#spent all night having not quite nightmares not quite stress dreams

[thatone-churro]

chat i am NOT appreciating the stares i got from walking across campus to cvs in my hoodie and sweatpants as if we didn’t just sit through ANOTHER hurricane like chill man i didn’t sleep well let me get my monster to finish my logic homework in peace 😭

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Yandere Ghost Smut

afab reader ; nsfw

“This house is totally perfect! You’ll love it,” is what your realtor told you when they finally found a house within your budget. You loved the aesthetics of historical homes, so when they discovered an older house that not only was in your price range, but had just minor damages, they called you immediately. 

You moved in within the month. It didn’t take long to settle into your new home. There was a room with shelves meant for books, and you spent most of your free time there, enjoying the books from your collection that could rival a library. Sometimes, you would feel a sudden chill in the air when reading, and grow pensive. It would feel like someone was watching you. But besides that, nothing was out of the ordinary. You just assumed you were too stressed out and growing paranoid as a result. Everything was fine.

Well, it was. Until you started waking up with strange markings on your body. You woke up one day in a cold sweat, waltzing into the bathroom to wash your face off, only to find what looked like hickeys on your neck and upper chest area. Weird. Did you have bugs in the bed? Was it an allergic reaction to the new detergent you bought for the sheets? You had no idea. 

You were never able to solve the issue because the markings disappeared within a few hours, and didn’t come back again. Once more, you shrugged it off and assumed nothing was amiss. 

Yet eventually, things got even stranger. Your panties started disappearing one-by-one, and you were sure you hadn’t misplaced them. Specifically, your already worn undergarments would disappear from the dirty laundry bin before you could wash them. What the fuck?

“I don’t know, Mary,” you call your best friend one afternoon, “I feel like this place is haunted. And what’s even weirder is I keep getting these wet dreams…like every night. I’m not even sexually frustrated so I don’t know why I wake up wet or with markings on myself.”

“Maybe you got a ghost fucking ya?” She jokes around and you both get a laugh out of that. But for some reason, the deepest part of your being can’t dismiss that thought. 

You begin to grow paranoid and start searching for any signs in your house that someone else is living with you. You decide to enter the dusty attic, and find rather antique furniture and a box containing a photo of a man and a woman. He was handsome, albeit a little creepy looking, but what struck you as odd was woman next to him. She looked eerily like you. You brought the photos downstairs to do some research on your computer, but alas, found no information on the man or the woman. The only thing you found out was that there was a fire that had damaged the property all too many years ago. You felt the creepy sensation of being watched again, and called it quits for the night, opting to get some much needed rest.

That night, you saw him.

————————————————————

It’s midnight when he appears in your room, watching your beautiful self slumber. You were so perfect, all those years ago when you left him, and even now. He loves the way the sheets drape your body, but slowly peels them off to reveal that you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your skin as your eyebrows furrow cutely in your sleep. 

His angel must be having a nightmare, but he can take care of that. Gently, he trails his cold fingers over your curves. He admires your beauty, so happy to see you once more. He can’t wait another minute.

While you’re still on your side, he unclasps your bra, relishing the way your tits fall free without the support. They look so beautiful and perfect, he can’t even begin to describe how enchanted you make him feel. 

You roll onto your back. He slides your underwear to the side, revealing your pretty cunt to his ghostly eyes. With a delicate touch, he rubs your clit in small circles, playing with you. 

You gasp at the touch and he smirks. Your shuffling does little to deter him from his objective.

He’s on the bed with you, intently staring at your lower half. He admires your folds and moves them open and closed with his fingers, revealing a leaking hole that was your wetness. With a gulp, he slides your underwear off you, wadding it into a ball, burying his face into it as he takes a whiff of your scent. He’d be tasting the real thing soon enough. Once satisfied, he pockets your undies for safe keeping. He tilts his head down to your lower body, shifting into a more comfortable position. With a breath of anticipation, he slithers his cold tongue over your vagina, moaning slightly at the sensation. 

He’s been doing this every night he could manifest, and it never got tiring.

This time, and he doesn’t know why, you wake up, staring down at the mysterious man in terror as he laps you up like a man thirsting in the desert. You mean to run but you can’t move. You feel something cold and wet tying your body to the bed. You try to close your legs from your violator, but his icu hands grip firmly on your thighs, keeping them wide open for him to shove his face between. 

Under the moonlight, the two of you make eye contact but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to send you a wicked smile. “Good morning, love,” he says gently from beneath you. “I missed you so, so much. You know that?”

You’re in a state of shock, words screaming in your head but not quite reaching your vocal chords. The only sound you can make is a whimper as he shoves his tongue further into you, his nose rubbing you causing further pleasurable friction. He sucks, licks, and rolls your clit with his tongue. 

Suddenly, he slides a cold finger into your hole and you gasp, arching your back only to be stuck back down again. “Don’t move, pretty thing,” he scolds you. 

“F-fuck,” you finally manage to whisper, heart racing, “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been watching you for a very, very long time.” He’s stopped licking you, instead moving to pump another finger into your pretty cunt, thrusting in and out at a moderate pace. His eyes show so much love, desperation, and lust in them that you have no idea what to do or where to go. Then it clicks. The man from the photo. That’s who he was. How could that be possible? Was he an actual ghost?

“I’ve been so lonely without you, princess. When you left me to burn, do you know how heartbroken I was? But now you’re back, and we can finally be together again. I’m not letting you leave me another time.”

He now has three fingers inside of you, picking up the pace. The lewd sound of slick fingers sliding in and out of your cunt drives him wild. His face is back between your thighs again, lapping you up and suckling on you until you’re visibly shaking. 

“Aw, sweet girl. Gonna cum?”

You don’t want to, but you feel something hot and heavy coming.

“Shit. Cum in my mouth, sweetheart. Wanna taste everything you got.” He latches back onto you. 

Your stomach drops and you let go, mind very distressed but body obviously in heaven. Your pussy spazzes out on him and he moans as he licks up the mess you leave behind. With a wipe of his mouth he grins, eying you like a rare prize he had just one at the fair.

He grabs onto you, embracing you in a hug you can’t run away from. Seriously, why can’t you move? He notices your struggles and laughs, snuggling into your chest. 

“Ah ah ah, no running away, love. I’ve waited so long for you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He flips you to where you’re face down, ass up. Your vagina is dripping, juices sliding down your thigh. He licks his lips before biting his lower one, admiring the roundness of your ass and your now puffy and pink pussy. 

“Oh, love. You got no idea what you do to me…”

You feel something cold and hard tap the entrance of your walls, and you freeze. Oh god, was he going to fuck you? His hands are on the sides of your ass, but you feel another set of cold hands grabbing your arms, and even another pulling at your tits. You whimper at the overstimulation.

“Enjoy the hands. They’re all me.”

Before you can reply, he’s sliding his dick through your entrance. Your pussy quivers at the sensation and he laughs. “Did you just come from that, love?”

Once you take all of him, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “I want to hear you moan, sweetheart. Go on, make some noise for me.”

As he’s taking you from behind, a hand shoves its fingers into your mouth, and you gag on it. The sets of hands on your breasts are now fondling them, pinching and squeezing. You’ve never felt so much at once before, and you eventually yield to the pleasure, moaning as he thrusts into you.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all. You’re fucking mine,” He snarls, and you whine at how hard he’s pounding into you, ferocity now evident in his demeanor. 

You slurp and suck on the fingers, only for it to pop out of your mouth and slide into your ass instead. You cry out at the sensation. A hand is sliding circles around your clit as he fucks you, sending waves of pleasure over your body you’ve never known before. 

“Too much!” You cry, sobbing with pleasure.

He gives you a kiss on the neck. “Almost done, love. Just keep taking it, okay? You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re fucking perfect.” His thrusts became sporadic, and you know he’s close. 

In the end, you come once more, and you feel he does too. When he pulls out, you collapse on the bed, blacking out. Morning eventually comes, and you feel someone is holding you from behind. A set of hands grope your body as you wake up. 

“Morning, love. Ready for round two?”

[samkerrworshipper]

hard times | awfc x reader

arsenal reader struggles with PTSD and new year’s eve is a particular struggle… but the arsenal girlies are there for her even if she doesn’t know she needs them

warnings: PTSD, anxiety, mentions of violence, mentions of guns, anxiety attacks, mentions of childhood trauma

You don’t even notice you’re shivering and tearing up under your duvet.

New Year's Eve for most people is a night of celebration, a night of partying, a night of celebrations. For you, not so much.

New year's eve ranks pretty high up on your least favourite days of the year.

Instead of being fun and full of celebrations it was a night of terror and fear.

That’s how you’d gotten under your duvet, the covers of your bed providing a very small shield from the outside world.

It wasn’t a good fix to stop the current downpour of sound around you, you’d tried it all, airpods, earplugs, music, none of it worked.

So you’d settled for clenching your palms down onto your ears, it wasn’t providing any reprieve from the noise cascading around you, but for whatever reason it felt necessary.

This wasn’t even the worst of it, you knew it was only so long until the fireworks started, and as soon as that happened it was almost a guarantee that you would be thrown into a whole different level of stress.

It had been this way since you were a kid, new years eve was a nuisance, a figment of your worst nightmares.

You wished you could go out and celebrate, that you could be normal and be happy.

But ever since your childhood, since it all happened, loud noises and bright flashing lights have always been a big struggle for you.

So, every year, you go through the same routine of hiding under your covers until it’s all over. Normally, the loud noises coming from London strike up a pretty serious anxiety attack, so you don’t bother with hurting your friends with your presence, knowing that all you will be is a burden for them on a night that is supposed to be fun.

It’s fine, you’re used to it, this year though it’s a little bit harder.

With your transfer to Arsenal in the previous January trade period you had quickly found a new family amongst the Gooners.

It was so hard for you to decline the invite to the celebrations for the evening, especially considering that almost every other holiday over the year had been spent with one or a couple of your teammates.

That was the hard part of being the only person left in your family, it was the reason for your stupid fear.

It all simmered down to one stupid night that wrecked your whole life.

Just as you had begun to become completely absorbed with the thoughts in the back of your mind, you were taken out of your trance by a quiet voice and the mattress you were sitting on flexing downwards.

“Hiya honey, you wanna come out for me?”

It’s Beth’s voice, sweet, kind, lovely Beth who definitely should not be in your apartment right now.

It makes you wonder if you are potentially dreaming, sometimes when you get really anxious delirium is a side effect.

“Beth?”

You reach down to pinch your thigh, hard, and it hurts, enough for you to be sure that you aren’t dreaming,

“Yeah hon, I’m right here.”

Her voice is enough for you to pull the covers over your head, the duvet falling into your criss crossed lap.

Beth is perched on the corner of your bed, a smile mixed with concern and care reflecting back towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your words are murmured, and spoken downwards towards your lap, because you can’t quite find it in you to look at your older teammate.

“It’s new years, silly, we couldn’t leave you out of the celebrations, the girls that are in town are in the kitchen.”

It’s said so nonchalantly, like this is some organised plan that has been set in stone for weeks, even though this is the first you’re hearing of it.

Suddenly, a firecracker or something goes off somewhere in the distance and your body is jolting on the bed, fresh tears accumulating in the corners of your eyes as your whole face pinches shut whilst the waves of memories wash over your body.

“I thought you guys said you were going to South Bank to do the fireworks and celebrations.”

South Bank isn’t far from your apartment, a couple of blocks south, unfortunately for you, most definitely close enough for the fireworks to be seen and heard.

“Who needs fireworks? We’d rather hang out here with you.”

It makes your jaw clench and your eyebrows furrow, they’ve cancelled their plans to come to your apartment and you aren’t completely sure why.

“Beth, why are you here?”

It’s blunt, but with everything happening and your body in survival mode you don’t have time to beat around the bush, especially with the ticking time bomb which is leading to midnight.

“Less told us that you really struggle with new years, so we’re here for you.”

You know that all of the girls on the team, whether they mention it or not, know about your past, about what happened when you were a child, what led to you moving in with Alessia when you were 14.

Unfortunately for you, she’s spending her break with her parents in New York, so your normal emotional support for nights like these was unable to make it here tonight.

Something doesn’t feel the same about having Beth, and whoever else she’d managed to congregate being here with you, especially when you were significantly vulnerable.

“Beth, I appreciate it, but I don’t want to worry you guys, head down to South Bank, just leave me be. Tonight’s pretty hard for me and I don’t feel like doing much.”

Beth scoots her body up closer to yours, close enough that she can lift her hand up and set it down on your thigh, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way you slightly flinch away from her, the jumpiness running rampant in your body due to the anxiety.

“We’re not going anywhere, we’ve got you, let us take care of you yeah, you don’t have to do anything, at all, just sit on the couch and relax.”

You want to fall directly into Beth, let her give you a big hug and never let go, but there is still a part of you trying to obtain your self dignity.

“Beth, you don’t understand, tonight's really hard for me, and I don’t want you guys to have to deal with it, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

Beth’s hand moves from your thigh, upwards until it’s gently sitting on your jaw, angling your face upwards so you are looking at her.

“Let us be here for you, between myself, Vivi, Leah, Lia, Kim, Laura, Jen, Lotte I’m sure we can all figure out some way to make tonight a little bit easier for you. You don’t have to explain anything, you don’t have to talk about it, we’re just here to show you some love and help you however you need, celebrations be damned.”

It’s hard to refuse when Beth’s kind, concerned and caring eyes are reaching deep into your soul. Tonight is hard, for you it’s like walking up mount everest, and it’s not exactly like you want to break down in front of your teammates but Beth seems pretty persistent about the fact she isn’t leaving.

“After the break in, after my parents and brother were killed, any loud noises resembling guns make me have anxiety attacks, it’s why I don’t like new years.”

Beth just nods and smiles, accepting the information but deciding to let you do the explaining instead of asking questions.

“That’s understandable, anyone in your position would feel the same, I’m sure it must be pretty tough, especially considering that you are still young.”

You bit down on your tongue, nodding to Beth, it is really fucking hard, especially considering that you don’t have anyone to talk about it with, because how could anybody understand.

