#there's just this gaping father-shaped hole

[strange-lamp-stranger]

OKOK this is just pasted in from my notes app so apologies if the formatting is weird! it's very much so just the way i spat it all out of my brain and onto the page, lol. i also started actually planning out plot beats n stuff in case i was gonna write a whole fic but i don't think that's gonna happen anytime soon, so i'll throw those in too! it's all under the cut because. long.

Modern AU Kyana-centric. Takes place in Canada because i said so.

She's studying business administration in uni and feeling really stuck in life. She rents a tiny basement apartment, and while she gets along with most of her classmates, she's not close with any of them (but she is closest with Ione, who has a crush on Kyana). Not to mention, the department head, Dr. Rose Sephrum, who is incidentally Kyana's great-aunt and closest living relative, is bitter and overly strict. While Kyana is actually pretty good at most of the stuff in her classes, she's struggling to keep up because she isn't receiving any supports for her (undiscovered & undiagnosed) ADHD.

Kyana's backstory: grew up in foster care after her parents died when she was a toddler. She never got adopted and bounced around a lot of different homes. Dr. Sephrum could have adopted her, but refused. When Kyana turned 18, she entered into a government program supporting young adults coming out of the foster care/child welfare system. She basically gets a government stipend every month. It pays her rent and groceries and not much else, but between those payments and gov't student loans/grants, she's able to comfortably support herself. She volunteers at a local animal shelter every other weekend WITH IONE!!

Dani's backstory: She grew up with her cousins Roy (4 years older than her) and Egan (1 year older than her, but 100% the baby of the family) under the care of her Uncle Oto. (The three of them nicknamed their backyard and make-do play area "the Heap" because it was. well. a big heap of junk that Oto could never be bothered to clean up). Oto was one of those father figures that is definitely shitty, but also definitely cares and is always doing what he thinks is best for the kids, even if it's incredibly misguided. In highschool, Dani's only good grades were in math and tech/construction classes, but she had a reputation for doing dangerous and impulsive things in her tech classes without her teachers' permission. She got an apprenticeship as a mechanic at a local appliance repair shop right out of highschool. DANI IS AUTISTIC. IT SHOWS. KYANA'S TOO POLITE TO ASK ABOUT IT SO FOR A GOOD WHILE SHE JUST THINKS DANI'S WEIRD FOR NO REASON. (Dani got diagnosed in middle school because social differences were really starting to show and she was getting kind of bullied, and the school psychologist saw her and was like "hmmm i have a suspicion".)

Fic begins when Kyana's roommate moves out mid-semester (they were apparently on academic probation and got their last strike), leaving Kyana stranded and needing a last-minute roommate. She put out an ad and the first person to respond was Dani. Dani the appliance technician apprentice. Dani with her wild blue hair and adorably annoying cat, Plug. Dani's passion for life rubs off on Kyana, who begins to feel inspired again.

Eventually, Ione moves in with Kyana and Dani [she DOESN'T get together with Kyana, who is Very Aroace. Actually, when she learned that her feelings weren't and never would be reciprocated, Ione decided, in her self-destructive ways, that the best way to deal with it would be to completely break off her friendship with Kyana so that Ione's feelings might fade. After a year or so, her romantic feelings DO fade, but she still feels a gaping, Kyana-shaped hole in her life. Ione's convinced it's because she's not actually over her feelings for Kyana yet, but really it's because—regardless of the type of attraction she feels—she's in love with Kyana and has developed a similarly strong "squish" (platonic crush). Kyana, after some prodding from Dani, decides to try to reconnect with Ione, and that's when they become friends again, and move in together and eventually become platonic life partners.]

Plot beats (UNFINISHED):

- Dani moves in. Background exposition on why Kyana needed a new roommate. Kyana instantly falls in love with Plug. Kyana is clearly burnt out from school.

- Kyana goes to class. We meet Professor Sephrum and Ione. Kyana and Ione study together. Kyana laments how much she dislikes the program they're in, and Ione agrees but says that she herself feels like she just needs to suck it up until she graduates. she thinks it'd be a waste of her athletic scholarship otherwise (Ione is a lightweight wrestler. Kyana was on the highschool wrestling team with her but dropped it after highschool). Kyana thinks that is a really sad outlook to have.

