#my first thought was “i imagine death so much it feels more like a memory”

[heronoegg]

Someone told me that Aizawa irl would look like Lin Manuel Miranda and I haven’t been the same since.

To further my point I made a demonstration

And yes, I did indeed cry when making this

i didn't know weather to respond to this with:

"enter me (he says in parentheses) don't be shocked when your history book mentions me"

or

"well, hate the sin love the sinner"

[gay-dorito-dust]

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

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

Keep feeding us with these ATSV fics 😈😈

Have a great day!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[emtheanxiousdragon]

Thinking about Psychonauts 2 again, and you know what scene pops into my head a lot? It’s near the end of the game, when Raz runs back to the caravan to get his family’s support to take down Maligula. In a game about mental health and coping with loss and mistakes, this scene, while small, says volumes.

If you don’t remember, when Raz makes his way to the caravan while Nona is in the middle of her big water tornado, this is how he finds his family; gathered around Augustus, offering whatever support they can.

Look at how Augustus is sitting. The classic “face to your knees” pose naturally signals that he’s upset, but there’s something more to that. When you think of this pose, who do you think of?

Children. Children are more likely to sit like this as they process their big feelings because sitting on the floor doesn’t feel inappropriate. When you get older, you feel embarrassed expressing yourself the way you did as a child and you move onto other coping mechanisms, ones that are less visibly upset. But not Augustus, not in this moment. I first when I saw this, I wasn’t sure what was happening, until Donatella spoke.

Remember, Raz just finished sorting through Nona’s memories and unlocking the psychic barriers that kept Maligula trapped. We recently learned that Ford messed with both Nona and Augustus’ memories to make them believe Nona was truly Augustus’ mother, not his aunt. Both of Augustus’ parents died, and have been dead for decades. While Raz was undoing the mental blocks, he wasn’t just revealing the truth to Nona. He was unraveling the truth in Augustus’ mind too.

Imagine you’re with your family, looking for your mother. She’s old, she’s wandered off, she isn’t as sharp as she used to be. You need to find her and keep her safe, you almost lost your son a few days ago and you can’t lose your mother too. And then the memories start unlocking. Memories of two graves, of a packed orphanage, of a strange man warping your mind and delivering you into the care of a woman you knew deep down to be the arbiter of national genocide, who this man made you think was your mother. Of course you break down. Of course you act like a child, even in front of your own children. What else can you do?

When Augustus says this, the statement is twofold. The mother he thought survived has been dead all this time, and the woman who did raise him has warped back to the traumatized, angry shell that caused so much death in your past. He’s lost both women in this moment.

The series does an incredible job of connecting us with the trauma and baggage of whoever’s mind we enter. But we never enter Augustus’ mind. We only get to see his trauma through show not tell, and that leaves us with a more evocative scene than many of the mental worlds we’ve visited before.

The writers know how powerful this scene is, and they make sure we linger on it with this long zoom out. The entire family embraces Augustus and shares in his woe. They’ll need their strength to help Nona soon enough, but they have to grieve for a moment, they have to acknowledge the hurt and pain they’ve inherited if they hope to rebuild their family.

I love this game.

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Effects of the Curse.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader

Summary: After receiving some outside comments, the topic of marriage comes up. Unfortunately, you and Aaron have different views on the matter.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mention to marriage, divorce, jack and haley. angst WITHOUT happy ending. established relationship. about a year after hotch's departure from the fbi. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: As a person who wants to get married, this is pretty personal lol.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

You were leaning against one of the kitchen counters as you waited for the water you had put in the kettle to heat up and allow you to brew coffee. Behind you, you could hear your boyfriend rummaging through the cupboard for your favorite mug and carefully placing it next to his, going through the same routine the two of you had already established.

But something was feeling different this time.

It had more to do with your memories of the family dinner you'd gone to the day before, where there hadn't been a single person who hadn't asked when you were going to officially become Mrs. Hotchner, when you were going to take that big step down the aisle, and maybe even expand the family beyond that. It was a little silly for you to think so much about it, because those were the typical comments people made when they saw a functioning couple, and it had happened to you before with ex-boyfriends you took home, but this time it felt more serious.

Maybe it was because of how your heart was racing as you imagined wearing a ring that would show your total commitment to love someone to death, or maybe it was how Aaron reacted, or rather his lack of reaction, and how much that bothered you.

The sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window and filtering through the trees in the yard had you so mesmerized at that moment that you barely felt when his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you let out a slight sound of surprise and relaxed a little under his touch.

“What is on your mind? Perhaps the new coffee maker we should definitely consider purchasing?” He asked with a cheerful tone.

Yes, you two definitely had to buy a new one after the old one suddenly stopped working. But that wasn't what you were thinking about. You were a long way from that.

“Sure, we should do that.” Your answer was blurted out almost out of obligation and came out robotically.

He wasn't stupid, nor had he lost the habits of a profiler after so many years as one. He knew you well enough to know that something was troubling you, even if he didn't know exactly why. He pulled you a little closer and planted a small kiss on the top of your head, tightening his grip on your waist a little more to comfort you as he spoke.

“Darling.” He murmured softly, wanting you to give him your full attention. “I can practically see the gears turning in your head, what's wrong with you?”

You, were what you wanted to say.

“Nothing, just...it's been a long day.” That was all that came out of your mouth.

To tell the truth, it had been an exhausting day, and at least you hadn't lied that much. You had been very restless, trying to do many things to keep the destructive thoughts out of your mind, and it had made you quite tired.

“Don't try to fool me. I know you well enough to know when you are lying.” He gently pinched the sides of your waist and turned you to look into his eyes.

“I...I was just thinking about some things my family said yesterday.” You finally confessed, your voice a little shaky, as if telling him would embarrass you.

“Like what?” He furrowed his brow in concern, brushing a hand against your cheek in that way that always made you feel a bit weak in the knees.

His touch was so warm and loving against your skin, and for a moment, it almost made you forget what you were thinking about. Almost.

“Just a few things about how I haven't married you yet, and...” You didn't even want to finish the sentence, feeling your heart beat a little faster as the words got stuck in your throat. “That we don't have, you know, kids.”

Aaron took a quick look at your face as he heard your confession. His heart clenched a little as he realized what you were talking about, and he couldn't help but be curious about it. The topic of marriage and having children hadn't come up much since you started dating because he already had Jack and had been married once. It was a goal he'd already achieved. However, he knew it was a topic that needed to be discussed, as he saw your worried expression and slightly trembling voice.

He put his hands on your shoulders, giving them a gentle massage to relieve the tension. He didn't want to seem careless or unconcerned, so he spoke after pausing.

“And you were worried because...?”

He looked at you with a kind of intense gaze that made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. As he massaged your shoulders, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Well, from the way you reacted, I guess.” You admitted, your voice full of doubt. “I mean, I know we haven't really talked about it, but...it's hard to know what you're thinking when the subject comes up and you have that cold expression on your face, like it's nothing relevant.”

His expression softened, and he brought his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks to make sure you were looking directly at him.

“You know very well that I have already taken care of that.” He said softly, trying to find the best words. “Marriage, children...I had that. I have Jack. And he's enough for me.”

Enough for him. Were you too?

His words had a surprising effect on you, leaving you with a somewhat bitter taste in your mouth. Despite this, you maintained a calm exterior, striving to conceal your true feelings.

“And what about what's enough for me?” You inquired, addressing the issue with a candor you had previously avoided. The words emerged from your mouth almost involuntarily.

Hotchner was taken aback by your question. The way you asked it gave the impression that you were accusing him, although he was unsure if this was the intention. He took a deep breath, searching for the most tactful way to respond to your words.

“I...I didn't realize.” He began, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “You never mentioned that you wanted to get married or have children. I thought you were happy with our current situation.”

“Not really.” You admitted, avoiding eye contact as you looked down at the floor. “I mean, I really love Jack, he's a wonderful boy.”

Aaron listened intently as you continued, your words coming out hesitantly.

“And being with you...it makes me so happy.” You sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “But…I feel like I need more. I want more, and I'm not necessarily talking about a child. I want to know that you belong to me as much as I belong to you.”

Aaron walked over and stood in front of you, placing his hands on your hips. He stared at you as he spoke, his voice soft but firm.

“Darling, my love...I belong to you, and you belong to me, and you don't need a ring to know that. If you want one, I'll buy it for you, that or whatever you want.”

You let out a small sigh and leaned closer to him, resting your head on his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart as he held you tightly and his body enveloped you in a warm embrace.

“I know.” You said quietly, the words somewhat muffled against his shirt. “But it's not just about the ring. It's about the commitment, the symbol of our union...and how that gives me security.”

He ran his fingers through your hair gently as he listened, his touch soothing against your scalp.

“Listen to me.” He began, his tone affectionate. “I've always been committed to you. From the moment I allowed myself to open up to you to the first night we spent together, and every day since. You know it. Does it really take a ceremony to make you believe it?”

When you looked at him, you felt a rush of emotions. You knew he loved you, and he was right. He had shown you his commitment many times. You had even been living together for a couple of years. But there was still a part of you that longed for that tangible symbol of love.

“I don't doubt you.” You said, choosing your words carefully. “But it's about symbolism. Having physical proof of our commitment shows the world how firmly bound we are to each other. And I know you believe in it. You were married once for a reason.”

Oh, that's a sensitive topic.

He let out a small sigh when you mentioned his previous marriage, and his fingers stopped stroking your hair. It was an uncomfortable and painful subject he didn't like to talk about, especially with you. The memories of his failed marriage were difficult to process, not only because of Haley's death but also because of the many problems that had plagued their relationship before its sad end.

“Maybe I believed that before, or at least I thought I did.” He replied after a short pause. “But that doesn't mean I want to go through it all again.”

“Even with me?” You asked softly, lifting your head to look into his eyes. There was a hint of vulnerability and sadness in your expression, your heart trembling slightly in anticipation of his answer. “Even in the future?”

Aaron observed your expression and the slight shift in your demeanor. He was aware of the impact his words could have on you, and he took care to choose them carefully. He gently traced your features with the back of his hand, his thumb gently moving across your face.

“This isn't about you or time at all.” He said in a soft voice, trying to express his love for you. “I just couldn't go through that again. The expectations, the disappointment, the divorce. It's too much.”

As he spoke, he paused and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his emotions. His previous marriage had left him deeply scarred, and the thought of suffering the same fate again, especially with you, filled him with dread. He silently prayed every day that history would never repeat itself.

But your situation was quite different. The concerns he expressed, which he did not fully explain, only served to increase your doubts. You were aware that Aaron had every reason to be fearful after experiencing so much in the past, but you were surprised that he seemed to be afraid to be with you in front of the law.

How could he be so sure that a marriage with you would end in divorce? If his demanding job could no longer be the cause of the failure, could it perhaps be something else? Could it be you?

“You're not the same as before, and I'm not-” You started to say when you were interrupted by a loud whistle.

The unexpected sound of the kettle whistling gently interrupts the moment between the two, if only for a brief moment, allowing you both to take a breath.

