#spoilers up through... actually this time i have no idea how to say how far i've gotten without putting spoilers in the tags.

[hansolen]

beneath the light of the neon moon

꩜ pairing ⇾ beast!dazai x reader

꩜ word count ⇾ 3.5k

꩜ summary ⇾ this is basically just dazai being a wet cat and unable to understand yet overanalyzing his attachment towards you through all the world’s that exist in the book. he’s just a lil weird about it.

꩜ author’s note ⇾ i missed him. there’s no other explanation. beast dazai needs more love 💔 i think dazai having beef with himself through all the worlds is very real and very true. this is nothing but the outcome of the visions that plagued me.

꩜ cw ⇾ slight yandere vibes i won’t lie.. but c’mon it’s dazai so that’s to be expected. some possesive behaviour might come up. slight spoilers for beast if you haven’t finished the ln/manga/movie, though nothing too major. if anything else needs to be tagged lmk!

ability description — the reader’s ability stays active 24/7 and it does take a toll on her. while i haven’t gone into too much detail of what it really does (maybe more in the future, since i have a lot of ideas for it lol) but the ability holds a similarity to that of arahabaki — it too is an entity. not really a god but something more sinister. reader is basically a concious host of that entity which lays dormant.

If Nakahara Chuuya — one of the top most executives of the Port Mafia, is called the left hand of the boss; then it goes without saying that you are the right hand. Just as scary, sometimes even worse. 

If Chuuya is the hurricane that destroys towns after towns with its howling whirlwinds, then you are the tsunami that envelopes everyone entirely. Once and for all — like an oppressive silence. And yet it’s commonly accepted that destruction is prevalent regardless of which hand the boss chooses to use. 

Everyone in Yokohama can see the large and daunting building from wherever they stand, yet no one glances at it twice as they go through their day. A wise choice, by most. It’s sleek and definitely suspicious, neither the civilians nor the government officials ever directly mention it — in public, that is. Hushed whispers can only be so silent.

Everyone knows that the hands of the devil reach far and wide. Must be nice having two vessels of otherworldly entities on the tips of his fingers, they all murmur. And yet no one seems to mention how hard it is to actually maintain them, Dazai can’t help but think to himself.

The boss of the Port Mafia resides at the top most floor of the main building. Anyone who has ever had the (dis)pleasure of being called up, for whatever reason it may be, knows for a fact that the silence on that floor is deafening. Except for when a certain red haired executive comes around, then one can hear bickering reach far and wide. But that wasn’t always the case, much like today.  

The only sound that could be heard along the entire floor was that of your heals clicking against the cold marble tiles. After two knocks against the large doors, you enter Dazai’s office. You hand him the papers — strict and professional, like you ought to be. You’re a sub-executive afterall. By your own choice, of course. You had been offered the executive position far too many times, and yet you always declined. Harshly too, much to Chuuya’s disdain. 

He was unable to comprehend it the first few times, and he even tried to knock some sense into you. He wanted you to understand that you were far too deep into this side of the world to continue thinking that you couldn’t cross a ‘certain’ line. You shouldn’t keep trying to balance your way as you continue to stride on the thin thread that separates the civilian world from the mafia one. You’re in too deep, and have done too much to continue acting as though you have a way out. 

But your only response was a soft hum, which frustrated him even further. Perhaps more at himself than at you. You both were well aware that neither of you ever had a choice, no matter what the circumstances may be. No matter which road you chose, the destination always ended up here.

Although if Dazai willed it, you would be given the executive title in a minute. Whether you wanted it or not. Instead, he allows you to relish in the feeling of being able to make a choice. Some part of him, deep inside his fucked up sense of self — tainted by the shades of blood and things far darker — he almost feels like he owes this to you, at the very least. Even if it’s just for the sake of maintaining what remains of your moral integrity — your sanity, even.

Not that it changes much, you already perform all the executive duties as far as protocol is considered. Including being present in the meetings, guiding troops and having your own faction within the Port Mafia. It’s generally accepted by the entire organisation that you are equal to the executives, if not something more — to the boss, that is. 

Dazai allows you to have a feeling of distance from the work that you do, the lives that you take, the sins that he makes you commit. Letting you wallow in the false sense of security that you could choose to step away any time. Somehow it leaves you a little sane and gives him a little more room to play with. Afterall, no one would enjoy a completely broken doll. 

He enjoys humouring you from time to time. As if this whole play wasn’t written by him. As though he hadn’t willed every single interaction on this path into motion. As if he wasn’t the devil’s advocate, whispering the sins you were to commit with his hypnotising voice. 

He needed you with him on this path. It was all for the plan he had threaded together, he tried to convince himself.

The plan, yes. But Dazai is well aware that isn’t entirely true. And sometimes, a paranoid part of him thinks that you do too. Know for a fact that more than any of the plans — he did this for himself. He brought you and caged you into this world carved out of sin just for his own selfish reasons.

Not for Oda, not for the book, not for the sustenance of the world or any of those idealistic reasons — but for himself. Afterall, he was never an idealistic man to begin with. He was just a boy when it all started. A boy who had given up far too much and for once, wanted something for himself. He wanted you.

And so he did. He kept you. Weaved you into his spiderweb of grand plans. He often thinks back to how he knew everything there was to know about you, before he even got the chance to meet you for the first time. There you stood under the cold harsh lighting of that deserted old lab. He remembers how the flashes of his other lives played all at once. It almost felt as though he was reliving the memories through the sparks of light.

It was making him sick. Being able to witness in such excruciating detail of how he got to hold you so tenderly, in those worlds from the book. It made him feel intense emotions that he couldn’t even begin to describe. All he could do was just glance at those memories that were undoubtedly his own — and yet felt like he was watching them dance through the other side of a glass door. They’re all so painfully clear and yet there is a huge barrier in between.

Dazai has always been well aware that he never should have brought you into this. He knows that he shouldn’t have tried to find some sort of replica of the emotions he felt, as he replayed all his other lives. But he just couldn’t help it. He has to keep you alongside him. Hadn’t he sacrificed enough in this life? You’ve been so good to all the other versions of him, can’t you treat him the same in this one? You’ll forgive him, right? You love him, right?

You have to. There’s no other way out.

𓇚

Dazai’s mind undoubtedly wanders back to the first time you fainted from his touch. He knew it was going to happen — saw it as a staple part of you both meeting in all those worlds from the book. 

He knew what was to come if he were to let his rough bandaged palm even slightly graze your warm one. You’d faint. Like you had in all the other worlds, of which he carried the heavy weight. Those memories all helped him create acute plans for this world. Yet, the ones that he cherished the most, the memories that weren’t a heavy burden to carry but instead some sort of salvation — the ones he replayed over and over again like a broken record in hopes to reach some sort of comfort — were the memories he shared with you. 

In every world, your first meeting was something special, he kept those memories safely. Back when he was younger and the light in his eyes had not yet been entirely consumed — he used to find himself wondering how you both would meet in this world. How differently would it play out? It helped him distract himself from his surroundings and the heavy responsibilities. Those memories often flooded his mind as he gazed into nothing. In all of them, you always fainted when he first touched you. And after that too. 

But, in all his other lives, it lessened over time, and eventually the fainting stopped. “It feels rather relaxing,” you had once said to him — in the original world. To the original version of him.

“It feels as though The Presence subdues for a bit, as if it were never there. Continue holding me like this, won't you?” you spoke to him so gently as you both layed on top of each other with his trenchcoat covering the both of you. It held so much comfort and warmth, like it was just you both in this world, rest all be damned. Dazai wished that adoration was directed to him and not the man of origin.

His heart aches at the thought. What could he do for you to talk to him the same in this world too? What would it take? 

In all the other worlds — with time, you ended up building some sort of immunity, or rather you got used to his touch and even craved it. In every single world. Every world of the book, but this one.

You never seemed to have gotten used to his touch in this world. You still fainted. Every. Single. Time. 

𓇚

Dazai hates it. He’s well aware of the fact that this world is special — after all it’s the only one where Oda ends up living. It’s a world that has been handcrafted by him alone. Each and every thread has been woven with a purpose in mind. Each action has a motive behind it. Which is exactly why he needs to sustain it. Yet he can’t help it — the jealousy that fumes within him. Jealous of himself? Such a stupid reason. He knows that and yet—

“Boss, here’s the report of on the foreign mercenary group that recently surged up, as you requested. I have sent my men to look through their abandoned hideout, although I’m sure you can already imagine the outcome.” you say as you hand him the files.

Dazai doesn’t quite understand why you continue to put up the professional facade when it’s just the two of you here. Yet, he decides to humour you.

He glances at files with mild disinterest, and then at your hand. A thought occurs in his head — among many others. It’s indulgent. Entirely so. You will not enjoy it one bit. And yet he’s also well aware of his track record of never really listening to what you want. He knows this will hamper a few upcoming tasks and meetings. But when has he ever given a damn about those? And so he decides to indulge himself. He takes the report from your hands in a smooth motion and accidentally brushes the tips of his fingers against yours.

It’s a brief touch, and it all happens in the flash of a second. You noticed it, he realises. You saw his intent building up and yet you still offered to hand him the files rather than just placing them on his desk. 

His ability is always active, as is yours. You lose consciousness in seconds.

And you fall.

Right into his arms, like he planned you would. He glances at your face, there’s a serene glow emanating from you. Something about you is always pulling him in. He’s well aware of how you both are so intervened in each other’s lives that perhaps it was fated. Maybe he’s not entirely to blame for everything, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part.

You look so relaxed like this, he thinks as he adjusts the both of you so that you can lay down in a more comfortable position. It’s often underestimated how tiring it must be to have the ability active at all times, especially one that is as draining as yours.

Perhaps, this could be an escape for you as well. Laying with him as both of your breathing falls into sync with one another. Or maybe he’s just cheating and controlling his heartbeat as he tries to come up with some valid excuse as to why he gave into his impulse. All while he continues to trace your face with his thumb. It’s a gentle motion, making sure to not disturb your slumber, though he doubts you’ll wake up from it. Your track record shows that you’ll usually be knocked out for the better half of the day.

The expression on your face is something he wishes to dissect. You look as though you’re in some dream far away from here. He wonders where you go when you lose consciousness. Will you ever take him with you? Doesn’t matter. He will follow you just the same. 

Dazai can’t help but wonder what you would do if you found out about other worlds. Worlds where you weren’t led to such a life. Where he didn’t turn you into a weapon for his own motives. Would you hate him for it? When you are made to face all the other versions of you — the much happier, and brighter versions. Where in the light from your eyes hasn’t been entirely extinguished yet. 

Dazai fears that you already know. Can’t help it when you both hold eye contact during brief meetings. At times he catches a glimpse of the space — somewhere in there — that he cannot reach. They often say that the devil’s arms reach far and wide, and yet he can’t help but feel there’s a large distance that he alone can’t cover, in his quest to reach you. (Dazai also knows that he is no devil. It has alwaye just been a title that was handed to him. He wonders if you know that, too.)

Afterall, you, too, have the look of someone who is hiding something. He understands the expression well enough — he has to meets those eyes every day in the mirror.

𓇚

That’s one of the many reasons he prefers you like this. With your eyes closed and breathing steady. You don’t give him the all knowing gaze that you usually carry. He gets to hold you close, without it eating him up from the inside. Some sick part of him likes having this power over you. Being able to hold it above your head any time he likes. He would never use it against you though. Not really.

Your breathing is rhythmic. A constant motion. He has memorised your breathing pattern over the years. To the point where it’s almost comforting to listen to it. Almost.

His hand hovers from your cheeks to sliding right at the base of your neck. Something swells inside of him. Something sinister. He can’t help but feel a little drunk. Drunk over the control he has over you right now — your life. He can continue to feel as guilty as he likes, but it’s no secret what exactly he’s guilty of.

Dazai gently steadies your head and moves it so that it’s resting on his chest. He then tries to bring his focus back to the papers that continue to lay on his desk, and then glances at the ones that fell on the floor. Lord knows how much that slug would nag him if he didn’t finish reading these by now. So annoying.

He tries to push his focus on reading them, but the comfort of having you so close against him is really distracting. It’s contrasting, really, how your body spreads such warmth against his cold one. Like a single candlelight that continues to glow in the cold stark night.

You both should do this more often, he thinks. Though you might end up hating him for it. But that’s won’t be an issue in the near future, considering what’s to come — the true plans written in the book.

What will be an issue is Chuuya barging through the black doors and seeing you both in such a precarious position — then he might proceed to quite literally kill Dazai. No matter if he’s the boss of the Port Mafia or not.

Afterall, Chuuya is probably the closest companion you have in this world. You both make sure to look out for one another as much as you can. It’s almost as if you both have this air of understanding, that Dazai often feels disconnected from. 

Is it because you both are vessels? Or because he uses you both similarly and keeps you both on leashes? Or is it some form of familial bonding that his emotional nerve receptors are far too fused out to understand? 

Dazai doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you don’t necessarily hate him. That you never did. He doesn’t know that you let him do as he wills. He doesn’t know that no matter how much he thinks of himself as the ‘mastermind’ it’s you who handed him the reins. The one that held the other end of the leash that hung on your neck and places it right into the palm of his hands.

𓇚

“Men will be men,” The lady in the white lab coat had once said to you. 

“They’ll always believe they invented the wheel. They will always come close to calling themselves ‘creators’ of it all. They do not understand.”

Neither did you, back then. All you could really remember were the sparks she always sent flying towards you — with no mercy.

To those people in the lab coats that stood behind the glass, observing you the reactions your body gave out — you weren’t some kid. Not some seven year old that probably should’ve been playing in park with kids her age or discussing the latest episode of some show that always aired from 6pm onwards. No, you were just a vessel. A means to an end. That’s all you were as they watched you writhing through the glass, taking in the after effects of the electricity coursing through your veins.

Sometimes, you still feel the sparks travelling through your body and the night repeats. This time — it’s in your head. It hurts all the same.

What that lady didn’t understand was that Dazai was no man. He never felt like one, at the very least. No matter how many masks he puts on to fill in the gaps or self — that one hollow part of him never fills up. He’s afraid it never will.

He never feels connected to those around him — to humanity. The best he could have had was Oda, and he didn’t exactly get to experience that in this world. So, as a self preserving tactic, he tries to form some scrappy sense of comfort with what's left for him and take it from you instead. Some part of him felt like you know this too, and let it happen.

In some wild way it’s fitting, he thinks. It makes sense that this world was meant to be special. It’s the only one where Oda will be able to continue living and eventually write that novel. It’s the only one where Dazai will finally fulfill his long running wish. It only makes sense that there are innumerable amount of exceptions.

Not only are the shin-soukoku switched and roles have been exceptionally reversed, new anomalies continue to rise up as days go by. That’s part of the reason he decided to make you part of the Port Mafia. To deal with those anomalies efficiently since your ability was perfect to cut through them all. 

𓇚

If anyone were to barge in right now, they would be greeted with an extremely bizzare sight. The boss of Port Mafia, one of — if not the most feared man in Yokohama — gazing gently at you as his dark figure envelopes you completely. In some humourous way it almost looks like a black cat holding it’s prey close, making sure it doesn’t get snatched.

He likes it, he supposes. The way you look so serene in the low lighting of his office. How your head rests right next to his bandaged heart. He adores the way you pout your lips in your sleep. You seem much more honest with your expressions when you’re asleep than when you’re awake. You look so inviting, he just can’t help himself.

He’s in too deep — you’ve had to have put him under a spell of sorts. There’s no other logical explanation to the way you’ve made him do such illogical things. How you’ve reduced him of all people — the demon prodigy and Mori’s successor into such a state? Since he was a kid logic has been drilled into his very bones. Every strategy and it’s counter. The side of him that was built to be made a mafiaso has always been rational.

What he failed to take into account is that to you he’s just — Dazai. There’s no other valid explanation to how you’ve enamoured and caged his heart in the tender embrace of your palms, in every single world of the book.

So he gives in, he lets himself fall. He leans down to place a soft kiss onto your lips. With as much gentleness as he can muster up — given his disposition. It was supposed to be nothing more than a soft peck. What he didn’t see coming was how as your eyes began to flutter open and how you kissed him back.

© hansolen do not translate or repost anywhere else.

[auraisereigh]

"Shadows and sparks"

Oneshot

Xaden Riorson x reader

Request + Blurb: Could I request first year reader constantly getting on Xaden's nerves and pushing his buttons until the reader sees Violet and Xaden making out one night and suddenly reader stops interacting with Xaden, which drives him crazy? wc: 5.7 ☆ NO SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. No specific pronous used, i think.

My first request! thank you so, so much lovely! <3

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

It had been weeks of trying to get my sword swing right. With daggers, I was skilled—extremely skilled—but swords were a different story. They were heavier, harder to handle. So, I’d started asking Xaden for help.

For the last few weeks, Xaden had been working with me, but it never seemed like he actually wanted to. That thought alone filled me with insecurity.

Today, I had one of those rare moments as a first year where I had nothing on my schedule. I saw it as the perfect opportunity to get in some extra training.

But for that, I needed Xaden.

Lucky me, he just happened to be in the training room, his friend Garrick not far off. Both of them were clearly caught up in their own routines.

I hesitated for a moment before slowly making my way over to him, sword in hand. I always doubted myself when asking for his help. Sure, he did help, but it never felt like he actually enjoyed it. Maybe he only did it because I’m a marked one.

“Hey…” I said quietly, my voice barely audible. I swallowed hard, steeling myself before trying again. “Would you mind helping me with that swing? I think I almost have it.” I tried to sound casual, throwing in a touch of friendliness for good measure.

He stopped mid-movement and turned toward me, his cold eyes locking onto mine. Yep, definitely annoyed.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Just a moment…please?” I tried again, my tone softer this time.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall to his side. He dropped his sword. “Just a moment,” he said, his voice as sharp and cutting as the blade in my hand.

Xaden was always the same when he gave instructions—sharp, and to the point. Even after the session ended and he stepped off the mat, he didn’t soften. No goodbye, no comment on what I should work on. It was strange—he always had something to say, some correction to offer for next time.

Not today. Today, I had officially pushed all his buttons and that made me feel horrible.

