#so that I can use them to make Dream hurt

[nomoredying]

saturdays

sevika x reader

tags: modern au, explicit sexual content (fingering, use of strap-on, oral sex, pegging), dirty talking, bratty reader, hurt/comfort, a little angsty maybe, is it still a slow burn if they have sex on the first day, reader has Issues™, sevika is such a softie, emotional vulnerability  a/n: english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

it started simple.

it’s saturday. you just moved in to place of your dreams — see, mom, working in a film industry is not a total bullshit — and found a bar not that far away. just what you needed after another day around annoying agents and celebrities who think you owe them.

you sit at the bar counter and order your usual whiskey with ice, when you hear laughter coming from one of the tables. you turn just out of curiosity and see a woman, possibly in her early forties, smoking a cigar playing cards with her friends, buddies or whatever they call each other. and winning, seems like it.

“rotten luck, boys,” you hear her deep voice saying, as she leans against her seat. your eyes meet.

you turn away. not surprisingly so, a moment later she appears sitting beside you and ordering whatever you’re drinking.

“please, don’t start with i haven’t seen you here before," you say, eyes up at her now that you can finally get a closer look.

her grey eyes are surprisingly expressive. you like them. in fact, you like everything about her — at least about how she looks — and you don’t hide it. neither does she.

“but i haven’t, have i?” she raises an eyebrow. you introduce yourself, “sevika,” sevika says back.

“sevika. is that hindi?”

she nods, her lips curling up in a slight grin.

“how much did you win today, sevika?” 

“enough for me to pay for you and for them,” the older woman gives you a simple reply, 

that makes you chuckle. “you’re so generous,” you say in a mocking, seductive voice, after taking another sip.

“and you’re a brat,” sevika says, narrowing her eyes, tapping the cigar against an ashtray.

you don’t disagree. “do you know of any hotels nearby, sevika?” 

she smirks. 

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

as soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressed against it.

sevika doesn’t kiss you gently — she kisses as if she’s been starving in a desert and you’re both her first sip of water and first meal. her tongue against yours, rough and wet.

you don’t pull away until you need to grasp for breath. “the bed is not that far,” you tease.

you knew her hands were strong by the way she held your hips but when she lifts you to throw you on the bed, that’s when you know it for sure. 

she has to physically restrain herself from licking her lips like an actual hungry animal when she looks at you spread on the bed underneath her. 

you don’t even have time to say something before she pulls down your trousers and then unbuttons your shirt, tossing them both somewhere aside. at the moment it’s the last thing you care about. 

“enjoying the view?” you ask, when sevika stares at you in your pretty underwear set which you only wore today because you felt like wearing it, but you guess that god works in mysterious ways.

“aren’t i lucky to notice you first,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, and she leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss once more. 

while she does, your fingers deftly help her get rid of her tank top (the jacket was lost somewhere on the way to the bed). she’s not wearing any bra. your hand eagerly reaches to caress one of her bare breasts. she bites your lower lip. 

as soon as her mouth shifts from your lips to the rest of your face and then your neck, you instinctively bite your lips, but sevika doesn’t approve.

“if you stop yourself from making noises, i’ll stop too,” she warns you, and you let out a hoarse chuckle.

“bossy,” 

the older woman’s hand slides down your stomach, “spread your legs,” she says, and when you do, she grins, smug and mocking. “you’re already soaked and all i’ve done is kiss you. is this why you came to that bar? to let someone take care of your greedy cunt?” 

when you don’t answer, her hand applies slight pressure. a warning.

“answer me,”  her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine.

a breathy sigh comes out of your mouth when you admit, “yes,”

you came to relax. you haven’t done it in a while. with the help of a drink, sex or both, doesn’t really matter.

you find your back arching, grinding against her hand. just to feel more. needy. oh, you’re so needy and she knows it.

“sevika,” you say.

“yes?” 

“be a big girl and fuck me already,” you practically demand it now. she can’t help but laugh.

how can she resist such a straightforward, sweet demand? 

her hand finally pulls down your panties and her fingers circulate around your clit, rubbing it hard enough to get a gasp from you. her second hand comes up to play with your nipples.

then, with no hesitation, her two fingers entered you and you almost yelp, your hands griping the sheets. 

at first, sevika doesn’t rush, “feels good?” you mumble something unintelligible and the older woman takes that as a yes. 

her pace quickens, and she adds another finger, stretching you out even more.

“fuck. fuck,” you moan, and she smirks.

“that’s what you asked, isn’t it? no, eyes up,” sevika says when your eyes look somewhere in the void.

her fingers move in a pulsing motion, turning you into nothing but a flustered mess with only one thing in her mind.

when you reach the climax, they’re still deep inside you. she fucks you through your orgasm and then falls beside you on bed. 

you let yourself lie there for five minutes or so before you sit up and move so now she’s the one pressed against the bed. your cunt is not that greedy. 

“what are you doing?”

“returning you the favor, of course,”

she lifts her hips, helping you to take off her trousers. you start by leaving a trail of wet kisses. on her neck, collarbone, chest, — especially chest, biting and kissing it, playing with nipples (you have your favourites) — and stomach. your hands go up to clutch both of her hips. you nip and kiss her inner thighs, teasing her. 

“don’t play with me,” sevika grumbled, clearly unamused.

“if you ask nicely—“ you start, but her hand grips your hair, guiding your head now where she wants it most.

you roll your eyes. your tongue finally meets the throbbing heat of the older woman’s cunt when you rid her of her last article of clothing. sevika presses your face against it even harder.

you eat her whole in the earnest. sucking. nipping. your tongue runs across her pussy. you look up at her through your half-lidded eyes only to see how she looks like when you pleasure her. 

sevika’s trembling. you can feel that she’s close. 

she lets your hair go as she explodes. groaning low, chest rising.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

an exact week later at approximately same time you’re sitting at the bar counter in that very bar and she is gambling on the same place with same guys. or not, their faces are a blur to you. don’t have to be a genius to guess how the night ended?

and the next week after that too. 

on the fourth night that you two spend together, you bothered to ask where she works. 

“zaun corporations,” sevika replies. she exhaled, putting her cigar out.

the company is big enough for you to know about it, so you raise your eyebrows in appraisal.

“well, aren’t you a careerist?” you watch her, still lying on your back, “what do you do?”

“stuff that gives you a headache. coo,” she shrugged carelessly, turning to you, “what about you?”

you smile lazily, “i work in a film industry,” 

most of the time people start chuckling, — that’s nice, sweetie! — in that condescending voice, asking what type of movies do you do or where they could have seen you. 

“what, an actress?” 

you look at her with feigned offense, “what, aren’t i pretty enough?” 

“you’re pretty alright. you know that. what i meant was that you don’t seem the type—,” sevika paused, choosing her words.

“to ham it up in front of the camera?” she nods, “well, that’s because i’m not. i’m a creative producer,” although you would like to add that actors don’t just ham it up in front of the camera, as you just said, you don’t. it would turn into you yapping about creativity, ideas. and you don’t need to bore your sex partner into death.

sex partner? is that what you are? you’re not so sure. you decide that there is no need for any labels because it doesn’t matter.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

at some point you get tired of going into the bar every time when they don’t have anything you actually want in their menu. you exchange your contacts so that you can meet in the hotel room itself. 

[sevika] are you coming? she texts you in the evening of a saturday.

i’m already at the hotel. they have a great driving range. come. [you] you reply. she rolls her eyes, but you don’t know that.

sevika asks a worker about the golf course. walks. sees you, standing on the line with a golf club in her hands. approaches.

“do you find this entertaining?” 

you squint your eyes, watching the ball fly. 

“i like hitting things. i play tennis too,” you turn and hand her the golf club, “your turn,”

sevika takes it reluctantly and hits the ball. hard.

“you’ve got a great hands,” you take the turn, and your fingers brush against hers as she passes you the club. deliberate, lingering.

“you would know,” she says, her tone casual. but sevika’s already pulling the club back, and you stumble forward a half-step, laughter catching in your throat. the distance between them collapses.  

your lips meet not quite by accident. the taste of tobacco from her smoking, something sweet beneath. the club drops into the grass, forgotten.

sevika’s hands finally settle, fingers curling into the fabric of your polo shirt, pulling you even closer.

you finally part. sevika’s thumb swipes at the smudge of light lipstick now staining the corner of the your mouth. you’re a mess.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you close your eyes. hot steam of water falls down your bare body. you can’t stand warm or cold showers — you need it to be boiling hot. which is unhealthy and you know it, but it’s so addicting you can’t stop. or maybe you can’t stop because you intentionally cause yourself harm, but you wouldn’t go that far with digging into it.

it’s saturday and you’re in hotel room again.

this particular day of the week became your favourite soon enough. before it was tuesday you waited for due to the fact that it was the day the new episodes of your favourite show came out, but now that it’s over you had to find something new to feel good about, right?

sevika makes breathing — which is something humans do automatically — easier. being alive easier. you find something about her presence, raspy voice and smug grin calming. probably the sex part.

of course, it’s the sex. she’s good in bed. if that were her allegations and you would have to be the lawyer defending her, you wouldn’t even bother yourself. 

finally, you came out of the shower in a velvety bathrobe (one of many reasons you stayed loyal to this hotel).

she’s standing with her back to you.

“sevika, did you know that—“ you’re sure you wanted to tell her something, but now that you’ve seen itit doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

it is a strap-on that she wore on her thighs, adjustable by harnesses. you knew the older woman liked wearing belts, but this is your first time seeing this one. it’s not that you never saw dildos before, you have. this one is just.. slightly bigger. 

“wanna try it?” she looked like a little preteen, showing you their new toy. well, it is a toy. fair enough.

yes.

instead of answering, you let your robe fall on the floor. sevika grinned, amused.

“lay down,” she said, gesturing at the bed. you did, but she shook her head. meaning — on your stomach, not your back. you narrow your eyes, but obey. 

soon enough sevika looms behind you.the lube is already in her hands, and she lavishes it all over your hole with her thick fingers. 

“you’re already dripping just at the thought of me pegging you, aren’t you?”

“do you want me to say yes, mommy?” you mock her, and her free hand pulls your hair back. you lips part.

“such a brat,” sevika sighs, as if she’s not enjoying this, “say it. what do you want, hm-m?” 

“sevika,” you start, but she doesn’t let you finish, stopping you with another tug. 

“do you want me to fuck you in the ass?” sevika helps you with your answer.

you murmur something unintelligible. that’s not what she’s looking for. you know it.

“say it,” she insists. strap-on becomes more tangible.

“i want you to fuck me in the ass,” you finally say it. no reason to be ashamed, the only thing stopping you was her arrogant smirk her lips curled in. 

you can’t see it, but you can feel it in her voice as she speaks, “good girl,” 

letting go of your hair, her calloused hands slide possessively over the curve of your bare ass, fingertips tracing the flushed skin before pressing just enough to make you shiver. the cold, slick silicone of the strap nudged against your hole, glistening with the lube, teasing before she pushed in with one brutal, delicious slide — stretching you open, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips as your spine arched off the mattress. 

"fuck—,” sevika growled, her voice rough with want, her hips snapping forward to bury the dildo to the hilt in one smooth stroke. your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white, as she didn’t give you a second to adjust, already pulling back only to slam in again, the thick ridge of the toy dragging against your walls in a way that made your thighs tremble.

you groaned, your ass jiggling with each thrust, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. sevika’s free hand fisted in your hair once again, wrenching your head back so you could feel her breath hot against your ear. "you’re so good. taking everything i’m giving you," she punctuated the words with a sharp grind. you whined, your hips canting back desperately.

her chuckle was hoarse, filled with lust as her fingers dug into your thighs, controlling your movements as she fucked into you harder, faster — the pace relentless, the bedframe rattling with every brutal snap of her pelvis.

then she pulled out, flipping you onto your back, your legs hooked over her shoulders before you could say anything. the head of the dildo pressed against your soaked cunt this time, her smirk wild as she watched your face. 

“i want to know how loud you can really scream when I fill this tight little pussy instead."

you didn’t bother yourself with trying to give an answer. she slammed into you, your slick walls clamping around the intrusion as a broken cry tore from your throat. her hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles, grinding the strap deep inside you, the stretch burning in the sweetest way.

"fuck, look at you," she snarled, her metal hand tracing the outline of the dildo pushing up against your stomach, her other hand pinching your nipple hard enough to make you jerk. "all stuffed full, twitching around me like a desperate slut."

“sevika,” your orgasm crashing hard, your walls fluttering around the strap as you came with a shuddering whimper.

she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a maddening kiss.

“let’s see if we can make you come again before I’m done with you,”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s raining.

you sit on the floor of your bathroom, in some tank top and shorts, damp hair sticking to your cheeks, your back against cold tiles. you don’t remember how you ended up here — you were brushing your teeth, maybe? maybe not. who cares.

something happened. nothing serious, not to the outside world at least. a passive-aggressive email, someone raising their voice during your sixth meeting this morning, an overdue call from your mother with one of those phrases that always leave a scar no matter how many times you’ve heard them.

it happens, it always happened and it will happen. never bothered you before. you thought you were fine. then you weren’t.

you tried breathing. drinking water. pacing around the apartment, opening windows, shutting them. screaming into a pillow. didn’t help.

you need to talk. you need someone to talk to. not someone who’ll coo into the phone and tell you you’re strong. not someone who’ll pity you or try to fix it. you just need to not be alone in your head for one fucking second.

you open your phone, scroll through contacts. you hesitate at a few names. delete one. almost call another.

then, without thinking, you click call.

“…hello?”

her voice is husky from sleep, low and raspy. you glance at the time. 2:41 AM. of course it is. you’re surprised she answered.

you don’t say anything at first. your throat is tight, aching from trying not to cry, but sevika hears your breath. 

“why are you calling me?”

not what’s wrong, not are you okay — just why are you calling me? blunt and steady. exactly what you need.

“i didn’t know who else to call,” you whisper, your voice cracking like cheap glass.

you hear the rustle of bedsheets on her end. “you don’t have to explain,” she says. she’s more awake now. “you want me to come? just send the address,” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, tears slipping out anyway. “no. no, just— just stay on the line, okay?”

“i’m here.”

you don’t say anything for a moment. your breathing is shallow, hiccupy.

“i’m losing it,” you admit. “i’m losing it and i don’t even know why. nothing happened. or maybe everything happened. i just— i don’t know how to be anymore. i’m tired all the time and when i’m not tired i’m angry and when i’m not angry i’m empty and i feel like i’m screaming underwater and no one can hear me and—”

“breathe.”

you do. slowly. shakily.

“again.”

you obey.

“good.”

you let your head fall back against the tile. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” sevika replies immediately. “you don’t have to make sense right now.”

it’s quiet for a beat. just the sound of rain hitting your window and her steady breath in your ear.

“you know, when i was twenty-six,” she starts, and her tone is calm like smoke curling in a cold room, “i broke a guy’s nose just because he called me a disappointment. i mean, he was my father, but still.”

you let out a breath — half-sob, half-laugh.

“i didn’t even feel better after that,” she continues. “just sat on the curb after and smoked. my hand was shaking so bad i dropped the lighter three times.”

“you’re telling me this to make me feel better?”

“no. i’m telling you this so you know you’re not the only one who falls apart sometimes. we all do. some of us just pretend better.”

you pull your knees to your chest. your voice is small when you say, “i don’t think i’m pretending well anymore.”

“then don’t,” Sevika says. “take the night off,”

the silence that follows feels different now. not so crushing. not so alone.

you sniff. “are you always this good at late-night phone therapy?”

“i’m usually better with my hands,” she mutters, dry. you hear the faint clink of a lighter. “but i manage.”

“thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

“no, i mean— really. i didn’t want someone to coddle me. i just needed someone who… wouldn’t freak out. and you didn’t.”

“i’m not the freaking out type,” sevika says, taking a drag. 

“i know,” you lean your forehead to your knees. exhale. the tile isn’t so cold now. maybe your body’s just going numb. “can we just… stay like this? for a while?”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

you don’t talk for a long time. sometimes you hear her smoke. sometimes she hears you breathe. once, she says something about needing to clean her balcony. you tell her you bought overpriced grapes that don’t even taste good. you argue over whether they’re red or purple.

your chest still hurts. but less.

you talk until the sky starts turning blue.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you didn’t mean for it to turn into this.

it was supposed to be simple. one night — well, maybe two, three, four — just sex. good sex. sure, really good sex. and then you started talking. really talking. not the lazy banter between orgasms, but the type of talking that leaves your chest all too soft. raw.

she could’ve ignored the call. just blocked your number after. she didn’t. instead, she chose to be on the other end of the line when you were a mess on your bathroom floor. why? you don’t know.

but you know that something’s changed.

you feel it in the silence between her sentences. in the way your fingers hover too long over the screen before typing something stupid like what kind of coffee do you drink anyway. in the way you catch yourself replaying her laugh — the real one, not the sarcastic snort — in your head, like a favorite scene from a film you don’t want to end.

you text her.

are you busy tonight? [you]

[sevika] tonight’s not saturday.

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see your brain. shame she can’t witness it.

thanks, calendar app. i’m cooking. come by if you want [you]

a beat. then another.

or don’t. i’ll just eat my culinary masterpiece alone [you]

the typing bubble appears. vanishes. appears again.

[sevika] text me the address

you do.

and just like that, you’re setting the table in your penthouse. the one you dreamed of when you were a broke, wide-eyed assistant fetching oat milk lattes for directors who didn’t know your name. now your place looks like a walking moodboard. framed movie posters lining the walls, warm lighting, tall windows. a kitchen you barely use but pretend to know your way around.

you did cook. sort of. technically. with help. fine, you ordered from a semi-obscure place and transferred the food to your own plates and pans. your hands did something.

when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips. you curse yourself for that quietly before answering.

sevika’s there, wearing what they call an effortless outfit — leather jacket, plain tee, that smug little expression she always brings like a plus-one.