“It’s why I freaked out a few months ago when you guys were popping balloons after Leah’s birthday party, I can’t help it, it just sometimes comes over me and I can’t control it.”

Beth nods immediately, feeling the guilt roll into her stomach at the memory of her and Katie popping all of the balloons, Beth now recollecting how you left with Alessia almost as soon as it happened.

“Y’know after my mom died it took months for me to be able to go anywhere near a hospital, Viv had to drag me to the doctors for my yearly check up. It’s funny what grief does to us. You want to know what works best for me?”

Beth is trying to find common ground, praying that it’ll work and exceptionally glad when you give her a little nod with your chin.

“I try to distract myself, whether it’s getting Vivi to talk to me or playing a game or watching the telly, helps take my mind off things, how about we try that and see if it’ll work with you, yeah?”

The idea makes you feel a little bit funny, but you are brutally aware of the fact that Beth is trying really hard right now to help you and you really want to be good for her and show her that you can do that.

“Okay, but I need it to be quiet, please.”

Beth just smiles and nods, her layed back demeanour shining through as she stood up from the bed, extending her hand to you.

Your hand is shaking furiously, but you manage to extend it out towards her, letting her own hand steady your as she pulls you up off the bed and gently tugs you towards the door of your bedroom.

To your surprise, when you exit the room the kitchen and loungeroom of your apartment are fairly quiet.

Lia, Kim and Viv are busy in your kitchen, pouring and distributing drinks and plates of pizza. Leah, Laura and Lotte are seated on your couch, a board game of sorts set out on the table, Jen is also joined in on the game, except she’s sitting on the floor directly in front of the table.

Viv, Kim and Lia all send a big smile your way as you slowly enter the room, it’s a spectacle to you, watching the group happily enjoying themselves in your apartment on a night where they could be doing far more than just lazing around.

“Do you want to go sit down on the couch, I know for a fact Leah will be cheating, you could go keep an eye on her, or stay up here in the kitchen with us, it’s up to you.”

The couch sounded nice, and you were aware of the fact that your body was quite tired and worn down from all the stress of the night.

So you cautiously stepped over to the couch, as soon as Leah saw you walking towards her she opened her arms up big and wide for you.

You didn’t second guess it, practically throwing yourself into Leah comfy and warm embrace, her body acting as a cushion to you.

The joint pressure and warmth from the hug did wonders at lifting some of the pressure off of your chest.

“How ya feeling?”

Leah’s voice is soft, whispered directly in your ear so that nobody else hears it besides you.

“I’ve been better, but having you guys here is nice, you don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

Leah just smiled, taking a break from the monopoly game they were playing to look at you.

“It’s nothing, we’re here for you whenever you need us, just trying to make the night easier for you however we can.”

You nod gently, Leah’s arm wrapping around your torso to give you a big hug and essentially bond you to her side.

“The fireworks are the worst for me.”

Leah nods, her eyes are so understanding, there isn’t any form of humour or disgust in them, just pure interest.

“Just watch the game yeah, don’t think about the fireworks, I know it’s hard, but just try. We could put on a show for you, how about the new episode of Love Island?”

It’s a offer that you can’t decline, so Leah gets Jen to chuck her the remote, turning on the tv and flicking it directly onto your favourite show.

You relax into Leah, your body falling limp against her and using her as a pillow whilst you intently watch the tv.

It’s all going fine, or as fine as it can be until you can distantly hear a countdown coming from somewhere outside your apartment.

Almost immediately it sets off alarms inside your body, your legs and torso jolting up from the couch.

Just as you are about to rush off, most likely back under your covers or into your bathroom, Leah’s arms grab a tight hold of you, bringing you flush against her body. In a matter of seconds, Viv, Beth and Kim are all surrounding you, somehow sheltering you from the noise outside.

You feel like a feral dog, thrashing against Leah, trying to get away from her, from your teammates, from the world.

As soon as the noises hit your ears though, you stop moving, both of your palms crushing down against your ears to try and drown out the cracking and popping sounds booming from outside your window.

Leah holds you tight to her chest, even as you begin to sob and the panic begins to overtake your body, every time it happens you feel like you are going to die, like this time it’ll be the last and inevitably you know that your wrong, that unfortunately you will live to see out the next year, but it doesn’t make the whole process easy.

Suddenly your brain is crowded with thoughts, memories, sounds.

The sound of your front door being broken down, nobody hearing but yourself, giving you the opportunity to push yourself out of bed and into one of the cupboards in your wardrobe.

Then the sound of heavy feet, doors creaking, and heavy, thunderous, cacophonous gun shots.

No matter how many times you relive it, no matter how many years go by that sound will never disappear from your mind, it’s unforgettable and haunts every single one of your nightmares.

It’s all consuming, until somebody is taking a hold of your face, and staring at you directly in your eyes.

“Y/n, listen to me, you’re safe, we’re all here for you, we’re in your apartment, safe inside, nobody is here to hurt you or anybody else, you’re at home and it’s safe here.”

Kim’s captain's voice is both soothing and terrifying, the Scottish players' words are strong and coated in directness.

Once she notices that you are hearing her she continues.

“We’re here for you, we’re safe, breathe for me honey, deep breaths, you’re here, not out there, don’t worry about any of that, just look at me and breathe.”

You nod at Kim, even as the tears are streaming down your face and you are struggling to breathe, you listen to her.

“Good job, keep breathing, remember where you are, we’re all safe in here with you, nothing or nobody is going to hurt you, I swear.”

Kim’s words do wonders to help you, and with her assistance, as well as Leah’s strong hold, Laura’s hands gently massaging your scalp, Viv’s strong fingers drawing patterns all over your arms, Lotte gently rubbing the tensed up parts of your calves, Beth holding the parts of you Leah can’t and Lia and Jen both flanking kim, looking at you with the same care and concern as she is looking at you with.

It’s a team effort, but you feel completely enveloped by your teammates love and care as you come down from the panic.

“Doing so well for us y/n, it’s all over now, you;re safe, we’ve got you, we’re not going anywhere.”

You look out to the window, temporarily removing your eyes from Kim’s and realising that your captain is in fact correct, all the noises, lights and pain has stopped, the world is quiet and you couldn’t be more grateful for it.

Slowly, as you become more aware of the world and your surroundings, one by one each girl gently removes themselves from you, until you’re left with just Leah, Beth and Viv, the three stragglers who are tasked with getting some food and water into you before sending you off the bed.

It’s a easy enough job, you’re spent and pliant, so Viv force feeds to a slice of pizza whilst Beth forces you to choke down some kind of electrolyte drink.

Once the two are done doting, they both leave you with a kiss on the forehead and gentle words whispered into your ear about how proud they are of you.

Leah is the one tasked with getting you into bed, and she does just that, getting you tucked properly on the covers before giving you a goodnight forehead kiss.

It feels weird watching her walk towards the door, like your being deserted, and you’ve been needy enough as it is tonight but you can’t help but reach out to Leah.

“Stay till I fall asleep, if it’s no trouble?”

Leah just nods and smiles like you’re asking her for a piece of gum, the blonde moving onto the empty side of your bed and leaving her hand flat against your back.

“You’re no trouble at all honey, we’ve got you, any time but especially on these nights.”

[calmcoldevening]

Little morning with slashers

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ﾟ｡⋆

Tw: no

Characters: Jedidiah Sawyer, Mark Hoffman, Brahms Heelshire, Eric Draven, Jason Voorhees

➤ Jedidiah Sawyer

• As usual, the morning in Texas was quite cool earlier. You've been sleeping surprisingly well lately, so you've been waking up early with a good night's sleep and very rested. The sun was lazily rising from the horizon, coloring the blackness of the sky with golden and orange colors, as if a couple of drops of lingonberry blood had been dropped into the dark water.

• You lazily opened your eyes, squinting at the light coming into the room through the thin curtains. The sheets were cool but damp from the hot Texas night.

• Stretching slightly, you try to get out of bed, but a strong pair of hands stops you, pulling you back to the man's chest. Jedidiah lets out a growl of displeasure, and you giggle softly. Turning to face him, you gently touch the leather straps on his cheeks with your fingers. He forgot to take them off again before going to bed. You gently run your nails over rough skin, the scars under the mask have almost healed, leaving behind uneven pink scars.

• "Good morning, honey," you whisper, briefly kissing him on the forehead. In response, he mutters something softly, pulling you closer to him. His dark hair had grown noticeably longer and was damp from sleeping. You gently brush his bangs out of his eyes, causing a slight smile to form on his lips.

• He was always particularly sloppy in the morning. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are sleepy with small shadows under his eyes. He's wearing a loose white shirt that smells of his body and your own hands. His arms wrapped around your waist like a protective ring, Jed won't let you walk away from him so easily this morning. He likes to just lie with you in the bedroom while the others are sleeping.

• You were the only one, apart from his mom, who really accepted him and saw through those terrible scars. You didn't care about his face, he was still damn handsome to you, and the guy was grateful for that. Jedidiah was so glad that you stayed by his side, became his love of his life and his wife. And he appreciated every second he spent with you.

• Finally, after a long ten minutes, you feel slightly thirsty, after all, you haven't drunk since last night. "Come on, honey, get up. I still have to make breakfast, remember?" You speak with a slight smile and Jed purrs in displeasure, but loosens his grip. You kiss his lips briefly and get out of bed, ready to start a new day. Your husband will stay in bed for a while longer until he feels the pleasant aroma of your breakfast from the kitchen.

➤ Mark Hoffman

• Mark always woke up much earlier than you. Insomnia and stressful detective work made themselves felt. He woke up around four in the morning, his hair and nightgown wet with sweat, his head buzzing after another nightmare. The man held his head with his hands, trying to bring his breathing back to normal.

• After a short introspection, the man turns his head to the side, noticing your peacefully sleeping figure. You've always been so beautiful, even in your dreams. All thoughts of the nightmare disappeared as soon as Mark's gaze lingered on your face. He gently pulls his hand towards your face, gently and gently stroking your smooth skin with his thumbs. He's so happy to have you by his side.

• After a couple of minutes, the man finally gets out of bed, heading to the bathroom and taking off his wet clothes. He takes a quick shower, trying to sober his thoughts with cold water. After that, he makes himself a black coffee. His weekday mornings are insanely simple and gray, but on weekends it's a little different because he can spend time with you in bed until you wake up.

• Mark drinks coffee and looks through some of the Jigsaw case, sometimes instead he finalizes another drawing of a new trap for John Kramer.

• When the time moves to seven in the morning, he already leaves the house, before briefly kissing you on the forehead. You won't remember it, but a sleepy, satisfied smile appears on your face. This, surprisingly, gives Mark a pleasant feeling in his chest.

• When you wake up, he won't be home anymore. You get out of bed and wander into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Mark's breakfast is already on the kitchen table with a note next to it. "I hope you eat this. I know about your problems with food, so I hope you at least have breakfast, little lady." You smile slightly, admiring the note. The omelet he made has a sloppy ketchup heart on it.

➤ Brahms Heelshire

• A morning with Brahms is always a real lottery, you never know what mood he will be in today.

• If Brahms wants to be an adult, he will certainly get up before you. Of course, you cook for him most of the time, but he does not lack the skill to cook something simple. The man will make simple ham and cheese sandwiches and tea/coffee. Having prepared everything necessary, Brahms will return to the bedroom with breakfast ready in bed for you. You're sleeping peacefully, making soft noises. He will wake you up with a gentle kiss on your forehead, and he will put stray strands of hair behind your ear. "Good morning, Princess. I brought you breakfast."

• If Brahms decides to be little, he will be clingy and moody.

• Usually the baby wakes up before you as well. He'll frown, pick up his mask from the bedside table, and just stare at you. Brahms will just lie next to you for a couple of minutes, not knowing where to put himself. At such moments, he always naively thought that when he wakes up, you should already wake up. A man will climb on top of you, putting his chin on your chest.

"Y/N, I'm hungry!"

• He will bother you for a couple of long minutes in a row until you wake up. When you finally sleepily open your eyes, he'll be giggling with his nose in your neck.

"Good morning! I missed you," he purred with happy smile, squeezing you in his arms.

• Mornings with little Brahms are never quiet.

➤ Eric Draven

• Eric usually wakes up before you, he has a fairly light sleep. The guy smiles slightly when cool gusts of wind touch his body, penetrating into the room through the open window, and his feet stand on a warm tree.

• You get up almost behind the guy. Your eyes open sleepily when you don't feel the warmth of your lover on the bed next to you, the sheets under your palms are already cool enough.

• The air is filled with the aromas of flowering plants and young forest. Probably, the decision to move from that small town to a house near the city was the best one in your whole life. You moved in not so long ago, about two months ago, but you have already turned this place into your own cozy nest.

• You get out of bed and stumble awkwardly into the kitchen. Eric was here. His broad back immediately appears in front of your eyes, covered with scars in some places. His favorite big white shirt was on you right now. Eric turns to face you, giving you a warm smile, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

• Previously, a summer morning was always a good time to stay outside. And now the two of you are sitting on the porch. Eric put his arm around you, draping a thin plaid over your shoulders. You were sitting peacefully with each other, drinking hot coffee and looking into the darkness of the forest. Your boyfriend's presence has always been so comforting. Eric looks down at you and kisses you on the forehead, leaving a small wet mark on your skin.

"Good morning, my rose."

➤ Jason Voorhees

• You woke up because you were cold. It's damn cold. You slowly opened your sleepy eyes and sat up in bed, wrapping yourself more tightly in the blanket. The seat next to you was empty. No, of course, you knew that your boyfriend was special and he didn't need to sleep, but he was usually here with you until the morning, warming you with his big body.

• Your first thought was that maybe there were intruders in the camp again. But in such a cold season, hardly anyone would dare to enter the forest 'with ghosts'. So you decided to just wait, hoping for his return soon.

• Jason returned after a long half hour. He entered the room, throwing a large number of branches in front of the fireplace, and looked at you in surprise. He hoped you were still asleep. Jason's gaze slides anxiously over your trembling body. He frowns when he notices how you're shaking from the cold and your blue lips.