- Kyana fails one of her courses because she couldn't keep up with the courseload. She desolately contemplates dropping out. Dani learns about Kyana having failed that class and gets Kyana her favourite flavour of gum (she'd seen Kyana chewing it while doing chores around the house) and gives Kyana an awkward pep talk. Plug is a cute little asshole. Dani tries to steer Kyana in a positive direction and asks what course(s) she did best in. Kyana says she got a 78 in her kinesiology elective. [warblingly like, yknow, someone who was just crying really hard a few minutes ago] "I wish I'd done better, honestly. It's the one class I actually looked forward to."

- Semester 2 reading week—Kyana and Ione finally catch a break and Dani invites them to come with her on the roadtrip she's been planning on taking to go visit Roy and Egan. (Incidentally, Kyana has been taking another kinesiology elective and really enjoying it also. She's considering declaring it as her minor.) The three of them (and Plug. he has a cat backpack) pile into Dani's old little 2008 Volkswagen (golf?). on the way down, Dani and Ione learn that Kyana's never been to an amusement park. There's a big one in the city that Roy and Egan live in, and so the five of them (plus Roy's fwb, Cressida) spend a day at the amusement park. Kyana turns out to be a total adrenaline junkie and goes on all the huge rides with Dani. They convince Ione to go on the biggest rollercoaster with them. She's scared out of her mind the whole time but Kyana is happy so it's worth it, Ione thinks. when they get back to Roy and Egan's place, Plug is smugly napping in a pile of upturned potted plants.

- [SOMEHOW, THEY RETURN HOME.]

- Dani's been helping Kyana with her homework whenever she can. Kyana has to take a statistics class and Dani is like "fuck yeah, math, something i actually understand!" Because of this, Kyana managed to do pretty well on her midterms. Kyana mentions she's considering declaring a kinesiology minor. Dani's straight up like "why just a minor? don't you like it way more than business or whatever-the-fuck? you can still change your major, yeah?" Kyana's like "huh, i think i can? i don't know yet though. Business is more... there's more job opportunities, i guess?" Dani says Kyana could keep business as a minor then, since she's probably already got like half the required courses for it. Kyana thinks about it.

- Kyana is walking to her one evening class from the animal shelter. Her and Ione were helping out with a vaccination clinic the shelter was holding. she couldn't help with the vaccinations, obviously, but she helped with, like, client intake and stuff. Ione was really good with the nervous animals. anyways, before class she stops in to see the kinesiology department head, Dr. Enoch. She wants to know what switching majors would be like. Enoch notes that her grades are pretty lackluster and that she'd probably need to bring her grades up a bit before the administration would let her declare a new major. Enoch offers his help, pointing Kyana to resources around campus, etc. He asks about what Kyana feels like she struggles with the most, and when she explains, he's like "oooohhh, okokok i've heard that one before. go to the uni's medical centre, tell them exactly what you told me, and say that your advisor(s) have recommended you get an educational psych assessment focusing on adhd. your uni health insurance plus provincial student funding should cover any costs. alright?"

- Kyana's working part-time (25ish hours a week) over the summer at a local café (Wild Springs Café & Bistro) to save for when her funding cuts off. Her bosses are Finbar and Elyse, who were Dani's neighbors growing up. Dani frequently stops at the café for coffee runs for her work, even though it's a 10 minute drive. She says that it's cause the coffee's better here than any Tim's or McD's and also the longer drive gives her more of a break, but really it's mostly because she likes annoying Finbar. Kyana learns the absolutely wild lore behind Finbar and Elyse's relationship. Ione picks Kyana up after her shift and confesses her romantic feelings. Kyana has a hard time reacting and tries her best to turn Ione down ("you're my best friend, and i love you. i love you so much. but—i don't really think i love you in the same way you love me? i don't think i can love anybody that way. i... never have. i can't really imagine it, if that makes sense? i'm sorry.") Ione cries, Kyana offers a hug, Ione refuses and says goodnight.