Later that night, about an hour before curfew, I wandered through the massive halls of the Riders Quadrant. With the freezing months settling in, a nice hot drink seemed like a good idea.

I turned toward the courtyard when I heard voices—two of them. A man and a woman.

“We’ll both regret it,” the man said, his tone low and laced with frustration.

No…wait. That’s Xaden’s voice.

“Naturally,” the woman replied, her voice calm and familiar. Violet Sorrengail.

As quietly as I could, I moved toward the edge of the wall. I peeked around the corner, but I immediately wished I hadn’t.

Violet and Xaden. Kissing.

I bit my lip. No, it wasn’t just kissing—she was practically climbing him.

I stepped back from the wall, sucking in a shaky breath to stop myself from trembling.

I never felt anything romantic for Xaden—or at least that’s what I told myself. He was helpful, even when he never seemed to want to be. But seeing them together…it hurt more than I expected.

It's probably better this way. If i don't talk to him, i won't have to face the humuliation of knowing he chose someone else.

The urge to look again, to confirm what I’d seen, was huge. But I knew what I saw. No need to make it worse.

♤

It had been five days since I last spoke to Xaden—or more accurately, since I started avoiding him. The ache in my chest hadn’t eased, no matter how much I tried to bury it.

I spent most of my free time practicing. Training felt like the only way to get him out of my head, though it never worked completely.

It was nearly dark, the training room clearing out as the hours ticked by. I swung my sword again, harder this time, pouring my frustration into each movement.

“Use that much force, and you’ll cut your own head off.”

I froze at the sharp voice behind me.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Xaden. You can do this, I told myself.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I buried my emotions.

He raised a brow, the scarred one. “You asked me to teach you,” he argued, his voice just as sharp.

“Do you think I don’t notice you slipping out of every room I walk into? Avoiding me like I’ve done something wrong?” He steps closer, his voice low and cutting. “Tell me what I did.”

I scoffed and turned back toward my mat, but before I could pick up my sword, his hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to pull away.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. And don’t lie—we both know you have.”

His grip didn’t loosen, but his tone softened slightly, the sharp edge still unmistakable.

“I don’t get involved in relationship drama,” I replied sarcastically, giving him a pointed look.

His frown deepened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You and Violet,” I said, raising a brow. “I’m not getting between that mess.”

His grip finally loosened, and he stepped back, confusion flickering across his face.

“Violet and I are not…that is not—we’re not together,” he said sharply.

“She climbed you like a tree five nights ago,” I deadpanned, meeting his gaze head-on.

For a moment, he just stared at me. Then, to my shock, a grin spread across his face—wider than I’d ever seen.

“You’re jealous,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

“Excuse me?” I shot back, taken aback. “I assure you, I am not jealous. I just refuse to be part of a mess.”

He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed into the wall. His hands came up, caging me in.

“I assure you,” he said softly, his voice dropping lower, “there’s nothing between Violet and me. What you saw was her first time experiencing the mating bond between our dragons.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it.

“Surprisingly, I only have eyes for you.”

My breath hitched, his words catching me completely off guard. “You don’t show it,” I managed to say after a moment. "All you’ve ever done is push me away.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “Because I can’t think straight when you’re around. You’re stubborn, infuriating, and you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

He sighed, the softness in his expression almost foreign. “It’s difficult to teach you when all I want to do is kiss you.”

Excuse me? There is no way that this man just admitted that. The usual cold, emotionless man that I had been stupidly falling for did not just admit to want to kiss me.

"what?" I whisper out, not trusting my voice to talk any louder or say anything else.

One of his hands cup my face and I can feel my cheeks flush. "All I want to do is kiss you." He repeats, his voice is just as confident as before.

I think for a moment before I speak again. "Then why don't you?" The question is soft and I can barely even finish it as his mouth crashes on mine.

The kiss is rough, just as I expected from this man. His hand on my face tightens and his other hand goes to my waist. He squeezes my waist softly as the kiss deepens.

Gods, this man.

After a few more seconds he pulls away, leaving my breathless as I lean against the wall.

"That was..." I start breathless. "Perfect," he finishes for me. A smile creeps up my face, I can feel my body heat up more every second.

"yeah....yeah, it was perfect," I repeat and I lift my eyes to his. He seems to be feeling the heat to.

"we can finish what we started in my room." He proposes and my eyes widen slightly-- not in fear, no, in anticipation.

I nod my face quickly. "Yeah sounds amazing. Sounds perfect." I say with a smile. He gives me a grin.

"Let's go then." He says grabbing my hand.

♤

[carabas]

Dragon Age Veilguard liveblogging -

Why did they make the ghostly Fen'harel ritual wolves so cute, and yet make them disappear as soon as we get close enough to see them. Deeply unfair.

Just a little guy!

Elgar'nan talking about potential traps in the Crossroads: "Fen'harel's spite is endless and his trickery not easily overcome." I'm paying close attention any time our spirit companion's name comes up in lowercase form, since compassion and justice were pretty much the defining themes of their respective games - I'm kind of surprised that our companion this time is Spite and not Regret, actually. They've been hammering home the regret theme pretty hard! But I guess spite's not exactly unrelated.

And then at the Halls of Valor, both Isabela and Seer Rowan referring to Spite not as a demon but as a Spirit of Determination - I love this, I want to chew on this.

INQUISITOR!!

Harding going through a crisis about the Chant being a lie! Everybody gets to have a religious crisis! It's equality!

I already had collected all five wolf statues before Lavellan's visit so we're going through the restored images of Solas's regrets one right after the other, all these big theories being confirmed all at once, and it feels like the moment at the end of a mystery story where the detective gathers everyone together - the kind of story where the ending isn't an attempt to catch the audience off guard with a surprise twist, it's the satisfying payoff of spotting the clues and putting them together. The way these games are written feels so rewarding.

And then I go confront the Formless One, the last of the four Forbidden Ones, we've met them all now across the four games, and it's hitting me that this has to be the final Dragon Age game, right? I mean, you could tell endless stories in this setting if you wanted, but the story they have been building for four games is coming to a conclusion here. Everything from the big foundational lore mysteries right down to this one reoccurring side quest is wrapping up. I wonder if this game will have a cliffhanger the way every previous Dragon Age has, or if there will finally be a proper ending. (Don't tell me.)

Also, while visiting the Necropolis:

Harding: This doesn't look like wine. Emmrich: Oh, grave-mist isn't a wine. It's magically infused vapors captured near tombs where spirits dwell. I don't partake myself, but it's supposedly quite invigorating.

...Making a note of that one for fanfic purposes.

[shiftthemoon]

reality shifting isn’t hard. you’ve been told it’s hard because everyone’s too scared to admit it’s not. they cling to their 800-step methods, their must-have crystals, their perfect conditions because they think that if they let go of that control, they’ll fail. but here’s the thing: the more you try to control the process, the more you convince yourself it’s out of your control. and that’s the problem. that’s why so many people feel stuck. shifting isn’t some big, far-fetched thing. it’s just you. it’s always been you.

we’re conditioned to think we’re powerless. think about it—school, work, society, all of it drills this idea into us that everything has to be proven, earned, validated. so, when you hear about shifting, your brain freaks out and says, wait, wait, this is too easy, this can’t be real. and then you spiral. you overcomplicate it. you make yourself think you need the “perfect” script, the “right” subliminal, or that you have to meditate for three hours while the stars align perfectly. like, no… you don’t. all of that? it’s fluff. it’s noise.

at its core, shifting is belief. just belief. no, really, let that sink in. you don’t need to “do” belief perfectly. it’s not something you master through sheer willpower. it’s something you already have. you’ve believed in things your whole life. you believed in gravity without needing proof. you believe your favorite songs are beautiful without needing to explain why. belief is natural. it’s effortless when you stop overthinking it. that’s the energy you need to bring to shifting—trust. trust that your mind knows what it’s doing, and that if you let it, it will take you there. every single extra thing you pile on? the overthinking, the doubt, the need for guarantees? that’s what’s slowing you down. not the “lack of progress,” not some mythical “block”—it’s you convincing yourself it’s harder than it is.

and let’s talk about social media for a second. oh my god, the shifting community on social media… i get it. it’s comforting to see other people on this journey. but let’s be honest—how much of that content is actually helping you? like, really? 90% of the time, scrolling through shifting advice isn’t inspiring; it’s overwhelming. everyone’s got their own opinions, their own “best methods,” their own rules. one person says scripting is a must, another says it’s a waste of time. one person swears by affirmations, another says visualization is the only way. and before you know it, you’re sitting there questioning everything you thought you knew, wondering if you’ll ever get it “right.” spoiler alert: you already know how to shift. you don’t need a thousand voices telling you what to do. in fact, the more you listen to them, the harder it becomes to hear yourself.

take a break. seriously. log off the apps. give yourself space to breathe and think. ask yourself: why do i want to shift? what’s stopping me? what feels right to me? no tiktok trend, youtube guide, or reddit post can answer those questions for you. only you can. and i know that sounds scary. we’ve been conditioned to think we need external validation for everything, but shifting is a deeply personal thing. you don’t need a step-by-step tutorial. you need to trust your instincts. that’s it.

and let me be clear: i’m not saying methods or subliminals are bad. they’re fine if they help you feel aligned. but they’re not what makes shifting happen. you are. methods are just tools. if you use them, great. if you don’t, that’s great too. because the truth is, shifting isn’t about doing things “right.” it’s about letting go of the idea that you need to.

so let me break it down for you. the only things you really need to shift are:

1. a desire. you have to want to go to your desired reality. no brainer, right?

2. belief. this is the big one. you have to trust it’s possible. no “what ifs,” no “but hows.” just trust.

3. persistence. if it doesn’t happen right away, that’s okay. don’t give up. if you’ve ever learned to ride a bike, you know that falling doesn’t mean you can’t do it—it just means you’re learning. shifting is the same.

that’s it. no fancy rituals, no endless research, no “perfect” conditions. the process is simple because it’s natural. you’ve probably done it before without even realizing it— the only reason it feels hard now is because you’ve convinced yourself it has to be.

stop making it harder than it needs to be. shifting isn’t this unattainable, mystical thing reserved for “chosen ones.” it’s something anyone can do. you can do it. your mom can do it. that anti-shifter lurking in every crevice of shiftblr could do it. you’ve always been capable. but you have to stop getting in your own way. stop doubting yourself. stop relying on others to tell you what’s possible. this is your journey. own it.

and above all, be patient. shifting is not a race. it’s not about how fast you can get there or how perfect your dr is. it’s about trust, intention, and focus. log off, tune into yourself, and let it happen. shifting has always been yours to claim. it’s not something you need permission for. it’s not something you need to earn. it’s just you, your mind, and your belief. always has been, always will be.

[bwat5-blog]

Caitlyn Kiramman: The Perfect Scapegoat

*Spoilers For Arcane*

Good morning all! So continuing my slow descent into insanity let us discuss Arcane once more. Last night trying to fall asleep I was scrolling Archive and came across another of what I think I have seen being called "aftermath" works, just meaning it is the particular author's spin on Cait and Vi's life fairly immediately following the end of season two.

I am not going to name the work or the author because fan-fiction is literally creative art for the author to do with as they please, and I certainly don't have to read anything I don't want to, so I have no desire to call this person out. But I have seen this sort of thing a lot and wanted to discuss it.

"Caitlyn has to face the consequences for her crimes"

Now I have read some truly abhorrent concepts of "justice" people have put Caitlyn through for her actions, and won't be going there. Some are downright inhuman and others just display a hilarious lack of understanding. But the reason this one stuck with me and really had me thinking is that even though it was not the author's intent based on their notes, I actually think they actually did a fantastic job sharing another side of how Caitlyn was utterly failed by almost everyone around her.

In this particular work, the surviving councilors and the prominent people of Piltover have Caitlyn arrested and conduct a tribunal. Including Mel and Shoola. She is called to answer for a host of charges such as allying with a foreign power against her own people, wrongful imprisonment and so on. You get the idea.

So why does this particular idea stick out to me? Because the audacity of the same people who practically fed Caitlyn to Ambessa, as well as surrendered Piltover while pounding their chests and cheering blaming Caitlyn is so nauseatingly realistic it hurts.

QUICK THING ON MEL:

Now let me clear. Mel would never. And had she been there she would have put a stop to that shit or at the very least nodded along while her mother called Caitlyn up then went to Caitlyn afterward in private and started fixing things. But, it is worth noting that Mel knew full and completely what her mother was planning in terms of starting a war to weaponize hex-tech. And as far as we are aware (I think we can assume she told Alora but we don't know for sure) didn't tell anyone. She was trying to stop her behind the scenes through her shadow games. And there are reasons and justifications for that certainly. In fact I think it's safe to assume Mel may have been afraid her mother would just outright attack if Mel was too aggressive in opposing her. Mel was a politician only at this time, and solved problems through more cerebral methods. Even when her magic manifests it is one primarily of protection and deflection, not head on aggression. Not to mention Mel's unavoidable conflicting emotions opposing her at all. But we will never how things could have been different if the rest of the council were aware of Ambessa's plan to begin with.

WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED:

This is primarily about her actual time as commander but I wanted to touch on the task force. I recently was discussing the task force/use of The Grey with another user and they stated Caitlyn staged a coup to lead the task force. This of course is in no way true, but as my wife put it:

"She didn't stage a coup but not a single one of those spineless adults thought to look at the emotionally sandblasted college kid and say -No. You haven't even taken a beat since you were abducted and terrorized by your mother's killer and you have just survived another fight. We will figure this out but you don't need this right now. Go hug your incredibly hot girlfriend and take like a fifteen hour nap- instead they let themselves take the easy way out and pinned it all on Caitlyn."

The Commander:

I am not gonna do a whole recap or a break-down of how Ambessa plays these people like a fiddle again. If you are interested I'd love to hear your thoughts on the documents where I have covered those topics!

In Summary: Caitlyn has returned from her mission with the strike team ending in heartbreak and failure in terms of Jinx at least. Totally isolated and alone, not having healed from any of the trauma she has suffered since the beginning of S1 A2, she stands with the other Enforcers while Ambessa expertly manipulates the prominent families of Piltover, the two surviving councilors, and a large amount of Enforcers you would have to assume included leadership (given their presence here and that there clearly many more than this total) into not only agreeing to Martial Law, but to Caitlyn as their commander.

"Caitlyn could have said no"- This is certainly true. I don't think anyone is arguing that myself included. Bu it is extraordinarily important to factor in Caitlyn's mental state at this point which includes a completely mind-boggling amount of trauma. As well as the fact that her people are angry and afraid, and as a Kiramman even at her young age she is someone they look to. Now sprinkle in a healthy amount of mob mentality and manipulation by Ambessa, as she is standing in a crowd of people thumping their chests while the only speaking member of her team stands by her side smiling and encouraging her to go up and accept. And then just to seal the deal Ambessa promises what Caitlyn wants most "your mother will have justice". She absolutely had the choice to say no. I am not negating that. But I do think unless you are intentionally disregarding all of the other factors involved in order to demonize her it is quite clear that things were not so simple. She ultimately made the choice, but ignoring the context doesn't make you righteous. Only ignorant, unfeeling, or both.

And for all those who love rolling out the old "Caitlyn jumped at the first chance to take power and punish all of Zaun just because her mom died" speech, lets take a look at how Caitlyn is actually feeling:

I can only speak for me, but let me tell you what I see playing out in these images point by point:

Shock

Fear

Conflict

Reassurance

Nervousness

Stoic sadness

Acceptance of responsibility

A FUCKING FIFTY SOMETHING YEAR OLD CONQUERING WAR-MONGER SEEING HER DREAM COME TRUE

But! Stepping away from Caitlyn for a moment back to more of my original point. Caitlyn and Ambessa were not alone during this moment. Ambessa had instructed Salo to summon all people of prominence and power or something to that effect. Basically the people who had a say in how things go. These are the people she puppets into agreeing to Martial Law and Caitlyn as their commander. Let's take a look at these heroes:

*Salo was there but I couldn't get a great still of him and I will give him a pass at least in the moment because Rictus was threatening him*

There were more people than this but these were the ones that I could grab in decent quality. And these were the people to make the decision. Otherwise Ambessa would not have needed them all there and gone through her whole song and dance. And I understand the argument that some of them were probably afraid due to the Noxian's doing their stomp dance, but guess what? If the adult politicians and people in power get that grace so does the college kid who recently got emotionally and mentally nuked back to the stone age.

Every single one of them let this happen. They could have stepped during it, they could have taken action after. Salo and Shoola were on the council with Cassandra. They both watch her daughter get served up on a plate to Ambessa so everyone can go about their lives feeling safer and pretending its all handled. There were enforcers there more than twice Caitlyn's age. Someone there was a position of leadership at some level. Not a single damn one made a move? Questioned? An assembly of probably between 30-50 people made up of Piltover's elite all bury their heads in the sand and let the grieving, inexperienced, young, recently returned from violent conflict college kid take the heat so they can go back to easy street and blame someone else if things go wrong.

AWARD FOR SPECTACULAR FAILURE:

We of course cannot touch on the prominent people of Piltover who might as well have spartan kicked Caitlyn into Ambessa's open maw without talking about Tobias. Listen, Anyone who has been following me for any length of time has seen my relentless attempts to get people to recognize the importance of understanding how grief and loss hits people. This man lost his wife. His entire world got turned upside down. And I don't deny that at a point even if he had stepped in Caitlyn may have shut him down as she became the leader of house Kiramman anyway. But he does.... nothing... Part of this probably just comes down to the decision by the writers for him to kind of vanish but we see him defending her efforts to help early on and then when she has so clearly lost her way we get nothing from him.

Martial Law:

So as I said, I have been through all of this in detail. Not doing it again. But since we are talking about it what did Caitlyn actually do?

Establish Checkpoints and take martial control of Zaun.

Arrest people who violated the law.

.............

Piltover elite willingly agree to Martial Law

Piltover elite agree to Caitlyn being made leader

Zaun falls under Piltover jurisdiction regardless of Martial Law or not

Somewhere in Zaun is a dangerous terrorist guilty of multiple political assassinations, the deaths of several enforcers, tremendous destruction of property, multiple attempts to murder Caitlyn herself, and violent abduction of Caitlyn who at the time was a councilor's daughter from her own home.

