#it also makes me blurry and nauseous

[explodesyouwithmymind]

I miss certain people so bad it's humiliating. It's our own fault they don't want to be around us anymore. The details are fuzzy at this point but I know it's our fucking fault. I miss having people to talk to, and being that kinda close with people. I wish It hadn't taken the complete destruction of the first good relationships we're had in a long time to realize how fucked up we are at safely navigating interpersonal relationships.

[pyroguesstuff]

thinking about.. her for today (falls to my knees and collapses into dust)

(id in alt text)

[vamptastic]

I always thought of diabetes as a thing you either Have or Don't but I looked into it a bit and man I was like extremely close to being diabetic before medication and literally follow the same treatment as type 2 diabetics (metformin and blood sugar monitoring). Hell if I had another blood test before starting the meds I may have been considered diabetic medically. Anyway I had the worst blood sugar crash of my Fucking Life tonight and had do the test it, drink orange juice, test again to be able to go to bed safely and it all just sucks. I don't want to deal with this happening for the rest of my life.

[cutieln4]

Fuck It I Love You | LN4

lando norris x reader, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

summary: lando and y/n seem to absolutely hate each other until a dangerous situation reveals the truth

warnings: drink spiking, threats of sexual assault (nothing graphic, someone tries to take her home)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some reason, Lando and her never got along. It stemmed from when they were karting together, all the way until they both got to Formula 1.

Now, at ages 21 and 23, they drove for rival teams and were always going wheel to wheel.

Monza wasn't any different.

Max and Charles were far in front, but she and Lando were fighting over the last podium place. They were switching back and forth until on the last lap, she maybe pushed him a bit too far on one of the last corners, securing 3rd place.

He approached her when she was making her way back from the post-race press conference, on her way to the media pen.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded.

She shrugged, smirking. "Not quite sure what you're talking about."

"Oh don't play dumb. That was dirty racing on the last lap and you know it."

"I don't see how it's any different from what you did to me in Austria, or last year at Silverstone."

She could see his jaw clench, and she knew she got him.

"Maybe keep your talking on the track," she told him before he could reply, walking away.

That night she was at the club celebrating with a couple of the other drivers. She was pretty close with Max, Charles, Oscar, and Daniel. It made things a bit awkward with them when she and Lando were really going at it because they were all good friends with Lando too. But whatever, it was mostly fine.

She had been dancing and throwing back drinks until she forgot about her and Lando's feud. She's also pretty sure the other drivers got some embarrassing videos of her. Her current drink was eventually empty and she stumbled away to the bar, not telling anyone.

She waved the bartender over to ask for another drink, tipping them $20. If it weren't for the alcohol in her system, she would've flinched when a man suddenly appeared at her side. It was crowded by the bar, and he was pressing right against her.

"Hey baby, let me buy you a drink."

"That's alright, I already have one," she politely declined, hoping he would just leave her alone.

"Oh come on, don't be like that honey."

She twisted her neck around to try to spot the other drivers and when she did, she grabbed her drink and left. The man luckily didn't follow.

Halfway through her drink, she started noticing that something was wrong. Her head was spinning way more than it should be, she was sweating like crazy, nauseous, and her body felt heavy.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she slurred out to Max before stumbling away.

She didn't make it far before she was grabbing onto the wall to keep herself up. She knew at the moment that something was terribly wrong. She most likely had her drink spiked, and now she was separated from her group and incapacitated.

A hand grabbed her arm and she looked up. Her vision was too blurry to make out any features, but she knew it wasn't one of the drivers.

"You okay, babe? Let me help you."

"N-No, m' good, leav' me 'lone."

She tried to escape his grip, but she could barely move, her strength was completely gone. The man wrapped his whole arm around her waist, supporting her as he walked her out of the club while she tried to protest.

The cold, fresh air felt good when it hit her, but then she remembered what situation she was in. The man was dragging her along more roughly now.

"Stop, 'lease, I don' wanna go with you," her pleading sounded more and more like pathetic whimpers falling on unheard ears.

He just kept walking down the street, gripping her so hard there'd probably be bruises.

"Don't, please, leave me 'lone," she whined, eyes welling up with tears as she tried to escape his grip again.

He suddenly shoved her face-first into a building, rough concrete scraping her arms and face, and she fell to the ground.

"Shut up and don't move!" he hissed.

He yanked her back up and dragged her along.

"No, no, please, stop," she cried, nearly sobbing. She was scared, she couldn't feel anything, and she was completely separated from anyone she knew while some strange man was leading her somewhere.

"Hey!" another voice suddenly yelled, about 5 meters behind them. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Whoever this person was, they sounded pissed.

"Nothing man, mind your business," the man next to her said.

"No, I won't mind my fucking business. Let go of her before I smash your face in."

The man scoffed, trying to continue walking.

"I warned you," the other man said before suddenly she fell to the ground and she heard a thud of skin-on-skin contact, before a groan.

She was on the ground, leaning her back against the wall while her head drooped to the side. She couldn't see much, but she could hear the punching continue.

"Stop, stop, man, I'm sorry!"

"Oh yeah? Did you listen to her when she asked you to stop?"

Eventually, it went quiet, and there were footsteps in her direction. The man who saved her crouched down in front of her and put his hands on her cheeks, supporting her head. It was then that her vision cleared up a bit, and she realized who the person was.

"Lando?" she asked, voice slurring.

"Yeah, it's me. I got you."

She started sobbing, trembling hands gripping his jacket as he wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry into his chest.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here. It's okay, you're safe now," he whispered to her as he rubbed her back.

"I-I was so, so scared," she cried.

"I know, I know. I got you."

Lando then used one hand to fish out his phone, calling the police. They waited while the police showed up, him trying to keep her awake.

When the police arrived, one of the officers arrested the unconscious man on the ground while the other rode with them in the ambulance to take their statements. Y/n never let go of Lando's hand once.

The hospital kept her overnight for observation after making sure whatever drug she was spiked with wasn't lethal, and collecting evidence and taking pictures of her injuries. She had finally given in to unconsciousness, and Lando was sitting next to her, holding her hand.

It was only when everything was a little settled down that he saw that she had nearly 100 missed calls from various drivers. Shit, he forgot about that.

He opened up his phone and called Daniel.

"Hey, man I can't talk right now," Daniel said right away, sounding panicked.

"Hold on—"

"Actually, do you by chance know where Y/n is?"

"Yeah, about that, I'm in the hospital—"

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Can you let me finish my sentence? I'm with Y/n. She was drugged and I saw her on the street. Some man was dragging her with him, and she was clearly asking him to leave her alone. Anyway, she's a little banged up, but she's okay, nothing happened. They're just keeping her overnight for observation."

Daniel let out a big sigh of relief, said something to someone next to him, and then turned back to the phone.

"Thank fuck, we've been trying to find her for hours. Thank you, Lando, seriously. I can't imagine if you hadn't been there. What hospital is she at?"

After telling him where they were, he hung up. 

Lando sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes as he reflected on what the hell just happened. 

Y/n shifted in front of him, and he immediately sat up straight. 

"Lando?" she mumbled, voice hoarse and still half-asleep. 

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. Do you remember what happened?"

She paused, but then her face crumpled, and she nodded. 

"It's okay, it's okay, don't cry," he soothed. 

"You saved me. I thought you would've just let him take me."

Lando's eyebrows furrowed, stomach twisting just at the thought.

"Why would you think that?"

"You hate me," she muttered, eyes looking down. 

"I don't," he paused, hesitating. "I don't hate you at all. I...I didn't plan on ever telling you this, but I really like you. You're funny, you're witty, you're kind, you're fearless, you never back down from a challenge, and I love all those things about you. And I know you probably want nothing to do with me and you hate my guts, but I just need to get it off my chest―"

"―Lando, just shut up and kiss me. I like you too, idiot."

Lando grinned, showing the gap between his front two teeth that she always loved, and leaned down to connect their lips. 

"Do you think people would get suspicious if we stopped being mean to each other?" he asked.

"Probably. We should just hard launch."

"I don't think our PR teams would appreciate that."

Later, when Daniel made it to the hospital, he was extremely surprised to see the two of them cuddled up together. He just had to take a picture.

[cntloup]

Medieval AU implied prostitution, homelessness, some foul language, punching and throwing around poor reader :(

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

You feel everything start to fade away. The sounds are muffled and your vision is blurry. Though you can still make out some words, “Whore!”... “Wench!” and such.  

You feel light-headed and dizzy as you’re thrown around and countless flying punches land onto your face and body.  

You can sense the metallic taste in your mouth become more and more unbearable and start to get nauseous from all of it, the severity of the pain and swirling around too much. 

Until you begin to feel numb. There's no pain anymore. And you can sense yourself slowly drifting into unconsciousness. 

But suddenly, everything stops. There's no punch or being thrown around anymore.

You don’t notice much as you lay still on the ground, but you can see the large figure hovering above you through the blur.

And that’s the only thing you see before you fall unconscious. 

----- 

You wake up surrounded by warmth, something you haven’t felt in a long time and a delicious smell you can’t exactly put your finger on. 

You slowly blink the drowsiness away and are met by an unfamiliar room. 

You push back the several blankets that are stacked on top of you and shuffle out of bed. 

You start to walk towards the smell, groggily and confused by your surroundings through the fog in your brain, from sleep or the numerous punches you took to your head, you don’t exactly know. 

You walk into the kitchen to meet someone with his back to you, facing the pot above the fireplace. That must be the source of the delightful aroma. 

Bits and pieces of scattered images start to come back through your memory and you wince from the sudden sharp pain in your head. 

“You should rest. Go back to bed. I'll bring you some stew.” he says in a deep voice without turning to face you. 

And you remember. The large figure you saw yesterday... was it yesterday? You must have lost track of time. 

He must’ve saved you from the crowd of savages who claim themselves men of God but are surely the embodiment of the devil. 

“Thank you.” you say, your voice weak from the hoarseness of your throat. And that’s the only thing you say since you still feel weak, also you can sense that he is not much of a talker and you wouldn’t want to be a nuisance. 

“No need to thank me, love.” he responds, still in the same deep voice but softer tone. 

‘Love?’ you ask yourself, surprised of such sentiments from such a man. But you can’t deny that it does indeed make you feel a little bit fuzzy. 

It's been a long long time since any man has shown you any kind of affection, even the smallest bit, let alone save you from some heartless monsters and take you in his home, give you shelter and food. 

They always only care for their own pleasure. They even go as far as to wreck their own home, their family, only to get just a little bit of taste of that forbidden fruit. And you offer them just that.

But you are most grateful to this kind man. Whoever he is. And you won’t take it for granted.

ik i already have so many wips but i'm gonna start a series for this one since i'm obsessed with medieval au rn :')

[ceilidho]

exit, no entry wound joe bear graves x reader; part 1 (3.8k)

-

Local time at destination: 0500 hours.

And then the world rushes back to him like the culmination of a terrible dream.

Bear wakes up in another rosebush outside the front steps of the local library worse for wear. Blinking out of sleep-crusted eyes, shapes diverging in blurry unfocus before slipping back into material objects. A bench. A door. The thorny stems of roses already on their way out, already depetalling, the ground below covered in a thin layer of them. One petal even sticking to his cheek when he pulls himself off the ground, wincing at the branches that crunch around him, that tug against his skin and clothes.

His clothes smell of cheap liquor. Gin. Bourbon. It hurts to open his eyes, to sit up. 

“Morning, sunshine,” someone says. He remembers hearing it in his dream too. 

He looks to the source of his awakening, blanching when he notices the man staring at him.

Rip sits on the other side of the bushes on his haunches, looking deeply unimpressed. Hair slicked back for a change. “This what you get up to when I’m gone?”

Bear doesn’t respond. He struggles to his feet instead, hangover only just creeping in. Still drunk, to an extent. His knees threaten to buckle under him, forcing him to lay a hand flat on the wall to keep himself upright. One foot in front of the other. The walk home feels endless in the hour before dawn, hardly any light to guide him. 

“Pretty pathetic shit, Bear,” the man says, trailing along behind him. Not quite mockingly, but bordering on it. “Getting piss drunk and passing out in a bush? Really? C’mon, man. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

There’s no sense in responding, Bear knows that now. No sense in even turning around to look. One foot in front of the other. Stumbling home alone under the cloak of night, dawn just around the corner; terrified that one day he’ll have to see it—the sun coming over the mountains, over the horizon. 

It’s been less than a year. He hasn’t yet made his amends with God. Forgiveness sits outside of him. Not quite the right time to let it in. Maybe that time passed a long time ago, a small aperture that shuttered closed at the approach of his eyes. He missed it sometime between killing a boy and losing his mind.

A man cannot hold himself up on the scaffolding of the world alone. There has to be something beneath him. There is no sense in repeating the horrors of the world back to him; he’s already lived them. He’s got something of a Midas touch for death. 

The months have been long since the divorce was finalised, since Lena left for good, since Buckley died, since Rip—since it all went down. If he thinks about it for too long, it seems like a nightmare that he woke up from still mad about; a nightmare he had no choice but to drink himself into a stupor over to escape. That’s the reality of the world. 

“You know, Bear, you’re not the one that’s fuckin’ dead,” Rip spits as he follows behind, matching Bear’s stumbling gait stride for stride. “So you can stop acting like it.”

There’s a truth in Rip’s words and it leaves him feeling nauseous. There’s also a kink in his neck and a headache threatening to split his forehead open. In the belly of him, he has a truth that says that the firmament of heaven is beyond his reach. When he looks up and the sky is void of coruscating light, the meagre stars like an exit with no entry wound, it doesn’t surprise him. Of course there wouldn’t be anything there.

On a good day, his heart feels like it’s weathered a siege. 

“So she left you! It’s time to fuckin’ move on. Go to a bar—I mean, you already are, so step one done—and pick someone up. Go on Christian Mingle or something. You keep living your life like this and you’re going to wind up killing yourself. And then the fuck good that’ll do?”

