thought you hated liquor.”

“I can’t spend time at a bar?” he replied, leaning a hand on the table. Hange rolled her eyes playfully.

“You can do whatever you please,” She said, beginning to stand up.. “Now if you’ll-”

“Four-eyes,” he interrupted her. “You look…” She stared at him intently, waiting for his response. “Good.”

Her eyes lost their light. Did he upset her? Then Levi realized she wasn’t staring at him anymore, she was looking past his shoulder. At that moment, the dark-skinned man approached Hange from behind Levi. So I did bump into him earlier.

“Are you ready?” He asked her. His voice was deep and seductive. Levi wondered if they fucked yet.

“Just a moment,” Hange replied. “Thank you, Levi. Was that all you had to say?” He felt like an idiot. An absolute idiot.

“N...Yes,” he said, losing all the confidence he had built up. How could he compete with this man? Levi just wretched in the bathroom and looked as pale as a ghost. Hange placed her hand on his shoulder gently, which made Levi’s heart skip a beat.

“Have a good night, Levi. Get your rest.” She started walking past him with her date towards the exit.

“No…” he murmured, inaudible to Hange. Or so he thought. She froze in her spot as she heard him change his answer.

“Onyankapon, could you wait outside for me? Give us a moment,” She whispered to her date. He nodded, exiting the bar. Hange turned around to face Levi. They were standing within a comfortable distance from each other.

“Levi, what else did you have to say? It’s getting late, you know.”

“I miss you,” he admitted. Hange’s eyes widened at his direct statement, knowing he usually states the opposite. “I miss hanging out with you and being with you all the time. You’re with him now and that’s okay but I just wanted to tell you that I can be better for you. I can take you on dates that are more exciting than a bar. You said you always wanted to swim, we can do that… We can do whatever you want us to do. All I care about is being with you.”

Hange’s face flushed red. He never talked like this with her before. She could tell he was a bit desperate but that didn’t make him any less genuine. Her heart ached. She was not sure how to feel. She did love him, but that was a while ago. A little part of her would always love Levi, but she was falling for Onyankapon now.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” she said, barely audible. “I’m sorry. I did feel that way for you a long time ago, but I don’t anymore. I wish you had told me sooner.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Just here to quietly plead for a Geralt x Y/N /fem Y/N fic where Y/N gets kidnapped (did I do that right?).

You know the drill 😳❤️ Angst. Feels. Comfort and maybe love confessions at the end.

oooooo baby, we went back to our roots on this one. we got some big hurt and some even bigger comfort. hope you like it! 💖

“I might never let you go”

Warnings: canon consistent violence, torture/interrogation, choking, kicking, slapping, agressive use of the term ‘bitch’, beheading, death, overall angsty pain, softness to wrap it up tho 

__________

“Even if I had anything to tell you, you’d just kill me afterward. Why would I bother?” you spat the blood from your busted lip at the boots of your captor, giving him a smug red grin just to piss him off even more. You had everything he wanted, no doubt about it. You could make his dreams come true, but you’d certainly rather die than let him find Ciri and Geralt. 

He wrinkled his nose at your blood now all over his shiny black boots, “Normally yes. I would kill you-”

“I have nothing for you anyway.” you reminded him, earning you another backhand, this time to the other side of your face.

You grit your teeth and glared back up at him in a challenge. 

There was an instant of warning, just barely enough time for you to take a deep gulp of air before his hand was at your throat, lifting you off your knees, “You and your witcher playing happy little family has been a pain in my ass for far too long! I want you to watch me kill her after you betray them!" 

You wanted to roll your eyes, maybe tell him ‘I fucking wish’ or ‘I didn’t ask for a spit bath’ and pat his hand condescendingly, but he slammed you back against the cellar wall and suddenly you saw two of him. You lashed out with your legs, but with your ankle chained to the middle of the floor and the links pulled tight you could barely move. He laughed, something in his eyes told you he liked this too much, that this wasn’t simply his duty. In a last-ditch effort you clawed at one of his eyes, barely registering the blood you drew as he dropped you to the floor. You sputtered and coughed, willing your lungs to function normally at least until you found a way out as you struggled to all fours. 

“Fucking- little- bitch!” Every word was punctuated with a kick, every kick had you heaving and gasping for breath.

You curled in on yourself, bringing your knees up to your chest to shield yourself from the blows threatening to tear your lungs in half. Covering your face with your arms you focused on breathing, on just getting through his fit of rage. 

He paused, growling when there was a knock at the door, “Fuck off. I’m under orders, this time.”

The person knocked again and he stomped across the room. You risked a peek at what might be coming for you just as a sword slashed through the man’s neck, sending his head bouncing across the stone floor as his body crumpled on top of it. 

Geralt stood in the doorway, covered in what you hoped was Nilfguardian blood, looking panicked. As soon as he spotted you he rushed to your side, caressing your face before reaching to the beheaded body and snagging a set of keys. 

“Can you stand?” He sounded terrified, something you’d never heard from him before.

“Maybe.” You wheezed, sitting up so he could have a better angle at unlocking you.

When he’d freed you and hauled you to your feet he handed you his sword, “Keep close. I didn’t make too much noise on the way in but they might get worried when they don't hear any screaming.” He held your head in both hands, rubbing tears from your cheeks that you didn’t know you’d shed, “You can do this.”

You nodded, biting the unsplit part of your lower lip to stifle the whimpers clawing at your throat. He grabbed your non-dominant hand and led the way out of your cell, unsheathing his silver sword. Fitting really, for what they’d done to you, these men should be treated as monsters. 

You made it to the wall of the stronghold with no incident unless you counted passing dead and dying guards as an incident. Geralt had wreaked havoc on his way in, enough to make you worry about what had happened in your absence. He turned and gripped your hips, almost throwing you up on top of the stone wall before he vaulted it himself.

“Fall, I’ll catch you.”

Even in your predicament, those words made your heart flutter, “but, the swo-”

“Hurry.” Geralt growled and you obeyed immediately. True to his word, he caught you, but he didn’t set you down to continue. He held you to his chest and guided your legs to wrap around his waist before he took off at a sprint into the woods. You clung to him with every bit of strength you had left, burying your face in his neck and doing your best not to cry. You’d stayed strong for days, took every beating and threat in stride, and it was all surfacing now that he was there to protect you. 

Eventually, he slowed to a walk, resting his hand on your hair as the last of your willpower dissolved into more tears.

“Shhhh… it’s okay. You did so well. You’re so strong.” you sobbed in his arms as he whispered soft, calming words in your ear. He sat down on a fallen tree and leaned back, signaling for you to do the same.

His brows were drawn together but his eyes were soft, examining every last cut and bruise on your face, “Can you take a couple deep breaths for me?”

You nodded, closing your eyes and doing your best to steady and lengthen your breaths. Your throat ached and your ribs protested angrily, but you managed to get three solid inhales and exhales in a row. 

“Good, just breathe.” his fingers brushed your wild hair out of your eyes, taking your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and tilting your head to the side.

“I didn’t tell them anything. I promise.” your voice was hoarse and watery.

Geralt rested his palm against your cheek, “ Y/N, look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, readying for him to ask if Cirilla was safe; if they could ever be safe again after what you’d undoubtedly told them.

The sincerity in his eyes and voice would have brought tears to your eyes had they not already been there, “There was never a doubt in my mind that you would die before telling them anything. Just breathe. You’re safe now.”

You nodded, taking a slow breath in and whispering, “Thank you…”

Something new flashed in his eyes, his pupils growing just a tad larger, something you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't three inches from his face, “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

Your look of confusion spurred him on, “They spread word you’d died.” His voice was thick and low and you suddenly felt the need to comfort him.

Placing both your hands on his jaw you gave him a tired smile, “I’m fine. Shaky and bruised, but fine.” you insisted.

Geralt leaned forward just enough to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and humming like he didn’t quite believe you. Your heart skipped a beat, the intimacy of your position finally catching up with you as you let a small breathy giggle escape your lips. 

“What?”

“I’m sitting on your lap in the middle of a forest. Feels a bit strange,” you muttered, running your thumbs across his stubble.

If you hadn’t had your hands on his jaw you wouldn’t have realized what was happening when he closed the distance between your lips. The cut on your lip stung at first but the buzzing in your ears and thundering of your heart pushed the sensation to the back of your mind. 

He was warm and soft and ever so gentle, letting your lips brush against each other as he pulled back, “I love you. Don’t you ever leave me again.”

You rushed forward, holding him to you like he was your lifeline, because when you thought about it he really was, “I love you too,” you gasped when you finally needed to come up for air. His hand that was wrapped around your waist traveled up your back, pulling your closer to him in another kiss, but this time you yelped.

“Ribs.” you groaned, tapping the shoulder of his offending arm.

“Shit.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.” You reassured him, kissing between his brows where his worry line had reappeared, “Maybe just let me lead.” you smirked at him, noting the way his pupils dilated.

“As long as I get to kiss you again.”

“Oh I might never let you go, now.” you kissed him again, this time running your tongue along his bottom lip.

“Good.” he breathed, before firmly pressing his lips to yours and deepening the kiss. 

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Forgiveness is Divine

Ron Speirs x Reader One Shot

Requested by the effervescent @hbo-monster-bob​ (my first ever request oh my lordy!)

Summary: you get hurt and Ron loses his cool in front of the wrong people. Now he fears he may have truly lost you. 

Warnings: mention of injury, potty words, a bit more angst than initially intended, some good ole RemorsefulButTryingHisVeryBest!Ron Speirs, some shitty dialogue i probably should’ve spent more time on

~ ~ ~ ~

He’d really fucked up. 

Even as he had ranted at you, he’d known how badly he was fucking things up.

But you...you’d made him worry. You’d scared him.

While helping Malarkey and Bull drag a wounded NCO into a trench, a bullet had ricocheted off of someone’s helmet and buried itself deep into your left bicep. The shock of it had made you drop, unable to catch yourself between your unresponsive arm and your death grip on the NCO’s vest.

Ron had thought you’d died.

He’d been sure that he’d just watched you die in front of him and then he was being fired at and he’d gone numb and gotten himself and his men out of the line of fire.

Hours later, he’d caught sight of you at the med station with one of the medics fishing around in your bicep for the fragments of the bullet that had stained your jacket beyond use with your blood.

You’d initially given him the soft smile you’d always saved for him when he stormed in, the fact that you were alive and safe eclipsed by his rage that you’d made him worry so badly.

His mother had once compared his temper to a tsunami- wild and destructive and overwhelming to those foolish enough to cross its path.

“The only difference between you and your father is that you stick around long enough to see the carnage you’ve created. My only wish for you, my sweetheart, is that you learn to own your mistakes and make them right again…..”

Ron had disappointed both of you with what he’d done next.

He’d let you have it.

He’d shouted and scolded and criticized you for your ‘carelessness’, tearing into you for abandoning your position of relative safety in favor of ‘playing a hero’. 