He carefully put out the fire and poured the steaming water into the cups he had thoughtfully prepared earlier. He then added a teaspoon of sugar to each and a little milk to yours, taking care to ensure it was just the way you liked it. As you both watched the hot liquid swirl in the cups, he let out a sigh. Aaron felt a sense of responsibility, knowing he wasn't able to deliver what you desired.

Hotchner handed you your cup with care, ensuring that he did not accidentally burn himself in the process. The kitchen fell silent as he stood next to you while you both sipped your coffee, lost in your own thoughts.

The taste of coffee with a little milk on your tongue distracted you from the heavy atmosphere that had settled between you and him in the kitchen. In that moment, you took the opportunity to watch him closely and try to decipher what he was thinking. Maybe use a little of what you had learned from being with a profiler for so long.

His face was set, and you could easily see the emotion in his eyes. He was not happy with the conversation, and his expression had given him away from the first crossword on the subject.

When Aaron noticed you staring at him in the midst of his silence, he looked up into your eyes and held them for a few seconds. He knew exactly what you were trying to do, but it didn't bother him. Being a profiler, he found it ironic, and a small smile appeared on his lips.

“You can look at me all you want.” He said with a dry laugh. “And try to profile me if you want.”

“It's not that...” You began to say, but you knew he was right. That was precisely what you were attempting to do, trying to discern his feelings, even utilizing some profiling techniques he had taught you himself. You let out a small sigh, feeling a little foolish for your lack of subtlety.

Of course he'd realize. The man could leave the FBI, but the FBI couldn't leave the man.

“I find it challenging not to.” You confessed, tilting your head and taking a sip of your coffee. “I've picked up on some of your habits, I suppose.”

He let out a soft chuckle, acknowledging that you were trying to get a read on him and feeling relieved to see the earlier tension ease. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip, letting the hot liquid warm his insides before speaking in a friendly tone.

“And what have I taught you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“A few things.” You replied, with a hint of sarcasm. “Like how to spot lies, read body language, and how to read people well. Basically, all the skills required to be a profiler, except how to not profile your loved one.”

“I see your point.” He replied, a soft smile on his face, grateful that things between you were feeling good again. “Perhaps I should have taught you that last part too, but you would have made a good profiler.”

“I would have made a good wife too.” The comment came out before you could stop yourself, and you immediately covered your mouth with your fingers after saying it.

Aaron's smile faded as soon as you spoke, and the tension in the room intensified. He exhaled, a combination of fatigue and frustration, and placed the half-finished coffee on the counter behind you before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I'm sorry.” You spoke up before he could even open his mouth, hoping to get a word in first.

“Don't.” His answer came almost automatically.

It was then that you grabbed your cell phone after hearing it vibrate, hoping to avoid the situation. “It's the seamstress. Jack's costume is ready.”

He nodded silently as you picked up the cell phone from the kitchen table. The comment was still in the air, and you sensed that he had heard it, but he didn't react at all. Instead, he seemed relieved that the awkward moment between the two was over, if only temporarily.

Thank you, Halloween.

After a brief pause, Aaron inquired gently. “Would you like me to accompany you to collect it?”

“I believe it would be best if I went alone.” You replied after a moment. “I need to take some time to process things, and you need to wait for your son. He will be out of school soon.”

Aaron felt a slight discomfort in his chest at your words. He recognized the truth in what you said, that some time apart might be beneficial for both of you to reflect on the conversation and all that was left unsaid.

And after that, you proceeded to retrieve your keys and walked through the door without so much as a moment's hesitation. This time, there wasn't even an ‘I love you’ or a goodbye kiss as a reminder that all was well. This time, the silence conveyed a message that was perhaps more profound than any gesture or sweet word.

In the end, the marriage was scarier than any Halloween costume.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Dying Of The Supe Virus

Requested: Hi!! I wanted to request a preference for the boys + homelander reaction if R was dying from supe virus... I love your blog, thank you ♥️♥️♥️♥️ - anon

A/N: I kinda took it in two directions, either actively dying or already dead. I think some perspectives just worked better that way! I really hope you like it my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher pretends it didn't matter to him, but he definitely blames himself. It might've been Sameer who shot you up with the virus, but it was him who put you in charge of him. It was Billy who thought to put a Supe in charge of the only thing in the world that could kill you. When Frenchie breaks the news, Kimiko carrying your body in, he feels like he's going to be sick. He was the one who was dying. It should have been him. He tries to help the team move on, focus, and orders Frenchie to extract the virus from your body, but underneath he's broken. He didn't trust or like a lot of Supes, the majority actually, but you were different. You were close, whether or not he could admit to it. There was nothing he could do to save you. He couldn't turn back time, he couldn't prevent this. He looks like he's moved on, but Butcher feels stuck in the moment, watching your face, waiting for you to laugh and tell him it was just another sick joke.

Hughie laughs. He's hysterical. The ridiculousness of it all, of the situation. You? Dead? You couldn't die. You walked away from a bullet between your eyes with a smile. You made moving on from death look easy. Effortless. He's afraid to touch you, to look at you. He truly believes, for a moment, that that's not you. Your features are bubbled and blistered, but he recognizes your hands. Hughie backs away, stifling a laugh, escaping to the bathroom where he throws up. Annie tries to go after him, but M. M. stops her. He smiles despite himself, crying and laughing, unable to control himself. He already lost his dad. He couldn't lose you, too. Like M.M. he feels like an idiot, selfish even. He never imagined a world where you could be killed. He never thought he'd have to worry about you. Now you weren't just hurt, you were dead. Murdered. He can't accept it. You didn't deserve to suffer the way you did. You didn't deserve to die. Hughie is a mix between denial and hysteria.

Annie is overwhelmed with despair and depression. You've known her since the beginning. You were the first person she ever became close to in NYC. Now you were gone. She throws herself into your funeral arrangements, practically biting the head off anyone who tries to interrupt her or make her take a break. When she's not staying up until the early morning trying to make the memorial perfect, she's sobbing behind closed doors. She tries to keep herself composed as much as possible, but everyone can see the mask slipping. Cracking. Her eyes are permanently black from mascara running. She's not eating or sleeping. When Butcher says to extract the virus from your body, she goes postal. She calls him cruel and heartless and pathetic. She can't help it. Your body is barely cold and he's still thinking about taking down Homelander. It was inhumane.

M.M. is angry. Angry at Frenchie and Kimiko (he knows it isn't fair, but he just can't help it), angry at you, and angry at himself. He got too close to you. You were a Supe, after all. The very thing he vowed to hate. And then you showed up, and he started to care about you despite himself. And now you're gone. He feels like in idiot. He thought you were bulletproof. Literally. He never once had to worry about you or think about what would happen if you passed. It never crossed his mind. He was constantly worrying and fixating on everyone else, but you would always be okay. His OCD gets so much worse in response to his grief. Everything must be done in threes. The burners, the locks, everything must be checked three times. Everyone starts to worry the more out of control his rituals become. His panic attacks, too, get worse. Less manageable. Every time he thinks about you, what happened to you, he feels like his heart will pound out of his chest.

Frenchie is deeply in denial. He was so busy bickering and then making up with Kimiko that he hadn't realized Sameer had broken free. You were the first to jump at the chance to stop him, and that's what got you killed. The needle plunged into your ankle. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't cut off your limb. Your Supe abilities didn't work like that. The blisters bubbled fast, moving up your leg to your torso, your chest. You clawed at your neck, crying out, unable to form words. Frenchie begged and prayed, but it wasn't stopping. He had to break the news about your death. He definitely blames himself. If he had been paying more attention. If he had been the one to react instead of you. Even though he watched you die, he's still in denial. He can't accept it and thinks you'll be back in no time. He gets angry when you don't call or text and is intensely lonely because he's expecting you to reach out. He just can't wrap his head around it and absolutely hates that Annie's planning your funeral. You were fine. Why did you need a funeral for someone who was perfectly fine?

Kimiko blames herself, too. If she'd been the one to get the virus, if she'd been the one injected, they could have stopped it. They could have moved on. Instead, she sat beside you, unblinking, unmoving, stroking your arm. Even as Frenchie extracts the virus from your body, your blood, she doesn't let go of you. M.M. and Annie urge her to sleep and eat (though they're both doing little of that themselves), but she can't move from you. When she does sleep, it's with her head beside you. Everyone knows you only have so much time before your body starts to decompose. They want to give her as much time as she needs, but they're also working against the clock. She definitely reacts like after Kenji was killed, crawling and hiding under tables, unresponsive with her usual kindness. She's cold, cagey, spiky. There's no reaching her when she's like this. They have to let her be. Let her grieve. Eventually she'll find her way back.

Bonus! Homelander thinks everyone's lying. Ashley breaks the news to him, petrified and sweating. Something, a virus or bug or whatever, killed you. Because The Boys still needed your body, they mailed pictures of you to the Vought Tower addressed to Ashley. He looks through them, and though she tells him they're not fake, he orders them to check again. He holds on to one, unable to look away. When they tell him that yes, definitively, they are real, he orders everyone out. He goes to his floor and destroys everything. Everything is a mess. He hasn't cried like this in years, decades even. Uncontrollable sobbing, caressing your picture. You were the only one he ever really cared about. Now you were dead because of those asssholes. He doesn't come up with a strategy or plan. He will search the entire world until he has Butchers head on a platter. Until that whole fucking group is torn limb by limb.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.3

WandNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter Notes: Mentions of death, violence, underaged drinking, slight mentions of SA, lisichka=little fox

Summary: Natasha has heard stories of you from Wanda. It has her doubting your current day skill level. With Dragos and Wanda in a meeting, you get the chance to tell her a bit about the person you've become.

An: Finally something between Y/n and Natasha (I say finally as if this isn't chapter 3 lol) Anyway enjoy this chapter and see you back next week.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You could feel Natasha’s eyes on you as you worked. It was tedious work, but you typed away with a smile on your face regardless.  You thought that maybe she’d pick up her phone or something, but she seemed to just watch you.

“You want to ask me something or you just going to keep staring?” You kept your eyes on the computer screen as you addressed her.

“You’re different than Wanda said you’d be,” was all that she said.

You finally looked at the red head, “Well like I said, it’s been a while since she has seen me. A lot has changed in the years she’s been gone.”

“Like what?”

You paused your work to give Natasha your full attention. You sat back fully in your chair pondering back to the last time you saw Wanda. “Well, she left before I graduated. Back then I thought I was going to take my degrees, find an honest job, and live a normal life. I was fragile, even after the self-defense training. I hadn’t held a gun, I hadn’t hacked into anything, I was just a little girl.”

“And now?”

You gesture around you, “Now, I have this nice office. I crunch numbers for the most high-profile company in town, that just happens to be a front for a criminal organization. I have 2 degrees, I can defend my family and myself, I’ve shot a gun more times than I can count, and I could hack into anything that you could imagine.”

“You’ve got a ledger?” The line about the gun seemed to stick out to Natasha.

You shrug your shoulders, “I’ve carried my weight.”

“How many?”

The question startles you a bit. It was so candid as if she was asking about the weather. You could see them, the people you had killed. It wasn’t a large number, not even in the double digits, but still.

“7.” You don't know what compelled you to keep speaking,” I remember all of them. What is it they say about the first one? You will never forget it. I was 20, it was before I joined the organization. Pietro had dragged me to some party.”