- Kyana is leaving the doctor's office, adhd diagnosis in hand (figuratively speaking). [NOTE THAT THE DIAGNOSTIC CLINIC HAD TO CONTACT DR. SEPHRUM SINCE SHE'S THE ONLY PERSON WHO KNEW KYANA AS A CHILD. DR. SEPHRUM WAS NOT EXACTLY THRILLED.] She's in a mix of shock and relief and happiness and when she gets home she collapses on the floor to pet Plug. Dani asks how it went and when Kyana tells her, Dani fist bumps her like "hell yeah, brain buddies!" this is how Kyana learns that Dani is autistic. Kyana has barely heard from Ione in a month and a half, now, (Ione's even been volunteering at the shelter on opposite weekends from Kyana) and asks if Dani knows what she's up to. Dani says she doesn't, but she'll reach out. Meanwhile, Kyana needs to contact her school's accessibility office in order to get the accomodations she needs, which is a whole other hurdle. She wishes she had Ione to support her.

- Dani contacts Ione. As soon as she brings up Kyana, Ione gets very weird about it. She tries to change the subject and is generally very cagey. Dani gives up and tells Kyana about it. Dani asks about what even happened between the two of them. Kyana explains and is generally very distraught, says she thinks it's her fault but she doesn't know what else she could've done. Dani is very matter-of-fact and is like "you did exactly what you thought was best and let her down easy, the rest of this is Ione's shit to figure out". Kyana sees her point but doesn't feel much better.

- Kyana and Ione start their second year of uni. Kyana's grades go up significantly and she is able to switch majors. she keeps business as a minor because she basically already has all the credits she needs for it. However, this means that Kyana and Ione don't have nearly as many classes together. In their one business class together, Ione acts very standoffish and avoids Kyana. Until one day, they end up in a group/partner project together (Kyana was away sick the day it was assigned, and Ione hadn't found a group, so they end up having to partner up) for their final assignment in that class. Incidentally, Ione's been performing very well in her wrestling matches, but she looks run ragged and frequently complains about being really sore.

- After a very awkward evening of working on the assignment together at the school library, Ione needs to get home. However, it's completely dark out and Kyana knows she's not keen on walking home alone when it's dark out. Also Ione generally looks like shit and Kyana wants to try and do something nice for her. So Kyana asks if Ione wants her to walk her home, and Ione's like "I... yeah. I'd appreciate that." At the end of the walk, before Ione goes inside, Kyana says something along the lines of "You know I don't resent you or anything, right? I still wanna be friends. I really, really want to." Ione is like "not right now you don't. i'm sure. not until i stop... wanting you. you can pretend it doesn't make things weird but i know it does." Kyana tries to impress upon the fact that it really doesn't but Ione doesn't really believe her. they agree on a time and date to finish the assignment and then say bye.

and uhhhhhh that's the last beat i'd written down. which is not the best place to leave off, huh. but!! i also wrote down what i called "the killscreen/end conditions" for the story, which are as follows:

- Kyana and Ione in QPR, Dani is their best friend (if Ione was a middle aged man she'd call Dani "wife #2")

- Kyana has her kinesiology degree and becomes a certified physiotherapy assistant

- Ione drops out of university and goes to college to get her veterinary technician diploma

- Dani starts her own appliance repair business (?)

OUAUGH i forgot how much i like this AU... i really wanna actually figure out how it ends one of these days,,

hello I have recently been made aware that a bad situation I am in is much worse than I thought, and I really could use some fluffy (or honestly angsty too) rwd thoughts or headcanons

[bismuth-209]

Has anyone else noticed how Ruby does not have a dad?

They have been going on and on about her birth mum. And maybe, in Church on Ruby Road there's a mention they don't know who her parents are. I don't actually recall. Pretty sure that's it though, in terms of references to her father. (Happy to be corrected if i'm misremembering)

But since then? It's Ruby's mum this, Ruby's mum that. Especially in the last episode I found it,, noticeable how everyone seemed to be ignoring that it typically takes two to tango.

Jazz is about the notes you don't play or something

But also looking at Ruby's lived experience, not just how she came to be

Carla (Ruby's real mum imo) mentions in, i think 73 yards, she's never had a boyfriend/male partner. She has had a girlfriend during Ruby's childhood, which to me makes the lack of stepfather all the more noticeable

Cherry supposedly had a husband named Desmond Sunday. This is what the tardis wiki told me, without any direction for a source, i'm guessing a novelisation? If anyone knows more about Desmond Sunday I'd be interested to know if he ever meets Ruby. Because I'm guessing they don't meet, and her life has just been entirely void of anything resembling a father figure forever.

