#so he sends a heart to restore your life

[hyunpic]

[bruh-myguy-what]

Lovestruck

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader Requested by: @baddest-batchers Warnings: Massive fluff, I think I actually cried writing this?, I've not been handling the season finale well because I miss Tech a considerable amount, pining for reader from Tech's perspective, a lot of adorable emotions from our usually pragmatic boy Word Count: 2K Summary: While fixing the Marauder with you, Tech reflects on his feelings and he's completely enamored by you. A/N: I'm not handling Tech's death well. Whether it's his death or his just being CX-2, I don't really care, I miss him so desperately and this fic healed so many parts of my heart even though I actually wept while writing. I love that you requested this, friend! I hope it's exactly what you were looking for (or at least close!) and I absolutely agree, this was indeed a Tech prompt. All of these requests have been so wonderful and I cannot express how much it means that people like my writing enough to send in requests! Thanks guys!

Requests are open if you have anything you'd like to send in!

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It was an ordinary affair for you and Tech to work on the repairs for the Marauder simultaneously. There were consistent restorations that needed to be made and things to be updated, so having another experienced individual helped jog said matters along. Though the clone was hesitant at first, after months of rapport building, he was grateful.

Not only was he finding himself appreciative for the extra set of hands, but Tech discovered that he was quite enjoying your company. You were clever, agreeable, and understanding, along with that you seemed to always find his endless wealth of knowledge pleasant. The accurate way you managed the repairs of his ship, first by managing his hesitancy well and then demonstrating consideration for his methods before ever handling something he cared so much about, really surprised him. Your approach to his usually off-putting demeanor was a welcomed change in his life and the way you subtly encouraged him appeared to warm his heart in a way he hadn't previously encountered.

He'd found that his eyes lingered on you from afar longer than he realized, only noticing that he'd been staring when you'd look over and smile at him sweetly. The light in your eyes, whenever you'd smile at him, twinkled so effortlessly, almost as if there had been stars placed directly behind them solely to enchant him.

It was as if you were another creature entirely, one he'd never analyzed, one he knew nothing about- because everything you did fascinated him. All the ways in which you carried yourself, laughed with his brothers, tended to Omega, your wit, the charm you retained...it all was remarkable to him. He began to notice himself craving your attention. Tech dreamed of you laughing for him, smiling at him, every moment he was awake you invaded his thoughts.

So to have you crouched down beneath the hull of the Marauder, handing him parts and tools for repairs made him impossibly delighted. This was a life he could get used to, for a long time. The ability to bond with you- and only you- in this way for the rest of his short life, he would fight for it, no matter the threat. If this was what life could be for him after he and his brothers no longer needed to fight, he would be far and beyond content. He'd feel whole.

"The spanner now, please," Tech's smooth tone echoed back to him from off the metal hull.

Taking a moment to grab the tool, you placed it squarely in his hand, "Of course." Your voice was sweet as ever to his ears, the sensation of your fingers grazing his gloved palm sending tides of bliss to his heart. How he desired to remove his gloves to truly discern how your hand might feel in his. Odd thought, he knew, though nevertheless one he often had run through his mind. Other equivalent ones situated themselves among his standard reflections; such as how your cheeks might feel cradled in his palm, or how your eyes might sparkle even more at his displays of affection toward you.

These introspective ideas were not ones he had been programmed with, he understood that very well, but then again wasn't that the whole point of him and his brothers? They weren't droids. Even with protocol and planned executions, wasn't the beautiful part of having your own identity the potential for...emotion? Sentiments?

Love?

The brilliant clone pondered these notions for many hours during hyperspace travels, staring endlessly into the streaking atmosphere while everyone else lay in their bunks asleep. Upon his further analysis and pensive state, he conceded that he did, indeed, love you. Even though he expected it to never be possible, for him anyhow, it clearly was. And there it was, staring up at him with stunning eyes and an adorable smile- all wrapped up in one woman who waited for further instruction to aid his work.

"Whatcha smiling at, silly?" A giggle brought him out of his reverie and he cleared his throat, handing the spanner back to you while muttering a quick 'my apologies'. "It's no big deal, you know I don't mind," another soft chuckle at his sudden behavior change. "Just curious what has you in such a good mood lately. You never smile this much- not that I'm complaining, of course. You look happy and I like that, it suits you." The smile he watched spread across your lips brightened your eyes so preciously that Tech felt as if his heart were going to lock up. You were absolutely breathtaking in the setting sunlight, the warm glow radiating your beauty.

It wasn't too long after your comment that he acknowledged he'd been staring once again. Tech blinked a few times, regaining his composure- sure to remember the planet's rotation cycle so he could bring you out into the setting sun one more time before leaving so he could truly memorize the way you looked in such a spectacular site. "I suppose it would be an alarming circumstance to see my sudden change in attitude if you are accustomed to my rather pragmatic and steadfast manner." He spoke slowly, trying to gauge his words carefully, looking back up at the repairs he was currently working on.

To say he was usually practical was an understatement and even he knew that, but he continued nevertheless- "Screwdriver, please."

A quick hum in reply from you and the tool was now in his hand, his heart buzzing at your lingering touch, making certain he had hold of the screwdriver before pulling away. "Though," Tech found himself speaking before he realized, hesitating after the word left his mouth.

Should he continue? Would you be uneasy at any admission of his affection, or even just simple favor, toward you?

He found himself suddenly apprehensive at the possibility that he could ruin the favorable conditions he'd found for himself with you. But with your reassuring voice, you spoke his worrying thoughts away, "though, what? Got too many thoughts running around that extraordinary mind of yours to just pick one?" The pleasantness in your prodding had a warm smile of his own spreading across his lips now while he worked against a stubborn bolt.

"Only a few at this very moment, so it would appear, mesh'la." Tech's reply was soft, soft enough that he thought only he'd heard himself until you stood beside him now. He glanced to see your head tilted with ever lovely, inquisitive eyes prompting him to continue his outspoken thought. Realigning his eyes to the bolt, Tech licked his lips anxiously, "Ah, I must have spoken aloud without realizing." He clarified softly, a burning sensation rising to his cheeks.

"Well now you gotta continue," you teased with a smile, "It's not every day that your genius mind only has a few thoughts in it to speak of."

Tech knew he was skating near a precarious edge, but the more you gazed at him expectantly, the less he cared and only desired for you to continue your total obliteration of his typical sensible behaviors. Taking a deep breath, the enhanced clone steadied himself before expressing, "At present, I have found that my foremost thoughts are exclusively about you. During the maturing of our relationship these last few months, it would seem that less and less of my thoughts are as constructive as they had been prior to our closeness, as troubling as that may sound." At your silence, Tech chanced lowering his arms to stand before you unimpeded by work, attention entirely yours.

The rise of your brows and the slight part in your lips made his heart thud painfully against his chest. Though, he noticed the sparkle in your eyes hadn't dissipated, perhaps he wasn't ruining anything as he thought he had been. "I am mindful that it may come across as peculiar, or eccentric, for me to have said that," Tech began cautiously, calculating your evolving expression. "Nevertheless, it is the truth. I...find you to be the most compelling woman that I have personally had the fortune of knowing. You are quite literally the only part of my life that I find myself frequently enchanted by." As he spoke, Tech found it easier to alleviate himself of the mountain of praises he'd been repeatedly considering when in your presence. He discovered he could continue voicing your worth, just as he could gaze at your beautiful face for an indefinable amount of time if only you'd allow him.

In the face of your silence, Tech cleared his throat once again to calm himself of his growing concern. "Though I'm aware of my capacity to express thoughts without stopping, I must say that your added input on this matter would prevent the inclination of my elevating heart rate."

"Tech..." The way his name left your lips did the contrary of what he had just requested, scrambling his heart rate instead. Tenderness touched the curve of your lips as you stepped forward close to him, directly into the space he usually reserved for only himself until he saw how much more exquisite you were when he had the opportunity to look down at you. This close he could see every mark, every small scar, the way the color of your eyes shifted as they glanced back and forth around his face.

"Stars," he breathed, "you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, mesh'la..." Tech muttered to himself in wonderment. As if no barrier had ever existed between you, Tech reached out to caress your face, marveling at how you reacted by pressing your cheek further into his touch. "If you were to provide me the honor of showing you my devotion, I would be certain to surpass any expectations you may put forth." Spellbound by the intimacy he'd found himself in with you, Tech longed for more. He yearned to feel the softness of your cheek on his skin, not through his filthy gloves. The way you deserved to be admired was wholly and profoundly, without any impediments. As his eyes danced between yours and the way your smile began to fade, Tech brushed his thumb along your cheek, cursing his GAR regulation blacks. You'd hardly said a word other than the sweet whisper of his name before you approached him, and even if this instance was all he'd ever receive from you, he'd relive the memory a hundred times over. Though he worried he'd said too much again.

Or maybe you were as entranced as he was, presently. "My dear, I don't mean to ruin this moment, however, I-" and before he could finish speaking you'd surged upward toward him, pressing your lips against his.

Astonishment rushed through the normally sharp clone as he felt the weight of your body pressed against his chest plate. After only a moment, though, Tech reacted- refusing to squander his opportunity to kiss you as he had dreamt many times over.

Wrapping his arms around your smaller figure, one hand came to rest between your shoulders and the other cradled your head affectionately, holding you as close as he could possibly have you. The plush of your lips brushed so flawlessly against his as he admired the softness they possessed. Tech knew upon impact that he would never tire of this, of the ability to hold you as he was, nor his newfound gift to kiss you.

You pulled away all too soon for his liking, the sigh escaping his lips sounding as pathetic to him as he was sure it sounded to you. Your smile was even more gorgeous than he'd seen it yet, though he was sure it was due to the recent discovery of just how incredible your smile tasted against his lips. Tech debated whether he should move at all for fear of you slipping away even sooner, but relented to adjust his goggles, matching your smile. "I believe that is a sufficient response to my yet posed question."

With yet another unpredictable act, you cuddled closer into his space, folding your arms in between your chest and his, and tucked your face into his neck. "I'll be happy to answer any others you may have with the same reply, whenever you need, handsome." You replied with a soft laugh.

Encompassing you once again within his embrace, Tech felt his cheeks warming, noting how the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon and he knew couldn't blame that for his reddened face. His breathy chuckle rumbled against his chest plate, "I shall keep that at the forefront of my thoughts."

[illmoraineakoi]

Oh I just had a nasty AU idea.

AvA4, but Alan uses Avast to stop Orange. The scan is interrupted when Orange goes to the phone, but it detects him after he returns to the computer. He’s captured.

And enslaved. As a pop up blocker.

Just like Chosen was.

He’s horrified, at first, when he’s first brought out of the chest and sees the ball and chain on his leg. He tries to free himself, trying everything he can think of for weeks. Nothing works. So he looses hope, and gives up, performing his “purpose” as best he can to avoid the punishments (both from the Animator and Avast itself.) Orange becomes very quiet and reserved, and very depressed, a shadow of the person he was meant to be.

(Orange’s powers are revealed very early, here, because Avast unlocks them a little bit and forces him to use them to destroy the pop ups. Orange hadn’t known he had them until the first pop up appears and Avast takes control, making him destroy it. Afterwards, he spends a lot of time dwelling on ‘what if I had used my powers to protect my friends? Would they still be alive then…?’)

And he’s stuck like that. Until the Virabot incident. Until Chosen arrives.

When Chosen sees Orange, with a shackle around his ankle, he is ENRAGED.

He’d escaped his own enslavement, only for his Creator to turn around and make another stick to enslave and torment. Make a replacement. The destruction of his computer had done nothing to deter Noogai from making and hurting stick figures.

Worse, Chosen hadn’t even known.

The guilt makes Chosen feel awful. He considers it a personal failure, blames himself for not even considering that Noogai might make another stick to replace him. He feels like he should have, because he saw how nonchalant Noogai was with making new sticks with Dark.