“so,” she says, stepping inside, surveying the apartment, “you really leaned into the whole ‘i work in film’ thing, huh? what’s next, an oscar in the bathroom?”

“shut up,” you grin, “those are tasteful posters.”

she smirks and shrugs her jacket off, hanging it on the back of a chair. “sure, sure. very tasteful. and the table setting? what’s this, a date?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you motion for her to sit.

“i cooked,” you lie, serving with flair.

sevika raises an eyebrow. “really?” she picks up a fork, inspects the dish. “this smells suspiciously professional. no offense.”

“i’ll take none, because you’re right. i ordered it. but i plated it myself.”

“you shouldn’t have,” she deadpans. “i love lies with my dinner.”

you both laugh, and suddenly it’s easier.

you eat. you talk.

not just what do you do or what’s your star sign or how do you like your eggs in the morning. it’s more real. more layered. like the parts of her that don’t come out during sex. the parts she keeps close to her chest. although you do like your eggs in a oddly specific way, but you decide you’re not that close for that level of deep talk.

you learn she has a niece. doesn’t see her often. “family stuff,” she says, and you don’t push.

you learn she listens to old records when she’s stressed. mostly rock. sometimes jazz.

you learn she used to fight a lot when she was younger. “i still do,” sevika admits, “just more metaphorically now,”

and you’re asking these things because… you want to know. not because you’re trying to get close — whatever that means — but because you already feel like you are.

you’re not friends. not lovers. not a one-night thing. not a thing at all. and yet, here she is, sipping your wine, making fun of your poster of the incredible shrinking man, telling you about the scar on her wrist from a kitchen accident no one ever asks about.

and you listen. all of it.

something warm blooms in your chest, unsettling in the best way.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

“and then he just— died. mid-scene. the actor didn’t know what to do, he just kept monologuing like a lunatic. it was kind of beautiful, though. tragic, but beautiful,”

you’re perched on the kitchen island, legs swinging, a glass of wine in one hand, fork in the other. sevika’s standing near the open window, smoke curling from her lips.

“so what’s the title?” she asks.

you pause. “the ashtray fell first. working title. you don’t like it?”

“bit pretentious,” she smirks.

“bit accurate,”

sevika steps closer. “you really think death mid-monologue’s a metaphor no one’s used yet?”

“says the woman who quotes bukowski unironically,”

that earns you a curl of her lip. then a long inhale. she walks up, and as she exhales, she deliberately blows the smoke into your face. you hate that. she knows it.

you recoil. “you’re a dick,”

“yeah,” she says, already leaning in, lips brushing against yours, “so what?”

you kiss her back. it’s hot and lazy and perfect, her hands spreading over your hips, sliding under your shirt. you drown in this heat until a vibration on the counter buzzes right through your spine.

your phone. you don’t even get a chance to check it. sevika’s hand reaches out and flips the screen down, silencing it.

“rude,” you murmur between kisses.

“not really,” she replies, kissing down your neck, “just considerate,”

what follows is the usual. sharp breaths, gasps, tangled limbs. she fucks you with her hand again, and your thighs are still trembling when she finally falls beside you on the bed.

your phone buzzes. again. you groan. sevika turns her head lazily to glance at the screen. her face unreadable.

“that same number tried calling before,” she mutters, voice low.

you freeze for a moment. sigh. reach for the phone. “it’s— whatever,” you wave it off.

sevika raises an eyebrow.

you answer, when it doesn’t stop buzzing, “hey,” your voice drops into a slightly strained politeness.

you roll onto your side, back to sevika, as the voice on the other end starts talking. she can’t hear all the words, just enough to get the tone: familiarity. a kind of old, strange closeness.

“no. yeah, i got your message, i just didn’t have time— no, i’m not ignoring you, i’ve been working. some of us do that full-time.” you force a laugh. fake. “what do you want?”

sevika watches. silent. her metal fingers curled slightly, the light from your bedside lamp catching the dull sheen of steel.

you finally hang up and sigh, tossing the phone aside. “ex,” you say, sitting up a little. “she’s directing some indie mess and wants me to help with post. she’s out of budget and out of her mind,” 

sevika’s voice is flat. “and you’re thinking about it.”

you shrug. “i could. it’s not the worst offer.”

she scoffs, reaches for her cigar pack “sure. sounds great. help out the woman who once said your ideas were ‘too commercial to matter.’”

you look at her. “you remember that?” the older woman doesn’t answer. you pull your shirt back over your head, irritation growing like static in your jaw. “it’s just business,”

“is it?”

you snap. “yes, sevika, it is. not everything’s about feelings, or grudges, or— whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

she leans forward, lighting the cigar. doesn’t meet your eyes. “i’m not doing anything,”

“oh really? so this isn’t about the fact that my ex just called me and asked for a professional favor, and i didn’t immediately throw my phone out the window like it’s a plague?”

sevika finally looks at you, sharp. “you think i’m jealous?”

“aren’t you?”

her silence says everything.

“well,” you huff, crossing your arms. “you don’t get to be,”

her jaw clenches. “and why the fuck not?”

“because i told you. i don’t want any labels and everything that comes with them,”

it’s quiet. then sevika stands. pulls her jacket off the chair.

your chest tightens. “seriously?”

she doesn’t answer. just slips her arms into the sleeves.

you stand too. “you’re leaving?”

“you said it yourself. this isn’t about feelings. so what’s the point of staying?”

“don’t twist my words,”

“i’m not,” she says, walking to the door. “you made yourself clear,”

“i didn’t mean it like that,”

sevika pauses with her hand on the doorknob.

“then figure out what you do mean. because right now it sounds like you want to keep me at arm’s length until it’s convenient to let me in.”

she doesn’t slam the door. doesn’t yell. just leaves.

and you’re left in your too-big penthouse, with the flickering silence and the leftover scent of smoke and sex and something else, something you can’t name — something that had the chance to become real, and slipped right out your door.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s been three weeks. twenty days, technically, if you count like a lunatic. which, at this point, you do.

you haven’t seen her. haven’t texted. haven’t gone to the bar. but you’ve thought. obsessively. rewrote the last night in your head, again and again. your words and your pride. 

and still, you didn’t move. until tonight.

you don’t know what snapped. maybe it was the silence, maybe the half-drunk glass of wine, maybe the storm outside your window. but suddenly you’re putting on shoes with shaking hands and grabbing a jacket and searching for the address you swore you deleted but didn’t. of course you didn’t.

the drive is messy. you get lost once. the rain smears across your windshield like a cliché. your hair sticks to your forehead. you ring the bell. once. twice.

the door opens.

sevika’s standing there in sweatpants and a faded shirt, no bra, cigar still lit between two fingers. her hair’s tied back, damp at the ends. eyes dark.

she stares at you. you stare back. soaked. “i—” you start.

“get in,” she says quietly. not kindly. not unkindly either. just… inevitably.

you step inside. warm air hits your face. the place smells like ash and tea. she disappears into another room, returns with a towel and hands it to you without a word.

you wipe your face. your shoulders. she sets a mug on the coffee table. sits across from you. the tea smells like chamomile. you take a sip, warming your hands as you hold the cup.

“i’ve been thinking,”

sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt.

“about us. if that’s even a word i get to use.” you take a breath. your heart’s pounding. “look. i’m a rational person. i overthink everything. i dissect my own feelings before i even feel them. and i told myself that what we had was sex. and then it became something else. and i didn’t know what to do with that,”

the older woman says nothing. just smokes. watching you.

“i thought you didn’t want anything serious. you don’t act like someone who wants it. you keep people away,”

“and you don’t?” sevika mutters, low.

you smile, bitter. “i do it differently. i make sure everyone thinks i’m too busy, too cool, too whatever to need anyone. i play the part,”

you swallow.

“i had this girlfriend. years ago. the director. you remember,” a dry laugh slips out. “she told me i was too much. said i made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. like i was always waiting for something she couldn’t give,”

her eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“after that, i stopped trying. i just— worked. stayed impressive. impressive people don’t get left behind, right?” you meet her gaze. “and then you walked in. blowing smoke in my face. laughing like you didn’t care about anything. and i thought, finally. someone who doesn’t want anything from me. someone safe,”

the irony twists in your throat.

“but you’re not safe,” you whisper. “you’re so not safe. you make me feel like—” your voice catches. “—like a shaken bottle. like someone just lit a match in my chest and left it there. sevika, you are addictive. and i have a very bad self-control,”

she doesn’t move. but something in her eyes shifts. flickers. you sit up straighter.

“i want you,” you say, and this time your voice is steady. “not casually. not on weekends. i want all of it. the mess. the silence. the ‘don’t text me during work hours’ bullshit. the cigars, even,” and there it is. the pause.

sevika stubs out the cigar. slowly. deliberately. then crosses the space between you in three quiet steps. her hand brushes your cheek, thumb catching a drop of water still clinging to your jaw. your eyes flutter shut.

“you’re still wet,” she mutters, voice rougher now. “you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“i’ve had worse.”

she sighs. low. tired. fond. and then pulls you into her arms. you fold into her like you’ve been trying to do since the first fucking night. 

she smells like shampoo. her breath warms your temple. her metal hand presses against your back.

you’re shaking. not from the cold. from relief.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” sevika murmurs.

“i know,”

“but you’re mine now,”

“i know,” you repeat, nose brushing her collarbone.

tags: @riotstemple29

[trust-is-a-dangerous-thing]

Thinking about the Nightmare!AU again and I just...

...what if reader's experience with their previous team didn't go so well? What if that team, so scared of reader's abilities, completely shunned them?

Your room wasn't so much of a room as it was a tiny storage shed kept completely separate from the rest of your team, lest you decide to use your power to scare them in the middle of the night---because surely you would enjoy hearing them scream, surely you'd hurt them just to satiate your appetite for their nightmares.

It didn't matter that you would never, or that "eating their nightmares" was less likely to exacerbate them and more likely to eradicate them, leaving only sweet dreams in their place.

You were forced to constantly wear an excess of clothing to hide all of your "terrifying" features---gloves to hide your pitch black claws, long sleeves to hide the black veins that twisted up your arms like vines (no matter what kind of weather it was). Nothing visible except your pitch-black eyes, dark bottomless voids, the only part of you they couldn't cover.

They couldn't technically force you to do anything, but there were always consequences when you refused to follow their rules, so did you really have a choice?

You weren't allowed to eat, not unless your captain gave you the all-clear, which he rarely did. Wouldn't want to give you an inch, lest you take a mile. Your power was mainly used as a torture technique, a way to get people talking even when they've already withstood everything else. It was then, and only then, that you were allowed to eat your fill.

You never did, though. You didn't like using your power for this. You didn't like hurting people...maybe that's why they starved you as well, to make sure you didn't have a choice.

------

So you, when joining 141, think that all of this is just standard protocol for people with your particular magic---after all, it's all you've ever known. You think your captain, and the rest of your team, has been briefed on this "protocol," which leads to some...not so fun assumptions.

When Ghost leads you to your assigned room, right next to the rest of theirs, you think it's some kind of joke...or maybe a test to gauge your ability to control yourself and follow protocol. You accept the room, but you only use it to store your things. When it comes time for you to actually sleep, you instead find an old broken Humvee in the garage instead of your bed, just to prove that you can be trusted to follow protocol on your own.

When summer hits and the days regularly start hitting 80-90 degrees, and Soap tells you that you should shed a few layers and start wearing clothing more suitable for the weather---shorts, tank tops and t-shirts, remove the gloves, etc.. Well...you think that's a test too. You tell him that it's fine and you're actually a bit cold so you think you'll keep your layers, nevermind the beads of sweat dotting your brow.

When Gaz invites you to eat with the rest of them in the mess hall, joking that he could ask Ghost to scare a few of the new recruits for you, you immediately tell him that you would never do something like that---voice sharp and hands trembling as you look around to make sure no one heard him suggest such a thing. You would never do something like that, never.

And when weeks, and then months, pass without Price giving you the all-clear, even on missions and even when they’re literally torturing someone for information…well, you think that he’s being an asshole, testing you like this. But you’re not going to break, you’re not going to slip up, because you know there’ll be consequences if you do.

And if they’re testing you like this all the time, surely they’re just waiting for you to slip up…and you’re terrified of what will happen if you do.

[n0rmal-cat]

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 4

[do i know if anything i say is true? no. but its fun]

part 1 part 2 part 3

Reader put on the headphones Mystery was wearing. "Wow, these girls are just like me! That's so cool!" they exclaimed, putting a hand over their mouth.

In an instant, Romance swooped in, trying to snatch the headphones off the reader's head with an exaggerated gasp. "Excuse me?! Our headphones? For Hunters' trash?! Oh dear, you're lucky I like you, because otherwise…" He pressed a clawed hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded. "This betrayal hurts REAL deep."

Meanwhile, Mystery stood behind them, his eyes boring into the back of their head. "Give. Them. Back."

Reader slowly turned around, finding Mystery's face just inches from their own. "Whoa!" they exclaimed, stumbling back.

"Come on! You heard the grumpy cryptid~ Either return his emo-boy merch or prepare to be mauled!" Romance cackled

The reader took off the headphones, a confused look on their face. "So, is releasing a song bad?"

Abby placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "Is this song releasing bad? Oh, sweet manager," He threw an arm around the reader's shoulders, shaking them gently. "It’s only bad if we lose! And losing is for losers, cough, the hunters, cough. But now? Now we’re going to drop a song so amazing it’ll make the Hunters wish they stayed in their little… wherever they live!"

At that moment, Mystery finally snatches his headphones back with a huff

"Bad? No. Annoying? Yes." Baby glared at Jinu’s frantic scribbling. "Now we have to hear him whine about ‘artistic integrity’ for  three days,"  he thought for a second, "Or better yet, let me write the next song."

"I mean, he did have the best singing part." reader looked around the room. They received a chorus of nods, confirming the unspoken agreement "Oh yeah," "Yeah, no contest."

"Well, I can try to book something quickly, but honestly, I have no idea how to do that," the reader admitted with a sigh. "So, I’ll need to look it up. Does anyone know where my phone is… or what a phone is? I’m not sure how old you all actually are."

Romance gasped dramatically, clutching his imaginary pearls. "Darling! Sweetheart! Are you implying we’re old?!" He spun to point accusingly at Baby. "Help! The manager is insulting us! And also utterly helpless!"

Baby rolled their eyes with exaggerated flair. "Phones are the little glowing rectangles humans cry into," they replied, plucking the reader’s phone from the counter and tossing it back with surprising accuracy. "Now, hurry up before Jinu bursts into flames.”

Mystery grumbled under his breath, "…Or just let him burst into flames."

"Alright… I’ll look that up for you guys," the reader said, determination in their voice.

Romance clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "FINALLY! Our manager is earning their title!" Baby leaned against the counter, their expression lazy and relaxed. "Just remember, if you book us at some dusty subway station, I’ll haunt your dreams."

"Book us anywhere, actually!" Jinu called out eagerly from the corner.

Baby propped their feet up on the couch, letting out a big yawn while rustling through a half-eaten bag of chips. "Also, don’t forget snacks."

Reader typed into their phone 'How to book a gig' and sighed, "Oh man, this is going to be tough."

Reader pulled an all-nighter looking at their phone and writing things down, it reminded them about when they were applying for jobs, except now they did it how one and this was somehow more fulfilling.

Romance draped himself casually along the side of the bed, watching the reader with an amused expression, one eyebrow raised. "Awww, look at our little manager actually trying!" Abby flicked a stray piece of paper off the stack. "I never thought I’d see the day someone worked harder for us than we do for ourselves."

Baby leaned a little closer, eyeing the notes with a smirk. "…You spelled 'venue' wrong. Twice."

Meanwhile, Mystery leans against the wall, arms crossed, "…Idiot," but it didn't hold any malice.

"How did you four even get in my room? And where is Jinu?"

"The better question is," Romance flopped onto the bed dramatically, tossing his hair. "Why wouldn’t we break into your room? Privacy is for cowards!"

Baby held up a half-empty bag of chips, clearly pilfered from the pantry. "Jinu’s in the bathroom, crying over the Hunters' choreography again, something about ‘unjustified synchronization.’” They shrugged. “We left him a towel and a stress ball shaped like Gwi-ma’s face.

Mystery suddenly appeared beside reader, making no noise as always. "…Your locks are garbage." He flicked the reader's forehead lightly with one claw. "Fix them. Or don't. It just makes breaking in more fun."

"Well, I don’t know how to fix them, but what I do know is that you guys are booked!" They lifted a paper and waved it excitedly in the air.

A chorus of cheers erupted from them, "Woooo!"

"I also managed to secure a spot on some kind of variety show, but my eyes are so blurry right now that I can't fully tell you what it is." reader handed Abby the papers, a grin spreading across their face. "Anyway, here’s the information, pass it along to Jinu so he can do whatever needs doing with it."

Baby snatched the papers mid-air, scanning them with their usual bored expression. "Huh. Not bad for someone who spelled 'venue' as 'veenue. He’ll either kiss you or bite you. No in-between."  

Abby dramatically clutches reader's shoulders, shaking them slightly. "Ohhh, Gwi-ma’s gonna love how compliant you are~!"  

Mystery silently offered a cup of coffee that he definitely "borrowed" from the kitchen. It was black and likely cold by now, but the gesture felt strangely sweet. "…Don't wear yourself out before our gig."

"I'm going to try my best," the reader replied, before passing out in Abby's arms.