Ron had called you incompetent and reckless and questioned your sanity. Your smile had slipped from your face and he’d watched as you began to close yourself off to him, eyes becoming cold and detached despite the pain you must be feeling as the medic tweezed the deeply embedded shrapnel from your bicep. 

If you had been alone he knew you would’ve snapped right back at him or (at the very least) told him to calm down and find you when he’d remembered how to behave like a grown-up.

This brought him to his second fuckup, he’d done it in front of people. 

No, it was worse than that.  

He’d questioned your competence in front of three of your superiors (and several NCOs….and six of the medics).

When he’d finally run out of steam, you’d stared at him with a cool indifference that he’d only seen you slip into when you were dealing with something/someone you loathed. 

It was a look he’d never had cast his way before. And now that it was?

Ron felt about two inches tall. He hated it.

After making him suffer your silent and baleful glare for an agonizing two minutes, you’d turned to the (incredibly uncomfortable) medic and let your hateful expression melt into your regular, relaxed one.

“Any instructions for me, Doc?” you’d asked politely, and when the man had given you some gauze to repack the wound later you’d popped down off the table you’d been sitting on and walked past him like he was little more than furniture.

His outburst had gotten you taken off of the frontlines- away from the action and away from him.

When he’d asked Nixon where they’d put you, the other man had scoffed and given him an answer along the lines of “somewhere where her ‘incompetence won’t put others at risk’. Jackass.”

Welsh was significantly more helpful, telling Ron they’d sent you to Battalion for some extended desk duty (after scoffing at him, of course. Ron hadn’t realized just how quickly word had spread about his outburst).

Not that knowing where you were made much of a difference. 

He could be sitting right next to you and you’d still carry on as if you were alone, and when you did look at him it was so detached that all of his words of remorse died in his throat.

It was horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

After reclaiming a hamlet on the airborne’s way to Germany, Ron had realized that you weren’t going to budge or relent in your indifference. 

Your willpower was clearly steadfast- you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t at least a little bullheaded.

He was going to have to come to you. 

He had to try to make things right, even if you hated him for it...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ron had knocked and not received an answer, he’d decided to come in anyway.

You didn’t look up at him as he closed the door behind him, keeping your eyes firmly trained on the typewriter in front of you as your fingers flew across the keys. 

A neat stack of (what he assumed to be) freshly typed reports for Sink rested beside your still-smoking cigarette on the table, and from the slope of your shoulders Ron could only assume that you’d been at this task for hours.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ease you into conversation.

“Want me to take those to Battalion for you—?”

“No. I don’t.”

Well, at least that was more than you’d said to him in the past week. 

Ron had never imagined he would ever be the sappy type to miss the sound of someone's voice. Of course, that was before he met you. Before he’d started to care for you in the way a man cares for a woman, rather than the care a CO has for his fellow officers.

Not that he’d told you that. Not yet.

And now he may never get to- considering you’d refused to speak to him for the last three weeks about anything other than urgent work matters…..

You brought your cigarette to your lips and pulled from it deeply as you read over all that you had typed so far, the angry tick of your clenched jaw the only sign that you knew he was still there.

Even as you despised him, Ron still found you beautiful. A vengeful divinity with a glare that could cut glass and a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

He walked over to stand behind you, reading over your shoulder and realizing that it wasn’t reports that you had been working on….but death notices

You’d once told him it was your least favorite thing to do, that you’d gladly take latrine duty for the rest of your life if it meant you never had to write another.

“Soul sucking,” you’d called it, a night when the two of you shared a cigarette while on patrol. Your nose had been red from the cold and your eyes a little glassy from unshed tears, but you’d given him a sad smile when you’d noticed the grim look he was giving you. “I can’t remember the last time I wrote something that didn’t begin with ‘We deeply regret to inform you…’

Ron used to know how you felt about everything, and if he were being honest with himself he liked knowing how you felt about things- good or bad. For all the men you were the consummate professional, bright and even-tempered and nurturing.

But with Ron, you let yourself be a person. 

A brilliant, passionate, driven person whose complicated thoughts and feelings complimented his own so well he’d briefly considered changing his stance on the concept of soul-mates.

With a grim weight in his chest, he realized that all of those feelings toward you may have to be changed to the past tense.

Stubbing out the cigarette with ink-stained fingers, you pulled the letter from the typewriter and added it to the pile. He watched as you picked up a pen and began crossing names off a list he hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten through three of the five pages and it was already two in the morning.

Guilt flooded him when he realized that you’d been having to do this for at least month. 

If he hadn’t understood your anger towards him before, he certainly did now.

“Y/N…” he began, not surprised when you sniffed and made to get more paper for your next batch of death letters as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s late, you should rest.”

Silence as you secured another sheet of paper in place and centered it.

Ron waited a few more seconds before he took another step closer to you, hand hovering over your shoulder hesitantly.

I owe my mother a few apologies if this is how she was ever made to feel with my father.

When he placed his hand on your shoulder you immediately stiffened, fingers freezing where they rested over the keys like you’d turned to stone.

He’d expected as much, yet it still stung.

Ron says your name again, more softly than he thinks he’s ever spoken to another person in his life.

“You need to rest—”

“Are you issuing an order, Lieutenant?” Your voice was sulfa powder on an open wound- searing and sharp. 

Your head has turned minutely in the direction of his hand on your shoulder, and if a glare could cause burns he’s sure his hand would’ve been ash by now.

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not.”

You seem to nod in acknowledgment, only stopping when his thumb kneads into one of the tight knots along your trapezius. Ron sees your jaw tighten again, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

Surprisingly, you’re allowing it to linger where it is as well.

“Good, Sink’s commands outrank yours anyway. Besides, it’s not as if I have to be anywhere in the morning. You made sure of that—”

You cut yourself off when Ron steps up beside you and crouches down, eyes trained forward so all he can see if your profile. 

“Please,” he whispers, moving his hand from your shoulder in favor of taking one of yours in between his calloused palms.

With an awful surge of hope, he decides to put it all out there, knowing just how easily you could reject him and leave him alone again.

Maybe I don't want to be alone, not like I used to.

“I thought you were dead, Y/n.”

You sigh ruefully at that, closing your eyes with a grimace.

“Hey, look at me—”

For the longest time you don’t, but just when he thinks you’ve shut him out again you let your eyes open and allow your doubtful glaze to fall on him.

You may as well have embraced him, considering the overwhelming relief he felt as he looked into your eyes.

“It, it was….I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did—”

“You didn’t speak to me at all.” You nearly hiss, the deep breath you took the only display of just how furious you were beneath the surface of civility. Ron’s chest tightened uncomfortably when he caught your lip quiver, yet when he made as if to comfort you, you gave him a look that shut him right up.

You weren’t finished yet.

“You were out of line, Speirs. You had no right to speak to me like that—”

“I know...”

“You fucking humiliated me! In front of Winters, Moose, and Sink- not to mention every single goddamned man in that tent—”

‘I know—”

“What in the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been getting them to see me as anything other than something to fuck or mock? Years, Ronald! All gone like that—!”

You cut yourself off again when you start to cry, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to regain composure.

You were right, he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. 

He’d never thought much about the immature comments he’d overheard from the NCOs and replacements, never considered that any of those childish innuendos had ever been said to you directly.

“I didn’t intend to…..when you got shot I wasn't able to do anything—”

You furrowed your brows at him and made a face. “I didn’t need you to do anything. I’m not even in your company.”

He feels as if he’s about to lose you again. The idea makes his throat feel uncomfortably tight and his blood is beginning to run cold.

Make it right. I have to make this right….

“I know you don’t need me to take care of you,” he says quietly, looking down at your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he’s speaking against the curve of your knuckles. “But I think I need to do it for me.”

When he looks back at you he sees that your eyes are wide, one or two of your tears have spilled over and down your cheek.

“Jesus, I’m….Ron—” you begin, but stop when he shakes his head minutely.

“You know.” He interrupts. “I know you’ve got to know by now….”

Of course you know. You’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. If anyone could read his true intentions through his blunt demeanor, it would be you.

But he’s glad that you don’t ask him to elaborate further. You seem just as content as he does to leave it unnamed.

You roll your lips together a few more times before taking a shaky breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like that.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Forgive me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a yawn catches you unaware and Ron can’t help but smile slightly at the simplicity of the action. 

When you raise your left arm to hide your yawn into your elbow you hiss in pain, and instantly Ron is anxious again.

“You okay?” He asks, and you nod despite your grimace.

“Yeah, yeah. I just forget sometimes.”

When you lower your arm he watches as you take a deep breath and turn back to your work.

“I’ll do them.”

You whip your head to look at him, another yawn interrupting your questioning gaze.

“What? No, don't be silly. I’m almost done….”

Something in the look he gives you shuts you up, and when he gives your hand a squeeze you seem to sigh in defeat.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I go to bed, are you?”

He gives you a smirk. “Good guess.”

Standing up from his crouch he gently coaxed you into a standing position, nodding his head away from the desk and towards the darker corner of the room where your makeshift bed is set up. 

You give him a tight smile. “Gotta rebandage the arm first….oh-kay then.”

The rolled gauze is barely out of your pocket before Ron takes it from your hand, pointedly looking down at your covered arm.

“Ron...you really don’t have to—”

“I know that, but I want to anyway.”

And because you’re infinitely more forgiving than any mortal being could ever hope to be- more forgiving than a beast like him deserved, you let him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

Sitting beside you on the floor, Ron was careful when unwrapping your old bandage, trying as hard as he could to keep his touch light.

The injury was red and bruised and angry but it was healing- just as the medic had promised. You’d have a scar, but you didn’t seem to mind that possibility.

You said his name quietly, and he realized he’d been staring.

When his thumbs ghost around the curve of your bicep you shiver, and when Ron looks back at your face he sees a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you say, exhaustion apparent in your voice now. “Stop looking at me like that—”

“Like what?” he says with a small smile, setting the clean bandage over your wound and feeling a pleasant tightness in his chest when you snorted a laugh.

“Like... like you’re a disappointed babysitter.”

Ron laughed at that, shooting you a look before starting to wrap the strips of gauze around your upper arm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he tended to your arm, and every so often you offered him your cigarette to take a drag from.

Things still felt somewhat precarious between the two of you, yet Ron also felt that something more significant had been established in the dingy office you’d been assigned to stay in.

In the morning, Ron would approach Sink and Winters and see if he could get you back from battalion HQ. Not as a man who cared for you, but as a soldier who’d made a mistake and grievously misjudged another soldier’s character.

Anything to ensure you didn’t have to sit in this room another day and write to the families of dead soldiers.

When he’d finished bandaging your arm, you gave him permission to help you maneuver it back into the sleeve of your sweater. He felt your eyes on him the whole time and he swore he’d never known a feeling so sweet.

Your eyes are heavy with slumber already, but you still try once more to discourage him from finishing your paperwork.

“I can do it in an hour or two, just a quick nap—”

“If you were this reluctant to sleep as a child, I’m starting to get why so many of your babysitters were ‘disappointed.’”