“I take it you weren’t a party animal back then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Not even a little so I did what everyone does to get comfortable at a party. I took a few shots, it was stupid. As a light weight and someone not of legal drinking age, I should've been more careful. The shots had loosened me up, so I was enjoying the party for awhile. I lost Pietro at some point, but I was too drunk to notice.”

You see Natasha frown a bit, but you continue, “The host of party finds me on the dance floor. We dance for a while; we don't say much, just hi. Someone spilled a drink on me while we were dancing. He offered to get me a new shirt. Like the innocent little idiot I was, I followed him up to his room.”

You paused, almost feeling like you were back in that moment. You could feel everything again, your skin was hot and sweaty, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you could feel him on you.

Natasha could sense she lost you to the memory. She got up from the couch in your office to make her way towards you. She took a seat on the edge of your desk and pulled your hands into hers. “What happened in his room?”

“He tried to take advantage of me. He tore my shirt off just so his gross hands could grope my skin. He pulled me against him fiddled with his belt before trying mine. His breath was hot on my neck as he peppered kisses on my collarbone. When his hand slipped into my pants, is when it really clicked in my head. I had told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. You know the kind of guys that say, ‘you want this’ or ‘you teased me all night’ or ‘You’re the one half naked in my room’. He was one of those, no wasn’t going to cut it.”

Natasha squeezes your hand as you recount the harsh memory. It looks like you could cry right there in the office. Then all of a sudden, the tears pooling in your eyes are gone. A blank expression takes over your face.

“For a minute, I pretend I’m into what this creep is doing to me. Only enough for him to loosen his grip on me. At this point my back was against his front. I reach behind his head, like my arms trying to loop to bring him closer. Except one of my hand rests on top of his head and the other one is on the opposite side of his jaw. I snapped his neck. His body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.”

“Y/n- “

“I threw up when I saw him. After I was done, I called Pietro, he found me upstairs with the body. He felt so guilty for leaving me, but I could tell he was surprised too. So surprised that fragile little Y/n had snapped someone’s neck.”

Natasha’s eyes bored into yours, “That asshole deserved that. He deserved worse.”

“He didn’t rest even in death. Dragos made sure of it. He made that family’s life a living hell. It was a message to the entire city that I was under their protection. If anyone so much as laid a finger on me there would be dire consequences.”

A silence filled the room. Natasha didn't remove her hand from yours and you didn't ask her too. You glanced back at your computer, knowing you had to finish your work.

“Wanda never said you were fragile, just delicate,” Natasha’s fingers drew patterns on your hand.

You shake your head, “Wanda has always had a way with turning something negative into a positive. I never saw the difference between the two words, but she’d always say- “

“Fragile things break quickly into millions of pieces under the slightest pressure,” Natasha starts as if she had been there when Wanda said it to you.

“If you were fragile, you wouldn’t be here with us. You’re delicate, beautiful, intricate, and deserve to be handled with care,” you finish with a fond smile on your lips.

“For what it’s worth, I think she was right,” Natasha returns to her space on the couch to allow you to keep working.

She finally pulls out her phone seeming to have relaxed a bit because of your vulnerability. You want to refocus on work, but there are some questions that are nagging you about the woman in your office.

“How did you two meets? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Natasha ponders a minute for a suitable answer, and you take note of it, “The short version is that we met at work.”

You raise an eyebrow, “And what did you do for work?”

“Guess.”

You let your eyes look over the woman. You took in her relaxed posture, the muscles hiding under her shirt, the way she allowed you to be vulnerable with her, the mischievous glint in her eye. She was a multifaceted woman, you could tell.

“Spy, a Russian spy to be exact.”

Natasha seems slightly surprised, “How’d you guess Russian?”

“Romanoff sounds suspiciously close to Romanov, common last name in old Russia.”

“You’re a smart lisichka aren’t you?”

A blush takes over your features, “Little fox is new, but you’re stalling, Natasha.”

She crosses her arms across her chest, “Well I was formerly spy, turned into assassin for hire. I was anonymously hired to kill Wanda.”

“Too charming to kill?”

Natasha sighs, “I tried, but she was just too good. We started this rivalry, playful banter, suggestive tones, I spent a lot of time trapped under her thighs. It got to the point where I didn’t want to kill her, I had terminated the contract, but I just kept coming around to see her. She told me that my skills were being wasted on petty assassinations, when I could be working for her. I said the only way I’d consider was if she went out with me. The rest is history.”

“Leave it to Wanda to seduce an assassin.”

Natasha laughs, “Hey, she only seduced me because I let her.”

“Whatever you say super spy. I’ve got to finish this work before we have to leave for dinner.”

“Flora might have your head if you show up late,” Natasha comments.

You press the small button on your desk, “Thanks for reminding me. Kate, do you think you could get me some hydrangeas for Mrs.Maximoff.”

“Of course, Y/nn, anything for you,” she responds cheerfully.

You roll your eyes, “Thanks Katie.”

With that you're back to working. Though Natasha pulls out her phone, you still feel her eyes on you at time. It sends shivers up your spine, yet you don't want her to stop looking.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername

[connorsui]

Simon x reader - || Imagine ||

"Silent Confessions"

-

The rain pelted against the window of their small flat, a steady rhythm that filled the quiet room. Simon sat on the worn-out sofa, his body slouched but tense, the kind of stillness that spoke of everything he kept locked inside. His skull mask was discarded on the table, revealing his rugged face, his eyes shadowed but full of an emotion that you always struggled to put a name to. It was something deeper than mere affection—something more raw, more vulnerable, though Simon would never say it aloud.

You stood in the kitchen, drying a mug from the late-night tea that you had shared, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. Even now, as battle-hardened as he was, there was a fragility to Simon in these rare moments of stillness that made your heart ache for him, for all the things he never allowed himself to say.

And yet, when he finally spoke, it was like a blade cutting through the quiet.

“They say... when you’re dead, the things that get to you... they ain’t the pain.” His voice was low, gravelly, but there was an edge to it, something simmering beneath the surface. “It’s the memories that get eaten first.” His gaze locked onto yours, dark and piercing. “If they get into my head, if they try to chew through my brain when I’m six feet under... they’ll see you.”

Your breath caught, fingers stilling on the towel in your hand as you listened, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest.

“They’ll smell what you smell like,” he continued, his voice rough but steady, as if he had rehearsed this confession in his mind a hundred times. “They’ll hear your voice, the way you say my name, soft… like it means something.” His jaw clenched, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, but he pushed forward. “Even when I’m gone, you’ll be in there, in the corners of what’s left of me. They'll get to experience what I never thought I deserved... you.”

Your heart pounded, your body frozen by the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability you knew he tried so hard to bury. It was rare for Simon to speak like this, to open up even a little, but when he did—it always left you shaken, reminding you just how deeply he felt everything despite the cold exterior he wore like armor.

You stepped forward, placing the towel aside, closing the space between you until you stood in front of him. Slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his scarred cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath your touch. His eyes softened, just barely, but it was enough.

“Simon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “You don’t have to be afraid of that. I’m with you now… and wherever you are, I’ll be with you then, too.”

He held your gaze, his hand coming up to rest over yours, pressing your palm against his face, like your touch was the only thing grounding him in that moment. “Don’t say things like that,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words—only an exhaustion, a weariness that spoke of how much he wished he could believe it.

“I mean it,” you whispered, your voice firm despite the emotion tightening in your throat. “You’ll never be alone, Simon. Not in life… not in death.”

For a moment, you both just stayed like that—your hand on his face, his hand holding yours there, your breathing in sync, the storm outside a distant murmur compared to the quiet intimacy between you.

And in that silence, Simon let himself believe you, if only for a moment.

I needed some simon after so long

[sitepathos]

I love from gold to mold but now I'm wondering from one of the ask what if reader was tortured to death and just kinda wanted to die so when the deal happens he just kinds of say sure have my body, I don't care, just let me die. So they do, maybe his conscience it's still there somewhere in a coma they don't want to wake up from, but the megamycete is the one in complete control and they decide hey, maybe the polite thing is to notify, so they go to the batfam and spill the entire beans.

And then shit hit the fan. Completelly

It’s a nice thought, imagining the Megamycete recreating Y/N’s body and exacting revenge on his behalf, but unfortunately, that couldn’t happen. If it could, it would’ve left that cave years ago. No, in order to leave the cave, it requires a living host and if you had died, it would’ve just absorbed your corpse to add to its biomass and archived your memories into its records. Once you die, you lose that spark of life, making you just food to the sentient mold and unable to commune with it like you did in Chapter 3.

However, if this were to happen, the process of absorption and archiving wouldn’t go as normally as it normally does. See, most corpses it gets ahold of have long since gone cold, so when it gets through the body’s memories, its sensations and feelings aren’t as powerful (think of it like watered down alcohol).

You, however, are freshly killed, your body still warm and your brain still active, leaving memories fresh. As it absorbs your memories, the rage and sadness you’ve experienced for years hit it like a freight train. It’s been alive for over 400 years and this is the first time in its long existence it knows the feelings of hatred, depression, grief, and loss.

It’s thanks to this that the Megamycete holds you in high regards, valuing you more than the countless corpses its absorbed.

As it goes through your memories, it sees how much you hated the Waynes and wanted nothing more than to make them miserable and so, it seeks to grant your wish as thanks for allowing it to feel for the first time in years.

While it can’t assume a corporeal body, it can expand its roots, burrow them underneath the foundation of Wayne Manor and Wayne Tower and cause significant damage, even causing them to collapse entirely.

And when the roots infiltrate the Batcave? It’ll use them to attack them, whipping them or wrapping around their bodies and crushing them into powder. While I can’t say if the Megamycete could kill them or not, it would provide them with quite the challenge.

[impactedfates]

Hi hi I'm feeling so cruel right now >:]

So uuuh HCs for DH[IL], Jingyuan, Blade and Welt reacts how does their child [reader] dies... Like imagine how reader dies is like how the Genshin Playable characters die [they dusted away]

Please feed me a n gst

—🫶🏻 Anon

★ A/N: The way the reader dies reminds me of how one of my ocs species dies lmao. Hopefully this is up your ally :))

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic + Familial + Angst

★ Format: Bullet Pointed HeadCannons (It kinda turned into a mini story I think-)

☆ Warnings: Mentions of Death (Readers)

★ Extra: Adopted reader in all // Reader is under 12 for Dan Fengs, and in their teens for the rest // Giving Jing Yuan more of a sad life/hj // Wrote this in WellBeing class lmao // Characters may be OOC

Dan Feng as a High Elder doesn’t always have the time to really see you. Sure when he first adopted you he did spend a good chunk of his time with you but eventually his duties caught up.

He appointed someone to look after you. Someone that you knew and that he knew. Someone trustworthy.

So when he came back to his home early one day, the house dead silent. He grew worried. He called out to the person, to you. But there was no response.

He walked to your room, perhaps the both of you fell asleep. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But all he could witness was dust covering your room. And the man no where to be seen.

He knew instantly where that dust came from, he was quick to search for him. Found him hiding thinking he could get away, unaware that Dan Feng would be home early, unaware Dan Feng would catch him.