Zaunite fighters conduct devastating attack on memorial service in what is supposed to be a secure location. Jinx would almost certainly be suspected of involvement but even if not once again the threat comes from Zaun.

The leader they chose, who is the leader because of the martial law they agreed to, places Zaun under occupation until this clear and unquestionable threat to public safety is located. She challenges unlawful arrests, unnecessary violence, bans the use of the worst cells in Stillwater she found Vi in, and has no part in Ambessa's secret experiments and brutality in the bowels of the prison.

None of this is to say that Caitlyn did not make mistakes, did not lose herself to her rage and hate, or does not share in the blame to a degree for the suffering Ambessa caused. I think it is fair to say that Caitlyn, much like those who failed her so spectacularly, looked away from the truth because it was easier to do so at first. And that is not even factoring the massive manipulation of Ambessa upon Caitlyn during this time to keep the occupation going while she continues to try and crack hex-tech, and attempting to control Caitlyn and bend her to her will.

But the idea of the people who all turned away while Caitlyn was made Ambessa's scapegoat so they could sleep peacefully at night condemning her from on high is both disgusting, and sadly all too believable. They have already proved their cowardice and stupidity. And it would be the final betrayal of someone who wanted above all else to protect her people to subject her to some sort of tribunal/punishment in the wake of surviving her cities complete abandonment of her. Especially considering her massive life-changing injuries sustained in the defense of humanity itself while setting things right.

Regarding Zaun:

The people of Zaun are for obvious reasons another matter. There is the larger picture ongoing oppression of Zaun by Piltover to consider, and even considering all the above factors the people of Zaun:

A- Would not have any way to know how much of part Ambessa played behind the scenes until someone made it all public

B- Were the ones who actually suffered during the occupation that Caitlyn did authorize regardless of reasoning.

And just like above, I am not saying Caitlyn does not share in the blame for what occurred. While everything she did was within her scope of authority, an authority lawfully granted to her, and in response to a very legitimate threat to Piltover's safety, it does not change the fact that people imprisoned during the occupation were potentially subjected to Ambessa's brutality. Never mind the day-to-day brutality enacted by Rictus and his men.

But again there are other factors that need to be considered before constructing the gallows:

Piltover's oppression of Zaun is unquestionable. But neither is Piltover's current legal jurisdiction over Zaun. Every action Caitlyn took and was knowledgeable of was completely legal, no matter how wrong you find the law.

The Grey- I am absolutely not doing my whole breakdown again. But through the use of the grey they helped take down Shimmer and the Chem-Barons, which were both enormous threats to the under city. And while it uncomfortable and clearly dangerous when exposed over long periods of time, there is absolutely no evidence of it being dangerous from short term exposure how Caitlyn used it.

And of course, the biggest factor: JINX.

I'll make all of you a deal. Caitlyn gets a noose if Jinx hops up next to her. I love Jinx but it serves no purpose to pretend she's an angel. Jinx is the one who kicks all of this off to begin with. It is because of her that Piltover retaliation is guaranteed, because of her Caitlyn's entire life so violently and radically changes course. And let's be clear here, before you start with all that Jinx was striking out against the oppressors who had ruined her peoples lives in the name of justice and blah blah blah. Nope. Know how I know that? She hid during the entire occupation until Isha got taken. She wasn't speaking truth to power in the name of her people. She was a mentally ill child lashing out at a symbol of her rage in a moment of extraordinary grief and pain. And regarding her hiding by the way, I applauded her for it. Getting away from all of that shit is how she started to get better. As far as I'm concerned I would have cheered to see she and Isha leave that temple fight, board an airship, and head off for adventures far away from Piltover and Zaun forever (Same for Caitlyn and Vi but that's a different document).

So all that said, while Caitlyn certainly has a debt to the people of Zaun, we need to take care not to wrap that up with the debt Piltover owes to Zaun.

Caitlyn is not to blame for the entire history of the two cities. She only played a part in this series of events. And it would be dishonest not to admit that it was a Zaunite that started in the first place, the same Zaunite who changed Caitlyn's life forever through her violence and terrorism. And that the same woman who manipulated Zaunite warriors into attacking Piltover to help kick the war off manipulated Caitlyn herself.

If Silco's mad daughter can become their symbol of hope, and his most trusted lieutenant can become their first councilor, perhaps the people of Zaun can find mercy in their heart for a young woman who recently almost gave her life to make things right. Not to mention her families seat on the council.

Anyway. You have all heard most of this from me before in some form or fashion. So I apologize for that. And again I really am not coming for fan-fiction. I would be the ULTIMATE hypocrite given my recent small efforts. The particular story that got my attention just made me think about it, and then realize it would be sickeningly true to form for the Piltover elite to try and turn on Caitlyn when it was all said and done when they abandoned her the first time. And spawned into this. Thank you for reading.

Have a great day!

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Husk with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario

warnings: aged-up!reader [early to late twenties], spoilers for episode 4 to the season finale, mentions of physical abuse and attempted drugging, violence, Husk's language, dismemberment, mentions of cannibalism.

Hey guys, and welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fics, this time featuring our grumpy bartender and one of my favorite characters, Husk! :) This is a collaborated project with not just @isuckatwritingsobenice, but also with @vikkirosko, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, and @riddle-simp, who gave me honest feedback on the rough drafts and how to make it the best fic I could create before sharing it with the world.

If you would like to see more of Husk x Violet, please do let me know know in the comments section or as an ask! Like always, bullying is not tolerated here so if there is any implication of it happening here, this scenario will be taken down immediately. If you have nothing nice to say, do not say it at all.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see who will win the full house at the card tables tonight :)

Reblog to support content creators!

Husk isn’t gonna deny it. It ain’t like him to deny the truth when it’s staring at him right in the fucking face. He thinks you are a little bit of an oddball. You don’t smile, you wear the same outfit every day, and you don’t eat much either unless Niffty practically drags you to the staff’s dining room from wherever she found you hiding. Normally, it’s one of two places: out in the backyard, or the greenhouse, because you’re the hotel’s groundskeeper. And that was on your days off.

 Like Angel, you worked for an overlord, but your boss wasn’t that shitbag Valentino or Vox or Velvette. Your boss is Rosie, the owner of Rosie’s Emporium in the Cannibal Colony. You were her personal secretary. You had been on her payroll for over ten years, working from nine to five unless you had to stay later. She did not seem to mind you staying at the hotel so long as it did not affect her reputation or your work ethic in any way. 

So far you’ve kept your word. Alastor actually seemed to be happy that you were around. 

Maybe. Husk couldn’t fucking tell what that son of a bitch is thinking anymore. But back to you. 

You, who believed in Charlie’s work.

You, who participated in each activity and helped around without getting paid for your time.

You, the expressionless ex-military soldier, has been on his mind recently and he did not like it. 

He lost the ability to feel anything years ago. 

Nonetheless he continued to observe you from afar. When you weren’t busy with watering plants, you were seen in different parts around the hotel with the others. 

You would sit with the princess in the parlor, comparing ideas on what tomorrow’s group exercise should be, even when the only two ideas you’ve suggested were shot down immediately by Charlie. She didn’t like the idea of group bonding through hand-to-hand combat but loved the concept of showing appreciation to one another through handwritten letters. Vaggie approved the former. The latter? Not so much. 

In the kitchen you would go through the cookbook with Niffty and Alastor, trying to decide on tonight’s dinner.  They allowed you to help out, at least when it didn’t involve cracking eggs. Apparently you were not very good at separating the yolk. 

When Sir Pentious was away from the hotel doing God knows what, he trusted you to look after the Egg Bois until he got back. You kept them busy around the greenhouse though they tended to make a bit of a mess. 

Angel started to work extra late at the studio after his show and tell presentation. Something about making a big commercial and Val wanted to make big bucks on this new product that the Vees were launching in a week. You must have noticed that something was off about him, but you didn’t say anything to him. No words of encouragement, no comforting hand on his shoulder. All you did was clench your gloved hands into fists, watching him leave and…unsure of yourself. What you should do. 

Husk heard you asking Niffty what were some of the kid’s favorite foods about that time, and she was more than happy to help you with whatever it was you needed as long as you left the kitchen sparkling when you were done. You were concerned about the kid. Least from what he could remember. He drank a lot that day. 

When he woke up much later after falling asleep at the bar, hearing your footsteps descend down the grand staircase and towards the kitchen. Groggily, probably stupidly on his part, Husk thought it would be a great idea to know what the fuck you were up to so early in the morning. Turns out you were trying to cook something, judging from how you looked at the ratty cookbook propped up on the counter and the wide array of ingredients spread out. 

He saw you cook  finely chopped onions, garlic, and minced ground meat in the large frying pan on the left side of the stove. You stirred something in a smaller sauce pan on the right side with a wooden spoon. He saw you handle all of the ingredients with great care, placing them in a baking dish  even when you weren’t wearing your leather gloves. A small shudder crawled down his spine at how the kitchen lights bounced off of the adamantium skeletal prosthetics that acted as your hands. 

He didn’t even wanna know how exactly you lost them in the Great War. 

Everything was soon laid out, layer by layer and placed in the oven. He didn’t know he stood there for so long, even when you began to clean up the kitchen with a rag. Time ticked by slowly, and then a delicious aroma tickled his nose even as he took another swing of the half-filled booze bottle he was holding. He was about to leave you alone, knowing you’d be fine when he saw you pull out the dish with your hands and no oven mittens on, you fucking moron! Then his mind remembered something that stopped him from making an entrance. You couldn’t feel anything with your prosthetics, not even as you placed it on the stove top to let it sit. 

A couple of hours later - maybe he can’t keep track of time anymore so it might have been the following morning - he saw you giving Angel a large paper bag every morning before both of you left the hotel, and telling him to have a good day. 

Angel grudgingly thanked you later on that evening when he got back…though did say your garlic bread needed some work. The next day, he gave you a paper bag, telling you to taste real Italian grub and try to replicate it. 

Guess it became a game between the two of you, ‘cause Angel was slowly being someone real and not some fake  whiny bitch. 

As odd as you are….you cared about everyone in your own way, even when the words that came out of your mouth angered someone or made them cry, you tried. You never asked for help unless it was necessary, trying to learn everything on your own. And you were smart, Husk will give you that. 

And he…he doesn’t know if he had the heart to tell you that redemption might not be possible. Unlike him, you still carried a spark of hope. You believe in the princess. He doesn’t want to be the one to see you reach your breaking point, to be dragged into a swamp of despair and get drowned in all sorts of addictions to cope with the pain. He was…anxious. No. He was scared for you. He wanted to help you but he was afraid that by intervening, he would just make matters worse.

It was better to just stick to the sidelines with a bottle of booze and watch everything happen like the bartender Alastor wanted him to be, right? Well, turns out he was wrong. 

One night after he made Angel a drink and called him out on his bullshit for being fake, the whiny little bitch stormed out of the hotel. Vaggie tried to make him go out and bring him out, but Charlie intervened. All she asked him was to make sure that Angel was okay. Do not force him to come back if he isn't ready. Obviously judging from the distraught look on her face, something happened between the princess and Angel. 

Husk did not know what or why, and he really did not want to play the role of a goddamned babysitter. Not when it was actually a slow evening and he didn’t have to hear these fucks bitch and moan for hours on end. But Vaggie’s glare, knowing Alastor would force him to do it because he fucking can and not knowing what would happen if he actually violated the terms of their contract, he left the hotel. The first place he went to were the streets. No luck. And no one had seen him. When he moved his search to the bars, he spotted Angel going inside one of them. 

Long story short, he was going to hang back and just keep an eye on Angel getting drunk off his ass with some shady sharks in a corner booth until he saw one of them pour something into Angel’s drink. He took care of the fucker, got Angel out, and listened to him. Angel Dust was not just an act. It’s who he needs to be. Drinking and getting high is his escape. He wants to be damaged so that he won’t be Val’s favorite toy anymore. 

Then when it seemed like they came to an understanding with a song, those bastards opened fire on the streets, targeting him and wanting Angel to come back to have some ‘fun’. Yeah, fuck no. 

That was when he heard car tires screeching against the asphalt, doors opening and closing with more shouting. Husk gritted his teeth. “Shit.” He turned to Angel. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.” He pulled out his cards, ready to hop onto the roof of the pink Volkswagen they were hiding when he heard a  shnk, a high pitched squeal, then a gurgle. 

THUD.

Shnk.

THUD.

C-crack.

THUD.

“Who the fuck is this bitch?! Kill her, kill her you stupid asshats!” 

“Holy shit, toots?! The fuck - why is she here?!” Angel cried. Husk raised his brow, craning his head as far as he could without being in range of a bullet to see what was going on. There were only two people Angel called toots and he was pretty damned sure they were back at the hotel, safe and sound. Not one of them blitzing across the street, dodging bullets and slicing enemies down with a hunter’s knife in one hand, a large carpet bag in the other. 

He blinked. Nope. He was sober. Shit. He thought as you weaved between the shitheads, disarming, decapitating, and snapping their necks in no particular order. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a weapon for the army.  When he saw a flash of movement from the smaller grunt, twirling a knife and aiming it for your head as you pumped lead into his friend, Husk made his move. Hopping onto top of the car and threw his cards. One cleanly sliced the asshole’s neck. 

He quickly made through the growing crowd, running towards you as he threw some dice into a hammerhead’s mouth. But when he turned his back towards them, he felt something light and strong coil around his neck, cutting off his air supply. 

Fuck. Garroting wire! Husk flailed around  scratching, kicking,  and trying to get loose but the fucker was too damned strong. Black spots began to appear in the corner of his eyes when he felt a white hot stinging pain graze his left cheek, then something warm and sticky with a metallic scent. Blood.

The body behind him dropped, and so did he, yanking the wire off  him and inhaling deep gulps of  precious oxygen. Husk looked up and saw Angel with a shit-eating grin and a Tommy Gun in his upper hands. 

“Eat lead, sucker!” The porn star cackled, firing several more bullets into the corpse and his buddies that were closing in on them. Angel grinned at him, extending a hand to help him up.”I told ya. I can handle myself, baby.” Husk felt a grin stretching his own face as the fella pulled out more weapons with more arms. Well….not something he was expecting. 

Between the three of them, they made quick work with the rest of the gang and their reinforcements. Like him and Angel, you were covered in grime and blood but you were all right. 

“Are you two all right?” You asked as you wiped off the blood from your knife with a handkerchief, the carpet bag by your feet and in pristine condition. “No limbs missing that weren’t missing before you arrived?” 

“Yeah, we’re good.” Angel said, putting away his guns and extra limbs. “More importantly, why the fuck are you out here instead of the hotel?!” He interrogated, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at you, stomping towards you. Before Husk could stop him, Angel grabbed  your cheeks with his hands and pinched them. “You know these streets are dangerous, toots! How many times do Vags and I gotta tell ya?! Come straight home when you’re done with work!” Then he blinked, his face turning white, his eyes widening in horror. “Toots,” He said slowly. “Y-you ain’t hooking up with anyone around here, are ya?!” He yelled, now pulling your cheeks outwards as if you were a cartoon character. 

You didn’t flinch from the cheek pinching or pulling; instead, you looked at him in slightly confusion. “I don’t understand. What does fishing have anything to do with this except that these men were quite literally loan sharks standing outside a nautical-themed bar?” You asked. 

“Toots.” Angel said warningly. “If you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear to fucking God I am going to yeet you off a rooftop.”

“ ‘Yeet’?” You repeated.

“[First Name], just tell us why you’re here.” Husk said, already feeling a headache coming on and in need of a drink. You turned your attention to him, then back at Angel before you spoke.

“Rosie sent me out on a last-minute errand to get fertilizer for her plants. But by the time I got there, the shop was already closed. I was on my way home when I heard the gunshots, and saw the two of you being pinned down. I was not going to leave my comrades behind when I could help them. So I did. And now,” You looked over at the bodies strewn across the street. “I have what I need. Two birds with one stone, as Rosie says.”

“Ya mean ‘kill two birds with one stone’, toots?”

“Yes.”

“So, by fertilizer, ya mean these schmucks that we just totally obliterated.”

“Yes.”

“Food for plants.”

“Carnivorous plants. And if the fertilizer is fresh, the better it is for them. Rosie loves her plants very much.” You said, pulling away from Angel and grabbed the carpet bag off of the ground, walking towards the nearest body. “If you do not want to be here, I suggest you leave quickly.” You knelt down, laying the bag down and opened it, laying out assorted tools. Bone saws, knives, a large roll of plastic wrap, etc. “Rosie says I have gotten much quicker at dismemberment.” You carefully peeled off your gloves, replacing them with gray surgical ones. 

Husk glanced at Angel, eyebrow raised. It seemed like they were thinking the same thing because the latter spoke up with a toothy grin. 

“Baby, I was a mobster long before I was a porn star. ‘Sides, hacking up a body all by yourself is gonna take you all night. Better to have more hands to get the job neater an’ faster, am I right Whiskers?” 

Husk smirked. “Can’t argue with that, Legs. Guess you’re stuck with us until this job is done. You got another bone saw in that bag of yours?” He asked with a grin, somehow…happy to actually be doing this. Who would have thought a new friendship started with cleaning up bodies?

You stared at them for a moment, obviously stunned because you must have thought they’d leave you here alone, before you pulled out two more bone saws and more rubber gloves. Your instructions were simple enough: the severed pieces couldn't be any bigger than your body, and they needed to be wrapped up tightly in the plastic wrapping or else you’d have to pay a hefty cleaning bill to get the blood out of the bottom of the bag. Angel’s extra limbs came in handy for the latter task. Between the three of you, quick work was made with the dead loan sharks and everything was loaded inside the carpet bag, and no one was the wiser. This was Hell, after all. Cannibalism, gun fights, and dismemberment was commonplace in these parts. 