• Jason quickly lights a fireplace in the room, throwing in a large number of branches and comes to your bed. He takes you in his arms with care and tenderness, putting you on his lap, and squeezes you in his arms, hoping to warm you. Seeing you like this, Jason was consumed with guilt from the inside, he was so sorry that he left you. The man just didn't expect you to wake up so quickly, he wanted to quickly go get firewood for the extinguished fireplace.

• But you were better now. The room gradually became warm because of the burning fireplace, and the pleasant warmth of Jason's chest gave you peace and comfort. You curled up on his chest like a kitten while he gently stroked your head with his big hand. You felt so good in his arms.

[moonsaver]

Hi! It’s @pix3lplays! (On anon because I have another account and I can’t switch which account I’m asking from haha)

I wanted to say thanks for being so nice when I responded to your comment on one of my posts~I really appreciated what you said hehe, definitely made me feel bit more confident and inspired me to keep writing :)

So I thought I’d throw an ask out since requests are open~

If you’re not interested no problem but I’ve thought about it a little and I thought maybe you’d have some thoughts.

Yandere!Sunday when his darling somehow gets seriously hurt, how do you think he’d feel, what would he do?

Personally I think he’s a complete control freak already when it comes to reader, so it just gets WORSE…ANYWAYS I wanna hear YOUR thoughts if you’re interested in the prompt hehe~ also if you’ve already talked about this oops I must’ve missed it, sorry in advance-

But yeah thanks so much, it was really cool to talk to you, take care of yourself, please!!

Hello Pixel! Thank you for sending in this ask, you're very sweet haha <3 i like your writing and im glad i helped you become more confident in it. Also,same issue here, i cant send asks from this account specifically, so i use anon or just use my personal blog to send asks.

Anyways, onto the request,

Ooh, my Yan!Sunday brain is ticking.. he really is an absolute control freak, and is a bit of a mess when he sees you seriously injured. A miscalculation, ignorance, negligence, or perhaps just.. an oversight from his part? Whatever the reason is, he's in high-drive now, and absolutely stressed about it. He only has a worried and distant look on his face, and at this stage he's prone to easily snapping at anyone, but his mind would be on a completely different level of stress. How dare they? How dare anyone lay a filthy inch of a finger on you? To stain you with their sins, and to breach your skin in such a grotesque manner.. he's absolutely enraged.

He insists on tending to you himself personally, unless it's so serious paramedics have to be involved. Stays by your side until he cant, sitting on the egde of the bed, body turned halfway to face you, fingers ghosting the edge of your face with tenderness.

However, this tenderness is only limited to your recovery period.

After you wake up or recover a bit, practically any freedom you would have had is gone. Completely.

Scolds you, borderline yells at you, holds you still with a deathly tight grip on your arms, forcing you to look into his eyes. This happened because you left. This happened because you were out of his watch. This all happened because of your freedom. Don't you dare even bother mentioning going out anywhere. You will be surveillanced almost all the time. He spends a suffocating amount of time next to you, harshly spitting back whenever you try to protest or reason with him. His words aren't gentle at all, and you're getting on his nerves. Perhaps he should just look over you himself, force you into a borderline coma in the dream fluid, and deal swiftly with the perpetrators.

Robin catches wind of this at some point.. she tells you that he's just worried, and there's a lot of people that don't quite hold The Family in high regards. Just.. its okay. Let him do this.

Let him pick out your clothes, brush your hair, check your healing wounds, gently ebb the water over them as you bathe, and kiss the skin of your shoulder when both of you stay silent after another argument.

If you still continue arguing.. he doesn't have a choice. He slumps a bit, a hand coming up to massage his temple as he sighs, and tells you in a softer voice that he's terrified. The worst thing that could happen did happen. He almost lost you. Can't you just go with it and let him be assured? You're dragging it out much more than it needs to be. He's spent many sleepless nights, ideas of dreamscapes turning into nightmares as the image of your hurt face flashes in his mind. Just cooperate, for Aeons' sake.

And no one speaks after that. He emotionally blackmails and manipulates you as a sort of final resort. Surely, you'd understand. It's not like it's far from the truth anyway. He is scared. But more than that, he's enraged this happened in the first place.

Adding on more to it,

Once things calm down.. in a twisted sort of way, he realizes just how perfectly he can get you under his complete control from these events. He may even not so subtly orchestrate similar events to scare you, to keep you in check, forcing you to rely on him completely, as he swoops in at the right time, acting as some kind of a "savior". Its a sick mindset, and he's not ashamed of it. Oh dear, you were just so pleasantly compliant after that event. And it just solidifies his statement that you shouldn't be going outside anymore, or be constantly accompanied by the Bloodhound Family guards, after only a few incidents of various threat levels.

In the end, it's a cycle that repeats up until you finally give in and let him take any and all freedom you have. He sets down your hairbrush with a gentle 'clack', kisses the crown of your head, and tells you it's alright. He will take such good care of you. Just listen to him. Listen to his every word. He has your best intentions in mind. Don't think about anything, anyone. You're a smart girl, surely you understand?

[pizzaboat]

Might as well make a list of fun (sad/horrific) things to explore. Headcanons for the motivation I have to write with. Like a reminder list.

TW I suppose

Eda has C-PTSD from all the shit that's happened to her, and maybe BPD too

She still struggles with depression after the show. Her life just doesn't suck half as bad anymore

Massive SI pre-ending that got worse in the time skip

All she has is nightmares, she doesn't dream (that's basically canon)

She's always tired and fluctuates between insomnia and extreme exhaustion that makes it hard to keep her eyes open.

She has had so many panic attacks. Eda is pretty prone to them. She's actually quite an anxious person

What Gwen did for all those years was abuse. Like, emotionally that would fuck anyone up. Same with Lilith

Eda forgives easily in perspective to the crime done to her because she's terrified of being alone. She doesn't see anyone putting in the work to actually make things right with her and stay with her because she's so "difficult to love" so she leaves the door open to her heart constantly

Having detachable limbs has saved her from her mother's "cures" more than once

She's had so many horrible exs, and she chose to date some of them to feel something other than alone and numb. Eda thought she really deserved it with some of them

Eda has spent so long not crying or getting angry when she really wants to, so when she can cry or be angry, it surprises her

She's touch starved and gets separation anxiety from her family now

Eda doesn't feel pain the same anymore. Her threshold is so high that she could break a rib or have internal bleeding and not notice. Really not notice. That's not a curse thing, that's her body adapting to agony for decades

She flinches at loud noises behind her. She flinches during arguments with people. She's on the offence so she doesn't have to be on the defence and Raine points that last bit out to her because they're determined to show her she's safe with them

Eda will start crying over something and not be able to stop. She's super emotionally disregulated

Eda can't sleep for the longest time after the events of the show without being held. Doesn't matter who. She has to hold or be held and not be alone.

Raine spends a lot of nights spooning and doing protective cuddles because Eda falls asleep the fastest that way, and they're worried about her sleeping

Making money was hard at multiple points in her life, even with the door, so she was used to skipping meals to let King, and then Luz, eat and she doesn't see anything wrong with skipping multiple meals in a row. Raine, Lilith, everyone is so concerned, and Raine has to insist that she's maybe making the curse worse this way from the stress of starvation

Raine gently pulls Eda aside to talk about what she tried to do in the woods that day and they check to see if she still feels the same and Eda starts crying. Not because she is, but because she's overwhelmed

Eda always feels overwhelmed

[lassieposting]

S&B Characters + Sleep Headcanons

Aleksander Kirigan doesn't get a lot of sleep. He claims it's because he's an incredibly busy man, and that's often true - long hours are basically part of his job description - but in truth it's just as likely to be any of a dozen other things keeping him from his bed; nightmares, occasional merzost headaches, intrusive thoughts, the ghosts of fuck-ups past, the relentless stress and worry of trying to keep Ravka's borders secure with dwindling funds and forces. Over the centuries he's learned to bury himself in his work to avoid his demons, and he's become one of those people who's perfectly functional on four hours of sleep, considers six a lie-in, and will sporadically go days at a time without sleeping when he's not doing well.

For most of his life, he's been immensely wary of falling asleep beside a lover - there are few worse ways to discover your bed partner was just out to kill you for bone jewelry than waking up mid-assassination attempt. If he's keen enough on them to not have them leave after a casual encounter - say, Zoya - he'll usually stay with them until they fall asleep, and then get up and go quietly do some work or read until morning. He's willing to adapt, though, for the right person - Nikolai and Alina can both settle him enough to stay with them all night. The trick, as it turns out, is playing on his touch starvation; on the rare occasion he finds someone he can actually trust, he likes to be held, and affectionate little gestures like playing with his hair or scritching his stubble or massaging his shoulders will melt him and flick his OFF button real fast. He's surprisingly cuddly, though he'll swear blind that he just gets cold easily and Alina and Nikolai both run hot.

Nikolai Lantsov is very tactile and affectionate in general, so when he's sharing someone's bed, he likes to cuddle. Like most soldiers - and kings who have survived more assassins than anyone should ever have to - he's a light sleeper, but he also drops off easily, the legacy of learning to get his head down wherever and whenever he can in an active warzone. He likes to sprawl out over or wrap himself around his lovers, and he does a lot of idly playing with hair or repetitive stroking up and down random stretches of skin, almost like he's self-soothing by comforting someone else.

He's been known to react to things happening around him while still asleep - pulling Alina in against his chest if he feels her shiver, or rolling over to throw an arm over Aleksander and mumble easy, Sasha if he's having a bad dream. He has nightmares of his own - he spent his military service on the front lines, not safe in an officer's tent like Vasily - and he tends to burrow into the closest warm body for comfort, burying his face in Alina's chest or Sasha's shoulder to ground himself. Aleksander will almost always wake up for this and react, reassuring and resettling Niko. Alina, not so much.

Alina Starkov sleeps like the dead. Once she is out, she is Out, and she'll sleep through pretty much anything short of a bomb being dropped on the palace. For quite a while this actually frightens her - she worries she won't wake up in time if she's attacked - but Niko is a light sleeper and Aleksander startles awake if a butterfly sneezes in Novyi Zem, so once they're all sharing a bed she's perfectly safe to conk out like a light. She's always had very vivid dreams, but she doesn't remember them for long after she wakes, so she keeps a sketchpad by the bed so she can draw any ideas or lingering impressions she wants to hang onto after she wakes - a concept for a machine Nikolai might want to build, a kefta design Aleksander would look devastatingly good in, old memories from the war she needs to exorcise, random nonsense that makes no sense outside of the context of her dream. She's usually the last to wake - Aleksander and Nikolai are both military and ridiculously busy besides, so they're often up with the Saints-forsaken sun, but Alina loves a lie-in, and would much rather stay up late than wake early.

Mal Oretsev is used to taking turns on watch with other soldiers, so he tends to sleep in short bursts of a few hours at a time. This poses a challenge once he takes over the Volkvolny - he has a lot of extra time to sleep now that he didn't have before. He spends a lot of it painstakingly working his way through the collection of books in Sturmhond's - his - stateroom. If he's to play the role, he should probably have the knowledge, and he'd rather be able to pull his weight without getting in the crew's way. He enjoys the engineering manuals and seafaring tomes, but mostly uses the ones on statecraft to make himself doze off when his brain doesn't want to shut down and be quiet.

Genya Safin is a paranoid sleeper. Her bed is positioned and angled so she can watch the thin strip of light visible beneath her closed door, waiting for the old king's loathsome shadow to block out the glow from the other side. Long after his death, she'll wake and go rigid at the sound of footsteps in the hall. It takes her a while to actually let David into her bed, but when she does, she realises she finds him comforting, actually - he's so logical and steady that he can talk her down from even the worst of her dreams. He doesn't mind getting up to prove to her that her door is locked, or reassuring her nightly that the old king really is dead.

David Kostyk is That Guy. He talks in his sleep - quadratic equations and theories of immutability and assorted Fabrikator shop-talk. He gets up and wanders around sometimes - usually to and from his desk, but occasionally down the hall. At least once he's gotten up, put on a housecoat, double-checked the lock on the door for Genya, comforted her after a nightmare, and gone back to bed himself, having never really woken up in the first place. This is a known habit at the Little Palace, and has caused plenty of entertainment and consternation - he's "caught" Nikolai sneaking out of the Black General's chambers back when he was still the spare tsarevich, he's wandered into the war room at four-thirty in the morning to explain a prototype to General Kirigan, he's been found ambling about the kitchens barefoot. Everyone who tends to stay up late - Kirigan included - has kindly escorted David back to his own rooms at least once. His saving grace is that he's really quite particular about his pyjamas - they're Durast-made to feel heavy, like a weighted blanket, and he finds it difficult to drop off without the grounding sensation - so at least he's never gone sleepwalking in his birthday suit. He wanders a little less once he starts spending his nights with Genya - if she's resting her head on his shoulder, or has an arm draped over his chest, he seems to be reluctant to move her.

Ivan Kaminsky has night terrors, the kind that wake him screaming and thrashing and completely disoriented, trapped in his own blankets - the legacy of the front lines at the Fjerdan border over a century ago. As a younger man, fresh off the front lines with nothing to his name but a medical discharge from active duty, he'd often find himself seeking out General Kirigan, stumbling into his tent or the Little Palace war room pale and shivering and still in his sleep clothes, all terribly undignified. Kirigan never seemed to mind, really. It was an understanding of sorts, between old soldiers familiar with the lingering spectre of war. He'd give Ivan a cursory once-over - "Evening, Kaminsky." - pour him a drink, and push a stack of papers across the table to give him something to do. He misses it, sometimes, the long nights spent working in companionable quiet. But now the General spends his nights with the sun summoner and the puppy king who's been making eyes at him since he was a skinny princeling, and Ivan spends his with his Fedyor, who has a truly remarkable amount of patience for being woken up at all hours by all the flailing and yelling. Ivan still hates talking about his night terrors - Fedyor is too young to have ever fought in the campaigns that got Ivan his discharge papers, and Ivan is reluctant to place extra horrors on his shoulders - but Fedya would listen, if Ivan needed him to, and in the meantime, he'll regulate Ivan's heart rate and breathing for him, deactivate the fear centre of his brain and flood him with signals telling his brain he's close to sleep, until he really is.