The man he had trusted to protect you, was the same man who ended the life you should’ve continued to have.

Dan Feng was quick to throw the man in the Shackling Prison, praying to whatever Aeon that can hear him that he gets what he deserves.

He collected as much of the dust that was still in his house, the last thing that he had of you. And carefully placed them in a jar.

Many question the High Elder why he holds a jar of dust so dearly to him, and all those times he refuses to answer. Not wanting to break down in front of the other Vidyadharas.

It was only a mission, a mission he sent you and Yanqing on. He had thought there were only a few Mara struck soldiers that had to be defeated.

He had wondered why Yanqing slowly entered the Seat of Divine Foresight without you. He had wondered why Yanqing was breathing rapidly and on the verge of tears.

Jing Yuan comforted Yanqing before asking about your whereabouts. Perhaps you were getting snacks after a successful mission? Yanqing could only try to explain in a shaky voice, clearly startled and upset.

But why would he be upset? You were his adopted sibling and was usually so kind to him. You wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him?

Yanqing tried his best to explain, stuttering over his words and needing to take a few deep breaths, the General listened carefully.

…Ambush? Well…Jing Yuan supposed he made an error in that. He only thought there were a few. Wow, if you and Yanqing didn’t know about that then you could’ve been caught off guard and…

Oh!

Oh…

Jing Yuan quickly connected the dots, he slowly held Yanqing closer, witnessing his own sibling fall to the hands of the Mara struck then be faced with dealing with the remaining enemies…he couldn’t imagine the stress.

A ceremony was held in your honour. Your dust already gone away like the wind so your memories will follow as he sends multiple starsciff at with gifts.

But he’ll always remember, he’ll remember the regret he felt that he couldn’t do anything nor could he have seen that an ambush would occur.

He wished he could’ve done something.

Are you dumb or something??

Blade could’ve taken that hit. Why’d you have to take it!?

He would’ve been fine. He wouldn’t been okay, a relief would’ve washed over him even though he knew he’d survive.

So then why did you have to take the hit that was meant for him, and leave him in a state of rage?

He quickly disposed of the pests that caused your demise, before trying to check on you. But all he could do was watch as your body dusts away.

He tried his best to grab any dust he could but most went with the wind. All he could do was stand there questioning why you would do that.

He said he’d protect you. Everyone else in the Stellaron Hunters were busy so he had to take you with him when he did his part. Yet it ended with you gone.

There was a small ceremony for your disappearance from the earth. Elio as much as he may not want too, he continued sending people on missions however allowed Blade to opt out of them he could properly mourn.

Blade still wonders why you decided to save him when he would’ve been fine, he wonders if he’d be able to save you if he noticed the enemy creepy behind him.

It was just a small argument. Welt felt bad but allowed you to storm off. You’d return eventually anyways. You’d return once dinner was ready back at the express, you knew what time that was.

But you never did return did you? Welt had thought long and hard and was ready to apologise for his words yet you weren’t back yet? Did you get dinner then go to your room?

He went to check, your room was the exact same you left it.

Did…anyone see you come back? He questioned the members of the express. None have seen you.

Finally he grabbed his coat and cane and went to look for you. Went in the direction you went and searched. As he walked his foot stepped in something. Looking down confused, his eyes widened.

Golden Dust. Dust that he knew belonged to you. Dust that told him you were gone.

And he wasn’t able to tell you he was sorry.

Welt is silent as he walks back, he let the wind take your dust elsewhere. A place he hopes you’d be happy in.

He was quiet but able to tell the express what happened. Each of them holding a small funeral for you. They kept your room intact, filled with things you loved before locking it. That room will no longer be filled with warmth but will soon grow cold.

Welt drew a picture of you, keeping it safe with him. And despite how it may seem that eventually he was over your death. He could never be.

Not until he was able to apologise for the argument.

But that won’t happen anytime soon now will it?

This was actually rlly fun to write!! Especially in well-being haha. This was meant to be posted yesterday but something came up so here it is now haha.

Might've missed some warnings, so as always. Please inform me if I did.

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi !! just curious because i was looking at your adventure time episode guide and i love hearing other peoples adventure time takes !! how come you don't like finn's characterisation in together again?

I've talked about it before here and here!

But also I'm gonna say more and share some art I did in 2021 for a rewrite comic that I never got around to doing

So again to reiterate: Adventure Time is usually VERY good at making it feel like time passes, even when you're not watching. It's something about what they don't show that tells you everything you need to know.

Together Again did not do this.

It really really felt like they were avoiding showing Finn as an adult, as if they wanted to leave his post-show life ambiguous. Which, now that Fionna and Cake has shown us literally that, it makes Together Again feel even more wrong?? Like. imagine you have to pick a moment from your life that represents You™ the most. Together Again said that Finn, after living his whole life and dying as an old man, feels most represented by how he was at 17. I do not buy this. I am 25, and I cannot fathom identifying by my 17 year old self. I was a completely different person then, I was still cooking. I can imagine most people feel the same. And ok, so maybe Finn DOES for some reason feel stuck at 17? Explain to me why!! What needed to happen to him that made him feel that way?

And before you just say "it's because Jake died," there's still too much that was left out. How old was Finn when Jake died? What was Finn like, at that point? What else had they accomplished? What was he doing at the time that was on the forefront of his mind? Where/with who did they spend most of their time? Where were they living after the treehouse got destroyed?

It was like,,, it was like the story Together Again actually wanted to tell was about Finn's grief, and how poorly he copes, and how too much of his identity is tied to Having Jake, and how he struggles to move on. But that's not the story we got. I honestly think-- as interesting as it was-- everything with New Death and Tiffany and Lich just did a disservice to the focus, which was Finn trying to get over Jake.

I think Together Again should have gone like this:

Finn and Jake had always planned that whoever died first would wait in the dead world for the other to die so the two of them could reincarnate. Jake dies first. Jake would be able to "watch over" Finn as he lives the rest of his life, so Jake wouldn't miss Finn as much as vice versa, since he'd feel like he's still there with him. Eventually, Finn dies.

Finn's appearance would change with his emotional state. I thought it'd be interesting to show different phases of his life through the stages of grief.

There'd be a room where they could watch Finn's memories. Finn would walk Jake through the events of his life. We SEE exactly how Finn dealt with grief, with heartbreak, with love, with friends, with community. All the good and all the bad.

By the end of it, Finn is quiet. "Jake... when we reincarnate, will we.. lose all of this?" "Well, do you remember anything from any of your other past lives?" "No.. But that's the point. I don't want to forget you." Finn, despite their promise, despite Jake waiting for him all this time, declines reincarnating. He doesn't want to move on, because that would mean forgetting everything. He wants to say with Jake!! He JUST got Jake back!!

“What if— in the future— what if they forget about us? What if they don’t know about all the stuff we did?” We see Ooo in its current state. It’s changed, but it’s clearly been affected by the two of them. Every person they’ve saved, every civilization they helped build, every hero they’ve inspired. They’ve left their touch everywhere. “They’ll know,” Jake says with certainty. “We’ll know.” We see the future, with Shermy and Beth. We see the Finn Sword, and BMO with all their old belongings. Everything stays, but it still changes. Will happen, happening, happened. These have always been the themes of the show. They reincarnate, together.

[koiiiso]

Lay My Curses All To Rest. (Make A Mercy Out Of Me.)

Caitlyn Kiramman/F!Mage!R!

Tags: @kings-paintbrush

Proofread: Yes/No

Summary: Within the world was a land neighboring Piltover and Zaun. A land where magic was normalized and accepted, praised even. When dear soldiers from this land were sent to assist their neighbors, a woman catches Caitlyn’s eyes. Perhaps it was the fact that she looked like that of a beast yet so human, or the fact that this woman was a practical parallel of her own self, both the one of the past and the present.

Oftentimes, memories are that of a mystery to ponder. To ponder your own thoughts and feelings amongst the experiences and expectations once set feels natural yet so odd, as if sinful. The case here within her large mind was similar to that, a questionable sense of idealism that could be so horrid was so prevalent among her thoughts.

The memories she had long since pondered, ones of magic questioned her knowledge of the rules. Piltover never allowed magic within its grand walls, to keep out all that wasn’t explained. Caitlyn liked it this way, she had the vast knowledge of sciences recorded at her fingertips at the daily.

Yet as almost a decade or two passed since the time she didn’t have knowledge to explain this, memory, it comes back more prevalent than before.

Then she looked into the foreign books, ones she wasn’t allowed to even mutter the names of, ones of magic.

She felt a guilty urge deep inside her, as if she was breaking the laws of science, the ones she adored, yet she pushed her feelings down. She needed an explanation. One for magic. One for you.

She hated you.

You were this mage from the neighboring nation, and you just so happened to live next to the border, which she lived next to on the opposing side.

The pair of you were opposites, truly.

You were magic, she wasn’t. She was wealthy beyond imagination, and you weren’t. You were a force of chaos, always joyful, and she was more peaceful than not.

You would oftentimes go over the boarder for whatever reason, always after either flowers or bugs needed. You showed her magic she couldn’t explain so easily, it was normalized for you.

She can recall when she asked you how you could do that, how magic is even feasible.

“Didn’t I just show you how?” You asked her, head tilting a bit as you lowered your hands, the magic once so vibrantly pulsing now dispersing.

“Well, just how do you do it?” She egged on, the accented voice of hers was softer than normal, she tilted her own head to meet your eyes, your pretty eyes. Her bangs got in her eyes for a moment, and just as pulled them back, you were gone.

That was the last time she saw you, and despite her dislike for you, she missed you. You intrigued her, and she missed her curiosity that seemed to overwhelm her when she was near you.

She missed you so goddamn much.

The tellings of war spread faster than the action given against the opposition.

Within the world of magic, rumors are their own powers. The words echoing forevermore amongst the systematical order of the world, of the hierarchy. 

Miraland was the neighboring nation to Piltover, full of joy and magic within. There were few exceptions for the more talented users. They were sent away to hone these skills they had, then sent off to different nations of war to just be used as a defense before death overtook them.

Miraland used to be a weapons capital, having great trade with those who needed to have violence as a surrounding factor. Then within a fit of rage, a mage, full of a bittersweet love he just lost to these weapons cursed the land forevermore.

The rumors of this curse spoke of horror to those who use their magic, their blessings, for violence, forced or not.

The first to happen would be their organs tightening until they burst inside of the magic user, keeping them alive still yet in such pain that could be considered torturous.

Then fire would replace the organs, cooking the person alive until they were nothing more than that of a pile of ash, lost within the wind.

You were a part of the advanced mages, unwilling. You didn’t want to die, never minded death but it certainly wasn’t a want. When the curse was described to you, it felt more like a prophecy than a warning.

You suppose it is one due to where you find yourself currently, on a one way cart to Piltover. You knew your fate was sealed.

Looking around at your fellows, those who graduated with you, they all seemed tense. They knew what you knew, and it was anything but comforting.

You were about to die, shipped off to a war you wanted no part in, and it made you hope to die not of the curse but of being killed. It would be more than merciful for you.

The cart arrived at the border, and your fate was sealed.