Ron lifts up the pile of blankets you’d reluctantly allowed him to find for you, and despite your protests, you scoot yourself underneath them and fold your arms across your chest like a petulant teenager as he tucks them around you.

“Children tend to mirror the behavior of those in positions of authority,” you say offhanded, almost sounding like you were directly quoting from some textbook on child psychology. “Maybe one should look within themselves and explore what unfavorable quality they may be projecting upon the blank canvas of youth….”

You laugh at the furrowed confusion on his face.

“You must be a poetic drunk.” Ron offers, and from the grin on your face he knows he’s on to something. “Go to sleep, before you start reciting Shakespeare or something—”

“Twelfth Night or Romeo and Juliet?”

“Y/N.”

Ron’s fingertips brushing across your cheek instantly quiets you, your eyes trained on his face as he allowed himself to openly admire you for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I know you are.” 

When he sees the obvious haze of sleep start to curl around your gaze, Ron knows he needs to let you rest.

“Wake me up in an hour?” you ask, something in your tone of voice seeming to acknowledge the slim chance of him agreeing to your request.

“Maybe. Sleep.”

With a half-hearted glare, you mumble something equivalent to ‘yeah yeah, okay’ and turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

Ron stays where he is, stroking at your hairline in the same calming way his mother used to do for him when he’d had a bad dream as a child.

If his mom were here now, he imagined she’d be proud of him.

Maybe he wasn’t fated to be distant and cold and cruel like his father.

For the first time in his life, Ron let himself begin to dream of life after all of this.

The only thing he knew for sure?

He’d do anything- everything in his power, to make sure you were a part of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ TAG LIST TAG LIST!

@mrseasycompany​, @itswormtrain​

(Love you guys! hasta la pasta, my dudes!)

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 42)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6, Vivi POV 5, Lewis POV 7 Vivi POV 6 Vivi POV 7

Part 43: here

...

(ARTHUR POV)

“Maybe, if you’d been even half of what he was, you wouldn’t have been possessed so damn easily. I mean, this kid put up more of a fight, and he’s pretty much a walking collection of neurosis,” the demon taunts.

“I said shut up!”

The demon, and by default, Arthur, narrows their eyes. Micky’s sudden appearance has thrown a wrench into its plans, drawing its full and undivided attention. Irritation curls around Arthur, replacing the previous sensations of smug satisfaction and amusement. The emotion is unpleasant, making Arthur’s mind crawl but it’s better than the sadistic joy he had been forced to endure as it was stabbing Lewis. For the first time since that disastrous meeting in the hospital’s car-park, Arthur finds himself completely free of surveillance. The demon’s attention is focused solely on Micky and the gun. The shift is so sudden and is Arthur so panicked, that he almost doesn’t recognise the opportunity. 

Luckily-the only luck he’s had in a long while-he does recognise his opening. His one chance to make things right. 

A desperate calm settles over him. Lightning flashes, illuminating the faint blue and purple of Vivi and Lewis’s clothes. Mystery glows ever brighter, casting a red tint on the concrete around him. Everything else is darker shades of grey, fading into black.

In his new state of calm, Arthur can envision how the next few seconds would play out. Micky would shoot. The demon would dodge.  Even now, he can feel how his body is tensing, preparing to duck to the side. The demon is hyper-focus on the gun, watching Micky’s every muscle twitch. To dodge, the demon would have to already be moving even before the gun went off. It would need precise control and a split-second warning just before the shot. After the gun fired, Vivi would run forward to ‘save’ him, putting herself in danger. Then, Mystery would be forced to transform and save her. In the commotion, the demon would make their escape. 

“Did you even go back to bury him, or did you just leave him there? What happened to all the ritual, funeral nonsense to send his soul on its merry way? How disrespectful.” The demon’s voice is full of malice, coloured with amusement, aiming to both harm and insult. 

The gun clicks in Micky’s hand. Already, Arthur can feel himself tensing, preparing to move fast.

“Stop!” Vivi lurches upright and Mystery blocks her from jumping between them. “If you shoot, you’ll kill Arthur!”

 This is okay. Arthur has already accepted that he might never see his friends again. The demon would run, take him away, and they would be safe. Mystery would pass along his apology and it would be fine. The only one to really suffer would be him and he thinks he can live with that. Is that true though? 

“That fucking brat sent us to our deaths. He’s just as guilty.”

It wasn’t just him that would suffer was it? This thing would keep on killing. It would use his body to kill other people and maybe, one day, it would go after Lewis or Vivi again. The creature wanted Arthur specifically and he is aware enough to know that the demon has got some sort of plan involving his messed-up soul. 

The body snatcher sniggers, “I’m sure Dan would be very unimpressed with how you're threatening this poor innocent human. I mean, if he weren’t a shish-kebab at the bottom of a cave.” 

Micky yells, loud, animalistic, full of pain and rage. Arthur feels a pang of empathy for the man who had had the misfortune of running into him and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like Darrel.

In that fraction of a second before the gun goes off, his body, under the direction of the demon, lunches to the right.  Everything slows, time crawling by. Arthur can already see Mystery leaping, his dog form rapidly expanding. Vivi is also running towards him, face white with fear. 

His way out was suddenly blindingly clear.

With all his remaining will power, throws himself to the left. He slams into the mental barrier separating him from his body. Similar to when he’d first tried this in the van, the demon falters ever so briefly, its attention refocusing onto him and away from Micky. For a fraction of a second, in between heartbeats, the demon’s movements slow. Unlike when he had tried this before, there is no time for the demon to react.

 “ARTHUR!”

 The shout rings in his ears alongside the loud CRACK of a shotgun discharging. 

A sudden weight smacks him in the chest and he stumbles back. This time, Arthur’s sense of fear is mixed in with his own cold vindication. In a moment of role reversal, it is Arthur feeling spiteful and the demon experiencing surprise. 

“You little shit,” He feels himself spit the words out, angry, even as new wetness clogs his throat and the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth. Time accelerates again. Arthur hits the pavement and doesn’t even care that his head cracks on the hard surface. All bodily sensation is fuzzy now. Any pain one would expect to feel after getting shot is dulled. Surprise quickly turns to anger. The demon is almost brittle with furry, its full attention bearing down on him from all angles, pressing in. Suffocating. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit…Bleeding…that’s a lot of blood. Need to control the bleeding.” Arthur focuses on Vivi’s face which materialises above him. For the first time since his possession, Arthur managers to move of his own violation, taking a hash breath. The process is an immense struggle and he’s not sure if it’s because of the demon or blood loss. 

“Vi…” His tong feels heavy and foreign, the words he tries to say are garbled by the blood coming up through his throat. He doesn’t get more than a syllable out before the control is wrestled away. 

‘You think this is over?’ The voice echoes in his head, low and threatening.

“Shh. Don’t speak. Everything will be okay. I don’t think its hit anything important. Just lie still.” Her expression is a mix of horror and worry. Regret quickly roles over his vindication because the last thing he wants is for Vivi to have to watch her friend bleed out and die.

His vision blurs. A purple outline appears alongside Vivi. It’s Lewis, equally, if not more panic-stricken. He can feel to demon’s attention re-centre, staring Lewis right in the eye. 

 “What’s…up. You…goin…watch him die …with me?” The demon jerks, trying to grab a hold of Lewis’s bear unprotected hands.  

‘You can’t have Lewis.’ 

Arthur slams his full mental weight into malicious presence, pushing it to one side, cutting it off mid-sentence. As his body weakens so does its control. They’re both weak now. 

‘Sharing is caring.’ Is sneered. A wave of malicious intent  chips away at his control, paralysing rational thought with uncontained fear.  Arthur feels his hand lift under the demon’s renewed power, reaching weakly for Lewis, beckoning. 

“Lew…is.” Arthur tries to speak and warn his friend off.  

 ‘Don’t do it.’ He can’t get the words out, his control failing. It is like being back in the cave, unable to stop the unimaginably terrible from happening. His vision distorts, made worse by the night around them. He can barely see the conflict waring across his friend’s face.   His arm is numb. He and Lewis are standing on a ledge overlooking a steep drop…green is pooling at the edges of his vision. It doesn’t matter that they are both weak, the demon’s got him beat in the willpower department. Too many past mistakes occupy his thoughts, distracting him. 

Lewis’s hand hovers then closes around his, drawing his focus. The hand is warm almost comforting.

NO.

He claws at the demon, ripping and tearing at anything he can reach, trying to drag it down with him. A patronising laugh bounces around and there is the sensation of something rushing to escape. Arthur scratches and grasps but it is hard to hold onto something that hardly exists. The result is an exercise in futility like he’s trying to dig his nails into loose shale. 

‘Nice try but you’re a few centuries too inexperienced to hold me down.’ The demon slips away, leaving him to sink downwards, alone. ‘Try not to die while I’m out would you. I would hate for all this drama to be for nothing,’ Arthur can still feel the echo of rage and malevolence underlining its final amused jab as it fades from his consciousness. The demon is angry. He knows it is going to do its level best to hurt Lewis. There is nothing he can do to stop it. And, suddenly, Arthur is alone in his own mind.

“Why?” He coughs, wishing he could shake an answer out of Lewis. ‘Why did you do that Lewis?’ The last he sees of Lewis is a green discolouration creeping up the other’s arm. Lewis stumbles away, swallowed by the night. 

Vivi’s shocked face fades to nothing a second later. Then there is only darkness. No demon, just himself and all his mistakes.  No snarky running commentary on how screwed up and pathetic he was. No weird dissonance as he experienced two sets of emotional responses. He is just Arthur existing alone. He should feel relieved. This should be a triumph. 

It's not...

.

It’s dark and he’s falling, slamming into a stone spike. Two sets of memories blur together, becoming one extended nightmare. Two failed timelines are laid before him in a spread of damning evidence against his very existence.

Lewis is dead…then alive, grinning, eyes flashing bright green as he looks down on him, “Once in a millennia chance and you managed to screw it up.” There is fire rising around him, growing increasingly not, framing Lewis’s human visage. “This is your fault.”

 He coughs, gripping the spike piercing up through his chest. 

“How many can say they’ve had a second chance? None. That’s how many?” Lewis growls and the flames become unbearably hot till even the air itself hurts. “Face it. I just wasn’t that important to you.” Arthur should just stop trying to fight and let the fire burn away all that was left of him. 

It’s what he deserves. 

“So that’s it.”  The female voice cuts through the crackle of the fire, “You’re just going to give up?" 

The stone around him shifts, colours mutating from purple and green to a gleaming, blue-tinted ice. Gone is the stone spike, the cliff, and the cave, to be replaced by an empty snow-filled field. He is no longer in pain. He is kneeling, half-buried in snow, surrounded be an empty silver-grey landscape. 

“What about your promise to answer my questions. You’re going to leave everyone behind wondering what the heck happened?” Lewis and his fire disappear, replaced with cold air and a familiar voice. He squints up at the blurry Vivi-shaped outline but can’t make out her face. The word around him is too blindingly bright to make out any details.