"Oh wow, what a fantastic look for our manager unconscious and drooling on their pillow," he pats their head like a pet. "Nap now, panic about our impending disaster later~"  

Mystery draped a blanket over them with a smile.

Hours later, the reader slowly blinked their eyes open and was greeted by the amusing sight of Romance perched on their desk like a dramatic little gargoyle, flipping through their notebook.

"Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!" he announced with a grin, tossing the notebook aside. "And just in time, Jinu's just finished writing and rewriting our final song…and Baby threatened to stab him with a spoon."

From across the room came Mystery's entrance through the door "'Threatened' implies he didn't follow through."

Sure enough, a quick glance into the kitchen showed Baby munching on cereal, while Jinu tended to a little red mark on his hand.

"So, what time is it now?" the reader asked. 

“Time for you to panic, our gig is in three hours,” Romance replied

The reader jumped out of bed, determination in their eyes. "Right! Let’s get ready!"

The four flip their head to the side, transforming into three human forms. "Ta-daa~ Human enough for you?" Abby strikes a pose.

Baby shoves past him, fixing his hat. "Less posing, more getting ready." They yank at their collar, making sure they looked ok. "…Why do humans wear this many layers?"  

Reader made their way into the kitchen where Jinu was talking to the burner on the stove.

“Yes, Gwi-ma, I understand. Well, go all out for this performance; the hunters won’t know what’s coming,” he assured the flame.

“Ah! Manager!” Jinu spun around, eyes wide. “You’re awake, then?”

“Yes, the others are ready to go. Is that Gwi-ma?” you glanced over to where the stove flickered. he noded

"Well, me and the other are heading to the place, you have the papers, so uh" 

Jinu suddenly stiffens, fingers tightening around the papers until they crinkle. His human form eyes dart between reader and the stove flame, which flickers ominously.

"Y-yes! The, uh. Papers. That I definitely read." His voice pitches up slightly. "Very… paper-like! With words! And numbers!"  

The silence that followed was loud. . "Yup, that's how papers work." reader watches him blush.

His face turns an impressive shade of scarlet as the stove flame sputters in sync with his panic. "I-That’s not-ugh!" He shoves the now crumpled papers into his pocket and marches past you, muttering:  

"We’re leaving before you make it worse."   Behind him, Baby calls out

"whys he even embarrassed?" reader whispered to Abby as they walked into the elevator. Abby points at what reader was wearing.

Reader looks down at their clothes, they were wearing a shirt with the words 'my little soda pop' 

"I'm in different clothes, guys…why am I in different clothes?" reader looks at them blankly

“We wanted to try out our merch line,” Abby said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"So then tell me…who changed my clothes?"

Baby casually raises their hand, "It was a team effort." he examined his newly painted nails. "Mostly me, though, let's just say I don't like pink. You drool in your sleep, by the way,"  he smirks in satisfaction.

Mystery averted his gaze to the ceiling, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “…You kicked when we tried putting pants on you… So we just didn’t.” Luckily, they were still wearing the shorts they were already wearing. 

Abby twirls a strand of hair around his finger, grinning:   "And I picked the shirt! Cute, right? Matches our aesthetic~"

Reader grabs Abby's shirt collar, "You will give me your shirt," they said darkly. Abby's grin freezes, eyes widening comically as his hands instinctively raise in surrender.  "W-Wait! Hold on a second!"

A scream was heard from the elevator, but once the doors were open, Abby had no shirt on, and Reader was now wearing his sweater.

The elevator dings open to reveal  

"…" Abby stands shirtless in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. "I feel violated. And cold."  

"Well, buy you a shirt on the way there," reader said with a humph.

[yellowf1nch]

Warning: Minors do not interact

**There will be potential spoilers from this point forward regarding endings with certain characters. There may have been some in the last part, however I think it was still vague enough. I have certain characters I want to explore in this dynamic with specificity to their storylines, so consider this a warning if you do not wish to have anything revealed to you prematurely.**

(Part 3 of the problematic roommate storyline)

You awake in stillness. Quiet. There's a fatigue in your body, and a thrumming pain across your face that becomes more apparent as you pull further from sleep. You roll yourself upwards, head heavy and balance askew even while sitting. Memories flood back, at first it seemed all a terrible dream, but the reflection that greets you above your dresser reminds you just how real everything is. Your stomach growls, so you make your way to the top of the stairs, but hesitate descending when you hear your roommate down there now. Will they attack you again? Do you even have the fortitude to listen if they want to talk?

Thoughts swim around your head, and time apparently passes quicker than you think. You hear your roommate move towards the foyer, and into the gym. The Cross Trainer kicks on, so you take this as your chance to eat. As you round the stairs, you hear a clink from the floor grate beside you, the one Skylar sits inside. Debating once again, if your exhaustion would put you up to the task of using the dateviators, you hear the bathroom door just ahead click open, and see if fall slightly open. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to have Farya give you a once over.

You quietly reach down, arm entering the vent and feeling around until your fingers brush metal wire and plastic lenses. You retrieve the dateviators, waiting until you enter the bathroom and making sure you are locked inside before putting them on. Immediately, Skylar, Farya, and Amir come forward. They all talk at once, over each other, asking how you feel, noting how you look, about what happened. You start to take the glasses off, overwhelmed, when they all shout in unison, "NO."

"You might be concussed," Farya says, a slight grin on her face, if an unsteady one. "I need to make certain there are no broken bones, damaged nerves... Don't even get me started on hemorrhaging..." She begins to talk more to herself as you sit on Jean-Loo, cleaning you up, testing nerve responses, and even needing to administer some stitches. Amir had left before much of this, apparently a bit squeamish despite wanting to help. Skylar remained. She held your hand to squeeze, though she, too, seemed to wince and avoid looking at you for much of the time Farya worked.

"Maybe you should call in the police," she says, "this... isn't really within anyone's wheelhouse to put up with." Farya finishes up, then takes her leave. You look at Skylar, your voice scratchy and low as you tell her you're afraid. You're afraid of what might happen, mostly to the dateables, to the dateviators. If something goes wrong, the objects could get hurt. She sighs, and crouches at your feet.

"But you're already hurt. Don't worry about us. Besides, if the authorities can get your roommate out of the picture, then that's better for all of us, right?" You admit that your gut is far more hesitant, but maybe it would be for the best. The sooner you call, the more concrete the report will be. Though, you still aren't sure if anything would actually come of it. And if your roommate tries to spin things against you... Skylar takes your hand, seeing how unsure you are. "Hey, it's okay to not feel sure. You've gone through a lot, and, if you aren't comfortable getting anyone involved, then you don't have to. But, you have our support, and whatever happens, you won't be alone." You nod, softly thanking her, before you reach up and remove the dateviators. Your stomach growls again, so you finish up in the bathroom, and make sure your roommate isn't waiting to ambush you as soon as you leave. It seems they've moved onto something else, and it sounds like they're on a personal phone call.

You don't want to spend too much time here, feeling exposed in the open kitchen, and you are certain you could only stomach a simple breakfast anyway. You make a bowl of cereal, eating in the stillness, pretending that everything is like it was before Skylar was delivered here. Then again, a part of you admits that it's... Nice. To have people to talk to, to meet, even. If it weren't for Valdivian's shelling out to the military, you might have considered trying for a degree to be the leading datable anthropologist. But, the dateviators have to be destroyed, and before that, every object has to be awakened and realized. Or, that's what Skylar has told you. And it feels to be a task insurmountable, especially with your roommate around. You finish eating and quickly wash your bowl and spoon, moving back up to your bedroom. The LED lights you have on flicker, a common occurrence since you moved in, and you recall the few times in the Breaker Box how Volt would wince when they did. In fact, you remember a very curt conversation with Eddy yesterday where he mentioned it's just maintenance he's working on while he pushed you out the door.

You make your way back to the box, mindful of your roommate moving around downstairs, and quietly open the closet. You close it behind you, hoping Dorian will understand to stay closed while you're here. You put the dateviators back on, wincing as they again sit on your injuries, and you activate them, opening the club and going inside. It's empty, but Eddy sits on the floor by the bar, seeming to be adjusting some of the legs of the barstools. He looks over when you enter, swearing under his breath.

"The hell do you want, bar's closed." You walk closer, still keeping some distance, mentioning the flickering lights again. Only this time, you make it clear you expect something to be done about it. Eddy rolls his eyes, but when he looks at you again, curses biting at the back of his teeth, he seems shocked as he notices the discolored patches mapping your face.

"How much do you have to do?" You ask, taking the opportunity while he was caught off-guard. At your question, he quickly recovers.

"A lot. Now if you don't mind, I'm busy." He looks back to what he was working on.

"I want to help," you say, no hesitation in your voice. Eddy looks back up at you, gives you a once over, and breathes a chuckle. "I'm serious. I'm not afraid of hard work." He meets your eyes, and looks back down at the stool in front of him, squaring his jaw.

"I said I'm busy."

You cross your arms, lips pursed despite their reluctance to do so. "And I said I want to help."

Eddy resumes his task, albeit with a poorly restrained frustration, "I don't care what you want."

"Well you're gonna care real soon, because if you won't let me help you, I'll have to either call an electrician or figure things out myself." Eddy's motions become even more agitated, but you continue, "Besides. You clearly have a lot on your plate to be having issues with the power flickering since I moved in, so an extra set of hands would only make things go quicker." In response, you hear exasperated curses of your name under his breath.

"You wanna call an electrician, then go ahead. You're just wasting my time!"

"I don't want to call an electrician, I want to help you!"

"I don't need your help!"

"I'm not convinced." Eddy growls at you, tossing the tool he was holding down and rubbing his face. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs.

"You wanna help so bad? Fine. Come back tomorrow and you'll wish you never set foot in this club." You instinctively try to smile, but strain with your stitches and bruises. Eddy avoids your gaze, trying to wiggle the barstool leg he was working on, then stands and sets the stool upright. Eventually he does look at you, his expression falling flat, "Get out."

Nodding, you turn to leave, and when you exit the Breaker Box, you realize the closet door is still closed. You hear your roommate throwing things around downstairs, yelling to themselves about things never being fair, about how everything good that happens to them is taken away. You start to leave, but they seem to move up and down the stairs, back and forth between rooms. You wait for them to go back down, and swiftly move back to your bedroom, locking the door. Considering the last charge you have on the dateviators, you turn your aim to Dorian. When he appears, he's looking at you with an expression you hadn't seen before.

"How... How bad is it?" A brow raises at your question.

"If you are referring to the state of the household, I'd say it's as bad as it sounds. Wallace and I are both tough gents... let's just say it's not easy for either of us to get knocked into each other."

"Are you hurt? Do I need to-"

"You don't need to do anything, 'cept keep yourself from an early grave. We can all put up with a lot more than you think. There've been kids in this house before, family gatherings. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon."

You pause, thinking perhaps you have been too insistent. Maybe you have been too concerned. Maybe anxiety is getting the better of you.

"For what it's worth," Dorian begins, "respecting Skylar's choice, all 'a what you said last night... Makes me proud to be your friend." He smiles, "Just make sure you take care of yourself as much as you would the rest of us. Now," his face falls back to his usual stern expression, but there remains a dusting of pink at the corners of his eyes, "off to bed with you. And make sure to put Skylar up for the night."

As the dateviators lose their last charge for the day, you gently remove them, and tuck them away where your roommate couldn't reach without waking you. You adjust your pillows and blankets to keep your head from rolling too much overnight, and feel the calm embrace of sleep welcome you.

[writing-for-life]

First Impressions of Netflix Sandman Season 2

Okay, I need to get this off my chest. Some people might know I’m the resident comics geek in here, but I’m not a comics purist. I liked the changes they made to S1 because they all made narrative and emotional sense to me, and despite some softening around the edges, it all felt true to the story to me.

And that was one of the reasons why I went into Season 2 with such high hopes and so much excitement. And I did like S2 as a sort of standalone thing.

But I also have a lot of thoughts about it as an adaptation, and I don’t know what happened there. Well, I guess I do because I expected compressing it so much would lead to some fallout. And I would’ve been okay with that. But it’s the emotional core of the story that has changed, and in my mind not always in a good way (people are obviously free to disagree). But one thing after another. Slight spoilers under the cut…

The Disjointed Feeling

The pacing feels completely off. We’re jumping a lot between storylines without giving any of them space to breathe, especially in Season of Mists. And it felt a bit like checking boxes? As an example, Lucifer’s abdication was rushed through like it was just another plot point. The new Nada arc (I call it new because it has so little resemblance to the original one that I can’t call it anything else) also felt rushed. For me, it was really hard to feel invested in their story, but that’s not just because of the overall disjointed feel, and I’ll get to it later.

Brief Lives fared marginally better in terms of letting the story breathe, but I think that’s also down to its overall narrative structure in the comics, which obviously supports that. And while I loved that we got Wanda, it felt like fan-service but otherwise just… stale? Because we completely scrapped AGoY, and it honestly felt a bit like, “But we need to make sure we still shoehorn in the fan-favourite trans-character somehow.” Honestly, Wanda deserved so much better than being this type of checkbox, and at this rate, it felt like doing her a disservice. But again, people are free to disagree.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: I get they had to condense it and that their hands were tied in a way. But it felt like condensing while still trying to cram in too much? I think volume 1 would have benefitted from cutting certain stuff to give other, more important beats more breathing space so it doesn’t feel like getting whiplash half of the time.

They’re Making Dream… Sorta Nice?

This is the big one for me. They’re softening Morpheus into oblivion (no pun intended), and it’s killing what makes him such a compelling character. In the comics, Dream is actually terrifying and horrible very often and not one bit in touch with his feelings (and for a good reason). I know that everyone loves the sad wet cat meme of Morpheus in the rain, but that’s his theatrics and drama, which are only part of his emotional core. Morpheus hides/supresses his true emotions 95% of the time until he can’t anymore and they burst to the surface in the most maladjusted ways. He also doesn’t talk about them like he’s in friggin’ therapy. That’s all good and well for fanfic, I do it as well because it’s fun, but that’s not his emotional core. That’s us trying to fix him.

And Netflix!Dream in S2 felt like a massive fix-it fanfic to me. Maybe that’s why so many people don’t seem to care because Tumblr obviously laps up these tropes, don’t know. It’s also understandable that people who haven’t read the comics won’t even notice, and that’s also okay. Netflix!Morpheus is a very different character from comics!Morpheus, and that wouldn’t be a problem, but the narrative tension stops working if you still try to cram him into largely intact comics plot. In the show, he gets a million beats where he’s clearly meant to be sympathetic, where the camera lingers on his face so we can see how much he’s hurting™️, where he has conversations with Lucienne that feel like the clumsiest exposition ever to mAkE us UNderStaNd because we’re apparently stupid and can’t figure out stuff or emotional subtext for ourselves (that already annoyed me in S1 btw). But the whole point of Morpheus is that he doesn’t SHOW that hurt. He buries it under duty and pride and quiet rage until it all comes exploding out in the worst possible ways. Netflix!Dream has been cracked open right from the start, and I honestly hated a little how far they took that in S2, despite already getting hints at it in S1. None of this should have been truly visible before the end of act 2 (the end of Brief Lives—that’s where he cracks open), bar a few subtle hints (there are obviously a few bits in SoM that are largely inner monologue).

And even then: Can we talk about the wash bowl scene? Just no, sorry. I had expected that scene to rip me to shreds and turn me into a blubbering wreck because it still does in the comics. But I didn’t shed a single tear, and it left me strangely underwhelmed because I honestly felt… that’s not Morpheus? Apologies to everyone who loved Tom’s performance there, but I just really didn’t. And I wanted to 🥺 That’s no reflection on anyone’s acting, because the acting as such was great. It’s just a character that’s barely Morpheus anymore. He’s this:

I totally get how it could be argued that the emotional outburst is in tune with releasing grief, so if people prefer that, I can see and understand why. To me, the quiet grief away from everyone was always more powerful though. Because it’s enough. It’s someone who hasn’t allowed himself to connect to that truthful, deep part of himself while theatrics and drama are much more of a an openly acknowledged part of him. That’s why I find the chair scene so powerful (and I’m PISSED we didn’t really get it)—because it’s quiet and truthful. The wild scrubbing and howling is much more Morpheus the drama queen for me, but I get that I’ll be alone with that, and I’m okay with it 🤣

Which brings me to: The way they handled his relationship with Orpheus was particularly off for me. Comics!Dream’s guilt over his son is like an infected wound that he never lets anyone see. Netflix!Dream practically wears it on his sleeve after a bit of to-ing and fro-ing. Netflix!Dream is also painted as far more noble than comics!Dream. It feels like they’re setting him up for the heroic sacrifice only, and to me, that honestly stinks a little because I’ll call it what it is: mischaracterisation. But since I also know that screenwriters aren’t that dense, I’ll call it what it really is: making him more palatable for the mainstream audience.

The Emotional Core

The thing that makes Sandman special is that it is about stories and grief and the volatility and instability of dreams and the terrible weight of existing for too long. It is about change and the fear of change and how sometimes the only way is to break everything you used to be. But Netflix!Dream in S2 already is all of what he’s supposed to become, at least in a roundabout way. That’s why the conflict feels forced, because everyone around him still treats him like comics!Dream. It lacks deeper emotional resonance. It’s all surface emotional manipulation and layers it on so thick that for me, it was bordering on corny in parts (I wasn’t too keen on the additions to the dialogue with Orpheus at the end).