The gate to the border opened, and the cart went through, heading toward the entrance of the meeting point. Then the doors opened, you all got up and exited the cart, which left just as soon as it came.

Following the guards into the meeting room, you clutched onto your staff whilst looking around. The staff was a special one for you, carved of owl and goat bone, Titan blood poured upon the jewels, allowing a magic not yet known to flow through you. At the end of the staff was a flower, the white lily, a mourning flower. Your mother encased and sewed it upon your staff, she knew just as well as you did that you were to perish.

Finally, you stood before the doors to the meeting room. It’s time to meet your commanders and your killers, those who will knowingly lead you to your death and have to not care.

The doors open, and you all enter, coming face to face with them all. Then face to face with that girl. You remember her, and it seems she remembers you.

Caitlyn’s lips part slightly. The meeting paused as the others turned to examine you all. There was a girl with poorly dyed black to pink hair, a goddess-like woman, and a bear-like man there as well.

You cleared your throat, going to speak, and address what is to happen upon your side. “I would like to make you lot aware of what is to happen in case you were not informed. When the magic is violent we have a small window to use it when it’s active. During this window the magic is shrinking our organs before they burst and then burn us inside until we are only mere ashes. This is protocol. So we will need a plan to be informed of.” You stated, blunt. This was a standard upheld, let them know what hell you were to go through and hope you don’t have to use magic.

Then a pause.

Then a plan came.

Throughout the conversation, Caitlyn stared at you. You missed her, and it seemed like she missed you as well.

The plan was enacted, and the magic did its part. It was hell.

Most died before the plan failed, leaving only you and a girl. She was a stranger to you, only having short interactions at the school. Janna you wish you would have spoken to her.

From the upper levels you saw what happened, it was all a failure. Caitlyn and Ambessa were fighting it out, those of the undercity just appeared, and it was chaos as they were mostly taken in the arms of the robots that caused so much grievance.

Taking the girl’s hand within your own, you led her up higher. You needed to get to a better vantage point. You needed to see what was happening and cause a distraction.

You reach the top, unaware of the robots that were following you two until the swarm came upon you. You didn’t have time to think, setting the girl down as she started to gasp for air, choking on her own blood as the fire seemed to overtake her. Her reaction to the curse was delayed to the point you thought of her as a survivor.

The robots surrounded you, nearly atop you. So you did what you could. Raw magic poured from your hands, connecting to your staff as you slammed it into the ground, shattering it.

The bones cracked, the jewels shattered like glass, Titan’s blood bursting out like that of whips. The white lily became that of a ball of light, so you spread it, larger than Piltover itself, all in hope of dissolving the robots.

You succeeded mostly, but that has its consequences.

The robots completely disappeared into little bulbs of light.

Then your own death started. Yet it was different, it felt different.

Grass grew upon you, overtaking you fully before your staff came back to life, finally in your hands one last time. Eyes were upon you as your body turned to mold before becoming that of light and disappearing. It was a beacon, and a distraction and then.

Then you were gone.

Yet Caitlyn was still here.

She recalls those stupid smiles, that stupid grin you always had! How your stupid magic always had an effect! She hates-!

Then she woke up, her arms around Vi’s waist. She felt sticky as sweat clung to her. With a sigh she burrows her face into Vi’s neck, giving it a gentle kiss before dozing off once more into her thoughts.

How could she miss and mourn someone she barely knew?

[miserycanary]

MISSION: LOVE KILL  ᡣ𐭩 [trailer]

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the trailer to my very first full-length series set in a soulmate AU. 

pairings: (applies to future parts) angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, misunderstandings, rivals to lovers to rivals, featuring Ghost's inability to communicate, graphic mentions of violence, might hint to sexual violence, BARELY PUT TOGETHER, torture, one bed trope, i-will-wait-for-you trope, loving-you-is-like-breathing trope, slowburn (unless I get bored and rush this), poor poor attempt in crack, will add more as we go on

The subtle searing pain on the back of his neck is enough reason for Ghost to hate the idea of soulmates existing. It wasn’t just the fact that he has lived up to his 30s feeling like a fire wasp is buzzing under his skin, it was that the government fully developed their system with pairs in mind. You mean to tell him that he has to have found his partner—who’s probably cities or even continents away—just so that he could fucking own property? Utter fucking bullshit, he calls it. 

‘Nutjobs! The lot of them’

It was also the fact he had to watch his mum’s so-called soulmate almost beat them up to death each day. How could someone whose single purpose in life is to torment them be his mother’s soulmate? Fate either has a weird take on the concept of love and the whole shenanigan or it’s fucking wicked. Either way, the S-word has left a bad taste in his mouth—and memory. He would rather die, not having property—or anything really—to his name if it means that he wouldn’t comply to the fucking standards of pairs. 

Or so he thought because, once again, life is fucking wicked like that. 

When he first broke the news that he would be retiring from the army, he expected his future days ahead full of smooth-sailing lounging. Maybe a cup of tea in hand or even some biscuits if he was feeling fancy. Imagine his shocked face when he inquired with a real-estate agent to finally have something to call home, no longer needing to stay by some cheap hotel with what his little pay could afford, that he cannot fucking do that! 

“Yeah, this would be good. Really nice stuff here,” Ghost gruffs. “Yeah? Well, let’s get started then. Um, here are the paperworks that you need to fill out. Uhh, you just need to input your government code and your partner’s. It is policy that you bring your pair in with you when it comes to legal documents, but I’m sure that we could make an exception for our veteran here,” the agent smiles; one that Ghost did not reciprocate. “I ain’t got a missus with me. Haven’t found them yet.” 

It was a simple explanation, not wanting to dwell too much on his reasons. Before he could even take the papers in his hand, the man retracts. Confusion etched on Ghost’s face while pity is on the man’s. “Oh, I am really sorry but you are legally required to have a partner before you could own property—or anything for that matter.” Ghost looked this agent for a good few minutes, anticipating the ‘sike’ that he desperately wishes to hear but only dead silence echoes. “Surely you could, say, make an except for a veteran?” he nervously chuckles out, trying to weasel his way into a fucking home. Nothing. Dead fucking silence that’s heavy with pity. Ghost loathes it.

Without even saying a word, he turns his back and starts walking towards the car he rented today, because you can’t even own a car in this government! He should have flagged it as weird when the lady in the car shop insists that he should rent first before buying something. So, now he sits in the dingy bar that Soap has dragged him into after he informed the force that he would not be settling anytime soon. After explaining his circumstance, he expected them to react like he did before, but no. They all replied like they knew this. Even saying stuff like, “you didn’t know?” Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like Ghost was invested in property or anything for that matter while he was serving. All he cared about was surviving each day, and that is it. 

“Aye, cheer up, lad. Life ain’ that bad. Ya’ just gotta get them lassie, and all yer problems would go away,” the Scot on his right drunkenly offers advice—a shit one at that. Did he really think Ghost hasn’t stepped foot on every land they got deployed with heavy hopes that he’ll find whoever he needs to find there? He fucking hates it here. He should have not retired this early if he knew this would happen. Now he needs to go around the world and search for the lassie whose presence—or her lack thereof—is the root of all his problems. 

If finding a needle in a haystack is hard, imagine finding a lady that’s probably moving countries as he speaks with Soap. “Yeah, like that’s fucking easy,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before lifting his mask just enough to down his shot of whiskey. The fiery burn of the alcohol down his throat is nothing compared to the one on his neck. He would rather have it cut at this point than to go on about this miserable lifetime any longer.

“Should I just cut and peel it off?” he mumbles to no one in particular; probably to Fate if that shit is listening. Seeing that no one else in the rundown bar is really paying attention to him, Soap takes the honour in replying to him instead. “According tae what I’ve seen, jobby pain is hee haw compared tae th' pain ye will feel in yer heart. Doctors say that th' pain goes tae th' heart instead while tripling”. Unprompted, Ghost curses like a fucking sailor. Saying stuff that will probably get him on the government's watchlist if he wasn’t part of the military serving this goddamn country. He risks his life daily and this is what he gets? Ungrateful bastards.

With a slam of the glass on the mahogany table, he stands up with a new profound determination. “Fuck it, I’m finding that missus if it’s the last thing that I do”. “Eyy, that’s the spirit, matie,” Soap drunkenly encourages him, which should have been the first red flag on this idea. Any idea supported by Soap is an immediate botch.

Well, what could go wrong? He’s retired anyway. 

Turns out, many could go wrong. Well, here’s to the fucking shit-show of his life.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: please give this love!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! @hotvinimon

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[j2hoes]

Hopes And Fears Part Three. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Y/N’s death is traumatic. So traumatic in fact, she can’t even look at Wally without reliving what happened to her.

Word Count: 2.4k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Mature Language

I’ve grown fond of the early mornings whilst stuck at Split River. The first glimpse of the sun shining over the gardens, a warm hue welcoming the day. With no students roaming the halls, all I hear is the quiet sounds of nature. On the odd occasion, I’m even able to spot a rabbit or deer, grazing gently on the acres of freshly trimmed fields surrounding the school buildings.

It’s become a habit of mine, each morning I find myself lounging besides the flowerbeds. Allowing myself to feel each blade of grass that delicately brushes my skin. For a while, I forget that I’m no longer alive. I can simply exist.

It’s not uncommon for Wally to join me. Sprawled on his back, gazing up at the clouds. Pointing out different shapes and imagining different backstories for all of the cloud animals he sees. Besides that, neither of us speak much. Only enjoying one another’s company as we relax in the morning light.

Spending this time has given me the opportunity to process everything. Wally helps me to work through my emotions and thoughts. Nothing ever being too much for him to listen to, though I’m still afraid to divulge everything. I’m sure he can sense that I’m holding back, yet he doesn’t pry. Content to just listen. In all honestly, I truly believe that these moments with Wally have helped me more so than Mr Martin’s support group has. Despite attending every session since my memorial, I consistently leave the group feeling unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. In fact, it doesn’t seem as though the teacher wants us to discuss the past, our lives and our deaths. Only wanting us to focus on the present, the state we are confined to. I find myself struggling with this a lot.

“What do you think you would be doing if you hadn’t died?”

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I look over to Wally, who is resting on his stomach, absentmindedly plucking grass from the ground.

“I was supposed to go to college, play football. Hopefully make it pro, that’s what the plan was anyway.” He tells me, full of confidence yet his tone of voice suggests that’s not the pathway he would’ve chosen for himself.

“What about like outside of a job though?” I pry, the boy has my curiosity heightened. “Like, surely you have other things that you wanted to do?”

His eyes focus in on the pieces of grass that he’s now twisting together in a makeshift sort of chain. Deep in thought, I can see the cogs working in his brain as he tries to think of an answer for me. I’m sure it’s not something he’s necessarily thought of before, following the path that his mom set out for him upon birth.

“You’re gonna laugh, but I always wanted to get married and have a family. I know that times have changed and you lot don’t really believe in marriage and stuff that much anymore but I’m a family guy. Always have been.” He admits, finally looking at me and I see the honesty written across his face. “It just sucks that I’ll never actually get to experience it.”

My heart aches for him. One fatal accident and his entire future was stripped away. Never getting to experience the things he always dreamed of. It breaks heart, knowing what he could have had.