“I can’t…” he pleads, “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“So what. That’s never stopped you before.”

He drops his gaze, ignoring the the rustle of fabric as a person knelt in front of him.

“We all make mistakes.”  Her voice is soft.

“I don’t know what to do?”  

If there’s one thing the demon has taught him it was that things could always get worse.

“It’ll be okay Arthur. Just explain what happened. I’ll understand.”

He looks up, desperately searching for the face of a familiar older Vivi. 

“I miss you.”  He doesn’t care that he is angsting over what was probably a figment of his imagination. The shadow of a Vivi he’d left behind in a future that would never happen. 

“Silly, I never left.”

The white space above him splinters, shattering like glass, falling on him like flakes of snow.

.

.

.

His next breath is heavy like he is struggling against some immense weight.  It is nothing like being on the cliff, struggling to breathe against the heat and having it cut with frigid cold, this is real. The sensation of forcing his lungs to expand and take in the dry air is almost too real. A dull ache settles over him and he can’t tell if it is coming from his body or somewhere deep in his chest. Everything feels floaty and unreal and he struggles to pull together a coherent thought. Arthur wills his eyes to open, almost afraid to try and have this illusion of control snatched away. 

Light eclipses the dark. The imprint of spikes, fire and ice, fade into a nightmare. He stares up at a familiar off-white ceiling. A pattern of square panels, broken by two overhead lights, one of which is switched off, meaning the room in only half lit. The faint smell of anaesthetic and bleach lingers in the air. Absently, he recognises the hospital ceiling. The dejavu is painful.  

Slowly, almost too afraid to try, he turns his head, scanning for his arm. There is a needle disappearing into his skin just above his wrist which is connected to a machine beeping a faint rhythmic pattern. It is his flesh and blood arm. This is his original arm, meaning this is the other timeline. The one he had just royally screwed up. His fingers twitch when he wills them to move, jerking inwards to grasp at nothing. This is the timeline where his Uncle is dead, and Lewis is probably off somewhere killing people under the demon’s control. An unbearable sadness descends upon him. He takes solace in the melancholy, welcoming it, wrapping it around himself like a familiar blanket. Maybe, if he waited long enough, the demon would return, and he would be able to save Lewis. Arthur doubts it, he has nothing of value to trade aside from himself and Lewis is ten times more valuable than him. It was pointless. Maybe he hadn’t learnt his lesson about wanting things. Maybe he will just lie here forever, wasting away.

 Maybe that didn’t sound so bad.

“Arthur.” The surprised voice cuts into him, slicing apart his thoughts.

He blinks, twitching to glance to the side, focus shifting  past the empty hospital chair placed next to his bed and towards the doorway. Vivi. She is standing in the entrance. Her clothes are wrinkled, speckled with dirt, and she has smudges across her face that look a bit like wood ash. Her eyes are wild with open surprise. 

Her surprise becomes relief, mixed with conflicting joy and apprehension. 

“You’re awake.” She speaks slowly, voice halting. 

“V…” His throat is far too dry to speak so the word comes out as a wheeze. 

Whatever misgivings had Vivi frozen in the doorway, they don’t hold her for long and she is across the room in a flash of blue. The next thing he knows her weight is resting across his shoulder and chest, gripping onto him. There is a brief flash of purely physical pain as she bumps the wad of bandages he only just notices are covering the upper half of his torso, wrapping his collar bone. Her face is awkwardly pressed against his opposite shoulder.

When his vision blurs, he panics, momentarily thinking he was losing his control. However, he quickly recognises it as a different sort of loss of control. A normal loss of control. There is water pooling in his eyes, running down his face. He’s crying, making breathing hard. 

“You idiot.” Vivi’s voice is unsteady now, full of hurt, “You colossal idiot.”

“I'm…sor…” He swallows, coughing out the apology “…ry”  He doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologising for but he’s made so many mistakes that it’s the only thing he can think to say. 

“I thought you were going to die.”

Sluggishly, Arthur tries to raise a hand, the one without a needle sticking into it, to hold onto the fabric of her jacket. His muscles feel a bit like jelly, spasming occasionally, as his mind re-associates mental commands with movement. He realises with a pang of grief that she is wearing Lewis’s jacket. What happened to Lewis?  He tries to speak, to explain, to ask questions, but his throat is still too dry. After attempting this a few more times he gives up and allows himself the small comfort of being able to hug Vivi again. 

..

NOTE: Happy Holidays!! Have an update as a gift :) Hope everyone is safe and wish you all good luck transitioning into the new year. Thank you for another years worth of support of this fic, it means a lot. 

Part 43: here

[kingreywrites]

Even If It Hurts - Chapter 2 - The one they found

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2366

Summary: There are days when the tears can't help but fall, no matter how much Rapunzel and Eugene don't want them to.

There are days when these tears are shed for family; for the one they lost, the one they found, and the one they created.

Chapter Summary: Despite trying, the words will not come. His breath is cut off by the tears he won't shed, taking too much place in his chest until he feels nothing but them. He doesn't want to cry, but he's not sure if it's stopping talking or keeping at it that will tip him over the edge. Maybe there's no escaping this.

Note: Eugene’s turn >:)

Read on ao3

1. The one they lost ; 2. The one they found

Eugene... Eugene doesn't cry often. It doesn't suit him. People think it's another example of him being conceited when he says he has an ugly crying face, because after all, everyone is ugly when they cry, but it's- it's more complicated than that.

Eugene is an ugly crier. He's a loud crier too, because he can't stand sitting around in deafening silence while his world feels like it's crumbling around him. He needs to move, to talk, to do anything so he can ignore his tears as much as possible and that made him an absolute nightmare to deal with as a child, or so he was told.

He doesn't remember crying often enough to be an annoyance. He does remember, somewhat, the feeling of being scolded by people who were as tall as giants, yelling for him to shut up. He's an adult now, and he's not sure if this is a memory or a dream, but he feels like there's definitely a part of truth in this. He probably deserved the yelling, to be honest, because he must have been impossible to deal with back then. Crying kids were annoying, and the matrons would often let them cry all night instead of doing anything (Eugene knew, because he was the one who got up and read them stories so they could calm down); he had always been extra annoying, making potential families flee with his general attitude. A mix of the two was definitely headache worthy, so they did their best for him to stop crying.

They mostly succeeded.

Eugene can count the number of times he cried in the last five years on the fingers of his hand - and it's exactly once, when he was about to die and leave Rapunzel behind. He had been terrified, for her and for himself, and the tears had come naturally. He had been too tired to fight them. After that, though, he had begun his no crying streak anew, and it was only a deaged Lance that nearly broke it.

Eugene has a soft spot for crying kids, it's not his fault.

But Lance didn't make him cry. Getting hurt during their adventures didn't make him cry, practically betraying the woman he loved most didn't make him cry, meeting his long lost father didn't make him cry-

Except.

Except they go back to Corona, Eugene with one father more and one friend less. They go back, and Rapunzel is a mess, so he tries to be there for her when she needs it, tries to be the support she has trouble asking for. And then, his father- Edmund comes back, with dreams of reconnecting with his long lost son, and Rapunzel is excited at the prospect, and Eugene wants Rapunzel to be happy and... He gets roped into a weird adventure, and despite the still present hurt, Edmund and him make amends.

He still doesn't cry. He has no reason to anymore, after all.

So when the tears come anyway, the overwhelming mix of anger and shame nearly chokes him with how suddenly it takes over him. He flees his conversation with Edmund with the flimsiest excuse, and practically runs to his bedroom in a desperate dash for privacy.

He won't cry. "I won't cry," he repeats out loud, unsure of who he's trying to convince - but his voice wobbles on the last word.

He closes his fists, takes a deep breath, and holds it in for as long as he can in fear of a sob breaking out of his chest. His eyes are burning and nothing is working and he's going to cry but- but-- He grabs the first object he can get his hands on and throws it down harshly, cringing at the sound of broken glass that follows. Through the blurring of his eyes, he understands that it was a glass of water, and that makes him feel like even more of an idiot because- because-

He can't breathe. He stumbles and sits down heavily on his bed, putting his palms over his eyes in the vain hope of stopping the process - but he can already feel the ugly twisting of his face as he tries to keep it all in, and soon-

"Eugene?"

He startles badly, and turns towards the voice, blinking his eyes rapidly. Of course she's here now. "Sunshine," he laughs, or coughs, he isn't sure, and he can see more clearly for now - clear enough to notice the frown clearly forming on her face, or the concern in her eyes. "What- uh, what are you doing here?"

His voice is still wobbling. Kindly, Rapunzel doesn't comment on it.

"A handmaiden heard a crash in your room," she smiles gently, looking at the broken glass on the ground. "She was worried, so she told me."

"Ah. Yeah, that, be- be careful about the glass, I don't want you to cut your feet because of me. Because, you know," he babbles as she quietly makes her way over him, "going barefoot everywhere can be dangerous. Well, you obviously know that, and I'm not trying to tell you what to do but- uh... that's... something to consider?" he finishes lamely.

Rapunzel doesn't answer him, simply sitting down next to him. Her shoulder is warm against his. She smells like strawberry, today, and he wonders if she was in the middle of one of her baking endeavours. He hopes he hasn't interrupted her, all because he grew too angry and threw a freaking glass to the ground like an idiot, probably scaring some poor handmaiden in the process.

"Eugene," Rapunzel repeats, in that way she has of saying his name full of love and affection, and free of any judgement. "Are you okay?"

Once again, Eugene tears up like a baby. He starts looking stubbornly at the wall, in the vain hope that she doesn't see it.

"Oh you know," he laughs, the sound bitter and angry, "just trying to strike a discussion with my dear old father- that wasn't even a father to me until like two months ago!" His voice gets loud again, but the remarks about being an annoying crier are forgotten for a second, as he tries to explain. "And here I come, simply trying to understand hi- to understand my life better, and he- he- he refuses!" Eugene stutters painfully, feeling his breaths getting caught in his chest.

His cheeks are hurting from the way they're scrunching up unnaturally. His hands are balled around the sheets of his bed, and he feels like he's falling apart at the seams, trying to hold himself together through sheer willpower. It's not working. And so he keeps talking, hoping that his mouth will move faster than his mind, and that it'll be enough.

"He's really- He really thinks because he's my father he has a right to decide what's good for me but he- he lost that right," he exclaims, voice breaking on the "lost", heart breaking at the memories. "Each time I think I'm forgiving him, each time... Each time I think we can be family, I remember just how much he fucked up, and how that fucked me up, and I- I-"

He can't take a breath after that, but Rapunzel softly takes his hand, and his lungs somewhat remember what they're supposed to do.

"It's okay to be angry, Eugene," she whispers, her voice so quiet next to his and yet echoing louder in his mind. "No one expects you to be okay immediately."