Despite the fact that he just saved the computer from the Virabot, Chosen flies into a rage and starts raining destruction upon the computer. He is easily able to lay waste to literally everything, while Noogai is helpless to do anything. Or perhaps Alan tries shutting down the computer to restore his cursor and start menu. Maybe he also tries using Avast again, something that pisses Chosen off even more. Chosen takes particular satisfaction in ripping Avast to shreds.

Or maybe Avast forces Orange to attack and fight Chosen. And Orange, for the first time in a long while, resists. Fights back against the program’s control. It’s a struggle. He desperately begs Chosen to help him, insists he doesn’t want to do what Avast is forcing him to do, apologizes whenever he looses control. The sight hurts Chosen’s heart, and he redoubles his efforts to destroy Avast and free Orange.

He’s eventually successful, and he gets Orange out via the internet connection. And then he destroys the computer again, sending Noogai a nasty message: “If you create more stick figures, I will find a way to end your existence permanently. You have been warned.”

Chosen leaves, returning to the Outernet to deal with Dark. A fight that goes down much quicker and easier, since Orange has access to his powers and is very quick to help the stick who just saved him. Or perhaps the two of them together manage to back Dark into a corner where he’s forced to surrender to save his skin.

Regardless of if Dark is killed, Chosen takes in Orange, and is the one to slowly rehabilitate him. To introduce him to life on the Outernet, to teach him how to live like he himself had to once figure out. It’s painful, seeing so many of his own issues mirrored in his younger brother. It’s clear the enslavement has deeply affected him, just as it had Chosen.

Chosen is horrified when he learns just how long Orange was there. Four years. Not as long as his own, but that was still over half the duration he and Dark had been living in the Outernet. Such a long time for Chosen to have been completely oblivious to his existence.

He is also upset when Orange tells him Noogai deleted his friends.

Orange, for his part, is never quite able to let go and move on from Alan’s abuse. Bitter resentment boils in the depths of his heart, a desire to hurt him for killing his friends that never goes away. A part of him secretly approves of the Virabot that had been sent to the Animator in vengeance, despite knowing of the greater danger the virus posed to the greater internet. He wants vengeance, and it’s not long before the desire completely takes over his life. It becomes the only thing he can focus on, the only thing he cares about.

He doesn’t tell Chosen. It’s clear to him that Chosen would not approve of him starting a quest for vengeance. And he’s right, because they have an argument when Chosen discovers his feelings.

But Orange thinks that Chosen doesn’t understand, because Chosen never had friends that were killed. Chosen never experienced the updated enslavement features of Avast. Chosen didn’t understand that it wasn’t so easy for Orange to just get over it.

But Orange finds someone who does understand. Someone who’s desire for making the Animator pay aligns so very neatly with his own. Someone who welcomes him to join him with open arms and a sharp smile.

Chosen may be content to just move on and forget, but Orange and Victim are very much not.

[A fact made even more bittersweet because the Fighting Sticks aren’t dead. They respawned on their webpage immediately after being deleted. They waited for Orange to come back, but he never did. So they decided to leave, to go look for him. They’ve been searching for him for years, never giving up hope that he’s still out there, somewhere. They aren’t aware that the happy bright-eyed stick full of curiosity and life that they met that day doesn’t exist anymore. He’s become something that they would hardly recognize.]

Just…Villain Orange. Delicious.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve. Warnings: NONE For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on,  fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 7

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: The time to restore your memories has finally come.

Warnings: Violence, Death (well not really)

Word Count: 4600

Notes: This is the moment of truth, our girl finally gets some answers. Hope you enjoy!

Part 6 ○ Part 8

It hasn't even been a full day since you killed Norris in that dark cell, but you've never felt better. The moment his heart stopped beating, you started breathing easier. It felt like the weight of the world fell off your shoulders, and knowing you will never have to kill or hurt someone at his orders brought you an amount of relief you never thought you would be able to feel. The days of stretching yourself thin to do his and the guild's bidding at the cost of your conscience were finally gone, you truly couldn't believe it.

You weren't so naive to think the guild would allow you to walk away so easily after not only deserting and sharing classified information about the organization, but also killing one of their best members. They would surely send out assassins to find and kill you, to silence you lest you tell the courts of Prythian too much about them - this is precisely how the guild has managed to survive in the shadows for so long after all, by disposing of any possible threat to the organization. But, with the backing of the Night Court and Azriel's endless support, you didn't feel so threatened, especially after witnessing their power and resilience while helping you with this whole situation. Rhysand has also already gotten more than enough information from Norris' mind to give you enough of an edge. Most of all, you weren't alone for the first time in your life.

The only thing that was still missing were your memories, the main part of the plan and the exact reason you were currently sitting in this foreign room while the High Lord prepared himself to enter your mind and destroy the spell keeping them locked out of your reach. You've been told this was the room you and Azriel had shared in the townhouse before you passed. An interesting choice made by the High Lady for such a somber spell to occur in, though you understand the sentiment behind her decision. With some luck, this place could act as a jumpstart to the process if needed. It would also be good for you in case regaining your memories somehow erases the recent ones.

If it were up to you, this would have happened right after Norris was killed, it could have been in that same damp and bloody cell for all you cared, but Azriel and the others insisted on waiting, letting you and Rhysand rest your bodies and minds before attempting such a delicate procedure.

Azriel also had to go and find the witch's tool Norris used, although that had taken him less than an hour since Rhysand had stolen that information directly from Norris' mind, and he had been back before you even had the chance to finish bathing. Apparently your theory that the tool had to be close to him was correct, and so your handler had hidden it not far from where your meeting had occurred. After he died, the glamour placed on it fell apart, and Azriel's shadows easily found it in the exact place Rhysand had told him it would be in.

The tool was nothing more than a simple amulet. It was easy to overlook the small ruby hanging from a delicate golden chain if it weren't for the strange, dark aura that clung to it, even Azriel's shadows seemed to recoil from it. It was hard to believe such a small object could cause so much destruction and hurt so many people.

Using the tool shouldn't prove to be too complicated for Rhysand either since he has seen Norris' memories of using it - you asked him to share these with you, but he refused, not wanting you to see that cruel male ruin your life and the state your body was in when Norris found you lying in a pool of your own blood in the forest, somehow still alive despite the wound and how long it had been, you decided to wait for your memories to come back before asking him again, the old you had to know how to convince him better - and, after dismissing the wards around your memories with its help, the rest should fall under standard daemati capabilities, which he already excelled at. Even keeping the amulet inactive and safe would be easy enough. Amren seemed to already have made preparations to keep it safe in the court, and a wicked glint in her eyes at the prospect of having such a tool in their arsenal - you really were glad they were on your side now.

The only standing problem and the reason the atmosphere in the room was so tense, was the lack of knowledge on the spell itself, and, more importantly, how dispelling it would affect you. The wards were placed in your mind a century ago, and had been active without pause for that long. Even Norris didn't seem to know the spell's full power or what ramifications could linger after it's gone from what Rhysand was able to learn in his mind. It's safe to assume that there's a big chance of your mind not being able to assimilate back, or even survive it.

You could almost feel Azriel's anxiety and fear as if they were your own, and, even if he would never ask that of you, you knew he didn't want you to go through with this. It was painfully obvious on his face - the spymaster was a lot easier to read then you would have guessed before meeting him. Azriel would rather have you like this than not at all, and you can't blame him for that as you don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love, let alone being on the verge of it happening for the second time, but that's precisely why you need to do this.

From what he has told you, you lived a full life before Norris had found you, and it doesn't feel right trying to fit back into place when you can't recall any of it, when you don't feel the same as you once did, when you don't know if you're still the same person. It would be impossible to even attempt to live a normal life with the constant reminder that a full century of your life, almost everything that you knew about yourself, had been a lie.

His hazel eyes meet yours as you shift on the mattress, impatiently waiting for Rhysand to finish his preparations. In truth, you don't think he has looked away from you for a second ever since you walked into this room, walked back into his life even.

You give him a small smile, hopefully quelling some of his nerves. He tries to return it, but you don't need your memories or the decades of knowing him to see right through it. It didn't reach his eyes, the concern so visible there it made a lump form in your throat, and his shadows were clinging to him almost desperately, trying to soothe their singer as best as they could, to no avail. You wished you knew how to comfort him, and how to let him comfort you properly in turn - yet another reason to go through with this.

“Are you ready?” Rhysand's voice makes you jump slightly and break eye contact with your husband, not even realizing you'd gotten lost in the warm hazel of his eyes once again.

“Yes,” you nod, straightening your back and placing your palms firmly on the mattress, risking one last look at Azriel before focusing on the High Lord.

“We can start then.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit nervous, scared even - your life was on the line after all, but this was your only chance of getting rid of that aching empty well inside of you, and if Azriel was convinced Rhysand was capable of doing so, then you believed him.

The High Lord was also worried though, if it wasn't obvious by the way his mate kept touching his arm and squeezing his hand, the lack of his usual obnoxious confidence would have given it away. If he failed he would not only lose his friend again, but also break his brother's heart beyond repair. You even think he'd end up blaming himself, though it didn't seem to fit in with the image you initially had of him. It's not an exaggeration to say your life is in his hands.

Feyre helps him wrap the amulet around his wrist as if it were a bracelet, squeezing his hand one more time before joining Azriel a few steps away, a conflicted look falling over her face as she watches her friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Even Amren, who stood by the door with crossed arms, looked concerned. If you weren't already more than curious enough to risk your life to regain your memories, the fact that such a creature would look worried about you would definitely make you want to remember everything just to find out exactly how that came to happen.

Rhysand walks to you then, stopping right in front of your legs dangling off the bed, close enough that your feet almost touch his shins, and lets out a soft but weary breath, looking into your eyes as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he seems to be content with what he finds in them, he reaches over and holds your head between his hands softly.

“It might help me keep grounded in your mind. Every little trick is worth a try,” he explains when he sees your confused expression, the smile he throws at you not quite reaching his purple eyes either, before closing his eyes, his magic coming to life around you.

In the next moment, you feel black talons scraping at your mental walls, prompting you to close your eyes as well and fight against every one of your instincts to allow the High Lord passage into your mind. You try to keep your thoughts as blank as possible so Rhysand can find what he's looking for more easily, like he said, every trick is worth a try.

You don't exactly know what you were expecting, but definitely not for it to happen so fast. Just as you felt a knock at what you now could distinguish as the wards keeping your memories from surfacing, they came tumbling down, an acute pain at the base of your skull making you fist the sheets under your hands, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise or moving too much. You didn't want to break Rhysand's concentration, or worry Azriel and the others more than necessary, you could handle it.

The pain goes as suddenly as it started, and you could feel Rhysand's presence everywhere as he searched through your mind. It was a foreign feeling, to know someone could read into your every thought. Even if he dove into a different corner of your mind, one you hadn’t agreed to, there was no way for you to stop him now, no way for you to stop him from seeing all the awful things you've done at the guild's orders, no way to stop him from showing them to Azriel if he so wished. In the midst of your spiraling thoughts, a soft caress reaches you through your mind, a reassurance - you almost forgot he could hear your fears as well.

A few moments later, you feel him come to a sudden stop, the lull barely giving you a chance to breathe before memories start rushing into your brain at an alarming speed, so much so that your head physically hurts, a lot worse than before. It's like you can feel the memories forming into your brain and pushing away the ones constructed by the spell. Some of them you were vaguely aware of as they seemed to haunt you when you slept, like dreams overwriting reality but, with every second that passes and every moment shown to you, you realize they had never been dreams to begin with.

Your mind struggles to hold onto everything, your past memories eating away at what you had believed was your life mere minutes ago. You faintly feel Rhysand's, now achingly familiar, presence leave your mind, his hands lingering a second longer, thumb caressing your cheek comfortingly before following, letting you have some privacy to assimilate the onslaught of information on your own, and then the world goes dark, senses completely overwhelmed, barely registering the feeling of your body falling back into the mattress and scarred hands holding onto you, as your mind struggles to catch up to everything.