Inej Ghafa likes to sleep in Kaz's office. Back when he first bought out her indenture and took her from the Menagerie, that was where she felt safest. Only one door, locked firmly behind him whenever he ventured down to the rowdy Club below, where the raised voices of drunken men made her feel sick with terror. Two windows, left open at her fearful request - exits, if she needed them. A comfortable leather couch. The scratch-scratch-scratch of Kaz's quill on paper. Jesper used to try to reassure her - no harm will come to you at the Crow Club, you're Kaz's - and a small, wounded part of her took that to heart. If her connection to Kaz Brekker kept her safe, this man who showed more interest in her blades than her body, then she would rest where he could see her, where that protection would be a physical, tangible thing. And he let her. Never complained, though she knows now what he's like about his privacy. Just let her curl up on his Chesterfield. Draped a blanket over her when it was cold.

She's not that terrified girl anymore. She has her own lodgings, with her own possessions, though she still has a nighttime ritual for safety - one final sweep of the building, checking her escape routes, jamming a chair beneath her door handle. But she's quite capable of protecting herself now. All the same, when she is injured or sick or has been summoned back to the Menagerie on business, she'll still climb through his window, breathe out a sigh of relief at the inevitable, unsurprised, "Hello, Inej," and make herself comfortable on the couch for the night.

Wylan Hendriks sleeps curled into a ball. He's spent his share of time on the streets of Ketterdam and that's how he's learned to do it - hugging his meagre bagful of possessions, threadbare blanket wrapped around him and it. In Jesper's room at the Crow Club, he likes to burrow under the blankets; he'll rest his head on Jesper's belly to sleep rather than his shoulder, so even his hair is covered. It muffles the sound drifting up from the club floor or the street outside in the evenings - the shouting, the drunken arguments and bitter insults tossed around like knives, anything that might remind him of - anyway. He tends to turn in fairly early compared to the other Crows - while he loves the music of the city's bars and even enjoys the camaraderie of watching Jesper gamble, closing time in most of Ketterdam peaks at around midnight, and that's about when all the socialising starts to get a bit much for him. The Barrel stays open late, and Kaz doesn't kick out his patrons until the early hours of the morning, so most of the Crows have become night owls by necessity. Wylan uses the hours between making his exit and Jesper finally coming to bed to decompress - compose, play his flute, experiment with chemicals, look at the books Jesper got him, the ones with all the pictures to tell him the fairytales. After a few incidents where Jesper bursting in drunk and noisy left Wylan...a little out of sorts...he's learned to knock, the same pattern every time, before he lets himself in, and it's always easier to uncurl a little and relax with Jesper holding him.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter One

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Mind Fuckery (Possessive Boi Morpheus), Mental Health Discussion, Medication Discussion.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Masterlist | Next

You remember the summers you spent at your grandfathers’ manor quite well. The large stone building and sprawling grounds were massive, with plenty of space for you to roam, and roam you had. As a child, your imagination ran rampant and your dreams even more so. You had so much freedom your parents would have been mortified, well, you could go where you pleased save for one location: the basement. Naturally, you were curious about what was down there. But grandpapa Alex told you that a monster was locked away and he didn’t want you to get hurt going down there. 

It made sense with all of the guards coming and going in shifts, so you had left it alone and never spoke of it again. But then the dreams started coming, they were of a place that seemed to be rotting away to black and gray. Splendor to ruin. A kingdom crumbling without its ruler. Those dreams had made you afraid as a child. In fact, it had gotten so bad that your parents had to come and retrieve you because you were so terrified of sleeping for fear of dreaming about that decaying and dismal place. You had stopped visiting the manor at ten, terrified of what was in that basement and what came to your dreams at night. It had taken hundreds of sessions with a therapist and medication to rid your child mind of those dreams.  

Now an adult, you were less inclined to take the medication. You were an adult and you knew that dreams were exactly that, dreams. Why did you need to fear them when upon waking up they would no longer be real? So you stopped taking them and moved on from that chapter of your life. If only things were that simple. 

“Come on, Y/N, it’s Friday, we’re at the club, we look hot, relax a little will you?” Jemima protested from where she sat across from you, drink in hand. The Friday after work you had been dragged out by Jemima, your childhood best friend, and coworker, to the club to let loose from a stressful work week. “You aren’t still thinking about your ex, are you?” 

“Mmh?” You sounded, your eyebrow lifting as you rested your chin in your palm. “Oh, no, totally over that twat. I’m glad he’s gone if I’ll be honest. He was a lazy sod I was glad to kick to the corner. Kind of embarrassed that I dated him in the first place actually.”

“Then what’s on your mind babe? You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.” Jemima returned, setting down her drink. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Nothing, really, I’ve just been thinking a lot about my childhood lately… don’t exactly know why.” You said with a shrug. “I keep feeling like I should visit my grandfathers', I haven’t been since I was ten.”

“So… why don’t you?” You hadn’t thought about that. Deep down inside you was that yearning to visit, a strong urge to go into that basement and find out what had terrified you so much as a child. But your conditioning was so strong you had been unconsciously resisting the idea even as an adult. 

“Honestly I have no idea, my parents told me that I was to never go back, nightmares and all. I’ve kind of just accepted that I should just stay away. Plus, you know I’m busy with work.” 

“But you loved Fawny Rig! You raved about it when we were children. Are you really going to let your parents tell you what to do now that you’re an adult? Babe, you're a grown-ass woman. Live a little, I’m sure Paul and Alex would love to see you.” You tilted your head to the side, honestly thinking about her words. Yes, you were an adult, and no, your parents couldn’t control what you did anymore. Besides, what they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

“Alright, I’ll pen it in when I get to work on Monday.” You told her, your mindset and that gut feeling, finally appeased. Jemima beamed at you and picked her glass up. 

“Excellent, now that we’ve gotten that business out of the way, can we finally let loose and have a little fun, you look like you need a proper fuck.” You snorted and rolled your eyes. 

“I didn’t come here to have a one-night stand, Jem,” She shrugged at you before pointing to the bar. It was only half filled with men and women, but in half an hour it would be packed with patrons wanting their beer and chips.

“No, but you did come to have fun, at the very least go kiss someone. You need a good snog, Y/N.” You had to resist rolling your eyes a second as you slipped from where you sat and headed for the bar. It was time to get a drink in hand, preferably your favorite, and forget about all your troubles and stress. 

Alcohol ran through your veins like blood as you laughed at what Sam, the man who had managed to charm you enough to hold your attention, had said.

“So I told him if he didn’t want to botch up the job he should have just told me. Pretty sure the lad isn’t just a prick, but a fucking cactus.” Your laugh dissolved into giggles while you gripped your stomach. 

“My God, how in the bloody hell have you put up with him this long? He sounds worse than my ex and he was a piece of work.” Sam’s eyebrow went up and curiosity filled his soft brown eyes. 

“Oh?” You took another sip of your current drink and shook your head at the ridiculous your relationship had been. 

“Believe me, I’m wondering why I stayed with him for so long, he’s the type where if you listen to him long enough, you start to wonder who ties his shoelaces for him. Absolutely useless. Wanker can’t even boil water for tea.“

“That's why you’re here tonight drowning your drinks like they’re water?” 

“I’m not the type to cry over a twat like him, my mother taught me better than that.” You responded before lazily shifting your gaze to where Jem was dancing with her chosen man of the night. “Jem, my best friend who came with me tonight, brought me to unload after a stressful week at work.” 

You both looked at her for a few moments. She was obviously enjoying her time and not worried or stressed at all. Envy nipped at your heart, you wished you could be as carefree as Jemima was. She hardly seemed to have any troubles in life, and if she did she just breezed past them like they never happened. 

“I’m a little envious of how she can just let all of her stress go.” You sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I could do that.” 

“You make it sound like you are a bore, Y/N.” 

“Am I not?” You returned with a raised eyebrow. Sam tilted his head to the side and studied you, his eyes not really revealing what he was thinking. 

“No, I don’t think so. Care for a dance love? You look like you could use more stress relieving.” Releasing your drink, you grabbed the front of his shirt and slipped from the bar stool you had occupied for the last hour. 

“Come on, Brown Eyes, let the de-stressing commence.” Sam laughed as you dragged him to the dance floor and twirled in a circle. He took your hand and pulled your body against his as your body swayed to the beat of the latest song. You weren’t familiar with the song but the beat was nice and easy to dance to, so you let yourself get lost in the music and the light scent of Sam’s cologne. 

The alcohol you had drunk surely helped with the nagging feeling deep in your gut and Sam provided a wonderful distraction you were all happy to indulge in. As the songs progressed your hands migrated upwards to wrap around his neck and you leaned your head against his chest. Song after song, the lights in the club twisted together in a kaleidoscope of colors. Sam was a temptation and you wanted to kiss that temptation until it was all you could think about. Sam finally dipped and you stretched. 

Your lips connected and alcohol mixed with beer. Odd combination but you didn’t care, Sam’s lips were pleasant and delicate against yours. It was a feeling and experience you missed, but it didn’t entirely sate that need for comfort and intimacy. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and you were content to take what you could from what Sam was offering. So you did.

You sunk your fingers into his hair, wrapping them around his strands and tugging on them while his lips worked themselves across your own and drew out little delights. Sam’s hand slipped across your lower back and pulled you closer to him. He tugged at your lower lip and parted your slightly tingling lips, you let him sweep into your mouth with the same delicate precision he had when simply kissing you. 

Your body trembled in delight, glad to have some form of genuine affection that didn’t come from a place of deception and disinterest. Sam then brushed a hand up your side, staying respectable as he reached your cheek and stroked your jaw with his thumb. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh against his lips, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. 

“I don’t normally kiss strangers I meet at the club, Sam.” You told him, your eyes twinkling with mischief and your lips begging to return to his. Deviousness sparkled in his brown ones as his lovely lips curved into a partial smile. 

“Didn’t stop you from kissing back.” He returned with hesitation, still holding you against his chest delicately. You dropped your eyes down to the hand you had resting over his heart and drummed your fingertips against his shirt. 

“Consider me charmed,” You mused with a soft smile. “But I hardly think snogging in the middle of the dance floor is appropriate.” 

Sam’s eyebrow went up and his eyes didn’t stray from yours. 

“That’s not stopping everyone else from doing so, fairly sure they’ve forgotten where they are…” His comment was filled with humor and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. 

“I’m not that open with my affections, you can fix that if you want.” Sam was tugging you through the crowd by your hand in seconds as you giggled. You passed Jemima and her man of choice and cackling, her hand darted out and landed straight on your arse. You snorted in laughter, jumping forwards at the sting while glancing over your shoulder at Jemima. She had a massive grin on her face and was cackling her head off. You shot her a dirty look before disappearing into the edge of the crowd, breaking free of the dancing people. 

Now free of the overheated bodies, you and Sam stumbled around each other, heading in the direction of a much quieter corner of the club. Back hitting a wall, Sam’s lips found yours once more. The entire time you kissed he never once was pushy or overbearing, no, he stayed gentle and delicate. You could appreciate that because you never once felt like you were being smothered by his desires. Your fingers scratched at his shirt and dug into his hair, tugging and pulling at what you could grasp. Lost in the feeling of being wanted once more, you barely noticed that Sam’s kisses had turned deeper, more demanding, and less delicate. You weren’t being smothered but you could definitely tell that Sam was now kissing you in slight desperation. Like he too was grasping for what little affection he could get.

The grasp on your jaw tightened, pulling your lips closer to his and you were all too happy to respond. Your fingers pushed through silky hair and your nails scraped against his scalp. Lips ravished yours with desperation, migrating to your jaw, and you found yourself floating away in a reverie of daze and delight. Letting out a small moan, your back arched and your chest pressed again his. Soft hair brushed against your cheek as lips migrated to your neck. His lips were now exploring the skin of your neck, softly and yet with barely restrained want. He was holding back and you could feel it. Your eyelids fluttered open, and staring up at the hazy lights overhead, it took you a few moments to make sense of what you were seeing.

The room was dark, its occasional flashing lights gone. There was a dampness in the air you could now feel, there was even a smell of must… but your surroundings weren’t what brought a shiver up your spine. It was the silky black hair you had in your grasp. A beautiful raven black longer than the strands you had previously been grasping and tugging. Not the shorter chocolate brown hair Sam had. Your heart leaped in your chest, taking off at an almost painfully fast pace. You weren’t kissing Sam anymore, but something else entirely. With shaky breathing, your eyes slowly moved downwards to the man now gently nipping at the underside of your jaw. Your eyes met intense silver-blue ones, and the moment you realized what was going on, you jerked back against the wall. 

The world around you distorted and returned to the club, pulsating lights and music and all, and with a frown, Sam looked at you in concern. He touched your cheek, his thumb lightly running across your cheekbone. 

“Y/N, you okay love?” You blinked rapidly, reaching up to run your fingers over your neck, still feeling those kisses against your skin like haunting echoes. Like they had been real. “You spaced out for a moment…” 

Letting out a heavy breath and feeling your heart rate slowly ebbing to a normal pace, you slumped back against the wall. 

“Sorry, my mind got distracted.” You replied breathlessly, shaken to the core but trying to hold a calm and collected demeanor. You nervously chucked. “I don’t think the alcohol is helping either.” 

“Better get some water in you then, love,” Sam replied, returning the chuckle as he guided you back to the bar. He was the perfect gentleman, helping you up into a seat and ordering you water. While he talked with the bartender, you watched him, a growing new pit of dread forming in your stomach and one thought on your mind: he was back, and you had a feeling that this time, you weren’t going to be able to get rid of him with medication.

Date Published: 8/15/22

Last Edit: 4/25/23

Masterlist | Next

[theduskyprincess]

Cooking with love - A Cassian X reader story

You heard the door open but didn't look away from the pile of papers scattered on the dining room table. You had recently come back from visiting your family in the Summer Court when Rhysand requested your presence at his townhouse. He needed a house to be built. A gift for Feyre. A home that would house his mate and his newborn son Nyx. Hopefully, become a home to any other children they may decide to have together. Those words went unspoken but the both of us heard it loud and clear. That was why you were hunched over the dining table that was pushed up against the window, trying to make Rhysand's dreams into reality.