Like. it feels as though there's big neon signs telling you to go left. Go left, investigate the mystery of Ruby's mom. There's nothing for you if you go right. Nope, nothing interesting here. Literally nothing.

It's like a perception filter almost. Not technically invisible but you're just urged to glaze your eyes over.

[cutemeat]

i know that they just included Mac Finds His Pride at the end of that 'episodes to watch before s16' post cuz they were going in chronological order w the eps listed and they're gonna bring up the dance this season ofc, but deep down i want it to have to do with Dennis Takes a Mental Health Day being at the end of this season and MFHP being a finale that did something unexpected and grounded in the emotional reality of a character somehow correlating to Dennis' ep....

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 11)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“Adam, for your transgression, you will be dealt with accordingly. For now, you are dismissed.” 

Adam’s voice and demeanor had become so grating to you that you actively blocked out the bitching that followed. You weren’t sure if, when he’d finally stopped having a foul-mouthed tantrum, a lot of time had passed or not. 

It didn’t matter when you were blessed with near silence at last. A slip of harsh gold out of the corner of your eye led you to believe that Adam’s lackey had followed him out. 

“Emily, please follow.”

“But Sera…” 

“No harm will come to her here. She just needs time.”

There was no need to look up, as the fluttering of Emily’s wings were now telltale in spite of how little you’d known her. 

“Go on.” 

You hadn’t seen her go, but it was like all the energy in the air had been sucked out as she left you behind. In her stead was a still, oppressive atmosphere where anxiety lingered to crawl up your spine the longer you sat in it. 

Sera was staring down at you. 

“Why…” Your voice was hoarse, even if you hadn’t been screaming or sobbing as you wanted to. 

Swallowing back the thickness that had built in your throat physically hurt. An errant thought that it shouldn’t (nothing should hurt anymore) passed you by. 

“Why am I here?” You looked up, staring back at Sera. 

The Angel considered you for a long moment. 

“Your place here has been ordained by the Father, a privilege bestowed upon you for your act of service.” 

The words from her lovely mouth didn’t make sense for so long that you almost asked the Seraphim to repeat herself. Your eyes narrowed as your gaze turned roundabout, as if whatever could make sense of this was somewhere in your surroundings. 

“I… Wait, I’d have thought that…” Head shaking, you implored Sera again with your eyes. “What service?”

“You delivered upon the world Christ’s opposing force through your union with —” Here, you saw Sera’s long throat flex with the effort of swallowing.

“Lucifer.” You finished, watching and confirming as Sera’s frame twitched that just the mention of the Devil made this powerful force uncomfortable. 

It was odd, but didn’t take away the pain that just mentioning his name brought. You felt as if a great gaping hole had been punched through your chest, taking with it all your vital organs and the power of your lungs.

Impressions of his anguished face and the sound of Charlotte crying were permanently etched in your mind. You bit down on your tongue, lest you scream your grief. 

It felt like they had died and not you. 

“I’ll never see them again.” Your head fell into your hands as you were overcome. “I barely got to hold my own baby.”

Sera sighed deeply, inching toward the War Table adjacent to you both. 

“I understand that leaving people behind can be painful.” Her great arms reached over the table, motioning until light rose from the board and took on fantastical shapes. “But time heals all.” 

Instead of comfort, her wisdom made you sniffle. You rubbed your eyes like a child to prevent the steady rise of tears threatening to escape. 

Through the blur, you saw Sera smile wanly. “You may feel grateful with time. Staying any longer could have led you further astray.” 

That made you pause between shuddering sobs. 

Fuck, you’d been sobbing on the floor of heaven.

Fucking Heaven. 

“W-what?” You asked finally.

Sera’s idle hands continued to create new sources of light and shape. You rose from the floor of cumulus and nimbus on jelly legs and walked toward her, for lack of anything else to do. 

A perfect sphere rose above the table, with little pinpricks of light surrounding it. It could’ve been anything but you had the sense to imagine it was a depiction of Earth. 

“Had you stayed mortal and lived another 10, 20, perhaps 30 years, you could have become susceptible to the enemy’s mindset.” Sera said. “It’s not unthinkable when human beings are often led by their hearts, even if it goes against their best interest.”