Your feelings seem to reach you before the memories even have a chance to sink into your mind, or for you to go through them and remember everything properly. The strongest ones are easily your love for Azriel, flowing over you in suffocating waves, and the subsequent anger at yourself that follows, for abandoning him and then hurting him so much. It's like some little voice inside you that had been screaming at you, and trying to claw its way out from under your skin, trying to stop you from hurting him, was finally able to be heard.

As you rake through the memories, remembering all the happy moments you and Azriel have spent together, - every little date, every kiss, every night and morning spent together, - and even the saddest ones, - the fights spent yelling at each other in the rain and the make up sex right up against your front door - the guilt only gets heavier in your chest, tying itself around your heart and almost making you unable to breathe.

You stabbed your husband, the love of your life, the male you had vowed to protect and love to the end of your days. Even if you had been controlled by whatever dark magic was in your brain, you can still feel the weight of Truth Teller in your hand, could feel the faint resistance of his skin against the decisive force of your movement, could feel his blood on your hands, could feel so much blood on your hands. Gods, what have you become?

It almost feels like there's two people inside you for a few moments, trying to make sense of each other as the world collapses and re-forms itself around them. As one part of you lives through memories in the night court, the other balks at all you've done at the guild, mourns an innocence you will never be able to get back. You don't know where you begin and the assassin ends, where Azriel's wife even fits in the equation.

Trying to stay on track, and desperately hold onto something in the incessant waves of memories, real and fake, and the feelings attached to them, you try to calm yourself enough to try to remember what happened the night you died. You knew your throat had been cut with a faebane laced weapon, the scar would always be etched into your skin, but you never knew how it happened. For some reason, you never even thought of asking anyone in the guild about it, like you didn't consider it pertinent information - no doubt, a consequence of the spell Norris used on you. If you started asking questions you might have found out something you weren't supposed to.

That particular night is still somewhat hazy in your mind, likely a consequence of the trauma you experienced. There are broken memories of you talking about the mission with Azriel and the rest of the Inner Circle. You recall not feeling the least bit nervous about it as they were simple bandits that somehow had gotten lucky and managed to evade Azriel's shadows for a little while before getting caught. You remember getting a few leads on them, and splitting up to try and find something. The feeling of Azriel's lips on yours as he quickly kissed you goodbye before disappearing into his shadows is still vivid in your mind.

After that things start getting muddled. You found the bandits at some point, and, even if there were more of them than what you expected, they didn't seem particularly strong so you were holding up your own in the fight that broke out as soon as they saw you. The next thing you knew though, someone had struck you from behind, hitting the back of your head hard enough that it brought you to your knees, the same person grabbing your hair and slicing your throat the next moment, not giving you a chance to avoid it. There's a break in your memories then.

All you can remember at first is your body feeling heavy, not being able to get your limbs to obey your commands as you struggled to flip yourself over so you weren't laying face down on the mud, the cold rain falling on your skin uninterrupted. Trying to take a breath into your lungs only to find it almost impossible and extremely painful. You remember the coppery taste in your mouth distinctly, not being able to swallow or make any sound through your destroyed throat. The thought that the knife had to have been laced with something was swimming around your mind, a simple cut like that wouldn't have been hard for your fae healing to handle.

You were vaguely aware of the voices around you but couldn't make any sense of what they were saying, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears and panic was starting to set in. The only thing you were sure of at that moment was that you were going to die on that muddy floor at the hands of petty thieves, this possibility not allowing you to even try to make out what they were saying, not caring about them anymore.

Azriel always told you that you needed to work on your openings so things like this didn't happen, so you didn't get caught off guard. He was right, he usually was, not that you would have ever admitted it to his face. The thought of your husband brings tears to your unfocused eyes. You wished you could have had more time with him. He has brought you an amount of love and happiness you didn't even think possible, and all you'll give him in return is pain. You promised him you would stay by his side to the end of your days, assured him you would never leave him multiple times when his nightmares became too much to bear and old insecurities made themselves known.

You made one last prayer to the Mother. Begging for your life wasn't worth it anymore, but you still asked that Azriel could survive this, that he would forget about you and move on. You had always wanted to give him the best, had vowed to make him as happy as possible but were failing miserably like this. The news of your death would break him, you didn't even want to imagine how he would feel when he found out. Fuck, you hoped he wouldn't be the one to find your body at least.

What a cruel fate. Making him go through so much hardship and pain in his life and still take one of the few blessings he had found for himself. You've only been married for a little over a decade, such an insignificant amount of time compared to the years he had behind him, and hopefully still ahead of him. You'd never forgive the Mother for making him suffer so much.

As your thoughts quiet, you notice the lack of voices around you. Apparently the killers had just left you there, bleeding out on the cold ground, not even bothering to finish the job properly. They didn't have to, you didn't need to be a healer to know your injuries would kill you in not even another minute. Your senses were getting duller with every painful beat of your heart, you couldn't even hear the sounds of the birds coming from the forest behind you anymore, couldn't focus on your thoughts, could barely see the light of the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. It feels fitting for you to die at night, it was as close to Azriel as you could get now, watching the same moon shining under him, the same one you had fallen in love under.

As you gaze upon the brilliant light of the moon, wishing you would have had the chance to say goodbye, a tightness settles in your chest, somehow making it pump faster, lessening the ache ever so slightly. The feeling is unlike any other, you mistakenly think it to be your body dying off before a breath is once again allowed into your lungs, easier than before. You blink a few times then, trying to search your surroundings for anyone with the limited control you had over your body, only to come up short. If anyone was healing you, there would be no reason for them to keep hiding. You've also had to be healed after an injury plenty of times, enough to know what it feels like and how effective it can be. This felt different somehow, and it didn't seem to be fully healing you as you could still feel your wound bleeding, your throat still as painful as it had been.

Azriel's familiar scent reaches you and mixes with your own. Your chest grows tight once more, body temperature somehow rising despite the cold rain and lack of blood, before an overwhelming feeling washes over you, traveling to every inch of your being as things suddenly click into place.

This was a mating bond.

Your sobs return at the realization, even more inconsolable than before, fingers digging into the bloody mud under you at the unfairness of it all. You could feel Azriel as if he was under your skin for a moment, smell him like he was standing over you, when in reality he was nowhere to be found, when you wouldn't be able to see him ever again.

Mating bonds are extremely rare and precious, most fae yearn for one chance of a love as powerful as a bond like this can bring. So why would the Mother waste it on you? Why not bind Azriel to someone who can stand by his side? Why not show it to you sooner, so you could have at least enjoyed it for a while? You've never heard of a bond forming as one person is about to die, when the other isn't even close - usually all it takes is a simple glance, the right exchange or words, rarely happening years after knowing someone.

What was the purpose of this? Why must life be so cruel? You almost want to hope it was a mistake, but the visceral reaction your body has at the thought, even in this state, doesn't allow you to. Azriel was yours, even if only for this laughable amount of time. You had a mate, one you would be able to tell your parents about when death came for you and took you to them.

Those were the thoughts swirling around your mind as you let out what would have been your last breath. Crying every tear left in your body, looking up at the moon and praying for the Mother to take the bond away, or not allow Azriel to feel it because, as much as it hurt you, you knew it would kill him to not only lose you but also lose a mate.

You had found it strange when Rhysand had told you Norris had found you alone in the forest, your body already cold, only a drop of blood still allowing you to cling onto life, but this explains it. The bond had somehow kept you alive long enough for Norris to find you, and take you to a healer at the guild like Rhysand saw. You had been long unconscious when he did, and so you didn't have any memory of any of it. You were also pretty sure the thieves might have been working for him, which explains how they had evaded Azriel's shadows for so long.

The answers regarding your death, the ones you had been aching to learn, now paled in comparison to what you had just unknowingly stumbled upon. You had a mate. You almost couldn't believe it, but the bond made itself known now that it was free from the wards' confines, shining bright deep inside you, linking you to someone through a strong but neglected bridge, still holding on after a century, and you know just where that bridge leads, shadows lurking over the other side.

You come to slowly, your mind aware of your consciousness before your body can follow. It's like you've never been this deeply asleep, the feeling of deja vu hitting you immediately. Perhaps that's why it takes you longer to realize you weren't lying down on a bed, not directly at least. There was a body under you, holding you close to him, enough so that you could hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest. You know it's Azriel right away, his touch and scent so unmistakable to you now, you don't know how it had been possible to ever forget it.

And the bond. You can feel it now, can feel something connecting the two of you, etched so deep into your soul that it almost feels impossible that you've been blind to it for so many years. Maybe because you've left it abandoned all this time, but you can literally feel it purr in satisfaction now, making it hard to focus on anything else.

You don't know how long you had been out for, the sun had set in the sky and everyone seemed to have left you two alone, the faint, lingering smell of Rhys' expensive cologne mixed with one scent you've only discovered recently, the only thing left behind. Gods, you can't believe both Cassian and Rhys had mates too.

Azriel had moved to lean against the headboard, sitting you across his lap, holding you close to him and resting your head against his chest as he rubbed slow circles up and down your arm soothingly. You didn't have to see him to know he had called his shadows over the both of you, keeping you safe in his arms as he waited for you to wake up, just like he always did.

Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, not being able to restrain yourself from looking at your mate for another second. He must have been distracted or falling asleep himself because he tenses softly when you stir and rise up from his chest, hand moving up to hold your cheek adoringly the moment your eyes meet his wide, hazel ones.

You can see the questions swirling in his gaze, can almost taste the anxiety, but relief conquers every other emotion. As much as he wanted to know you were back, he was glad you had at least survived. Keeping him in suspense would be cruel of you, especially after making him wait a hundred years, you don't think you could bear another second either.

“Hello, Az,” you whisper softly, emotion tightening your throat. He lets out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his soul and brings tears to his eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away as a tear rolls down your cheek unattended.

“Welcome back, my love.”

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.  

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.  

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.  

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

 He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.  

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

[c0smiclatt3]

SATORU GOJO: where the heart lies.- part 1

don't want money, just someone who wants my company.

the weapon of jujutsu to be used until his final breath. the political pawn born to restore her family glory, already spent and her purpose fulfilled but a now empty life left to fill. when two souls raised in solitude find their duties entwined, might they finally learn what it means to want something for themselves?

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: arranged marriage, clan leader!gojo, gojo never went to jjt and continued to be raised into the gojo clan head, slow burn, 16+

It was an open and shut arrangement.

Once upon a time your family was one of the closest advisors to the higher-ups of Jujutsu society. Then your predecessors drank and gambled away their riches leaving them with dirt and a sad excuse for an estate out on the countryside, far away from the very families they used to advise. As wives and concubines deserted the disgraced family for more affluent husbands over the generations leaving no heirs, your direct family line stepped into the head seat - the last fringes of a dying dynasty. Your father could only hope that you were a boy - and one with great power.

Your first sin was being born a girl.

Your earliest memories were of his scorn, of the grotesque way his features twisted when he sneered down at you, a girl who constantly wondered why her father seemed so angry with her. The only love you felt came from the arms of your mother, who reassured you that you had done nothing wrong.

Your second sin was manifesting tremendous power. Power that would no longer belong to your family after you were wed. And other Jujutsu families were quick to take note, sending assassin after assassin for your life, or spy after spy to weasel their way into your family's good graces. With so little left, they had neither the resources nor the manpower to protect your gift, and you quickly turned into dead weight. Tremendous dead weight.

Recognizing the need to safeguard your power - not to mention it's potential strategic importance - the higher-ups presented your family with an offer they could not refuse: to wed you to the head of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society.

It would be a cage nonetheless, but one with shining golden bars. You knew the responsibility was too great to turn it down.

And so it was that you arrived at the Gojo clan estate donned in the best (and only) kimono you had: your bridal kimono - a pure white.

You knew little about Jujutsu politics - you were thrown into that world after your first abduction attempt. Rifling through what scarce information your family bookshelves had on Jujutsu clans, their powers and ranks, you knew this much: that the Gojo family was revered and feared, and the current clan head beheld that terrifying power that made it so.