Or Nada. Don’t get me started. The whole sending her to Hell for 10,000 years barely makes sense anymore, because it was presented as a genuine choice. He was just “a bit pissy” she didn’t choose him and then didn’t rescue her, but she made the choice herself and basically suggested it first. Of course Hell in the Sandman is a place we send ourselves, and it was also implied in the comics that she could have walked away at any point had she just forgiven herself for the fate of her people. But it was Morpheus who planted the seed for that in the first place. In the show, they basically made it Nada’s choice from the outset.

Also: That he basically proposed and said he won’t bother her any further if she said no? Yeah, about that one. He’s so nice, isn’t he? Not at all the guy who could never take no for an answer, and hunted her down like a crazed stalker when she was both alive and dead.

It was just really weird revisionism of a story that originally had misogynistic and coercive undertones. I get why they removed them, but the problem is that they now fail to connect coherently with the story beats they kept intact.

In SoM, Lucifer’s character work was stunning (Gwen was great with what she was given), but it existed in isolation—it didn’t really connect to the broader themes about power and responsibility and the cost of ruling. It was all a hand wave.

I know that all sounds like I absolutely hated it, which I really didn’t. On its own, it’s okay. But I feel it’s just okay so far, while I thought S1 was great. S2 had many moments that absolutely did connect (I’ll just say Calliope and Johanna—they both made me sniffle), but moments don’t make a season. I’m a tad worried that the show has lost sight of what made the source material so special, in favour of making it more accessible to mainstream audiences (well, it’s Netflix, of course they would, but S1 was so much better). Sandman isn’t supposed to be “accessible”. It’s supposed to be challenging and weird and uncomfortable, and that’s what ultimately makes it beautiful.

I’ll keep watching, of course. I’m too invested not to, and maybe things will grow on me when I rewatch. But right now it feels like they’re adapting the plot of Sandman without understanding why that plot matters.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe I need to let the season breathe and see how it all comes together. But right now, it feels like they’re giving us a beautiful, well-acted shadow of something that is so much more.

Did anyone else feel like something was missing?

[chefs-other-corner]

What Did You Say?

☆Paring: Zoey x Rumi x Mira ☆Tags: Fluff, a dash of angst, hurt/comfort, crash out Zoey cause yesss

☆Sum Sum: Zoey crashing out on her bullies back in the US ☆Word count: 1k

☆Note: I just really like the thought of crash out Zoey ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The fan signing had gone well. Zoey spent nearly an hour chatting with fans, signing albums, scribbling goofy doodles, exchanging inside jokes with longtime supporters, and even pausing to reassure a shy teen that her own art was amazing. Every time she laughed, Mira stole a fond glance, and Rumi beamed, soaking up the warm energy. Eventually, though, the mood soured. She remembered how back in high school Tina and her friends would corner her at her locker, mock her thrift-store clothes, call her a psycho artist, spread rumors she was violent and unhinged just for being weird. Those memories burned as she saw them now, Tina and her old clique, waltzing up with smug little grins that made her stomach turn.

“Wow,” Tina drawled. “Zoey the rapper now? Still making up nursery rhymes?”

Zoey didn’t miss a beat. “Cute you came all this way on your lunch break. What is it now, cashier at a store that sells broken dreams?”

The bullies laughed. Another chimed in. “You’re not even that famous. We just wanted to see the freak show.”

Zoey smirked. “Freak show? Yyou can’t even sell tickets to your personality.”

Mira and Rumi exchanged glances. Rumi tried to intervene. “Hey, can you just leave—”

Tina’s eyes flicked to Rumi’s neck, to the scars. “What’s wrong with you, huh? Skin condition? Or did you lose a fight with a cheese grater?”

Rumi paled, shrinking back. Mira’s jaw locked.

Zoey’s voice dropped, ice cold. “I know you’re not talking with your raggedy-ass Temu-face. You look like Shrek tried contouring with crayons. Your forehead so big they could lease it as office space. Honestly, I’ve seen better symmetry in a funhouse mirror. You’re a walking, talking cautionary tale against unchecked confidence.”

Tina flushed red. “Excuse me?”

Zoey leaned in, her eyes glinting with scorn and fury, her lip curling in a sneer as her fingers drummed on the table with deliberate slowness, each tap a promise of violence barely restrained, her breath coming sharp through her nose, her whole body leaning forward like a striking snake. “I’m sorry, did you not want a response? Don’t dish it if you can’t even microwave it. You’re the type to give motivational speeches about a job at Wendy’s like you’re the CEO, pretending you’re so important when you can’t even hold eye contact without your friends backing you up. And let’s not pretend you wouldn’t sell out your entire friend group for a discount at Forever 21.”

Another bully piped up, “She’s sensitive because she’s embarrassed. Look at her.”

Zoey whipped her head around. “Oh, so that’s what this is? You’re jealous you didn’t get any trauma to give you depth? Must be nice being flatter than your personality. Your entire vibe screams 'expired Mean Girl audition.'”

The insults kept flying. Words sharp as glass, raw with pain sharpened into fury. Zoey’s voice cracked in places, rage bubbling just beneath the surface, not just from today—but from years of swallowing humiliation like it was air. Her chest tightened with every word, every memory of whispered slurs in school halls, every sneer, every shove. And now, here it all was, roaring back like a dam breaking.

“God, you’re so loud,” Tina spat, her voice shaking with forced bravado, eyes narrowing to hide the flicker of fear, but her lip trembling just a little as the words left her.

Zoey shot back, “Not as loud as your dad’s disappointment. But I get it—hard to compete with that level of failure.”

They gasped. Rumi winced but smiled a little. Mira actually laughed, her hand balling into a slow fist.

Tina tried to recover. “You’re pathetic. Acting all tough. What are you gonna do? Rap at us?”

Zoey leaned across the table, eyes blazing. “Say one more thing about her scars. I dare you.”

Tina smirked. “Didn’t know they let burn victims out in public.”

The noise in Zoey’s head exploded. Her chair slammed back as she lunged over the table, voice feral. “I will rearrange your face into a Jackson Pollock painting!”

The table rattled, pens and flyers skittering across the surface. Her body was a livewire of fury. Mira caught her around the waist.

“Zoey! Stop!”

Zoey snarled, chest heaving, teeth bared. “LET ME GO—”

But Mira didn’t let go. Instead, she calmly pivoted, drew back her fist, and smashed it into Tina’s nose with a brutal crack.

Blood spurted. Tina shrieked, stumbling back. The shockwave was instant. Gasps. A dropped phone. The thick silence that follows a car crash.

Mira wiped her knuckles on her jeans, her face cool, controlled. “Oops. Sorry, reflex.”

The entire venue went dead silent. You could hear the air conditioning hum. Somewhere, a camera shutter clicked.

Zoey panted, eyes wild, but turned to Rumi immediately. She brushed Rumi’s hair back, cupping her cheek with trembling fingers. Her hands were cold. Her voice cracked. “Ignore them, baby. They don’t even qualify as people. Just static. White noise with bad breath. Discarded characters from a soap opera that got cancelled after the pilot.”

Rumi clung to her. Mira joined them, slinging an arm around both, grounding them in quiet, unwavering strength.

Zoey took one last seething look at the bullies trying to stem Tina’s nosebleed. “Come on. Let’s go before I finish the job.”

Together they walked out, heads high. Zoey’s heart was a thunderstorm in her chest. Her fingers curled into Mira’s and Rumi’s like lifelines. And if her voice cracked when she whispered she loved them—again and again, like a broken hymn—neither Mira nor Rumi let her go. They held her closer.

Outside, the air hit them like freedom, but the adrenaline wouldn’t let Zoey calm down. She paced, shaking, ranting under her breath, while Mira stood watch and Rumi squeezed her hand. They didn’t speak much at first. They didn’t need to. Later, Zoey would apologize a thousand times. Rumi would reassure her with kisses. Mira would crack a joke to make them laugh. And they would sit together on the curb, legs tangled, exhausted but safe, planning how to report the harassment, how to move on. The fight hadn’t solved everything—but it had made one promise clear: none of them would ever stand alone again.

[braininatankwithalaptop]

It's wild to me being part of the deltarune fandom sometimes.

Cause for me, the most interesting characters I find are the protags, (Kris, Susie, Ralsei, duh but wanted to be clear), Noelle, and Dess.

Kris is not only an amazing exploration of a character's relationship with an audience and/or a puppetmaster, but they're also just a tragic kid struggling with relationships, trust, and safety. They're very clearly not the uwu sweet bean that the Undertale fandom projected onto Frisk, but they have so much willpower and strong principles. They care about their friends and want the best for them, despite the promise they made they hold onto like steel, despite the eldritch force beyond their control fucking with their whole life. I can't wait to see more of them through their combination of proactive behavior and "passive" twists/resistance.

Susie is building up as more and more of a hero, getting everything that she's wanted. She's so fixated on her physical appearance and found evidence that she's unlovable, but with her friendship with Lancer and eventually everyone else, she flourishes. Susie's like a punk rock paladin. Sure, she's crass and disruptive and can get angry, but that's less than half of who she is. She's head strong, determined, silly, clever, and loves her friends. But she's also been shown this clear flaw of trying so hard to hold onto the present. Like a dragon guarding her hoard. Susie has gotten so many "ups" since chapter 1, and I feel like I'm just waiting for her confidence to get kicked out from under her like Gerson was surely preparing her for. And then she's going to get back up and amaze all of us.

Ralsei is so open and sweet and cute, but there's so much about him we don't know. Sure, Susie finally got him to open up about his existential anxieties, but we don't exactly know about the details of what's causing them. We don't know why he knows the things he does, or even what he's a darkner of. We just know he's trying his best. Ralsei is the most devoted follower of the prophecy, and even then is desperate for a change that he's fully committing to kindness in the hopes of having a better inevitable end. But he's also kind of betraying his hopes, because now that we know all his kindness and love for Susie and Kris are absolutely absent towards himself. It's like he's playing at being a good person because he knows it's the right thing to do, but he doesn't nourish it within himself because he's drawn himself as an exception to what matters. So when he tries to use empathy (a so called "heroic" trait) with other darkners, he inflicts his self harm onto them as well. I really hope Kris and Susie are successful in making his hope less hollow.

And then there's Noelle, the only pawn in the prophecy it seems like she has no idea what's coming. She got a chance to reconnect with Kris and rekindle a friendship she was feeling bittersweet about, and then it was turned out to be a dream, so now she says that it wasn't a friendship at all. And unfortunately it also took away her self actualization and learning to stand up for herself to. So now she's here, a teenager still learning to push back against her parent and actually try to get what she wants. And in the Weird Route . . . she's so relieved to reconnect with a childhood friend that she lets an unknown power cloud her judgement and hurt in ways still unknown. What is she? The angel? The martyr? The sacrifice? The weapon of the player? Or can she be a hero?

And finally Dess. So many things about her. While Asriel's absence is shoved down our throat in the first chapter, his characterization is obvious as the golden boy-angelic favored son, Dess is the opposite. Where Asriel was someone who tried to confess in a religion that doesn't have it, Dess is hinted as a punk rebel. Where Asriel got to go off to college, Dess . . . is gone in some form or another. Dess is like a shadow, or a dark world, to Asriel's light. Everything about her is in the quiet, implied, and empty space of where a character would be. What happens when a character becomes darker than dark? Quieter than quiet? There's a lot of interesting foreshadowing, hints of the past, and dozens of little ways she haunts the narrative, even if it turns out she's not dead forever. She's so tied to all the other characters as either a tragedy, a mirror, a possible bargaining chip, or maybe even a partner in crime. I can't wait to see all the ways it'll turn out she will be haunting the narrative.

And then . . . I go into the mainstream fandom spaces and people are either drawing Tenna/Queen/Jevil/Spamton making out with somebody, and some dumbasses can't comprehend Kris being nonbinary.

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 008

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter Eight: The Heart Wants What It Wants.

Y/N POV: The Next Couple of Days

The days feel slow now.

Not heavy like grief. Not sharp like heartbreak.

Just slow, like I’m relearning how to breathe in a world that doesn’t revolve around waiting for his name to pop up on my phone.

therapy twice a week.

I write more.

Sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s good. Most of the time it just exists. And that’s enough for now.

I start sleeping on my back again.

I make tea instead of coffee.

I sit at the river by myself some days, just to feel close to something real.

The therapist says I use poetry to protect myself. That metaphor is my armor.

She’s right.

But lately… I’ve been trying to write without armor.

Sometimes I cry mid-sentence.

Sometimes I laugh when I don’t expect to.

But at least I’m feeling again.

That hollow, aching pit in my chest?

It’s still there. But it’s quieter now.

I stopped checking his window every night.

But I never stopped hoping.

Not in the desperate way I used to.

But in the quiet way a candle still flickers after the wind has passed.

The truth is:

I don’t need him to save me anymore.

But I still want him.

CHRIS POV:

Healing isn’t beautiful.

It’s not peaceful morning walks and green smoothies and playlists called “self-love.”

It’s silence so loud I have to leave the house.

It’s therapy sessions that leave me shaking.

It’s waking up and realizing I didn’t dream about her, and missing her anyway.

But I’m trying.

For the first time in my life, I’m not numbing everything that hurts.

I read. A lot.

Books about trauma. Poetry about love. Journals on mental clarity.

I even bought one of those dumb breathing apps that reminds you to just exist.

It sounds stupid.

But sometimes I forget I’m even here.

Some nights, I sit in the laundry room.

The one where I first saw her laughing in that oversized shirt, folding her clothes like she was in a music video.

I remember the first time I realized I loved her.

And the first time I pretended I didn’t.

I write letters to her. I don’t send them.

I reread every book she ever lent me. I underline the parts I think she would’ve loved.

I’m not perfect now.

But I’m softer.

Less smoke. Less silence.

More present.

The river is in three days.

I don’t know if she’ll come.

But I know this:

If she does… I’ll be ready.

And if she doesn’t—

I’ll still keep becoming the man I promised her I’d be.

Y/N POV: The River

The sun is low, melting into the sky like it’s shy.

I’m sitting on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the river. The water laps gently against the wood beneath me, like it’s breathing.

Like it remembers us.

My heart’s been in my throat since noon.

I wore the sweater he once pulled off me. I don’t know why. Maybe for comfort. Maybe for memory.

I haven’t checked the time in fifteen minutes.

Feels like forever. Feels like hope trying not to embarrass itself.

He said sunset.

And it’s almost gone.

Every car that passed made my pulse spike.

Every footstep in the trees felt like maybe.

But now I’m just still.

Still and aching.

The sky’s turning gold and bruised.

And he’s not here.

I press my palms to the wood, about to stand, my chest tight with that familiar sting—

He’s not coming.

I feel tears in my throat.

I nod to myself like I can convince my heart it’s fine.

Of course he’s not coming.

But then—

I hear it.

Footsteps. Rushed.

Wood creaking.

My name, quietly.

“YN.”

I whip around.

And there he is.

Chris.

Messy hair. Breathing hard like he ran from wherever he was.

Eyes wide. Hoodie slung over one shoulder.

And I don’t think.

I don’t wait.

I run.

Across the dock, heart pounding like a drum against ribs that were tired of holding pain.

I crash into him, arms around his neck, face in his chest, breath caught in a sob I didn’t know I was holding.

He holds me.

God, he holds me tight.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into my hair. “The traffic—my phone died—I swear I was coming the whole time.”

I shake my head, gripping the back of his shirt.

“You came.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

“Of course I did.”

And then his hands are on my face, his forehead against mine, and the world goes quiet again.

“I told you I’d be ready.”

“I am.”

We sit on the dock like we did months ago.

Shoes kicked off. Knees almost touching. The river below us carrying the last golden streaks of sunset like secrets.

Neither of us speaks for a while.

But it isn’t awkward.

It’s… full.

Like there’s so much to say, neither of us wants to be the one to break the quiet first.

Chris looks different. Not in the obvious ways.

His hoodie is still oversized. His curls still messy. But his eyes?

They’re steadier. Softer.

Like he’s been learning how to stay.

He glances over at me, the corners of his mouth twitching into something close to a smile.

“You still come here a lot?”

I nod, tucking my knees to my chest.

“When I need to feel like I exist.”

He hums low in his throat. That quiet sound he always makes when he’s listening.

“I think about you here,” he says. “Every time I try to breathe slower.”

My chest tightens.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” he asks gently.

I nod before I can stop myself.

“I wanted to believe,” I say, voice barely above the breeze. “But people say a lot of things when they’re breaking.”

Chris leans forward, pulling something from his backpack.

A stack of folded papers. A few dog-eared books.

He sets them in my lap.

“These are yours.”

“Letters I wrote but never sent. Books I read that reminded me of you. Some I underlined. Some I just… wanted you to know I was trying.”

My fingers trail across the spines. The titles make my throat close:

-On Love & Madness

-The Body Keeps the Score

-A Little Book on Letting Go

I unfold one letter.

His handwriting is messy, all lowercase. It smells faintly like smoke and mint.

y/n—

i don’t know how to say sorry in a way that fixes the way you folded into yourself like leaving was your fault.

i want to come back. not just to you. to me. the version of me that wasn’t scared to love you out loud.

i see you everywhere. still.

and it hurts. but i’m glad.

because forgetting you would be worse than any ache.

I cover my mouth.

Chris watches me, careful. Quiet.

“I didn’t write them expecting you’d forgive me,” he says softly.

“I just… needed you to know I never stopped carrying it.”

I look up, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

“You never stopped carrying me,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

And that’s how I know he’s changed.

The old Chris would’ve kissed me because he needed it.

This one asks because he respects it.

I nod.

And when he leans in, his lips brush mine like he’s afraid to ruin the moment. Soft. Careful.

Like a secret passed from one heartbeat to another.

I taste every letter. Every night he missed me.

Every poem he never read out loud.

When we pull back, we’re both smiling, not wide. Not loud.