"An architects dream is an engineers nightmare," you muttered under your breath. "Cauldron Rhysand" you continued, "this is structurally impossible to accomplish. Thank the cauldron you came to your Head Engineer to build you your house. Maybe I can knock some sense into you with a brick whilst I'm at it". You shook your head and let out an exasperated breath.

You heard a deep, rasping chuckle just behind your ear. The sound made your skin prickle and tingle with warmth, but didn't quite curb the irritation you felt towards your High Lord.

"What's Rhysand done now?", Cassian laughed in your ear as he banded his arms around you to hold you against his warm body. His chest pressed up against your back whilst his chin gently rested on the top of your head. He tucked his head in, the tip of his nose grazing your hair to drop a single kiss to your head. He took a deep breath in, your floral scent calming his soul and turned his head to the left to lay his cheek on top of your head.

You hummed and enjoyed the feeling of his secure arms. He was feared and revered by the people of the Night Court. Earning his title of the Lord of Bloodshed whilst he fought battles as a young Illyrian warrior alongside his two brothers. He had become hardened, both mentally and physically, from a young age to withstand all kinds of evil this world harboured. Yet, this fearsome and frightening warrior had a warmth inside him that drew you in. A steady ember that glowed brighter than his Siphons. A glow that was powered by friendship, loyalty and love. You had never believed that glow inside his chest would consume and encompass your heart too, for you loved him with all your soul. You weren't his mate, but, you fell in love with him anyways. He had fallen in love with you too. A friendship that grew into a mature love, rooted in mutual respect.

You pursed your lips. "He's got some pretty solid ideas which in theory should work but," you trailed off with a deep sigh, "it just needs a little bit more thinking from me. I can't seem to figure out how to execute this so that the staircase can actually hold the weight of his big head," you finished your sentence with agitation.

"Well, if there's anyone who can help Rhysand not fall flat on his face in his own home then it's my beautiful, accomplished wife." Cassian stated with determination. You tilted your head back to peer up at him through your lashes. Your eyes, squinted with suspicion, locked onto his honey coloured orbs, "Mhmm and it exactly why are you buttering me up, oh Lord of Bloodshed?"

"No reason", he uttered, "I just love you and know for a fact that you've likely spent your entire day trying to perfect this house for Rhysand and Feyre. I'm also 99.9% sure that you haven't eaten anything today." He was right. You hadn't eaten. Too stressed in trying to design a home for your two friends and their baby boy. They had gone through so much together and had done so much for Prythian that you wanted to create a home where they could feel cherished and loved. A place where they could create new memories together. Memories that one day could heal their broken selves and give them hope for the future.

Cassian stared down at you, a soft smile painted his lips and a glimmer twinkled in his eyes which told you that he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Letting go of your body, he grabbed your hand in his and tugged you away from the table towards the kitchen. "You", he said whilst pushing you down into a seat "sit here whilst I, Chef Cassian, cook you something delicious".

You chuckled watching Cassian flounce around the kitchen. He grabbed an apron from the top drawer to tie around his waist and then placed his hand on his hips, determined to create something delicious for you. You looked at him, eyes glazed with love and thanked the Cauldron for gifting you with a wonderful husband.

"This reminds me of our first date." you spoke, your words dripped in nostalgia.

"Yeah" he murmured back, " I remember it turning out to be a disaster and Rhysand having to put out a fire". You laughed at the memory. You weren't fond of going out and loved to spend most of your days inside your flat. Cassian had finally built-up the courage to ask you out and although you were giddy at the prospect of going out on a date with Cassian, you were still weary that this step may ruin your long lasting friendship. Cassian proposed that he cook for you in your flat, that way you would be somewhere comfortable and could relax. He was always so thoughtful about your feelings and his suggestion only made you feel more secure about going into a romantic relationship with him.

Turns out Cassian had never cooked anything in his life until that moment, always relying on Rhysand or the magic of the Windhaven house to feed him. Thankfully no-one got hurt after that date night fire fisaco, only Cassians pride. It resulted in you both deciding on taking cooking classes together for your dates. Leading to the both of you falling head over heels in love with each other and learning to cook different Court cusuines.

"Well, I loved that date night no matter how much of a disaster it was. It opened my eyes to you and how serious you were about me, about us," you spoke softly, eyes welling up with tears. " I think I started to fall in love with you then. You didn't even know how to cook back then but wanted to do something sweet and romantic just so I didn't feel uncomfortable out in public. And here you are today, feeding me because I forgot".

"You're my love. Looking after you is my privelege and joy" he replied. His words were short and sweet but I could feel every fibre of his love in those words. He plated up the food and placed it in front of me. "Eat up sweetheart", he said, tilting my face up to place a firm kiss on my lips. "Can't have the Night Court's Head Engineer low on fuel. Cauldron knows these houses won't stay up without you," he winked and walked away to wash the dishes. You smiled into your food and thanked the Cauldron one last time.

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! This is my first time writing fanfic. I hope I did a good enough write up and you all like it. I'm so nervous. I'm not a writer by nature so there's probably loads of spelling and grammar mistakea but I just wanted to give it a go and be part of a community that gives joy to readers like meee.

With love,

theduskyprincess

[absentwriterdoll]

"April 1st"

The doll opened its eyes. Its witch's heart beat in her throat. Its witch reached a hand out to caress its hair. The doll leaned into the witch's hand.

Finally. Finally finally finally, she finally did it. After years and years and years, she finally fixed Dione.

D:"Mi-"

Alarm spells rouse the witch from her rest.

Her heart, still soaked with the echoes of the false relief and joy that had flooded her just moments ago.

She sits up.

A deep breath.

And chills run her through.

She shivers.

And her heart -

Her everything -

Aches.

Her house is quiet.

Years ago, she would have woken up to the most horrible doll working its strange pranks.

Always harmless.

Salt instead of sugar in her tea.

A clattering as a tower of cooking utensils collapsed.

Giggling as it bounced its way down the stairs.

Toilet paper on top of the showerhead.

All of her clothes inside-out.

Her inks swapped around - this one was actually minorly harmful. She still remembers how guilty it looked - but she caught it grinning slyly later on.

... It wasn't really that harmful, in retrospect.

It even influenced her dreams at times. How, she never learned, but -

Nightmares where her doll would always save the day.

A dream where the doll was the witch and she was the doll -  her doll was quite clingy for days afterward. Guilt? Love? Both? She was never quite sure.

Always these. Harmless, harmless little pranks. She often questioned how the doll ended up the way it did. The thing was supposed to reduce her stress, not the other way around.

...

The only day it never played a joke was April 1st.

Her first year with the doll, with its insistence on playing pranks, she went the entire day waiting for the moment it would strike.

And it never did.

Prank after prank played on her by every other entity she knew -

But not a single one by her doll.

And, by the end of the day, she snapped, the tension was too much, she knew it was going to happen, so just play the gods-damned prank alrEADY YOU LITTLE SHIT.

And.

It hugged her.

And half of her wanted to shove it away, finally unmake that dastardly unwelcome -

And it hugged tighter.

And.

And...

She broke.

And all at once she couldn't stop crying.

And it didn't stop hugging it, and she clutched it, grasped at it, held onto it, as if letting go would see her fall to her death -

And it didn't let go.

And it didn't let her go.

And…

It got hit by a car one day.

It didn't get back up.

Ebon porcelain, scattered across the sidewalk.

One of its eyes tossed far from its head.

And she gathered the pieces, every single one, every broken fragment, every bit of dust, every grain of powder.

And she put it back together as best she could and

It didn't get back up.

But she was certain she fixed it right, she could see the maintenance magic she wove working its way through the fragments, it was going to get up, it was supposed to get back up and play more pranks and-

It didn't.

Every day, she added mana to the pyre.

Her magic, as always, wove its way through it.

Every night of every day after day after day after every single day, she gave as much as she could to it, so please please please please PLEASE get back up-

And it didn't.

And, in time, she started to dream.

She started to dream the most horrible dreams.

Dreams where she fixed it, and she woke up.

Dreams where she fixed it and it fell apart in her hands, and she woke up.

Dreams where she forgot the piece of porcelain on the hit-and-run car -

Dreams where passersby took a fragment in their hands, on their shoe -

Dreams where it was the wind that stole a bit of powder -

Dreams where she fixed it only to function for a moment before shattering worse than before -

Dreams where she died before she ever fixed it -

Dreams where she fixed it.

Where she spent a day with it.

Where it told her it was sorry.

Where she asked why -

And it was scattered on the road.

Its eye staring at her.

Surrounded by its ebon porcelain.

Almost as if it was crying tears of ichor.

And -

Alarm spells rouse the witch from her rest.

Her heart, still soaked with the all too real echoes of hopeless helplessness that had flooded her just moments ago.

She sits up.

A deep breath.

And chills run her through.

She shivers.

And her heart -

Her everything -

Aches.

D:"Good morning, Miss!"

Everything slows as adrenaline floods her.

As she sees another nightmare form before her eyes-

And an explosion of pain as the most horrible doll ever torpedoes right into her solar plexus.

And she seizes it.

And -

It's moving. 

And it's laughing and giggling and alive and she's going to wake up and this is just another nightmare it's going to die in her hands and -

And it frees itself and hugs her and -

It shakes -

No.

It sobs into her.

As if-

As if that doll could cry tears.

She - 

She never built that into it, of course it isn't crying tears -

That's -

That's just her own tears on it.

She's -

She's going to wake up any second -

D:"Not this time, Miss!"

And it squeezes her.

As tightly as it ever could.

And it doesn't let go.

And it doesn't let her go.

And it still isn't letting her go.

And it's still here.

And it's still, really here.

And she's awake.

And she's not dreaming.

And...

It's April 1st.

=====

Cast:

D - Dione! A comfort doll that the witch (Uila) made for herself! Truly a horrible doll - but exactly what she needed at times. Uila doesn't remember it, but Dione doesn't play pranks when she's really stressed out, April 1st or not. Dione isn't too horrible after all!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

my fair lady: epilogue

well, here we are. there are thirty chapters i recommend reading before this one. i would never have gotten here without @romeoandjulietyouwish's inspiration. thank you.

The first thing Vax does after finding out that he has become the Champion of the goddess of death is find his sister. He looks for her in one of the guard towers where she usually spends her time before being informed that she had sent word that she would not be on duty that day. He runs from the castle, down through Zephrah, to the front door of their home, which he bursts through, panting. Vex, who had been sitting at the dining table with her head in her hands, jolts to her feet, her face melting when she sees him standing there.

Vax wraps her up in a hug, apologizing and promising her over and over that he is not going to die, after all. Percy, who had been in their little kitchen brewing some tea, watches them embrace, and over his sister's shoulder, Vax mouths to him, Thank you. He receives a nod in return.

He is sure to spend extra time with his sister over the next few days, apologizing ad nauseum for the stress he's brought her over these past months. All she does, saint that she is, is roll her eyes and throw her arms around him. "You are happy and you are here," she tells him. "I require no apology for these things."

Time spent with Vex means time spent with Percy as well, who Vax is starting to believe no longer regards him as a threat to either Keyleth or the Ashari Nation. The two of them develop something of a tentative friendship, one born more out of respect than any kind of affection, because if there is one thing both of them recognize in each other, it is their unending devotion to the women in their lives.

Just a few days after the worst night of Vax's life, a funeral service is held for Kynan. The entire Royal Guard gathers to pay homage to their fallen friend, and Vax keeps a hand on Keyleth's back to help her stay upright as she trembles through a memorial to the one who died in service to her. When the rite is over, the two of them take a visit to Kynan's aging father in town, where Keyleth apologizes over and over for the loss of his son. The father, to his credit, wrecked as he is, informs Keyleth that Kynan had grown up admiring the Royal Guard and always dreamed of serving the crown, and that he bears no ill will toward her or the royal family for his son's sacrifice. That night, Vax holds Keyleth as she cries, and Vax asks his matron to usher the young guard's soul into eternal peace.

As time wears on, Vax's days are filled no longer with standing against walls and following Keyleth from place to place like a particularly eager puppy, but rather meetings and lessons of his own. Pike has quite a lot to teach him about divinity, about the gods, about the storied history of Champions, which were, until recently, believed to be relics of an age gone by. He spends long days in the Zephran temple to the Raven Queen, where he sinks himself into a pool of blood and attempts to better understand his matron's wisdom, and he even goes down to the catacombs on a night to pray before an obsidian bird.

(Once, Keyleth goes with him, to see for herself the place where she died and came back to life. She is somber, stoic in the face of the raven, but Vax is barely holding himself together. He wants her out of this place, away from this air of death, this room where he held her corpse and begged for her life. His nightmares that night end in screaming, and she does not go down there again.)

When word makes it through Zephrah that this once-guard is now the Champion of the Raven Queen, his presence is often requested at deathbeds and funerals, to bring the auspices of the goddess of death to those so near her domain. At first Vax does not know what to do, fumbles through platitudes and aphorisms that he hardly understands himself, until Pike encourages him to speak from the heart. Over time, he begins to learn a type of magic wholly different from what Pike has been helping him practice: the magic of silence. He sits with the dying, the dead, the left behind, and he says nothing. He allows their grief to fill the space like water in a sinking ship, and he lets their rage spill over him as if he were standing before a tidal wave bearing down on the shore. His gift is not in what he can bring those grappling with the Raven Queen's influence, but rather what he can take from them, what he can carry with him when he leaves. He says countless silent prayers to his matron; he thanks her for her mercy, he asks her to welcome the newly departed into her realm, he recites to her the names of those who remain. He does not know if she is listening, not with any kind of certainty, and yet, he believes that she hears every prayer, every dirge, every wail of mourning, every graveyard silence, and takes them in as her hymns of worship.