It takes everything in him to not turn around and do something rash. Only the nausea keeps him from making any sudden movements. Even if he were to turn around and do something, his knees would probably buckle under him. Probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Not much in there either. It rumbles when he thinks that, clenching at the thought of food. Then it twists, the nausea returning. 

One foot in front of the other. The walk home takes twice as long, his whole body aching.

“Heard you almost quit. Wouldn’t be the worst idea you ever had. Let Buddha take over—he’s earned it. Get yourself a nice piece of land in fuckin’…Montana or something. Couple cows, maybe some chicken—you could get a dog, Christ. You look like a guy who’d have a dog. Why don’t you have a dog, actually? You would’ve told me if you didn’t like dogs, so it’s not that.”

His forehead is greasy when he touches it to rub his head. Body secreting poison in his sleep. Oily. The corners of his lips crack when he yawns. It’s not like he’s never thought about a dog, about having something to care for, another living thing in his house. 

But—

(“Bear? …I don’t think we should have a child.”)

What he wants often falls to the wayside, slides off him like a glancing blow. 

Her old, familiar shape appears at the sudden loss of a dream: one where Lena’s gaze lingers on him long enough to burn; but then it is the sun.

Bear watches dawn break. Sunday morning. In a different life, he would’ve squinted into the light of a new day and closed his eyes against it, curling into the slighter body tucked into his chest for another hour of rest. Felt the rise and fall of her chest. Woken up to a hot mouth on his cock or fingers curling in his chest hair, petal lips seeking him out. Church after that, showering off the remnants of their morning, solemn in their pews with their chests still holding the laughter of an hour previous. Light as air, as a feather. 

He won’t go to church today; hasn’t in months. Not with the guilt of missing it the week before trailing after him, each missed week compounding month after month. The cracks in his faith webbing. Splintering out like stepping on the lake when it freezes over in the winter, crunching under his boot until he holds his place. Conscious that it could break under his feet.

“I grew up with a dog,” Bear finally responds, voice hoarse. First thing he’s said since last call at the bar. 

“Yeah. Figures. What kind?”

“Black lab. We called her Daisy.”

It’s another lifetime ago. Still living in his parent’s house, Daisy curled by his dad’s feet, her favourite spot to sleep. Television playing at a low volume, mom at the kitchen table doing her crossword, ink bleeding into the side of her hand. It’s been a long time since Bear buried all of them. He’s buried countless people since. 

“What—can’t get another? One and done? That’s how everything works for you?”

Teeth raze across his skin again. Trust Rip to always cut to the quick. Finally back in his neighbourhood at least, the street empty apart from the cars parked in their driveways or along the sidewalk. Bear’s stomach rumbles something fierce now, entreating him to eat. Worse than hunger is how he’d kill for a glass of water though. Anything to settle his head.

“Haven’t wanted a dog,” Bear grumbles, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, you have,” Rip scoffs. Bear hears him kick a rock, sending it skidding across the asphalt. 

“Fuck off.”

Heart silicified in his chest, composed of fossilised shells and rocks and bones. It feels heavy in his chest. 

He turns down the street leading to his house. 

“Gotta let someone else in, Bear. Girl, dog—whatever. You can’t keep this up forever or it’ll kill you.”

When he turns around at the door, fishing in his pocket for his keys, the sidewalk beyond his house is empty. 

(So a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.)

Every Friday like clockwork, Bear stops at the diner down the street for a coffee and a slice of cherry pie before heading to the bar. 

Today is like any other. He leaves the house with only his keys and wallet and walks the long twenty minutes to the diner. Every time he fights the urge to drive, but there has to be something holding him in place. A reason not to throw it all away. 

It’s never completely empty when he shows up, but it’s never full either. His seat at the back of the room is open as usual, like they put up a sign before he comes ambling down the street that says Reserved for Joe Graves and then pluck it away before he opens the door. It’d be nice if that were the case. Nice to have something just for him for a change. The thought comes with its accompanying pang of shame. Desire is a dangerous thing; anything he’s ever wanted has come at him with sharpened teeth, clamping down on his leg and ripping through the flesh. Bear trap for old Bear. 

He slides into the booth and waits for someone to notice him. Never bothers to flag someone down—if it’s ten minutes or even half an hour before he’s served, that’s fine by him. 

“Hiya,” a clear voice says to his right, pulling him away from staring through the blinds out the window. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

The face Bear turns to meet is pleasant, smiling. Wide and untroubled. It’s not a face he recognizes though, despite months coming to this diner and becoming familiar with the staff. If he had to guess, he’d bet she only started a few days ago, maybe a week at most. She still has the sparkle of someone who hasn’t had the goodness beaten out of them yet. 

“Coffee,” he says, his own smile strained. “And a slice of pie.”

“Sure—we have key lime, blueberry, apple—”

“Cherry,” he interrupts, not letting her build steam. The wick in his chest burns too low for any conversation. The quick flicker of her brow makes the shame in his chest swell again. Forgive me sitting on his lips, unsaid. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I do this. 

She nods and scurries off to the back, skirt swishing with her movements. Bear notices only because his eyes get stuck there, somewhere between the curves of her hips and the roundness of her ass. When he realizes where he’s let his mind wander, he pulls it back, flattening his lips into a hard line. Any sort of indulgence feels wrong, a taking that shouldn’t be taken. He hasn’t even begun to pay penance for all the damage he’s wrought. 

It’s only on her way back that Bear notices the small bump protruding from under her apron. His mouth goes dry. When she reaches him again, he wordlessly accepts the cup of coffee and her reassurance that the pie will be out in just a minute. For a moment, he can hardly meet her gaze, eyes locked on the gentle curve of her belly, caught off guard in a way he hasn’t been in months. 

The first thought with any clarity is, what is she doing working here? A crummy diner on a Friday night. Down the street from an even sleazier pub. His second thought is to look outside at the poorly lit stretch of road and think that this is no place for a pregnant woman to be alone. He recognizes each car in the parking lot save one, likely hers. Drove herself here with the expectation of driving herself home at the end of the night.

If it had been Lena—well, he never would’ve let it be Lena, but if it had been, Bear can’t imagine letting his pregnant wife drive herself home in the middle of the night. Can hardly stomach the thought. 

She’s not Lena though, so he has no right. 

She’s gone before he has time to say anything else, skirt swishing behind her. It catches his eye again. When he tears his gaze away for a second time, he swallows back the metallic taste of self-loathing. It curdles in his mouth. It’s the sign telling him to stop coveting, stop looking out into the world and wondering what he can take. It’s his hamartia, his fatal flaw; thinking himself above the reproach of God. Thinking that he can kill, fuck, curse, and stray farther and farther from the light only to find his way back in the dark. 

The bell above the door rings when someone else comes in and Bear tenses. His shoulders only relax when two older women step in and head to a table. 

He watches as she picks up a plate from the pass-through window and heads back towards him. When she places it in front of him, he draws a deep breath in, trying to catch more than just the aroma of fresh baked cherries. 

“Here we go…one slice of cherry pie, straight out of the oven.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bear rumbles, smile finally meeting his eyes. 

“No trouble. The guys in the back said they make it special for you. Joe, right?”

That gets him to levy her with the full weight of his attention. The thought of her asking about him. “I go by Bear.”

“Oh. Alright, Bear.” She twists the word around in her mouth and seems to find it satisfying. “I think I’ve heard your name before. You were—I mean, you’re part of Pastor Adams’ parish, right?”

He clears his throat, cutting off the triangle point of his pie with the side of his fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Me too,” she confides, voice a low whisper. A secret between strangers. She doesn’t glance around though, doesn’t bother to draw out the ruse. “Or, I was, anyway. Haven’t been to service in awhile. I, um…I remember you. From a year or so back. You and your—um…you and your wife used to always sit up at the front.”

The fork scrapes against the plate. “Ex-wife.”

He catches her wince from the corner of his eye. “Oh. Sorry. You just—” She doesn’t have to say it. The slight dip of her eyes tells him all he has to know, and besides, it’s his own fault for still wearing the ring. Even with the paperwork signed and dated, even with Lena in another state now, starting a new life without him, the thought of taking it off makes him break out in a cold sweat. 

“It’s not—” Bear starts before giving up. He curls his fingers into a fist on the table. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

She fidgets in the silence. Bear can’t bring himself to break it or make the atmosphere less oppressive. He tenses under it, the ache in his low back worsening. These days, he always aches. Nerve damage, a disc on the verge of slipping, an old ankle injury that flares up whenever he goes running. A ghost that follows him from haunt to haunt. The ring on his finger is just another old ache. 

“So, uh—” he clears his throat, nodding to her belly. “Your first?” 

It’s inappropriate, hardly his place to ask. Incredibly intrusive for someone he’s met for the first time, a stranger just trying to do her job and serve him coffee and pie before he goes off to drink himself half to death again at the dive bar down the road. 

Still, he asks. 

Only the faintest wrinkle of her nose betrays any embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. First one.”

“Congratulations.” It’s sincere. The envy in his gut is old, but it’s a manageable pain. 

“Thanks,” she says, with a small, private smile, hand resting absently under her belly. “I’m excited. I’m only a couple months along, but, uh…it’s been a journey. Just me and baby against the world, you know.”

That stops him in his tracks. Screws up the whole course of his evening because suddenly the sound of the bell over the door jingling doesn’t draw his attention away. It stays fixed on the smiling girl to his right that just opened her mouth and said something unacceptable. 

“Where’s the dad?” he asks, far too bluntly. 

She shrugs. “Somewhere. Didn’t stick around long enough to tell me where. It’s fine though—I’ve got my little peanut. That’s all that matters.”

“You told him and he left?” 

The pie sits cooling in front of Bear as a pit in his stomach opens up. It’s a terrible, empty hole that holds truths like the fallibility of the body and the good shouldering the burdens of the world.  

He only regrets being so direct when her lip quivers, a little motion that betrays her until she wrests control over her face again. “It’s not his fault. I don’t think he was—well…you know, it was a surprise.”

“That’s—” he struggles to find his words, “—that’s not right.”

Again, she shrugs. “That’s life.”

Bear feels his eyes go hard. A coldness settles under his skin. 

In the deep, dark gut of him, only anger lives. He spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but refuses, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to kill him. He’s given him enough opportunity and enough reason. 

The answer he circles back to time and again is the same. An eye for an eye. Divine wrath. The litany of his sins could be sung until the end of time and there’d still be more to sing. It’s only right that there would be consequences for him. 

The rage that simmers in his blood now is twofold. It begins with the sharp pang of injustice, of witnessing a punishment meted out to someone innocent. The girl standing by the booth he’s shoved himself into, almost too small for a man of his size, cannot be deserving of the same punishment that he’s brought upon himself. She has never killed. The babe in her belly has never killed. The two of them should never have to meet at the point of two paths converging with the likes of someone like Bear and proceed down the same road together. 

Then it sinks into a familiar territory. A place at the core of him where righteousness gives way to envy, as it always does. After what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then sending it back leaves him feeling a bit off-kilter. Not quite right. 

“Bear?” Her voice breaks the silence. When he blinks, concerned eyes stare down at him, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face. Shaking it off. “Sorry, I—got lost in my head. Sorry.” 

“That’s alright,” she says, again gentle in her voice and smile. “Easy place to get lost in, isn’t it?”

He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Drags the silence out. Her mouth twists shy under his scrutiny. 

“Anyway, I have a few other tables to get to, if you don’t mind. Enjoy your pie. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

He eats his slice of pie in silence as she leaves, eyes following her to her next table. Rage still sizzles under his fingertips. It makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems. 

It’s like a gun punch to think of her all on her own. It’s not right. For someone like him, well, it’s—deserved, earned. Inevitable, even. Every step taking him further away from grace, from its light. No one who knows his story would think otherwise. 

She’s a pretty thing though, this new waitress. Too tired, the bags under her eyes testament to that, no matter how well she hides them with makeup. Slightly puffy anyway, maybe from a lack of sleep or too many tears. His stomach aches at the thought. It must have come as a shock, the bottom of her world dropping out from under her when the baby’s father took off. Dragged away from the church not through her own doing, but the fault of another. Not her shame to bear, and yet. 

He forces the pie down. Bites that taste like nothing, 

Bear hears the lilt of her voice from two tables over. “Refill on your coffee, hun?” 

A supplicant sits in his place as he sips his coffee. The hour slips by into the next and it starts to come together in his mind. Why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. His eyes follow her flit across the diner, the light seeming to bend around her like a halation. 

When Bear looks across the room at her, he thinks, Lord, do not think I am waiting patiently for your hands. Every part of me trembles with anxiety.

(O Lord, show me I can fall apart together again; but not just yet.)

He stays until the last customer has finally left, waiting for her to come back to his table with an apologetic smile. When she does, Bear hands her his empty plate, watching her take a step back when he scoots out of the booth, rising to his full height. He makes note of the way her eyes round as they follow him up. Taller than her, unsurprisingly. Surprising though, the way her bottom lip droops just the slightest bit. 

“Is it just you closing up?” he asks, voice a tad too gruff. He clears his throat again, looking around for anyone else. 

“Well, the chef’s cleaning up in the back, but, uh—” she looks around the diner, conspicuously empty apart from the two of them. “Yeah. Just me.”

Bear gestures with his chin towards the door. “I’ll wait ‘till you’re done, then walk you to your car.”

“Oh, Joe—”

“Bear,” he corrects.

“Bear,” she amends, fingers twisting together now. He relishes the sound of it on her lips. “You don’t have to. I’m used to it, honestly. I know I just started here, but I’ve done closes before, you know.”

“I’ll wait outside.” A statement now. Stubborn. He’s always been a bit mulish, hard to shake off. 

He can tell the second she relents, shoulders slumping. “Alright. I shouldn’t be too long…you can leave if you get bored though. Won’t blame you.” 

He fights the urge to tilt her head up by the chin to make her meet his eyes. Just barely restrains himself. 

Leaning against a tree out front, he twirls the ring around his finger as he watches her clean up. For the first time in a long time, he slips it off.

[ymechi]

Who is the real Creator?