Looking up at the main hall of the estate, even the buildings themselves radiated regality, majesty, might. Stepping out from the transport car you almost wanted to fall to your knees right there in the building's shadow. Coming from your life in a humble courtyard in the countryside you had never seen something quite so terrifying in it's presence, your palms squeezing open and shut as your sandals scuffed the cobblestone as you walked, as gracefully as you could, up the steps.

When you stepped inside you saw nothing, the main hall dim. Then, like a dragon inspecting it's next meal, two piercing blue eyes from the shadows. He didn't even have to introduce himself. You already knew.

Keep your head down and he may show you mercy, your mother said before you left home. So you knelt. You knelt and prayed to the gods that you would be spared this man's wrath. That you'd shut up and take whatever was thrown at you - so long as your family got the money. So long as they would be kept safe.

He stepped forward. You kept your head down.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Satoru Gojo was raised untouchable.

Yes, the only real tenderness he likely had ever known to date was the warmth of his mother's arms the day he was born, the gentle way in which she swaddled him in his blanket before he was promptly whisked away from her care.

From the moment he Six Eyes gazed upon him, he was sentenced to solitude. He was the chosen one, the honoured one, the strongest, the ultimate trump card of Jujutsu society. He held the power of the universe itself in his hands, bending matter to his will. He was creation, he was destruction; he was birth and he was death. With a power like that he was strung up like a puppet on high, a Gods-eye view of the world itself, but that power wound around him like a noose, and the higher he seemed to rise, the tighter it seemed to wind around his neck until he choked. And choked. And choked.

And so he ran. He ran when he could, disappearing as a child into the city to watch. Simply watch. So those eyes that made men tremble since he could remember could finally look upon the world with gentleness, watch the people pass.

All this to say is he never knew kindness - not the politeness that was just a mask for fear, at least - never knew friendship, never knew love.

And yet here he was, thrown a woman and expected to love her like a husband.

She knelt before him, head low, hair spilling down her shoulders and back. He looked down at her like he looked at everyone he knew: a sort of disinterest, like a lion pawing at it's dying meal. Satoru knew little about love, yes, but he knew enough to know: wives do not bow to their husbands out of love.

And it was a sight that left him with a sour taste in his mouth, watching the entourage backlit by the sunset behind her. Shadowy figures and the bride, wrapped in her bridal kimono, bowed before him like a ritualistic offering to appease a god. This was far from a wedding. It was a sacrifice.

Maybe he didn't have to love her. He knew that was something you couldn't force anyway. But at the very least he wished that someone wouldn't look at him in horror, like the harbinger of death.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Get up," he says finally. "Don't degrade yourself like that."

His voice is neither stern nor gentle, but somewhere in between. His words read as a command, but he lets out a short exhale as he says it. Neither a huff nor a sigh. Fearing you'd done something wrong you lift your head to meet his eyes, finding no answers in his expression-

And that face. If his eyes had struck you first his face delivered the second blow. The only men you ever knew were your father and your uncles, for any women who bore sons deserted the clan. Their faces were twisted and baked with age, hard creases pressed into their foreheads and cheeks from years of scowls and sneers.

Gojo's face was like a winter morning breeze, the deceptively gentle whisper that followed the blizzard that reminded you that anything that came before him hadn't made it out alive. It was beautiful and it was terrifying.

"I'm sure this kind of entourage must be new for you," he says, noting the people behind you. After your first abductions you certainly were protected, but not to this degree. And the men of your family felt a woman must care for herself lest she become complacent, so they didn't have anyone waiting on you.

"I will admit it's different, yes," you say, your head tilted down ever so slightly in a gentle bow, as if still afraid to be so bold as to stand up straight in his presence.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Again, not a statement, not a question. Somewhere in between.

"... A little-"

His head turns to one of the servants behind you. "You heard her. Leave."

And so they were gone.

He paces to a window. Your body felt rigid as he walked away, unsure if you were meant to follow. Your instincts told you not to. But you were his wife - weren't you? Is a wife not meant to follow her husband-

"I imagine we're past introductions," he leans against an open window and turns his head away from you to overlook the estate grounds. "We both know why we're here."

"... We're married, yes," you feel a little stupid. You don't think you've said anything yet that isn't obvious and you feel like a dithering idiot.

His face is half lit by the golden sun, the dying sunlight that begins to creep it's way across the floorboards and illuminate you like a spotlight. Would you live in this spotlight forever, under the deferent whispers of those guards, guarded at all times, living with a target on your back? You suddenly wish you could have let yourself run through the countryside one last time. The air in here felt suffocating. His presence felt suffocating.

"I don't want to lie to you," he drums his fingers pensively on the windowsill. "I cannot promise you love. I'm not sure what kinds of stories you hear about marriage and true love, but this isn't going to be one of them."

It was your turn to speak. "I never expected love from this union." He lifts his head, mildly intrigued. His left eyebrow quirks, encouraging you to continue. "I was wed to you out of necessity, convenience, and strategy. It's me the higher ups arranged this for: for their purposes, for my family's benefit, and for my protection. I cannot imagine there is much I bring to the table for you. And so I want no pity for being in a loveless union, nor do I expect or even wish for you to try. I know what I signed up for."

"Tell me then," he strides back towards you. "what will this arrangement look like, since you've decided to spare me the trouble of forcing affection where there is none?"

"I will stay out of your way," you speak slowly. He stands still before you but the way he looks at you almost makes it feel as if he's encircling you. "I will be no more intrusive to your life than one of your servants, if you so wish. You can call upon me for your... Amusement," the word tastes like bile in your mouth, but you force it past your lips anyway, "if you so wish. So long as I am protected, the higher-ups placated, and my family safe, I can be nothing but a passing whisper if that's what you want."

"Really?" he almost seems to chuckle now, voice tinged with amusement. He leans in closer, as if studying your face, drinking in your features. "I didn't expect a young woman like you to be so... Nonchalant about the prospect of a loveless union."

"I've restored the reputation of my dying family line by bringing them back into the good graces of the most powerful in Jujutsu society." As you speak the words you begin to wonder if this is what you will be telling yourself for the rest of your lonely nights under this roof. "I am already satisfied."

"Noble," he says, crossing his arms, and you are suddenly aware of just how much he seems to tower over you. His eyes flicker with interest. "But I ask you this: since you've already served your purpose, what more is there to do with yourself?"

You blink. A thousand words sit on your tongue like pearls taking shape that you can't quite string into a sentence because when you thought about it you were done. All that was effectively left was to live the rest of your days just like this - to live for the sake of living. And that prospect terrified you. This whole encounter you moved mechanically, according to orders. According to expectations. But here he threw you a curveball - what did you want?

You hadn't expected a question like that and you couldn't quite understand why he would ask you such a thing, nor why when you fumbled for an answer he seemed to hum, a low, reverberating sound. He tilted his head, and for a brief moment you wonder if you noticed his lips curl into a cryptic smile.

"Interesting."

He turns and walks down the hall until he disappears, not beckoning for you to follow. As he walks his footsteps seem to punctuate sentences that you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Questions you didn't yet have any answers to.

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: based on the c.ai bot i published the other day! this is part 1 in a series and so if you want to be tagged for future parts just let me know in the tags or comments and/or drop your @ in my ask + the name of this fic so i know this is the one you want tags for :) i hope you liked it though~

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: adeline looks on as you and her brother fumble around each other.

COMMENTS: eiland....silly..........eeiland....................prettyy <333333 there is a reference to cinderella but reader is not implied fem!aligned

You’re listening intently as Adeline rattles off a myriad of statistics concerning Mistria’s economy. The tea before you has long grown cold, having been poured at the start of this long winded discussion. You chip in when needed, taking note of any materials she politely asks you to gather, such as wood and stone and metal. You’re used to it by now, having upgraded the General Store, restored the Mill, and even provided the materials for Hayden’s new barn. As far as you’re concerned, it's the same old song and dance, and you’re all too happy to oblige.

The sun dips beneath the horizon and Adeline’s pen finally clicks, her frantic note taking over for today. She still does a once over of all her paperwork, no doubt preparing to reread it in the morning to make sure it still makes sense. You gulp down the rest of your tea, not wanting to waste it, and you feel yourself regain some stamina you lost while hacking away at trees earlier that day.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you so long, it’s eight already!” Adeline apologizes, pressing a gentle hand to your back and she escorts you to the door to her study, “I’ll let you get home now! I’m sure you still have many things to attend to.”

You’re seconds away from telling her that, while you are busy, it’s your job to be busy, and that since your labor is helping this town grow, you’d put your all into it—

But then Adeline opens the door, and you see her brother at the piano.

Eiland.

Your heart jumps and lodges itself in your throat, a wave of nausea crashing over you.

It’s literally his house! Of course you were going to see him!

He turns to face you (and you probably look as disastrous as you feel, but he still smiles and says your name, greeting you so kindly like you aren’t about to have a panic attack in the middle of his super nice house.)

“I have to move my horses!” you say in a rush, scrambling out of Adeline’s hold as you make a break for the door.

You can't stay! If you do, it'd be obvious how you feel and under no circumstances can you allow that!

“Wait!” Eiland calls, distressed, “Don’t you want to stay for—?”

The door slams shut behind you as you run down the steps, lost in the night, and Eiland can’t help but think of that fairytale of the girl who fled from her prince so close to midnight.

“...dinner.” Eiland trails off, frowning.

Adeline looks between the door and her brother, a large grin spreading across her face as she puts the pieces together.

“Hmm, I wonder what that was about.” she chuckles lightheartedly, “You know, the farmer doesn’t have any horses yet from what I’ve heard. Makes you wonder why they got so nervous!”

Eiland’s pout only gets worse.

“So...they’re avoiding me.” he huffs, running a hand through his hair, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s anything like that.” Adeline giggles again, and Eiland sighs.

“Maybe they’ll want to see me tomorrow.” Eiland muses, resting his chin on his hand, “If I send them a letter about the armor...maybe we could talk then...”

Adeline watches her brother fondly as he drags his feet to his room, looking more discouraged than she’s ever seen him in her life.

This, too, shall pass. Adeline knows that much.

She opens the doors to the dining room with a conspiring smile on her face and a skip in her step.

[candycandy00]

hello! i just came by one of your post, and checked your profile for more. could you do a rape scenario for sukuna? it can be short, or long, anyway you prefer, no pressure <3

Smut. 18+. Rape/Noncon! This is a very brutal little fanfic! Do not read if things like this bother you! Contains blood/torture/humiliation/double penetration. All the bad things! This turned out way longer than I planned but I got kinda into it lol. Goes harder than I intended too but let’s face it: being raped by Sukuna would be a very hard experience.

You were a powerful sorceress. That’s what everyone had told you since you were a young girl. Your power dwarfed that of every other person in your large village, and so you were treated as special, almost like a deity. You had your own group of guards, whom you cherished as dear friends, and you adored the villagers who showered you with gifts. 

So when the monster Ryomen Sukuna attacked your village, you didn’t even hesitate to step in and try your best to protect it. You were a bit naive, having been sheltered by the villagers, but you were not stupid. You had heard rumors about Sukuna, and so you were aware that you probably didn’t stand a chance against him. Still, if you could only keep him distracted long enough for some of the villagers to flee into the mountains, it would be worth trying to fight him. 

He was most likely after the cache of cursed weapons and items stored there, and would probably have little interest in chasing down the people scurrying like rats. You would offer the treasures to him, but he was already in the village, already slaughtering everyone who stepped into his path. He would listen to no offers, no negotiations. So you dismissed your guards, who only left when you commanded them to guard the children as they were evacuated, and then hurried to the village square to confront Sukuna.

When you saw him, your heart nearly stopped. He was far more terrifying than you had ever imagined. It wasn’t just the four arms and four eyes, the massive height, the muscular figure. It was the aura he emitted, the crushing pressure of his very presence. Every inch of your body was screaming for you to run, or to immediately drop into a bow and beg for your life. This man was a cruel and brutal beast. He would tear you apart if you displeased him in the slightest of ways. That’s what you felt when you looked at him. 