You thanked him and Angel profusely, bowing your head to them before you shyly asked if they would be interested in getting a bite to eat. To Angel’s knowledge, the closest place that is still open late at night is Devil’s Diner, which is half a  block from Jackpot, the casino Husk had owned from his glory days as an overlord. The food wasn’t too bad there, and cheap too. 

Now that he thought about it, Husk had worked up more of an appetite after the fight and so did Angel. Better to do that than trying to cook something and waking up Niffty. So, the three of you went to Devil’s Diner. Of course, you tried to just have a cup of coffee, but neither he nor Angel were having it. Conditioning your body to minimize nutrients to complete a mission, his ass. 

Both he and Angel persuaded you to try the day’s special with some water plus dessert. Whatever you couldn’t finish, get a to-go box. Husk himself ordered a sandwich with chips. Angel got pancakes, sausage, strawberries, and a strong drink because he fucking deserved it. 

Conversation started slow at first, but as the orders were placed and drinks were served by their waiter, words were exchanged, and stories were shared. Angel revealed he had a little brother and more family down here, though he rarely talked to them anymore after getting into the show biz. Husk confessed that he used to be a magician in Las Vegas, showing off a trick with his cards. 

They shared a good laugh over Val’s shitty eyesight. It shouldn’t take thirty minutes to count three bills, but it fucking did for the moth man.

You told them that you were once commissioned to help a playwright finish his newest script after being on a hiatus for many years, but he had been a difficult man to work with because he had no interest in doing anything else except drinking his days away. You had actually acted out a scene on the lake where the hero would journey home to be reunited with her father after vanquishing a monster. That was when you began to understand how grief affects people in different ways…and how your actions affected the people you had killed on the battlefield. People who had families and had one-day wishes that would never be fulfilled because they died by your hand. You are here in Hell because you are, you were, a weapon to be used in war. Reconnecting with people, with your emotions…it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. 

“That’s what being human is all about.” Husk said. “Ya make mistakes, ya regret the choices ya wish ya would have made, or should’ve made, and ya need to live with it.” He knew that better than anyone. 

“The old timer’s got a point but look at how far you’ve come!” Angel exclaimed, spreading his arms out as he began listing all the good things you have done and accomplished since you came to the hotel, though you still needed to learn how to bake real Italian bread, not just heat up the cheap frozen ones in the oven. Husk silently agreed with him, taking another swing of his whiskey. In the end, you got a to-go box, but Angel said he could take it back with him to the hotel. You still needed to deliver the body parts to your cannibal superior and Husk said he’d go with you. But you insisted that you would be fine on your own, and that he and Angel should get some rest. 

“Rosie will not let me stay long in the emporium with how late it already is. She’s very particular about keeping the lights on after business hours.” You said, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards into a frown as your gaze fell upon his wings. “Husk…you were twitching a little and I heard your spine crack earlier, and your voice sounded a little raspy. I do not know what the cause of your ailments beyond the scuffle with those loan sharks could be because I am not a doctor…but it would be better if you and Angel took it easy for the rest of the night.” 

Keep in mind that Husk had once been an overlord. Yes, he’s been out of the game for a while, he won’t deny it. But he was not going to admit that you might be right.  “There’s nothin’ to worry about, I’ll be fine. If I can handle a fight, taking you where you need to go will be a walk in the park.” He grumbled, ignoring Angel’s snickering. 

He watched you raise your hand, fingers outstretched towards one of his wings, and then you pulled it away to clench your hand into a loose fist. Husk saw your hesitancy isn’t because you were disgusted at the sight of them, or his appearance. Hell, you had more bloodstains on your clothes than him and Angel combined. No. You were hesitating because you were afraid that your touch might hurt him, or make the pain he was feeling worse. 

Husk grinned as he grabbed your wrist, pulling it forward and carefully coiling the gloved fingers around the outer part of the left wing near his forearm to give it a squeeze. “See?” He flexed the muscles. “I’m fine. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” It took him a second to realize how impulsive his actions were, seeing how your eyes widened and hearing Angel release a low, teasing whistle, muttering “Kinky~!” under his breath. Great. The kid wasn’t going to let this go, not even after a few drinks. Shit. Fuck. 

He tried to ignore the warmth flooding his face as he kept his gaze on you until you nodded your head, removing your hand from his wing. You were convinced that he was more than fine to accompany you back to Cannibal Colony, at least for the moment. You turned to Angel. “Are you going to be okay, heading back to the hotel on your own?”

Angel smiled toothily. “Toots, you should know me by now. Sex isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He winked, holding up the to-go boxes as he turned on his heel, waving his extra hands over his shoulder. “See ya back at the bar! Ya still owe me a drink, Husker~!” Now that he left the diner, it was time for the two of you to make your exit. 

You walked down the steps and looked at him. “Ready?”

Husk nodded. “Yeah.” He then held out his paw to you. “Let’s get going.” You nodded, placing your hand in the center of his own, covering the golden-heart shaped paw  before he scooped you up in his arms, one claw under your legs and the other around your shoulders. You stared at him.

“What-”

“Hang on tight.” Husk did not give you a chance to respond, unfurling his wings to their full length before putting all of his weight on his back leg, catapulting the two of you into the crimson skies of the Pride Ring. Walking was fine and all, but as you mentioned, it was already pretty late. Why waste more time when he could fly there? 

So here you were, held like a princess with one arm wrapped around the carpet bag and your hand placed on his shoulder. But instead of screaming your head off or pleading with him to land somewhere, your attention was elsewhere. You were captivated with the multi-colored pin pricks of light down below,  your mouth partly open and [Eye Color] irises widened by a fraction. It was obvious that you hadn’t seen Hell from above. Or maybe you hadn’t traveled by air before. Either way, seeing such an expression on your face, one that wasn’t calm or expressionless like a doll who lived by someone else’s order.

You looked like a living, breathing human who had her own thoughts and could find beauty in the most bizarre of places. 

It almost made Husk consider extending this flight for a little longer until he realized he’d have to explain to you in great detail as to why he did decide to do it. So he brushed it off, and followed your instructions to your destination. 

Twenty minutes later, the two of you arrived at the stone steps leading up to the glass double doors of Rosie’s Emporium. The dimly lit streets were mostly empty, the bars were still open and echoed with raucous laughter and jazz. It was tempting to slip inside there for a drink, but Husk wasn’t too keen on being around cannibalistic drunks. Alcoholic he might be, he wasn’t that stupid. And he didn’t want you to get in trouble with the overlord who ran this place. She was your boss, not his. 

He watched you put a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out a small golden key. You put it in the dead bolt, twisting it to the left before pushing the door open. “Miss Rosie?” You called out, stepping inside the darkened establishment. “Miss Rosie, it is me. I am back.” 

A moment of silence enveloped the place, but only briefly because soon a tall, thin woman in a burgundy dress with an oversized hat and feathers materialized in front of you. She was at least two or three heads taller than you, smiling down with rows of sharp, gray teeth and pitch black orbs. “Oh there you are, I was startin’ to really get worried! Did John give you everything for my precious little sprouts?”

You quickly explained what had happened, how you could not see John because he had closed the shop by the time you got there but the fertilizer you collected from a gun fight you got into and came out victorious should be more than enough. Rosie was all but delighted, twirling in a small circle as she cooed.

“Ohh, I knew it was a good idea to hire you from the moment you came for the interview! I wish I could’ve seen you at work, using that bone saw and hacking away at corpses, but there’s always another day~! You know how many people come in wishing to have their husbands or wives ripped from limb to limb, at least the ones that taste bad! Ah?” She stopped dancing, craning her long neck to stare at him. “Who’s this you brought with you, [First Name]?” She looked over her shoulder, wagging a finger at you with a raised brow. “Come now, I know I said I wanted you to find a good fella someday, but this one’s way too scruffy for you and you’re much too young for him! Oh, I’m just kidding, I know you’re dedicated to your job! Well? Introduce us!”

You did, introducing him to the overlord as Husk and the hotel’s bartender. Alastor must have told her about him because she immediately called him ‘Alastor’s kitty cat’ and ‘how he used to be such a sophisticated-looking fella until he gambled against Alastor’. She laughed. “Well, small world, after all! [First Name], be a dear and take that bag into the back, will you? I’ll feed the little monsters myself, and you can go home! Oh, did you want some pinky fingers to go? I’ve got plenty of them and you probably didn’t eat dinner again, am I right?”

“Understood. And no thank you, though I will take up on the offer to try one of those roasted legs next time.” Husk almost gagged at your monotone words and Rosie’s cackle, but he had to keep his composure. As far as he knew, you were not a cannibal. And if you were…well, you probably wouldn’t have gone out of your way to help him and Angel, or at least order something from the Cannibal’s Section at the diner instead of force feeding yourself on the daily special. 

You might have only been gone for a few minutes, but it was awkward to stand near Rosie, the way she smiled at him like she was thinking about adding him to her menu for not dressing up in a vintage outfit. At least he hoped not. He could barely contain his relieved sigh when you appeared again, hands empty with no bag in sight. 

“It’s done.”

“Wonderful~! Now, you march up to bed as soon as you get in the door young lady! No staying up late!” She said, following the two of you to the door. “Give my regards to Alastor and tell that man he must come back soon! These halls have lost their sparkle without his lively presence! Oh! Before I forget~!” She snapped her fingers, and in a puff of dark red smoke, a large wad of bills materialized in your hands. “Here’s your paycheck! I know it’s a little early but I have a very important task for you to do tomorrow!” She grinned. “Go to town and buy yourself some new clothes for work!”

You faltered. “But -”

“Tomorrow is your day off I know, and I really, really love your enthusiasm when you try to come in to help around, but a proper lady of society cannot live on just one dress and a pair of boots! Oh, and you will also need to get a Hellphone in case something like this happens again! No ifs, ands, or buts! If Alastor throws a fit about it, I’ll talk to him! Now, shoo! Husker, be a dear and get my darling worker back to that hotel safely, all right?” She added with a wink.

Husk grunted exasperatedly but did not say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was go pissing off an overlord who just happened to be the Boss’ friend. So he just nodded, and followed you out of the door. When it shut behind them with a click, things got…awkward. Now that you weren’t carrying around a bag full of body parts, there was no need to fly all the way back to the hotel. Or at least that he thought you were thinking. 

But he told you that he didn’t mind, since Charlie was probably already worried about the two of you even if Angel had somehow managed to persuade her otherwise. So…you agreed, albeit hesitantly. Husk didn't waste any more time. He scooped you up in his arms and took off into the night skies, though with this being the Pride Ring, there was really no way to tell if it was day or night anymore. Cannibal Colony soon became another darkened spot, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight. 

As soon as the two of you made it back to the hotel, Husk had no doubt everyone would be giving him shit. Angel would make comments on his little ‘date’ went, which he’ll deny in every possible way, and the princess might be cryin’ from anxiety or relief knowing that two of you were all right. But that was then. This is now. And…he’s come to like holding you in his arms. 

“Husk?”

“Yeah?” He felt the arms around his neck tighten slightly…but not that it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It felt…okay. Like you were trying to say something, but you struggled to find the right words to say without sounding like an ass. 

“Thank you…for everything.”

His lips stretched into a grin. "You're welcome." 

He felt the cold of your palms, it would seem, through the gloves, but it was not so important. Because as the two of you flew back to the place you called home, he saw you smiling down at the Pentagram in wonder, whispering the places you had visited and or wondered what they were or if he knew anything about them, to which he either answered yes or no. It was such a small smile, but how could he not commit not it to his memory? 

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to get a drink with you on a night around town. Or make one for you at his bar. He knew how to make a good non-alcoholic pina colada, even an alcoholic version of it. But who knows? He’ll take things one step at a time, and see what happens. 

What Husk did not realize at the time, not too far in the distant future, you would be the one to close the gap between them…and there would be something more between the two of you. Something that made his days in Hell just a little brighter. 

Taglist: @riddle-simp @kanroji-san @star-fawn21 @luthefriendlywitch @kameyo-kumo @solesurvivorjen @solandis-does-stuff @ladydoe8 @victheauthor @anielly-2010 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @bones4thecats @mmelionsblog @frompeach @nixie-writes @tired-of-life-86 @trecllllllll @lanxianschoenheit @22carolina08 @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @oucx @diamondzoey @alyriaschoenheit @lbcreations-blog @alastorsart @nunezs-stuff @sillypenguincats @theunknowntravel3r @imperfectbloodmoon @no1sillybilly @likesugarandcyanide @bladeismine @bones4thecats

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere Kencanons

Warnings: Kidnapping, Abduction, Major Spoilers for The Barbie Movie, Unhinged Post, Possessive Ken, Ken Just Wants to be Loved, Petnames, Ken Being Condescending, Post-Patriarchy Ken, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except 'You'.

Simply put, you’d charmed Ken. Made his non-existent heart flutter and a feeling he always associated with Barbie to overtake him. Been in the wrong place at the right time. Hence, less than a few hours after your meeting with Kenneth, you were in Barbieland. Sorry - Kendom Land.

You’d made the mistake of asking him for the time, in a rush to make it to work. And, with a twinkle in his eye and a seeming newfound sense of purpose, he proclaimed that “You respect me!”

Dazed and with little else you could say, you shrugged. “I mean…I guess…?”

And that was enough for him.

“I must go – get back to Barbieland – spread the news about patriarchy!”

You'd humoured him, more for the promise of your own safety than actual agreement, and he tipped his hat to you, billowing away in the direction of Venice Beach in a haze of his own world.

You managed to dodge him initially, untangling yourself from his vacant stare and making it to work unscathed.

On your way to lunch a few hours after, however, you were accosted again.

Of course, by none other than Ken Carson.

Who, having put all he’d learnt from his books on horses, the Wild West, and patriarchy, literally lassoed you and threw you onto his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta get you back to Barbieland – the Kens are not gonna believe this !”

On your journey back to this mysterious place, Ken explained to you how Barbies usually rule everything while the Kens are left with nothing.

“But, with you at my side, I’m sure we can make it right!”

You genuinely chalked this guy up to be insane, if at most, an escaped patient.

However, as you traversed 2D landscapes, you were more inclined to believe him. That this fabled Babrietopia did in fact exist.

And, once you get there, you become Patriarchy Ken’s personal servant.

He tells you to “Brewski Beer” him, all the while talking about how his initial conception of patriarchy had been that it was “Horses who ran the world, but it’s actually men — and horses are men extenders.”

He calls you his “bride-wife” or “groom-husband”, which, compared to the other Kens’ long-term distance low-commitment casual partners, seems oddly…endearing. Dangerously permanent.

With no idea how to get back to the Real world, you’re stuck with Ken and his entourage of fellow Kens, the Barbies either indoctrinated into their way of thinking or in hiding.

Speaking of, you are basically Ken’s property.

And he treats you as such whenever one of the other Kens tries to accost your service.

His tone is low, eyes sharp. “(Y/N) is my long-term distance low-commitment partner, not yours, Ken.”

And, to show as much, you get to sit on the floor next to Ken as he watches the Godfather with his Kentourage, talking through the whole thing, commenting on its ingenuity and nuance.

He also makes you stay nearby whenever he changes outfits - which is just him changing into another faux mink coat, pants and headband.

Despite being this new, independent, untethered Ken, he asks your opinion on things which seem largely inconsequential. Still, you sense something unstable. Insecurity, perhaps.

"What about...this coat?"

"Isn't that the same as the last one you showed me?"

Ken looks at your glass reflection in the wardrobe doors. His smile glitches, falters. He replaces it.

"Yeah, course - I was just testing you, seein' if you were paying attention."

Whenever you get a moment alone, away from the madness of the Kens, it’s short-lived. For Ken is never far behind, seeming to materialise in the doorway of whatever room of the Dreamhouse you’ve adopted as your refuge.

“What’s wrong, tiny baby?” He says, sauntering over to you, snake-like.

“I want to go home, Ken,” You tell him, voice racked with sobs, tears in your eyes.

He just gives you a narrowed, confused look, adopting an almost incredulous posture as if to say ‘Why?’

“First of all, I don’t like your tone, Doll,”

He steps towards you. You step back.

“Second of all, why in Kendom Land would you wanna leave ?" Another step forward. Another step back. "This is the dream of any patriarch’s partner to be where you are now; it should feel just like home !” Another step forward, another step ba-

Your legs hit the edge of the bed.

It doesn’t matter how hurt - or frightened - you look. Ken doesn’t listen.

“And besides, do you know how many Barbies would kill to be where you are now ? I know Weird Barbie would.” And he smiles – smirks – as if he’s triumphed you in some way only he is aware of, hands on his waist. The image of power.

Ken tends to test his boundaries when it comes to physical affection.

Seeing as he received none with Barbie, he seems to want to try his luck with you.

And yes, this does include him puckering his lips and staying stood in front of you until one of you caves.

Usually, it’s him, causing him to retract and act as if nothing happened. Which it didn’t. 

But when he really wants a kiss, he can persist for hours.

You timed him. Two hours and three minutes until you relented and pecked him.

“Wow,” he says, every time, as if it’s the first time, his eyes clouded with dreams and what you could only pen as whimsy.

He’s incredibly touch-starved. Show him an ounce of willing and he’ll be overjoyed in his own, new, macho way. Though, he does have a hard time containing a squeal whenever you touch skin.

Secretly, he's entranced by how...human you are. how different you feel and talk to the other dolls in his Kendom.

He's developed an obsession interest with your hands, holding them in his, telling you how small and soft your hands are compared to his.

He squeezes them whenever he gets the chance, commenting on how "Squishy" your fingers are, despite you having a skeleton beneath your skin - a concept that blows Ken away every time you explain it to him.

He also adores hugs. Though, he only hugs you/lets you hug him when out of view of other Kens. He needs to protect his image as the stoic leader, after all.

Loves a cuddle; goes stupid crazy for them.

He favours holding you to his chest and resting his chin atop your head. He finds your warmth a foreign comfort. While you find his lack of a heart – and a beat – a discomfort.

“S’nice and warm,” he says, eyes closed, the image of laxity. "Being here with you."

He mumbles that last part. You know not to inquire further. The Kens consider any form of genuine affection to be a weakness.

It’s in your best interest to just let him stay there and talk about whatever it is he’s fascinated himself with, lest you wish to incur a temper tantrum or the cold shoulder.