Hello! I have a bit of an announcement to make I don't think everyone has seen the previous post but an anon asked me if I will continue the series and to be honest I don't think I will. This series was made on a whim and was really fun to write except I hit a roadblock. I am unsure where to continue with this I feel like I have written enough and not sure where to go from here story wise, that is why I decided to discontinue the story. Thank you everyone who commented and liked I enjoyed seeing your guys reactions. For now this is the last chapter. If I ever decide to continue this or make a new series I look forward to seeing you guys there!

-TW: cult au, yandere, impostor au, mentions of being hunted down, mentions of trauma, self harm (nothing major), OOC character

-Gn reader and darling (please tell me if I mess this up message me and I will fix it)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, this is part 6

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The beat of their heart was as loud as a drum. Reader could even feel their head vibrate in tandem with the marching drums they had heard before when they were younger. Their vision felt blurry and their head was light. The fading sun outside the windows caught their eye. Reader felt nauseous.

They were such a coward they had left Nahida and Wanderer to clean up after them as they ran away. Reader wanted to help her not add more trouble yet here they were weak and unable to speak.

Distantly they heard a gasp.

"Reader! Are you okay? Oh no- Traveller come quick!"

Two blurry figures came closer to Reader. They idly noted one of the figures was floating. . . Ohh, it was Paimon and Aether.

Seeing the two somehow calmed them down and they tried to take deep breaths. With a calmer and clearer mind, they noticed that both stared at Reader with worried expressions.

Reader gave a wry smile.

"Hi Paimon, hi Traveller."

The two said nothing staring at Reader and then at each other coming to an agreement of some sort.

"Paimon thinks you should sit down first," she said, trailing off and looking down.

Reader also noticed Aether was looking down as well to the side, it was then it dawned on Reader they were looking at their sliced palm. They subconsciously tried to hide it but stopped midway bringing it forward towards the duo.

"I guess you two were also summoned but were late haha," they said with a flat laugh.

Traveler continued to look at them with a worried frown and Paimon who usually had a positive expression looked even more worried. Reader's wry smile seemed not to work sadly.

"P-Paimon is still not sure what is going on but Paimon thinks you should sit down first. . ."

"I agree let's get you somewhere to rest first."

Aether reached his hand out as an invite and Reader felt too weak to reject him. He took their hand and guided them further down the hall towards a seating area where guests could sit. There Reader was able to sit down and calm down.

"Thanks, I do feel better."

Aether smiled and nodded while Paimon's eyes sifted from looking at them and then at a wall.

"Uhm- so Paimon has been wondering. . ."

It was obvious what she was referring to. They held the sliced palm with the other hand almost cradling it.

"Sorry, I did not mean to keep it from you guys. . . I just found out recently as well, I-I hope you are not mad."

"What! Why would we be mad? You are the creator- Oh no should we bow?" Paimon said looking at Reader then around as if someone would pop up and admonish her.

Traveler shook his head at his companion's antics and gave Reader a sad smile.

"I hope you can forgive out-"

"Oh no stop there!"

Reader jumped out quickly from their seat causing the duo to step back (the other to float back) in shock. Reader stepped forward and looked at them with a serious expression.

"I don't care if I am some creator or whatever and I don't care about that formal shit, especially when you two are my friends!"

Reader was not sure where this outburst came from. Was it because of the stressful day? Was it having to see people you did not like or was it because of having to watch Wanderer act subservient for so long?

"So no your grace or bowing!"

The two still looked aback. Suddenly Reader felt embarrassed shouting at them when they were concerned about her.

"W-well uhm, sorry, yeah I should not have shouted. . ."

Reader wrung their hands together but stopped when they noticed the sliced palm. They looked down at their shoes.

"Paimon. . . Paimon thinks of you as a friend too," she said and her cheeks turned red.

Reader smiled at her and Traveller sighed but gave the floating girl a smile.

"If that is what you wish for then who are we to say no?"

He sounded a tad bit too formal for Reader but it would have to do for now.

"None of that now, how have the two of you been?"

Paimon opened her mouth about to answer Reader's question but she was interrupted unexpectedly.

"Your Grace-"

Reader's heart skipped a beat and not the good kind. The calm they experienced before was gone and their body froze again. The one who spoke was unmistakably the retired geo Archon. He looked frazzled and looked at Reader in a way they could not decipher.

"Your grace I. . ."

"That is enough I had already told you they were not ready to talk to you yet."

Nahida came afterward it looks like she rushed over to where they were. Her face was stern and it looked so out of place compared to her more relaxed and curious features. Reader's stomach clenched. Zhongli looked as if he wanted to argue with her. His face took on a harsher stance as he looked at her.

No.

They would not let him.

"Whatever it is you want to say it's with me leave her out of this."

Their hands were shaking but they held them together. Nahida looked surprised at them and Reader wanted to reassure her it was going to be alright. Aether from his side approached them and stood between the Archon and Reader. The implication that he was willing to defend them from one of the strongest beings in Teyvat was not lost on Reader. They did feel safer by having him on their side and Paimon as well.

"Your grace I," Zhongli paused his gaze on Reader with a guilty look that made them feel uncomfortable, "If I had known if only. . ."

"That does not matter anymore," Reader interrupted him.

He looked at them and flinched.

"Save your what 'ifs’, you did what you did and I won't forget it."

The unexpected venom that came out of Reader surprised even them. Zhongli had taken to look down he looked ashamed, how dare he? Now he wants to act all guilty. Reader scoffed.

"You have done enough damage for today, I suggest you leave neither me or the Dendro Archon are in a mood to deal with you," Reader said and crossed their arms.

They idly wondered if the meeting had gone awry for her to come here. Nahida looked thoroughly surprised.

Zhongli opened his mouth to speak but Reader beat him to it.

"That is all I have nothing more to say."

"I think I will take it over here with Mr. Zhongli and the rest."

They nodded at Nahida. Reader tugged at Aether's scarf for him to follow them.

.

.

.

They entered Reader's new room and their muscles went lax. It felt though as if they had carried a heavy boulder. They threw decorum away and sat on their desk stool.

"Sorry, I think I need a bit of rest."

"It's okay Paimon doesn't think anyone would handle talking to a guy that tried to kill as well as you did."

Aether glared at Paimon and she jumped up in the air while still floating.

"Maybe Paimon should not have said that. . ."

Reader looked at her and shook their head with a smile.

"It's okay, you sort of reminded me I did something pretty cool huh?"

Paimon's expression eased and she nodded.

"While Zhongli is our friend what he did to you was unforgivable so Paimon thinks he ought to get kicked around for what he did."

"Heh, it seems like you can speak some sense from time to time."

It was Wanderer who had entered when the door was still unopened. Paimon did look angry at his remark.

"You! What do you mean Paimon always says things that make sense!"

"Yeah sure," he said with a mocking smile and crossed his arms.

"You came early did something happen?" Reader spoke.

Wanderer uncrossed his arms and shook his head.

"No Lesser Lord Kusanali came back with the funeral consultant and told me to look out for you."

Ohh, Reader's heart melted a bit. They really had a good friend, next time they should make her something as thanks.

"Paimon has a question are you planning to announce it to everyone that you are the creator?"

Aether looked at Reader more intently as well. It seemed he was interested in the topic.

"No, I rather not, we decided to let the acolytes know for now their words hold some sway if they could calm the public down after the 'fake' left."

Aether had a thoughtful expression and nodded at Reader's answer. Perhaps he guessed Reader was not in the mood to talk about this particular topic and left it a that. Reader was once again thankful for their friend's thoughtfulness.

"Sorry for all the drama today take a seat what have you two been up to?"

Aether smiled and sat down while Wanderer ever the polite one bought fruits and left to get some tea. The Traveler and his companion told them of the many new adventures they had and the people they met. After Wanderer came back with the tea all of them sat down and listened as Paimon did a dramatic retelling of a recent commission they took on.

"I see everyone is having a fun time."

"Nahida!" Reader went out of their seat to check on the Archon.

"I hope there was not too much trouble are all right? Did something happen?"

"No worries I am fine and nothing happened it took a while to convince some to leave, there were acolytes who wanted to meet you."

Reader grimaced.

"Yeah sorry, next time I won't run away like that."

Nahida shook her head.

"No, it is part of my duty, there is no need for you to do it if you don't feel like it."

"You shouldn't have to shoulder this," Reader argued.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali is right if you are not ready it might do more damage to your health," Wandered interjected.

At that Reader could only be silent. They felt so helpless.

"For now let Nahida handle it you can be there and see how much you can handle," Wanderer said after sighing.

Reader wrung their hands together and looked at Nahida with a guilty look.

"If it's okay with you could I?"

"Only if you think you can handle it."

For now that would be their solution.

Reader ushered Nahida to take a seat and poured her some tea. Paimon took it upon herself to start over her tale once again since Nahida was there and the Wanderer scoffed at her which caused them to bicker for a few seconds. Reader could only laugh behind their hand. The rest of the day was spent comfortably talking.

"It is getting late Paimon doesn't want to intrude any longer."

The Traveller nodded as well.

"Wait you both could stay in my room?"

Traveller and Paimon looked surprised.

"We don't want to interrupt your resting time there is also only one bed."

"The bed is big enough for all of us we can have a sleepover?"

Reader wrung their hands together. It was just, they did not want to sleep alone today.

Traveller and Paimon looked at each other they must have had a silent conversation.

"If you are okay with it Reader."

"Yeah it would be nice I haven't had a sleepover in a long while Nahida and Wanderer you could join in if you want to." They said with a smile.

"I've never had one before but I would love to try it out."

Wanderer was silent for a while before he quietly answered.

"I will join then. . ."

Reader smiled it almost hurt their face. They gathered a lot of pillows and extra blankets just in case. Reader took the middle while Nahida was to the right and Paimon to the left. Respectievly Aether took Paimon's side and Wanderer slept next to Nahida. It really did feel like a huge sleepover. Reader slept soundly that night sourrended in warmth.

Extra:

Reader felt warm and fuzzy images of Christmas lights surrounding their vision. the lights were blurry and smudged. Gentle snow started to fall blanketing the ground in white. The blanket that surrounded them kept them warm and they snuggled closer to it.

The stars above twinkled and They watched with interest as they changed shape and colour. Then a star started to fall, no it was a snowflake. A huge giant snowflake was falling towards Reader and they tried to struggle but it was in vain as the blanket held them in place. With horror they watched as the snowflake landed on their head.

It was rather soft and it did not hurt but the snowflake was beginning to limit their breathing. Reader tried to open their mouth to breathe in more air.

With a gasp, they woke up.

The thing smothering their face was not a snowflake or anything nefarious but rather Paimon herself. Somehow she had ended up on their face. They struggled to shake her off and after a few seconds of prying she rolled off to the side.

She was still asleep her mouth open and she mumbled something about food no doubt.

Reader sighed.

They blinked a few times as they looked out to the window where the sun was shining. It was already morning.

Reader was rather in a bind, literally. Nahida had curled up in her chest, she looked so small and cute Reader’s heart melted and they wanted to pat her head. Their feet somehow got tangled up with Wanderer’s and to the side Aether was hugging their arm.

They could not get up.

”If I was in a different room I would still be able to hear your squirms.”

It was wanderer who woke up. His voice was hoarse. Now that they thought about it Reader had no idea if he could sleep or if he even needed to.

”Sorry,” they said whispering.

Wanderer sighed and came closer towards Reader shutting his eyes.

Wait, was he not going to get up at all?

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Taglist: @resident-cryptid @probablynoposts @esthelily @mitsukashi @charming-mage @chaoticfivesworld @irisxiel @dulcedelechenginamo @yu-ulda @samohxt2-0 @pinkpainc @vianitry @dreamlessnight @kurayamioterasu @fantasyhopperhea @victoria1676 @liansh3ng @game-savvy @uchihaeirin @awelygirl @klemen-time @synthe4u @deadgirldreaming @quacking-simp

[dusterbishop]

you believe me like a god (i'll destroy you like i am)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 3.8k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. once again, i'm so grateful for the likes and kind words! it means a lot to me! this chapter is long, but the next one is going to be heavy and i needed to get it all out here.

part one. || part two. || part three.

Come’on, chér, just hold on.

Playing the odds?

Non, I’m bettin’ all on you.

Gambit talks for a long, long time. He tells you about Cassandra Nova, and the Resistance's intent to cripple her center of operations. He tells you about the other mutants he allied himself with. He tells you about the climate of the Void, which is dry and barren and desolate. He tells you about his liquor collection, even as he laments how he won’t be able to indulge in it for a while.

This version of him is dead-set on a suicide mission, you quickly realize. Nova and her power sounds far beyond the scope of Gambit’s abilities, and you doubt his allies could overtake her, either. They are all hopelessly outmatched.

Then again, they are also decaying in the Void. Void is a good name for it; the earth is desolate and menacing as the pair of you travel. Your powers flicker at the edge of your vision in a blurry mirage of recollection, like a film played backwards. You can taste the metallic tinge of blood in the back of your throat. Your body still simmers with feverish fatigue, even though you are five days deep into this timeline. You haven’t been using your abilities beyond necessity, but each time you wonder what would happen if your intended time-object doesn’t appear at the command.

C’mon, Wildcard, don’ get skittish on me now.

Just deal me in, Cajun.

They are all outmatched on their own. You stare at the broad expanse of Gambit’s back as you walk, taking in the way he walks over the uneven terrain, the idle twirl of his bo staff slung lax in his hand. The travel has worn him down at the edges; his hair is mussed and dirt-streaked, and his coat is weighted and torn at the hem. Five days of trekking through the daylight and camping through the night has taken a toll on his body, but he still hums to himself as you both walk.

You know this song. It’s the one Tante Mattie would sing to him when he was young and couldn’t sleep. Or at least, that’s what your Remy told you. Perhaps this version of Remy LeBeau found it through another source. You can’t imagine the man in front of you as a little boy needing comfort.

No. That isn’t quite true. You have seen photos of a younger Remy while visiting New Orleans, much to his dramatic announcements of utter embarrassment, and you never forgot just how small he seemed. How unfair that his life was wrought with pain and fear, even as that little boy, just for the color of his eyes. Abandoned by one family only to be raised in crime with another.