Your heart was jabbed with indignation at that.

“Acts of Service can become Acts of Sacrifice if one veers off the path.” She gently swirled around the Earth with one hand, and it fell into a tilt naturally before rotating among the stars. 

Sera eyed you from her peripheral as you stood beside her to watch. “You might’ve grown attached and… denied yourself.” 

“Hold on, please — just…” You closed your eyes after several moments.  “I’m here, in Heaven, because Lucifer asked that I be let up here when I died?” 

“That is correct.” Sera guided the stars in a variety of paths. 

“And you agreed because having his baby was actually a good thing?” You asked. “But how? Why would God want that to happen if the Devil is his enemy?”

“Life is all about balance.” The celestial took on the role of teacher naturally. “Light needs darkness to exist. This is how it has been and will always be, since He created the Heavens and the Earth.”

“Lucifer has gone on too long without an heir - Hell cannot be unmanned should anything happen to its King. To ensure that this would never come to pass, He agreed to certain terms, which have been abided by — despite Lucifer’s constant revisions.”

At that, the Seraphim looked borderline petulant. Her disapproval was clear in the way the many eyes that decorated her wingspan, hair and crown-like halo shrunk into slivered crescents.

“It’s been centuries since he was ordered to conceive a child. Out of Love, the Father bestowed an exorbitant amount of time on him to make it happen. Once you were found and the contract was signed, your place in Heaven was guaranteed as stipulated.” She halted her recital to spare a glance your way.

“His ways can be opaque, but they are always meant to take us in the right direction.” Sera offered after a lull, to dispel the dumbfounded look on your face. You could see the way her lips pursed, as if daring to question that explanation was an affront to her existence. As if what she’d just told you didn’t change your perception so thoroughly that your head was spinning.

Self-preservation no longer being a factor, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, ‘God works in mysterious ways’.” You mocked. “People say that when they don’t know what to say. But you actually work under God, don’t you??” 

“That is a crude way to describe my role here.” Sera responded with reproach. 

“But essentially correct.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You take orders from Him, clearly.”

The Seraphim’s manicured nails pierced through the infinitely shifting stars, fingers curling into a claw as the line of her mouth grew severe. Her brow downturned as she faced you, irritated. 

“Just like Lucifer took orders from Him, I bet.” The pieces were slotting into place. “Until he… until he… did exactly what he was supposed to.” 

You laughed with disbelief at the revelation, hands coming up to grab at your thankfully unchanged hair. The starlight before you began to dim, falling back into the passive marble of the war table. Sera pivoted rather abruptly, a touch of disquiet in her fractured facade as she took in your dysfunction. 

Her gaze became shifty, and you caught it, but it was the least of your concerns. You were in the middle of a manic breakdown for the second time in less than an hour. 

Lucifer didn’t like to talk about Heaven — that was evident from his stuttering when he first revealed himself to you. So, whether it was out of the goodness of your heart or built-in doormat passivity, you hadn’t discussed the place. Truthfully, you’d thought very little of it as a place and more as a concept, even when the Devil came knocking on your door in flesh and blood. 

It was an uphill battle to calm yourself. You closed your mouth to stop the laughing and coughed at the tickle to your throat. You’d never been good at breathing through your nose. Arms slid down to clutch at your stomach and center yourself, frame slowly easing out of the hyperventilation.  

“So… God damned his own son to Hell and made him into Heaven’s Big Bad for the sake of balance… And he wanted that Big Bad to have a child like He Himself did, also for the sake of balance…” 

‘And Lucifer agreed as long as you got to go to eternal paradise…’

Your summation was stated lifelessly, a knife’s edge away from sarcastic. The big secret to Life was out: it was all a fun little show that God put on for himself to stave off boredom. Even those he held closest weren’t safe from it. 

“An-nd you’ve never ever questioned this?” You asked faintly, a crooked smile of disbelief on your face. “Ever?”

A breeze blew back the hair that had fallen into your face.

Sera was suddenly so much closer in proximity, and you flinched back at the power exuding from her like an aura. 

“We do not question the Father.” The Seraphim’s glower betrayed her true feelings toward you. Yet, instead of continuing to back away from the hostility, you forced yourself to stand in place as best you could. 