And through it all, there is an understanding, a bone-deep knowing that he comes to live with: his matron's mission, now his, is not limited to history lessons and last rites. There is something coming on the horizon, something that the Raven Queen has chosen him to face head-on. And as he comes home each night, drained and smelling of death, he does so to his radiant wife, who holds him until her light has cast all the shadows from his soul. She pulls him to dinner, coaxes the words out of him with her stories of her day and updates on all manner of political matters, until he is himself again. When he sleeps, he sleeps with her in his arms, and when he dreams, he dreams not of death, but of a long, contented life, one spent in the sun with his wife and his sister and the little family he has built for himself here in Zephrah.

.

Word spreads quickly about an Ashari princess marrying her guard. The whole of Zephrah knows within a day, the rest of the nation by the end of the week. Percy reports the whispers and gossip he's hearing, and despite her steadfast confidence in having made the right decision, Keyleth can't but feel that she has brought scandal to her people, to her family.

Her father, though still becoming accustomed to the idea himself, is nevertheless a buoy in the rough seas. It is only through many tearful conversations with him that he is able to convince her that they will weather the storm, that once it is understood that her husband is a god's Champion, there will be little room for slander or outrage. Keyleth has no choice but to believe him, though at night she apologizes to Vax for bringing him into this world of court intrigue and public observation, but each time he kisses away her regrets and takes it all in stride.

She doesn't know how she would get through these early days without him. During the day, it is suffering the fallout of her actions, and at night, it is sleepless hours and haunting nightmares. Nearly every night she startles out of what restless sleep she's able to get, gasping for air and scanning the room in a panic. Vax is there to calm her breathing, to assure her that they are alone, that the wards Lady Allura put in place to prevent further magical appearances are still in effect, but still she struggles to fall back to sleep, sure that each creak and bump in the night is Gaben Finefirn come to finish what he started.

It isn't until she shockingly bursts into tears in the middle of a council meeting regarding the ongoing manhunt for Finefirn that she is able to admit how much the knowledge that she died is affecting her. Percy brings her swiftly to her rooms and Vax is summoned, and the two of them catch her jagged pieces and start to put them together again.

With their help, she is able to start working through her guilt, her shame, her fear, her dread, and in time she starts sleeping for longer and longer stretches. Her largest leap forward in her healing journey comes one early autumn afternoon, when shouts and warning bells ring out from the guard towers around the northern wall of the castle. Keyleth, who had been in the eastern gardens at the time, rushes over, a harried Derrig running behind in a failed attempt to stop her. When she arrives, she is stunned to see, on his side in a tight ball with thick manacles around his hands and feet, Gaben Finefirn, glaring up at her and spitting through the gag in his mouth. She can hardly move for the sight of him, but a piece of parchment that had been affixed to his ratty tunic is torn away and handed to her. Shaking, she opens it to read:

Dearest Princess Keyleth,

A gift from your allies in Draconia. I hope this goes some way toward relieving our great debt to you.

Your friend, Prince Tiberius Stormwind of Draconia

When he is hanged in the center of Zephrah, Keyleth stares him straight in the eyes, her hand in Vax's and her chin held high.

Over time, Keyleth is able to sleep through the night, always in the soothing circle of Vax's arms, and she begins to spend some of her days getting to know Vex. She is acutely aware of the Captain of the Royal Guard's distaste for her, understands completely why Vex neither trusts nor cares for her, but she is important to Vax, and anyone important to Vax is important to Keyleth. At first, her reception is icily polite, as the Captain cannot be outright hostile toward her someday sovereign, but Keyleth confesses her admiration for Vex, how she envies her endless confidence and impressive skill with a bow and arrow, and soon enough, Vex starts to melt, just a little. Once they are able to start mocking Vax and Percy together, poking fun at all their quirks and idiosyncrasies, the two become fast friends, much to their lovers' dismay.

Percy is further dismayed when Keyleth corners him one afternoon to ask when he is going to start taking his relationship with Vex'ahlia more seriously. When Percy stammers out some excuse about both of them enjoying their casual liaison, Keyleth pulls herself into her full queenly stature and asks him if he honestly believes that to be true, and then turns and leaves him dumbfounded and speechless. Keyleth hopes that, at least, will begin to pay her new friend back for being so understanding about her relationship with her brother.

Despite the challenges of her station and the state of things, Keyleth cannot imagine being happier than she is. She works tirelessly every day for the betterment of Ashari lives, and she goes back to her chambers—their chambers—each night to decompress and curl up against her husband, warmed by the fire and his smile. It surprises her, therefore, when her father approaches the two of them after breakfast one morning in the heart of autumn, when the leaves are rippling through to their new vermilion shades, to tell them that he has a belated wedding present for them. Confused, the two of them follow him down and out of the castle, curious as to what a gift from the sovereign might be.

.

The cherry tree on the hill on the southern edge of the castle grounds has been standing sentry here for approximately fifteen years. It has seen the passing of seasons, births and deaths, the beginning of a war and its end, a secret wedding at dawn. It has taken whispered prayers and mournful tears and nourished itself, grown to the great height that allows it to keep a watchful gaze on the castle, where the beloveds of the one buried at its roots have learned the art of going on.

The cool winds herald the arrival of autumn, and soon, the tree's leaves bronze and redden. One such chilly morning, three familiar faces approach the tree, and finally, perhaps, the tree is to get some answers regarding the flurry of activity that has taken place in its shadows over the past few weeks. One figure, who stands tall and wears around his head an impressive golden diadem, leads the other two by the hand, as they each have their eyes closed. Once they are close enough, he instructs the two to open their eyes, and for the first time, they see what has been built.

It is a small cottage, rectangular and stone, with picturesque window frames and ivy climbing up toward the thatched roof. There is a chimney standing along one side and a small bench facing the cherry tree. The front is a riot of flowers, all varieties and colors, and when they dance in the breeze, the house looks as if it has come to life.

The woman with the fire hair claps her hands over her mouth. Her husband is grinning a child's grin, staring up at the cottage with the awe of one who has just experienced a miracle.

"Papa...it's beautiful," the woman breathes, gripping her father's hand in both of hers. "How did you hide this from us?"

The father smiles knowingly and taps his nose. "When you are the sovereign, you will learn how to keep such secrets."

The husband faces the father. "This is...I have never been more honored in my life, Your Majesty." He starts to bow, but the bow is interrupted by a hand in front of his face, which he tentatively accepts and shakes.

"We are family, Vax. I believe you can call me Korrin." He pauses. "At least, when we are just us."

"Yes, Your—Korrin."

The father gestures toward the cottage. "I know how much it meant to your mother and I to have a place to go that was just our own, a place where pressures of the crown could not be felt quite so keenly." There is suddenly an impish look in his eye, and very casually, he says, "Of course, there are two bedrooms, for...whatever you might need them for."

The daughter's face flushes the color of her hair, but she throws her arms around her father's neck. "Thank you," she breathes, and the sound is so quiet it must be delivered to the cherry tree on the wind.

The father kisses his daughter's cheek and shakes her husband's hand one more time before bidding them goodbye. The young couple is left standing in awe in front of their cottage. The husband comes up behind his wife and wraps his arms around her. "We have a home," he whispers in her ear.

The wife smiles, and the tree imagines that smile on another queen's face. "You're my home," she whispers back, and together they stand, hair dancing in the autumn breeze, and as they watch the early morning sun dapple along the stones of their little home, the tree watches them, making a silent promise to the one it guards to do so through each season to come.

[omniblades-and-stars]

Earthbound

Got Your Six: Part 5

The trajectory of his life changed the moment Shepard witnessed him arguing with Executor Pallin. He didn't know it quite then, but Garrus knew it now. It was proven over and over again in innumerable ways. If someone told him a few years ago that he would end up serving on a human ship during a galaxy-wide push for survival, and that the person leading that push, one of the most willful, powerful humans in the known universe, would call him home ...

Well, he probably would have laughed at them and told them to get their head checked.

He sat on the corner of her bed, a small glass of water in his hand (the small cups Helen kept in her cabin were almost comical in his hands), and watched her sleep. Even as exhausted as she was, he could tell she was suffering a nightmare. For as long as he'd known her, she was haunted by bad dreams - of slavers and their destruction of her home, thresher maws, the broken messages from the Protheans, the attack on Earth, and all of the ghosts of the people they'd lost during this fight.

If only that list had been comprehensive. She had so many nightmares.

And as they prepared to make their final push on Earth, the dreams only got worse. He watched as the skin of her forehead creased, and a grimace marred the angular features of her face. Stress left its marks on her, shocks of gray hair rested on her temples where the hair had once been entirely blond, and she had new and ever present wrinkles around the corners of her eyes.

Human bodies were so malleable, changeable. It was such a startling difference between their species. Just a few months of pushing nonstop through impossible barriers, brutal battles, and heart-rending losses bore themselves so obviously on her body. Her sagging posture when she thought no one was looking, the red along the bottom ridge of her eyelids, the ragged edges of chewed fingernails, and the subtle impression of bones too close to her skin - weight lost from meal after missed meal, pouring over “just one more report, Garrus, I'll eat later.”

She never ate later.

Not that he was the champion of taking care of himself or managing the unbearable weight of their shared burdens. The already pitiful dextro provisions on the ship became less and less appetizing, and it felt like a battle in itself just to choke down enough calories to keep moving and keep himself sharp. And many nights, he spent so much time looking at the numbers and the data feeds at his console in the main battery that they all started to bleed together before he was gently pulled away by her voice on the intercom, reminding him to come to bed. Like she knew that he was suffering from a splitting headache, and an aching heart.

Leaving Palaven to burn while they went to take their chances on Earth was a nearly impossible decision to make. Were it not for the woman sleeping fitfully next to him, he probably wouldn't have left. If any other person had been at the helm of the end of the world, he'd still be on Menae, or dead. No, he'd definitely be dead, and so would so many countless others.

Garrus barely managed to keep himself from actually laughing at the thought, a muted huff snuck up from his chest. Thankfully, it didn't wake her. It was a bleak thought, but there was humor to be found in how he kept narrowly avoiding his own demise because of her.

Spirits, it could only have ever been her. What a terrible burden. They both knew it was the truth. Neither of them could stand by and watch the galaxy burn around them, even if it killed them to try to stop it in the end. They were on the cusp of finishing this thing for good, one way or the other. The count was down to mere hours.

This was becoming a bad habit of his, sitting at the edges and watching over her sleep like some sort of guardian angel, when he should have been lying next to her, haunted by his own dreams. He had plenty of his own nightmares. But even when his own thoughts were turning to the hopeless, watching her sleep made it feel bearable. That she could sleep at all meant that this thing was doable, right? He had to believe that, for her, and because of her.

Garrus stood quietly and set the glass on the nightstand. He wasn't going to waste what was potentially their last hours just watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, or staring at the way her hair fanned out all over the pillow, tangling in small knots as she slept. All the reminders that she was, in fact, a living, breathing person. Not just the monolith or legend that the Alliance built up around her, not the off the rails Council Spectre she was often accused of being. And definitely not the Cerberus science experiment she still often felt that she was.

The Illusive Man's files had done nothing to assuage that particular fear of hers. Not that she'd had any time to sit with what they found. They left the bastard's space station to immediately head to Earth, it had only been mere hours.

Garrus carefully climbed back into bed, and settled underneath the covers. With her warm body pressed up against him, the rhythm of her heartbeat was an assurance of its own. A strange lullaby reminding him that they were here, they were together, and that they could do this.

They were going to make it.

They were going to win.

The last thing she remembered was hammering on the trigger of her pistol to trigger the explosion that would, in theory, save the galaxy. She was surprised to be aware again. She knew she was dead, there was no other option after that.

The afterlife was not at all like she was expecting. It was a lot like the nightmares she was having for months before, but it was also different. She knew it was different, knew it wasn't just a dream.

For one, there was no child. When the Catalyst took the form of the small boy she tried to help when the Reapers first arrived on Earth, she wondered if he had ever existed at all. Reapers did that - fuck with your mind, try to convince you to not destroy them. Her decision to destroy them never felt firmer than when she was face to face with a mind game. She was so tired of bullshit psychological manipulation, it only made her furious.

She didn't hesitate to blow up that tube.

The second difference from her nightmares was that her afterlife seemed like some mutated version of the Citadel, rather than an endless expanse of dying trees in an ever-repeating park. But it wasn't the Citadel like it was when she ran into that beam. No, it looked like the Citadel when she first came to it, back when it was just Saren and the Geth she was fighting. At first, it felt nostalgic, like home, or like a favorite vacation spot. Like she could point to a storefront and laugh as she said, “Look Garrus, do you remember the time we almost got blown up by an AI in the stock room there? Those were good times, I wish we had a pic.”

That illusion was shattered almost immediately. It was all false. It was empty.

Well, not empty. Those shades came back, very quickly. The ones of her friends that whispered her name, or repeated their final words to her. They filled the walkways, tormenting her with their faraway cries of “Shepard” and “Commander”. Anderson's voice was among them now, another stone weight of guilt in her belly, rendering her sluggish and confused.

The other thing about this Citadel was that it was wrong. After she spent some time wandering around, the halls contorted and changed just when she thought she found somewhere familiar she wanted to go see better. Maybe she was just too tired to see it right.

It wasn't fair that she was so exhausted, even in the afterlife. It definitely wasn't heaven, it was too cruel to be heaven. But it wasn't hell either. Or if it was, it wasn't as bad as she feared.

It wasn't good, though. The shades tormented her, they didn't respond to her attempts at communication. Her fingers moved through their vague shapes like smoke. One sounded like Thane, and she dropped to her knees to beg him to move on to his goddess's ocean, and found that no matter how the knot in her throat grew, she could not cry.

The shade didn't leave.

She was so alone there, and so tired.

Her only comfort was that none of the ghosts called her by her first name, and none sounded like him. She wasn't sure she would know if he died after her, but at least he wasn't among the one's she'd already lost.

Voices of her dead friends rang out around her.

“It’s the right choice, and you know it, Ash!”

“Had to be me, someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

“Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness.”

“Shepard-Commander.”

“You did good, child. You did good. I'm proud of you.”

They wouldn't stop. Millions of whispers slithered into her mind constantly. They were so quiet, but she could hear nothing else. Please, God, she just wanted it to stop for just one minute. Hadn't she earned just one minute of fucking peace? She gave her life to try to stop everything ...