You know what your Remy went through. You just can’t bear to think about what this one has suffered with. Not now. Maybe not ever considering the terror Nova has been spreading across the Void.

“Okay,” you say suddenly. It’s nearly nightfall. You should find a place to settle for the night, then scrounge up enough from your rations to feed his burning metabolism and soothe the disquiet ache in your stomach. Despite the fever, you should eat something of substance even if the thought alone makes you feel nauseous.

“Go’on, chér,” Gambit says. He’s eyeing the horizon with a calculating look, no doubt thinking the very same thing you are. You don’t know how far the makeshift headquarters are for the rebel cause, but you can figure it’s still some ways off by the frown on his face. Just how far did he go wandering alone? You don’t allow yourself to wonder why he seemed to be looking for you, either. That would lead to more questions than your mind could handle.

“You want me to fight Nova,” you say. That catches his attention. He jolts as if you charged him with his own kinetic wave, his pitch-dark eyes sliding to lock on yours. He looks like he’s ready to argue, or maybe to sweet-talk, so you add, “I’ll do it. Fight her.”

“Suicide, chér?” His mouth is twisted unhappily. “Nobody tell you to do that.”

“Didn’t need you to, Cajun,” you shoot back. “No other reason for you to go hunting across the Void for me.”

“Mebbe,” he drawls out, his smile temptingly coy, “Gambit like what he sees.”

You don’t take the bait. “I can kill her, but where does that leave you? All of you?”

His smile grows just a little brighter at the misstep. It takes every nerve in your body to resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. You don’t have to remind him you care about his wellbeing. This Gambit isn’t yours to protect.

“Don’ worry ‘bout us, chér,” he says, nearly a purr. It sends a thrill down to the base of your spine. “We talk it out, eh? Our hand t’deal.”

“With a suicide mission?” Your laugh is strained. “You really know how to raise the bet, Cajun.”

“Playing de odds,” he agrees. In the half-light of the sinking sun on the horizon, his profile is cast in shadows, and yet you can see the faintest twitch in his mouth. Almost a frown. Then he turns his face away from you entirely, hiding back behind the facade of his relaxed shoulders. “We gonna get out dis place.”

He sounds so sure that you say nothing, taking in the moment of staring at the setting sun. It would be much easier to leave entirely, even with the heaviness of your limbs from the fever. Who knows how much time you have left in this place? Something about the timeline here has you untethered from reality. You keep swallowing back the taste of blood.

Part of you almost tells Gambit, right then, that you don’t think you have time to talk about plans. You can’t just wait for the right opportunity to land in your lap like a wounded bird.

But you don’t. The two of you quietly settle down around a fire and divide your meager rations. It’s a strange collection of his preferences with the oddity of your Void self’s miscellaneous tastes. It’s an unspoken agreement to swap the night watch while the other is asleep. Gambit takes the first watch. You pretend to sleep curled next to the heat of the fire, your mind flashing through broken images of different times, like watching broken sunlight filter in from under the surface of the ocean.

Remy used to think it odd that you didn’t dream. You would joke to him that you had enough of dreaming when you found him. Still, some part of you feels a hollow curiosity towards the thought of dreaming. How could your mind conjure images of desires only for you to wake up without them? There was never a time that you could remember where you didn’t just wave your hand and hold the world in your palm.

Yet the memories that flicker across your mind from the darkness behind your closed eyelids are strangely nostalgic. Thwarting a burglary attempt as your mutant debut, celebrating Jubilee’s birthday at the mansion, visiting New Orleans for the first time as a LeBeau. Waking up to Remy’s arm slung over your waist as if he was trying to keep you secured in this timeline, even as your mind traveled right in plain sight, gone beyond his reach.

It rends a heart-wrenching ache in your chest. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady. The memories are still there, rushing past you quickly enough to make you dizzy.

Marrying Remy and nearly missing on your cue to kiss because you were staring up at his eyes. Desperately reaching out to him as your power stuttered, nearly sending you tumbling over the edge of the roof. Discreet shuffling around in bed to avoid waking the cats piled around you two, with Remy sleepily pressing a kiss to your temple. Losing days at a time, flickering in and out of your life like a specter, only to watch him grow more and more desolate in the wake of your disappearances.

Growing sicker for all the time-summoning your body forced you through. Reaching out for Remy’s hand to kiss it. Laughing at the way Remy pulled you up out of your chair to waltz in the kitchen in the middle of the night, despite him supporting most of your weight. Staring at the abandoned costume hanging in your closet, no longer your size due to the weight loss, knowing you could not wear it again in this lifetime. Accepting that, to be with Remy.

Accepting it all, just to be with Remy. Playing the odds with your own sort of suicide mission, just to keep a life with him. To earn your title with the X-Men and get dispatched on missions with them again. To be able to cuddle with the cats without scaring them with a violent waking. To go to sleep next to your husband with the knowledge you could see the same version of him in the morning.

Deal me in, LeBeau.

Eyes, mon cuore.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes. You open them slowly to stare at the blur of the fire crackling quietly in front of you. You can taste the fresh warmth of blood coating your tongue and sticking to the back of your front teeth. There’s something small and rectangular in your hand, but you don’t shift out of your curled up position to see what it is. You hadn’t intended on bringing something out of the timeline.

How strange, to dream and wake with nothing to show for it?

“C’est tout un sucre,” Gambit says softly. You flinch at the sound of his voice. You had nearly forgotten that he was there. “Not gon’ go ahead an’ ask what’s got you so scared.”

It takes effort to swallow back the swelling emotion in your throat. “I can take watch.”

“I s’pose you jus’ want some quiet, eh?” There’s the whispering shuffle of fabric, and then Gambit is settling down to lay next to you, leaving a near-imperceptible gap between you. In another life, you could reach out and touch him. Just not this one.

“Not really,” you sigh. He lets that lie for a heartbeat, letting you collect the raging tempest of thoughts scrambling your head. It would be awfully convenient if a wandering pack of mutants tried to attack you, or if Nova herself descended from the sky to kill you. Anything to spare you from the grave you were preparing to dig yourself into.

“Gambit,” you start, still staring resolutely ahead at the flickering flames, “I told you what happens to me.”

“Reset,” he muses. You can hear the gentle rustle of fabric, then the soft flicker of shuffling cards as he takes them from one hand to the other. He thinks best when he’s in control, and so he has his cards poised for action. You don’t look at him, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s for the sake of your control, or for his.

“What I said,” you agree. “It’s not a suicide mission if I go after Nova.”

“No,” he says.

“Even if she destroys the Void version of my body, I keep traveling,” you continue. “I can — ”

“No,” he repeats. The edge in his tone makes you pause, but it’s the hand that grips yours that makes you turn to stare at him. He isn’t wearing his gloves, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes the heat of the fire feel insignificant. It’s his eyes, though, that make your lungs seize up. All night-black pupils with hardly the rings of red. His eyes are his only tell that he’s terrified out of his mind.

You blink back at him, stunned. 

“Don’ be a fool,” he finally says. Slowly, reluctantly, he takes his hand from yours. The cold air in the wake of his touch burns just as much as uncontrolled wildfire. “We all gon’ get out dis place. Nobody dyin’.”

“I can’t die,” you shoot back. “Don’t you understand? I will always move on to another life. None of this matters to me! Not the Void, or Paris, or fucking New Orleans! If I go and blow up Nova, then I can move on and live my life in another timeline without dealing with any of this.”

“Movin’ on,” Gambit notes. He’s smiling, but there’s an edge to the curve of his mouth. “Dat’s jus’ called runnin’ away.”

“And Gambit never folds, is that it?” You hold up your other hand, the one with the playing card, and toss it to him. It flutters in the breeze before resting on his chest. He narrows his eyes at you, but his curiosity wins as it always does. He was always too easy to bait. A gambler never gives up the promise of a winning prize.

You don’t have to look to know what the card is. If you were dreaming of Remy, it only makes sense that you dreamed of his favored card. Gambit studies the Queen of Hearts with an inscrutable gaze. It’s not the version that Remy gave you; that one was likely consumed in the same blast that destroyed your body. This one is unwrinkled and vibrantly colored. Brand new.

“You don’ know, do you?” Gambit says. The flatness of his tone makes you pause, though you can’t bring yourself to look at the expression on his face. Your gaze locks onto the card he’s holding so delicately, as if he’s holding onto your heart rather than a piece of pressed painted cardboard.

“You kno’ me, hein?” He turns his head to look at you, and you have to force yourself to release the breath you’ve been holding in a slow, controlled sigh. Still, you feel stripped raw by his gaze. You wrap your arms around yourself to avoid the impulse to summon a staff and fend him off from his next words: “You recognize me.”

“Seen a lot of you lately,” you say. It’s meant to be dismissive and unaffected, but even you can hear the hitch in your breath when he shuffles an inch closer, eyes burning black into yours.

“You and Gambit meet before,” he half-laughs, not happily.

“Many times.”

“Then you know Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman.”

Like that, he’s up and crouched above you, his hands clasped tightly to your upper arms. You’ve forgotten how quick he can be when he’s lost in the lure of a gamble. His warmth leeches through the thin fabric of your coat, time-stolen to match the beige wasteland around you and offer some hope of camouflage. It’s nothing like the armored fabric woven into his, and his touch reminds you of just how vulnerable you truly are right now.

You’ve met a few Gambits that have tried to actively kill you, before. One had plunged a sharpened edge of his staff right into your chest, aiming with precise calculation to slip it straight through the soft skin between your ribs. Another had taken you down as collateral in pursuit of more satisfying prey, stepping around your fallen body as he continued his game. And, of course there had been Remy, too.

This Gambit doesn’t tighten his grip, though you can feel the tension humming like hornets beneath his hands, kinetic energy pulsing in anticipation.

“Gambit,” you warn him. You don’t try to pull away. You don’t even reach for the veil of time that whirs at the edges of your vision, even if it would be almost easy to summon some method of distraction and escape this sudden intervention.

“He ain’t forget,” Remy repeats. He squeezes you, just once, eyes darting over your expression with intent tenacity. “Listen to me, eh? I promised you, chér. Even if you don’ remember it, I mean it. We gonna get out dis place together.”

Something metallic tastes spoiled in the back of your throat. You blink at him, struck suddenly by the realization that you have been hiding in plain sight. The Void must be more of a well-fitting title for this place than you initially assumed, as it’s given you nothing but barren territory to let your power meander. It gives you space to let the timelines mingle in a blurry mirage of recollection at the edges of your vision, like a film played in rapid reverse.

You thought you had been desensitized to meeting Gambits, and perhaps you were right. You couldn’t even recognize Remy LeBeau until he was right in front of you. How else would you explain finding your Remy here, and not recognizing him sooner?

One of his hands flickers, almost too quick to follow, and the cuff of his sleeve unravels to reveal a card. It’s not one of the suit of aces.

It’s your Queen of Hearts.

“Is dis your card?” His words are meant to be wry, but there’s a catch in his voice where his breath stutters, so soft you might miss it if you weren’t struck senseless at the sight. The edges of the card are singed black, no doubt remainders of the kinetic energy, but the crease down the middle is undoubtedly from your nervous fidgeting during missions with the X-Men. You kept it in your pocket as a good luck charm only to fiddle with it during downtime. Folding it over and over, running your thumb over the lines to memorize every feeling.

You can’t speak. It feels like being dragged into a violent undertow, the waves of memories flickering at the edges of your vision threatening to drown you. You suck in a shuddering breath, nearly a cry, and finally succumb to the urge to reach out and touch the curve of his jaw. He’s warm and familiar beneath your touch.

“‘M all in for you, mon coeur,” he says, and then he leans in and kisses you.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes, the telltale harbinger of the tears that start trickling down your cheeks in a slow caress. He’s kissing you with reckless abandon, and you open up under his touch, unwinding your arms from your sides to reach up and clutch at the lapels of his coat. One of his hands wraps around your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, the other moving up to cup your salt-streaked cheek. You can hardly feel the rough pad of his thumb wiping away the tears beyond the whir of power buzzing in the back of your throat.

You have to pull back, breathless, though Remy is holding you tight from retreating too far.

“I’m the kinda man that don’t leave,” he tells you. His voice is just as hoarse as you feel. “I don’ care if it hurts, mon coeur. Dis place can’t have you. We gonna get out.”

“I care, you idiot.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling back before he can turn his head to steal a proper one. He makes a soft noise of indignation, but you can’t let him think that any more sacrifice will fix the gaping wound festering between you two. “I don’t know how we can fix what’s broken between us, Remy. I’m terrified that you’re going to end up dead trying to fix it yourself.”

“Non,” he shakes his head, though he can’t hide the way his body tenses up beneath you. “Since when you talk that way, mon coeur? Gambit has a plan.”

“He knows the odds, is that it?” You tug him down to kiss him again, and he goes willingly to your silent command, his mouth warm against yours. You can taste the salt from your tears, only to pull back and see the shine in his eyes, too. How long had it been since you two were separated for good? You don’t remember. You have lived far too long outside of this time to remember when. You hope that Remy, however he ended up in the Void, doesn’t remember either.

You can’t bear the thought of him waiting to see if you would return, following in the wake of this Void version of your face. Counting the days, over and over, just to see a stranger wearing your body every time the sun rose.

“In this, he do,” Remy agreed. There’s a furrow in his brow, and you marvel at the way you reach up and smooth a thumb over the wrinkle, only for him to scrunch his nose at you in familiar distaste. “I taste blood, mon coeur. You hurt?”

Even as he asks, his hand runs down your side, checking for hidden injury. The memories at the edge of your vision flicker to a time where he had done the same thing after a particularly rough mission sent you crashing into a wall. You had cracked two ribs and spent some downtime on mandatory bedrest while he fussed over your every movement and tried to keep the cats from sleeping on your chest.

You don’t realize how long it’s been since you’ve seen him fuss over you, but the back of your eyes start to burn again. “I’m okay, Cajun. Just adjusting to the timeline.”