"Really?" he laughs, a short burst that doesn't convince anyone, "because Edmund expects me to be fine with him. A lot of people think it's so great that I'm actually a Prince, and can't even imagine- can't- he abandoned me!" Eugene explodes. "He abandoned me, as a child, and he knew how much I was suffering, he had all the wanted posters! He knew I was thieving to survive and... And that means he knew about the nights sleeping outside, being so hungry I felt like my stomach was eating itself. He knew about the living out there in the cold, he knew about me nearly getting killed on a daily basis, he maybe even knew about that time I thought Lance was going to die and I was going to be all alone and-"

He can't finish that sentence. He still hasn't looked at Rapunzel, but he feels her thumb slowly stroking his hand, gently trying to calm him down.

"He knew," he breathes out quietly, heart thumping in his chest. "And I know he had his reasons but- but I didn't deserve that. I know I didn't." Rapunzel hums quietly. His head hurts. His throat feels raw, and he remembers that he's an ugly, loud crier, will you shut up Eugene-

But he won't shut up. He wants to, really - he wishes he was strong enough to compose himself but... He hasn't had a proper breakdown in a decade, and it's all crashing down on him, bringing everything he built down with it.

"I asked him about my mom," Eugene admits quietly, "and he didn't want to talk about it. Said it was- a touchy subject for him. As if- as if it isn't for me," he chuckles, feeling really cold. "Two months ago, I didn't know I had a mother, and now I'm grieving a nameless woman I only saw in a painting, all because he- he- because he-"

Despite trying, the words will not come. His breath is cut off by the tears he won't shed, taking too much place in his chest until he feels nothing but them. He doesn't want to cry, but he's not sure if it's stopping talking or keeping at it that will tip him over the edge. Maybe there's no escaping this.

"It's so stupid," Eugene rages, against Edmund and against himself, his voice way weaker than he wants it to be. "I- I should be happy right? But- He's so- he- this is stupid! And- And who even names their kids Horace?!"

Of course that's the exact moment Eugene can't hold back his tears anymore. For fucking Horace, when it was supposed to be a joke so he could get a grip on himself. But maybe it's not just the name. Maybe it's about meeting someone who did so much harm to you, and having to fight them over the simple thing of being called your chosen name, like you had to fight so many people before him; maybe it's about spending years hating everything that made you who you are, before finally coming to terms with your identity, finally seeing something worth loving in yourself, only to discover that it was all a lie anyway.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Eugene starts crying, and tries to hide his face in his hands, but Rapunzel doesn't let go of the one she's holding. His head is swimming. She tugs him towards her, and suddenly he's sobbing on her shoulder, feeling like a pathetic idiot for it. And of course he doesn't stop babbling, about how stupid this all is, and how he shouldn't even be crying anyway, because there was way worse in life and he was fine.

Rapunzel doesn't say much. She tells him to breathe, mostly, and gently congratulates him when he does. She tells him that he's okay. She tells him that she loves him.

She doesn't say much, but she says exactly what he needs.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles wetly, shivering a little when he feels her fingers on the nap of his neck. "This isn’t… You already have a lot on your shoulders, and I'm putting more weight on them. Quite literally."

He hopes for a laugh at the joke, hopes he can pretend again that everything's fine and that he has absolutely no issues with discovering where he's from more than twenty years late.

"Eugene," Rapunzel says instead, her voice tainted by an unmistakable seriousness, "I don't care about what's going on for me, I- I always want you to be able to confide in me." She sounds sad. He remembers these times, when he was worried it was his fault that she preferred to cry alone; if he had done anything that made her feel like she couldn't trust him with her sorrows.

He wonders if he made her feel the same. He wonders if she also feels the same as he does on the subject - not that there's a lack of trust, but a deep desire to protect the other from everything that could needlessly hurt them, even if it's their own emotions. Eugene doesn't rely on others easily; neither does Rapunzel.

After all this time, he's still sometimes surprised to see how similar they can be.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel breathes out this time, and she keeps him from straightening up as she continues. "I'm sorry I've been so busy and preoccupied, I… I hate that you've been hurting, and that I wasn't here for you."

Eugene's automatic answer is to deny this, but he still has his head on her shoulder, after basically breaking down for who knows how many minutes, so he doesn't think she'll believe him. He is hurting, even if it's hard to admit. He hasn't been quite the same since the Dark Kingdom - since meeting his father, since losing Cassandra, since seeing the love of his life so broken over the betrayal. He hasn't been the same, but he also hasn't allowed himself to be different, because it was never the time for him to simply… allow himself to be sad.

"We're both hurting," he finally answers, tightening his grip around her slightly. "I- I think we're just trying our best, you and me. I think… I think that's okay, for now."

He's still sniffling. His face is uncomfortably hot from the crying, and he really doesn't want anyone to see the mess he is right now. But in her arms, Eugene forgets to care. He forgets about the scoldings he once received, forgets about his fears of being judged, and just hugs Rapunzel for as long as he can.

They stay like this for a long time.

[sonic-wildfire]

Emotion Sickness: Diary Entries from Shadow the Hedgehog (Part 1)

Select entries from Shadow’s diary were found and compiled by Sonic (with Shadow’s permission) as an homage to both Shadow’s development and their relationship together. The entries were made between March 2009 and October 2013. This part of the compilation contains the entries made between March 2009 and December 2010.

10:53 PM - 4 March 2009

Hmph. Another day behind me. I crossed paths with Sonic today and he offered to have lunch with me. The request was somewhat flattering, but I turned it down. I don’t really need to eat.

Why is Sonic always so nice to me? It’s a liability to be within ten feet of him at this point, considering how much trouble he gets into. Whatever. I’m better by myself anyway.

5:02 PM - 19 July 2009

Amy visited me today and said she was here on Sonic’s behalf. Don’t know why, but she wanted me to know Sonic was offering to have me over at his place.

Sonic has a permanent home? Who knew?

I thought about it for a bit, but I declined. Again, I don’t understand why Sonic continues to do nice things for me even though I’m the most miserable being on the planet. It’s not that I hate them or anything, but I just can’t get close to anybody else. What if they reject me? What if...

Forget it.

I can’t think about this stuff. I’m going to take a nap. My thoughts are the last thing I need to be with right now.

6:46 PM - 30 November 2009

Wouldn’t you know it, that stubborn blue hedgehog turned up at my door today and again asked me to spend time with him. I was about to just tell him to piss off, but something about this interaction was different. I don’t know what, why, or how, but... it actually sounded appealing this time?

Very hesitantly, I said I’d think about it but don’t expect me to take you up on the offer. He just smiled, said okay, and left. 

Maybe I should at least try to be somewhat charitable for once. I called up Rouge and told her about what had happened and she just teased me over it before hanging up. You know, typical Rouge.

But she did tell me that it was ultimately my decision to make.

Hm. I think I might go after all.

12:25 PM - 2 December 2009

Just got back from having breakfast with Sonic. He was actually surprised I showed up. Honestly? I was surprised, too.

I didn’t talk too much, but Sonic... oh boy, Sonic. It’s like he never ran out of things to talk about. He’s smiling the entire time he’s with me, too. It was almost alluring just how much his bright demeanor contrasted with my moody self.

One of the things Sonic talked about was his friends. I was fully ready to just stop him right then and there (it rubs me the wrong way when anybody mentions friendship), but then he told me I was a “good friend” to him.

I asked him if he was serious. Sonic said yes.

In retrospect, it was certainly more eventful than most days. Perhaps little meetups like this would be healthier for me if I did them every once in a while.

3:59 AM - 28 May 2010

I can’t rest. I keep thinking about Sonic.

We’ve been meeting occasionally like I said I should. The longer I’m with Sonic, the more I begin to see in him what I could’ve been.

He’s a caring, generous man with everything going for him. People like him. He has a purpose in life. He’s coolheaded, rational, and valuable to society.

So why on Earth would Sonic be spending time with me, a reprehensibly depressed alien who is so completely worthless and undeserving of care? How could he possibly like me when I don’t even like myself?

I’m tired and tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes. I need to talk to someone in the morning.

1:51 AM - 29 May 2010

I called Rouge and told her about last night. She wasn’t very vocal, but she did offer a little encouragement. She said I don’t get enough sleep and that a little bit of rest would put me at ease for a bit. But I’m still on edge. What does Sonic see in me that I don’t? Or am I just overthinking this? My thoughts are erratic right now, so I’m sorry to anyone reading if this doesn’t make sense.

Ugh.

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes already.

I’m so weak. I’m so pathetic.

Who would ever want to spend time with someone like me?

All I do is brood in the corner of the room all day and be an asshole to everybody. I don’t understand how anybody could be tolerant of me, much less a “friend.”

Yet... I’m still drawn to Sonic. For whatever reason, he’s just so inviting. He’s nice. Too nice.

11:32 AM - 8 August 2010

Over the past few months, Sonic and I have been visiting each other more often, and not much has changed.

From me, at least.

Sonic has been growing even kinder towards me than before. Sometimes, he’ll give me small gifts like a scarf. Other times, he’ll ask me about myself. If I were ready, I would’ve just spilled my true feelings about myself right then and there.

But I wasn’t ready. So I just talked about the very few things I did find enjoyment in. Gardening, space, and Chao. I begged him to never tell anybody about what I said to him, and he looked at me like I had three heads but vowed to keep it a secret anyway.

I just don’t know. Sonic’s a good guy, but... I can’t bring myself to be friendly with him. If I start growing close with people, they’ll just die or leave me and I’ll be heartbroken again just like last time. I can’t go through that again. I’m not strong enough.

I appear tough on the outside. But the truth is, I’m always on the verge of breaking down. My mental state is so volatile and virtually uncontrollable.

Chaos damn it, just get out of my head already!

3:40 PM - 23 December 2010

The holiday season. A time for joy, reminiscing on the past, looking forward to the new year, and exchanging gifts.

For everybody else, that is.

Ever since I came here, I’ve spent every Christmas alone.

All the others have a big gathering at Sonic’s house, having a good time (allegedly). I was never interested in these and I always declined every single invitation I got from Sonic. Yet, like clockwork, he still sends me one every year. Maybe hoping that I’ll change my mind one year.

After a lot of self-reflection over the past year, though, I’m not sure how much more invitations I can reject before Sonic gives up trying.

I crumble in social situations. Interacting with anybody other than Rouge, Omega, or Sonic for more than ten seconds takes an insane amount of willpower.

Something has to give. Either I go for once or they stop trying.

12:48 AM - 24 December 2010

I’ve decided I need to go. Maybe bring one of my Chao if things go wrong. I’m not necessarily doing this because I want to go. In fact, I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t go because at least I know things can’t go wrong if I’m by myself.

But I can’t stop thinking about Sonic and his friends. It drives me crazy.

9:21 PM - 24 December 2010

Party’s tomorrow. Note to self: don’t fuck this up.

11:17 PM - 26 December 2010

How quickly things can change has always amazed me. Tonight proved that.