But real.

Like we’re finally starting again.

⸻

After the dock, neither of us says “let’s go eat.”

It just… happens.

We’re walking back along the road in downtown Boston, hands brushing but not quite holding. The sun’s gone but the sky’s still blushing pink, like it’s not ready to let go of what it witnessed.

Chris stops in front of a little diner.

One of those places with flickering neon signs and foggy windows that smell like syrup and grease and someone’s grandmother’s perfume.

He turns to me.

“You hungry?”

I nod, even though my stomach is still tangled with everything we didn’t say.

“Starving.”

Inside, it’s quiet. Late.

There’s a waitress in pink gum sneakers and a messy bun, who doesn’t blink when we slide into a booth like ghosts coming home.

We both order pancakes.

It’s nighttime. But it feels right.

He adds bacon to his. I ask for extra butter.

We don’t talk much at first.

Just drink water and Pepsi.

Fiddle with napkins.

Steal glances.

Chris finally breaks the silence with something dumb and soft:

“Remember when I used to see you reading out here? In your balcony chair? Legs crossed like you knew something the rest of us didn’t.”

I laugh.

“I didn’t. I was just re-reading the same page over and over because you were smoking shirtless and it was distracting.”

His eyes widen, caught.

“You noticed?”

“You wanted me to.”

We both laugh, awkward and new and light.

“You always looked like you were thinking too much,” I say.

“Like even your silences were heavy.”

“They were,” he admits. “But when I looked at you… they got quieter.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

So I take a bite of pancake instead.

By the time we’re halfway through the meal, our knees are touching under the table.

We don’t move them.

He starts telling me about a book he read.

I tell him about a poem I wrote but never shared.

We don’t talk about the crying, or the night I broke down in his room, or the two months of aching.

We don’t need to.

This is enough.

The sound of forks against plates.

The way he wipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth when syrup touches my lip.

The quiet “you good?” when he sees me zone out.

We’re not perfect.

Not even close.

But for the first time in a long time—

We’re real.

⸻

It’s quiet again

That soft, late-night quiet where the air is thicker, like the world knows not to speak too loud.

The streets are empty.

The diner lights fade behind us.

And Chris is walking next to me, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s trying to memorize the sidewalk.

He hasn’t touched me since the booth.

Not out of distance, but respect.

We walk like we’re carrying something fragile between us.

Something you don’t hold too tight in case it breaks.

And somewhere in the stretch of that silence, I say it.

“When I was sixteen… I almost attempted.”

I don’t look at him.

I just keep walking. Like if I stop, I’ll lose my nerve.

“I was alone. In every way. My dad was working two jobs. My mom… was in her own world. I felt like no one saw me. Like I could disappear, and it would take days for anyone to notice.”

My voice doesn’t shake. That’s the scary part.

“I remember sitting in the bathroom with the door locked. Everyone thought I was taking a long shower. But I wasn’t. I was writing a note. I kept thinking I should apologize, but I didn’t know what for. Just… existing too loudly, I guess. Or maybe too quietly.”

The wind picks up, and Chris slows down beside me.

Still quiet.

Still there.

“I didn’t go through with it,” I say. “I don’t even remember what stopped me. Maybe it was the sound of the washing machine kicking on downstairs. Or maybe I was just too tired.”

I finally glance over at him.

His jaw’s tense. His eyes haven’t moved from mine.

“But sometimes… when it gets really bad, I still go back there. Mentally, I mean. Not the plan. Just the feeling. That weight. Like everything around me is moving and I’m stuck in glue.”

Chris stops walking.

And I do too.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me with that expression he wears when he’s trying not to fall apart.

“I wish I’d known you then,” he says quietly.

“Why?”

“Because maybe I wouldn’t have known how to fix it. But I’d have sat outside the bathroom door. I’d have knocked. I’d have waited. I’d have heard you.”

I swallow hard.

He takes a step closer.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he says. “You don’t have to wrap it up neatly.”

“I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m just trying to stay standing.”

He nods.

Then, softly—

He opens his hoodie.

“C’mere.”

And I go.

I step inside the circle of his arms and press my face to his chest. He smells like mint and diner coffee and rain that hasn’t fallen yet.

He doesn’t tell me it’s okay.

He doesn’t try to rewrite it into something less painful.

He just holds me.

Warm and quiet and real.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he whispers. “So fucking glad.”

And for the first time in a long time—

I believe it.

CHRIS POV:

The night air wraps around us soft and quiet, like it knows not to interrupt.

We’re now on the apartment stairs. Her hand in mine.

The kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled, just invites you to speak when you’re ready.

And I am.

Not because it’s easy.

But because she is here.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never said out loud?” I ask.

She looks up. Nods once.

“You can tell me anything.”

I rub my thumb along the edge of her palm, grounding myself. Then I say it.

“When I was fifteen… I thought I was going to be a dad.”

She doesn’t flinch. Just… listens. Eyes wide, still.

“I met her when I was thirteen. She was older. Seventeen when everything happened. I don’t even know if it was love, I think I just wanted to feel wanted.”

I swallow hard.

“She gave me that. At least at first. Made me feel like I was important. Like I mattered to someone for the first time.”

I pause. The words come slower now.

“We were together a lot. Quietly. My parents and brothers didn’t really know. Hers didn’t pay enough attention to ask.”

“She told me she was pregnant a couple months after I turned fifteen. I remember feeling like my body wasn’t mine anymore. Like I stepped into someone else’s life by accident.”

I shake my head, laugh once, no humor in it.

“But I stayed. I went to every appointment. I held her hand when she cried. I picked out names. I even kept a list in my Notes app of baby things I wanted to buy.”

“And when the baby was born…” I stop. My voice catches.

“When he came out, I thought: this is it. This is the start of everything.”

“I held him. I kissed his forehead. I thought he had my nose.”

“But he didn’t.”

I don’t look at Y:N when I say the next part. I just breathe through it.

“A week after he was born… she told me. He wasn’t mine. She had been cheating. The whole time.”

“She only told me because she said I deserved to know. But it felt like being dropped from a rooftop.”

“I loved a kid who was never mine. I made promises I couldn’t keep. I named a baby I had no right to name.”

“And the real dad?” I laugh, short and flat.

“He hates me. Because she told him she wished the baby had been mine instead.”

Silence again.

This time, it stretches.

But it’s not empty. It’s full.

Full of breath. Memory. Pain. Regret.

And something else.

“That’s why you push people away,” YN says quietly. “Because you’ve already had love blow up in your hands.”

I look at her now. She’s not crying. Just watching me.

“Yeah,” I say. “That, and because I’m afraid I’ll break the next thing I hold.”

She shifts closer. Her hand slides up the side of my jaw, thumb brushing the place just under my ear.

“Then don’t hold it like it’s glass,” she whispers. “Hold it like it’s yours.”

And God, I could cry.

Not because I’m sad.

Because I’m safe.

And she’s still looking at me like I’m not too much.

Y/N POV:

We don’t talk about it much after he tells me.

Not because it doesn’t matter.

But because it does.

Some things don’t need to echo to be heard.

Chris squeezes my hand once, and I squeeze it back.

That’s the only answer he needs.

We leave the stairs sometime after midnight.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like the world is holding its breath for you.

His apartment is dark when we walk in.

Nick and Matt must be asleep. The hallway smells like cologne and dryer sheets.

Chris’s room is how I remember it, hoodies on the chair, LED lights off, blinds slightly cracked from where I used to peek through my window and watch him smoke.

He tosses his keys on the desk and turns to me.

“You can crash here if you want,” he says, like he’s not hoping I’ll say yes.

I just nod.

“Yeah. I want to.”

He gives me a shirt, soft, oversized, smells like him.

I change in the bathroom while he stays behind. When I come back, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on his phone, pretending not to watch me come closer.

I crawl into bed.

He follows.

No tension. No space. Just us.

Our legs brush under the covers.

Our arms find each other in the dark like magnets.

He exhales slowly, eyes on the ceiling.

“You ever feel like… sleep is the only time your mind shuts up?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “But lately, even that’s loud.”

He turns toward me, arm slipping under my neck.

“Then stay loud here,” he says. “I can handle it.”

I feel it then, his fingers tracing circles on the small of my back.

Like a grounding wire. Like he’s stitching me back together without needing to say a word.

There’s no kiss.

No rushing.

Just two bodies, curved toward each other, finally not trying to run from the weight of what’s real.

He falls asleep first.

I hear it in the change of his breath.

But I stay awake a little longer, watching the outline of his face in the soft glow of the window.

And for the first time in what feels like months—

I don’t feel alone in my head.

I don’t feel broken.

I just feel held.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

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@iluvchris @japblogs

[axel-tiredstudent]

I wish we had gotten more of Quynh and Booker actually cause I think it could have been such an interesting dynamic!!!

Booker has been dreaming about her dying for 200 years and suddenly she's there. She's the only immortal (ignoring the new ones who no one seems to dream about from the second movie lol) he hasn't met but he must have heard sooooo many stories about her from Andy, Joe and Nicky. In the first movie, when Nile wakes up from a nightmare, dreaming about Quynh for the first time, and she mentions what she saw, we can see that Booker seems pained but this story is something he's used to, you know. Because he's been getting those dreams for 200 years.

So anyway, suddenly she's there. And I loved their talk about Andy but I think they could have bonded about their loneliness if they had talked more or if the situation was different. Cause Quynh feels abandoned and betrayed by Andy cause she "stopped looking for her" and she's also mad with humankind for what they did to her. And Booker has been exiled (so, in some way, "abandoned" as well) by their fellow immortals because of what he did, which was mainly motivated by not having a purpose to continue living and by feeling lonely and maybe even left out (I'm getting this because of the comment he makes about Joe and Nicky "having each other" but he has no one, which is a very unfair thing to say and it was motivated mostly by his hurt but yeah I think he has those feelings underneath) even inside their little immortal family.

So, yeah, I think (plus I would have loved to see more of them interacting) Quynh and Booker could in some way relate to each other and be able to talk with each other about these painful feelings in a way they can't with the rest of immortals because there's previous baggage with the others and a feeling (at this moment in their lives) of not belonging in the group.

:)

[fanfic-troll]

↳ Oh Won't You Cum Again?            ⚤ ghostface x female!reader  【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 warnings ⇢ penetration, pet names, male receiving, sexting, choking, bondage*reader gets tied up, degrading, orgasm denial, ghostface is the biggest pervert, humiliation, uniform-kink word count | 9.3K pt.1  ▻  please respond…i showed you my cock pt.2  ▻ a pretty mouth  pt.3  ▻ call me anytime  pt.4 ▻ down for the count tags @darkdemeter, @sarynnah, @folksriddle, @allyhahaha, @msfantasy-taboo, @glittervame, @alisha-jade, @fromsaltandsea, @bl00dgxre, @darklylucid, @strawberrybyers join the tag list here

You stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water wash over you. Opening your mouth and letting the hot water wash away the sin. Your ass hurt to the point you thought you might need to go to the hospital. The sensation was a weird feeling, something that you definitely had never experienced before. Your body felt sticky, sweaty and gross. Used. Like a puppet of theirs. 

You tried your best to just push it all to the back of your mind, like a bad dream. You didn’t want to let yourself get worked up over everything that just took place in your bedroom. You ran the loofah over your body, scrubbing at your skin with an uncomfortable pressure. You had encountered him multiple times now, and it wasn’t just him apart of it either. He said there were more. Heaps more potentially. 

What if next time there’s five of them? Your body being tossed around like some fuck toy they can use and abuse. It was disgusting in an erotic way to your fucked up mindset. These guys were not only threatening to kill people you loved but they would. You were almost trapped in some kind of abusive relationship. It was clear that they knew how to get to you, so you stood in the shower and thought about what you should do. 

Maybe your parents were right. Maybe it was time to move across the country and be somewhere safer. You needed to get out of dodge or someone might get hurt. Maybe when they’re tired of you, they’ll kill you. And that could be at any point when you no longer serve them. 

You finished up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body and drying yourself off. You made sure to check your window, locked tight and placing a bar against it to hopefully make it harder to open. At least if you heard it trying to be opened it would give you time to get out. It was a weird feeling, not feeling safe in your own home anymore. You checked your door, locking it and trying to twist the handle with great force. And for extra measure, you pressed the wooden chair in the corner of your room against the handle. 

“Try and get in now fuckers.” You muttered to yourself, not hatefully, just exhausted. You knew it would be a while before they would behind harassing you again, so you started looking into flights. Messaging your cousin about coming to visit and stay for a while. She was excited to say the least, texting you all the fun things you could do together when you finally came. 

You let out a sigh, closing your laptop and getting dressed into something comfortable. You were gonna try and get out of school tomorrow, too tired to even bother at this point. And besides, you were hopefully about to move anyways and finish up your senior year across the country. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So months ago you were begging to stay here with us, and now you want to move? I just don’t understand you Y/n. It’s almost like you’re trying to drive me crazy. You don’t talk to us, you’re failing and completely distracted. I just don’t see what sending you away is going to do?” You couldn’t believe your mother was upset at you for wanting to get away from all this. 

“I just didn’t realise the amount of stress this would cause. I mean, I’m scared to even be alone in my own house for crying out loud. I don’t feel safe here anymore and I would appreciate it if you would do this for me please. I can’t sit around waiting for this killer to show up again.” You could honestly, you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Deny, deny, deny. 

“I mean, look I’ll speak with your aunt about it but no promises. And I want to see you actually picking your grades up. No school is going to accept you with an average below 2.” Great, homework and studying. The one thing that seemed to be your kryptonite. 

“Fine.” You huffed, heading back upstairs and beginning to open unanswered emails from teachers asking for your overdue work to be handed in immediately. You sighed at the screen, you weren’t sure how you were going to get yourself out of this one but you had a few tricks still up your sleeve. 

You began replying back to the emails, opening the spreadsheets and giving everything you had to put into writing these assignments and getting them checked off your list. It was the first time in and long time you had actually gotten some school work properly done. It felt liberating to say the least. You felt content with the work you had done, even if it had only been a few essays. It was still a lot of work to hand in so suddenly. 

Your phone buzzed on the table, screen lit up with a notification that made you shiver. You sat for a minute, trying to think about what would happen if you had received a message from him, or them. Whoever they were. You began thinking for a minute, what if you tried to figure out who these guys were? The idea had you captivated immediately and you began your search. Socials you began looking through friend lists of everyone, seeing if anything looked weird or funny. Something to stand out. 

You knew a couple of guys that seemed cocky enough to pull this kind of thing but it was also a long shot. What evidence did you have? You looked through messages, back and forth to see if you could catch phrases, patterns, something. You could rule a few people out already, knowing that they didn’t fit anything you had. It definitely wasn’t any girls. You had a small list of six guys, all you needed to do now was break down their motives, and why they would be doing this. 

You dived into research, articles online to see what reports were saying, what the police were saying. It had to be someone from your school, they were way too young to not be. Hours passed by quickly, you were entranced by all of it. You had begun a document on your computer, photos taken from your suspects social media accounts with dates and time stamps. Cross referencing them with messages you had received. 

You begun thinking about how they would have such amount of access to your phone, your house, your cameras. You stopped. Eyes meeting the camera on your laptop. What if they were watching you right now? Watching you spiral down a rabbit hole of hunting serial killers and revealing their identities? You slammed the top down hard, breaking out of your obsession and allowing yourself to come back into reality. 

Your stomach fluttered, an anxiety creeping in. One that you hadn’t experienced before. What if they knew you were trying to find them out, and they would come back to kill you finally? 

Your eyes caught your window, exposed but still locked from last night. And it was going to stay that way until you could figure all this out. 

You got up, opening your door to hear the chatter amongst your parents downstairs. Conflict between the two of them about you wanting to leave. 

“So she wants to go, let her fucking go! Maybe she’ll actually do well under proper guidance from a mother!” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re not here looking after her. You’re off fucking Ron or Rick or whatever the fuck his name is!”

“I told you it was only once and I was drunk!” 

“And I was your husband!” 

You shut your door, tears brimming in your eyes at the commotion. If there was any good time to leave this shit-house, it was definitely now. You didn’t care anymore, you didn’t care what it took. You were standing your ground and moving away, whether you got your mother to agree or went behind her back to your father. 

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Well you got your way that was for sure, you held your ticket in your hand. Shaking at the anxiety of what you were about to do. Moving across the country and away from all your friends and family. It was an uncomfortable feeling really, but you needed to do it. 

Surprisingly you didn’t hear from Ghostface at all, you thought that he might have come by to see you off. It was a little disheartening in the most fucked up of ways. You waited patiently in line, listening to the repeated phrase, ‘thank you, have a great flight’ over and over until you finally got to the front of the line. 

“Thank you, have a great flight.” You smiled in response, taking a small breath before stepping through the doors and towards the exit towards you plane. You boarded easily, taking your seat on the end of the aisle, easy access to the toilet. 

Maybe you were a bit of a nervous flyer but you were holding it together pretty well so far. You pulled your headphones out and over your head, playing your music to drown out the people conversing next to you and around you. You drowned them out, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back against the head rest until it was all over. 

Your hand clutched the arm rest tight, you focused on your breathing as well to try and not let yourself panic. The flight was six hours so it was going to be a long trip ahead of you. When the plane began to take off you almost cried, it was such a weird feeling, but you fought back tears and allowed yourself to think of something, anything. 

Ghostface. Your investigation into who he was, you mentally thought deeply about your suspects and what motives they all had. 

Malcolm, he was a bit weird and techie but you wouldn’t think he’s the kind of person to be behind such a thing. He looked like he would break if you looked at him wrong. Whoever was doing this needed a strong stomach and twisted sense of humour. But maybe there was a dark side to him, long nights surfing the dark web and seeing things he shouldn’t be. A menacing interior different to his slightly nerdy exterior. 