He lets you kiss him again, this time keeping your mouth closed to hide the taste of your blood, but he’s still frowning when you break apart. “Six days.”

You’ve never had to spend so long adjusting. You didn’t think Gambit would notice your lack of time-summoning, but then again, you hadn’t realized Remy was silently cataloging every action that confirmed your identity. In some instances, you would only spend a minute or two in a timeline. Six days counts as practically permanent without a reset.

God, how the hell had you not noticed him watching you? Of all the Gambits for you to return to, it had to be him. And out of all the versions of you that cross-trek the known universes, he had to get the one that is too goddamn tired of losing him. He had to get the version of you that was too tired to pretend that this life was worth wrestling with every moment of the day.

No wonder he broke his silent watch to admit the truth to you. Even if it broke his heart to watch you leave the timeline, he couldn’t sit there and listen to you act willing to destroy yourself again.

Which is why you can’t tell him you’re dying, anyway. Time doesn’t exist in the same capacity in the Void. The memories overlapping your vision are nothing more than ghostly shrouds of a past life. However your power works, it doesn’t have the same support in this place. Staying here will kill you.

“Listen,” you tell Remy. His body burns hot above you, a livewire of kinetic warmth. Alive and real. Your Remy, alive. “I promise we’ll get out of here, okay?”

I promise I will save you, you think as he kisses you, his hands cupping your face as if you are something precious to protect. No matter what.

[tearsucry]

— °˖ ⊹ ꒰ 🌿 ꒱ tearing up old wounds ; addison montgomery (grey’s anatomy)

#.                   ( season 3 episode 14 ) you woke up after inhaling the neuro toxic from the colon cancer patient’s surgery, and addison was stupid enough to run in after the patient’s anesthesia was wearing off, ripping up bandages from old wounds

content warning;      suggestive content, afab reader, implied homewrecker! reader, age-gap (reader is in the same intern year as meredith), mention of surgeries, blood, intubation,

a/n.                                        I had this little idea while rewatching the show, I fell in love with addison all over again, ugh she is so hot- enjoy

everything was foggy, you still felt nauseous, you were still shivering even under the thick blanket, and the oxygen mask on your face felt more suffocating than the heavy feeling in your chest. blinking, moving your head around and trying to figure out where the heck you are.

“I thought you were on burk’s service today.” you heard an all too familiar voice coming from your side, faint, and sort of mumbled, but you knew who it was, you knew exactly who it was. you felt weak, struggled to move your hand up to your face to rub your eyes, to help yourself to see better.

“you went in there…” you croak, taking a shaky breath in as you spot her green eyes in the haze of your vision. you gulp again, trying to compensate for how dry your nose and mouth feel because of the oxygen mask. she is right in front of you, if you could just

you can tell by her blurry appearance and her messy red hair. she looks so tired and worn out, like every muscle in her body aches, just like yours does, and just like that realization makes you wonder if maybe you should have requested to stay on her service, maybe this whole thing wouldn't have happened with the two of you. “I did.” she whispers, her throat hoarse and scratchy.

“but i couldn't watch her suffer, fight against the intubation like that..."  her voice trails off, and her hand reaches out for you, as if she wants to touch your face, caress your cheek but can't bring herself to do it. "i couldn't let her feel so scared, miserable." she sits up and leans on the bed next to you, reaching out to tuck some strand of hair behind your ear. “what do you mean?” you ask, not understanding whatever she is hinting at. you'd know because you were in her position once after your surgery, the surgery you had to get after a psych patient went rogue, dressing up as another surgeon then going around, and stabbing people in the stomach.

but then you remember-

she was there when you were fighting against the intubation, you remember it clearly. the same green eyes were staring at you, frightened above the rim of the surgical mask. the same lips formed the words, "you will be okay," over and over again. you try hard not to cry as you recall the events, because even though you are happy, you're also afraid.

"can we... can you lay next to me?"  you finally manage to say, because you're starting to become restless from being trapped under this blanket, sitting still isn't really appealing anymore. "of course, i'm here darling." she smiles softly, and you could swear you're seeing her tears glisten in the dim light of the room.

addison shifts in her bed again, putting the green strap around her head then getting up to lay next to you on your bed. you catch doctor bailey rolling her eyes at the nurse's station before coming over and closing the curtain around the two of you.  your breathing has gotten steadier, your heart feels calmer, and you close your eyes slowly as you settle into her embrace, inhaling deeply the scent of her scrubs, smelling like a freshly sterilized operating room.

her heartbeat slows down to match the beat of your own and you sigh contently, relaxing in her arms. “thank you.” you whisper quietly. she kisses the top of your head. you don’t think there is anything she wouldn’t give to make sure you are alright. “no need to thank me, sweetheart.” she murmurs softly, wrapping her arm around you tighter. your fingers are laced together now, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

[psiroller]

boobs man

this is a compound drabble request from two discord server buddies, @snakewife and @avoidcrow, who wanted a scene of chilchuck and laios hanging out in a tavern and for collaring to be somehow involved. i ended up liking it a lot, so consider this a preview for the next fic in the break the lock series :3

CHILAIOS/822 WORDS

cw: petplay, collaring, dudes being freaky in public with their clothes on

Of all the seasons, a summer evening was best for a night out drinking. Chilchuck liked it close to sweltering, the humid air starting to cool once the sun had finally set; not so hot that a glass of wine made him feel nauseous and lethargic, but warm enough that when Laios finally showed up, he had the first few buttons of his shirt collar undone. Chilchuck waved him down with a lecherous grin and patted the bench next to him, getting the blurry lower half of a winning smile from Laios. Chilchuck was not a good enough man to look a few inches up, at least not a few glasses deep, but Laios didn’t mind.

“Hey,” Chilchuck said. He jostled somewhat when Laios sat down next to him but played it off smoothly by leaning on the table, cheek against knuckle. “What took you so long? We had to start the first round without you.”

“I’m sure you absolutely had to,” Laios teased, earning him a weak punch to the shoulder that could be confused for a mosquito bite. No more horseplay in public, they’d agreed, for Chilchuck’s safety from Falin.  “Just wanted to get ready.”

“Getting dolled up for me, huh?” Chilchuck’s eyes had yet to move upwards, fixated on a bead of sweat that slid across Laios’ collarbone and down around the curve of one of his pecs. Laios leaned in with both arms crossed and the drop disappeared into the appealing crease formed by the press of his biceps. Chilchuck’s gaze was pointed and unwavering, and Laios felt a head rush that couldn’t be blamed on alcohol. It was only after Chilchuck handed him his glass to finish off that any wine had made it into his bloodstream.

“Yeah, sure,” Laios shrugged. “What? You don’t like it?” he asked with just a hint of a whine.

Chilchuck’s eyebrows furrowed. “When have I ever complained about you having those things out?”

“Ah, so you haven’t looked up yet, then.”

That’s when Chilchuck saw the glimmer of a silver clasp, the mottled ink-blue scales of a hydra, his familiar stitching along the seam of a collar. His eyes bulged out of his skull and he choked on his own spit, coughing into his elbow. It was Laios’ turn to be smug, finishing off the glass and placing it decisively on the counter. Even while Chilchuck was dying, he couldn’t help but notice the slightest jiggle.

“I thought—ack.” Chilchuck rubbed his throat as he calmed himself down. “I need to quit smoking…”—Laios nodded sadly—“I thought I told you not to wear that outside of…!” Chilchuck gestured vaguely.

“You did,” Laios said flippantly, with a shrug. Chilchuck’s eyebrow raised. “But I thought it might be fun to try it just once.”

“Are you sure this is the only time?” Chilchuck asked with a suspicious inflection. Laios looked away and twiddled his sleeve with his thumb.

“I wear it to sleep sometimes,” Laios confessed. Chilchuck felt his blood run cold, how a deer must feel when an unseen wolf lays its eyes upon it. Laios watched him go through three of five stages of grief before patting Chilchuck on the back reassuringly. “I take it off before I get out of bed. Falin hasn’t seen, or at least hasn’t said anything.”

Chilchuck pushed his palms into his eyes. “You’re gonna kill me one day, Lai.”

Laios preened. “I thought that was what you were into.”

Chilchuck whipped around to tell him off, pointer finger primed, and Laios was all smiles. The radiance of it sucked the breath out of Chilchuck’s lungs, the hint of barely restrained laughter. The wine was already making him flush.

“With the party here, though? Really?” Chilchuck hissed. Laios hummed.

“That’s also why I waited,” he said. “Look at ‘em.”

Namari was hooting and hollering as Falin and Marcille chugged cheap beer from their steins, arms hooked around each other in the most primal display of human camaraderie.  It was frankly beautiful, or would have been if Chilchuck wasn’t going to have to make sure a wasted Marcille made it home safe before dragging Laios to the guild house. No one was paying attention. Even Shuro looked like he was having fun.

Chilchuck looked back up at Laios, who cocked his head, waiting for whatever it was Chilchuck clearly wanted to say. Laios looked like he was having fun, too.

Sighing with deep and grave responsibility, Chilchuck reached a hand into the collar of his shirt and pulled at a chain. There was a familiar padlock, small and more of an ornament than any serious piece of hardware, and a dark blue key. Laios’ stomach fell out as Chilchuck unhooked the padlock and stood up on his knees to snap it around the two clasps of his collar, and tucked the chain and key away.

“If anyone asks, you lost a bet,” Chilchuck muttered. Nobody asked.

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander

SUMMARY: In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility. 

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader 

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, protective Theseus, etc. 

A/N: Lowkey proud of this one, so comments and feedback are Super welcomed! This was based off this request, so thank you SO much anon, this was a blast that might have to be a series. Also Huge thanks to @kalllistos​ for all the help, couldn’t have been done without you!! Enjoy.

PART II, PART III, PART IV

You fit in so absolutely.

The rim of your glass was still lined with enough sugar to enjoy dwindling sips. Theseus knew it was gin. Your lipstick left a mark on everything you kissed, the pattern was found on your glass, and the cigarette holder balanced between your fingers. You made everything look so serene. Simple.

Scanning the room, you hadn’t seen Theseus yet. However, he, too, fit in—tie properly knotted to show his status and pocket-watch cleverly tucked in his waistcoat. Once he joined you at the secluded booth, he’d complete the idyllic image.  

Yet, Theseus lingered for a moment, taking you in. Your confidence was always envious. It worked silently, exuding from your presence alone. Your magnetism couldn’t be credited to magic but to how you evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.

Theseus was one of the only ones remaining to know it hadn’t begun that way. He remembered you, a few years below him, always sprinting to class, already late. The professors would scold you, and your confidence was read as insolence. You challenged everything and excelled in doing so, but it only lent itself to trouble. It created a barrier always present between the two of you.

“You’re late.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. Even late into the night, he was always so poised. Professional.  “I’m risking a lot showing my face here.”

“You look beautiful.” Theseus slid into the leather cushion. The charm always came with his supposed  professionalism. It came in waves and never crawled under your skin the way intended. “Relax…It’s fine.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket’s button, Theseus settled. It was bold of you to accept his invitation to meet so publicly, but he knew you couldn’t resist. You just needed to play your part smartly and get what you want.  

“Your promises are too shallow for me to trust.” You crossed your legs, making it easier to lean and be heard. Then, you clicked your tongue against your teeth with sarcasm, “I think I’d rather you arrest me.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve clocked out for the night.” Theseus was an intentional man, a clever man. He was protecting his image just as much as yours. “It’s just you and me.”

“That’s why you wanted to meet here…” You hummed with feigned realization. The muggle restaurant was a precarious cover but equally as rewarding in its purpose. “You know there are better ways to ask someone on a date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time…” Theseus matched your hum absentmindedly. The banter was a buffer, something to ease into an inevitable unwanted conversation. Reaching into his heavily charmed jacket, he pulled out a file.

It was always a fucking file. The folders were always pristine, never quite full of all the information, just enough of what Theseus was willing to share. It grew over the years of the unorthodox relationship, but you knew not to mistake that for trust.

The figures in the picture were blurry, moving incoherently as they entered a building. The stack of images moved in sequence, following rushedly an exchange that was meant to remain a secret. Without seeing their faces well, you knew who they were, and you held back from using your cigarette roach to burn it all away. Instead, the image repeat over and over before you, but your expression was trained with passivity.

“When did he get out?” You finally met Theseus’ eye. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.

“A month or so at this point...”

Your laugh was bitter. “So, I’ve been a sitting duck.”

“You’ve been avoiding me...” Theseus countered, his tone just barely teasing. There was truth in jest, as there were plenty of owls following you. You looked at him, knowing what came next. His compassion would get him killed. “...I can help you.”

“Careful.” You cocked your head, musing a buried thought. “You’re getting awful sentimental these days.”

“Don’t you want those off?” Theseus leaned in like you had, voice low. Although his fingers were threaded together, he pointed to the bracelets on your wrists.

You smirked, “And ruin my outfit?”

Rarely did you acknowledge them so explicitly. The bracelets—admonitors—dampened your magic by tracking your every spell. They made you feel like a child with a trace spell. Part of you wished you could say you grew accustomed to the constant surveillance, but you grew weary of lying.

The offer was too sweet, and you wanted more than just your magic untraced. “What’s the catch?”

“You help the Ministry find him.” Theseus was trying to protect you, but you were too filled with vindication to notice.

“You mean work for you.”

He frowned, correcting you, “With me.”

“There truly isn’t a difference in your world.” You spat. The ministry was the reason you were in this mess; they branded your cuffs as a daily reminder that your autonomy was shared. “You’d be using me as bait.”

The conversation would go in circles, as it always had. It was the reason more time was added between meetings. Every time you left, that bitter taste grew stronger, and it was difficult to put it aside to face Theseus again and again. This was different—more threatening, but your anger prevailed.

“I won’t do it.”

“Catching him will clear your name.” Theseus all but begged. He remained poised, but you knew it would only last for so long. Those around you looked your way; interest piqued in conversation they weren’t privy to.