Everybody was really surprised to see me showing up, but they said they were all grateful I showed up. Sonic, of course, was the first to welcome me, giving me a hug that admittedly felt like a breath of fresh air after so much time alone. Then again, I have a reputation so I needed to act like he was crushing me to death.

I didn’t spend much time talking with other people, though I did exchange some small talk with Rouge. The usual.

As the party grew longer, I found myself being... complimented by others?

Knuckles said he hoped I was “doing well.” Cream gave me a single flower while wishing me a merry Christmas. Tails shyly waved at me (I put on a smile and waved back). Omega said I was “one of the only creatures made of flesh” he trusted.

I’m sorry. Did these people forget who they were talking to?

Dinner was fine, though I was particularly eager about the sweets. Oh, right, I forgot to mention I have a knack for candy. The more you know.

Of course, then it was time for gifts. I swear you could fill the Grand Canyon with the sheer amount of presents under the tree. I guessed that roughly three of those were for me, ready to be mailed to me if I didn’t show up.

So you can imagine my surprise when I saw eight presents being dropped into my lap and all of them reading “To: Shadow.”

We all took turns opening our presents. I had two presents from Amy (a coffee mug and a Chao toy), one present from Espio (a kunai), one present from Tails (a bag of coffee beans), one present from Knuckles (a Kill la Kill DVD) and... three presents from Sonic?!

The first one was classic Sonic stuff. A sweater with the word “faker” sewed on the chest. He thought that one was really funny. I didn’t really care.

The second one was more genuine. A pair of rocket boosters for my shoes. My old ones are just about dead, so this was welcome.

The third one... subverted all expectation. It was a small box that contained a piece of paper. It read:

“Dear Shadow, stay after the party and meet me upstairs when the others leave. Signed, Sonic.”

The others were curious about what Sonic meant by this. Silver joked that I was being sent to the principal’s office.

Eventually, the party came to a close and people left. I went upstairs as Sonic had told me, and there he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He motioned for me to take a seat next to him. I sat down and asked him what he wanted me for, half-expecting something stupid.

“I understand you haven’t had the easiest life...”

I instantly got up to leave. No way I was sticking around to hear this again.

But Sonic grabbed my arm and yanked me back to the bed, his face now spelling genuine concern.

“...I know you mean well. Sometimes, you do things that we think are dumb but actually turn out to be smart. Other times, you just do dumb stuff. But that’s not the point. The point is, I want you to know that I’m still here for you. I can tell you’re bothered by your thoughts. But the bottom line is that I, and we, care about you. We love you, Shadow. I love you. Please don’t think you’re not worthy of being cared about. We have our ups and downs, but we always work it out eventually, right? I know your thought process works differently than mine. That does not make you any less deserving of respect. My greatest wish is that you would love yourself as much as we love you.”

I was stunned. That bastard. Quickly losing my composure, I began blubbering about how I couldn’t stand the thought of getting close to someone just to lose them again. How I’m so terrified that I will just be manipulated and used by people pretending to be my “friend.”

Sonic told me that he would never go away and that he would never “use” me.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sonic embraced me and I’m embarrassed to admit that I began sobbing as I wrapped my arms around him. I swore to myself that I’d never show any kind of weakness around them.

“It’s okay to cry,” he told me. “Don’t be afraid anymore. I’m here now. I’m here.”

“And I always will be. That’s a promise.”

[captain-emmajones]

The Lady of the Lake

Hiii! It's been so long. Hope you are all alright. 

This is based on The Haunting of Bly Manor. Fair warning, it emotionally destroyed me. This is my way of coping. (If you haven't watched it, WATCH IT.) Let me know if you're intrigued and would like to read more of this verse, I might fuck around and actually write a MC ;) 

Big thank you to @carpedzem for her feedback (and fair amount of screaming let’s not kid ourselves)!!! <3 

Happy Halloween!! 

Summary: Ghost!Emma haunts Mills Manor, and Killian only wishes she would haunt him instead.

Ghost AU - Angst - 1400 words - Ao3 

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies  out of the lake,

and dress them in warm clothes again.

Richard Siken.

.

And each night, tirelessly, endlessly, she would wake.

She would walk.

She would sleep.

And she would forget.

Until, until...

Time erased everything. Time erased her memories, erased him, erased the very chore of her existence, but she no longer was, so how could she have mind?

She let herself sink into oblivion, because it meant he was safe. They were all safe.

She let water fill her lungs, she let the lake wrap its ice-cold arms around her and for a time she wished they were his, for a time she did not forget until,... until she forgot.

And each night, again and again, she would wake.

She would walk.

She would sleep.

And she would forget.

Until there wasn’t anything else to forget, until she wasn’t a person anymore -- surely a person would have a face -- until she was only a vague feeling, a fleeting, dripping shadow, walking through the night, muddy footprints dropped behind her, and water, so much water, wishing that something would happen -- only it never would.

But she didn’t mind. She had forgotten she was waiting. She just stood there, by his workshop, without seeing the empty pots, without hearing the night’s owls, until her stiff, dripping legs moved again.

And she would dive into the frozen, frozen lake, and she would forget. Forget it all. Forget them and the why and the how.

And she would wake. She would walk.

Up to the same room, every night, to the bed without sheets and the mirror -- and for a time she did not forget how frightened she was, of this goddamn mirror, of her reflection, of seeing him and then her -- and this room that was so empty, so empty and she wondered if it had always been. But soon enough, she ceased wondering. She forgot to.

And she would go down the corridor, through the garden, to the moon flowers.

And she would stand there until some kind of recollection would sink into her mind. Her eyes would widen. And then, she would remember. It would be a wave of warmth suddenly overflowing her.

His blue eyes. The warmth of his arms. His voice. She would remember --

“And if you can’t feel anything, then I will feel for the both of us.”

-- and then, just like that, she would forget. Endlessly. Tirelessly.

“Because see, Swan, moonflowers only bloom once. And then they die. But they are worth the trouble. And sometimes, if you are lucky enough, you find someone worth the trouble, too.”

.

And each night, tirelessly, endlessly, he would fill his sinks with water, would fill his bathtub to the brim, would crack his front door open.

So that she would know that it was okay for her to step in, that he wouldn’t mind the muddy trails and the drenched carpets, so that she would know that he was waiting for her.

“It’s just water, love. It’s easy to clean up.”

And he would sleep, crouched on a chair, in front of his door, just in case, just in case--

He would sleep.

And he would forget.

That she was gone. That she wouldn’t come back, ever. That their love story was nothing more than a ghost story now --

And he would wake. And he would remember. And he would walk, among the livings, only he died when she surrendered herself to the lake.

-- oh, cross that actually. That’s utterly wrong. Those are sadness and anger and grief speaking.

Of course their love story was more than a simple ghost story.

He just wished...He just wished she had taken him down with her.

Down in the lake.

Just wished she had offered him this last cold embrace, just wished she had allowed him to rest by her side.

He didn’t mind the cold.

So long as her hand remained firmly clasped in his. As it had been. As it should be.

Only it wasn’t anymore.

One morning, one fine morning, he had woken up. But she had already walked, she had already walked out of their room, out of his life.

She had only written him a note.

And she had walked, she had walked without him, to the lake, and he had imagined her hair floating in the water, golden threads dancing amidst a grey pool, he had imagined her lungs filling with water, as she had surrendered herself, as she had saved them all.

And he had known, that it was all over, all over, that she was gone.

“The beast lives in me, Killian,” she had said, at the beginning, only it was the end, “and she will come to fetch me. I know it. I can feel her inside of me.”

And he had wanted to promise her that they had time, more time, and he had said: “One day at a time, my love. We will fight the beast together. But for now, we have today.” And he had squeezed her hand thinking perhaps he could hold onto her.

And she had smiled, and he had known that when the time came, she would fight the beast alone.

She wouldn’t drag him down with her, no matter how loudly he would scream, no matter how long he would weep for her to come back, she would do what was right.  

“I cannot risk losing you, Killian. I cannot lose you.”

Thus, after all these years, he had driven back to Mills Manor, to this cursed place, and he had walked back to the lake. To see her. One last time.

He had plunged, dived, rushed to her, as the cold had bitten his skin and slashed his heart open. Wishing he could walk with her, wishing he could sleep, wishing he could forget.

“You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, do you, Swan?”

“IT’S ME. IT’S YOU. IT’S US,” he had screamed, down in the lake, water filling his lungs and burning his eyes, only he wasn’t screaming because how could you scream with this much water in your mouth?

He had screamed the same words he had heard her howl, years ago, when she had saved them all.

When she had taken the beast inside of her.

But this time she was the beast and he couldn’t take her in. She wouldn’t let him.  

“DRAG ME DOWN WITH YOU,” he had yelled some more, only in his heart, on seeing nothing, on seeing her pale, pale, moon face, down in the lake.

Her hair was spiraling around her peaceful features, just like he had imagined it would. She was still her. Her eyes were open, but she wouldn’t blink, wouldn’t move an inch.

And in that gesture she wouldn’t initiate, in the fingers she did not stretch to hold his hand, he knew.

That she wouldn’t drag him down. That she would never drag him down. Not now, not ever.

The lady of the lake would never drag anyone down with her again.

But that doesn’t mean he stopped waiting for her. Doesn’t mean he stopped filling his sinks and his bathtub and quit searching for her smiling eyes in the quivering water, for a sparkle of green and gold, doesn’t mean he closed his door and went to bed.

No.

He sat on that very same chair, in front of his open door, and he waited.

And just as his eyelids became too heavy for him to keep his eyes open, just as he fell into a deep slumber, there was a cold draught that gently shut his door.

His eyes flickered open at the noise, for one second, could it be…

But then Morpheus’ arms hugged him tighter and there wasn’t an inch of willpower left in him to wonder.

Still, a small unconscious smile stretched his lips and a whisper escaped his mouth.

“Swan…”

Silence. He was now sound asleep.

And if you were to gaze into his window, innocently of course, as every good neighbor does at midnight when the moon is their only companion, well perhaps you’d see the blonde woman that tucked a blanket under his chin and kissed his forehead, and you’d think that was quite odd -- considering Killian Jones lived alone -- but then you’d shake your head and stopped thinking about it at all.

And you’d blink back to see nothing but darkness in your neighbor’s flat, although you could have sworn there had been a humming light just a second ago, darkness everywhere, and perhaps a shiver would even shake your spine, and in another blink you’d think you saw a smiling face in the window pane, green eyes and blonde hair but it couldn’t be so you stopped thinking about it and you stopped looking into other people’s windows -- because that was actually quite rude, now, wasn’t it?

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

You're So Warm (ii)

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader

Summary: After his meeting with Y/N, Max is grappling with the fact that he couldn't turn her into a vampire. He invites her back to his office to continue what he started.