Aside from being a fan of hand-holding, he's also a partaker in wrist-holding.

If you ever do something to aggravate him, he tends to grip your wrist hard enough to make you wince, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

“Something wrong, Babe?” He’ll say, tone deep with simmering wrath.

You know not to push it with Ken.

Despite how platinum and perfect he is, he does harbour a resentment which, whether caused by you or not, he seems to target you with.

Talked to a Ken for too long, or in a way he didn’t like?

He’s going to embarrass you in front of him. Make you seem undesirable to all who are not himself.

He knows he can’t make you disappear, given the fact that you’re mortal. But he knows he can make other Kens disappear; an idea that, the first time it appeared to him, frightened him, made him confront a darker half he’d repressed. But, as time went on, he’s learnt to harness it in ways you’d never have suspected from a Ken.

Not that you’d know it from the way he treats you, but he does actually care for you.

Perhaps…as much as, even more so, than he does — did — for Barbie.

He doesn’t feel like he’s tethered to any one job or image when he’s with you; his identity is not an extension of yours. But, he does try to treat yours as if it is an extension of his.

“Babe, hurry up with those beers — the game’s about to start !”

He knows you’re impervious to the effects of his brainwashing, given that you’re from the Real World, so he feels that you’re the most genuine person in Kendom Land. Hence he tends to treat you with equal harshness and care.

This also often leads to Ken asking you things about your world. Things he doesn’t yet have the answers for.

His favourite pastime is to lay his head on your thighs while you sit against the headboard of his bed, asking you any and all questions that come to mind.

“What’s your favourite colour?”, “Where does the sun go when it’s night time?”, “What did you do at your job?”

Personal ones like that last one often cause you to tense, and Ken can tell. He tends to refrain from asking you such questions now, seeing as any reminder of your life prior to this cause you to, what he has learnt to call it, cry.

Despite how tone-deaf Kenneth can be, he is actually rather intuitive. Or, rather, considerate.

When you’d told him your favourite colour, he’d painted his bedroom walls in it. Albeit a slap-dash job of it, given how interior design is not in his box description like Interior Design Ken, but he tried !

Despite his small acts of kindness being his attempts to imitate comfort, they do little to calm you. For everything he says, does, discussing a future with you in Kendom Land, changing aspects of his world to cater to your preferences, feel as if you are to take up unwilling, permanent residence here.

And, while you wait and plot for a way to escape, you exist as a perpetual puppet for Ken to mither and berate and order around.

In the real world, a doll has started appearing on shelves – a new range of ‘Misery Barbie/Ken’ dominating the toy aisles of every supermarket and toy store, your visage wrapped tightly in every box.

Tears, an outfit demeaning enough to make a grandmother faint, and the unwavering expression of the need for freedom.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterpost Masterlist

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[vinnellamadz]

Everyone asked for both so I’m gonna do both :3, PLEASE I am not a talented writer or anything please excuse me if it’s not as good

Lucifer X reader Headcanons

- Before Lucifer met you, he was definitely an emotional wreck.

He spent all his time in his workshop, creating things as a coping mechanism.

But as soon as he locked eyes with you, it was like a light bulb in him switched on, and he was instantly hooked on you.

- Lucifer tried his best to woo and court you.

As if his last moments on earth depended on it, he would smother you in gifts, specifically custom-made ducks that he always made sure were made with love and perfection.

His desire for you was so intense that he devoted all his efforts to winning your heart and making you his.

It was as if all his sorrows and woes melted away the moment he saw you.

- There were times that Lucifer almost gave up.

As he feared that you didn't return his feelings, thoughts of failure and despair filled his mind.

However, when you finally accepted his advances, he was overwhelmed with joy.

So much so, that he jumped into your arms and held you tightly.

It was a moment of pure blissful happiness, and he knew that he never wanted to let go.

- Lucifer was so focused on wooing you that he forgot to tell his daughter about you.

He was so concerned about making things perfect that he did everything in his power to ensure that your meeting was as perfect as possible.

He was so worried that you might not like each other that he tried to prepare for every possible scenario.

Spoiler alert, you and Charlie loved each other

- While visiting Charlie’s Hotel, a certain red-haired male was stepping a little too close to you for Lucifer’s comfort.

Lucifer saw the male coming closer and closer and grew increasingly concerned.

He did not like the idea of someone else being close to you, especially Alastor

Lucifer felt jealous and protective, and he wanted to make sure that the male kept his distance.

Safe to say you spent the rest of the visit with lucifers arm around your waist.

- Lucifer loves to take you out on romantic dates.

He always finds the perfect places to take you, with the most delightful settings.

He takes you to intimate restaurants, candlelit dinners, and romantic walks on the best beach in hell.

He makes sure to plan everything to the smallest detail, so that you always feel special and pampered.

Lucifer wants to show you how much he cares and appreciates you, and he does it through romantic dates that are always perfect.

- While Lucifer does have his shortcomings, he will go as far as needed to prove to you just how much you are loved every day.

He is committed to making your life a series of surprises and magical moments, and he will always go the extra mile to ensure that you feel loved and cherished.

In the end, Lucifer may have his faults, but he will never let them interfere with making sure you feel special and appreciated every single day.

Adam X reader Headcanons

- Adam does not typically get into relationships, but when he does, he tends to exhibit similar behavior patterns. He engages in playful teasing and name-calling as a way to show affection toward his partner.

Although these antics can seem somewhat derogatory, Adam ensures that his partner never actually feels bad as a result. While he might playfully poke fun at his partner at times, he is also capable of being loving and supportive (barely).

- Adam is not a typical romantic, and he is not used to expressing these types of feelings. Even so, he tries his best to court you in his own way.

There are times when he may act a little awkward or mean, but beneath it all, he truly cares for you.

While he might stumble over his words or lack the grand gestures, Adam shows his feelings through small gifts and nicknames.

- Although you might not be showing any signs of affection, Adam would never give up on courting you. He is persistent and determined to win your heart.

Even if you were to continuously reject him, he would continue to pursue you. Adam feels deeply for you, and he is willing to go to great lengths to make you his own.

So, if you truly want him, Adam would never stop trying to win you over with his endearing charms.

- Once you finally surrendered to his charms, Adams ego grew even bigger.

As part of his big ego, he became extremely affectionate and public in his displays of affection. He wants everyone to see you as a couple, and he doesn't mind who's watching.

Adam wants everyone to know that you're his, and he is going to make sure everyone knows it.

- Adam is an incredibly possessive and insecure man (I wonder why 👀), and he dislikes seeing other men around you.

When a male approaches you, Adam quickly swoops in, giving the other man a dirty look and then proceeding to make out with you in front of him. With his dominant display of affection, he makes sure that the other man knows his place.

Then, he takes you by the hand and leads you away, anticipating the night that awaits you both.

- Adam is a romantic man, and he enjoys date nights with you. He loves to spend time sitting on his balcony with you, eating takeout, and engaging in fun gossip.

However, he also appreciates having nice dinners together, and he enjoys taking you to the hottest concerts in town.

He also likes to express his affection for you through singing, he cherishes your presence more than anything else.

- Even with his flaws and occasional mistakes, Adam is a decent lover overall.

He may be imperfect and stumble at times, but his genuine desire to make you happy is what matters most. Although he may make occasional jabs and tease you, it all boils down to his genuine care for you.

At the end of the day, your happiness is what Adam truly cares about more than anything else. Even through all the ups and downs of a relationship, he will always do what it takes to make you happy.

- Adams favourite movie is frozen.

IM SORRY IF THIS IS OOC ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITING IN SO LONG

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: i really love how all the ancestors have 8 letter titles which is so clearly just because our Primary Source on them is mindfang. like she absolutely did that on purpose. you know already that homestuck plays around with metanarrative and stuff, and i just love how many characters in homestuck we can learn about through the way they tell stories/serve as an author, either in small ways or large ways. like… vriska trying to Retroactively Make Herself More Important by Inserting Herself Into Various Important Moments is a way of trying to "be the author of her own story" right? but at the same time, she's largely trying to follow imitate mindfang, who she only knows about through the way SHE told stories, so she can't try to imitate what mindfang was really LIKE in life even if she wanted to, she can only imitate the way she AUTHORED that. and because vriska (unlike us) doesn't have the luxury of experiencing her own life as a story, i think thats part of what makes her so prone to Bad decisions, because things that seem The Most Dramatic in stories (like how mindfang wrote her own story down, likely embellishing for flair) aren't actually great decisions in real life.

Marquise

Orphaner

Summoner

Redglare

Sufferer

Expatri8 (Expatriate)

Looking at the Ancestors who've been namedropped so far, it really does feel like Mindfang deliberately twisted Zahhak's title into an eight-letter word. If she did have some sort of system, though, it seems to have fallen apart when naming the highbloods. Neither the Empress nor the Grand Highblood have any known eight-letter titles.

Edit, because I can't count: The Condesce does, in fact, have an eight-letter title. The Highblood, I believe, does not.

Also, that's such an interesting take on why Vriska's Like That. She's modelling herself off an embellished version of Mindfang - in other words, a completely fictional character.

And here she is, looking down on Tavros for trying to imitate Rufio. Glass houses, Vriska!

@manorinthewoods asked: On the subject of the Radio Troll… Communer, Conveyor, Observer, and on the names front, Hermitia or Voxcraft? Can't come up with any more, sorry. ~LOSS (10/9/24) Anonymous asked: The hostess is such a cool name :0 There's so many doc scratch parallels you could do with it. Well, like, anti-parallels. Perpendiculars? We'll workshop that one. You get what I mean

Right - in light of the eight-letter Ancestor titles, should the Hostess have a different name? It seems like more of a general trend than a hard rule. Maybe I'll come up with one later.

I am fond of the Reporter, but I'm not sure if I prefer it to the Hostess. I didn't even think about drawing parallels between her and Scratch, but that's an idea with real potential.

@ben-guy asked: Very exciting to finally see you reach the ancestor introductions! Fun fact: The English VA for Deku was once well known in the HS voice acting community if I'm remembering correctly. His most well known contributions are still spoilers as of me writing this, but I will say it involves the ancestors!

Wait, really? It's always wild when I hear about any real-life celebrities who are in any way involved in Homestuck. I'm still reeling about the fact that Zuko's voice actor is a fan.

[brucewaynehater101]

Have you ever read a fic called A Medication On Railroading? Because I think you'll like it. Basic summery with no spoilers: Jack takes Tim on a trip to Atlanta and then leaves him in Atlanta so he goes train hopping to get home. Very hurt/comfort.

But it also gives me an idea that I'm not sure where to share. What if that wasn't Tim's first time getting home like that? Maybe the first time was just New York when he was say... 9 years old? His parents took him with them to a Gala and Jack thought Janet called him a car home and Janet thought Jack took care of it. Neither one did and Tiny Tim figured out how to get home on his own. It happens again when he's 11 so he already knows what to do, he studied up in case it happened again.

After the second time, anytime Tim is with his parents he keeps his camera bag on him at all times which has 300 dollars in it that he can use on getting home. Tim also discovers during the second one that trains are *way* better than busses and cabs. He's all alone, just him and the scenery and whatever cargo his car holds. He can Fully Relax. He doesn't have to be the perfect heir, he doesn't have to smile for the cameras, he doesn't have to be quiet or good or perfectly polite. He can scream and laugh and cry if he wants to and no one will ever know! He can sing and curse and throw rocks at things! He can be a *kid*.

After Tim becomes Robin, he never calls Batman for a pick up if he's abandoned somewhere and instead will make his own way home. Heck, after some missions with Young Justice he will turn off his trackers and ride trains home so that he can loudly vent about them without having to worry about anyone ever knowing what he said!

This does become a slight problem when he's 17 and Bruce needs him for something and finds out from Bart that their mission ended a day and a half ago. But Tim never called for pick up. And his trackers are all offline. And he never hit his emergency beacon and *no one can find him*. Bruce totally isn't freaking out. The other Bats totally aren't freaking out. Young Justice totally isn't freaking out. There totally isn't a panic spreading through the super hero community about Red Robin maybe being dead I a ditch somewhere and how both Batman and his team will react.

Tim meanwhile is straight vibing as he reclines on a stack of bags of rice like they're pillows, singing along to some sound track he downloaded onto his MP3 player, having turned the volume to max and nearly screaming the lyrics because it's the one time he feels like he can.

Yes! I love that fic you mentioned. It's really really good. Perhaps I should re read it since it's been a minute.

Also, I absolutely adore the little tidbit you've added. A few things to note that I love about it:

No one else knows/finds out until he's Red Robin

It's a semi-decent coping mechanism. He gets to chill out, vibe, and process. He's also in touch with nature and music during this.

Tim drops his various masks to simply exist for a bit

Tim chilling on some rice bags in a train cart with an MP3 player (not even his phone. This indicates he's fully offline during these trips)

A few additional notes to add. One, this could buff up the canon notion that pre-Robin Tim traveled far to go see Dick at the circus and convince him to become Robin again. If Tim had already done that twice unexpectedly, he'd do swell when he actually plans to do it.

Two, Tim probably created a white noise generator or something to give him totally privacy on his "me trips." This is why Kon and Superman freak out. They can't hear him.

Three, he probably gets covered in grime, dust, and dirt. He's no longer in the pristine environment he grew up in.

Gods. That sounds so nice and relaxing. I'm actually kind of jealous. Just the wind, music, and the slowly changing scenery? Fuuuck.

[noemilivv]

After Reading the Proposal and Wedding One shot I think it's called?

Can I please request the same characters(Adam, Lucifer and Vox) react to there kid having there Powers and how GN Reader and Them deal with it in an everyday bases

oh my god my brain has so many ideas i’m doing this right the freak now

also i’m so sorry this isn’t necessarily gn!reader becuz this does talk about pregnancy 😭

Warnings: AFAB!reader, pregnancy talk, ooc Adam?(?), swear words, potential S1 spoilers, Vox being a bit of a shitty dad

Adam, Lucifer, Vox w/ kids who have their powers (+ extra)

Adam

You and Adam probably wait awhile after your wedding until having kids, he wants to have his party lifestyle a little longer, and cmon, who can blame him?

At first he isn’t so sure, I mean, a small ball of flesh that just cries wasn’t the most entertaining thing to him… But he’ll do it for you

But the moment you tell him your pregnant, something in him clicks.

He’s very invested in the kids before their even born, he’s reading all those cheesy and old baby books constantly, cause honestly, he’s not as prepared as he’d thought he’d be

Simply because I see Adam as both a boy dad and a girl dad let’s say you two have twins 😛

He’s a good dad not gonna lie, but let’s be real, he tried to make at least one of his kids say “feces” as their first word… yeah, you weren’t too happy. 😀

Growing up, he definitely spoiled his girl and roughhoused with his boy, maybe a bit too much…

He was definitely a baseball or softball dad

Considering Adam’s foul language, they definitely grew up at swearing at a young age, but it stayed in the house dw

As the kids grew into their early teens they discovered their shared their dads powers — and bitch was through the roof about it

Adam started training them on how to use their powers to their liking, but also taught them the safety of them. He was actually a pretty good teacher ngl.

Lucifer

Obviously, from his past marriage with Lilith, he already had his first kid, so he was ready — he was just waiting for you to be as well

So when you were, he was stoked !

He was very aware and attentive during your pregnancy, trying to not make the same mistakes he did the first time around

He’s also very understanding about mood swings and he WILL go out in the middle of the night to get you cravings, he doesn’t have to, but he will

But when you both bring another daughter Morningstar into the world, Charlie is thrilled to have a younger sister!

She definitely babysits a lot, and the child definitely spends a lot of time in the hotel

Luci dedicates certain times of the day when he can not and will not have meetings or projects to be working on so he can dedicate time to both of his daughters.

He loves asking your daughter how her day was, and how schools going, but he also asks how her friends are to stress that grades aren’t the only thing that matter

As your daughter grows, she starts to develop Lucifer’s powers, only a small fraction — considering how powerful he is, but he’s stoked that not one, but now both of his daughters have his powers!

He’s been through training them before with Charlie, so he’s pretty skilled on how to do it now, but he tends to stress to your daughter the usage of the powers and the rights and wrongs are far more important than the strength you have

Vox

Vox was in no rush to have kids due to the current workload for VoxTech, but if you wanted them, all you had to do was ask

Vox, like Adam, couldn’t really wrap his head (or screen ig??) around the concept of a child until they were in his arms.

Vox wasn’t really sure how to handle a newborn, older kids were different, but this..? Maybe this wasn’t right for him…

It broke his heart every time he heard his son sob as a new born, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure what to do.

It’d be late at night and Vox would get out of your shared bed to go make sure the baby would stop crying before you’d wake.

He’d try everything, singing, rocking, bottle, changing the diaper, toys, everything. And it wouldn’t stop.

It’s not until you stir in your sleep and hear everything, you go to your son’s crib and simply hold him and he stops crying immediately, you set your son down and go back to sleep. Vox is literally amazed.

As your son ages into the ages of 6 and up is when it starts to get easier for Vox, by the time Vox can even slightly have a conversation with the kid it gets easier, the communication is a lot more clear

He doesn’t have a lot of time to play with his son due to VoxTech, so usually Vox will keep his son in his lap as he works in his office, he’ll even ask his son business questions! Even when he only gets gibberish back, he’ll take it. Hey, don’t judge him, client feedback is important.

As his son ages into his teen years, Vox starts turning a bit strict, he needs his son to be the coolest fucking kid in school, so Velvette tailors him a shit ton of clothes and Vox makes sure his son always has the newest gadget. Vox also is strict about keeping grades up, he wouldn’t ever take anything away for a bad grade, but your son may get a bit of lecture..

All of this is building up to something though, Vox really wants your son to take over VoxTech in his adult years, so he wants to make sure his son is prepared and experienced in the new world he’d enter, if he doesn’t want, Vox gets it, he may be a bit pushy though, but Vox has been in that place so he won’t push too hard.

At around the age of 15, your son developed Vox’s hypnosis powers.

Vox teaches your son how to use this to his advantage, like for example, VoxTech, but he also stressed there’s a time and place, and to not use it on someone you truly care about. Strategy is everything.