“I’m not innocent.” You were blunt. You had been called cold because of it. But it was a trait that you favored, especially at times like this. You wanted to see Theseus break.

You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Theseus chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were children.

The table held your drink, forgotten and diluted. The air was tense and hushed. Theseus needed to move fast, knowing you were moments away from fleeing. But he knew he had just enough time as you lit another cigarette, this time not for vanity but to quell your nerves.

Your nails tapped on the base of your cocktail glass. Your fingertips twitched, begging to satisfy their itch for magic. You debated on if your actions would be worth it.  Theseus decided for you, hand flexing to replenish your drink.

Your lipstick remained fresh but still marked the glass. It was perfectly cold, calming the swarm of nerves that hit you. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” Theseus appreciated your teasing; it meant he was doing something right.

“This place is quite charming, you know,” You looked around before shifting forward even more. It may have been improper, but you leaned over the table, elbows resting comfortably. “Next time, we’ll have to venture and order food.”

“Sure.” Theseus agreed, body language mirroring yours. To anyone else, the pair of you would look smitten. “Anytime you’d like.”

“Anytime?” Your eyebrow ticked up as you tapped at the ashtray.  “Come on, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have.” Your knuckles crept forward, almost bumping his as they dragged to the middle of the linen cloth atop the table. “Truly—We haven’t—”

You stopped yourself with an uncharacteristic laugh. A tinge spread below Theseus’ freckles, assuming your humor was chastising him. But you were laughing at yourself, at how ridiculous you felt. You were enjoying yourself.

The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled. “Be practical, Theseus.”

Your worlds barely overlapped, and where it had highlighted the worst parts of each of you. Your world was dark and hidden; you stole and bribed. You were suitable for it and resisted morphing into the image Theseus expected of you.

He was as kind as any Hufflepuff, putting other needs first and blindly placing his kindness. He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by sitting across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Theseus’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“I need to know the full story.” His voice was commanding, betraying his desperation.

Theseus looked warm, contrasting the winter blizzarding outside. A bubble was created that was becoming suffocating, but with him across you, it seemed just marginally bearable. His hand flexed, skimming yours, hoping to regain your attention.

“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You thought to sink back, but you chased the small contact. “I want nothing to do with this. With him.”

“I’ll be there the entire time,” Theseus promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you weren’t willing to accept it wholly.

“And my interests?”

Theseus’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. It reminded him of his position, of his strained relation to you—what he was supposed to do but always found a reason to put off.

“It depends on where they lie.”

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

You wished his gaze would turn you to stone; that way, you could avoid everything else. Instead, it made you melt, it made you pliable in way you opposed with others. There was a suspicion he kept returning just because of that—despite your bluff and his willful ignorance, you weren’t made of stone, and deep down, he knew that. Probably not consciously, but he did.

You always came back. Or he did—another indistinguishable something. You could still feel his fingers reaching for yours. It almost made you cave. Yet, your back met the bench of the booth, and your hand drew away as you placed your cigarette on your lips.

Although you were still present, Theseus watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Theseus’ eyes were pleading, and you went to blame his naivety, but you found something distinct there. The reason you were here tonight was not for a favor.

It was an ultimatum, not a request.

“When was this decided?” You asked. You thought Theseus came alone, and now the naivety fell on you. There were too many eyes on you now to dismiss the crowd as solely muggles.  You fell so perfectly into the trap that all you could do was laugh.

“I wanted to keep you out of this,” Theseus admitted. It was the truth, but he knew what needed to be done. The greater good, you could already hear his defense. “This is the only way.”

“Your way.” You shook your head. Another laugh. “And what happens when he kills me? Hmm?”

“He won’t.” Another promise that made you sick. “I’ll be there the whole ti—

“Then you, Theseus—” Venom dripped from your every pointed word. From the corner of your eye, you saw how the undercover aurors were ready to respond to your agitation. If they wanted a spectacle, you were moments from providing it. “— are ill-prepared for what he’s willing to do.”

“You need to trust me.” Theseus attempted to regain the conversation but failed to recognize any mending he made was lost.

“And why should I trust the man that watches my every move?”

Theseus put you in this position; he was the wizard who held your wrist tightly all those years ago to secure the admonitors. For your own good, he told you. He believed it, and yet again, you found yourself at the hands of his so-called mercy.

“And if I decline?” You weren’t in such a position to, but Theseus understood your question only brought ruination. 

“The only way you're walking out of here is because of me.”

A threat, how original.  Your cigarette threatened to burn your lips. The ash tarnished the linen that fell over your lap. Apart of you hoped it would set the entire thing aflame. Maybe then you’d have a chance at a genuine escape. For now, though, you resolved to the final word.

“You think you are blessed with morality—” You finished your drink, the taste becoming sour. “—yet what sits before me is nothing but a boy that’s only purpose is to follow orders blindly.”

[pupuyvs]

60

(half written)

a/n before we begin pls read the tws, i’m going to add the “next” line also on top of this chapter in case you read the tw and realize it is sumn u cannot read for any reason so with that

tw: outting, descriptions of a panic attack, homophobic themes

next

And Sooyoung was correct, it was everywhere. Sohyun felt her phone drop, before the air seemed to get sucked out of her body.

She suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Tears begin to fill her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her knees give in as she falls on the hotel’s tiled floor, her hands pulling on her shirt, it suddenly felt too tight on her.

Due to her panic she didn’t hear her hotel door open, nor the deep gasp from the person who entered. She only slightly registers the person getting down to her level, unable to tell who it is due to the blurriness of her eyes.

“Sohyun, it’s me, Sangmin.”

She doesn’t respond, her body too busy hyperventilating, her mind racing.

“I’m going to grab your hand, okay?”

Sohyun attempts to nod, but with how terribly she’s shaking the man could barely even tell. She feels him grab her hand, the first thing she notices is how cold his hands are, she assumes he must’ve been outside.

“Now I’m going to need you to try and breathe, alright? I know it’s hard, but you’ll start to feel better if you do.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response as he starts to demonstrate how to take deep breaths, which Sohyun attempts to follow along with.

It’s messy at first, her breathing, it’s uneven, shaky. After a few minutes it begins to even out, she feels nauseous and lightheaded, but she’s grateful that she can breathe again.

When she looks up Sangmin is looking at her, concern filling his eyes.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Sohyun nods, she was far from it but she has a feeling that this was the best she was going to feel for a while, at least until she sees Jimin again.

At the thought of Jimin, she remembers the post, the article, the messages, but before she can spiral into panic again Sangmin speaks, “Do you have any water bottles in here that I can get you?”

The actress nods as she points towards the hotel’s fridge, her hand still shaking. Sangmin drops her hand and goes to it, he comes back quickly and drops down in front of her again, this time forgoing the handholding.

Taking the bottle from his hand she thanks him, wincing at her hoarse voice she opens the bottle and drinks.

They are silent for a few moments after she finishes, when she suddenly breaks out into a sob.

The man pulls her into a hug, which causes her to sob a bit louder now that she was muffled. He rubs her back softly while muttering “it’ll be okay” over and over to her.

What makes her pause and pull away is when she hears her door open again, this time it’s her manager. The woman looks at her with nothing but pity in her eyes. She then shifts her gaze to the man, and her eyes immediately narrow.

“How’d you get in here?”

Sangmin jumps slightly at the accusatory tone, “I saw the news and thought she probably shouldn’t be alone right now, so I asked the front desk for an extra key.”

“And they just gave it to you,” the manager asks, clearly suspicious. The man immediately nods.

Sohyun’s manager just sighs before turning back to the girl, she goes to the her and helps her up, with Sangmin’s help they both have her sit on the edge of her bed.

Looking at her, the manager begins to speak. “I just got off the phone with the company.”

Sohyun immediately winces, “Are they mad?”

Her manager shakes her head, “Not at you. They moved our flight from tonight to an hour from now. You’re all packed, right?”

Sohyun immediately nods, slight relief due to the fact her company wasn’t mad.

“Perfect,” her manager starts, “While in the air they’re planning to release a statement confirming your guys relationship.”

This shocks Sohyun, and Sangmin, but he does a better job at hiding it, “SM was okay with it?”

Her manager just shrugs, “They haven’t reached out to us.”

This causes Sohyun eyebrows to furrow, but her manager speaks again before she can asks anymore questions.

“The photos are too…severe, to even deny, I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

Sohyun feels panic start to rise once again at the mention of the pictures, her manager was right, the pictures were hard to deny, that’s why people were calling her so many things in her dms at the moment.

She closes her eyes and breathes in, attempting to stop the panic. Sangmin simply pats her back when he notices her, he turns to her manager and speaks.

“Shouldn’t you guys get going now? Would you guys like me to come with you for extra protection?”

Sohyun’s manager immediately objects, “I appreciate the offer, however Sohyun being seen out with anyone she may be paired with, aside from Karina, would not be good.”

Sangmin simply nods, “Let me help with your guys bags at least.”

Sohyun’s manager agrees and they immediately start bringing stuff down. They leave Sohyun in her room, while they do, deciding it’d be best if her only trip is the one that ends with her getting in the car.

When alone Sohyun gets up and picks up her phone, relieved she doesn’t see any cracks. However, she can see an overwhelming amount of notifications popping up on her lock screen and from a quick glance, none of them are from Jimin, which makes her hope that she’s doing okay.

Pocketing her phone she heads into the bathroom and turns on the light, looking into the mirror she sees how rough she looks, though she feels a lot worse, the affects of the panic attack still lingering.

She splashes cold water in her face as a way to make herself feel slightly better, when she’s done she hears her door open again. Exiting the bathroom she sees Sangmin and her manager.

“You ready,” her manager asks.

Sohyun nods, she goes to grab her jacket and put it on. Glancing around the room she makes sure she’s missing nothing. Before she could walk out Sangmin stops her, holding up a mask and some sunglasses. “To make sure you don’t get noticed.”

Sohyun takes them, “Thank you,” she pauses, “I’m sorry, I probably ruined the movie.”

Sangmin simply shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that right now, I won’t do this movie with anyone else anyway.”

Sohyun smiles for the first time that day, “Thank you Sangmin, I mean it.”

The taller simply nods, “No need to thank me, you’re my friend now. Be safe, and text me when you land.”

Sohyun nods, and the two let the door close. Now with a mask and glasses on, Sohyun and her manager get in the elevator with one last wave to Sangmin, they start to descend.

The trip to the airport is easygoing, but once they arrive Sohyun can tell they didn’t outsmart the paparazzi like they thought they would.

Outside the airport she can see them, crowding in front of the door. Sohyun is suddenly grateful for the bodyguards her manager requested.

Her manager squeezes her shoulder before getting out to open her door for her. When the door opens, she’s immediately met with the yells of the paparazzi, all yelling different questions.

When she gets out her manager and bodyguards immediately circle around her as she puts her head down. There is no comfort to the tight space she finds herself in, stuck between bodyguards.

She guesses some fans found out about her schedule too due to the sudden rise in voices she’s hearing, these one’s being more supportive. Even with her head down, she can see various amounts of letters being shoved her way, in any other situation she would’ve been ecstatic, but in this one she wishes they would just leave her alone.

When they finally make it past security, where the paparazzi and fans aren’t allowed, she feels like she can breathe again.

They don’t wait long before they are boarded, Sohyun’s manager telling her to rest once seated. However, the thought of not knowing about Jimin keeps her awake.

When they land in Korea it is late, this causes Sohyun and her manager to believe that due to the time there wouldn’t be much media waiting.

They were wrong.

When they make it past their exit gate they were immediately swarmed, if it wasn’t for the guards Sohyun would’ve been flattened. If she thought the crowd was big in Paris, the crowd in Korea outdid it by a lot.

They too, were screaming many things, but only one question caught her attention. She paused before speaking, “What did you just say?”

The crowd miraculously goes silent, only flashing of cameras could be heard.

The paparazzi speaks again, “Is it true you and your company are trying to push a relationship on to Karina for publicity?”

Sohyun feels nauseous immediately as she stares at the man in shock and confusion. All she can mutter is a small what before her manager starts pulling her again towards the exit where a car is waiting for her.

The actress feels like she is in a trance as she’s being pulled. What could they possibly have meant by that?

She’s broken out of her trance when she hears a car door open. Looking up she’s met with her friends and sister in the car.

When she gets in Sohee immediately pulls her into her arms, “Are you okay?”

Sohyun just nods backing up, she scans the car and sees they’re all staring at her. Jiyeon is sorrowful, but the other two, Eunwoo and Sooyoung, looked enraged.

“I can’t believe she and her company would do that to you,” Sooyoung says, “You’re here suffering and what, she gets to just chill? It’s not right.”

When Jiyeon sees the confused look on Sohyun’s face, she immediately looks at Sooyoung with a glare.

“What do you mean,” Sohyun asks.

Everyone immediately goes silent, Sooyoung breaking it. “You didn’t see it, did you?”

“See what,” Sohyun asks.

They go silent again, Sooyoung immediately look at Sohee, almost asking for permission. Which Sohee gives with a nod.

Eunwoo opens his phone and hands it to her, Aespa’s twitter account open.

Sohyun couldn’t believe what she was seeing, her hands shaking as she handed Eunwoo’s phone back to him.

She shook her head when she noticed them looking at her, “Jimin..she wouldn’t…no.”

Sohee immediately pulled her against her again as she broke into a terrible sob, repeating the phrase she wouldn’t over and over again.

It was like this until they arrived at Sohyun and Sooyoung’s apartment, where her sobs subsided as they got out the car.

Going inside, Eunwoo stood in front with Sooyoung, while Jiyeon and Sohee held onto Sohyun, due to her being exhausted.

When they reached their door, Sooyoung interrupted the silence between them, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You have some nerve, Karina,” Eunwoo says.

At the name Sohyun immediately looks up, pulling herself away from Sohee and Jiyeon she pushes herself between Eunwoo and Sooyoung, the latter immediately holding onto her arm so she won’t get closer to Karina.

Sohyun looks at the girl, she takes in the girls red eyes, eye bags, and sudden lack of color. Seeing her like this makes her want to hold the taller, especially with how she is closing in on herself, making her seem smaller.