“Wally, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal, really, I’ve spent the last few decades accepting my fate and it’s not so bad here.” He tells me, a sadness shining in the brown of his eyes, trying his best to cover it up with a soft smile. “What about you? Other than taking over the world with your best friend, what was the plan?”

Giggling slightly as he references Abby’s speech, I start to wonder what my life would’ve looked like. Truthfully, I have no idea. My life revolved around dancing and cheer, other than that I have no clue as to who I am. Up until my death, I didn’t believe I was worthy of love, the one chance I took was with Spencer and look how that turned out.

“I suppose I wanted to leave Split River, Abby wanted to go to New York so I figured I would study there.” I reply, knowing New York was never my dream. I just couldn’t bare to part with her once high school ended. “It would be quite nice to live on a farm. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by animals, I think that would’ve been my dream.”

“Now this makes sense.”

Crossing my legs underneath me to sit up properly, he’s unable to hide the bright smile on his face. Clearly finding some amusement in what I said.

“What makes sense?” I ask, to which he laughs quietly. Pulling a clump of grass out of the ground, I launch it in his direction. “Hey, you dickhead, I didn’t laugh at you, so you can’t laugh at me.”

“No, no. I’m not laughing at you.” Wally speaks through chuckles, rolling on to his back. “It just makes sense now why you like to sit out here.”

His arms are thrown across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. I can’t help but stare as his muscles flex, admiring the sight in front of me. Following his body, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek as I notice his top has risen up his stomach ever so slightly. Highlighting the small trail of hair that dips below his shorts.

“Did you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out, before I even realise what I’m saying.

Slapping my hand across my mouth, embarrassment floods my body, eyes wide as Wally smiles. Eyebrows raised as he looks over to me. Sly smile making its way on to his face.

“No. No girlfriend. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I mean, star high school quarterback, you must have had girls queuing up for your attention.” I’m able to stop myself before I begin a long-winded rant. Helping to ease at least a tiny amount of my embarrassment.

Wally rolls his eyes at my comment. “Well in that case you must’ve had boys queuing up for your attention. What with being head cheerleader and all.”

“Ha ha. Okay, I know it was a stupid question.”

Fortunately for me, I’m saved from making a fool out of myself even more by the sounds of cars entering the parking lot. In unison, we both turn to face the sound. Observing the students that have started to filter into the building, chatting loudly amongst one another as they do so.

My vision locks in on Spencer and his gang of hooligans. They’re jumping all over one another without a care in the world as they make their way into the school. Trail of awestruck girls following behind in the hopes of garnering the smallest amount of attention from one of the jocks.

If only I was able to tell them what they’re really like. Perhaps they wouldn’t make the same mistake that I made. Perhaps I’d be able to save them from the same fate that I suffered.

“So I was thinking we could have a pool day. I think Charlie would be up for it, maybe not Rhonda, but it could be fun for us all just to chill out. You haven’t really spent much time with anyone else apart from in our sessions with Mr Martin.”

Wally’s words echo around my head though I’m not paying any attention. Despite, no longer being able to see the group that I was fixated on, I’m still closely watching the area that they had just previously been walking through.

Two weeks later and Spencer and his friends still evade justice. Police presence at the school has increased drastically with crime scene investigators cornering off the old toilet block. Maybe I’m impatient, but it feels like they’re getting away with it. Receiving no consequences for their heinous actions.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

Wally’s words finally drag me out of my thoughts and I meet his eyes. “Yeah, pool day, sounds good.”

“And we’re inviting Charlie and Rhonda.” He states, eyebrows raised as he knows I wasn’t truly paying attention to a word he said.

“Oh, no. They’re nice but can we just do it alone? I’m not sure I feel up to doing a whole group thing.”

Wally nods, though his eyes narrow. Sensing there’s something off with me. He’s good at noticing whenever my demeanour changes, or whenever something is bothering me. It’s part of his nature.

“Yeah of course. We should probably head to group first though.” The athlete pushes himself off the floor as he speaks, waiting for me to stand as well which I reluctantly do, not before releasing an annoyed groan. “You know, one of these days, you might actually enjoy the sessions.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow Wally towards the gym. He holds the doors open for me as we enter the building, his small act of chivalry makes me giddy. I make no effort to show this however, politely thanking the boy as I walk through.

“Ah here they are! Took you two long enough.” Charlie jokes as we enter the gym, taking our seats. I sit between Dawn and Rhonda with Wally seating himself between Charlie and Mr Martin.

“No guesses what they’ve been up to.” Rhonda comments, lollipop hanging out the side of her mouth as she does so.

“Thank you Rhonda.” Mr Martin chimes in, stopping the conversation from escalating any further. “So today, I figured we would get to know our newest member. Y/N you’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and we still don’t know too much about you.”

“I’m sure Wally could tell us all about her.” Rhonda remarks under her breath. So quiet, I almost don’t catch it.

“I’m sorry, is there something you want to say?” I snap, my tone harsh and confronting.

She laughs in response, the annoyance on my face evident as I glare at her. Her snarky and sarcastic nature hasn’t proven to be a problem for me, though I think that may be about to change.

“Y/N, tell us about your death. We’re all dying to know what happened. No pun intended.” The teacher interjects, attempting to diffuse the tense situation yet I still feel on edge.

“No thank you.”

“Oh come on Y/N, none of us are going to judge you. You know that.” Charlie tells me, offering me a reassuring smile.

“No, she’d rather just listen to all our trauma. Isn’t that right cherry pop?”

Rhonda’s words strike a chord within me. I’ll admit, the other ghosts have been very open about their deaths with me. All discussing in detail what happened to them to result in this fate. Sure, I haven’t divulged into the details of my death as of yet, but it’s for good reason. Not only am I still trying to process it myself but I don’t want them to look at me any differently nor do I want them to take pity on me when they learn the details.

“Do you have a problem with me or something Rhonda?” I ask, swinging around in my chair so that I can face her directly.

Upon doing so, I take note of how Charlie and Wally are quick to sit up straight. Feeling the anger radiating off me and awaiting any possible confrontation that may be about to occur.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The girl retorts, crossing her arms over her chest before she continues speaking. “You waltz in here and make no effort with any of us besides Wally. Who, let’s not forget, you made to feel like a piece of shit on your first day after that unreasonable outburst. You listen to all of us recounting our deaths, the most traumatic things that could’ve happened to us and still none of us know what happened to you. It hardly seems fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Rhonda. I’m sorry that i’m still processing what happened to me. I’m sorry that I’m not ready to discuss it with a group of strangers. I am so sorry that I’m not getting over everything as quick as you would like me to.”

My voice is raised as I speak, hurt that she would even think that my choice not to share what happened is a personal attack on the group. No matter how hurt I’m feeling, the anger completely outweighs it. Angry that she can’t see that I’m still struggling and angry that my murderers are still attending this school. Instead of being locked behind bars for the rest of their life, like they deserve to be. Nobody can understand what I am going through and that makes me so astonishingly angry.

“Boo hoo. You’re still processing, we’re all still processing. Not to mention the fact that we’ve barely seen Wally these past couple of weeks because he’s been trailing around after you, trying to make you feel less threatened by him. He’s even taken off that stupid football shirt that he loved so much! I hate to break it to you, but he was here first.” She argues, tears well in my eyes as she mentions Wally. I lock eyes with him and see his downcast expression. Was she right? Was he only spending this time with me to make me feel better and less scared? “You should do everybody a favour and fuck off back to the old toilet block where you came from.”

“Rhonda!” Charlie exclaims, clearly shocked by her words.

“Is that how you really feel Wally?” I ask hesitantly, the dejection evident in my voice.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Nodding slightly, I understand completely. Pushing myself out of the chair, nobody speaks as I make my exit from the room.

“Lovely chat.” Rhonda shouts, one last attempt to get a reaction from me. Even as I shove open the doors with an obnoxious slam, I don’t look back.

The entirety of my body feels heavy as I drag myself down the hallways. Nobody comes after me, not even Wally. I feel truly alone, hurt and confused. Death was supposed to be peaceful and yet here I am. Suffering more than I ever did when alive.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[emi-the-gremlin]

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

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

Immediately starts fucking screaming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Design:

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

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

[velariscalling]

Poison - A Cassian Imagine

Characters: Cassian x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Cassian and Reader have some history, and when she captures him for Hybern, they pick up where they left off, despite how she may have just cursed him to death.

Warnings: Smut, oral (both receiving), restraints, wingplay for a sec, mentions/description of injury, mentions of death, Cassian is literally poisoned.

A/N: Ok my first smut is here, please be kind lol. I'm actually much more nervous posting this than I was with my first fic, which is crazy! Also, happy birthday to the wonderful @sarawritestories! I hope you like it my lovely <3

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

“Very good work, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Cassian stifled a groan as he rolled his neck to the side, cracking the bones that had gone stiff in his slumber. The voices he heard continued, but muffled as if he were underwater, and his vision swam so much that he nearly gagged.

He moved to reach an arm up to rub the back of his neck, needing to relieve the dull ache he felt, when he realised his hands weren’t moving. They couldn’t move. The chains rattled around his wrists over the alarm sounding in his brain as he snapped back into action, seeing the world in stark clarity.

“Oh, you’re awake,” A melodic voice chirped up from a few metres away. Why did that voice sound so familiar? “I’m glad. I missed you, actually.”

Cassian lifted his head and his eyes focused on the female stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall casually. Something sinister glinted from her hands in the flickering light - something metal, he realised with a jolt. No. Remain calm. That’s the one thing he would never forget from his training - never let your opponent know what you’re truly feeling. Even if you’re completely shitting it. “What is this? Or better yet, who are you?” He asked with lethal calm, still training his eyes on the dark silhouette, coaxing her to take the bait and fear him.

A huff sounded from the darkness. “I’m hurt, Cassian,” She stepped forward, illuminating her features only slightly, but enough for him to make out her exaggerated pout. “Really hurt. Here I was thinking we could have had something, and you don’t even remember me? We are definitely not off to a good start.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, sighing like a disappointed mother with a shake of her head.