Warnings: Language, SMUT! Fingering, oral (f receiving), fucked on Max's desk. My first time writing smut so probably shitty writing? No editing, we die like men.

part i part ii part iii

After a week of Max's tireless efforts, things at the office had finally started to quiet down. He had taken care of the people that needed to be taken care of and he had put legal at ease with some quick solutions about their little problem. However, Max's mind was still racing. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He could still feel her skin burned into his. No one had ever held as much power over him as this little mortal did. He was going out of his mind pondering what she had done to make him feel like this. It couldn't have just been her warmth. He could have gained the same sensation from a microwave. There had to be something else. He couldn't gain control of himself anymore. He couldn't stop himself from becoming distracted by thinking of her. The thing about all of it that had truly gotten under his skin was the fact that he couldn't find the willpower to change her. Every time he nearly bolstered up the courage, he thought of her heat and he couldn't bring himself to do it. This had to stop. He was in control. This was his company. He made the rules.

He paced the floor of his office, hands resting behind his back. Max glanced eagerly at the small clock on his desk. She would be here soon and he would take care of things. At exactly 5:00 on the dot he saw her skitter into the office and towards her desk. He stopped pacing and stood by the windows of his office to study her movements. Max's gaze became predatorial as he watched her set her bag down and smooth out her skirt. She was very gentle with her things, putting them in their proper place. His tongue shot out to lick his lips as he intently studied her hands. Before she could sit down, he flung his office door open and stepped outside. "Miss Y/N?" His voice startled her, causing her to jump. "May I speak to you privately for a moment?" She nodded and watched him turn and walk back into his office.

He was waiting for her just inside the door frame. When she stepped in cautiously, he pushed the door closed and motioned for her to take a seat. She did so promptly, twiddling her thumbs in her lap. She found herself unable to look up from her hands. "It's nice to see you again, Y/N." Before he approached her, he quickly shut the blinds on his windows so that he could proceed freely.

"It's nice to see you again, too, sir." She said in that same shy voice. He ambled towards his desk, stopping when he was in front of her. She realized she was avoiding eye contact and looked up. "May I ask what this is about?" He smiled at her blunt question and began to unbutton his suit jacket.

"Of course." She watched him peel his jacket off, fold it neatly, and place it on his desk. Max placed his hands in his pockets and put on his kindest smile. "Do you remember what happened the last time you were here?" This made her skin tingle as she remembered.

"Yes, sir. I do." She had only dreamt about it every night since. He nodded and walked around to the other side of the desk.

"So do I. And do you remember why I asked you into my office that day?" He placed his fingertips on the surface of the desk and leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

"I believe you mentioned a promotion, sir."

"That's right, I did. Good memory. Of course, we didn't exactly get around to discussing the promotion, did we?" She began to feel flushed as she shook her head. "I would like to finish our original conversation, if that is alright with you." She let out a small breath.

"Of course." Max gave her another warm smile which she offered in return. He began to unbutton the sleeves of his tight dress shirt, rolling them up to his elbows. She swallowed thickly as she watched his fingers. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed the way he looked as he showed off his powerful forearms, his shirt tight against his frame.

"As I have said many times in the past, what we sell here is dreams, right? We help people achieve more. That's why they buy from us because we are giving them something that is bigger than themselves." His hands moved fluidly as he spoke, illustrating the point he was trying to make. "Of course, I need people on my team that are going to help me achieve that goal. That's why I want you, Y/N, in a position with a little more power. I can tell that you are a dreamer. You are someone who believes in what we do and that is one of the most important things I can ask for. There is something very special about you." Max wished she knew how true his words were. He wasn't just spouting his normal sales bullshit. There was something special about her and he wanted her on his team. So, why didn't he want to change her?

Y/N watched him intently as he spoke, hanging onto each word. She found herself enchanted by him, feeling her heart twinge when he told her she was special. Max let out a sigh and came around the desk to sit next to her. As she watched him come down to her level, she felt a warmth begin to grow between her legs. When he sat with her like this last time all she felt was nervous, but something had changed in the last week. There was something more electric and tangent between them now that made her ache. She wondered if he could feel it, too.

"I like you, Y/N. You're a very capable young woman. I want to see you succeed." Warmth radiated between their bodies and Max could feel his resolve slipping away. "Is that something you want?" It was now or never. All she could do was nod, her breath trapped in her chest. He took a deep breath and moved closer, scooping her hand into his. His head was immediately swimming with a million thoughts that he tried to push away. Her neck was so close now. Just one bite and all of this would be over. "I want to help you." He whispered, leaning over so that his lips were hovering right above her neck. "I want to make you better." Finally, he pressed his lips against her neck and the feeling consumed him. Her pulse was beating wildly against him, the warmth of her skin shooting straight down to his cock. He felt himself twitch as he breathed in her scent. Without a prayer to stop it, he felt his aggression melt away into need as he began kissing the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes, leaning away to give him better access. His lips explored her, taking in everything. He let his tongue press against her before sucking her neck lightly, leaving purple spots in his wake. He then brought his hands to her face, bringing their lips together. She let out a small whimper as his tongue played across her own. In that moment, he allowed himself to say what he had been denying all week. "I want you." All she could manage was a small nod and he laughed at her pitiful attempt at consent. "What was that?" He pulled away from her.

"I want you, too."

"Good girl." That was exactly what Max needed. He brought his lips back to hers as his hands trailed down to her breasts. Y/N let out a moan as he pinched her nipples, which were already hard. He travelled beneath her shirt to gain better access. He growled sharply at the feeling of her warm, pliable flesh beneath his hands. They both stood up, needing to be closer. Max's eyes drank in the sight of her as he wasted no time ripping her shirt off over her head. She wore a black lace bra which did a terrible job of covering her. He bit his lip harshly as he admired her.

"Was this for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes." She mumbled, her answer inaudible as she looked at the floor. Max took her jaw in his hand, pulling her up to meet his gaze.

"Speak up." He demanded. "Confidence is key, darling." She laughed lightly.

"Yes. Ever since you kissed me I've been dressing up, hoping you'll notice me."

"I already notice you. It's not just that, is it?" She shook her head as he looked at her. "You wanted me to fuck you. A kiss wasn't enough, was it? You needed to feel me deep inside of you, making you scream my name as I make you mine. Isn't that right?" His words took her breath away completely. "I said, isn't that right?" He said louder now.

"Yes, sir." He nodded, grinning widely.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm going to give you exactly what you want." Still holding her jaw, Max brought their lips together, running his tongue along the inside of her mouth.

Y/N grasped at him wildly, trying to anchor herself. He felt her spinning out of control and held onto her shoulders tightly. "Come here. Let's see how wet that little pussy is for me." He pressed himself against her back, leading her forward. He took both her hands in his before pressing them solidly against the surface of his desk, bending her over. Admiring her ass which was on display for him, Max ran both hands along her skirt.

Y/N folded her arms in front of her, resting her head against them as she felt him pull her skirt up over her ass. His hands were big, caressing her skin so nicely. Max hissed as he explored her flesh. Every piece of her body was warmer than the last, driving him insane. She wore a pair of lace panties that matched her bra. It was a nice touch that made him smile. He hooked a finger into them, pulling them aside so he could access her. He pressed his finger against her slit, drawing it slowly all the way down to her clit. The contact pulled a small whine from her lips. Max rubbed his finger back and forth against her folds, collecting her wetness. He brought his finger to her lips which she eagerly sucked clean. "See how wet you are for me? Do you want more?" She nodded frantically, his finger still in her mouth. He pulled it away, bringing his hand back down to where she needed him most. He teased her entrance with a finger, which made her moan. He pushed into her as deep as he could, moving in and out of her with ease. Her fingernails dug into her forearms as he added another finger. The sensation was electrifying as he moved quicker and quicker.

"Does that feel good? Do you like the way I finger this tight little pussy?" His words made her walls clench around him tightly.

"Yes, sir." He added another finger which made her mouth gape. He kept the same fast pace, groaning loudly at the feeling of her. She was warm and slick and her moans only invited him deeper. His cock was rock hard now, straining against his tight pants. He curled his fingers upward, hitting the perfect spot inside her. "You feel so fucking good. I love the way you feel." Max pulled out of her without warning, causing her to whimper at the loss of him. He knelt down behind her, bringing his lips forward to her slit. He kissed her sensitive clit, sucking on it lightly. She tasted exquisite, better than blood. Better than anything. He lapped her up eagerly, enjoying the way she dripped for him. His tongue flicked along her slit to her entrance, delving inside her. He bobbed his head back and forth so that he could fuck her with his tongue. She sounded heavenly, calling out his name as she rocked back against his face. One of his hands gripped her waist while the other worked at taking out his cock. Once he had released himself, he began lazily stroking himself in time with each thrust of his tongue, causing him to groan. The sound vibrated in her clit, making it nearly impossible not to scream. "How does that feel, sweetheart? Do you like my tongue inside you?" He asked between licks.

"Yes! Oh, god yes!" She gasped before biting down on her forearm. He smiled against her.

"Are you going to cum for me?" She mumbled a yes through her teeth, embracing the warmth that was building in her stomach. "Do it. I want to feel you gush on my tongue. And when you're done, I'm going to fuck this sweet little pussy. Do you want that darling?" She could only nod now. "Good. Then cum." It only took a few more long licks before she came apart against his mouth. He used both hands to hold her hips steady as he helped her ride through her orgasm. She twitched as she came down off her high. Max took his mouth away, standing up behind her. "Did you like that, darling?" She knew her voice was useless and stuck with a small nod. He leaned down, pressing his body flush against hers. "Taste yourself on my lips, sweetheart." She obliged him happily, turning her head to kiss him deeply.

Max pulled away, taking her with him as he helped her stand up. She leaned against him, not trusting her legs. Holding her close to him, he made quick work of clearing a spot off his desk for her. When he was done, he turned her around and helped her lay on her back. Max couldn't help but take a moment to enjoy the view; his human employee laying on his desk, legs spread wide for him. "Fuck, you look good enough to eat, sweetheart." He bit his lip, giving his cock a few strokes. She looked up at him through heavy lids, waiting patiently for him. He took a moment to pull her panties off, throwing them into his chair. He didn't want any obstacles. Max stepped forward, lining his cock up with her entrance. "Do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She nodded eagerly. He didn't wait another second before slipping the head of his cock into her. He closed his eyes tightly as he tried to get accustomed to the warmth of her slick pussy wrapped around his thick cock. It was almost too much for him. She watched him get lost in the ecstasy. When he was ready, he pushed his hips forward until he was fully seated inside her. She moaned as she felt him stretch her open. Max brought both of his hands to either side of her head, steadying himself. Both of them were in silent awe at the feeling of being so closely intertwined. Her warmth enveloped his entire being as he stood there, buried deep inside of her. He opened his eyes, locking them with hers as he pulled slowly out of her before pushing back in. "You feel so good. Fuck, Y/N! You're driving me fucking crazy." Standing back to his full height, Max played with her clit as he pumped slowly in and out of her. She became lost in the pleasure, knowing nothing but him. He began to quicken his pace, thrusting in and out of her harshly. He rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts, causing her hips to jerk upwards against him. He brought a hand to hold her hip down tightly against the desk. "Do you like that? Like when I rub this aching little clit? Am I going to make you cum?" His thrusts became faster, delving into her even deeper now which made her cry out. Their skin smacked together crudely, the sound echoing around the office. They knew that everyone outside could surely hear them but they didn't care as they both felt their orgasms building. Max's thrusts became sloppy as he got close. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum. God, you're going to make me cum so hard, sweetheart." His words were all the encouragement she needed as his fingers worked her clit aggressively. She released around his cock as he worked her through her orgasm. He gritted his teeth tightly as he gave her one last sharp thrust before pulling out. She brought a hand up to stroke his cock hard until thick ropes of his cum coated her stomach. She continued to stroke him as he came down from his high, milking every drop of cum he had onto her stomach.