But the longer she looks the angrier she gets, the statement circling her brain.

“How could you,” Sohyun asks, her tone cold.

Karina flinches, not used to this tone. “I’m sorry.”

Sohyun doesn’t respond, which makes Karina continue, “Please let me explain.”

Sohee steps in this time, “Explain what? How you threw my sister under the bus to save your career?”

Karina immediately goes to speak up, but is cut off by Sohyun, “Can you guys give us a second?”

The group look at her in shock, Sohee immediately objecting, “Absolutely not, I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

Sohyun turns to Sohee, exhaustion all over her face, “Please you guys can even wait by the door, if you want, just please.”

The desperation in Sohyun’s voice makes Sohee cave, she nods and they all head in to the apartment, Sooyoung making sure to shoulder check Karina. Before closing the door Sohee puts up her hand to signify she’s giving them five minutes.

When the door closes Karina immediately looks to Sohyun, her voice caught in her throat when she sees just how distraught the actress looks.

“Hyun…”

“Don’t,” Sohyun starts while looking down, “Don’t call me that.”

Karina heart breaks.

“Please…”

When Karina goes to speak again the words die out when Sohyun looks at her, eyes shining with tears.

“I’m such an idiot,” Sohyun says, “I’ve always despised idols, I hated everything they stood for. Yet, I decided to trust you, let you in and look what happened.”

Karina feels her eyes start to water, “Sohyun, please…”

Sohyun shakes her head, wiping her own face from tears that have fallen.

“All you idols are the same, you don’t care about anyone but yourselves. As long as everyone adores you, you don’t care about who gets hurt.”

Karina breaths hitch when Sohyun makes eye contact with her, instead of the warm brown she was used to she was met with anger and heartbreak.

“We’re done, I don’t want to use you given my ‘current circumstances’.”

Sohyun begins to walk past Karina to go in, but before she could reach for the door Karina grabs her arm which causes her to turn to face the idol, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m-”

Before she can finish, the door opens to reveal Sohee, who immediately glares at Karina’s hand. Removing it she pulls Sohyun in where Jiyeon then grabs the crying Sohyun pulling her further into the apartment.

When Karina tries to follow her with her eyes Sohee closes the door further so Karina is forced to look only at her.

“I suggest you go home now, and never come back if you know what’s best for you.”

With that Sohee closes the door, separating the actress and the idol. When the lock clicks Karina falls to her knees and sobs.

prev - masterlist - next

a/n you made it to the end, now we can all collectively breathe and all i wanna say is sorry

taglist: @thefckghost @emgchip @yoontoonwhs @rinapomu @chaewoni3 @flolio @petruchiosstuff @glassflowerpetals @multiliker @minjeongswife @xen248 @mineige @sewiouslyz @jisooftme @r4cjh @bbanghanni @uzumakioden @lesbodietcoke

[no-cinnamon-for-synonym]

My S6 Predictions Based Off the Poster

I haven't read any meta posts yet, so here are some of my thoughts. (I am also nauseous, jet-lagged, stressed, and have a small head ache, so sorry if it's incoherent.)

Lotus Flowers

We see several lotus flowers in the background, but there are three that catch our attention in the foreground:

Runaan's, Lain's, and Tiadrin's.

This, of course, assumes that Lain and Tiadrin were given lotus flowers after leaving for the Storm Spire. The green/turquoise one is Runaan's, as we see him in 3.03 with his lotus being green/turquoise. The other two must be Lain's and Tiadrin's, then. Which is which, I'm not sure.

As for the falling petals... what if they're not falling, but rising to the flower? Because Aaravos is doing a spell to bring the elves back, you see. The reason for this? Perhaps because Callum makes a deal with him: free the coins, and he'll free Aaravos.

Archangel Lunaris/Moon Primal Stone

Archangel Lunaris are used to track sources of moon energy. Interestingly enough, it seems the book Aaravos is holding may have an Archangel Lunaris on it, and possibly a moon primal stone.

The symbolism here is delightful. I'm curious if it's the same primal stone from the moon staff.

Shadowhawk/Lighthawk

Both these faces coming from the bottom of Aaravos's robes kinda look like they are connected to Aaravos via blood ribbon/assassin binding what with the way the cloth goes from purple to red or purple to white.

Not only this, the faces appear misty, kinda like the shadowhawks and lighthawks.

The faces look like they could belong to these two:

If the lighthawk carries messages of life and shadowhawks carry messages of death, and if The Merciful One represents the lighthawk and Akiyu represents the shadowhawk... this is actually really interesting. Akiyu imprisoned Aaravos... and while we don't know much about The Merciful One, I think we can guess things about them based off their name. The Merciful One must have been... well, merciful to Aaravos, most likely after his fall.

The Moon Nexus

I'm running low on mental energy, so I'll keep this brief. The blue structure behind Aaravos looks like the Moon Nexus, indicating that perhaps everyone will be freed from the coins there on the next full moon, and perhaps even Aaravos.

The Plane Between Life and Death

At the top of the poster, we see of bunch of spirits. It's quite possible that while the spell is being cast, the lines between the different realities get a little blurry. Whether this is the afterlife or the dimension between life and death, I'm not sure, but I'm wondering... am I going crazy, or does this look kinda like Sarai with her hair down?

Anyways. These are just the thoughts running through my head. :) Let me know if you have anything else to add!

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Broken Bones

Summary: You went out with your friends, how did you end up in this situation? Venom is meant to keep you safe, if they couldn't do it this time then you're really in trouble, will Wanda come to your aid? God you really hoped so.

Words: 1,737

Warnings 18+ Minors DNI angst, cuteness nothing else I think

You opened your eyes slowly to the heavy rain on your face and the blood in your mouth, trying to blink away any remaining blurriness you attempted to lift your body up but you felt so weak it was way too painful

"V-Venom....help"

The symbiote didn't respond right away instead giving a low growl unable to move themselves or your body either

"We....we were beaten...call...call Wanda"

Coughing up some more blood you managed to sit up looking around finding yourself in a alleyway surrounded by two dead men with their heads missing, no prizes for wondering where they might be

"What happened?" You closed your eyes when you felt the nauseous feeling flow through your body again

"We were ambushed...leaving the...club c-caught off guard"

You couldn't stand being sat up anymore and dropped back to the ground with a heavy thud

"Y/n...I feel...feel the body dying"

No response from you

"Y/n? Y/n?!"

They tried again, even trying to move your body, unfortunately they were just as weak as you and flopped back down to the ground too, you both felt the light fading from your body, silence engulfing you and your whole body breaking down, your last conscious hope was that Wanda came to your rescue at the last minute.

"So where's the alien human hybrid tonight?" Nat spooked Wanda who was in the kitchen making you your favourite food for when you got back

"Nat! Don't scare me like that I have a hot spoon" Wanda nearly dropped the whole pot of stew for you over the floor

"Sorry Wands it must be my super secret and intense spy training" she whipped past the witch grabbing a spoon to taste what she'd made "hmm nice, maybe a little more paprika" she winked and Wanda groaned rolling her eyes "she doesn't like paprika Nat"

"so where is the love of your life?" Nat took another taste of the stew much to Wanda's annoyance "stop contaminating the food"

Wanda put the stew into the oven to keep warm for you looking back to her Russian friend "she went out to meet some friends at a club"

"You don't sound so happy about that"

Wanda shrugged sitting down on the couch with Nat "I'm happy she wants to go out with her friends but I'm still nervous because of Venom, I just hope they behave"

Nat laughed "what's the worse thing that could happen in a couple of hours?"

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

“Y/n! Y/n! Oh god” the loud voice gave you a small jolt and you managed to move a little but you felt so heavy going in and out of consciousness that it was pointless.

“Please don’t be dead Wanda will kill me! Also I obviously don’t want to lose you but I just want to make sure you’re not too injured, you look pretty bad though, is this your blood or the other guys? Wait is Venom still in there? Venom! Can you hear me? I probably shouldn’t shout down your ear I’m sorry”

Peter was struggling on what to do, does he pick you up and swing you back to the compound? No that would probably hurt you more but if he called Wanda would she be mad? No she'd be happy because he called her.

In all of his crises thinking someone else jumped next to him “Peter are you really struggling to know what to do, Y/n is nearly dead call Wanda”

Yelena is always so calm in these situations but at this moment she was terrified, Wanda is going to be like a bomb going off, she would destroy the world to keep you safe,

She heard Peter speaking into the phone "h-hey Wanda erm...Y/n is hurt....yeah yeah just outside....yeah that place...okay b-

Wanda turned up so quick that Peter didn’t even have a chance to hang up the phone and before he could try again Wanda's voice was heard by both young avengers

“Peter where is she?!” Wanda’s eyes were a deep angry red, power coming off her in waves making the young avengers step back letting her fall to the ground looking at you “my bednyazhka, please get up, please” she cried over and over again until a hand on her shoulder stopped her

“Wanda come on let’s get her back to the compound, maybe Bruce can help her”

Wanda shook her head “no! I have to fix her! I’m taking her to the cabin” with slow movements her magic lifted you up careful not to hurt you and went to leave “Wanda, let me come with you”

She looked at Nat who also had tears in her eyes “I want to help her too, and if we can’t save her then you need someone to lean on, I won’t let you be on your own” both women were crying now and Wanda nodded her head “okay okay you can come”

Nat turned her head to the two watching “you two go back to the compound and tell them nothing, you hear me? Yelena be a good sister for once"

The blonde pretended to think about it for a bit “okay Sestra, just don’t do anything crazy”

Peter just nodded in agreement scared to say anything else

The two older women walked off with you eventually disappearing and reappearing in the cozy cabin “come on Wanda lay her down on the bed” Wanda gently lay you on the bed kissing your forehead

“What do we do now?” Nat rounded the bed seating herself on the other side of you “I’m going to look to see if she’s okay in her mind”

Wanda ghosted her fingers over your temple sending sparks through your mind finding herself in your mind, you were alive thank god

“moya lyubov please wake up” Wanda spoke into your mind and she felt a small jolt, thinking it was you instead it was Venom

“Wanda? Y/n is very weak help her!”

Wanda fell out of your mind being followed by Venom’s head and some tentacles, that was something she'd never get used to

“What happened?” Wanda asked the symbiote “I thought you could heal her, that’s your only job, you've healed her broken bones before so what’s the difference?!” Wanda was getting angrier and Nat held her back from doing something she might regret, knowing that she would hurt you more than Venom

“They ambushed us with sound and fire, they tried burning us which I cannot handle and then they used poles to wrap around us banging them to create horrible sound waves, I eventually managed to kill them but the damage was done and it hurt too much to do anything about it, I can help her but I need time to reserve some energy”

They retreated back into your body for safety and to help sort your body out.

Wanda grabbed Nat’s hand “she needs rest, I think Venom can help her wake up”

Nat lent down kissing Wanda on the cheek then kissing you on the forehead “I’m going to check around the cabin, make sure we’re truly alone”

Wanda thanked Nat and looked back to you “it’s going to be okay detka, you’re safe now”

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

You felt yourself waking up slowly, your body no longer hurting and the splitting headache no longer threatening your life

“Y/n you are awake! Tell Wanda!”

You groaned lifting yourself from the soft bed falling out for Wanda “Wanda? Wanda are you here?” Your voice was quiet but you heard quick footsteps from another room burst into your own “Y/n! Oh my god you’re alive!”

She practically tackled you to the bed kissing you all over your face and hugging you right “I thought you’d never wake up please don’t ever go out without me again”

Nat quickly entered the room behind smiling wide “Y/n! God you look terrible but I’m glad you’re awake" your friend was always positive about your bad situations

Wanda peeled herself off of you when you complained you couldn't breathe "sorry detka I'm just so excited you're alive, what do you remember?"

Nat sat down on the chair facing the bed and you sat up, groaning at the alight pain in your body "I just remember leaving the club because my friends left early-

"They left you alone?! They promised not to leave you!" Wanda was pissed off, she'd never leave you alone she'd die first before that happened

"I told them about Venom and they freaked out calling me weird and then just left" tears were brimming in your eyes "its hurtful, they think I'm a freak"

Wanda shushed you "detka you are not a freak, you are a beautiful, passionate and loving woman, you just have an...extra friend"

Nat held in her laugh by pretending to look at her shoes when Wanda glared at her "Nat!"

"I'm not laughing! But "extra friend?" come on Wanda, they're an alien from outer space or something, call it what it is"

You giggled at Nat "so straight forward Nat, it's true though, they're an alien that decided I'd be the best host for them"

"You are a perfect host! I would never be able to survive for long periods without going back into your body every few hours!"

You smiled "thanks Venom"

"Do you need to rest more princess?" Wanda stroked your cheek and kissed you softly trying to hold herself back from continuing to kiss you all over

"Yeah if that's okay?" You lay back against the pillows closing your eyes

"Of course my love, we'll let you sleep" she gave you a last kiss on the cheek leaving the room with Nat

"Wanda I know that look" Nat said concerned "don't do anything you'll regret"

The witch's eyes glowed red "I won't regret protecting my girlfriend Nat, she was nearly left for dead! They deserve to feel as bad as she did!"

Her voice rise made Nat nervous, she knew how Wanda could be when it came to you and it was nerve wrecking "Wanda you know Tony would kill me if you did anything dangerous to someone"

"Then you won't tell him will you?" She said in a low voice pushing past Nat "Wanda-

"Look after Y/n, I'll be back later with dinner"

"Wanda you don't even know who actually did it!" Nat tried once last time before she left

"I have a feeling her friends know who did this, they'll tell me" she didn't let Nat say anything else instead slamming the door shut leaving her worried in the cabin "god I'm never going to hear the end of this"

[btsficsandsuch]

hi! so, i was thinking, maybe a yoongi x reader where the reader is overall a physically weak person,, not that she can’t do stuff but more like she’s frail and things and with the summer and the heat she often feels tired and dizzy— so one day yoongi comes home from a bad day and just finds the chores undone or the dinner’s not ready, or maybe something like that and just blames her for being ‘lazy’ but then she actually tries doing something and almost faints- idk, smth like that! thank you and take your time,, also stay hydrated with the heat and stuff :)

Hope this is okay! Sorry it’s been a few days. I haven’t been feeling great myself. This heat is brutal!