Is Vox the perfect parent? No. But no one is. But he genuinely has so much love for his son, and tbh he wants more kids…

[nocreativityfornames]

THE BROTHERS AND THE CELESTIAL REALM (SPOILERS: ALL SEASONS)

Alright, let's talk about it. It's been a long time since the game started flirting with the idea of the brothers forgiving Father/God and changing their views of the Celestial Realm as a whole and it's very odd, to say the least.

The first big red flag was this moment with Lucifer back in Season 3 of NB, that was the most concerning one considering that this was recently fallen Lucifer, when the war had ended only a year ago and they had just lost Lilith, and when he and the brothers had just escaped eternal punishment being trapped at Cocytus forever for betraying Father.

The contrast of recently fallen Lucifer speaking this positively of God when even the present one (who's had who knows how many centuries to process everything that happened) has shown to despise the idea of coming back to the Celestial Realm, mostly remember his time there in a bad light, and outright fear Father is JARRING.

And these moments keep coming, and the brothers keep showing more and more positive feelings towards the Celestial Realm. Forget everything we learned about the CR and what they went through, or the feelings the characters expressed towards the Celestial Realm before Nightbringer.

You're telling me that God wanted to wipe their sister from all existence and half of the realm, angels who they thought they could trust, opposed to them when they dared to protect her, went to war with them, and had her killed (probably along other angels who sided with the brothers to save her because the whole realm was divided) and now the brothers are just going to forget all of that and be all "the Celestial Realm wasn't that bad, actually. We always loved it there and wouldn't mind going back"? Really...?

I mean, even beyond all the Lilith stuff the Celestial Realm had always been a bad place for the brothers. Remember what Lucifer said: most of his memories from that time aren't good. The brothers already didn't like the Celestial Realm before Lilith; they already felt out of place there, and they already had their doubts. Hell, the reason they grew to have such a strong bond as angels to begin with was because they were outcasts, the ones who didn't fit in and were looked down on.

Mammon was close to being cast out and no one knew how to deal with him, Lilith was too chaotic and far away from being the ideal angel, Beel couldn't control his strength and destroyed everything around him, Belphie had no interest in following tasks, had a unique fascination for humans and preferred spending time in the Human World than the Celestial Realm, etc. And Lucifer was the one who took them in and accepted them as they were because even though he was far from an outcast and looked like the perfect angel on the outside, he still had his internal conflicts and struggled under pressure just as much in secret.

All of them suffered living there. Even Simeon opened up to MC about how he thought that angels weren't allowed to have dreams and that he probably wouldn't have found out otherwise had he stayed in the Celestial Realm. And that was on Nightbringer, not an old card from the OG but a recent one, so what's going on here?

It could be Solmare's way of setting things up for Raphael & Michael to become recurring characters since they don't want them to be seen as the bad guys (shout out to @cnl0400 for being the first to talk about this), but they don't need to flip the script and change the brothers' established feelings towards the Celestial Realm and God for this to happen. Raphael and Michael are also victims of the way angels are conditioned to live and are likely just as traumatized and have as many issues as the brothers, which developed from the strict rules they have to follow to be considered "good angels", the War, etc.

And we already had moments in SWD that showed that the brothers still care for Raphael & Michael and vice versa, despite everything that happened between them (though the same can't be said about the CR and God). So why not explore that, instead of having their view of the realm as a whole change so drastically with no explanation?

The brothers not only look at the Celestial Realm fondly now but would happily visit. The place where their worst memories took place and where so many of their loved ones died, the main source of their traumas and the traumas of everyone who survived the war. I mean, just before NB Simeon was harshly punished for saving MC's life and cursed with mortality, just another reason for them resent the CR and their strict rules. And don't even get me started on Father.

Assuming that their goal is to write a redemption arc for the angels who didn't take the brothers' side during the war and paint the CR in a better light so players won't hold a grudge against Michael & Raphael, this isn't a good way to go about it. Burying everything under the rug and acting as if the brothers just came to change their minds over time is insane because we didn't see anything that could've led to that development. Yes, we were gone for months but it lasted so long in the timeline we were taken from that no one even noticed our absence. So what major event could've happened while we were gone that led to this?

Unless this is all part of an overarching plot where we find out that these aren't the brothers we know or our original timeline, the "we're cool with God and the Celestial Realm" ordeal is just frustrating and makes no sense for the characters as we know them.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 9 Act 1, Scene 1

Summary: Time passes, but the memories remain. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** angst, language, mentions of alcohol, brief mention of vomiting (tw for anyone with emetophobia), slight duel pov A/N: Well... the imposter syndrome has hit me HARD. I'm extremely discouraged by this chapter, but i hope its a decent enough follow-up to what y'all read last :/ bear with me, the last two chapters will MORE than make up for it. i promise.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Time didn’t exist anymore. 

You woke up. You went to work. You came home.

Over and over, the cycle went, and the days passed with no significance. You didn’t eat much, your appetite dwindling just as much as your motivation. It started to show in the way your clothes hung on your body and how your face thinned out. If you cared, you would go to the store and actually buy food, but the possibility of running into Joel kept you away. 

Joel.

Two weeks had passed since parent-teacher conferences—two weeks since you had hidden the book far away. You considered re-writing your lesson plans for next year; you never wanted to teach Romeo and Juliet again. You weren’t strong enough to analyze a story you had shared so intimately with someone you now considered a stranger because that’s what Joel was now: a stranger. A stranger you could still pick out in a crowd of a million people, a stranger whose lips were still imprinted on your skin even after countless hours spent in the shower. 

He was a stranger, and you hated him.

You were perched on the couch with a glass of wine—as most nights went now—when your cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. You didn’t reach for it initially; it was most likely your mom. She had tried calling a handful of times since you had hung up on her weeks ago. You never once called back, but you listened to the voicemails when you were drunk enough. Your dad had been discharged last week and started physical therapy for his hip. Stella and her boyfriend were moving in together somewhere in downtown Boston. And Beth…your mom never once uttered her name. She knew better than to do that. 

But the continuous buzzing of your phone began to irritate you, and you reached for it with an exasperated sigh. An unknown number flashed on the screen, igniting a sudden burst of anxiety inside your chest. Setting your glass down, you inhaled and answered the phone.

“Hello?” You cautioned.

Your name filtered through the receiver, a voice you weren’t expecting to hear.

“Bennett?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he sighed. 

“I didn’t think you’d reach out,” you said. “I tried to see you in the hospital, but Natalie…” You let your voice drift off. 

“I know. She’s not big on the idea of talking to you at all.”

“I’m so sorry again, Bennett. Joel shouldn’t have done that. I really don’t understand why it got to that point. I—.”

“I deserved it,” he said, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

You shook your head, your fingers knotting through the tangles in your hair.

“No, Bennett. No, you didn’t. He could have killed you,” you argued.

“He’s a man of his word, I’ll give him that,” he laughed. 

It was odd to hear Bennett talk so casually about this as if Joel hadn’t pummeled him into the ground. He should be mad, so why wasn’t he?

“Should I be waiting for a call from your lawyer soon?” You asked wearily. 

“If I wanted to come after you or Joel legally, I would be the one to do it. But that’s not happening,” he sighed. “It's too messy of a situation, and I really don’t want to go through the hassle. Natalie says otherwise, but she doesn’t really understand the situation.”

“The situation,” you echoed. “Joel told me his side of things after they took you to the hospital.  I still don’t remember anything, Bennett. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to reach you. You left. You disappeared completely and broke my heart.”

There was a beat of silence. You took the opportunity to down the last of your wine, the beginnings of a light buzz coursing through your veins. Don't get angry, you told yourself. You didn’t feel much of anything anymore, but anger was never too far out of reach. Sitting with that emotion and festering in it was easy if you let yourself. Bennett deserved your anger just as much as the rest of them, but you needed answers more than you needed to feel anything.

“There’s a lot to explain,” he finally said. “I’m not sure if you even want to see me again, but I can drive up to Austin this weekend and tell you everything. Or at least everything from my side.”

Seeing Bennett again would unfurl so many unchecked emotions: heartbreak, betrayal, grief. But it would be something you needed. Joel wasn’t the one you were with those two years following the accident; he wasn’t the one you had walked down the aisle expecting to see. Bennett had been with you through it all. You wanted to hear it from his mouth. You wanted an apology and an explanation.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “We can do that. Will Natalie have an issue with it?”

“Natalie won’t know.”

“You’re going to lie to your wife?” You laughed bitterly at his admission. He was still the same person through and through. 

“She’s fine,” he huffed through the phone. “She doesn’t understand any of this anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Bennett. We can meet at a coffee shop this weekend. Don’t abandon me again. I deserve an explanation.”

“I won’t.”

The guilt in his voice was thick, and you relished knowing he was suffering. Everyone, not just you, deserved to suffer for what they did. 

You quickly ended the call with Bennett and returned to the silence surrounding you. Knowing you’d see him in just a few days was unsettling and uncomfortable. The lingering grief he had left still hollowed out your heart. No amount of apologies would fill it, but it could sew up the remaining holes. 

What couldn’t be filled was the gaping hole Joel had left within your heart. Secrets wrapped in scar tissue and carnage that could never be fully healed, and it still infuriated you that your love for him still festered inside. It buried itself deep under the confines of your numbness, but sometimes, when you lay awake at night, you could still feel it. You ached for him in growing unbearable ways, but you had to continue with your life. 

You hadn't prepared yourself to see Bennett the first go around, and you had since thrown out the shirt still stained with his blood. Now, you were standing amid a pile of clothes strewn around your feet, your hair still wet and wrapped in a towel, and a face that screamed insomnia. You looked beyond amends.

After another hour of procrastination and a ticking timeline, you threw on the most basic T-shirt and jeans and left your hair a wet mess.

It was only Bennett.

It wasn’t serious.

Nothing was these days. 

You pulled into a spot in front of a cafe a little ways into town, your car sitting idle as you stared at the storefront. You could faintly make out Bennett’s silhouette sitting in the window, yet your body wouldn’t move. You were feet from all the answers, but the anxiety bubbling inside you made you immobile. Did you actually want this? Was it better to be blissfully unaware? 

Would the answers hurt you more than help you?

Before the constant questions led you to flee, you opened your door and decided to face the truth. Walking into the cafe, your eyes connected with Bennett, and your heart sank. Even from a distance, the scarring on his face was horrible: a thick, red, jagged line stretching down his temple and ending at his cheekbone. Another raised scar creased his left eyebrow, dragging down the arch over his eye. 

Joel did this. 

Inhaling, you met him at the table, sliding into the chair without a word. Bennett’s lips curled into a smug smile, one you still hated, and his eyes glazed over your body. 

“You look like shit,” he stated. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

He shrugged, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Your eyes flicked down to the ring on his finger, the gold shimmering through the sunlight hitting the windows. 

“She really has no idea you’re here?” You questioned, nodding your head towards his hand. 

Bennett glanced down at his wedding band, his fingers twisting around the metal mindlessly. 

“No, she doesn’t. She thinks I’m out of town on business.”

“And where’s home for you now?” You asked. “I never really found out since you up and left without a trace.” You tried to swallow the bitterness coating over your words. 

“I live in Houston now. I found a firm seeking out a junior partner and settled down in the city,” he explained. “Trust me, I didn’t want to leave my life here, but it was the only option.”

You studied him momentarily, watching any signs in his body language that would frame him as a liar. But you found nothing to fault. 

“What do you mean it was the only option?”

Bennett leaned forward, intertwining his hands together.

“What exactly did Joel fill you in on?” Bennett asked, cocking an eyebrow.

You shifted in your seat. Bennett’s words hit a nerve inside you, one that was buried deep within the numbness and itching to revive itself on a spark of anger. Was there more Joel had kept from you? How much more heartbreak could you take before you completely withered away?

“He said you and I broke up after we moved to Austin,” you started. “That’s when I met him, and we started dating. I don’t know specifics or much more, but Joel said that when I woke up in the hospital, I asked for you, and that’s when my parents decided to reach out to you and cover up my memory.”

“He left out… a lot,” he emphasized.

“Oh.” 

“So, where do you want me to start then?” 

You chewed on your lip, glancing outside as the cars drove down the main road. If you had told yourself two years ago you’d be sitting in front of your ex-fiance learning about a life you never knew existed… you’d laugh. You’d laugh and tell yourself you’d gone crazy. 

“From the beginning,” you sighed. 

Bennett leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. His eye twitched, the tight scar scrunching the skin around it. You averted your eyes, dropping your gaze to your hands as they fidgeted in your lap. 

“Obviously, you remember us moving to Austin,” he started. “It was probably a month or two after that when we started arguing a lot. You were always mad at me for working too much. You complained all the time that I wasn’t present or whatever.” You deadpanned him when he said those words; it was the same as the arguments you remembered during the engagement. Bennett shrugged off your glare and continued. “Anyway, you finally got fed up with everything and called it quits. You moved in with your teacher friend, whatever her name is… I don’t remember.”

“Maria,” you grumbled. “Her name is Maria.”

“Right, yeah.” Bennett quirked a grin as if he knew the buttons he was pushing. “So, you moved in with Maria and must’ve met Joel shortly after that. We didn’t keep in touch during those two years, but I missed you—a lot.”

Now, it was your turn to hit him with a rueful grin. He was so full of shit, just like you remembered. 

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” you scoffed. 

“Believe whatever you want, but I did miss you. Even with all our fights, I loved you,” he admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so after a while, I decided to reach out. I asked if we could go to dinner and talk, you know, work things out. I didn’t expect you to agree to it, but you did. And you know what happened? You laughed. You laughed at everything I said. You told me you were finally happy and in love and that you’d never consider the chance of getting back together. You sure do know how to hurt a man's pride.”

“You probably deserved it,” you said, shrinking back into your chair. 

“Yeah, probably,” Bennett exhaled. “Doesn’t matter now, though. Anyway, after dinner, you left, and that’s when the accident happened. I had no idea until your parents called me to the hospital and explained it all to me. Looking back now, I can see how incredibly fucked up it all was, but I wanted a second chance. Joel wasn’t happy with the plan at all. As a matter of fact, he punched the shit out of me right when I walked into the room.”

“What?” You balked. 

Bennett laughed dismissively, running a hand over his jaw. You tracked his moments, imagining what Joel must have looked like when he saw Bennett that night. An unwelcomed pang of guilt swarmed inside your chest, not for Bennett, but for Joel. You still hated him, but you couldn’t image the pain he had felt knowing he was losing you. The guilt subsided as you reminded yourself he had a choice to step in, but he allowed it all to happen anyway. He was an accomplice to your parent’s plans. He didn’t fight for you, and that realization stung. 

“You alright?” he asked, tilting his head to study you. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you faltered. “Just—just keep going.”

“Okay,” he cautioned. “I agreed to go along with your parent's plan. I knew it was fucked up, and I knew it would bite everyone in the ass one day, but I did it because I loved you. I wanted a do-over with you, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. If this conversation had happened weeks ago, you would have reacted differently, but there was no anger left to exhaust. You couldn’t be angry at Bennett, at least not for this. You were still allowed to resent him for what he did during the engagement and for leaving you at the altar, but this? This wasn’t something he did; he went along with everything because he loved you…supposedly. That was still arguable. 

“So, you got your perfect opportunity and decided to fuck it up.” 

Bennett inhaled sharply, drawing his lips into a thin line. There he was, the asshole you remembered. He didn’t like when you called him on his shit, and that’s exactly what you were doing. 

“I tried to make it work,” he argued. “I mean, I tried the best I could. I didn’t want to lose you again. So, yeah, I might’ve tried to prevent the chances of you getting your memories back, but it was because I loved you. Then I just got sick of trying. I got sick of you always asking questions and me having to lie. It was exhausting. And then you started saying Joel’s name in your sleep, and I just—.”

“Wait,” you interjected, holding up your hand. “I—I said his name in my sleep?”

Bennett laughed, running a hand over his face. There was a shift in his demeanor, a mixture of anger and sadness. 

“Why do you think I slept on the couch most nights? I couldn’t fucking stand it,” he grumbled. 

“Bennett, I didn’t fucking know I was doing that!” You shouted. A few people turned their heads at the rise in your voice, but you didn’t care. The anger was awakening inside you again, pounding to get out of the cage you had locked it in. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bennett said, rolling his eyes. “I still hated it. I hated knowing that even when you slept, you still loved him. I was never going to be the person to make you happy.”

Tears stung your waterline, and you swiped them away before they could fall. 

“That’s why you left.” It wasn’t a question. It was a realization. 

“I called Joel the night before the wedding,” he confessed, cringing at the admission. “I told him how I felt, and he told me to leave. Well, he didn’t tell me… It was more like he threatened me. He told me that if I didn’t, he’d find me. We both agreed to stay out of your life, and I think you can piece together the rest.”

You sat before him, speechless. You knew it all along; you were the reason Bennett was unhappy. Instinctively, you always knew it. But hearing it aloud? That was a pain you weren’t ready for. Everything was your fault, from beginning to end. Bennett couldn’t love you, Joel couldn’t fight for you.

Why were you so unloveable? 

None of this was your fault, yet everything pointed directly back at you. 

You had nothing left to say to Bennett, so you shoved away from the table and fumbled for your purse. He said your name cautiously, grabbing your wrist before you could turn away. You tried to free yourself from his hold, but he squeezed tighter. 

“Stop!” You snapped. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Bennett pleaded. “I really am, whether you believe it or not. I fucked up a lot, and I regret the way I left. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“This apology would have meant a lot more two years ago, Bennett,” you cried, still trying to free yourself. 

“I know it would have, but I’m doing it now. Alright? I’m sorry for everything I put you through, and I know none of this has been easy for you—.”

“You don’t know shit,” you seethed. 

You finally wrangled yourself out of his grip, rubbing your wrist to alleviate the pain from his touch. Bennett stared at you, agonized. You had walked in here hoping for an apology and got it. But it wasn’t enough. What was the point in all of this if nothing healed the pain inside you? 