Lucas, classic asshole who enjoyed picking on anything that moved. Teacher, students, maintenance people for the school. Everyone was a target, and everyone was a victim. He seemed to be some kind of sociopath so it would make sense to be him. But there was something that told you he wasn’t the one doing it. But you’ve been wrong before too. It seemed the asshole of him only came out when he was around large groups of people really. Just arrogance it seemed. You only knew that because you had seen him actually helping his teachers out here and there when he thought no one was watching. 

Travis, another quiet kid who seemed to only have a small handful of friends who didn’t seem very interested in him. It made you sad really, he was friendly. You’d spoken to him a few times in classes, little comments about the curriculum being made here and there. Maybe he had a sadistic side to him, an obsession for you. And a disliking towards his peers. It was a strong enough case but you needed more evidence. 

Mr. Hunt, a young-ish teacher who had started fairly recently, he was a suspect. Though he had no red flags that stood out to you from his behaviour he was still new to the whole town. And he seemed pretty fresh out of high school, maybe he held a grudge? Maybe he was bullied at this school and took it personally to a whole other level. This was his revenge game. He taught you calculus and he had taken a liking to you, you always contributed the best you could in any classes and he seemed to like it. Maybe he liked it too much. 

Six hours passed by quicker than you imagines, the turbulence barely noticeable as you were deep in thought about your theories. You had become quite the detective. But none of it mattered for now, it was up to the police. You dreaded about hearing from Ghostface again, what his reaction would be if he found out you had moved away. He seemed to only be interested in keeping you alive for his disgusting, perverse reasons. You didn’t want to be his anymore though. It was wrong. And it might be costing peoples lives. 

You departed the plane, nerves bundling in your stomach as you thought about seeing your extended family after such a long period of time. You knew your cousin would be there, along with your aunt and uncle. You walked out of the gate, seeing them standing there waiting for you with a big bouquet of flowers and balloons for you. All big smiles plastered across their faces. Bouncing with excitement of seeing you after such a long time. Four Christmases to be exact, that’s the last time you were all together as a big family. 

Things seemed to be easier then. You walked towards them awkwardly, slightly embarrassed they were making such a big deal in a public setting. But you gave them a pass for now, it had been a while. 

“Y/n! Oh, you look so grown up my little twin.” Your cousin embraced you first, tightly you might add. Her little twin is what she used to call you growing up, you two used to be really close. Everyone would say you were meant to be sisters in another life. You always liked that idea. 

“How are you darling? We’ve missed you and your mum. How is she doing?” You aunt asked as she too pulled you in for a tight hug. Her soapy perfume filling your lunges in a toxic way. 

“Good, everything is good.” You didn’t want to tell her the truth, but she could already read it all over you. Her eyes giving you a sympathetic look. She knew about the fights with your dad that were a constant. She didn’t like your father, and it had always been very apparent. You hugged your uncle who seemed to be a bit more gentle with his embrace. 

They led you out to the car, helping you get yours bags into the back and beginning to give you a rundown of life here with them, in their small town. 

“So, you’ll find there’s only one mall and its very bland. You have to travel two hours to get to the city if you want anything nice for yourself. And the people are pretty nice in town, just keep in mind that its small here so there is a lot of gossiping that goes on.” Your cousin began explaining the basics to you, how the school scene was as well. 

“So Y/n, what are you looking at doing once you graduate? Any colleges you’ve been accepted to yet?” College, right. You hadn’t even thought about it, let alone applied for anywhere yet. It would be only a matter of time before the cut off date would come up and you hadn’t even written your personal essay. 

“Uhm, not yet. Still waiting to hear back.” You hated lying but you didn’t want to tell her you were quite behind on everything. Your phone buzzed and you looked down to the see what came through. 

⇰ Have you landed yet? xx 

You initially thought it was your mother messaging, but a shiver ran down your spine when you saw the sender. 

Ghostface. All the colour in your skin disappeared and you suddenly felt very light headed and needed to get out of the moving car. Each turn made you feel queasy and you just wanted to be sitting down and not moving at all to take it all in. 

You weren’t sure if you should respond. If it was even worth it. But he had figured it out now. He had your house rigged somehow. He had mentioned how he had things set up in your home without you even knowing. You feared he would retaliate by going after your parents, you wanted to call your mum and dad to warn them. But you couldn’t do it in the car now with everyone listening in. You’d have to wait for a more private moment. 

The interrogation continued, more questions about what you’ve been doing in school and out. How you’ve been handing all the stress of a killer on the loose. You answered as shorty as you could, mind too focused on getting home and making some calls. 

⇰ You can’t hide from me, I’m everywhere.

You were really worried now, but you also saw this coming. You knew he would catch up, you just didn’t realise it’d be so soon. When you finally pulled into the driveway you let out a breath you’d been holding for too long. Allowing your uncle to handle your luggage as you dashed inside quickly, your aunt thought it was just excitement. 

“Uh, where’s the toilet? Been busting since the plane.” You lied and smiled lightly at her. She made gestures as she explained and watched you follow her instructions. You went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door as you opened your phone and pulled up your mothers contact. Call. 

You held the phone to your ear, listening closely to each and every dragged out ring. Voicemail. Great. You tried again, hoping she’s just seen you calling and would pick up on the second time. Voicemail. You called a few more times before trying your dads phone as well. Worry was begging to really set in, what if he had already gotten to them? After the third call your dad picked up the phone. 

“Y/n? How’d your flight go? You get there okay?” You let out another breath you’d been hanging onto. Clutching ahold of the edge of the sink to keep yourself steady as relief washed over you. 

“Yes, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I just wanted to call and see how you guys were.” It was weird, something you never did. 

“We’re okay, is everything alright? You seem quite worked up.” You didn’t want them to panic, biting down on your lip you silently debated for a few seconds before responding. 

“Everything’s fine dad, just wanted to check in.” 

“Alright, well I’m glad you made it safe and you’re okay. I miss you already. I have to get back to work but I’ll give you a call later once you’ve settled in, okay?” You felt reassured, at least for a little while. You were going to hold him to that phone call. You hung up after saying bye and looked down at the new message that came through. 

⇰ Thought you could get rid of me just like that? 

⇰ Don’t be so sure.

Your stomach dropped, you flushed the toilet and stepped out of the bathroom. Walking slowly and trying to find your way around the house. You had never been here, extended family seemed to always travel to your house but you guessed that after the kids all grew up it wasn’t worth the money and hassle anymore. You admired the photos of your cousin in frames around the house, some with you in them. You managed to find yourself in the kitchen, everyone chatting away about some drama going on in your cousins college. 

You tried your best to focus and join the conversation but you were uneasy. Mind elsewhere. 

“Where is my room if you don’t mind me asking?” You politely butted into the conversation, your aunt getting you to follow her down the hallway and towards the room next to the bathroom. 

“Its just this one here, we’ve already put your stuff in here. The drawers are empty and so is the closet so make yourself at home.” Home. Although it was temporary it was still going to be your home for a little while. You missed your old room, before it had been tainted. She left you to unpack your things and give you time to settle in. Dinner would be coming along shortly and you weren’t even sure if you could stomach anything right now. 

You glanced down at the message again. Don’t be so sure. What was that supposed to mean? Was he here already? Was he watching you right now? You looked around the room paranoid, checking lamps, mirrors, cupboards. Anywhere there could be cameras or microphones hidden. It was stupid but you felt a little safer by doing so. 

You couldn’t lie to yourself though, something about Ghostface wanting you so bad he followed you was arousing in a sense. Like a piece of chewing gum that was stuck to your shoe. Always with you. 

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After dinner the family liked to sit and talk at the table, but they let you head to bed early after the long day you had. You were grateful, thanking everyone for dinner and helping you out for the day. You had showered quickly, there was no detachable shower head here. Pity. You felt weird sliding into the unfamiliar bed, the sheets felt cold and different from yours. You tried your best to make yourself cozy though, setting up your laptop on the mattress next to you and putting on a movie. 

Something to just help you switch your mind off, to help you ease into sleep. It wasn’t that hard to get to sleep surprisingly, you managed to drift off pretty soon after your movie started playing. It was when you woke up four hours later though that made your first night difficult. Your throat was parched, you reached instinctively for your water bottle to not find it on your nightstand. You weren’t home anymore, you wiggled out from the covers and tried your best to walk quietly out to the kitchen. 

Hoping you weren’t making too much noise as you grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Walking slowly back to your bedroom and closing the door. You noticed on your way in that there was only the bathroom next to your room. It seemed any of the other rooms were on the other end of the house. You didn’t mind it really, it made you feel more comfortable actually. 

You sat in bed, flicking through random social media on your phone when it buzzed again. He knew you were awake. 

⇰ Miss me yet? 

You ignored it, flicking the message away and trying your best to push it to the back of your mind. 

⇰ I know you miss me. 

⇰ I know how much you miss this cock. 

⇰ Burying deep inside you as I spill my seed. 

⇰ You’re such a cockslut. 

⇰ You love it filling you up in every way. 

⇰ Fucking answer me cockslut. 

⇰ Answer me or ill fucking kill your parents before you can even warn them. 

You broke, finally opening the messages that kept harassing you. Fingers dancing over the keyboard in hesitancy. 

How could he be here and at your house at the same time? You thought about it for a second, thinking about how to respond. 

What do you want? 

Your reply was short and right to the point, you were sick of playing his games. 

⇰ I think you know sweetheart. 

You knew exactly just from that message alone what he wanted. 

No, I’m not doing this anymore with you. I’m done okay? 

You knew he would continued to threat and push until you broke but you weren’t going down without a fight. You wanted to test your theory to really see if he had followed you or not. 

⇰ We’re not done, til I say we’re done. 

⇰ You fucking understand me? 

⇰ I’ll keep using you until I’m ready to kill you. 

Your cheeks burned crimson, in a good way? You weren’t too sure. How could such vile words work you up like this? 

You won’t, you would’ve killed me ages ago if you really wanted me dead.

I think you’re just a loser who can’t get any girls so he had to harass and manipulate one into getting what he wants. 

His text bubble jumped a few times, like he was trying to figure out how to respond. You took the opportunity of having him stunned to write more. Seeing if you could get under his skin. 

You think I like you? You’re out of your fucking mind. 

You’re a sick, pathetic nobody who has to hide behind a mask to get what he wants. 

You had to admit it, you felt powerful. Like you had reclaimed yourself again. The text bubble started again, watching and waiting to see his response. 

⇰ Don’t fucking test me slut. 

⇰ You’re gonna regret saying any of that. 

⇰ I’ll make sure of it. 

And he stopped. You weren’t sure if you should try and have the last word but you didn’t want to keep entertaining him. This was still all a game to him, and your plan of a power play was working for now. You at least could sleep easier tonight. 

The next morning you were woken up by knocking on your door, your aunts voice muffled through it but you could basically make out what she was saying. Your first day, well not really. But you had to go get enrolled into your new school. It was a little worrying how different it was all going to be here for you. But you were going to try and make it work. It was definitely a slower morning than you wanted it to be, feeling uneasy about making your way around the bathroom. 

Worried if you used the wrong toothpaste, too much toothpaste, too much water for the shower, too much shampoo. It was all daunting on you that you were suddenly a stranger in this house. You didn’t know the rules or how things worked, at least at home you took care of your own really. 

You made your way into the kitchen once you were satisfied with your outfit. The smell of toast bringing a warm and fuzzy feeling to your chest. It was what home was supposed to smell like. And you began to feel a bit better again. 

“So, big day huh Y/n?” Your eyes met your uncles who had asked you. 

“Yeah, kinda nervous honestly.” You chuckled a little, anxious about your upcoming day ahead of you. 

“You’ll be fine, the school here is lovely. Its a little bit different than what you’ll be used to.” You wondered what she meant by that, her tone laced a certain way it made you question it a bit. 

You brushed it off for now but kept it in the back of your mind. After breakfast you headed out to the car, the mornings were colder here than you expected and you immediately regretted not grabbing a jumper to throw on. The drive felt short, probably because it was. The school wasn’t what you were expecting, it seemed bigger, fancier even. It had this old style to it like it had been here for a long time and they just continued to upgrade onto the original build. 

Stepping out of the car you felt a little nauseas, nerves kicking in seeing students walking around and chatting away with one another. The first thing that caught your eye, their uniforms. It was weird seeing it really, you mentally cursed at the idea of it. Of course it had to be uniforms. You sighed internally, following your aunt who was speaking gibberish about the school to you that you were blocking out. 

You walked into the building, holding your head low to avoid staring eyes on you. You walked down a hallway before getting to the receptionist office, walking in and an older lady sat behind the desk typing away on her computer. She looked up and greeted you with a small smile on her face, pushing her big frames back on her nose. 

“Hello, we have an appointment with Principal Loomis.” What a weird name. She quickly dialled on her phone, holding the phone to her ear and quietly muttering a few words. 

“You can head on in.” She said and you followed suit. You walked in and saw a fairly older woman sat behind the desk. 

“Hello, welcome to Woodlands College. I’m Principal Loomis, have a seat.” You both sat in the leather burgundy seats in front of her desk, a shiny silver plaque with her title and name written on it at the front of her desk. 

“So, Y/n. I hear you’re transferring all the way from Jetson High?” You smiled shyly, already feeling your nerves set in. 

“Well, we hope you’ll enjoy yourself here at Woodlands, we are a very high educational institution and we focus on helping our students develop into intelligent, goal setting, extraordinary adults who are ready to take on the outside world.” So what she was really saying was that they were expecting you to obey every single rule in their book and if you deter from it then you’ll probably get put in the dungeon. You bit back a smile as you laughed at your inner thoughts. 

“So I took the liberty of getting your school records from Jetson, it seems you have had a good grade average for the last few semesters of your school but I can see a start of decline dating back almost two months ago. I’m guessing thats when the incidents started happening?” She emphasised the words, trying to tread carefully. You weren’t that surprised the news had made it out here, it was almost everywhere at this point with the amount of victims he had stacked up. 

“Yes, I am dedicated to turning things around though and getting myself back on track.” You managed to find your voice, although it was still meek. 

“Wonderful! Alright, well I’ll have out head of student body conduct a small tour around our grounds and facilities. If you have anymore questions do feel free to contact Darlene our receptionist and she’ll be happy to answer them. Did you have any questions for me directly before I let you go?” She was well spoken, a good sense of maturity to her despite her young appearance. 

“No, I think I’ll be alright.” You nodded, she stood to her feet and got the door for you both. Your eyes fell on to a student, she was very short to be a senior. Hair tied back into a slick ponytail and uniform presented crisp and perfect. 

“Nadine, this is Y/n and her aunt. If you would so kindly show them around, start with the classrooms first and make your way from there. Thank you.” You smiled at the girl, she offered one back. It didn’t feel quite as genuine though. 

“Please follow me.” And you did, she led you through each and every classroom. Talking about the curriculum and expectations, they were very demanding on high results. You were a little worried you might not be cut out for this place. She led you through the library, the cafeteria, the gym, it felt never-ending. Your aunt was asking lots of questions on your behalf, times classes ends, what studies they offer, anything and everything.

It was finally almost lunch time when the tour was over, you thanked the girl and left with your aunt. She seemed more excited than you for this place, which didn’t surprise you. It was a big part of her personality. 

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Your first day. Scary. You’d rather see Ghostface again than face the first day at a new school. It was gonna be hell.

You stood there, fresh out of the shower staring at it. Your uniform, they had it posted to you within the day after your aunt gave them your sizes. You hated every bit about it, the white button up blouse, the outdated just-above-the-knee plaid skirt. The horrible striped tie with the school colours. You felt ridiculous putting it on, looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering if you could just run away back home. Back to your normal like where Ghostface would pop up in and out of constantly. 

⇰ Have a good first day doll. 

It was like he was in your mind, sending you the message first thing this morning. You ran your fingers through your hair, styling it to suit the ugly uniform that did not flatter your skin tone. Too late to back out now. You put your shoes on and made your way to the kitchen to, the smell of waffles. It seemed breakfast was a family event in this household. 

“Excited for your first day?” Your aunt asked, a big grin plastered on her face. You faked your smile, inside you were dying to go back to bed. Dropping out sounded good. 

“Juice?” She asked holding the glass jug up and a glass cup in her other hand. You nodded in response. 

“We’ll be off in ten minutes, I’m just going to get into something less dirty and put some perfume on.” She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, showing the stains of flour, egg and sugar on it before walking down to her room. Oh gosh, not the soapy perfume. You cringed at the smell, knowing she used way too much of it for it to be legal. You would just have to try and not choke on it if you could help it. 

As if she was a robot with a tight schedule, you left ten minutes later right on the dot. She shuffled her shoes on and got in the car. The drive was way shorter this time, your mind elsewhere and before you knew it she was pulling up in the drop off bay. You gripped ahold of your skirt, tight fabric between your fingers. She noticed your tense body that sat there. 

“Hey, you’ll be okay. Its not as bad as you think, I’m sure today will be fine.” Why didn’t you believe her? Was it your own mind or her lying to you? Either way you didn’t have time to think before she was encouraging you out of the vehicle and leaving you there. You thought about turning around and walking out of the gates, eyes scanning different groups of people standing around. Some taking notice of the new-comer. Small town. 

You held onto the strap of your bag, as if to ease yourself in some way. You began slowly walking to the front entrance, hoping that you would remember the way to the reception. Luckily you did, or you might as well have not turned up for the day. You were given your schedule and other documentation. Some to fill out, some to give to teachers and some to take home and give to your aunt. 