They both panted heavily, heads spinning from the pleasure. Max tucked himself back up, zipping his pants as he went to find something in his office to clean her up with. He was lucky enough to find a box of tissues in the corner and made quick work of wiping away the mess he'd made. When she was certain she wouldn't pass out, she sat up and Max helped her off the desk. "That was amazing, Y/N." He commented as she picked her panties up and slid them on. "I've never felt anything so extraordinary." She rolled her eyes a bit and walked towards the door to retrieve her shirt. He watched as she finished dressing herself, crossing his arms.

"You flatter me, sir." They both let out a light laugh. She turned to leave and Max reached out to grab her wrist before she could.

"Where are you going?"

"Wasn't that all you wanted?" He was taken aback by the question. Had he come across as that much of an asshole to her?

"No." She raised her eyebrows at him. "I want you to be my personal assistant." She shook her head, trying to gather her wits.

"Right ... the promotion." He smiled warmly.

"Do you accept the job?" She contemplated the offer. This definitely wasn't what he'd had in mind when she came into his office, but especially now he knew there was no way he could bring himself to change her.

"Yes, of course." She replied with a grin.

"Good. I'm glad. I'll debrief you on your duties tomorrow but for now, you can go home early. I think you've worked enough for today." She giggled at this and nodded. She turned towards the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and letting herself out. Max watched as she disappeared, his head spinning. For the first time in his life, he had met someone who was a better human than they were a vampire. Right then and there, he knew he would do anything to make sure it stayed that way. Maybe Max didn't mind losing control after all.

Tags: @zeldasayer @talesfromtheguild @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @bobafvtt @lannister-slings-and-arrows @madadlorian @otherthingsinhead @readsalot73

[dis--parity]

the message.

Summary: Meanwhile, in a hospital in the south of Sweden, a person reduced to a thoughtless shell is filled with new life. Trigger warnings: None. Author’s note: A little bonus chapter that I was excited to get out! It pertains to the final interview file and, well... it’s a pretty big piece of someone’s story.

It’s such a strange, horrible sensation, being trapped in your own body. Motionless, breathless, not even able to blink, not even able to see what little I hear. Days have passed. Or at least, I think they have; all my vision’s a blackout, and I’m quickly losing track of all time. When your eyes aren’t open, when your brain isn’t working right but your ears hear everything around you, it all just seems to melt together. The conversations of the doctors and nurses around me change at the flip of a switch.

I can’t even bring myself to try and count the hours, the days, the months I’ve been out cold. The last sensation stuck in my mind is the impact of a hammer against my arm, my chest, my head. Then, numbness, darkness, oblivion. Absolutely nothing crosses my mind after that. And I can’t even remember how long it’s been this way. 

It’s funny. For as long as I can remember, I’ve romanticised the idea of shutting off from the world; to be alone with the imagination without having to concern yourself with the real world. What a dream that must be, I thought. What a unique, astonishing bliss that must provide. Though, now that I lay here, unaware of how long it’s been, where the hell I am, and without even the will to decide whether I should be thankful for, or horrified by this comatose oblivion, something occurs to me.

The lucky ones, I’ve come to realise, are the ones whose mind and body die at the same time.

Will I ever wake up? Or will this mind finally give in and follow suit to my failing faculties? When I think about it enough, it crosses my mind that it probably doesn’t even matter which way that goes; my mind’s been like scrambled eggs for as long as my eyes have been closed, for as long as this ventilator’s been stuck on my mouth and this IV has been in my arm. I can only think of one person right now that would miss me if I slipped quietly past the veil - and they aren’t even here.

 I hear a jingle from what I think is right in front of me; there’s a TV in the room. I hear the news come and go from time to time, when my brain decides to tune back into the world around it. I’m guessing it’s in the corner of the room, seeing as I’m in a hospital bed right now. I can at least guess that much. If I ever wake up, maybe I’ll get a nice window view. 

Who knows, though? My thoughts and musings about the ray of sunlight I’ll probably never get to see quickly fade away as I’m forced to listen to the the only thing that’s really present in the room. Well, it’s not like I can get up and change the channel anyway, and apparently, I’ve got all the time in the world to absorb whatever this is. Whether I’ll actually retain any of the passing news about politics, science, celebrity gossip and the like, that’s another thing. But this… it seems different to what I’ve heard before. I hear a man delivering a more serious, monotone preamble, but-...

“... as announced earlier, the entirety of the contents of these ‘Haemolife Files’ will now be played on this channel for the purpose of transparency towards the public…”     Haemolife.

My body would have jolted, if only it could. Who knows how long it had been since I heard that name? That name of which a single utterance was enough to snap me back into focus. Up ‘til that point, I could feel my grasp on awareness starting to drift... 

No.

I snatch my awareness back. I have to. For the first time in God knows how long, I had something to pay attention to. Something I had to try and listen to. The voice of an unfamiliar man talks about his discoveries in a crackly audio recording, and asks a question to someone else he’s apparently with. I don’t catch all of it, I know, and I wasn’t about to get my hopes up, but there was only one person I could think of at that moment.

    Gale. Gale. Gale.     Please.     Please, tell me someone remembered you.

“... why do this? Haemolife was more or less off the radar until that weapons shipment came in.”

“... think that was the point they factored Gale in… had the willpower to defy… didn’t have the same fear Iris did. They knew… they knew she’d blab eventually. Desperate times, maybe.”

...what?

No. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. 

    Every part of me was looking out for that name -  a mention of her would have craved that phantom hunger my near-lifeless body felt right now. But, oh, did I hear so much more than my failing mind could have expected. She was dead. For the longest time, I thought she was dead. And now, as I’m hearing her voice, saying her name, talking about what she went through… I found my thoughts paralyzed again. It’s too much, this is far too much–

But, no! No! I can’t lose this moment! This might be the only chance I get to know that she’s alive, I can’t let my mind slip again now! My body doesn’t move, but I can practically feel my stomach turn as I try to regain my focus, try to recoil from the shock I heard from that name alone and listen, for God’s sake, listen to what she has to say.

“And the way Rosenfeld took ‘desperate measures’ was to initiate a terrorist attack before you could expose the truth?”

“No - not to take everyone else out. To destroy everyone in the know - myself included. Maybe something changed along the way, maybe they realised your CIA was onto them. Either way… it was the end for all of us.”

“Even the ones cross country… shit. They were prepared for this. Shit… I mean… you told me about your parents. I guess you didn’t leave anyone behind, at least.”

There’s silence for a moment. I wonder if I’m losing awareness again before I hear that familiar sigh through crackling audio. Finally, I heard her speak up again, her voice more shaken than it was before. I don’t know what led to me hearing this, what led to all this being exposed when it had been so long, but it was no less painful for me to listen to her, to be reminded of all that had happened to her, to us. I was starting to wonder if she even remembered who I was, when my answer came to me without me having to ask.

“… we did. Fuck. I did. We… couldn’t even say goodbye. We knew what was happening, and-... we pushed him away. We didn’t want to drag him into this, too.”

“Who?”

“… his name was Alex.“

Me? Me? She remembered, after all this time? I ask the brief silence that’s allowed between me registering my own name and her next sentence how this could even be possible. There’s no reply but the gentle static of the television as she continues speaking.

“He was there for us. If it wasn’t for him, we might not be Garis now.” ‘Garis’? What kind of name is that? Don’t tell me… no. Save that thought for another time.

“He showed us the best of times, and stuck with us in the worst of times. He knew… he knew about what we truly went through, we told him. And he helped us anyway. Loved us anyway. He…” ...what’s that silence for? “They, told me about how their dad used to isolate them socially, stick them to one place, and how they grew jealous of all the other kids who had parents who loved them, parents who took them places instead of keeping them cooped up in their rooms, parents that… didn’t have any agreement between each other to do what they wanted to their children. Together, we figured out ways to fight back against our abusers. I was able to defy the God in the Numbers because of them. Because of their... humanity, that nobody else showed us. Fuck… all that time, we thought we were saving them. But, now we’re together, we realise… they were saving us. If they became a target…”

I hear her sniffle. I feel as if I could cry, but my stupid, stupid body just won’t let me. It won’t let me get up, it won’t let me reach out, call to her, speak to her and tell her that I’m okay, that I’m happy that she’s okay! I wanted her to know, more than anything in the world, that I was thankful for her!

… tell me something,” I hear the other man say. “If there’s something you could say to them right now, if they’re alive, if they could listen... what would it be?” I didn’t want to stop listening to her voice now. If it were me, I know I’d refuse to answer and be out of there, and that’s precisely what I expected from her. We were the same, so I thought. And, hey, they never were the type to wear their heart on their sleeve. But that’s when I heard her again.

“… I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t explain to you what was happening, Alex. But… you saved my life. I wish I knew where you were, and I promise one day we’ll find a way to talk to each other again, someway, somehow, and I’ll tell you, once and for all…

Thank you.”

When I heard those words echoing in my mind, I thought I would break. Shatter like glass on this bed. That I would black out just from hearing her say that, and mean it. It was then that I realised something; for as comatose, unable to act or speak as I was, I was alive.

I’d finally stood up to my dad. It got me where I am now, but it was worth it. When I finally put that bastard in his place, when I made it damn clear that I wasn’t ever going to be a puppet again… I thought of her. I thought of all we’d been through, all she’d taught me. We were just kids, seeking shelter in each other’s misery, but we’d both saved each others’ lives through that. What goes around comes around, I guess.

I want to smile. I want to laugh. I want to scream, I want to cry. I can already feel my mind drifting, her final words echoing in my brain as I slip back into my lack of awareness, the only proof I’ll ever have that the person I once loved and leaned on was alive. Who knows if I’d ever find her again? One thing’s for sure, though, I thought to myself as I drifted through that dark space once more, time losing all meaning in the face of one single, burning objective, my determination already scorching like the sun in my eyes, still forced shut. For as long as it would take for me to get out of here, get back into the world, I carried just one thought; I will wake up from this void, this nightmare. I will live. I will thrive. I’ll be free from the chains that held me down for all those years he stole from me. I will work for myself, and maybe, just maybe… I’ll love again.

I’ll manifest the one thing my dad was right about; I was born for greatness.

And now there’s a world waiting for me that’s worth waking up to. A world with you in it.

Please, for the love of God, wait for me.

However long it takes.