You stumbled out of the cafe with blurry eyes, the cage bars inside you breaking piece by piece. It was only minutes before the anger fully consumed you, and you needed to leave before you let it wreak havoc on everything around you. You needed silence. You needed solitude. You needed a hole to crawl into. 

Before you could open your car door, Bennett called out your name and tore you away from the swirling thoughts inside your mind. You tried to ignore him, but he was relentless. Whipping around to face him, you came face first with his chest as he pulled you into an embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tightening his arms around your ridged body. “Hate me all you want, but don’t hate Joel. I can have my own grievances with him, but he loves you more than I ever could.”

You slumped into his chest, letting the anger overwhelm you to the point of complete defeat. Crying in Bennett’s arms was the last place you ever expected to be in, but here you were, sobbing into your ex-fiance’s chest. He held you through each wave of emotions, remaining solid and silent. 

“Hey,” Bennett whispered, pulling away. “Obviously, I don’t know shit about what’s going on with you, but it’s going to be okay. It’ll take time, but you’re going to be alright. I hope you get those memories back one day. I really do. You deserve to remember the things you lost, and I’m sorry for ever getting in the way of that.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. 

Bennett gave you a soft smile and said his goodbyes. You watched him as he retreated to his car, waiting for him to drive away. As you turned toward your car again, you glanced up at the hardware store across the street, meeting the eyes of someone familiar. Someone you didn’t expect to see. 

Joel’s brother, Tommy. 

The resentful glare in his eye was deadly, and you couldn’t hide from it. He saw you with Bennett. He would tell Joel, even without knowing what had just transpired. For a brief moment, you wanted to rush over and explain everything to him, but you stopped yourself. It didn’t matter what he told Joel—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could only shy away from Tommy’s scrutinizing stare and duck into your car. 

You had been gone too long from your numbness, and you missed it. It was time to bury yourself in your sadness once again and continue trying to unlove Joel Miller. 

**

Joel dumped his tools on the dining table with an exasperated sigh. He immediately reached for the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping it open in one fluid motion. As he leaned against the counter with the bottle at his lips, Joel heard the garage door slam shut. Peering around the corner, he tracked Tommy’s movements as he walked into the kitchen. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Joel grumbled. 

Tommy shrugged off his button-up and tossed it over a dining chair. He ran a hand through his greasy black curls before glancing at Joel. Joel shifted uncomfortably, trying to make sense of Tommy’s demeanor. 

“Seriously, Tommy,” Joel huffed. “Spit it the fuck out.”

“I saw her downtown,” Tommy finally said. “She was with that ex-fiance. The one you almost killed.”

Joel swore he felt his heart stop beating. Tommy must have seen wrong; it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. You wouldn’t seek out Bennett, not after everything. You weren’t even seeking Joel out, even after two weeks of earth-shattering silence. 

“Are y’sure it was her?” Joel asked through clenched teeth. 

Tommy nodded, his eyes drawn to the floor. 

“Yeah, it was her. Not sure what was goin’ on between them, but I saw them huggin’ and all that outside of a lil’ cafe,” Tommy explained. 

“Probably doesn’t mean nothin’,” Joel shrugged, trying to let denial take over.

If he could deny it, then none of this was real. You weren’t with Bennett again—that wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t do that. Bennett wouldn’t do that. Maybe Joel should have killed him. It would have torn you apart, but at least Joel could sleep at night knowing Bennett would never be in your life again. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, pulling him from his vengeful thoughts. 

“It doesn’t matter!” Joel yelled, slamming his beer bottle onto the counter.

The glass rattled between his fingers, and a slow trickle of liquid began seeping out of the crack he created. Joel glanced down at it, unbothered. 

“She’s not comin’ back, man,” Tommy sighed. “Y’gotta start movin’ on.”

“Go fuck yourself, Tommy,” Joel snapped.

He shoved off the counter and began to retreat down the hall, but not quick enough for Tommy. Tommy sidestepped in front of him, arms folded and a scowl twisting his lips. Joel knew Tommy hated everything about this situation, but he wasn’t the one experiencing the pain. He was just a bystander in all of this; he didn’t lay awake every night tossing over your words inside his head. 

I will never forgive you for this. 

Joel wasn’t losing you. He already lost you. 

“Listen, Joel. I know this is hard on you, but y’gotta face the truth. She’s gone, man. I know you tried your best to get her back, but it’s just not gonna happen. She deserves to make her own decisions for her life.”

“I know,” Joel sighed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love her, still.”

Tommy’s brown eyes softened as he looked at Joel, his head dipping in agreement. 

“No one said y’had to stop lovin’ her,” Tommy offered. 

“I don’t think I ever will,” Joel said. 

Joel didn’t sleep much that night. Tossing between the sheets, Joel couldn’t steer away the thoughts of you in another man's arms—let alone Bennett’s. When Joel had seen you at parent-teacher conferences, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. He knew you had taken the news rough, but seeing you so physically distraught was another type of pain he hadn’t been prepared for. You were a hollow shell of the woman he loved; your voice held so much bitterness when you spoke to him. Your eyes didn’t look at him with love…it was his own personal Hell. Parting ways with you like that nearly killed him, but not knowing what was going on in your life killed him more. Joel had spent two years in limbo after your accident, always wondering what life would be like if he had you back. And then he had it. He had three beautiful months with you, albeit they were spent wearing rose-colored glasses, but he had you again. 

In the blink of an eye, in one messy series of events, he lost you.

He lost you, and he knew you’d never come back. 

**

~Six months later~

You thought time would heal the wounds left inside your chest, but you were wrong. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nothing felt better. You stopped talking to your family altogether, and the phone calls stopped coming after some time. Beth never tried to reconcile with you, nor did you try to fight for answers. Having your heart broken by Joel and Bennett was one thing, but having it broken by your sister was a different kind of pain. It was visceral. It was a betrayal so brutal you still had yet to recover. Thinking of the things she had said to you in Boston only left you with debilitating headaches; her words festered deeper than anyone else’s. 

The truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.

You weren’t the coward; Beth was. She chose to hold onto those secrets for the last few years and weaponize them against you. You weren’t the idiot; you were the victim. You were the victim in all of this, yet everyone wanted to pin the aftermath on you. 

You were a mad woman, haunting an empty house with no one to confide in. You cut off all friendships with other teachers, especially Maria. You became a hands-off teacher, only going as far as in-class readings, quizzes, and occasional tests when necessary. The students adapted to the shift in your mood, and while you lived with the guilt of becoming that teacher, it was the only way you could survive the work days. The less effort you put into things, the less risk you had for disappointment or frustration. 

Sarah avoided you at all costs during class. She no longer participated in class discussions—which were far and few—but kept her head low and her grades satisfactory. Sometimes, you’d catch her watching you during class, her hazel eyes swimming with concern. You couldn’t stomach looking at her for more than a few seconds. You weren’t sure if she ever reported back to Joel about you, and honestly, you didn’t care. Well, maybe sometimes you did. It didn’t happen often, but there were fleeting moments of unwelcome flashbacks to your time with Joel months ago. Flashes of his hands on your body, his crooked smile, his deep voice. They wove through your mind at the worst moments, and everything hurt again. 

The school year had finally ended, and your days were filled with endless bouts of nothing. You exhausted everything: plucking weeds in your front yard, rearranging your kitchen cabinets (for the seventh time), building a new bookshelf…You found anything you could to keep yourself busy and the wandering thoughts at bay. 

The Texas heat was becoming unbearable, so you opted to spend the weekend indoors, siphoning through your closet. Heaps of clothes cluttered the ground around you as you tore apart each shelf, miscellaneous keepsakes piled in the corner. It wasn’t until you were elbow-deep in the crevices of your closet that you found the book. 

Romeo and Juliet.

The flimsy spine and dog-eared pages taunted you. You sat motionless with your hands hovering over the book, torn between flipping through the pages and setting it on fire. Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and you remained paralyzed, stuck in limbo between the past and present. You’d tell yourself it was a moment of weakness, but you grabbed the book and let your hands move through the pages. 

“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.

And, to sink in it, should you burden love;

Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough

with love;

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. Staring at the margins of the pages, scribbled with your words and thoughts, you blinked back tears. You thought you were strong enough for this. Tossing the book halfway across the bathroom, you succumbed to the tears that pooled in your eyes. Laying on the messy floor, you wrapped your arms around your shins and stared at the book as it taunted you from across the room. Your eyes caught onto something peeking out of the pages, and you slowly tilted your head. 

That wasn’t…

No. 

You couldn’t pull yourself to your feet, so you decided to crawl to where the book lay. As you got closer, you started to make out the grainy features of Joel plastered onto a Polaroid. With shaking fingers, you lifted it into the light, your eyes growing wide. Basked in the hue of sunset sat Joel, his broad torso dressed in a white shirt, with the biggest smile plastered on his face captured in a moment of laughter. Something sparked inside your chest as you stared at it longer, your eyes memorizing every softened feature of Joel’s face. He still had that patchy beard you were so familiar with, the sparse spots along his jaw no different than they were now. Creases around his closed eyes proved that his laughter in the photo had been genuine. 

You missed his smile. 

Shaking away those tender thoughts, you tried to pull yourself to your feet, only to have your ankle caught in a strap of a dress, sending you crashing to the floor. Your arms tried to brace for impact, but you didn’t catch yourself in time. Your body smacked against the corner of your shower door, your head taking most of the impact. 

And everything went dark. 

“Sarah, you’re a mess!” You laughed. 

Her curls were caked with mud, and half her clothes were soaked. You, Joel, and Sarah had decided to drive into the small town outside the campground for dinner, and of course, you got caught in the rain. As you all made a beeline for the diner, Sarah tripped into a huge puddle between cars, splattering rainwater and mud all over herself. Joel couldn’t contain his laughter, and neither could you. 

Joel took a seat on the beach outside the diner, trying to catch his breath from laughing, but every time he glanced up at Sarah’s messy face, he lost it all over again. You scrambled through your backpack to find your Polaroid camera, snapping a quick picture. 

“Hey!” Joel laughed, grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down to the bench. 

“What?” You asked innocently. “It was the perfect opportunity! Plus, you look extra handsome right now.”

“Handsome, huh?” He smirked, peeking you on the cheek. 

You shook the Polaroid as it developed, presenting him with the proof. He was handsome. So fucking handsome. Joel reached for the camera in your hands, turning it quickly on you. You stuck out your tongue, trying to hold back another fit of laughter. 

“Perfect,” he grinned before turning toward Sarah. 

“Alright, kiddo. Smile!”

“Dad, stop!” Sarah wined. 

But Joel was too fast, the camera shutter going off right in time to capture Sarah’s big pout. 

Each of you had a Polaroid now, picture proof of a happy family. 

Pinpricks of pain stabbed into each side of your head as you finally roused from your sleep. You squinted through the harsh light of the bathroom, letting your eyes readjust to your surroundings. Everything was foggy, but you remembered. 

Oh God, you remembered everything. 

The nausea was quick to hit you, and you scrambled to the toilet. You weren’t sure if the fall was to blame for the sudden disruption to your body or the memories slamming back into place, but you were helplessly stuck with your head over the toilet. Flash after flash, like the shutter of your camera, everything fell back into place. 

“Oof! I’m so sorry!” You said, rubbing your nose.

You had turned the corner too quickly and smashed right into the solid chest of a student’s father. 

“S’all my fault, miss.” 

The voice alone sent shivers up your spine, but they multiplied as you gazed up into a pair of deep brown eyes. You lost all the words in your vocabulary as you took in the sight of the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was too rugged and masculine to call ‘cute’; handsome fit him so much better. With dark scruff covering his jaw and creases around his eyes, whoever this man was…he was stunning. You were captivated.

“I really should have looked before I turned the corner,” you rambled. 

“Don’t go apologizin’,” he said, offering you a kind smile. “I coulda got outta the way.”

“Do you make a habit of taking up an obscene amount of space?” You joked. 

“Depends on the hall,” he countered, extending his hand. “Joel Miller.”

You told him your name, then shook your head. 

“I should probably keep it professional. You can call me Miss Smith.”

“Nah, don’t need all the formalities here. Your name is just fine.”

“Is your daughter enrolled here?” You asked. It was hard to maintain the color creeping into your cheeks. 

“That she is,” he said proudly. “Goin’ into third grade this year. She’s a real good kid.”

“I bet she is. I’m only student teaching while I finish my Master’s program, but I’ll be taking on a position with middle school students next year. Maybe she’ll be my student one day.”

“I reckon she’d be pretty lucky,” he offered. 

“Yeah?” Now, you were definitely blushing. 

“Yeah,” Joel smiled. “Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me think you’ll be one of the best teachers in the school.”

“That’s a bold statement, given the fact you hardly just met me.”

“I wouldn’t hate it if I got to know you more.”

Your eyes shifted down the hallway, watching for any teachers that might be coming. You weren’t sure what the policy was for flirting with a student’s parent, but it was hard to stop when he was so enticing. 

“I don’t think I’d hate it, either.”

Another wave of nausea hit you, and you groaned. The room was spinning, your body ached from falling, and countless memories continued to pile up inside your mind. 

You were overwhelmed. 

Those two years of nothing became everything in the span of minutes. 

Dragon Tales was playing softly in the background as you curled your body around Joel’s. His hand was tracing circles around your shoulder as you both “watched” the TV. Something electric pulsed between your bodies, an unavoidable shift that had continued to unfurl over the last several months. You didn’t know how to verbalize your emotions—at least, not without knowing if he felt the same. 

“Joel,” you whispered.

His eyes were already on you when you finally glanced up. It was written all over his face. It was the proof you needed; he felt the same. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I really like you,” you confessed. “Okay, well, maybe I really, really like you.”

“Maybe I really, really like you, too.”

You peeled yourself from his warm body, turning to face him completely. 

“I’m gonna say something,” you warned. “Please don’t freak out. It’s okay if you don't—.”

Joel’s lips were pressed against yours before you could finish the sentence. You melted into his touch, your hands coming up to tangle in the messy curls at the nape of his neck. He held you firm to his mouth, his tongue dragging over your bottom lip. 

“I love you, baby,” he mumbled. “So much.”

You reeled him in for another frenzied kiss, all your efforts to contain your smile going down the drain. Oh, God. He loved you. 

“I love you, Joel.”

You sagged onto the bathroom floor. The throbbing in your head was growing stronger and stronger with each memory. You wanted to tear your brain from your skull and flush it down the toilet, but that wouldn’t help anything. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? All your memories were coming back, and yet, you desperately wished they would fade away again. 

You loved Joel. 

It was a fact you already knew, but remembering the exact moment you admitted…. You were going to be sick all over again. 

“Y’look so pretty in my t-shirt, baby,” Joel hummed.

He lay up against the headboard of the bed while you paced the room. You gripped the binding of your copy of Romeo and Juliet, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. It was hard to focus when his bare chest was on display, the spattering of dark chest hair swirling down his torso and disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.

Focus. 

“Don’t distract me!” You pleaded. “Okay, you know how I was talking about how Romeo is just head over heels for Juliet? Get this: they kiss right away in the first act! He’s so bold with how he speaks to her, and then he just kisses her. And Juliet’s response is basically telling Romeo that all of his sin is on her lips now.”

“And what happens next, baby?” Joel asked, quirking a smile. 

“Romeo says, ‘Give me my sin again’, and then they kiss… again!” 

“Ain’t he just a romantic,” Joel chuckled. “Now, can y’get your sinful ass in bed?”

“What? This one?” You teased, flipping up the hem of his shirt. 

Joel’s eyes dropped to your backside as you exposed your naked body, and he nearly went flying across the foot of the bed to grab you. You shrieked with laughter as he tugged you onto the comforter, flipping you onto your back. 

“C’mere, baby,” he growled.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking marks into the skin just below your collarbone. You let out a small whimper and helped guide the t-shirt off your body. Somewhere along the way, your book had dropped to the ground, but you didn’t care. You’d much rather give into the sin of Joel’s lips on your body. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when your stomach finally settled. You managed to drag yourself from the floor, staggering your way into the bedroom. The migraine behind your eyes had still yet to subside, so you threw yourself into bed and buried your body under the comforter and pillows. You had everything back—everything you wanted—but why wasn’t it enough? 

The images of Joel swam through the pressurized ache inside your mind; his smile refracted in the blinding light of a constant camera shutter. Snapshots of the past dissolved from the darkness, fragmented puzzle pieces slowly molding into place. 

Another flash, another memory. 

A frustrated scream erupted from your mouth, muffled into the pillows surrounding you. Every thought started and ended with Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. Was this how it felt to go crazy? 

It was clear that sleep was evading you; it ran from the thought of Joel quicker than you could. Pulling yourself from the bed, you emerged into the bathroom once again and began rifling through the piles of clothes. 

What the hell were you supposed to wear to see someone who was no longer a stranger?

[clarionglass]

so i have been bitten by the sam reich!master bug courtesy of some phenomenal art by @northernfireart and uh. as is too often the case i had to write something otherwise if i didn't get it out of my brain i would go absolutely insane

(there may be more vignettes coming if i have ideas..... there are definitely other episodes i'd like to give the Treatment to, plus with the new dw series coming out on the weekend i may have ideas for how to incorporate the dw gang! however, i promise neither more writing or no more writing. that said, this was a lot of fun so there'll probably be more at some stage :D )

this has full spoilers for the game changer ep "escape the greenroom", but hey that's been out for a while now so,,,, if you haven't seen it i'd highly recommend it as an episode!

so, without further ado:

--

Samuel Dalton was a complete fiction, of course, but that didn't mean that when Sam Reich snuck back upstairs to get tied up in the “out of order” bathroom, the Sam that remained on the monitor, laughing at the contestants, was a pre-recording. And if Brennan, Siobhan and Lou had snorted at the idea of a time-travelling evil magician great-grandfather (for good reason), going in with the actual truth of the matter would have sounded like jumping the shark.

It sounded bizarre, but the time travel bit was the only part about his new partner in crime that was confirmably real. Admittedly, the jury was still out on “evil”—he gave off a weird vibe at times, but so far, no lines had been crossed, and it had all been funny as hell—so for now, Sam was willing to roll with it. But perhaps most surprisingly, there wasn’t even the possibility of blood relation between Samuel Dalton Reich and the guy who had shown up out of the blue one day with his exact face and a plan to really fuck around with things on Game Changer.