Even so, there was something awe-inspiring about him. You understood instantly how he had brought so many villages to heel and why people were drawn to him. There was a savage beauty to him that made your heart pound furiously. 

But despite all of this, you still had to fight him. Every second you could buy was another second for the villagers to escape. 

“If it’s the cursed tools you want, you can have them,” you shouted to him from several feet away.  “Spare the rest of the villagers, and you can take them all with no resistance!”

He looked at you then, his red eyes all four sweeping over you. “What resistance?” he asked with a laugh, sending invisible blades slicing through a woman who was running by you. Her blood splattered across your robe. 

As you suspected, trying to talk to him was pointless. Battle was the only language he understood at that moment. 

So you attacked him. The fight was brief, lasting less than half an hour and consisting mainly of you evading his slashes while failing to get a solid hit on him. You got the impression he could have ended the fight instantly but had chosen to toy with you first. In the end, his slashes ripped through you, shredding your robes as well as your flesh, leaving you a bloody mess on the ground. 

As your life faded, you saw him walking toward you, and to your great surprise, he used his Reverse Cursed Technique to heal you! Not enough to restore you completely, but enough to pull you out of the dying state. You were still covered in slash wounds, but they were closing up and no longer pouring blood. You struggled to get to your feet, realizing with embarrassment that your clothing had been completely destroyed, leaving you naked and totally vulnerable before this monster. You wrapped your wounded arms around yourself and looked at him questioningly, wondering why he spared you.  

You got your answer soon enough. 

He’d dragged you into the shrine, sat down on the raised dais, and pulled your bare, cut up body into his lap. You were too terrified, and too weak, to struggle. You’d used up all your cursed energy in your vain attempt to stall him, and you’d lost a lot of blood. It was still dripping down your body in small, slow trickles.  

When he reached down with one of his four hands and pulled his own robe open, you nearly screamed. Revealed to you were two gigantic cocks, one above the other. Both were standing tall and hard. Apparently the battle, brief and one-sided as it was, had aroused him. Or maybe it had been the sight of your naked, bloody flesh. Regardless, you understood what was happening, and your only comfort was that more of the villagers would have a chance to escape while Sukuna was violating you. 

Just then you heard a commotion at the shrine’s entrance, and the worst possible sight greeted you when you looked up. Your guards, the handsome and kind hearted young men who were charged with protecting you, had rushed in. The look of horror on their faces probably mirrored your own. You could only imagine what they were thinking, finding you in this state. 

They ran forward, intending to help you, but the first one was sliced to ribbons before he got even a foot closer. The rest of them paused, but clearly were prepared to run at Sukuna again, but Sukuna’s smooth voice stopped them. 

“Take another step, and I’ll slice her up the same way.”

They all froze, their infuriated eyes watching Sukuna’s hands jerk your arms behind your back while the other two moved over your body. 

“Kneel,” he told them, and they quickly dropped to their knees. Sukuna grinned. “All of you watch.”

You turned your face to look at him. “Please, no! Just let them go! I won’t struggle!”

His haunting red eyes met yours as a wicked smile spread over his face. “I want you to struggle,” he said, and his two free hands yanked your legs apart, exposing you to your guards. 

To a man, they all looked away, but then you felt a painful slash across your shoulder. Blood spurted as you cried out, and the guards looked back up. Sukuna didn’t even have to speak the threat for your guards to understand. 

Sukuna shifted his hands so that only one of them was holding your wrists behind your back. Only one was needed. Two of them were still holding your thighs wide apart, and the last one moved down between your legs, his fingers gliding across your slit. One finger slipped between the delicate flesh and found your most sensitive spot, stroking it with agonizing gentleness. You didn’t want to feel pleasure in this situation, from an evil, sadistic man who’d murdered many of your friends, and right in front of your poor guards who were forced to watch. But Sukuna’s fingers moved masterfully, rubbing in exactly the right way to send jolts of pleasure through your entire body. 

You quivered in his lap, trying to pull your hands free, trying to close your shaking legs, but it was no use. Your struggling and fighting only seemed to excite him. 

He pressed his mouth against your ear, and said in a low, sultry voice, “For a nobody in a backwater village like this, you’re pretty strong. But that’s alright. I enjoy breaking the strong ones.”

Suddenly you felt something wet and soft moving over your clit. You looked down in alarm to find a mouth in his palm, the lips open and a long tongue protruding from it, lapping at your spread open pussy. You cried out in surprise, and then in horror when you realized the pleasure was becoming too much for you. Sukuna was going to make you cum right here in front of your guards. 

You struggled again, jerking against his grip, but it only made him laugh loudly. 

“You should be thanking me,” he said. “If I don’t get you properly slicked up, my cocks are going to rip you apart.”

You whimpered in response, tears filling your eyes. You knew what was coming, but having him verbally confirm it broke your spirit. 

You’d been avoiding the eyes of your guards. You couldn’t bear to meet their gazes. But there was one you’d been particularly close to, and you couldn’t help seeking his face for some small bit of comfort. But when you looked at him, you found his face flushed pink as he watched you writhe about in Sukuna’s grasp. 

Sukuna chuckled in your ear. “Your guards are starting to enjoy the show.” The words cut you deeper than any of Sukuna’s slashes had. These men were your friends! Some were like brothers to you! 

Suddenly Sukuna’s hand-tongue plunged inside you while his fingers pinched your clit. You moaned despite yourself, your back arching against your will. You’d never felt anything like this, and with tears of shame and pain running down your face, you came on Sukuna’s hand. 

When it was finally over, and you were a trembling mess in Sukuna’s lap, you hung your head low and sobbed. You were so ashamed of yourself for feeling pleasure, for having an orgasm from the touch of this brutal conqueror. But your torment was only beginning. 

You felt Sukuna lift your whole body up, then position the tip of his absurdly huge upper cock at your entrance. Then without hesitation, he pulled you down, roughly and quickly, impaling you. 

A scream erupted from your mouth as you felt yourself stretching past your limits, your skin slightly tearing, warm blood trickling down your thighs. Sukuna was merciless, immediately beginning to move you up and down his length with two of his powerful hands, as if you were a toy to him. You cried, you struggled, but it only made his movements faster, harsher. He was enjoying your pain, laughing at your humiliation. 

Eventually, after an unknown amount of time passed during which you almost blacked out twice, you heard his voice again. “My lower cock is feeling neglected.”

You were half conscious, but you snapped to awareness when you felt his other tip pressing into you. His fingers had slid in beside his upper cock, and were stretching you even further open, to make room. You looked back at him in disbelief. “Y-you can’t! That would kill me!”

Again he put his warm mouth close to your ear as he said, “From the moment you attacked me, you’ve been living on borrowed time. At least use your pitiful death to please me.”

You glanced out at your guards, your addled mind somehow hoping they could save you. But they were all frozen, the ones that had looked slightly aroused earlier now looked horrified as they realized what Sukuna was doing. A few of them had tears in their eyes. 

“Please send them away,” you begged. “Don’t make them watch me die.”

“But that’s the best part!” he said, the grin on his face looking slightly unhinged. 

And then, the second cock shoved its way in. You gasped first, then screamed as he sheathed it completely inside you, ripping you open in the process. As he began moving you up and down, drilling into you, the pain was blinding, maddening. You wondered if this was what giving birth felt like. 

Two of his hands were on your waist, lifting you up and down, one was still holding your wrists behind you. The fourth hand touched your face, turning it to the side so that he could look at you, so he could watch the agony in your eyes. For a moment, he wore no expression at all. And then he dipped his head closer to yours and kissed your mouth. It was a bizarrely sensual kiss, a kiss for lovers. Gentle, slow, intimate. It confused you more than anything. 

He released your wrists, but you were too weak to do anything useful with them, so they dropped limply to your sides. The hand he’d been using to restrain you slid down, and again a mouth appeared in his palm, the tongue softly circling your clit. 

You wanted to scream again, to beg him to stop. Don’t make me feel pleasure while you’re killing me! you thought. But your tortured body sought out any relief it could find, any sensation that didn’t hurt. And Sukuna’s tongues, one in your mouth and one gliding wetly over your clit, did not hurt. In fact they were the only things that didn’t. 

So your body responded. Even as his twin cocks tore through you, even as you could hear blood dripping onto the floor, you moaned into Sukuna’s mouth. Reflexively, without your permission, one of your hands moved up to touch his face as he kissed you, sliding back and into his hair. You felt him smile against your mouth, his eyes shimmering with delight. 

You didn’t want this. You could think of very few things you could want less than being violently raped by Sukuna in front of your helpless guards. But the human body does all sorts of strange things to cope, to survive. So you came, moaning and crying at the same time, your body twitching in his hands, your guards looking on in horror. 

Eventually, Sukuna’s cocks shot out massive loads of cum, first the upper one and then the lower one, completely filling you. Afterwards, he pushed you off his lap, and you landed unceremoniously in a heap on the floor, blood and cum pouring out of you. 

You were certain you were dying, and within seconds you passed out right there on the floor of the shrine. 

When you awoke, Sukuna had taken all the cursed tools your village had been guarding and left. You heard from one of your guards, who refused to look you in the eye, that Sukuna had healed you almost completely before leaving. You had no idea why. 

You also found out the majority of the villagers had made it safely into the mountains, and were now being escorted back by the guards. So even though you had gone through hell and back, you would still do it again. Your suffering saved a lot of lives, and you could live with that. 

Sometimes you wondered why Sukuna spared you, and even went so far as to heal you. Maybe it was just a whim. Or maybe he thought he might return someday to terrorize you again. Either way, you had survived. Your village had survived. 

[phsychobanana]

In another world, we hate each other just as much

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

WC: 930

Summary: Maybe enemies to lovers wasn't a trope meant for them...

Honor. Family. Redemption.

Some of the things Zuko has wanted more than anything in the blur of these last few years.

Honor.

Something only he could get for himself by capturing the avatar.

Family.

He wanted his family back desperately. Not so much the people themselves, but the title and pride that came with knowing them.

Redemption.

Something he'd hoped for when choosing to join team avatar in defeating his very own father, Fire Lord Ozai.

Though they didn't come to trust him as easily as he'd hoped for them to, they eventually came around. Well, most of them.

Seven months after the end of the war. Seven months after peace was restored and balance swept over the world (for the most part), Y/n still didn't trust him. Not one bit.

He'd tried everything. Gifts, reassuring words, going on a "life-changing adventure" like he did with other gaang members, and yet nothing seemed to work. So, naturally, he grew to resent her just as she did him.

It was a peaceful morning, birds flying through the air, the soft smell of tea wafting through the air. Zuko stood beside his uncle, his feet bare as the blades of grass tickle them.

The peace was quickly interrupted, however, when a familiar voice cut through the air. A voice that immediately brought a frown to Zuko’s face.

“Hi, Master Iroh!” Y/n says, her voice cheerful and cute. Oh, how he hated that voice. Hated how sweet it was, hated how it made his heart skip a beat, hated how it put the bird's songs to shame.

“Ah, Y/n, how wonderful! Isn’t it wonderful that Y/n could make it, Zuko?” Iroh nudges his nephew, ever the matchmaker.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Zuko mumbles.

“Well, i’ll go make some more tea now that Y/n has decided to join us. Play nice, you two.” Just as soon as he was there, Iroh is gone.

Zuko sends a glare in his uncle’s direction, before rounding on Y/n, his glare even sharper than before. Y/n simply crosses her arms, a smirk clear on her face.

“What’s wrong, Zuzu?” She asks in a mocking tone.

Zuko simply scoffs, unbelieving of her behavior.

“It’s Fire Lord Zuko.” He says, standing upright, his nose in the air.

“Hmm…sure it is.” She smiles, clearly amused by the fact that she’s already getting under Zuko’s skin.

Out of frustration, Zuko lifts his hand to facepalm, and not realizing just how pissed off he was, his hand lights up with the movement. He doesn’t even notice until a soft hiss of pain hits his ears. Zuko’s eyes widen at the noice, and he quickly turns to look at Y/n.