He squinted, zoning in on her features. Her stature, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t until his gaze met the intensity of her stare that the memories began to wash over him like ice cold water.

~~~

Leading an army into war was never going to be an easy task. Cassian knew this - it was not the first time he’s done so of course. But when so many of his front line had been struck down by Hybern soldiers, it was a little difficult to remain level-headed. For the first time in his centuries of experiences, Cassian felt like his control was slipping from his grasp.

People were coming at him from every direction, soldiers informing him of their comrades’ predicaments, and not a single one of these people seemed to scent the blood soaking through his leathers, or notice the wound gaping from his arm. Cassian winced every time something brushed against it or he had to move the arm, but continued to tend to the injured as much as he could before sending them to the healers tent.

“You’re hurt,” A soft voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look in the direction the voice had come from, only to spy a female, not looking to be more than a couple of centuries old. A healer, it seems.

“You would be the first to notice,” Cassian responded gruffly. He couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was, like an angel come to help him during his time of need, but he quickly brushed off the thought, deeming it inappropriate in the current time and place. And frankly, irrelevant. “It’s fine, I have things to sort out-”

“Cassian, if I may,” she interrupted, eyes careful as she gauged his reaction to her urgency. “You’ll bleed out if you don’t get someone to take a look at this soon. Please, come with me to my tent and I will fix you up. It should only take a few minutes at most.”

Cassian’s brain ticked back and forth, weighing up the options. He knew that his priority should be his men - it's always been the army first, himself later - but she was just so inviting. And as the gash on his arm throbbed with pain, he found himself nodding at her in agreement.

Her tent was small, and more or less bare. He didn’t even notice the lack of a bed, or even a blanket to sleep on. Only a chair which she gently coaxed him onto as she opened a small kit, mixing together an ointment to apply to his arm. She left it on the side to sit for a moment, presumably to let the compounds mould together before use, and approached him with a wet rag.

The way she peered down at him intently as she cleaned his arm had his cheeks flushing from something other than pain and stress. He silently thanked his already red cheeks for concealing any giveaway that the intimidating general was really just a big softie. He flicked his eyes up to watch as she worked, and couldn’t help but take in all the details of her face: the slight squint as she concentrated, the way her eyes flicked back and forth to ensure there were no bits of dirt remaining in the blood, and how her tongue poked out between her teeth as she focused. There was something else about her as well that he couldn’t quite pin-point… something familiar, as if he recognised her, but also something- something wrong. Like her features had been rearranged to conceal someone he used to know.

“Do you often stare at your healers?” She asked as the stepped away to dispose of the rag, interrupting his train of thought. Her tone was chastising, but the ever so subtle cheek to her voice gave away the tease.

Cassian bristled, fumbling for a moment as he felt like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t, and frantically searched for a way to jump back on top of the situation as she shook her ointment, seemingly satisfied that it was ready. “Only the pretty ones,” He grinned smugly, completely in control in that effortless, almost arrogant way of his.

The healer raised her eyebrows as she approached him, an amused glint in her eyes as she steadied his arm with one hand and prepared the ointment with the other. “This might hurt,” she said shortly, before pressing it against his wound. Cassian hissed in pain, gritting his teeth together to try to dampen the blow. This was worse than actually getting the gash in the first place, he thought.

A few moments passed, which felt ridiculously long to Cassian, until the female straightened her back and took her hands away from his arm. “All done,” she quipped, before turning away from him to dispose of her equipment once again. Cassian unclenched his fists at his side in an attempt to relax, despite the tingling in his arm resembling a dance troupe of a million needles tapping away on his bloody cut. “You might want to sit there for a moment, Cassian. Not everyone reacts well to the medicine, I would like to make sure you’re okay before you get back out there.”

Cassian shook his head softly. “I’ll be fine, thank you for your care,” he began, ready to brush off her advice with a wave of his hand. He attempted to stand up from the chair, using the armrests to push himself up, but he barely rose a few inches before his head swam as if he’d been dealt an uppercut to the chin, and he fell back into the seat with a gasp. His body was suddenly heavier than he’d ever felt it before, every single limb feeling like it had at least three sand bags attached. “Shit…” he mumbled, his vision scattered with sparkling dots and patches of darkness.

“Just relax, Cassian…”

Her voice sounded distant, like a call to slumber, beckoning him to fall victim to the darkness. And as his head lulled to the side, he allowed it to coax him into the abyss, just as he saw the glamour flicker off her face.

~~~

“Y/N.”

“Surprise, Cassian,” She grinned as she stepped closer, completely leaving the darkness in order for Cassian to see her face - her real face.

“So, you poisoned me,” Cassian deadpanned, after his memories fully returned. “You posed as a healer, and infected me with poison through my cut.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she watched it all come back to him, piece by piece fitting together in a puzzle to create a complete picture. “And didn’t I put on such a spectacular performance?” Cassian rolled his eyes, averting his eyes from her piercing gaze as she continued talking at him. “You were so enamoured with me. And all from one pure act of kindness? So easy to please, General. I’m just a little offended I didn’t look like me at the time.”

“Enough changing the subject,” Cassian growled, growing increasingly irritated, not only at the female in front of him but also the fact that he was not in control. He needed control. “Who glamoured you? The King himself? I wouldn’t put it past his petty ass.”

Y/N scoffed, delighted to see his agitation. “Does it matter? You’re here now, exactly as planned.” She ran a menacing finger down the edge of the blade in her hand, watching the shine of the metal. The contrast was stark - the deadly glint of the dagger against her soft, delicate skin. But Cassian knew that that was her own, constant glamour. There was nothing delicate about her - she was more deadly than any weapon.

As Cassian tested the chains round his wrists binding him to the armrests, he realised the grave mistake he made. He roared in pain as the chains sizzled his flesh, and Y/N couldn’t help but bite her lip to surpress a grin at the way his muscles tensed and rippled as he writhed. “I wouldn’t bother, darling. Faebane chains. Aren’t they fantastic?”

Gritting his teeth, Cassian opened his previously clenched eyes, setting on her with an air of distaste. “Anything else up your sleeve?” The question was dry, sick to death of the games already, but the excitement practically vibrating off Y/N told him she wasn’t finished with him just yet.

“Well, maybe just one tiny detail. You may have woken up from that poison, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still in your system. You’ll die without the antidote.” She said idly, eyebrows raised with a slight mocking pout on her lips as she examined her fingernails without a care in the world.

Cassian startled. He knew there was more to the story, of course there was, but that is not what he was expecting. His mind whirred with a way to get out of this situation, a way to turn the tables in his favour, but he kept coming up short. “What’s the point, Y/N? Huh? You never even told me why I’m here in the first place, I think it’s only fair that if I’m gonna die, I should at least know why I’m going down.”

“Well of course I was going to tell you, I’m not a monster,” Y/N laughed - actually laughed. “You’re here because we can’t have you commanding those Illyrian bastards to victory. Without you, they’re lost, leaving the goal wide open for a win for my side. Silly little baby, aren’t you?” She went to tap his nose - condescending little bitch, Cassian thought, and turned his head to the side with a grimace, which Y/N did not like one bit. That playful grin on her face was gone in an instant, replaced by a face so stoney and cold that even the worst of creatures would be afraid. In that split second of rage, Y/N grabbed Cassian’s jaw with her whole hand and yanked him back to face her where she was suddenly inches away from him. “That was rude, Cassian.”

Then, he snapped. He finally snapped, and her hand around his jaw, commanding him as if she were his superior was the breaking point. Her control was his breaking point as he spat in her face, completely losing his grip on the leash to his anger. But Y/N… oh no, Y/N wasn’t so easily perturbed, and as Cassian’s rage subsided and he watched her eye him with malice, he remembered as much.

“So feisty,” she purred as she wiped her face with her hand, eyes not leaving his pissed expression for a minute. She just loved the way his jaw ticked with anger, and how sharp the lines of his face became as he watched her every move, just like he used to do… well, with less anger and more lust. “You used to love when I took control, Cassian, remember?”

Gods, he remembered, of course he did. He remembered their secret rendezvous, the way they snuck around not to get caught. He remembered how she would crawl on top of him agonisingly slowly, and kiss all the way up his abs and chest, leaving her scent all over his body. Or how they’d wind up cramped in a tiny storage closet, her back pressed against the wall and her nails digging into his skin as he took her as his own, stifling their sounds of pleasure at the mere whisper of someone walking past. But what he loved most was when his face was buried between her thighs as she crossed her ankles, locking him in, his own hips rutting against the bed for any sort of friction he could get amidst the desperation to draw high after high from her.

“Oh,” Her voice dipped in honey shook him out of his reverie as he remembered where he was, hands bound and body poisoned. He caught her eyes once more, and a gasp escaped him as he saw just how blown out her pupils had become, almost sucking up any light remaining. “I think someone still likes that idea.” It took Cassian a moment to realise what she meant, and just how sloppy he had become. During his trip down memory lane, he had allowed his scent to shift, completely exposing just how turned on she still had the power to make him.

With eyes like the devil, Y/N leaned forward and licked a hot stripe up the side of Cassian’s neck, dropping her dagger in favour of caging him in with her arms. “Remember this?” She asked, her voice dripping with seduction as she moved to brush her lips up his clenched jaw, a hand slowly travelling down his front. Once her lips had reached his ear and she nibbled on the soft flesh of the lobe, her fingers ghosted across the growing bulge in his lap. “And this?” She whispered, her breath on his ear making him shiver as she squeezed lightly, feeling him through his leathers. She bit her lip - he was just as big as she remembered. Cassian grunted at the feeling, teeth clenched in a feeble attempt not to give himself over so easily, despite the fact that they both knew it was useless.

Y/N pulled away far too soon, leaving Cassian feeling cold without her touch. “Are you tempted yet? I’m sure there are better ways we could be using this time, don’t you think?” She began to circle his chair, eyeing him up like a predator would stalk their prey. Oh, how she loved seeing him try to fight it, fight her, fight his inevitable arousal. It was already thick in the air, weighing down on them both, and he was only lying to himself.

“Better ways such as letting me go so I can lead my armies?” Cassian countered. Gods, he was so adorable when he tried to steer the conversation away from what he truly wants. His voice was so tense, almost like he was in pain, trying to reign in his instincts to ravage her… not that there was a whole lot he could do from his position. But any self-restraint was shattered once Y/N had made her way behind him and trailed a delicate finger along the edge of his wing. A strangled groan left his mouth as soon as she made contact, just like she used to do, her nail grazing the fragile skin.

“Don’t be silly, Cassian,” she crooned, breathing hot air onto the trail of fire she just left on his wing. She made her way back around to his front, studying him like she was able to see right through him. With her lips curled up wickedly, she leaned in once again, placing her hands on both of his muscled thighs. “Are you nervous, General?”

“No,” Cassian breathed, throat tight and strained. A lie.

“Do you want me?” A shift of her hands, closer to where he was straining against his pants.

“Yes.”

The word came out too quickly, and Cassian could have cursed his mind for running on auto-pilot and blurting it out, but he knew it was the truth. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was desperate, and if his needs weren’t sated, he would become a wild animal bucking and thrashing to get out of these chains, uncaring if they burned all the way through his wrists.

“Say it again. I need to know you mean it.”

“Yes, Y/N,”

The next few moments were a blur, but all he knew was that he felt the chill air on his cock, hard and leaking, and that Y/N was already on her knees. Fuck. Her eyes glimmered with a sinful satisfaction at how red and throbbing she’d managed to already make him, and she leaned forward to gently lick the bead of pre-cum that sat on his tip. Cassian shivered, wanting nothing more than to wind his fingers in her hair and push her down on his cock, but all he could do was watch. Y/N had always been in control, really, and a part of him buried deep down had always liked it. His waiting cock pulsed at the thought, which didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, a wide grin spreading across her face before she dipped her head and took him in her mouth.

Cassian’s head tipped back in pleasure, his body completely at her mercy as she bounced her head up and down, taking him like only she could. “Fuck, you were always so good at this,” he groaned, fists clenched to make up for the way he longed to touch her. “Take me so fucking deep.”

Y/N moaned around him as she took him as deep as she possibly could at his words, the vibrations causing him to buck his hips up into her mouth. His cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged, an obscene wet sound filling the room as she pulled her lips off him with a pop. The sight was truly erotic, as a string of saliva connected her mouth to his weeping cock.