Yeah, the whole alien thing had really ruled out that particular prospect.

There had been various bits and pieces of confirmation that this guy wasn’t human through the time Sam had known him, but the final nail in the coffin for that one was when his doppelganger had looked him dead in the eye and tried on one of the heart rate monitors—sorry, “range extenders”—for As a Cucumber. The damn thing had literally sparked up, then died completely. Trying to process input from two separate heartbeats at once would do that, apparently. 

His doppelganger was a Time Lord, or so he had nonchalantly said one afternoon in casual conversation, though Sam still wasn’t sure if that one was a joke or not. It was hard to tell, sometimes, because he said the wildest things with the straightest face, and so far, most of them had turned out to be one hundred percent certifiably true. The time travel, the space travel, even the changing faces thing—it sounded objectively insane, but the proof was undeniable. 

There were some notable exceptions, though. Saying he’d been trapped for aeons inside Neil Patrick Harris’s gold tooth went just that bit too far to be believable, though Sam did appreciate his double’s slightly warped sense of humour.

It was that offbeat line of thinking that lent itself well to game design, as it turned out. He had a knack for coming up with ideas for Game Changer episodes, albeit with the occasional suggestion that went way beyond the bounds of good taste, and, as in the case of Escape the Greenroom, had devised some blinding twists on concepts Sam had already half-formed. The letter puzzle unlocking the secret door? It was perfect.

Understandably, Sam’s doppelganger had wanted to observe the fruits of their labours in real time, rather than watching the recording later. It happened, sometimes, particularly when it was one of his ideas that had made it through to the episode list—they’d swap places for a session, with nobody being any the wiser. Watching those edits back always felt a bit weird—it was uncanny how flawless the mimicry was—but hey, the guy was right. It was always fun.

Escape the Greenroom, specifically, with its “Samuel Dalton” conceit, provided them with a unique opportunity. Instead of swapping out the camera feed for a recording when the cast piled into the tiny secret room behind the wall, as per the original plan to get Sam in position to be discovered in the bathroom, they could just swap out the people. Sam would go upstairs, and his double would take his place at the podium, ducking out of sight when everyone came back to the main stage to “defuse the bomb”.

Sam was keen—hell, if their situations had been reversed, he’d want to be there to watch, too—but caution raised a flag. “You don’t think it’s too risky?” he’d asked when the subject was first raised. “Both of us being in the same place?”

His doppelganger had shrugged one shoulder with supreme unconcern. “The crew won't notice.”

At the time, Sam had shot him a sceptical look, but right now, Sam-Reich-in-a-purple-tie and Sam-Reich-in-an-orange-tie were standing backstage post-record, clearly visible and and calmly chatting, and not a single member of the crew had given them so much as a second glance. 

…Hardly even a first glance, come to think about it. If anyone looked over their way, their eyes seemed to… not exactly go through them, but slide over the two of them like water. He was tempted to wave to Nico or Ash or someone, just out of pure curiosity, but something in the back of his mind told him that wouldn’t be the world’s greatest idea. He had a funny feeling he wouldn’t like to see what would happen next.

(He’d given the prop bomb back to the crew once the cameras stopped rolling, and though it looked the same as the one he remembered from before he’d headed upstairs, it felt different in his hands. Heavier, more… serious, somehow. He was sure nothing would have happened—but at the same time, he was suddenly very glad that the cast had cut the correct wire with no less than a minute fifteen to go.)

(The jury was still out on evil, after all.)

“Worth coming in for?” he asked instead.

“Absolutely,” his double replied with relish. “Locking those three in a small room for an hour? Brilliant, fantastic. Inspired. It was absolute chaos.”

“Have you seen up there?” Sam asked, a smile starting to spread across his face. “They messed up the set real bad.”

His doppelganger smirked at him. “You know it took literally two seconds from you telling them to escape the greenroom for Lou to smash that guitar?”

Sam shook his head. “Oh my god. Yeah, they were stressed.” 

“Mmm. Some real panic in that room,” his doppelganger agreed, and Sam chose to ignore the faint note of satisfaction in his voice.

He shifted his weight, settling back to lean against the table behind the set, in the exact instant his double decided to do the same thing. It really was freaky how similar they were, down to the smallest mannerism—like looking in a mirror, only weirder, because the face that looked back at him was truly his own face, not mirror-reversed. Even now, it still caught Sam off guard from time to time, but at least it had faded into a more comfortable kind of strange. He had an exact lookalike who was an actual time-travelling alien. Cool. Doesn’t everyone?

The pair shared a companionable silence for a few moments, before a thought Sam had been turning over for a while rose to the top of his mind. He shifted again, this time on his own, and he felt his double’s regard swing up to fix on him like a magnet. 

“Okay, real talk,” he started, and his doppelganger frowned back in an approximation of confused innocence. “What’s all this for?”

“Who says it has to be for anything? Aren't we just having fun?”

Sam hummed, considering. “Yeah. No, I'd believe that, if I didn't sometimes walk into production meetings and find out I'd apparently been very specific about the people I wanted for certain episodes.”

“Point for Sam,” his doppelganger acknowledged with a grin. “You got me. Wasn’t hard to make a few phone calls on our joint behalf.”

“Yeah, but why?” Sam pressed. “I mean, Siobhan, Brennan and Lou are always great comedy value when you put them together, and it was awesome to have them for this, but I get the feeling you’re thinking of something other than making good content.”

“Who, me?”

With that, his double gave him a look of such overdone pantomime innocence that Sam suddenly and thoroughly understood why, not half an hour earlier, Brennan had very seriously threatened to push him down the stairs. 

He rolled his eyes, which earned him a smirk for his troubles.

Dropping the act, his doppelganger continued. “I’m expecting an… old friend, I guess, to show up at some point, and—well, I’d like to put on a really special show for them. I thought it would be a good opportunity to try a few things out, you know?”

Ominous pause aside, that was actually kind of sweet. Sweeter than he’d been expecting, that’s for sure—he was half anticipating the revelation that he and his cast were subjects in some weird experiment. Hey, that still couldn’t fully be ruled out, but still.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Well… just let me know, next time? Before you start ordering in my cast like takeout?”

“Who says they’re your cast?” his double shot back with a twinkle in his eye, and Sam snorted.

“Fine. Our cast, then. But seriously, let me know?”

His doppelganger nodded, which, if not quite fully convincing, was good enough. 

“Oh, and do you know when your friend might be arriving?” Sam asked. “Because if you wanted to plan something, we can—”

“I don’t know,” his doppelganger interrupted. “So yeah, we’ll have to move fast when they do get here. But I’ve got it under control.”

He broke off, then shot Sam a mischievous grin. “In the meantime, though, I’ve had this fun thought about time loops…”

[lillytalons]

ADOLIN & MAYA

Apparently I have a ton to say about Adolin and Maya from Wind and Truth.

Spoilers Ahead!! 

Maya getting the deadeyes is like the greatest payoff of finding out about them existing all over Shadesmar and specifically the lost deadeyes on the bottom of the ocean who I had assumed had to have the eternal tragedy of being ‘dead’ and lost forever. The spren coming back to more real life with the reversal of the broken oath to Ba Ado Mishram is just so great. I should remember, there’s pretty much always payoff with Sanderson, even if it takes a while. 

Also the suit up moment had me jumping and celebrating it was just so beyond good. 

Honestly, Adolin potentially living forever without his leg is a cool concept, like the shardplates adjusting for him showing that past radiants didn’t have all their limbs was great but not it also sets Adolin apart again because so many of the radiants would be able to heal themselves, not all obviously but most. I’m excited to explore it in the future.

He got his plate through inheritance and who knows exactly which dead spren it’s made of, but I’d like to think fate was involved. The Plate starting to respond to him like Maya originally did was just beyond amazing. We haven’t seen a lot of differences in living plate yet since we have a small sample size, but so far we know that wind spren can move to others at a drop, and creation spren seem to have a lot more flexibility with form (though that could just be because Shallan thought to ask for it), but the chances that his plates are from the pair with cultivation spren isn’t great. Honestly with the movement and permission, so far I’d say wind Spren but maybe we’ll get that answer eventually. 

Maya being a soldier is just incredible, like she doesn’t seem to remember or mention healing or anything, but she knows war, and is the perfect match for Adolin. Having someone to talk to about everything and someone who really understands the kind of sacrifices he needs to make without a fight has got to be a major benefit for both of them. Most of the Spren now are learning everything from scratch, are very young comparatively, and have to slowly grow memories and the like. But Maya, while silent and relearning how to talk and interact, doesn’t have to be taught about complex ideas. Which is good since she’s basically thrown from talking again to one of the most important battlefields in Roshar’s history. There wasn’t time for ethics/people lessons like Syl and Kaladin had time for. 

Maya is so interesting because we mostly know new spren who have never been bonded and it seems like spren have been staying away from learning about fighting as a whole, their own cultures’ way to avoid the atrocities of the radiants. But the deadeyes have a lot of possible wisdom and such to offer, now that they can talk again. Plus, depending on how old Maya is, she could have been bonded to several soldiers, killed during recreances and bonded to a new one, if she was a solider she would have bonded again, so she understands death. As one of the shards found in an obvious place and protected and passed down, she could have been hooked to important radiants that were in the middle of the fighting. 

And I’m sure there are plenty of cultivation spren like Wyndle that don’t like fighting, wouldn’t have bonded to radiants if at all possible. So spren like Maya would have picked up the slack to keep fighting.

Not to mention, well no one really has stormlight right now, but the potential lessons the unoathed could teach to new and current radiants are huge! Yes the radiants are figuring out a lot and in some ways benefit from not actually having an instruction manual to limit their thinking, but gentle nudges if they’re missing important and useful ways to use lashings will be helpful. Until the heralds come back, or they find more records in Urithiru, the un-oathed are all they have (especially with the Stormfather and his habit of giving visions gone. Lucky Dalinar wrote it down before dying I guess)

Back to the discussion of fate, Adolin’s sword being a cultivation spren just makes sense. He’s barely connected to Honor and Odium, not bowing to the passions and disliking oaths more and more (Dalinar could have learned a bit from him), which means if he’s connected to any of the three shards, it’s Cultivation. And he does have the history of slowly but doggedly cultivating friendships, relationships, building people’s skills, heck even talking to his blade before every battle is much more a cultivation trait than anything else. Despite some of his impulsivity, he’s got an awful lot of patience that most of the characters don’t.

The potential powers for edgedancers are healing and friction. He almost was using friction during many of his fights, especially during his last fight, leaning into the movement of his peg and basically using moments of friction and movement like edgedancers do. He has a history of perfect footwork and movement in his duels. Even leaping and moving across the dome in an insane show of momentum proves my point. 

Then with the healing, he has more respect and understanding of both normal healers and mind healing than most. Beyond that, he’s a good tactician and all, but more and more he hates fighting, doesn’t even really want the duels, he feels very Eowyn coded, can and will fight to the end, but wants to be a healer and focus on growing things (maybe metaphorically). He heals Yawagawn emotionally by seeing he needed a friend and again building him and his skills up.

He remembers those that have been forgotten, whether a lonely boy emperor, a bridgeboy or a young girl who wants to fight, he treated his blade and plate as sentient years before it was even considered that they could be, before anyone knew anything about them, he was ensuring that they wouldn’t be lost forever, which also ties into listening to those who have been ignored. He wants people to be able to make their own decisions and not be beholden to others, whether through class lines or oaths, and it’s so good. He follows the soul of edgedancers and radiants without being beholden to oaths and Honor because he’s seen a lot of things can go wrong with that. And he was right! Beyond never abandoning Maya (which I loved him for) he’s now really free of the issue of Retribution.

And he helped save the only human kingdom to stay free of Odium! He’s just the best.

[tehrevving]

Did you have a scenario of Vincent getting condoms? The idea of this tall brooding man purchasing is funny.

You know what Anon, I hadn’t actually thought of a scenario when I wrote that chapter, but it sounds like fun, let’s do it! (Tumblr exclusive for now. I’ll get this on Ao3 eventually lol)

18+, with spoilers for Chaos Theory Chapter 17.

It is far too close to the planned departure time when Cid finally relents and stops arguing. The man’s insistence on always needing to have the last word made the entire navigation discussion an utter nightmare. Eventually Vincent had just walked out, heading down the airstairs without saying a word. He has things to do, well one important thing that he needs to do before departure, though he is extremely reluctant to actually go through with it. 

He’s still somewhat blindsided about what had happened last night. He hadn’t planned on taking his clothes off and showing you everything that he’d been hiding. He hadn’t expected your reaction, kissing across his scars instead of reacting with repulsion or disgust. He can’t stop thinking about how good your hands and lips had felt on his body. You had brought his monsters to the surface, instinct simmering just underneath his skin. He had been able to handle it, everything had been fine, until you had soaked his chest and turned him into an animal. 

He had almost lost control and it’s not good enough. He had been so close to giving in. Somehow, he’d ended up with the head of his cock rubbing bare against your folds. You had been so wet for him, slick, hot and desperate. You had been begging verbally for him to fuck you, and your body had been recklessly trying to pull him inside. He can’t suppress the shudder that shoots down his spine, suddenly feeling a cold chill in the hot, coastal heat as he remembers everything. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to resist you, how he’s supposed to stop thinking about you. He doesn’t understand how you make him lose control, or why he doesn’t seem to mind when you cause it. 

He needs to be prepared, he needs to have options. You have previously mentioned having a materia, but just a mention is not enough. He is not going to make assumptions or take unnecessary risks. He is sure that you have also made preparations, but he can’t rely on that either. 

So, reluctantly, Vincent enters the first pharmacy that he comes across, to buy condoms. 

The woman behind the counter stares as he walks in, her head craned back to look up at him. Her eyes widen as they follow his attire and take in his general strangeness. He tries to relax his shoulders, he doesn’t want her to think he might be dangerous. 

“E-excuse me Sir,” she stammers, managing to find her voice half way through a practised spiel. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Vincent replies dismissively, walking straight past her. He hates that he was rude, but he will not see her again. He does not have time or the patience to make small talk. 

The aisles are labelled with the ridiculous, standard font for this era. He can read it of course, but the typeface is looped, slanted and difficult for him to understand at a glance. Frustration fills him, but he quickly finds what he is looking for, the aisle labelled ‘family planning.’ He tries to not let his disgust for the term show on his face. 

There is far more choice than he was expecting. His eyes scan over an overwhelmingly large assortment of boxes, the brands unfamiliar to him. He sighs, he had hoped this would be straight forward. He remembers the brand that he used to buy, from a past life far too long ago, but of course that no longer exists. 

He scans the aisle, surprised at the assortment. Flavoured. He wonders if you would prefer for him to taste like—his lip curls with distaste—banana or strawberry. Definitely not.

His eyes find a box in the next row, the words ‘extra lubricated’ written in large font on the packaging. He gives a small smirk underneath his cowl. That certainly will not be required. If anything, he may encounter the opposite problem, but he’s not concerned, he will just use his tongue to remove any excess if you end up too slippery. He forces himself to look back at the aisle and focus. He does not have time to be distracted by thoughts of your taste.

There are multiple boxes advertising patterns, boasting that they are, ‘ribbed for her pleasure.’ He is not familiar with those. Would that even be pleasurable for a woman? He’s not sure, but then you had enjoyed his glove last night, so maybe there is some merit. He considers purchasing some, but then decides it would be strange. He is perfectly capable of pleasing you without any external aid, and does not want to imply otherwise. 

He keeps looking, eyes glazing past words like, ‘tingling,’ ‘long lasting’, and ‘minty.’ Modern people truly are degenerates. Finally, right at the bottom, where he has to bend at the knees to be able to inspect them, he finds normal ones. He selects a smaller sized box advertising a reasonable amount of lubrication and a larger than average length. That will do. This has all already wasted too much time. 

The woman at the counter gives him an extremely funny look as she rings up his purchase. He supposes he can forgive her. He probably does look ridiculous, an inhuman monster purchasing condoms. Her eyes narrow when he pays with coins instead of the plastic cards that everyone now seems to use. She struggles to count the change for him, the world truly has gotten worse in his absence. 

He walks back towards the Bronco, squinting in the sunlight, new purchase weighing heavy in his pocket. The sunlight is harsh, burning at the pale skin of his face. He disappears as much as he can into his cowl. It is still uncomfortable being outside, even though he has managed to grow more used to it over the past few months. 

He spots Barret as he turns the corner to head to the dock. The man beckons Vincent over and he sighs, tempted to just keep walking past the man staring daggers at him from behind dark sunglasses. 

“If you hurt her,” Barret grunts, gesturing towards the plane with his head. “I’ll shoot you.”

The man is clearly serious. “Noted,” Vincent replies. He appreciates Barret’s protectiveness but it is not required. If anyone ever hurts her, even accidentally, well, Vincent was a Turk, he knows how to make people disappear. 

Thankfully, Barret dismisses him with a wave of his gun arm. Vincent walks past him, thankful the conversation had not been excessively painful. 

Vincent walks down to the dock and immediately sees you, standing underneath one of the plane’s broken wings speaking to Aerith. You are even prettier today than you had been yesterday, eyes bright and clear. Vincent can see the pleasure he gave you last night in the relaxed set to your shoulders, and the slight twitch of your thighs as your legs move, it fills him with a selfish pride. 

Your face lights up when you catch sight of him and you wave. He pauses as you walk over to him. You stop in front of him, looking up at him with those sweet eyes and a soft smile. He wants to pull you into his arms, but he stops himself, though he can feel some of the tension leave his shoulders now that he’s close to you.

“Can you help Aerith and I reach something?” you ask, voice sweet before you trail off. “We’re both too short,” you pout. 

He nods, hiding a smile behind his cowl, though he thinks you can see through his hidden expression. He could never deny you anything.

“Thanks,” you smile, turning around with a wave of your hand, a gesture for him to follow. He falls into step behind you, immediately distracted by the sway of your hips and the curve of your ass. He is going to have you tonight, even if he has to stage a commotion to get you alone.