Ice gripped her lungs, and tears that couldn't come choked her. What if it hadn't worked?

It had to be hell she was in, she would know if it had worked otherwise.

Shepard began to run, she felt a desperate need to find anything real, anything fucking tangible. The Citadel construct was a cruel farce. Storefronts faded into solid walls as she drew near, she walked into an apartment building only for there to be more empty hallway on the other side of the door. Ramps that went up took her right back where she started. She thought. She couldn't be sure.

Everything there was so confusing, it never ended. She could have been walking for hours or lifetimes, she couldn't tell.

Her legs felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds, and her posture dropped, shoulders sagging and head hanging low. She couldn't keep moving. Couldn't keep searching.

For what?

She didn't even know. She should have been done looking for things now. She was dead.

Maybe if she just closed her eyes and slept for a little while, the afterlife would feel better. She slid down to the ground with a groan, laying in the middle of what was once a busy thoroughfare in Zakera Ward when she was still alive. It was so lonely there, now.

As her consciousness slipped away, she heard her first name.

“Helen.”

Stubborn.

If there was one word to describe Garrus Vakarian, it was stubborn. Being bullheaded landed him on the Normandy, and he wasn't about to stop being stubborn now.

Someone gave him the plaque with her name on it, to add to the memorial wall on the ship, but he just couldn't do it. It couldn't really be called optimism, no one had ever accused him of being an optimist, but there was absolutely no way that he was going to give Commander Helen Shepard up for dead until he saw her body for himself.

The rest of the crew seemed to agree with him.

Even as they mourned the loss of EDI, the entire crew threw themselves into repairing the ship. Commander Shepard wouldn't let something so simple as a small spaceship crash stop her from getting back in the fight, and neither would her crew. She never gave up on them, they sure as hell weren't going to give up on her.

Tali and the engineers helped get the drive core back online, while Garrus helped find workarounds for all of the systems that used to run through EDI's processors. Liara helped Traynor get communications back online, she picked up a lot of comm-tech expertise in her very brief time as the Shadow Broker. Ash and the rest of the crew helped to patch the old girl back up so that she was a space-faring vessel once again. And Joker put on a brave face and fixed all of the flight computers that he could in preparation for taking the long way back to Earth without the assistance of an AI.

Garrus hoped that EDI's memory core was still intact, maybe they could bring her back in some way. But their first priority was getting back to Earth. Everything else could be figured out from there. Hell, he'd even help.

Another thing that Garrus had never been accused of being was patient. Even with FTL speeds, the journey back to Earth took too much time. Too much time with too little information, and he started to descend into the what-ifs.

What if we can't make it back?

What if we run out of rations on the way?

What if she's dead?

No. No. He wasn't going to let himself think like that.

The closer they got to the Sol system, the more destruction they could see. It was so hard to keep holding onto that thin filament of hope. Like if he breathed to hard, it would blow it away forever, and that by losing that hope, it would ensure that she was dead.

No, if he had to sift through the wreckage of the Citadel himself, he was going to find her again.

He tried to distract himself as best as he could, but the longer it took, the harder it was to keep from going crazy. When they were still unable to make contact with Alliance Command, he nearly wrenched the QEC terminal from its housing. He paced so much that Dr. Chakwas cautioned him that he was going to re-injure his leg before it finished healing. He didn’t understand how everyone else was so calm.

Even if they could get to Earth at that very second, it wouldn’t be fast enough.

Spirits grant him some patience, he just needed to wait a little bit longer.

She woke up standing on the platform where she met her final decision, and her end. It was startling and confusing. The glass tube stood shattered before her, dangerous shards crunched beneath her feet as she cautiously moved around the platform.

In the open space around her, she could see the battle still. Only, it was stopped in time. Reaper lasers paused midstream, taunting the ships they would burn into nothing, just as surely as they were taunting her. More than one of the Alliance's ships was coming apart, pieces suspended in the vacuum of space when they should have kept moving forever, or until some other force acted upon them.

Like gravity.

It occurred to her that she didn't know if the Citadel was close enough to Earth to be brought into its orbit. Not that it mattered. This, again, was just another torment in her death. She was so close to seeing the results of her final act, but everything was just stopped.

“Helen, I'm here.”

It startled her, anxiety shot through her veins, dumping adrenaline directly into her heart. She looked around, searching for a shade or a body, or some proof that he didn't make it. But there was nothing, not even a half-hallucinated child program. She swore that his voice came from below her. Far below, somehow reaching up to her from the planet's surface.

“Please, Helen.”

Helen approached the edge of the platform and dropped to her hands and knees at the precipice. Her heart thundered in her ears, she was afraid that she'd go careening into space again. If she died in the afterlife, what would happen?

She looked over the edge. Earth looked so beautiful from up there, an impressionist painting of blues and greens. She could almost forget the ruin and desolation from her lofty perch. Her heart ached and she wanted to return. Shepard had only ever been to Earth on a couple of occasions. The most time she ever spent there was in a detention room crafted to try to make her forget that she was a prisoner.

The most memorable trip to the planet was the final push. A fiery, husk of a destroyed city, overrun by abominations and the dead. It was cruel that she could remember it.

Fuck, she wanted to cry, needed to cry. But she couldn't. The tears just wouldn't come, and it was so fucking distressing. Why wasn't this death followed by empty oblivion like the last one? Why was it like this now?

Oblivion was so much more preferable to this.

Shepard cried out, but the open space around her swallowed the noise. “Garrus,” she whispered. It was some relief that she could voice his name, even if she was alone there.

“I'm here. Come back. You can do it.”

”Garrus! I can hear you!“ Helen shouted at the top of her lungs, but it sounded only like a whisper. She stood up and turned around, desperate to see his face. She wanted him to still be alive, but if he was there in the afterlife, she didn't have to be alone. He'd always been there for her, through some of the worst things that had ever happened, to either of them. They could face this hell together.

But he wasn't there.

She stood alone among the shattered remains of the Catalyst, and a hopeless space battle frozen in time.

"Garrus, please! I can't find you!” she screamed up towards the heavens. Her voice broke through, no longer sounding like she was yelling under water. As she frantically ran from side to side, searching for a way to get down, her ears started ringing.

It was strange, after Cerberus rebuilt her, the old tinnitus had gone away. But now it was unbearably loud, screeching inside of her head.

“I'm here, Helen. It's okay. It's going to be okay.”

He had to be talking to her from Earth. She just knew it. Helen walked back to the edge and peered over the side. Her vision tunneled and vertigo threatened to send her tumbling over. Something like cold water filled her veins and her heart began to race again. She'd never had vertigo before.

She dropped to her knees and gripped the edge of the platform. She felt her nails splintering beneath her grip. “Garrus!” she called out over the edge, “Can you hear me? Please, I don't know how to get down!”

Shepard knew it didn't make any sense, but nothing else here made any sense. Her heart was beating so fast, the noise of her blood rushing in her ears was drowning out that horrible screeching in her head.

“Come back, please, Helen. I need you to come back.”

Garrus was pleading with her, and he sounded so fucking broken, and still, she could not cry. She just needed to be with him again, needed to not be on this stupid fucking platform anymore. This is hell, she decided. She wasn't able to outrun the devil after all.

Fuck it.

Helen Shepard never let something impossible stand in her way. She beat death before, and if this was what she had to deal with in death, she wasn't going to stand for it.

It was fitting that she was about to throw herself into lower orbit. It amused her to think that she might manage to die in the afterlife just like she'd died once before.

“I'm coming, Garrus,” she whispered and stood resolutely. Shepard walked several paces back towards the wreckage and turned to face the edge again.

Helen ran.

Her feet hit the shining metal platform like rolls of thunder, and her breath felt real, heavy in her lungs again as she dashed towards almost certain destruction. Panic tried to take over, freeze her muscles in place, make her hesitate, but she did not stop.

She leapt over the side

It was strangely comforting to her that hurtling through space was a familiar sensation. As her body fell, it was caught in the inexorable draw of gravity, hard and fast. Her body began to ache, pain bloomed from her joints and spread through her muscles. But she wasn’t suffocating like last time, not burning up.

The strangest sensation pinched at her right hand, and she tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go away. Her vision blurred, but she was moving so fast, hurtling towards Earth like a Commander Shepard shaped comet, she couldn’t really see anything anymore.

Tears burned hot on her cheeks. Finally. She’d never been more relieved to cry.

And then, everything went black.

That screeching in her ears was back, louder, but less in her head, and more next to it. Her awareness came hurtling back to her with all of the force of a bullet train. It was too much all at once. She opened her eyes and then slammed them shut, too bright. Her skin tingled and itched, and she’d only been aware of the sensation for seconds but it was already driving her crazy. She tried to form a word, but it came out as a tight groan. Her throat was so dry, she felt like she drank an entire desert’s worth of sand.

“I’m here,” he said again, only he was so much closer now. He was holding her hand.

Helen tried to sit up, but was so weak. Her body didn’t even get far enough to crash back into the hospital bed dramatically.

Hospital.

Helen was in a hospital. She was in a hospital, and Garrus was there with her. It couldn’t be heaven, because there was no way heaven would have hospitals. And it couldn’t be hell, because hell already tried to keep her away from him.

“Garrus!” she tried to shout it, in her heart and in her mind it was a jubilant cry, but even to her own ears, it was actually a pitiful croak. She braved opening her eyes again, and everything was so blurry, she began to panic. A hundred possibilities crossed her mind, messed up eyes from the explosion, faulty cybernetic processors, brain damage. All were likely, if she remembered what happened right. But as she blinked to try to focus, she realized she was still crying.

Helen raised her free hand to wipe the tears away, but found that it was … gone. Her right hand was gone. She stared at the place where it used to be dumbly, unable to process the visual information she was receiving.

“Helen, you’re awake,” Garrus nearly laughed. He sounded so relieved. His grip around her hand tightened. Helen lowered her arm, deciding that she could deal with the onslaught of feelings she had about the missing limb later. She turned to look at Garrus, and was relieved that her vision cleared enough to see him. Cobalt blue eyes greeted her, it was really him, not some horrible wisp of smoke. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” Helen started. Her hips burned, her head was pounding, the hand that wasn’t there ached, and she was distinctly aware of all of her remaining fingers and toes. Every last part of her just hurt. “Tired … confused,” she continued with a great deal of effort. “Thought I was dead.”

Garrus lifted her hand and very gently brought it to his mouth plates. “It was close, Helen. Too close.”

Helen exhaled and laid her head back against the too thin hospital pillow. It was almost too much just to be able to stay awake. “Garrus … did it work?”

“You did it. They’re really gone.”

Tears gathered in her eyes again, and began to slide down her cheeks and onto the pillow. They did it. Really did it. The impossible part was over. Fuck she was so tired.

She must have started to drift off, because Garrus began to rub the back of her hand with his thumb before he said, “Get some rest, Helen. You’ve earned it. I’m here with you, I’ll keep watch.”

Victory was complicated. The costs were astronomical. The recovery would be difficult and arduous.

But at least, for one time in so long she couldn’t even remember it, Helen slept soundly and without dreams, with the knowledge that she was safe with the one she loved.

[yumichikah]

[ What are Yumichika's dreams usually like? Does he dream at all? If yes - does he have any recurring dreams? Any nightmares? Are they a product of things that have happened to him in real life, or are they purely from his imagination? ]

Dreams are a hard topic for Yumichika. He would prefer sleeping without them, but unfortunately he is the kind to bring the stresses and worries of the day with him to bed. Mostly he falls asleep in the middle of making mental notes about what he has to get done the following day and planning his schedule out in his mind which does sometimes carry over to the dream world where he eventually continues working. Those nights rest is hard to achieve since there is constant work stuff activating his brain and it's like he never even put down that last document he had to go through.

Then there are the nightmares and resurfacing memories that occur every now and then. Nightmares usually circle around topics like loneliness, abandonment, losing important people, being invisible/mute, being exposed and being chased. All this ties to the trauma of not being accepted as he is, the need to suppress his real self and the history he carries with him from the Rukon days. Worrying is definitely something he does a lot so usually the dreams take inspiration of the current worries he has when laying down, but some specific dreams are recurring; like the one of the whole of Eleventh dying around him while he is left behind and not being able to die with them. Most times he even knows of the fate of his peers but could do nothing to stop it thanks to not being heard and/or not being strong enough to protect anyone.

The memories that surface during nights often go through the times he had to endure horrible things like being assaulted mentally and physically thanks to his feminine looks, getting used and discarded like trash, being forced to kill or be killed, all sorts of messed up things from back then. Sometimes he even remembers the guilt of robbing people to survive and the day he first killed someone, yet those ones are quite a rarity. But at the other times he does also dream of the simpler times of travelling together with Ikkaku when they still had no responsibilities and underlings to look after. Times spent living in a messy abandoned shed with barely enough to eat and challenging every guy walking past to a duel. Those are his favorite dreams which he would want to stay in longer.

So yeah, he dreams. Not every night, but definitely often enough for him to stay paranoid and traumatized. Those memories and fears is what keeps him hiding his true self at the end of the day.

[vivaamor]

Let It Out

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader

Summary: Based off this post lol @bit-odd-innit

Warnings: Sad Steve :( Steve finally allowing himself to grieve after the events of s4 :( I'm a monster I know

Word Count: 1.7k

Two months.

It had been a whole two months since the events of the Upside Down. The events that left everyone traumatized, that made everyone cower in fear at any sudden movement or unexpected noise. It had been two months since your life was flipped over seven different ways. Two months of freezing every time a clock dinged at a new hour of the day, two months of night terrors, and two months of utter stressed that could only be explained as post-traumatic stress. Everyone had changed in different ways.

 Lucas had quit the basketball team and spent majority of his free time in the hospital at Max’s side. Dustin and Mike didn’t even mention Eddie after his funeral, and they never spoke of Dungeons and Dragons, not even a small reference. No one saw much of Will or Eleven, even after they returned to Hawkins to move back in with Hopper, they mostly stayed home. You didn’t see much of Jonathan or Nancy, either. Nancy always went to the cabin where Jonathan was living with Joyce and Hopper. As far as you knew, she had yet to even begin to touch on what she went through to Jonathan. According to Nancy, though, Jonathan was patient and told her she didn’t have to until she was ready. Robin, an already skittish and anxious girl, despised being alone even more than she already did. She would join Jonathan and Nancy at the cabin when she wasn’t at work, and she would frequently come to your apartment, where Steve had moved in. He didn’t like being alone, either.