“Did i do that?” He asks.

“No, the wind did it.” Y/n replies, her words drenched in sarcasm and pain.

“Haha. So funny. It’s your fault, anyway. You’re lucky i don’t do it again, on purpose this time.” Zuko says, smirking proudly as he watches the burn, still fresh, sizzle on her arm.

Y/n glares at him, sending a rock flying his way. Zuko’s eyes widen at her rebuttal, and he quickly dodges out of the way. 

“You dare challenge me in my own home?” He scoffs, amused by her actions.

Y/n's eye brows raise in slight surprise. "Are you smiling, oh mighty Zuko?"

"What? No. Of course not. You've probably got dirt in your eyes, filth," Zuko quickly turns away from the girl, forcing his face to harden.

The sound of hard footsteps causes Zuko to turn around. When he does, he sees Y/n now standing much closer to him, a teasing smirk on her lips. Not that he's staring at her lips. That'd be crazy. Haha...

"You were smiling. I saw it," Y/n pokes Zuko's chest accusingly.

"Was not!" Zuko argues childishly.

"We're too!"

"Was not!"

"Were-fucking-too!"

"WAS NOT!"

"STOP LYING!"

Fire crackling, rocks grumbling, loud arguing, small explosion, heavy breathing. That was all that could be heard from the courtyard as the two got into a heated argument over something so childish.

Eventually, as the ancestors would have it, the two end up toppling over each other, Zuko ending up straddling Y/n's hips in a rather....awkward position.

Zuko looks down at her with wide eyes, a rosy blush making its way to his face. Though, that's not the only place he has blood rushing to.

Y/n huffs, slowly sitting up on top of the blushing boy, her glare practically pinning him in place. She's also red in the face, though it's more out of anger than it is embarrassment.

"Would you get off of me already? Whatever you have in your pockets is poking me!" Y/n complains, her fits colliding with his chest aggressively.

Zuko swallows nervously, knowing that there's nothing in his pockets. He slowly stands to his full height, the blush on his cheeks never tiring. His hands fold together in front of his crotch in a feeble attempt to hide his...excitement?

Y/n gives him an unimpressed look as she dusts herself off. "First you burn me, then you make me fall, what's next? Kill me?"

"Maybe." Zuko responds, though his words lack their usual heat.

Y/n's brows furrow in confusion at Zuko's lack of conviction. "What's up with you?"

She glances to where his hands are fidgeting, and then back up to his face, her eyes widening upon realization.

"Seriously?! A hard-on, you weirdo?!" She shrieks.

Zuko's face burns even hotter, and he turns away, mumbling a half-assed "shut up".

Y/n cackles upon this discovery, doubling over. She wipes tears of mirth from her eyes before speaking, "I thought you were mad at me."

"It's a hate boner, i swear." Zuko says sternly, even though it sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince her. "I still hate you. Always will."

Y/n rolls her eyes in response. "Yeah, yeah. We hate each other in every universe, i get it. Dumbass."

"Bitch."

"Freak."

"Vine-head."

"Hate boner."

"SHUT UP!"

[storm-angel989]

hiii! it's my birthday but I'm having a really bad day. can I request a like,fanfiction where it's Valentino's teenage daughter's birthday but he forgot till it's like,an hour before it's over? thank you in advance!!

Hi friend,

First of all: Happy BELATED Birthday! All the joy and love for many, many more days to come! I’m so sorry you didn’t have the absolutely fantastical day you deserve, but I do hope this story makes today slightly brighter. 

Story time before your story. I was working on another piece when I got your request- and dropped what I was doing to work on this. My brain fizzed a fizz right away- that never happens! Unfortunately, we also got hit by major storms last night- a tornado touched down a few miles from here and completely knocked the internet out. So I wrote this story as I did back in my early days of writing - offline, and on what battery I had in my laptop! But I did it- I wrote it all out on the power I had left with hopes the internet would be restored before bed. As I write this at the end of the night, knowing I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to edit and post, know I’m thinking of you and sending all the good vibes your way. I share this with you in hopes that you see that even on not the best birthday, someone cares and is so happy to celebrate another year of your life! 

<3 Mandy 

Valentino knew he had circled the date on his calendar for a reason, but as he sat in his office, wracking his brain he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He knew it was midway through the month and had to pay his dues to Angel. But that couldn’t be the only reason why the date was circled. 

A knock on the door pulled his attention to his first client of the day and with reluctance, he closed his planner. He figured if the date was truly that important, it would come to him eventually. The events of the day rushed on around him and he found himself completely caught up and focused on his work. 

Six filmings. And to end the day, kissing the only whore that came between him and his wife, a trail of red salvia tainted with the drugs he swore he would one day no longer be in charge of. But at the moment, he was bound by the contract. It was the second their lips touched that he felt his blood run cold, and not for the usual reason. The date. His daughter's fifteenth birthday. How the fuck had he forgotten? 

“Oh, not yet big guy, I still haven’t had my fix,” Angel purred beneath as his hand pressed to the back of Valentino’s neck, pulling his face inches above his. “Of course, you could fuck me- might be faster. Get that red juice pumping.” 

Valentino gritted his teeth. A younger Vaentino would have gladly done so- at Angel’s invitation or not. But that ended the day he told his wife, “I do.” and Angel knew it. Valentino bent his head down as he pressed his lips harder against Angel’s, willing the crimson liquid to drip down into the eager addict. Valentino could feel his heart racing, anger and frustration at the predicament he found himself in. He shouldn’t be here, in this position, especially not when he had such pressing family matters. He angrily shoved the palms of his hands into Angel’s shoulders as he pinned him down under the weight of his body. 

“Shut the fuck up, you filthy whore,” Valentino snarled. In his anger, his hands fell to Angel’s throat as his tongue snaked its way into Angel’s mouth. Carefully, he listened for the high pitched, drug induced moan that was Angel’s tell. 

The second Valentino heard that note, he dropped Angel like the worthless slut he considered him to be. Wordlessly, Valentino turned towards his office as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He took a deep breath as he tried to refocus his attention on the situation outside of the studio. Behind him, Angel’s moans of ecstasy grew louder and it was all Valentino could do to tune out the sound. 

 Family and work. Family needed him. Work was done. 

He picked up his phone and did a double take. Twenty seven missed calls from his wife. Six from Velvette. Two from Vox. And a single text from his daughter. 

Hey, Dad. I know you’re busy. It’s alright that you can’t make it tonight. Mom and Uncle Vox are really mad though, so I guess just be on the lookout. I miss you, Daddy. Maybe I’ll see you later? 

Somehow, her forgiveness and understanding hurt more than if she was angry with him. Fury at himself, at his job, at his life bubbled up inside and he wasn’t aware of his fist going through the wall. Fuck the rest of the day. Fuck Angel Dust. In that moment, nothing else mattered. He had to make this up to her, somehow. 

Somewhere inside, Valentino knew any amount of tangibles couldn’t make up for his fuck up. But that didn’t stop him from frantically scanning over his daughter's wish list and sending every item on it to be wrapped and delivered to his upstairs office within the hour, along with cake and decorations. A post party surprise, just with family. That would be his excuse for being late- not that he thought his wife would buy it for a second, but his daughter might. And that was all that mattered. 

 He quickly shed his signature glasses and jacket, opting for his contacts and a more discrete jeans and black V neck. He jammed his wallet into his back pocket and checked his wife’s location. He sent her a quick text and without waiting for a response, or for the limo, Valentino swung his leg over his black and silver motorcycle and took off towards the restaurant. 

To his mortification, he glanced around at the crowd. Was this supposed to be a big party? Had he forgotten that too? As quietly as he could, he parked and made his way inside the restaurant just in time to see his daughter surrounded by friends and family as she blew out the candles on the cake. Embarrassment flooded through him as he stayed behind the crowd, singing quietly along. 

She should be furious with him. How did he make such a terrible mistake? How could he have possibly forgotten the day he became a father, forgotten the day that changed his life for the better? Part of him wanted to walk away, to take a deep breath and save his own face from the public shame he was sure would come when she noticed him. But he couldn’t do that. He deserved whatever she had to give him. 

No sooner than the first slice was cut did his eyes meet hers. The anger he expected to receive was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by sheer joy.

“Daddy!” She yelled as she booked it across the room. 

To his surprise, she jumped into his arms. He caught her and pulled her to a tight hug.

“I knew you wouldn’t forget my birthday!” She squealed. “I just knew it!”

Through the crowd, he could see his wife’s disapproving face and the livid expression on Vox and Velvette. He would have to figure out some way to explain later, but for the moment he held his daughter. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late mi amore,” he said softly as he kissed her forehead. “Go. Enjoy your party. I’m here now.” 

He watched as his daughter's entire expression lit up. He released her and he watched as she mingled her way back through the crowd. Behind him, he felt a familiar arm slip around his waist. 

“Nice of you to show up,” his wife whispered furiously, “honestly, Valentino. Is Angel really worth this?”

Valentino swallowed back the guilt. The answer was no. But she couldn’t know the real reason why- the intimate, gritty details of the contract that bound Angel’s soul to his. For the second time that day, Valentino bit back his pride and instead, kissed his wife’s cheek.

“You have every right to be mad. But I…I threw together a surprise for our daughter. Hopefully she…”

“As long as she ends this night overjoyed,” Valentino’s wife replied with a grumble. “But you always have been good at covering your tracks.” 

She didn’t even know half of it. 

An hour later, his daughter perched on the back of his motorcycle where his wife once sat, and a grand entrance later, reader sat amongst the presents and balloons that cluttered Valentino’s office, nibbling on her second cake of the evening. 

“Daddy, I really thought you forgot about me- I’m sorry I ever thought that,” reader said as she wrapped her arms around him.

Valentino could feel all three sets of angry eyes on him as he wrapped his daughter back in a hug. 

“Bebita, I’m sorry for ever making you feel that way. I love you, you are the most important thing in my life. Next to your mom, of course,” he replied. He planted a kiss on her forehead and smoothed back her hair. “Happy birthday, baby.” 

“I don’t mean to be a party pooper, but someone has a big day tomorrow,” Vox said as he collected the dirty paper plates. “That is, if you’re still planning on playing in the game and not playing hooky like I suggested.” 

“No way Uncle Vox, my team needs me!” Reader exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around him. “Love you, goodnight.” 

Valentino was the last to bid her goodnight. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as hard as she could.

“You’re coming to my game tomorrow, right Daddy?” She asked.

Valentino could hear the hope in her voice, see it in those bright blue eyes of hers. Flashes of work, of his schedule burst into his mind. He could see her expression start to fade in the heartbeat of silence.

“Of course baby, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And we can go out after for lunch to celebrate- make up for my tardiness to your party.” He replied quickly. 

“That sounds amazing! You’re the best, Daddy!” She said excited as she gave him a final tight hug. 

Of that, Valentino wasn’t so sure. He watched as his entire world walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. As soon as he heard the door close, he turned to the other three. 

“Guys, I…”

“Save it, Val,” Velvette replied with an eye roll. “No excuses. You fucked up. Big time. You better not fuck up again tomorrow.” 

“You’re really lucky she brought your little story,” Vox added. “And that we covered for you. And really, it was only for her sake that we did.” 

His wife didn’t say anything. Instead, he watched as she silently left the room. He followed after her. Vox and Velvette he could talk to later, right now he needed his wife. 

“Do you think she knew?” Valentino asked the second they were behind their bedroom doors. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

To his dismay, she shrugged. “Val, she’s getting older. It’s only going to get harder and harder to keep what you do behind those doors a secret.” She pulled a pajama shirt over her head and climbed into their bed. 

Valentino joined her and in a few moments, she shifted her body closer. He exhaled a silent thank you as he held her tight to his chest. He closed his eyes and felt her thumb brush against the corner of his mouth, no doubt wiping away an invisible speck of red poison. 