Already ten minutes in to your new school, and you were overwhelmed. Not remembering where a single classroom was. You locked eyes with familiar ones, Nadine. Same hairstyle and freshly pressed uniform. She strided towards you with such confidence, no one she was head of the student body here. She sure acted like it. 

“Hi Y/n, how are you finding things? Anything I can be assistance of?” You were stunned at her maturity in how she spoke. Like a copy and paste of your principal really. 

“Just a little lost. Where is homeroom?” You asked sheepishly, feeling a little bad that you clearly weren’t one of them. 

“You’ll be in my homeroom. Walk with me.” She made sure to stay by your side, letting you not feel left behind. It was actually comforting considering how insane everything seemed. There were more students in the halls than when you visited, no one was in class yet. 

“Is the school always this busy?” You asked, eyeing off all the students surrounding the main hallway with their lockers open and books stacked up completely. She led you to a locker that opened right away, empty. 

“This is your locker, then combination is changed every three months for security reasons. Your combination should be on your personal forms under ‘school property responsibilities’. You glanced down at the stack of papers in your hands, shuffling through to find the one she was talking about. You folded the page in half and placed it in your pocket for now, knowing you’ll probably be needing it for a bit before you could memorise it.

You slid your strap off your shoulder, putting it into the locker along with the papers you had been given except your schedule. 

“You’ll have homeroom with me, then you’ll find your next classes below with timestamps and locations written on them. If you flip the page over you’ll see the map here. So the front entrance is here which is where you started and its basically a walk through from there. So your next class after homeroom will be ancient history with Mr. Macher, then you have calculus with Mrs. Prescott and then we break for 15 minutes. This will give you time to swap out books for your next classes and socialise.” It was like she spoke in tongues, none of this making any sense to you but you tried your best to follow along. 

When the bell rang it was weird, almost like a tune that was on the tip of your tongue. It was different from just your standard bell ring at your old school. 

“Time for homeroom.” She began walking with you, a few more feet down and you were at Room 3-A. Homeroom. You filed in with the other students, taking a seat at one of the separated desks and sitting down. Nadine taking the seat behind you. 

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The day seemed to go by slower than you’d hoped. Every class felt like a maze and other students weren’t as helpful with directions. They seemed to speak to you as if you had been here for a while. Some people were nice, some weren’t as nice and others just seemed to keep to themselves. You were happy when the day finally came to its end, although you felt you spent most of your day confused. 

You were’t looking forward to tomorrow. Your aunt was already waiting in the pick up bay for you, hand held out the window waving excitedly. You basically ran to the car, wishing you had a moment of privacy to completely break down. You didn’t want her to see you so upset. 

“How was your first day!? Was it amazing? Did you make some friends?” All questions you didn’t want to answer, but you knew if you didn’t try to keep up your charade she would become concerned and that was something you didn’t want to deal with. 

“Yeah it was good. Yeah I made a couple.” As if on que, your phone buzzed. 

⇰ Liar, liar, pants on fire. Or should I say, skirt? 

You blushed at his message, your aunt noticing your weird sudden mood change. 

“Everything okay?” She asked, you snapped your head towards her in panic and locked your phone and placed it in your lap. 

“Yep. Just realised that I have I forgot one of my books.” You played it off as best as you could. 

“Oh well I can wait a little longer if you want to run in and grab it.” Great, now you had to play into the lie somehow. 

“It’s alright, I don’t need it urgently. Just wanted to get a head start on homework.” She pulled out of the space and drove home. The drive was easier at least, and you were going back home where you could sit in your room and try and not want to run away. You said a small hello to your uncle as you entered the house, ushering to your room as quickly as possible and sitting down on your bed. 

At least you had a space to relax and not be bothered in. You laid back on the bed, letting your body melt into the mattress as you let yourself unravel from your day mentally. Your phone hummed against the fabric once again. You brought it to your face, scanning over the new message. 

⇰ God I wanna fuck you so bad rn. 

It was from a new number, but you knew it was him still. You were hesitant to call the number, but you were curious to see if he would pick up as well. You pressed dial, waiting for him to answer the call. 

“Hello.” His voice rasped through the phone, your knees feeling a little weak at the deepness of the voice. Your breath hitched in your throat for a few seconds, swallowing hard. 

“Your number changed.” You breathed, hearing a small ‘mmm’ come from him on his end. It sounded so erotic like he was pleased with your statement. 

“It did. Or maybe I’m not who you think I am.” Your stomach dropped at his words, oh no. Not another one. 

“Why are you all doing this to me? What is it about me that seems to peek your interest? I don’t want to be apart of this anymore.” You were pleading to him, hoping that maybe a different person meant a different kind of treatment almost. Maybe he was more understanding? 

“Because if I can’t have you, no one can.” The classic stalker line buzzed in your ears, and you felt tight in your stomach as your body tried to decipher whether it was terrified or turned on. The dampness of your panties was very telling, but you didn’t want him knowing that. 

“If I give myself to you, will you leave me alone and let me live in peace?” You knew he wasn’t going to go for it, but it didn’t hurt to try. He was quiet, like he was actually considering your request. 

“No. But, give yourself in to me, and I’ll make sure you stay mine and only mine.” You had to admit, it wasn’t what you wanted but it was still better than being shared around like some used up toy. You really had to think, he wasn’t going to stop and if you said no then who knows what would happen the next time Ghostface popped back up in person. What he would do, what they would do. Goosebumps formed on your skin, every hair seemed to be standing up in place as you tried to swallow your pride. 

“Deal.” You felt betrayed saying it, like one part of you was fighting with the other. He chuckled darkly, and hung up. You sat in silence now, thinking about what was to come. You had no clue when he would turn up, what he would do. All you could do now, was wait. 

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“Class dismissed.” After a full week you were beginning to finally settle in to your new school. Classes were still difficult to keep up in, you felt so behind in everything. Your teachers instructed that you attend an after-school study today in room 7-C. Or was it 17-C? Or 7-D? You weren’t really paying any attention and Nadine wasn’t around to help give you the answer. 

The final bell had gone and everyone was racing to their lockers to leave, you pulled the folded piece of paper from your pocket and read your combination while trying to put it in. It took four tries before you finally got it. Something you were still trying to get the hang of. You grabbed what you needed for the study group and turned your schedule over to show you the map. Why did there have to be so many classrooms? 

You began looking into each classroom, opening the door and poking your head in to see if anyone was in there. Teachers also desperate to get home, seemed to all have disappeared without a trace. You continued to walk down the hall in the opposite direction everyone seemed to be heading. There was no one else heading to this thing? 

You kept checking rooms, some locked so you couldn’t actually check them as you went along. You got to room 7-C, one of the rooms you thought it was in. You opened it, sticking your head around the corner and muttering a small hello. Empty. You closed the door, moving down to the next room just across the hall. 7-D. Poking your head in again, it was empty but you thought you saw someone out of the corner of your eye. You stepped in on instinct, thinking it must be a teacher. Your eyes widened as they met the tall figure. 

He was fit, muscles basically tattooed all over him. Broad and much different from the others you had encountered. The signature Ghostface mask on, his cloak fitted to his body showing each and every curve of himself. You made a dash for the door, his movements were towards you quickly like he knew exactly what your plan already was. But the door had been locked, whether by someone or he had planned it out somehow. You stepped back and away from him, the backs on your thighs bumping in to the corners of desks. 

It hurt and you knew it would bruise, but your mind was a little more focused on staying alive right now. He worked his way towards you slowly, cornering you against the back wall. He almost leapt at you, pushing his body against yours so it was stuck between the two. He had you now. 

“Poor, defenceless, lost lamb. Can’t even find a fucking study group to save your life.” His words were piercing, mocking towards you. 

“Guess I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.” He laughed at his play on of words, you couldn’t care less. He grabbed ahold of you, pushing you against the nearest desk and bending you over it. A throaty rumble coming from his throat as he hiked your skirt up over your ass. Exposing your lacy undergarments to him. You knew his day was going to come, you just didn’t expect it so soon and so public too. His leather glove came down hard on your ass you yelped a little louder than you expected, the stinging sensation only adding more moisture to your panties. 

He hit again. And again, alternating cheeks like some sort of game to see which one would turn red first. He noticed how your knees buckled against one another and your thighs rubbed together. Your underwear almost dripping with excitement. He ran his hand over the material and you quietly jolted at the sudden feeling. 

“So wet already for me, such a good girl.” His voice dripped with lust, his touch sending electricity through you. His fingers wrapped into the lace that covered your core, pulling them to the side and eyes entranced on you. You could feel yourself pulsing with desire to be touched, to be filled. You hated how much you enjoyed this. He pushed a digit in, letting out a guttural sigh as he did that made you weak. 

“So fucking warm, lets see how you react when I add another.” You squirmed at the sensation of another finger sliding its way through your folds and into your hot cunt. The sounds sickening but music to his ears. You whimpered, wondering how long he was going to continue with his torturous pace. He began ever so slightly curling his fingers inside you, pressing against the plush tissue on your walls. You were really getting loud now. 

“Tell me how it feels doll.” You weren’t sure what he wanted you to say, your mind sat on it for too long leading him to deliver a hard ‘smack’ to your ass again. You yelped louder this time, his hand coming down harder than he had before. 

“Good, it feels good.” You managed to let out, humiliation starting to really sink in now. You should know by now that they were all the same. They all wanted the same thing from you. Wanted you to validate their actions towards you, and how you felt about it. 

“I bet you’re just aching to feel me. You want my cock dolly?” You nodded your head in response, before quickly following up with a breathless ‘yes please’ to keep him happy. He withdrew his fingers, you almost cried at the loss of sensation in your hole. He worked quickly on his pants, pulling out his erect cock and moving to face you. 

“Get on your knees.” You did what he asked you to do, eyes trained up on him as you dropped onto the cool wooden flooring. 

“Open your mouth doll.” He held your chin in his hand, keeping your face tilted up towards him as he guided his tip towards your lip. Rubbing his salty arousal over them before pushing through and groaning at the feeling of your hot mouth around him. Sucking, licking and rubbing along his base. His head fell back in relief, gloved digits twisting your hair into a pony as forcing your movements along his shaft. Rapid and quick to meet his thrusts as he used your mouth like a free pussy. 

“Keep going doll, suck me fucking harder.” He pushed to the back of your throat, feeling you choke around him uncomfortably. Eyes beginning to water at the pressure, you pulled back on reflex. You did as he said, hollowing your cheeks for a more pressurised feeling around him. He continued to snap his hips, chasing a high he so desperately wanted. You had brought him right to the edge of his orgasm when he ripped himself away from your mouth, a thin rope of saliva attached to the tip of him to your bottom lip before falling onto your exposed thighs. 

“I’m not cumming yet, gonna wait for the big finale for that one.” Your cheeks were flushed, red and burning for more of him. 

“Get on the desk.” He pointed to the teachers desk at the front of the classroom, following closely behind you as you stood to your feet and did as he said, you sat back, feet planted on the edges and knees apart. Exposing yourself to his gaze that seemed stuck on you. 

“Fuck, you’re pussy looks so hungry for me doll.” He reached into his cloak, your breathing picked up as you began to panic if he was pulling a knife. Instead out came zip ties and yours eyes bulged. 

“What are those for?” You asked, voice as quiet as a mouse. 

“Lets find out.” He cocked his head to the side, striding over to you. You fought back a little, struggling as he gripped ahold of you and used his body weight to hold you down on the desk. He wrapped it around your wrists and pulled tight to the point the plastic dug into your skin painfully. 

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” You whimpered, his body pulled back and holding your knees spread in a firm grip. 

“Have to? Doll, I want to.” His cock was sitting just against you, he looked down and pushed the lacy garment to the side. Holding himself in his other hand and lining up against you, running his tip up and down through your folds. He liked seeing your reaction, head dropping back as you waited to be filled. Waiting for him to stop this torture. He waited for the right moment, the moment to take you by surprise. And he slammed himself in without warning. 

You loudly gasped as the feeling, body jolting with and pressed against him as he began fucking you relentlessly. Hearing you yell out curses over and over again as he pounded into you, finding all your secret spots and working them against you. You came over and over again, your number almost at double digits when he pulled out. Admiring how his cocked dripped with your juices onto the floor. Knowing someone would have to clean up your mess. 

“Sit down on me doll.” He took a seat in the leather chair behind the desk, legs spread and thighs calling your name in every language it seemed as he patted them. His gloves hitting his jeans and making a loud smacking noise that echoed through the room. You did as he asked, walking towards him with your hands still suck behind your back. He turned you around, guiding you to sit down on him. When he was all the way in, he grabbed the backs of your knees. Pulling them over the arm rests of the chair before he began thrusting again. 

The new position hitting all kinds of spots that made your toes curl and knuckles turn white. One hand came up the back of you, grabbing ahold of the back of your neck and pulling your ear towards his face. 

“Is this what you fucking like? Being fucked senseless until you’re cunt can’t take anymore? I’ll make sure you don’t walk for weeks after I’m done with you.” You gripped him hard at the filthy words, he moaned loudly at the feeling. 

“Like it when I tell you what a fucking whore you are huh? Want me to fuck this pussy of yours until it’s dripping with my cum. My mark.” You continued pulsating and gripping him, his thrusts keeping slower but harder as he relished in it. 

“I want you to cum with me doll, I wanna feel you squeezing me while I full you up. Fill you up with so much cum your body won’t know what to do with it. Mmm, fuck—“ his hips continued to plow hard and sloppy now as he got closer to his own high, your orgasm coming in quicker than you imagined. He groaned deeply through his chest, the vibrations against you causing you to call out more filthy words as you worked through your finish. His cock was stuck inside you, a faint heartbeat from the base thudding against your walls.

“Let’s do this again doll. Next time, I want you wearing nothing under that little skirt of yours.” You felt yourself tense at his words, almost excited for it to happen again. He cut your hands free with a knife you guessed was hidden. He made quick work of stuffing himself away and leaving without another word to you. You could feel his warm thickness oozing out of you now, running down your leg. You opened the drawers to the desk, shuffling around to find some tissues to clean yourself up with. 

You looked down at your wrists, sore and red and aching at being held together with cable ties. You fixed yourself up and left, heading home to give yourself a much needed shower to wash away this whole thing from your mind. 

After you were cleaned up and tucked away in bed your phone buzzed and you didn’t need to be Sherlock to know who it was. 

⇰ See you soon, doll 

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Part 6 - COMING SOON

[artchivary]

It's time for class, and a mini-collab!

Huge shoutout to my excellent friend Sol for writing an entire ficlet to accompany this very silly scenario I dreamed up for the bumpy road that would be Lightning's redemption arc ✨ Check it out below the cut! 👇

--

The Light Ignis’s first thought was: “Where in the world am I, and why is it so dark?”

His second, on the other hand, was simply “Wait, how am I alive?!”

Lightning looked around quickly, struggling to get a sense of his surroundings. This was in large part because he wasn’t ‘surrounded’ by much of anything at all—he was hovering somewhere in a dark void. 

He floated around in search of someone else, feeling increasingly wary the longer his presence remained unacknowledged. (He wasn’t going to stoop so low as to call out just yet.)

Thankfully, before he could speak up and really make a fool out of himself, the world flashed with purple lines for a moment, signaling a change in his environment.

…purple lines?

Oh no.

Seconds later, his theory was proven correct when none other than the Dark Ignis appeared before him, looking obnoxiously cheerful. Luckily, Lightning was above such petty emotions, and therefore did not feel anything in particular when this happened.

“Hey there, Lightning!” the other Ignis chirped, seeming almost abnormally chipper in spite of the extremely strange circumstances. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Long time no live might be more accurate.” he replied, his voice as flat as he could make it. (Ai’s muttered “that’s not how the saying—never mind…” was brushed aside.)

“That might be right, but hey, you’re here now!” his unwanted companion continued, visibly ramping his energy back up. “And that means we finally have all of the Ignises back!”

Lightning’s eyes widened by a minute fraction. “The others all survived as well?”

“Uh…not exactly,” the Dark Ignis explained, more than a little awkwardly. “You all definitely died, but! Turns out that since a big part of our source code came from our Origins, they can help resurrect us even if we die! Cool, right?”

“I see one obvious flaw in this proposed ‘explanation’ of yours.” Lightning remarked dryly. “Even if Kusanagi Jin was in a state where he could be capable of bringing me back, he most definitely would not want to do so.”

“Nnnnope!” The other AI held up one finger. “First of all, Jin’s doing just fine! Well, maybe not ‘just fine’—turns out human brains are great at healing from physical trauma, which is how he got his memories back after your disappearance erased them…but they’re not so good at healing from emotional trauma. He does remember everything, though, and he’s getting help with his recovery, so overall, he’s okay!”

He held up a second finger. “And second, Jin totally did want to bring you back—this was all his idea!”

“What.” Now Lightning was staring openly.

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly what Shoichi and Yuusaku-chan said, too! They were really skeptical at first, but Jin was all like ‘it makes sense that he’s rude, actually, ‘cause he was formed from a suuuper traumatic event’—”

“Stop.”

“—‘and a lot of people are mean to others to hide the fact that they’re scared of being hurt! And since I’m the one who’s connected to him and can tell how he’s feeling, he’d totally see me as a weakness’—”

“Stop it.”

“—‘but I bet if he went through trauma therapy like I did, he’d feel a lot better! I don’t expect him to change who he is, though, I’m just hoping that he’ll be less angry if someone lets him know they understand’—” 

“SHUT UP!!!”

Ai froze in place, suddenly and unnervingly silent as Lightning’s shout rang out through the void. Lightning, for his part, was feeling…unsettled.