Smoke Alarm

This heat was absolutely killing you. To make matters worse the air conditioning in your apartment was broken and no one could come out to fix it for another week. You tried to do a couple chores around the house but with the heat and humidity you instantly started to feel dizzy and nauseous so you laid in bed with the fan on you trying to cool down. The thought of having to turn on the stove to make dinner in this heat made you sick so you decided that it would be a perfect day to order some takeout. You just had to wait for your boyfriend Yoongi to come home and find out what he wanted to order.

Somehow even in the heat you managed to fall asleep and take a nap but you were woken up when you heard a slamming door. You knew Yoongi must be home and it sounded like he had a bad day. Following the sounds of the slamming you found Yoongi in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets slamming each one after coming up empty. “Hi Yoongles, How was your day?”, you say timidly trying to test the waters and see just how upset he was.

Your boyfriend turns around and glares at you, “Busy. I have a lot going on. Unlike some people apparently.” You bite your tongue telling yourself he’s just hot and cranky. “I’m sorry your day was so bad. Do you want to tell me what happened?”, you say reaching out to him. He moves out of your grasp. “No Y/N I don’t want to talk about it. I wanted to come home and eat a nice home cooked meal and take a shower and relax but I can’t do that since you couldn’t bother to cook anything. What did you even do all day? It doesn’t look like anything was done around here.”, he replies. Trying your best to stop the tears from falling you reach out once again, “You’re in a building with AC all day. It’s nice for you. You know I can’t handle the heat as well as you do. It’s really hot Yoongi and it’s miserable trying to do anything when the air conditioning isn’t working.” He rolls his eyes before grabbing an apple and storming off to his studio.

Sitting in the kitchen you were starting to feel bad. He had clearly had a terrible day. You knew you didn’t have to do it and Yoongi had told you many of times before this that he didn’t expect you to sit at home and be a housewife but you always enjoyed cooking and cleaning and having a nice home for him to come home to. It was how you showed love.

Looking through the kitchen you found some ingredients to put together a quick dinner deciding that maybe some food will make the both of you feel better.

Within a few minutes of the stove being on you could already feel the temperature in the kitchen rising making your vision blurry. You took your time slicing the onion making sure you don’t cut yourself. The longer you stood by the stove the worse you felt so you decided to walk over to the sink and grab a cool drink of water.

Yoongi had only been in his studio for about 15 minutes and he realized what you meant by it was miserable. He was soaked in sweat and lightheaded. Now he understood why you didn’t want to do anything. He had spent so much time at the company building that had a working ac that he didn’t realize just how miserable it was spending time in the apartment since he had only been there for a few minutes here and there since the ac broke. He knew you didn’t do well in the heat and he started to feel terrible for talking to you like that. You were his girlfriend not his maid. He decided he was going to apologize and the take you out to dinner to get some food in you and get you out of the heat for a while. He was shaken out of these thoughts when he heard a loud whistle going off. It took a moment but then he realized it was the smoke alarm in the apartment.

Yoongi quickly ran into the kitchen finding a pan with burning pork belly and smoke pouring out. He turned off the stove and placed the pan in the sink turning on the cold water before quickly opening the window to let the smoke out. This wasn’t like you at all. You were an amazing cook and you would never just walk away and leave the food unattended. He was finally able to get the smoke alarm to stop and after looking around that’s when he found you. You were passed out on the ground with broken glass and water around you head. His heart felt like it was going to explode.

He grabbed a couple towels and using one to push the glass away from you and the other he soak with some cool water and wrapped it around your neck. “Y/N please wake up. Please. I’m so sorry for what I said. This is all my fault.” He started reaching for his phone to call for medical assistance when he saw you start to stir. “Yoongi, what happened?”, you asked confused as to why you were on the floor. “You passed out at some point. The food burned and it set off the smoke alarm.”, he said while slowly helping you to your feet and walking you to the couch facing one of the large fans towards you. He came back and handed you a cold bottle of water before taking a seat next to you.

“Why would you do that Y/N,? If you didn’t feel good you should’ve said something. I was so worried. What if something happened to you? What if I wasn’t home and the place caught on fire and you were unconscious? You could’ve been really hurt or even worse.”, he said looking to be on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you something for dinner.”, you whispered. Shaking his head he continued, “No I’m sorry. For everything. I had a horrible day and came home and took it out on you. I in no way ever expect you to cook or clean for me. Especially if you’re not feeling well. I’m a grown man and can take care of myself. I should be cooking for you anyways.” “Oh I better get the fire extinguisher ready.”, you quipped. “Hey I’m not the one that almost burned down the apartment today now am I?”, he questioned with a laugh trying to avoid the light punch you threw to his arm.

You leaned into his embrace for a moment before becoming uncomfortably hot. “I’m sorry, I’d love to cuddle you right now but it’s just too miserable.”, you said pushing away from him.”Yeah it really sucks in here.”, he signed. After a few moments of silence he began looking through his phone and after a few clicks he got up and reach his hand out to pull you with him. “Where are we going?”, you asked confused. “I’m not letting you stay here in this oven any more. We’ll stop and get dinner somewhere and then I rented us a hotel for the next week so that you’ll be comfy in the air conditioning.”, he said grabbing your hand.

The two of you packed some clothes and were getting ready to leave when you stopped and looked around. “What’s wrong babe?”, Yoongi asked. “I just feel so gross and I don’t want to go to dinner smelling like sweat. I want to shower but I hate the cold water and it’s too hot for a hot shower.”, you said with a pout. Yoongi walked over wrapping his arms around you, “Well Y/N we could take a cold shower TOGETHER. I’ll warm the water up for you.” Looking up at his smirk you rolled your eyes before taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower didn’t sound too bad after all.

[astranite]

Edges of the Universe: Part 2

Scott and John :)

Part 1 // Ao3

The tags in summary: Hurt/Comfort, this is what it is fundamentally but we do dive into the angst and the fluff, Autistic John Tracy, Scott Tracy has ADHD, Scott Tracy Has PTSD, Autistic meltdowns, References to Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Chronic Illness, that's how i'm treating John's space issues, this is all written from a disability and neurodiversity lens and lot of my own experience, there's alot going on but there's also alot of love here, and acceptance, its about hope its always about hope ultimately, things are hard and they wont just fix themselves but it does get better, we just have to keep hanging on. all of us you and me together, its not a straight line there are alot of up and downs and emotions in this fic, as in life and everything because thats whats its like but its not impossible

@idontknowreallywhy thank you for all.

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“You alright?” Scott asked, “And I’ve brought takeaway if you’re feeling up to it.” 

“‘S only a headache,” John mumbled.

Scott’s hand gripped his shoulder more firmly. “Seems like some headache, Johnny.”

“Don’t.” 

John couldn't handle even the gentle ribbing right now. Or Scott needling him about what the hell was wrong with him to make him admit to it, which was pretty hypocritical coming from Commander ‘I’m actively bleeding out but I’m Fine.’

John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. That wasn't fair on Scott. He was getting better at letting them in when it was needed. All the smothering came from a good place of looking out for little brothers prone to getting themselves into trouble, and John also had a history of being less than honest about exactly how ‘Fine’ he was.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard of the bed as the blurry dark crowded in at the corners of his vision at the rush of his blood pressure dropping. Because he, Thunderbird Five, head of communications for IR and an astronaut breaking records for space hours and expertise, had really pushed himself today. Went totally wild with it. He had, he checked his mental notes, landed on Tracy Island yesterday evening, sat in the passenger seat of Tracy One as Scott did all the flying to get here and immediately clocked out as soon as they got to the hotel. Then attempted to attend a meeting today. Wild, he bit out in sharp, sarcastic thoughts. Maybe that ignored the busy week he’d already pushed through. Even if he usually had to rest the day after the rough descent down from orbit because that was what his body needed and that was meant to be okay.

John reached over to flick on one of the bedside lamps to make it easier on Scott. He squinted in the brightness but it was better than the main light. In the background was the rustle of biodegradable bags and the distinctive snap of takeaway containers being opened: Chinese, from the place he and Scott had really liked the last time they were here, predictable so he wouldn't have to deal with trying something new.

Objectively, the food smelled good but John’s stomach turned. He spent several amusing minutes poking at his noodles, trying to figure out whether it was merely his usual space issues or he was coming down with something.

Scott bumped his shoulder ever so gently. “I got the not too spicy ones for you in case you weren’t feeling so good.”

“Thanks, Scott.” John’s voice came tiny and squeezed out. 

He picked up a mouthful and they were okay, it was him that was at the point of so hungry he was nauseous, and Scott had realised that he hadn't had lunch or dinner and made sure to bring back food John would like. Because he was thoughtful and he cared, and John had the best big brother so why did that make him want to cry?

They ate in silence. Companionable silence. It was kinda nice actually, just sharing space with Scott.

John did not cry all over his brother and his noodles. He would’ve gotten his tablet to read on and distract himself except he’d need his glasses which were in his bag, though he could turn up the font size, except the headache made staring into a bright screen currently unpalatable, so the entire point was moot.

He tipped his head back, resting it on the wall, then turned to Scott.

Scott had scoffed his entire meal far too quickly, shovelling noodles into his mouth with his set of chopsticks, whilst scrolling on his phone. Hair falling out of its careful gelling, top buttons of his blue business shirt undone, meeting out of the way and laughing at something inane, he seemed far more relaxed than this morning. Share space with Scott was nice because he too rarely got to.

John looked away. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping an arm around them, rocking slightly before it made him too dizzy. He stared off around the room, mostly to keep himself from giving in to the urge to worry at the numb, hollow wound in his thoughts. To map out its shape and form, going over it like the hole left by a pulled tooth. To not drag himself into a John classic overthinking spiral, and attempt to ground himself or whatever. 

The room. Too much beige. Carpet, curtains, walls, really what were they thinking? 

John liked colour. He’d chosen the stripes running throughout Thunderbirds Five and his bright orange baldric with the matching narrower lines through his uniform on purpose. They broke up the monotony of whites and greys space stations were far too prone to and he soaked it up, everything from the stickers and few books in his little room to the colour coded holotabs that displayed each of his siblings’ vitals. Bright and vivid, they reminded him of alive, alive, alive. 

Here, even the abstract painting was nearly monochrome. Virgil would have a lot to say but John could only muster a vague disgust towards it. Or maybe it was mostly his mood turning to harshly critical.The place was nice enough, clean and neat, nearest to TI. They didn't need fancy. 

Hints of the darkened evening view shone through the gaps between the curtains in the form of city lights. John had watched the sunset in hours previous briefly paint the dimness of the room through slitted eyelids. 

There had been the colour he wanted, but he’d ignored it instead of opening the curtains up to the light like he usually would in lieu of visible stars. He had stared at the wall, drifting in his thoughts amongst the achy pain and exhaustion instead of choosing to do literally anything else.

And here he was overthinking, doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing. Fantastic job, John.

Doors to the hallway and bathroom, both shut, John listed. Lamp on Scott’s bedside table, dark grey, not black, switched off.

The blue blanket Scott brought everywhere lay as a bright splash on top of the covers of Scott’s bed, a familiar sight no matter where they were.

They didn't have to share a room, with the large beds on each side where John took the one nearest the window under claim it would be better for the stargazing he wouldn't do because of the light pollution but would make Scott edgy from feeling too exposed and too far from the exits. His brother’s face had crumpled in relief before he’d gleefully bounced on his bed like he was totally still five, as John laughed with him. 

With their money they could easily afford two, could get the frankly a waste of money whole penthouse suite of rooms, but they didn't need to. And it was nice to be close.

He and Scott hadn't regularly shared a room since before Alan had been born, and John was fully aware that as adults it would drive them both mad within a week, but on the occasional business trip or even rarer holiday, it was nice. Waking up disorientated and jet lagged in the middle of last night, he’d fallen back to sleep to big brother’s calm, even breathing. Plus Scott could look over and reassure himself at least John was here and okay, as substitute for checking in on all his little brothers before he turned in.

…it had actually been a bit after Alan had been born that the rooms had been shuffled. When it had been Mum and Dad and baby Allie he had to sneak past to go stargaze outside for a few months until Alan was big enough and got the cot, sharing a room with Gordon. Then it was him and Virgil so Scott as the eldest, encouraged by Dad, could have his own room. 

Virgil was a lot quieter and less prone to dragging him into crazy schemes, and John had loved sharing a room with him, of course he did, but something had still ached as he helped take Scott’s aeroplane posters down from between his glow in the dark stars to put them up on bare blue walls that smelt of new paint. Virgil had never woken up when John went to stargaze, no matter what he tripped over or how much he swore, so he never came with him on those forbidden midnight trips either. Scott had. 

But after Mum, because John was evidently all for following miserable trains of thought tonight, Scott technically had still shared a room with them. Just when no one, especially Dad, would notice. John had woken up to the door opening after everyone else was asleep each night to Scott tiptoeing in to curl up on the floor between his and Virgil’s beds, wrapped in the blue baby blanket that had been Allie’s until it was put away but had originally been knitted by Mum for Scott.

John had always shuffled over to make room for Scott beside him. Scott shouldn’t be alone, he wasn't meant to be alone but everyone had known that evidently except for Dad. He’d always woken up at dawn when Scott left too…

Scott’s hand back on his shoulder startled him, and between the flinch he barely processed the worried, “Earth to John?” 

A wave of dizziness hit and John buried his head in his knees. 

“Sorry,” John mumbled.

“No apologies needed.”

Scott gently took the container of noodles out of his hand which he was holding and had kinda forgotten about, even as the pointed edges dug into his palm. John’d only managed half of his before he had to put it aside. Maybe later, if he got over the nausea. 

Scott held out an arm, giving John the option of being pulled into a hug. He swallowed and shuffled closer, then leant against Scott.