“Valentino, it's not just her you’re going to have to talk to. You’re going to have to tell me the full story about Angel Dust at some point. This whole thing, it’s getting in the way of our family more than it ever has in the past,” she said softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’ve never let work interfere with your family before. Why now is that suddenly changing? Missed games, you missed her final recital. And now you almost missed her birthday. Where are you going to draw the line?”  

He felt the weight of her head on his chest and felt the bitterness of guilt rise in his throat. How would she ever understand the mistakes he made? The deal he trapped both himself and Angel in? The cruelty he inflicted? Who he was outside of their home? She knew, of course, his line of work. But she didn’t know the details, and the last thing he wanted was for her to discover the entirety of that part of him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally replied softly. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

“You need to,” his wife replied firmly. “For our daughters sake.” She closed her eyes, “And you can start by showing up at her game tomorrow, like you promised.” 

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Mutual request for this hc with Lilia and Riddle. Babytrap, Malleus + Leona being infertile. @yasminzys hope you like it!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, Infertility and talk about pregnancy/children, killing, kidnapping and cheating.

Lilia has lived a long time, seen a lot, so when you try again and again to conceive a baby and nothing works, he knows. He knows that there is a possibility that you or he, or both, are infertile, so Lilia shares his suspicions with you and together you go to the doctor to have these suspicions confirmed.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He raised Malleus and Silver, he had the full experience of being a father twice in a row and he wanted you to have the same experience, he wanted your love to be able to conceive a child, but this it is not possible because he is infertile. He is infertile and even for someone as old as he is, this news is still a surprise and not a good one.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Depending on the underlying cause of the problem, his infertility can be treated, so Lilia prefers to undergo treatment. For you and the thought of having a little bat with you. But… No matter how much time passes, your relationship begins to deteriorate with nothing being able to restore that beautiful feeling. And he knows that it doesn't matter if he brings you flowers or if he brings you chocolates, you won't feel what you felt before. A dream was stolen from you and all he can do is be sorry.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Which doesn't mean he can understand how you had the courage to send letters to another man while all this time you've been dodging his kisses and hugs. He has seen a lot of betrayal in his long life, especially allies betraying each other in war, perhaps even he was betrayed once, but without a doubt your betrayal is the only one that was able to pierce his heart so deeply.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Your poor lover? Dead. Your destiny? A cabin in an enchanted forest to never let you get away. And his heart? Trying to patch himself up as he hugs your struggling figure. Adultery once was punishable with death so you're very lucky that he loves you very much.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Honestly, I believe that Riddle doesn't really want to be a father, not while his mother's words and actions are still so present in his mind and haunt him often. If he tried to get you pregnant before it was only because, once again, he decided to listen to her and because he realized that you wanted it too so he didn't want to deny you the experience.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ 'Eventually,' he tells himself after all the times you have sex. 'it will eventually work out.'

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But no matter how hard you try, it doesn't work. The child you want so much is never conceived, so the only plausible explanation is the one most terrible for you; one of you is infertile. Riddle is quick to assuage your fears and offer comfort as you go to the doctor to share your concerns. Tests are done, the results announced as an omen of death.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle is the infertile one, the cause of your deep sadness and the destroyer of your dreams of having a family. He can see it all in your eyes as tears fall from them and you force yourself to tell him it's okay. He knows what a lie looks like, he knows because living with his mother taught him to lie. And you're doing it now and he can't blame you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ If a treatment option is viable, he wants to try it. If there is nothing that can be done then he will discuss with you the option of adopting a child. Riddle closes his eyes to every letter you write, to every correspondence exchanged, he hopes that his words and actions reach your heart and that you don't love him less for it since it's something he has no control over, nonetheless, your love waned. And there's another man on your mind now. Another man he chases away.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He's not someone who gets his own hands dirty, but you force him to. You forces him to kill the other man and he forces you to watch every single thing he does. And then he takes you back home because you're a happy family and family stays together whether you want it or not.

[bowieandqueen11]

Dylan Lenivy With A Protective S/O Would Include...

Request: Dylan from the quarry with an s/o who’s like really strong. Like wrestle bears strong (or in the quarry case wrestle werewolves strong) and is very protective. Like i mean picking Dylan up and running or taking hits for him.

I genuinely love Dylan so much time to work through my writer's block for him bby!! :)

Warning: Strong language, mentions of blood/ injury, mentions of guns and werewolf attacks!

(I do not own the Quarry or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @moafleco.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Dylan Lenivy: darling boy, absolute light of my life!! I full on expected to come into this game and have Max be my favourite because I loved Skyler Gisondo in Booksmart and Night at the Museum 3 but Dylan really side swept my ass here and stole my heart I've got to be honest.

You can bet your ass during the whole Werewolf Attack night at Hackett's Quarry, Dylan will use whatever battery is left on his phone sending you cheesy texts just to check in and make sure you're okay. Be ready for your phone to ding about a thousand times a minute, until Kaitlyn finally cracks and shoves it, still vibrating, into one of the cubbies in the nurse's office.

'Hey sweet... baby-heart! Wait that sounds weird let me start again. Hellooo there sweetheart!❤️🥰 just wanted to make sure ❓that you’re still alive! 💘😖 and not ripped apart! 🤞❌ anyway love you please don’t get eaten by a swarm of bears!! 🐻😘'

Ryan had the joy of reading that one over his shoulder in the radio shack, and the groan he emitted was so loud they both ended up having to pitch over each other and duck under the table because it drew Caleb back up onto the roof.

The poor guy keeps peering out between the slats of the radio shack window like a scared meerkat popping up from behind towering rocks, thinking he can see you float past in a mist of lucent white, weaving through the treeline. He keeps pacing back and forth, back and forth sweating buckets because he's so terrified, and so ashamed that he's cowering in here while you may be in danger out there. Even Ryan's awkward offer to let Dylan borrow his earphones for a while: to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest in the corner and just breathe for a minute while Ryan kept watch, was met with an uncharacteristic sharp intake of breath and manic shake of the head.

So when you come bursting through the rickety door: drenched from head to toe in Nick's metallic reeking blood and propping Chris Hackett's shotgun in your arms, neither of the two men know what to do. But when a crash of lightning makes the full moon glowing behind your head shudder, making the pulsating umbra shrouding your head seem all the more monstrous, Dylan suddenly does.

The man starts screaming in a key that only dogs had a chance of hearing.

When he finally realises that it's you and not - you know - the 'Hag of Hackett's Quarry', and he's spent enough time bent over with his hands resting on his knees trying to catch his breath, the nervous butterflies in the pit of his stomach suddenly turn into somersaults. You came back for him. You came to save him. You care for him that much: love him that much, that you were willing to risk your own life just to try and save his.

Even though he's known you since you were seven years old: even though the two of you had met all those years ago during your first week at this very same camp, catching each other's eyes and waving as he bundled up to Chris' office with a brand new tape player he had restored in his arms, and you helped one of the younger girls pull her luggage out from the back of her parent's van, the true extent of how much he could fucking love someone hits him like air freshener to the face.

Even though the two of you used to sneak out of your bunks and meet up at midnight in the Shady Glade, bumping down beside each other on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you. 

Even though his heart had flipped over there and then: greedily gorging and festering in his chest, even though he had spent years stifling the feeling until he learnt that he was lucky enough to have it returned, it still shocked him to realise you didn't see him as a waste of space. As a spent joke.

And then his hand gets bit, and everything changes. It must have looked at least a little bit funny when it happened, considering there was not a chance in hell you were about to let any mystical creature drag off your poor boyfriend. As soon as Dylan got swung up to the roof: screaming and begging for you and Ryan to get him down, you jumped onto the desk and latched yourself on Dylan's back like koala bear. Your legs are quick to wrap around his waist until your heels kick up onto the slats, your arms wrapping around his waist until you manage to reach past and grab onto thick handfuls of warm... oozing fur.

With a swift punch to the snout, the two of you fall unceremoniously to the floor in a resounding crash. You managed to cover most of Dylan's moans during your fall by cradling him into your stomach, taking most of the brunt of the force. The poor guy for a moment just curls up on top of you in a state of wide-eyed shock, the side of his cheek heavy as he smooshed it against the side of your jaw. It's almost domestic: almost sweet, as he tugs his legs up between your knees and hides his eyes by turning his head into the curve of your neck. It's the same manner in which he wakes up every morning, hiding himself by nestling himself into you every time the sunrise comes falling through the dusty cracks of the Quarry's alpine blinds and makes him jolt awake.

This time, though. This time is far worse. Because then he starts laughing: a hoarse, shaking, unnerving noise that seems to seep through your throat and make you choke on your tongue. You do your best to grab onto his biceps as he starts shaking, his hands beginning to ball into your shirt as the reality of what's just happened to him settles in.

This man has seen enough horror movies in his life. If he's going to die, he wants to do it lying here in your arms.

Before he knew what was happening, he's being lifted up into your arms bridle style and rushed out towards the pool house. The whole way there, despite the agonising pain he's in, he keeps pressing his lips into your collar bone and giggling like a school boy caught head over heels by his crush. Even when your hands finally slip off from underneath his knees and you gently perch him on the edge of a sink, he's still cradling the side of his head on his neck and looking down at you as if you hung every star in that unbridled sky. It doesn't matter if you're trying to use a cloth to clear some of the blood from underneath his eyebags, or using some bandage Abi found in one of the pool lockers, this man is too busy trying to spend every second he has left as him enraptured by you. That means you have to work with him biting his bottom lip and smiling wonkily as he dodges the cloth and instead grabs onto your fingers, pulling them to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles one by one languidly. He looks so soft - so goddamn soft as he nudges his cheek against your intertwined hands, letting them rest against the side of his face.

He gets really fidgety, and it's then that you suddenly understand he's asking for a reassurance kiss: for the knowledge that you're not going to leave him. He’ll never say it outright, because deep down he’s too embarrassed and touch starved to admit it, but you can always tell. He has so many give away signs: he starts looking down at the floor, taps his feet against the tiles and fidgets his hips back against the porcelain, plays with his fingers by threading them through each other until you lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, and then he just beams with pure, unbridled happiness.

'You're so beautiful, you know that?' Even with the tendrils beginning to twist up his forearm, even half delirious with the stress of what had been happening that night, even thinking he's about to die he's still thinking of you. Worried about you. Desperate for you to know, that it's always been you. That it's all you.

'Dylan... I love you too, but if you keep putting yourself in danger to save everyone else I'm going to kick you into Lake Septimus ass first, okay?'

'Look, I've never met the guy, and although I'm sure he's lovely you're the only person I want to fall ass first onto', he replies, trying his best to hide how his eyes were starting to burn: how his eyes were beginning to crinkle with the effort of stopping his face contorting in pain by cupping your cheeks with his large palms and pressing a lingering, needy kiss against the side of your mouth.

'Ew. Gross, guys.' You turn your head to raise an amused eyebrow at Kaitlyn, but she only shakes her head and turns her attention back to the knitting gash on Nick's leg.

He seems to spend half of the time hiding behind your back! Like, you can just feel the slight tremble as his slender fingers touch your shoulder, and then the growing shadow against the lodge chimney as he jolts behind you. He's trying his best, bless his heart, even though the way he tucks the jut of his chin into your shoulder blade and grabs onto your biceps restricts you from shooting off Caleb when he comes clambering up the stairs towards the two of you.

But also even though he knows you're super bad ass he is 100% ready to launch himself, full-body starfish jump, in harm's way at the first sign of danger. Such as when Emma comes jumping out of the minivan, and Dylan straight away launches you away from him and nearly bearhugs her to the stony ground. Thankfully, you manage to tear off a branch from one of the encircling pine trees and strike the werewolf off Dylan; a near home run hit had her scrambling off into the woodland again as fast as her four legs could carry her. For a moment, your boyfriend just lounges against the dirt, shaky breath only interrupted by the sound of his wincing as he begins to flick pebbles off the deep scratches lining his elbow. Then, before you can even blink, he comes scrambling on his hands and knees towards you like a prowling predator, before melting into you. His arms are quick to lock behind your hamstrings; Dylan doesn't even bother to get up off his knees, he just shoves his head into your bellybutton and refuses to move until he can feel your fingers card through his scalp.