You were jumpy and easily frightened, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for experience what you did. You were suffering from insomnia and when you did sleep, there were the nightmares. The awful, gut-wrenching nightmares. Those were the worst of it. But Steve? Steve, however, was fine. At least that was what he had told you and everyone else. He was the one that comforted you after every bad dream, or who held you close and played with your hair to help you fall asleep when it seemed impossible. He was the person on the other end of the phone as three in the morning with Robin while she was having an anxiety attack. It was him who would go to Dustin’s house in the middle of the night when he thought he heard a noise downstairs. It was Steve who reassured everyone that they were safe, that Vecna would not rise from the dead just to kill another one of their friends.

Steve hadn’t cried. Usually, people would take that as a good thing, but you knew better. You knew he was hurting. You saw it in his eyes every waking moment. The sadness that lingered behind his honey brown irises every time he looked in the mirror at his naked abdomen, his own fingers ghosting over the scars. He didn’t even shed a tear at Eddie’s funeral, or when you all would go visit Max on a weekly basis. He was being strong. He was trying to be strong for everyone. It was no secret that he was the “group babysitter”. Not just to the kids, but to everyone. He was holding himself together, pushing his own emotions, trauma, and grief as far down as it would go so that he could help hold everyone’s heads above water. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel.

“Good morning,” Steve smiled sleepily, laid on his side and facing you as your eyes fluttered open, eyelids still heavy from the confines of your REM sleep. The sun peeped through the blinds, the yellow hue dancing over his naked, tanned skin. “How’d you sleep?” He spoke softly, his hand reaching out to move your hair out of your face. By the bags under his eyes, as well as the redness inside of them, you could tell he hadn’t slept well. He was always the last of the two of you to fall asleep but was always already awake by the time you woke up. He didn’t usually sleep very much.

You scooted closer to him, nuzzling your face up against his chest. “Good. No bad dreams.” You told him, lifting your head to press a chaste kiss against his full lips. “How did you sleep?”

“Good, too.” He assured you, running his fingers through your wavy hair. “You snore. You know that?”

You snorted and shook your head at your boyfriend. “I do not.” You grinned, reaching over for the glass that sat on the nightstand beside your shared bed. “Even though you tell me the same exact thing every morning.” Your hands grasped at the glass as you rose until you were sat up, leaning your back against the headframe of the bed. You pull the rim of the glass to your lips, only to pout when you realized it was empty. “Ah, damn.” You sighed, moving to lift yourself from the bed, until Steve’s hand circled your forearm.

“Where you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his hand over his face, and tugging at your arm, silently pleading for you to stay in bed.

You chuckled and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Just need some water. I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get it.” He grabbed the glass from you and stood for the bed. You began to protest, only for him to wave a finger at you in response. “I’m already up.” He smirked playfully and walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

You sighed and fell back into bed, snuggling into the warm spot where Steve recently laid, his pillow smelling just like him—Mint and a hint of his cologne he consistently wore. You hear the fridge water run, and then him begin to pad out of the kitchen. Only about a second later is when you hear a shatter of glass, but Steve is completely silent, other than the soft gasp he released in surprise. You automatically feel worried, hoping he didn’t hurt himself. “Steve?” You call out, but he doesn’t respond to you. You shoot yourself out of bed, wearing just one of his old Hawkins High Swim Team t-shirts and a pair of undies. You rush into the kitchen and stop short of where glass covered the kitchen floor. You walk around the mess and to Steve, who is stood in front of the sink, his hands at his sides and his bottom lip quivering.

“Baby, are you alright?” You take his hand in yours and inspect it for any blood or cuts, but there are none. “Are you hurt? Did it cut you at all?” A single tear falls past his lash line and onto his cheek. “Baby, are you hurt?” You ask again, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes finally meet yours and he blinks, a few more tears falling down his face as he shakes his head no. “It’s okay, it’s just a little broken glass. Nothing we can’t clean up.” You drop your hold on his face and give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Grabbing a broom from the corner of the kitchen, you begin to sweep up the broken glass. Steve’s quiet, watching you as you clean it up. You can feel his eyes on your back while you sweep the broken glass onto the dustpan you held to the floor. You’re almost done cleaning when a shaky sigh falling from Steve’s lips catches your attention. You lift your head from where you’re crouched on the floor and look up at him. Tears are streaming down his rosy cheeks, his hands quickly moving up to wipe them away. “Hey, hey, hey…” You rise to your feet and perching your hands on his shoulders. “What’s the matter, baby?” Your voice is gentle and soft, cooing at him. “It’s okay, alright? It’s fine, it’s just-” Your heart shatters to pieces at the strangled sob that comes from him. It’s enough to almost make you cry.

He’s shaking his head as you try to console him, his face buried in his large hands as he cries into them. “It’s not fine.” He mumbles through tears, his shoulders shaking with each quiet sob that rakes through his body. You watch with wide, sad eyes and rub your hands up and down the length of his arms. “Nothing is fine.” You furrow your eyebrows, trying to understand.

Oh. You frown, he isn’t talking about the broken glass. Everyone was beginning to adjust to how different their lives were now, but Steve hadn’t even given himself the chance to feel all those strong emotions, he’d buried them. They were finally resurfacing and overwhelming him. He was finally allowing himself to grieve what they lost that day. Eddie was dead. Max was in a coma, and nobody knew if she would ever wake up. He almost died, too. It was pure luck and timing that he didn’t.

“Okay, um,” You look around the kitchen and decide to clean up the mess later. Right now, you needed to be there for your boyfriend. “Come on, come here.” You grasp his forearm and tug him back toward the bedroom. “Come here, baby.” You lead him to the bed and sit at the headboard again, encouraging him to sit next to you. He takes his own seat on the mattress, his bottom lip still trembling and tears falling down his cheeks. You hate seeing him like this, seeing him in such pain. “I know. It’s okay,” You assure him, rubbing his back as he leans down until his head is rested in your lap. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His arms wrap around your waist firmly, his tears dampening the t-shirt you were wearing. “It hurts.” He huffs, his voice coming out groggy since his nose was stuffed up from crying. You run your hand over his bare back soothingly, your chest aching from seeing him in such a state.

“I know, baby. Let it out.” You encourage, wishing you could take all his pain and put it into you. You would undergo any pain, just to make sure he was okay, because in the end, Steve was all you needed. Steve was the answer to every question in your mind.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpril Day 2

Stress/Insomnia/“Get some rest”

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Unveiled

It’s been… difficult to sleep since this started. Not as if that’s surprising. He often dreams, but they’re back again. It’s… often hard to deal with. They’ve been common enough during the war that he’s adapted to the habit of going down to the hangers in the night cycle sometimes, when he can’t even focus on meditating or can’t work on battle plans.

Normally, that’s something they’re only supposed to do in the daytime, not that there is truly a day or night in space.

Anakin is used to being alone here. It doesn’t bother him when he has something to focus on, something to do. Exhaustion is nagging at him, especially considering how he hasn’t slept much in quite a while but staring blankly at the ceiling was getting… dull.

It was making him restless.

His fighter was lost on Cato Neimoidia, and Anakin hasn’t had time to upgrade another one to his liking. He has time for that now. Sort of.

Everything around him fades away as he works, as it always does, enough that Anakin almost doesn’t notice a familiar presence hovering nearby.

“Rex?” Anakin asks, sliding out from under the fighter. “What are you doing here? Is it morning already?”

“I heard you were out here, so I thought I could come down.”

Anakin sits up after scooting back a bit more. He’ll never stop being touched by his men’s blind loyalty. He doesn’t understand what it is they see in him so much, anyway, but they do. And it’s… comforting. This is finally one place in the galaxy it feels like he belongs.

“How have you been, sir?” Rex asks. For them, it’s not awkward. Not anymore. They’re used to it. Anakin may be his superior, but in many ways, they still see one another as equals.

“It’s… been a day,” he says finally. He doesn’t know how else to answer it.

“Kix maintains you should be resting,” Rex adds.

Anakin huffs out a laugh. “Of course, he does.” That’s nearly always true, after all.

“With everything that’s happened since Cato Neimoidia, I can’t say he’s wrong,” Rex adds, dryly.

“He’s not,” he concedes, because really, he ought to be, but it’s not an option right now. He can’t close his eyes without being jolted awake with a nightmare of something or other, so he’s given up trying entirely. “But it’s not easy right now.” He hasn’t mentioned to anyone how he can’t stop thinking about what Ahsoka said, her questions about the Order and the war. He definitely can’t tell Rex that, when he’s given so much blindly for the Republic and has lost so much.

“I understand that, sir,” Rex agrees. Anakin knows it’s a problem all the clones share – he remembers the times after Echo’s death, that he kept running into Fives out in the halls of the cruiser at night. At times, he had seemed so… lifeless afterwards, until more recently. “But still,

I suggest you get some rest. I doubt the Commander would have a problem with you going to be with her.”

Of course, they’ve noticed that he sometimes has an easy time sleeping if someone’s next him, during the countless nights they’ve spent out on the battle field together, with Ahsoka usually curled up next to him. “Yeah,” Anakin agrees, smiling. It feels like it’s the first time it’s been sincere in a long time. “You too, Rex. This has been a long day for all of us.” He has little doubt that from here, the war is only going to get worse.

[equizona]

⤷ ROMANTIC HEADCANONS

michael afton || five night's at freddy's

gender-neutral reader

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i'm having michael brainrot and I can't when write his name right and also the new tumblr update can go choke on some shoelaces

⤷ MICHAEL AFTON

Michael is the type to get jealous easily. He's insecure, has abandonment issues, is making minimum wage and has a fuck ton of trauma attached to him. He knows he isn't the best boyfriend one could ask for, and that you probably deserve so much more, so seeing you with other people he just knows are better than him? It makes him want to crawl into a hole and cry.

Despite how easily he gets jealous, he doesn't show it very often. He refuses to guilt you into staying with him, or isolate you from having relationships outside of him. His father did that with his mother, and he got front row seats to see how well that turned out for them.

Michael doesn't make a lot of money, so he can't get you expensive gifts or take you out on fancy dates. Instead you both often go on walks, have picnics and watch movies at home. He'll save up for occasional amusement park, circus or whatever else you like for dates, though he tries to save those for special occasions.

He probably stays over at your place quite often. He doesn't like to be alone and he doesn't like the idea that he'll wake up tomorrow and get a call that someone broke in and killed you, or something like that. He stays over where you live often for that reason. He doesn't let you go to his place, either, since he knows the animatronics could easily figure out where he lives if they wanted.

He gets a lot of nightmares, too. He doesn't expect you to comfort him or anything, he knows he can be stressful and doesn't want your sleep being put aside for something as stupid as a bad dream. He doesn't really want you to do so, either, since he feels so guilty. The best thing you can do for him is let him cling to you, hug him back and go back to sleep.

He most certainly has an eating disorder. He forgets to eat and drink most of the time, and majority of the time when he doesn't forget he either thinks it's too much work or too expensive or just not worth the effort. However, if you bring him food or a drink, he'll make sure to consume all of it, no matter how nauseous it makes him. If he ends up vomiting, he might have a breakdown from guilt. Especially if you made it yourself.

On a less angst filled note, Michael is really good at making food. If you have ingredients and don't mind him messing around your kitchen, he will make the most heavenly tasting food you can imagine. Since he doesn't work during the day, he'll make you breakfast when he gets back, alongside lunch for whatever you have to do during the day.

He'll also make you dinner, with him making you m meals a good chunk of the time, it makes there be at least one less thing to stress you out. At least, that's what he's hoping for. If you give him the money, he'll go grocery shopping for you as well! He has all your preferred brands memorized too, so not to worry about that.

His parents didn't teach him very basics things about hygiene or cleaning, so while he isn't really a messy person, he doesn't know how most things work and decides to just leave things where they are. If you teach him to do the dishes, use the laundry machine or a vacuum, and assure him you won't get mad if he does something wrong, he might try doing some of your chores for you.

If he does it right and it makes you happy when he does it, he'll keep doing it. It makes him pretty happy, actually, to be doing it. He remembers his classmates whining about having to do chores with their mothers while he spent most of his day worried he's get yelled at for moving a glass over to the sink from the counter. Most might think it's boring to clean, but he thinks it's nice. And if it makes you happy, and makes your life easier? He's pretty ecstatic to be doing the dishes.

Michael naturally runs really hot. He could be your personal heater easily, and he's very comfortable and warm to hug. Despite how warm he is, he gets cold super easily, so he's always dressing warm and laying under blankets, which just makes Jim run even warmer.

He has a soft spot for children. If he builds a more stable life and routine with you, he'll probably try doing babysitting during the day for some extra money. He's actually really good with kids, too, even if he might seem sort of intimidating at first. He's also able to make all of them eat their vegetables and fruits, so parents adore him as well.

He is weak for matching things. Matching outfits? Keychains? Bracelets? Phone cases? Mugs? Blankets? Shoes? He doesn't care, he just loves the idea of matching with you.

He likes doing arts & crafts. Sometimes the kids make him do it with them too, and he's pretty good! He occasionally gives you those handmade bead bracelets. If he sees you wearing them he'll probably cling to you for the rest of the day.

Michael is actually like, really good at singing. He'll sing when he cleans, when he's doing his night shifts, when he's cooking or baking. If you like his singing, he might sing you a lullaby to help you sleep. If you sing with him he will be the happiest person on earth.

He likes a lot of things that are less traditionally masculine and more traditionally feminine, like flowers and soft things. (Blankets, stuffed animals, etc.) If you get him flowers, he'll press or dry them so he can keep them for much longer.

He's not much of a fan of animals, and animals don't like him that much. The exception being foxes, since he thinks they're very pretty. If you have any pets, he'd be happy to help you takecare of them, but he won't have a very deep emotional connection with the animal.