“Why’d you stop?” Cassian panted, ignoring the desperate tinge to his voice. Ignoring how he’d become a puppet for her to play with. “I was getting close, come on, just-” He made to reach for her again, before he remembered the lesson he’d learnt earlier. Y/N only watched on, amused.

“You’re getting weak,” she tutted as she rose from the floor. “Have you forgotten, Cassian? You can’t cum unless you can make me cum first. Those were always the rules…” she trailed off as she undid the buttons of her leathers, pulling them down along with her panties in front of him. Putting on a show that he was only allowed to watch, and not participate in. For now.

Cassian’s eyes bulged as she carefully climbed on top of him, making sure to avoid the chains and planting her feet either side of him. She stood, holding onto the back of the chair for balance, and it was then that she lifted one leg, planting her foot next to where she held the chair, exposing her glistening core to him. “Are you gonna be able to make me cum, Cassian? Or has it been too long that you’ve lost your touch? It would be a shame to leave that cock of yours desperate and leaking, but rules are rules.”

“Please,” Cassian felt the shock as Y/N’s eyebrows rose at his plea. She didn’t think he’d ever begged before. He was even surprised at himself, but didn’t have enough time to think about it. No, there was no time, he needed to act, and act now. “Please Y/N come on, I can do it, just let me taste-” His words were cut off as Y/N pressed herself against his mouth, turning his rambling into muffled noises.

Cassian responded immediately, as if a shot of adrenaline had been released into his veins. His tongue flicked out, lapping up her wetness that had been pooling in her panties ever since he woke up. He groaned at the taste, plunging his tongue inside her, trying to taste as much of her sweet nectar as he possibly could. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” Y/N gasped, her tone almost patronising, but Cassian didn’t care. Quite the opposite, actually - this side of her always had him craving more and more. She grabbed hold of his hair that had long since fallen out of it’s half-bun, and began rocking her hips against his face. “Look what a little time off has reduced you to. A desperate, begging mess, just for me.”

He was in a state of utter bliss. Cassian held his tongue out obediently, allowing Y/N to ride him as she pleases. She spread her wetness over his mouth and chin, coating the stubble prickling on his skin, and she moaned as her clit rubbed deliciously against his nose. “Stay there for me General, that’s it,”

Cassian groaned as she used him for her own pleasure, content to be her personal fuck toy. But as his knuckles turned white with the force that he was gripping the armrests with, it was clear how much he wanted to use those bound hands. He wanted to slap that ass as she rocked her hips until his handprint was burned into her skin. He wanted to reach up and play with her nipples that he knew were hard and perky for him. And better yet, he wanted to explore even further inside her with his fingers, further than his tongue could reach, and have her release crashing down on him.

A wave of need washed over him and he grunted, moving to suck her clit into his mouth. Her balance wavered for a moment as she yelped, and Cassian couldn’t help but smirk. The one thing he could take control of in this situation was making her cum, so he vowed to do just that. He switched fervently between sucking her clit and licking bold stripes up her centre, determined now to give her an orgasm like it was his entire life’s purpose. The lewd noises coming from where his mouth met her core was enough to make her shiver as Cassian coaxed moan after moan from her.

“Getting close?” Cassian found his voice for a moment and growled against her skin, hell-bent on sending her over that edge. He’d do it if it was the last thing he ever did - which could end up being a possibility, strangely. But the Illyrian had completely forgotten about the poison eating away from him on the inside, that would be a problem he’d deal with later. After he felt her essence dripping down his chin and neck, staining his scent for weeks.

By the way Y/N’s hips stuttered as she attempted to speed up, he knew the answer. She was too proud to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but those pretty moans increasing in pitch sang to him his praise. As she neared her high, Y/N gripped Cassian’s hair and yanked it even harder, sending his eyes rolling back in his head as he helped her chase it, beckoning and pulling her to release. “Fuck, Cass,”

Hearing his name tumble from her lips as the reigns of her power slipped from her grasp had Cassian devouring her like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. His victory shone in his eyes as he watched her mouth gape open and felt her legs tremble, and her screams filled the dark room as she free fell into the best orgasm she’d ever had from someone using only their mouth. She had to admit, he had quite the talent with that tongue of his. Meanwhile, Cassian was in heaven. He didn’t care that he was bound to a chair in chains that would burn his flesh if he moved. He didn’t care that poison was rotting his insides minute by minute. He didn’t care that he was dying, and it was all her fault. All he cared about was the blissed out look on her face as she rode out her high on his face, and the taste that he prayed wouldn’t leave his mouth until his last breath.

A moment passed and Y/N regained her composure, sliding off his body and taking back her position of authority in front of him. Minus the clothes on her lower half, of course. “Not bad,” she quipped, plucking up her underwear from where it had been carelessly discarded.

Cassian chuckled darkly. “Whatever. You can pretend that wasn’t the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in a long time, I don’t care. You still taste just as delicious as I remember.” His eyes burned into her as she dressed herself, once again hiding herself from him, but he felt like he could see right through those leathers. “So?” He said expectantly, nodding down to where his cock was still hard and throbbing with need.

“Oh, Cassian…” The way Y/N shook her head and laughed quietly to herself had Cassian’s insides churning. Whatever was about to come out of her mouth, he had a funny feeling that he wasn’t going to like it. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you? You gave me what I wanted and I thank you for that, but I’d much prefer to leave you here, desperate and needy and pathetic… oh, and dying.”

This bitch is a fucking psycho.

Cassian clenched his jaw so hard he thought it may shatter on impact. “And how might I get this antidote?” He seethed, his voice shaking with how hard he was trying to remain calm, as he always tried to do, whilst simultaneously attempting to ignore the humiliation of having his cock exposed and still ridiculously stood to attention.

Y/N sighed dramatically, placing a hand casually on her hip. “You know Cassian, I really don't want to kill you, truth be told. I’d like to keep you alive. But I’m not allowed to give you that antidote until the war is over and Hybern has won.” 

“So you’ll give it to me?”

“Depends. On how long the battle lasts. You might not last as long.”

Dead silence filled the room. Cassian didn’t deem this worthy of an answer. He was done with childish wordplay. He was bound, exposed, powerless and dying, and he intended to find a way out of all of that.

“As for that blowjob,” she continued, breaking the silence. Cassian raised his eyebrows, hating himself for the interest that bubbled up inside him, and also for the way his cock twitched. “Well… I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

With that, Y/N stepped back into the shadows, disappearing without a trace, leaving Cassian helpless in two ways. Searching for a way to free and save himself, and unable to relieve the throbbing ache from between his legs. At least, not until she returns…

UMMMMM PART 2 IDK???

[thatdeadaquarius]

imagine if reader is given an ancient scripture from around the time humanity founded out how to write and do the alphabet (somehow it was preserved so well that you can still see the words with no issue)

and it's the most heart wrenching, soul crushing, tear inducing, hyperventilating, sanity disappearing angst, misunderstandings, hurt/no comfort, it gets worse but never better, major character death, unrequited love story to have ever existed in teyvat.

and after reader goes through the whole thing, they can barely talk or breathe properly with how much they're crying.

(even better, it was smut not angst and reader is staring ar the scripture, jaw dropped to the floor with shaking hands.)

STOP- I avoid fanfics like that at all costs 😭 id stop reading it after the first angsty event LMAO

Im like... too emotionally affected by fanfics, esp angst ones 💀

Its just, ppl who write closer to my generation or just very psychologically honestly, are like fucking deadly writers. Got my day ruined and shit w/just fanfics 😭

LMAO THE GIF IS JUST YOU ON THE SPOT NOT EVEN HALFWAY THRU-

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Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Short! Headcanons-ish

Stars: my first of the Fontians!! Fontainianes? Fontainains?? u get it

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: sobbing, discussion of vague smut/NSFW book at the end, okay for Teen/Mature audiences, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

no but it’d be hilarious if u got this crazy like hand-width deep tablet for each “page” of the book, like how every novel or info in genshin is like one page at a time 😭

Sumeru and other international academics are literally constantly harassing politely requesting your translation of these and sending them to you in whichever country you’re visiting at the moment

Fontaine was even more complex and pretty in real life than it could ever be in game and i can def see you at like Neuvillette’s office or a nice french fontaine cafe and just WHAM

huge ass tablet bc as much as the fic tortures you, you have to know what the fuck happens to these miserable idiots

Neuvillette, Clorinde, and Lynette are all the type to immediately try and dissuade you from reading it again, bc from their point of view you just pull out this huge old rock and start sobbing quietly about 10 mins into the read every time 😭😭

(unsurprisingly, Neuvillette would even go so far as to get the Marechaussee Phantom to sneakily steal ur most recent tablets of the story to hide them, which sucks for you LMAO)

Freminet, Wriothesley, Navia, Lyney, and Furina,all frantically try to distract you, and also theyre in order of who would be the most dramatic w/it lmao

NO BC I JUST HAD THE THOUGHT-

Ur tears absolutely are top priority to Neuvillette and Furina so when they inevitably find the memories in them (and the traveler too maybe)

of what the story is about, except its like all the feelings and stuff, so like its the best “translation” they get of the book so far, u best believe it rains for a week straight

it started out as a light drizzle, but as Neuvillette “read on” in ur tear’s memories if got worse HAHA

mans is out here trying to convince himself like, “this is a classic tragedy from eons ago, its about a human romance, im definitely unaffected, though im glad i could figure out what ails My Majesty so”

meanwhile the story gets worse and its just like that meme “ohHHhhhHH its got a little kiicckkk”

Neuvillette nearly floods the streets by chapter 5 when the miscommunication happens and then they cant get in contact with each other to fix it lmao

LMAO I JUST HAD A VISIONNN

ur in fontaine and while yes drinks were popular (like obv fonta)

business is rlly booming bc now everyone you know (like the Vision-users or archons Neuvill, etc) all have develop this habit of having a water bottle or drink on them to offer you when u start reading to rehydrate you 😭😭😭

Navia, Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney, Lynette all have a handkerchief on them at all times too 😭😭

Good God-

the moment you translate the now instant Shakespearean-level tragedy classic, it is a known tear-jerker thruout all of Teyvat,

like theres trigger warnings and age limits and shit 💀

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on another note,

if its smut,

ur desperately combing thru all the tablets and wall carvings and cave paintings to try and lowkey cover it up LMAO

and its not like a story with a smut scene either, its like what anon said,

just fully like the ao3 tag “Porn What Plot/Porn With Plot”

STOP

not u yanking the tablets out of Neuvillette’s hands when he curiously picks them up one time lmao

(he is now invested in getting these translated too bc of ur reaction lol)

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consider supporting me with an iced coffee? :0

Spooky Season! Spooky Season!! Spooky Season!!!

still not dead btw

just got hired at my new job so ive been training and busy!! :)

im a host at Olive Garden lol its weird and kinda hard, my feet hurt a lot and i havent had a full shift yet ;-; its a brand new one so it opens the 23rd

dw that eldritch one shot is still coming btw, just talking with betas and editing it now lol

hope if you read this you have a great upcoming weekend!!

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

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If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

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♡the beloveds♡

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