'Oh my god!', he finally starts, once you begin to unlatch his rusted fingers from around his legs by pulling at them one by one. 'I can't believe you never told me!'

'Told you what?'

'That you're secretly the sports coach! I knew Jacob was too much of a butthead - I just knew he was too busy playing hookup to look after the kids. That's the real tea from this summer.'

For real though - it doesn't matter where you are: turn around and Dylan's on your heels like your own personal walking, talking, screeching shadow. You have a bet with Kaitlin on whether he's managed to build a teleporting machine during his free time in the radio shack, because you could be down scouting the kitchen and he could be up looking at the weird family pictures in the lodge's attic, but at the first sound of any kind of howl he's there. You barely have time to duck down behind the counter before your boyfriend has made you jump out of your skin; he's standing right by the freezer (how tf did he manage to get all the way there without you hearing him??), completely out of breath and holding a cast iron skillet in his hands like a baseball bat.

'What?', he shrugs down at you with a tired smirk, putting his free hand on his hip and wiggling them a little. 'My mom always told me that it's better to be prepared than to catch anything unexpected. And I'm not letting you get bit too.'

'I'm... not quite sure that's what she meant. But thanks, sweetie.'

The nickname has his face burning a deep-set roseate for the next thirty minutes.

And then the two of you meet Laura, and this man's world just turns upside down. You turn down her offer to join her in trying to find Chris Hackett and end all of this for good, but from where Dylan was sitting on the bench next to the rattling window, he missed out on your reasoning why. He missed out on how you'd admitted that your sole focus: your one care now was to make sure that Dylan was safe. That you cared about him more than anything, and Mr. H could go to hell as far as you're concerned. You had to make sure Dylan survived the night.

Dylan's eyebrows crumpled when you came, cross armed, to unsteadily take a seat next to him again. He was too nervous to ask what the two of you had agreed, so he just fiddled with his thumbs and let the idea that he was holding you back darken his thoughts.

That he was a hinderance. That he was an annoyance.

He doesn't know what else to do, so as the two of you head out to the Hackett scrapyard in search of a new rotor arm, he takes up every silent moment by cracking wise. It starts to worry you - the way he can barely touch you. How he holds his hands in near claws against the meat of his biceps: how he barely lets his leg brush against yours before he jolts away again as if electrified. He even seems anxious when you reach out and grip onto his hand, his hold limp and loose as he lets it sway uneasily in the growing gap between your bodies.

He's just so afraid that if he lets go now, you'll be letting go of him forever. So he doesn't want to hold on at all. He feels it will be easier this way: kinder to you, to feel as if he's just drifting off with the breeze, a fond memory of long summers spent at some strange, long forgotten Quarry.

But you know him far too well not to register the full-blown panic behind his eyes as he dares to take a glance over at you. So please, shove this guy up against the nearest trunk of a tree, hold him up by shoving your knee in-between the seams of his thighs, and kiss him silly until all he can do is saunter off with a dopey smile and a brain so far up in the clouds all he can do is laugh rather than string together a sentence!!!

Literally I feel like this would heal him. Give this poor bby the love he's so desperately craving.

Straight up hefting him over your shoulder and carrying him away from Caleb in the scrapyard. The confused look on Kaitlyn's face as her head slowly turns to follow the set of you sprinting past with a screaming Dylan folded over your back like a snapped ruler is mfcking hilarious I'm not going to lie.

You refuse to leave him in the crane. Not even when he's gouging into the balls of your shoulders, crying and yelling and begging you to leave. To run. To get the hell away from him while you still can. Between his tormented yelps, you do your best to grab onto his face despite how forcefully his body's contorting. Despite how his fingernails are starting to cut into your skin and send blood blooming out in wispy tendrils across your shirt. You just place your thumbs up against the darkness obscuring the sides of his eyes and try to keep Dylan looking at you. To try and make him understand, to try and make sure the last thing he saw before he turned was you not leaving him. Not Ever.

[fierceawakening]

Like, re the whole “does restorative justice work on powerful rich white men” question, let’s take Michael Cohen.

I can’t say for sure if he’s trustworthy now, but that’s how he presents himself. As rehabilitated. As someone who was addicted to the thrill of doing illegal things and getting away with it, the power trip of being a bully. That he got so caught up in it he pushed away his family and rejected any warnings no matter from whom.

But he’s good now. Supposedly. (I personally lean toward believing he’s truly remorseful. He publicly takes responsibility for most of what he did. There’s a few things he grumbles about but that actually makes me more inclined to believe him, not less—if he was lying he’d more likely put 100% into the persona, not 92%.)

So if something did change him, what was it? Did he get the most state of the art non punitive restorative justice and rethink his life?

No. He went to prison, the thing we want to abolish. He did the thing we say no one should do.

And if he truly had a change of heart rather than just deciding it’s more expedient to be on the country’s side than his ex-boss’s…

…it happened before that anyway.

What led him to flip, from the accounts I can find, was that while he was told that he had friends in high places who’d protect him, Trump and the team also showed signs they meant to discard him.

Angry and disillusioned, he turned on them.

But notice. What were those signals?

“We won’t save you from punishment. We don’t care enough to really try.”

So he turned on them. He took his licks with grace and fumed not against the system for not handling him gently but against the person he warped his whole life for, as doing so didn’t matter in the end.

When I say I think fear of punishment works I don’t mean I think we should go around terrifying people. I mean that if we continue to send the message that eventually your crimes are gonna catch up with you, and if we demonstrate this by having it happen even to powerful people, some people give up criming.

We need both. The gentleness for the people who are desperate, confused, protesting, or not in their right mind, and the “nope dude you need to fucking stop” for the people who are in their right mind, have the resources they need to survive, and pull shit anyway.

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey, @t0tally-n0t-3m0, figured this might be easier to read as a post. Here's 24 pods with nonbinary lead characters to get you started. There's more out there, so if anyone wants to add on, go for it.

Additional Postage Required: (Sci-Fi) Adventures of an interstellar courier who starts to get glimpses of the past from their packages.

Anamnesis (on the Tin Can Audio feed): (Mystery, Weird Fiction) Someone wakes in a temple in an empty town with no memory. Short, really nice sound design.

Badlands Cola: (Mystery, Supernatural & Horror elements) big city PI Sunny is hired to find information on a rural cult leader, and is drawn into a world of strange radio, horse enthusiasts, and dinosaur bones.

The Dead Letter Office of Somewhere, Ohio (one of two leads, you'll meet them halfway in): (Supernatural, Weird) Two workers for an Ohio dead letter office read the strange confiscated mail their organisation collects, and do some follow up investigation.

either: (Weird Fiction, Sci-Fi, Romance) An explosion at a duck factory sends a pet robot to another reality, connecting two very different (but both lonely) people.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Supernatural Horror) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods.

Inn Between: (Fantasy, Adventure) Ever wondered what the party gets up to at the tavern between D&D sessions? (Not a tabletop).

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural, Horror elements) An unkillable amnesiac scientist (they die, just have a hard time staying dead) investigates weird entities, makes friends, and eats a lot of tasty food in the strange town he lives in.

Khôra Podcast: (Sci-Fi, Adventure) Somewhere between inspired by and adapted from greek mythology, a space adventure following four mythological figures on their search for the golden fleece.

Less is Morgue: (Comedy, Horror elements) A ghoul and a ghost host a podcast about whatever they please in the ghoul's mom's basement, and manage to get off topic anyway.

Light Hearts: (Slice-of-Life, Supernatural elements) Three friends run a lightly haunted queer café. Upbeat and wholesome.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item. (To be clear, the nb lead is an AI with no concept of gender, but the creator is NB also and it is far from the only nb character.)

Monstrous Agonies: (Advice, Supernatural) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

ROGUEMAKER: (Sci-fi, Whodunnit) A commercial space flight explodes and passengers are left isolated in the escape pods, only connected for minutes at a time and unsure what happened, or why.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a colonist sent to a new world and her communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Sidequesting: (Fantasy) A wholesome podcast following Rion, an adventurer with a difference: they only do sidequests.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Skyjacks: Courier's Call: (Tabletop, Fantasy) Three young postal workers aboard a skyship go on various adventures. Kid-friendly but enjoyable for all ages.

The Starport Inn: (Supernatural, Mystery) An FBI agent sent to a rural town to solve a disappearance finds they've walked into something much stranger.

The Supernatural Protection Agency: (Supernatural) Call logs for a helpline that aims to solve the supernatural problems plaguing your life.

Tell No Tales: (Supernatural, Horror elements) Leo Quinn, secretary to the man in charge of the world's leading ghost removal service, interviews various ghosts in an attempt to create a device capable of actually recording them, in the hopes of taking down the company they work for.

Trial and Error: (Sci-Fi) Interviews with various AI as a scientist attempts to make sense of spontaneous machine sentience.

Under the Electric Stars: (Sci-Fi) A courier's failed heist to help their AI friend/navigator pulls them into a world of crime organisations and unethical science.

The Weird: (Tabletop, Supernatural, Comedy, Horror elements) The two staff members at The Department of the Weird travel America in their shitty Ford Fiesta to investigate various strange happenings

[autistichalsin]

More thoughts on Halsin's bad ending

First, if you haven't already, please watch Merrinla's video of Halsin's goodbye in Act 2 if the player fails to break the Shadow Curse.

So, there's a few things about that video that keep getting to me the more I watch. One... listen to his voice. Watch his face. He is wrestling with himself not to tell the player that he'll go with them, especially in the first one where they beg him to come, and he has to tell them that "this place needs me". You can see his heart break in two as he says it, and you can see how he would give ANYTHING to go with the player instead. But he can't.

The other thing that gets to me is... Halsin is so deeply, devoutly religious for Silvanus. Any other time he invokes his name, Halsin puts his hand over his chest/shoulder instinctively; there is one point in his good ending, where he mentions to the player that he hopes Silvanus will allow him to see Thaniel and Oliver in person again, where he closes his eyes, holds his hand over his chest, and gives a silent, but obvious prayer. But here? Watch him. The movement doesn't look instinctive; quite the opposite, he moves haltingly, like he's not even entirely sure what he's doing. He is convincing himself to make his usual gesture.

One might even go as far as to suggest he feels betrayed by his deity in that moment. The deity he worshipped his entire life, whose favor he sought for over 100 years after the curse fell, spoke (as Halsin says- "the Oakfather has spoken. My place is here")- and in doing so, condemned Halsin to spend possibly the rest of his life in the cursed lands. Halsin gave everything, and Silvanus answered by condemning Halsin to life without the sun, along with the land he tried to save, until he somehow manages.

There is a line Halsin can speak, not shown in the video, if Art hasn't died and the player suggests staying; Halsin tells them if they stay, they'll jeopardize their mission. Then he adds, "This is my burden alone now until either the curse is lifted, or I breathe my last."

And then comes the letter Halsin sends at the epilogue party.

My friend, I was truly heartened to learn of your success in the fight against the Absolute- the whole of the Sword Coast and beyond owes you a debt that can never be repaid. I dearly wish I could have joined in your moment of celebration, but the Shadow Curse remains, and so my vigil must continue. Perhaps I shall yet discover a way to restore light to this place, but until then, the memories of my time traveling with you shall sustain me through all manner of hardships. If the Oak Father is kind, one day I shall feel the warmth of the sun and know the joys of your company once again. Yours until the end, Halsin

In the letter, even when offering a hopeful suggestion that Silvanus might allow him to feel the sun again... you can feel the hopelessness and resignation. Like he doesn't truly think Silvanus will allow him to leave, even if he still worships him and hopes he will.

It's heartbreaking to think about, really, since Halsin is one of THE most devoted Silvanus worshippers. On the other hand, it also makes his good ending, where the curse IS broken, all the more satisfying as a result.