He never yelled like that. Ever. He was always composed and in control. He couldn’t allow himself to be held back by the part of him that was built on a human’s emotions.

And yet, the way the other Ignis had described that very human—trying to be compassionate and understanding and forgiving, as if Lightning needed any of those things…

…it made his nonexistent skin crawl.

“Ooookay. Not talking about that anymore. Got it.” the Dark Ignis noted. “That’s okay, because now we can jump straight to the most important part—the part where you call me ‘Ai-sensei’!”

Despite barely ever emoting, Lightning still somehow managed to look skeptical. “And why would I ever do that?”

The Dark Ignis winked. “Because of this!” 

Suddenly, a facsimile of a school’s classroom built itself around them, replacing the darkness of the void with neat, clean walls and ceiling, a tiled floor, and a chalkboard at one end of the room. A single desk and chair manifested itself, as well as a presentation tripod.

Lightning stared blankly at everything, slowly and impassively turning his gaze onto each part of the room, before finally looking at his sole companion. “Goodbye, Dark Ignis.” He walked towards the wall, fully intending to just clip through it and be on his way. 

So he was quite surprised when he walked into the wall instead. 

He stumbled backwards, almost falling onto the floor before catching himself at the last minute. “Wh…what?” He shook his head once, attempting to collect himself.

“Come on, man, I know everyone makes fun of me for slacking off, but I’m not that dumb!” the other Ignis protested, folding his arms huffily. “Obviously you were gonna try and leave, so obviously I had to stop you somehow!”

“This place won’t hold me forever.” Lightning promised. “Soon enough, I will find a way out of here, and return to my previous mission.”

Strangely enough, the Dark Ignis actually perked up at this. “Oh yeah, right—that’s actually what I brought you here to talk about!”

Lightning would have raised an eyebrow, if he could. “You want to talk about my mission?”

“Yeah! Well, I mean, specifically about how it’s actually a really bad idea, but…”

Almost immediately, Lightning tuned out the voice of the other Ignis, analyzing the walls and corners of the room in an effort to find a flaw in the design that would enable him to escape. He was just in the middle of inspecting a seam to see if it would let him through when some of the words began to register again.

“Are you seriously not listening to any of this? Come on, I stopped talking about humans and started rambling about hair dye maybe a minute ago!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

“Well, I tried it the normal way first.” the Dark Ignis said, sounding like he should be a lot more sorry than he actually was. “Can we get the Ignisnapping code, please?”

Now Lightning turned around to face him properly. “What do you mean we—?” 

The rest of his sentence was completely cut off, because he was suddenly teleported from his current position by one of the walls to the desk in the middle of the room. More specifically, he was sitting down in the chair, and apparently tied to it with some form of rope. He spent a couple of solid minutes trying to get himself out of this seemingly easy trap, before realizing that the rope had been coded so that he couldn’t affect it at all.

“Now then!” The Dark Ignis snapped his fingers, and a suit jacket and tie appeared on his body. (Presumably the snap was just for effect, since he didn’t actually need to do that in order to affect his environment.)

“It’s time for our first lesson! ‘Getting along with your Origin 101’, written by me, Ai-sensei!”

Lightning stared up at the other Ignis with all the disdain he could possibly muster, but this did nothing to dissuade his ‘teacher’ from carrying on. “Do duel with them in a friendly way and tease them affectionately. It’s good for building friendship levels!”

He pulled out a pointer from seemingly nowhere and tapped the presentation. “But it’s—” and for a moment, here, the Dark Ignis’s expression flickered into something sad, before he regained his usual cheer— “definitely not good at all to torment your Origin psychologically and steal their consciousness!”

Lightning’s face did the digital equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “From your perspective, maybe. Which is extremely faulty, might I add.” 

“You know, you’re not supposed to be rude to your teacher!” the other Ignis complained.

“You haven’t taught me anything yet.” he shot back. “Besides, why would I want to get along with my Origin? Humans are flawed and weak—being connected to one just threatens to extend those same flaws to me.”

“Sounds like someone’s talking a big game without any real proof to back it up!” the Dark Ignis chirped, his smug nature reasserting itself.

Lightning made a sudden move to stand up, but was stopped by the string still tying him to the chair. “So you’re trying to tell me that if I were to give your precious Fujiki some of the same code that worked so well on Sugisaki Miyu, you would really react just as logically as I would with my own Origin?”

Suddenly, despite the fact that they were both digital beings without any sense of temperature, Lightning could have sworn the air nearly froze around him.

“If you ever hurt Yuusaku, I will fight you without mercy. And I will win.” the Dark Ignis replied coldly.

Then, he abruptly flipped back to his previous demeanor as if nothing had changed. “But thankfully, that won’t happen! Not just because there’s plenty of code locks and we’re inside a virtual computer anyway—but because hopefully you won’t want to!”

Lightning rolled his eyes to the best of his ability and slumped down in his chair, watching as the other Ignis began to ramble on about connections and partnerships and trust, all in an almost sickeningly sappy manner. He could already tell that he was in for a long ‘class’.

[thesacredorb]

Just need to scream into the void really quick because i finished 3.4 at like midnight (five(5) hours ago) because after processing the story im losing it internally a little, ans also because i wanna get on the hsr side of this site (I know ive seen it with my eyes before it just keeps disappearing)

So some spoilers for 3.4 if you haven't played or seen anyone play it yet

Oh Kahslana, my Kahslana ❤️‍🩹

You poor, agonizingly sweet soul you, I wish only sweet dreams and peaceful rest for you. Fuck the canon of him being subsumed into Irontomb, fuck the fact that we won't know the end to the grand story of Amphoreus for at least 3 more updates, fuck it all, i am subscribing to the headcanon that he has gone dormant in the back of Phainon's mind.

I am choosing to believe that he doesn't become part of the machine that is trying to destroy the Aeon that made it tossed it aside, Kahslana is resting. He is in the back of Phainon's mind, finally at peace, taking the break he deserves, finally being able to step away from the chaos of it all and being allowed time to just- temporarily stop existing. He isn't gone, he's taking a break. He's taking a break from the weight the 33 million cycles undoubtedly takes a toll on him, so he doesn't have to feel his body deteriorating, cracking and becoming fragmented; a shell of who and what he once was.

Hes taking a break from the sweltering, scorching heat, the heat the burns him from the inside out, that roats his body and torches his soul. The heat that makes his body temperature so unbearable that even his tears turn to mist before they even have a chance to trail down from his eyes. The millions of coreflames have no effect on him here, they do not turn his body into kindling that breaks him down from the inside out.

Kahslana is resting, mind and body, so he doesn’t have to suffer all the memories.

So he doesn’t have to constantly all the times he had to kills his friends, the people he loves and cares for so deeply and wholly that he carries their wishes with him to every new cycle in a desperate attempt to change something; to do something different, to search endlessly for another outcome. Another outcome that doesnt involve all his friends needing to die as sacrifices for an Aeon that wishes to destroy everything; to a god they dont even know exists. He refuses so much for all that he loves and care about to be a sacrifice that will fuel the fires of Destruction to birth a new Lord Ravager that Nanook will use in THEIR army to bring the Universe to its knees; he doesn't want them to be mere pawns to a greater scheme that none of them have a say in that kills them over and over himself. Over 33,550,336 cycles of hundreds of thousands of years, he has to bring his blade down on every friend he's held dear to him, had to plunge his sword into the chest of everyone in Aedes Elysiae himself just to push his past self to the brink over and over a d over and over.

He doesn’t have to constantly be haunted by the memories of taking dawnbreaker and using it to cut down Mydei, his equal in strength, the comrade and fought for ten days and nights and eventually became close with. He doesnt have to think about the times he's had to hurt Castorice, poor sweet and gentle Castorice, to take the coreflame of the Hand of Shadow from her. He doesn't need to dwell on the memories of the one cycle where Hyacine made him pause, if only for a moment with her words, before he used the ceremonial blade given to him hy Cyrene to forcefully remove the coreflame of the Sky Titan from her. All the times he most likely had to take and take and take from all the people that he knew; Aglaea, Tribios, Cipher and Professor Anaxa, every one of them being people he knew cared for, and had to kill to protect them from a fate worse than anything he can endure.

Kahslana doesn't have to remember or worry about carrying the fates and wishes of all whom he holds dear– the fate of everyone on Amphoreus; he doesn't need to. Not anymore. His new friend, someone from beyond the sky, from far away from the lands that have trapped him for so long. He has entrusted his duty to someone he trusts can handle the weight of the world far better than he ever could; some who has finally, finally brought hope and change to the cycles of anguish he's endured.

So even with his mind and body and sould weighed down by the near futility of it all, the weight of the world that drove him mad countless times, he is allowed to rest and he passes the torch to his partner. To the Trailblazer from beyond the sky, the hero he always envisioned as a child; to the person who will carry all of their fates into Era Nova, into the bright and brilliant new Dawn promised in the prophecy.

Kahslana is allowed repose. He can finally float in a boundless void of idleness and inactivity, with no worry about the future of his planet and his people, no crushing weight of the world and their wishes to carry upon his shoulders, and no death that he feels he must bring upon the ones he loves. He has slipped into a quiet, painless, and peaceful dormancy that will last for as long as world wishes for him to.

And when the times comes for the true Era Nova, when the new Deliverer ushers in the dawn of a new age free of cycles and loops and the gaze of an Aeon that wishes to wage war on the Universe for existing, he will be able to wake and he will be able to watch. Kahslana will be able to see the fruits of his labor, will finally be able to see that all of his millions of years of cycles he's had to witness will not have been in vain; Kahslana will be able to watch the mighty Trailblazer forge a new path, and being for a brilliant and blazing sunrise where the west winds end. And after seeing the culmination of his efforts, Kahslana can rest permanently and peacefully if he so chooses.

Because that's what he deserves. He didn't tread through 33 million cycles for nothing, after all.

[terresdebrume]

Okay, I've been chewing on this since I saw the movie so: here's how I would fix tog 2

During the original assault, have Nile lead the team. Make it clear they are now trying to avoid killing people when they can: they wear masks to avoid recognition, go through the security recording to wipe the footage of them, take time to make the people they couldn't avoid killing look like they had an accident. This shows us that Nile still has her guiding principle of getting the Guard to put more consideration on individual human lives, that she is actually a leader (who got in first) to the team, and that her presence continues to change things

Make Quynh the primary, non-villainous antagonist. She's hurting, she's been drowning for centuries, she feels betrayed, she doesn't know Andy's mortal: she wants to kill/torture her and the rest of the guard a couple times until she stops feeling pain/until they truly understand what they (in her mind) put her through. Booker is her original in but when she learns he's exiled and Joe comes to visit, Quynh takes Joe instead, both because she's angry at him and because she's hoping Andy and Nicky will come to his rescue faster.

Have Booker and the team have it out, at least the bare bones of an apology so Booker can prove he's sincere and convince the others to let them help, as penance. They bring Tuah in for back up but it's not a surprise that he exists because those of the Guard who haven't met him still dream of him. (Tuah is established early on to be settled but tired in his immortality. He's not suicidal, but he's ready to be done.) Maybe they even joke about finally dreaming of something different for once.

Action movie plot happens with Nile at the helm because she's the leader now and neither Andy nor Nicky can think straight in this situation anyway. They rescue Joe, Andy and Nile have it out with Quynh, who then loses her immortality. She and Nile are the first to figure out that getting hurt by Nile is what makes immortals mortals, and that's how Quynh finds out Andy is mortal.

At the end, have a few brief scenes of the team unwinding: Joe and Nicky reconnect, reaffirm their importance to each other, Andy and Quynh have a difficult but romantic moment, maybe Quynh even gives the necklace back. Nile, who has been chewing on this through the movie, approaches Booker about her ability to make him mortal. (Making him cry in relief about it is optional but appreciated.) Movie ends there, so we have a complete story regardless of whether tog 3 happens.

In the stinger, Nile tells the team they still have to deal with that Discord woman she's been dreaming about. The rest of the Guard is confused and ask who she's talking about. Cue: ominous entrance.

In the third film we can learn that as the first immortal Discord gets advance warning on future people popping up, and because she was not into becoming team mom she arranged to be close at hand for each new immortal so she could "bump into them" as someone unmemorable like a merchant or passing peasant for example, allowing her to remain hidden from the rest.

Only she also got premonitions about Nile being the last Immortal and the whole immortality transfer, so now that she's mortal she's still determined to make someone make her immortal again. Similar plot happens, she's beaten blablabla, at the end Nile grants four wishes by having Booker and Tuah giving their immortality to Quynh and Andy, the movie ends with the team seeing B or T as an old man just before he dies, satisfied and at peace (bonus point if we're shown Booker built a family again in his second chance) and the implication that Nile continues watching over humanity with her two battle couples.

End trilogy.

[ellitx]

Modern AU Venti Dealbreakers

A dream where im supposed to be visualizing the future chapters turned to a discussion of what our each other’s dealbreakers are and these are what dream venven said.

Not in any particular order, these are from how i clearly remember them to the vaguest and haziest recollection

If you’re on a date with him and you spend most of your time staring down your phone, it’s a no for him.

I dont mean in a way he restricts you from using your phone. Venti just values quality time and wants you to talk to him

Like would it hurt you not to be on your phone when he’s talking to you DURING a date?

He doesnt mind it if both of you are waiting for something like waiting for your turn in the line in an amusement park

Like tell him how your day went

Or you saw a cute dog on your way and showed him the pic you took on your phone

Or at least show him the meme/video that has you laughing! Don’t just keep it to yourself!

He doesnt want the date to be ruined bcs most of your attention is on that

He wants you to have fun, enjoy the moment with him and make it special

Even in domestic dates or just cuddling with him, if he sees you scrolling and he’s talking to you only to get a half-hearted response back, dont be surprised you’d get a message that he wants to break up with you

I’ve said this before and I will say it again. HE WILL REJECT ONE NIGHT STAND OFFERS

If you plan on using him just to hook up or even as a REBOUND no thank you

He’ll sense it. And he’ll quietly step away the moment he realizes you’re just filling a void

Next is if you have a history of cheating.

I dont need to explain this

Why tf would he date a cheater?

Passive aggressive communication

Pls communicate with him clearly. If you cant do that then the relationship isnt for you

If you expect him to “just know” what’s wrong without telling him, his patience will wear thin and he’ll exhale through his nose the more you don’t want to/rather not tell him

Please even if he has the patience of a saint, a guy like him will snap and it’ll be scary to see that side of venven

So just be open and be honest with him. He’s not a mind reader (even if he kinda acts like one sometimes)

You treat his emotions like a joke

Venti might act carefree, but he feels deeply

If he opens up to you and you brush it off or mock him? He’ll be hurt

And if he opens up again and says to you that he was hurt by what you have said, and you still brushed it off or gave a half-assed apology

Yeah, you’re getting ghosted

If you keep bringing up your ex

He let it slide one time since he knows you didnt mean to do that

Venti will get insecure if you compare him to your ex. He might not say it, but his silence says a lot

But if you keep on complaining or just generally bringing up your ex, that’s a dealbreaker for him

He’ll bring your ex over to you so they can hear what you said about them/if you want to be back with them again /s

This couldve been a regular venti hcs, but the phone dealbreaker struck me the most and its why it turned to modern lol

[taggedmemes]

RANDOM SONG LYRICS 006. as shuffled on my phone. change wording as desired, etc.

close your eyes and i'll kiss you.

tomorrow i'll miss you.

i'll write home every day.

i'll send all my loving to you.

i hope that my dreams will come true.

let's fast forward to 300 takeout coffees later.

i see your profile and your smile on unsuspecting waiters.

you dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor.

you search in every maiden's bed for something greater.

was it over when she laid down on your couch?

was it over when he unbuttoned my blouse?

your new girl is my clone.

did you think i wouldn't see?

at least i had the decency to keep my nights out of sight.

i think about jumping off of very tall somethings just to see you coming running.

if she's got blue eyes, i will surmise that you'll probably date her.

you're a shark and i'm swimming.

my love, it's very late.

keep us on my heart.

you will still haunt me.

i'll never be your chosen one.

you can't tempt me if i don't see the day.

better not to breathe than to breathe a lie.

when i open my body i breathe a lie.

i will not speak of your sin.

there was a way out for him.

your values are all shot.

my heart was flawed.

hold my hand, consign me not to darkness.

i'll never wear your broken crown.

i took the road and i fucked it all away.

how dare you speak of grace.

in this twilight our choices seal our fate.

you've gotta see there's something wrong.

you're pretty desperate to get out of this town.

you'd board the titanic if it was leaving now.

now i love you like a brother.

this world at times will blind you.

come a little closer, then you'll see.

things aren't always what they seem to be.

do you understand the things that you've been seeing?

do you understand the things that you've been dreaming?

the heavy world's upon your shoulder.

you wanna see if you can change it.

he had the most angelic face.

i watched my friends die before twenty one.

i'm at the doctor's every day.

i'm making jokes about the blood tests.

i have to speculate if this could all just be an answer to those prayers that came delayed.

i never would have said it if i knew i had to wait.

i don't wanna hurt so get it over with quick.

i wanna be loved.

i don't wanna be somebody you're trying to get rid of.

my mom and dad let me stay home.

it drives you crazy getting old.

we can talk it so good.

we could make it so divine.

how you wish it would be all the time.

this dream isn't feeling sweet.

i've never felt more alone.

it feels so scary getting old.

i want them back, the minds we had.

you're the only friend i need.

welcome to the club.

good times remedy your sorrows.

it's all good, i guess.

this is what it feels like when you become one of the drunks.

searching for a new high uncomfortably numb.

big fun dancing with the demons.

holy spirit grips you like a pistol.

that's the shit.