It gave you whiplash when Sera’s pinched face relaxed. She straightened up with another deep, deep sigh. The danger that felt like static electricity dissipated from your skin, but you held onto the edge of the war table regardless. 

The light show had gone off as quickly as it was turned on. You felt its loss of warmth as sharply as you’d felt Emily’s. 

“Lucifer was unable to fully grasp the Great Purpose.” Sera was imposing as she straightened to her fully height and towered above you once again. “He questioned everything, and for it he Fell.” 

“And I would suggest,” The Seraphim glared at you as if you were an insect she wanted to crush. “that you do not emulate his sin. For the sake of your immortal soul.” 

***

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[freezingmcxn]

hey.. how you doing.. can you maybe make a lil thingy about toby like you did with the eyeless jack thing I'm just really focused on Toby right know idk why but like write it however you want I just want to see your writing on how you rhing he looks and acts take your time you dont even have to do it I love you I love you i love you I love you I love you I love you I lovw you

TOBY ROGERS APPEARANCE (AU)

AHH YES I CAN my motivation is so bad but these always make me really happy and are easy to write so OFC ILY!!

Toby’s hair is a pale, sun-bleached brown, almost blonde, falling to his neck and curling around his ears.

Naturally curly, his hair has become dry and unkempt from bathing in river water and using cheap soap. His curls puff out, lacking any defined shape.

Occasionally, in a fit of frustration, he shaves it all off or trims it, often in a dingy ass gas station bathroom, depending on how much he despises it at the time.

Standing around 5’7” (5’8” in boots), Toby’s constant slouching makes him look as if he might topple over at any moment.

His most noticeable feature is the gash on his mouth, though it’s not as large as one might think.

The wound is just big enough to expose his upper teeth, which are rotted and decayed. Despite its size, the injury reeks of infection, with pus occasionally oozing from the diseased tissue.

Toby often picks at it, making the wound larger over time.

Originally, it was a small bite he inflicted on himself, but his constant fiddling turned it into the gaping wound it is now.

He no longer bites at it, disgusted by the taste of his own decaying flesh. He usually covers it with a large plaster—often supplied by Jack or just lets the air hit it, depending on his mood really.

Toby has a small gold hoop earring in his left ear, a relic from a day when he and Lyra decided to pierce it with a needle. He didn’t feel the pain but kept the earring all these years, occasionally fiddling with it as a reminder of her.

His trusty hatchets dangle from a hardware belt around his waist, always clattering when he moves, a sound he makes sure to emphasise because he knows it irritates people.

The hatchets are mismatched, one is large with a dark oak handle, carved with doodles, while the other is smaller, with a plastic handle, but much sharper—often the one he uses for the first hit.

Both handles are wrapped in duct tape, one of his go-to solutions for everything.

Toby’s skin is sallow, marked by long exposure to the sun. Freckles and moles speckle his body.

His hands are scarred and battered, with half of his left pinky finger missing, and his right hand covered in self-inflicted bite marks. His palms are calloused, his nails ragged—some bruised black, others completely gone.

His teeth are a mess—sharp, chipped, and broken, with gaps where some have been knocked out from fights or lost to decay.

Toby doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, as he often forgets or simply doesn’t care. Eating people doesn’t help either, wrecking his teeth further.

He typically wears the same tattered hoodie for as long as he can stand it, only washing it at a laundromat when absolutely necessary (when it’s bloody and stinky).

He also has an old Joy Division t-shirt layered over a white long-sleeve, both full of holes, though Toby doesn’t mind, he wears it on warmer days.

He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for five years, patching them up whenever needed—he’s surprisingly good at sewing thanks to Lyra.

On his feet are either old Timberland boots, once his father’s, now worn with a hole in the sole, or a beat-up pair of red Converse, duct-taped at the top.

He alternates between them.

Toby owns a fleece jacket, fingerless gloves, and two beanies—one grey and one black.

The black one is torn and faded, but he likes the way it adds to his look.

He carries everything in a worn blue Jansport backpack he once stole from a kid at a bus stop, where he rams all his clothes and supplies.

I think that’s enough 😭😭 I rambled I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say too much because I fear he won’t be as interesting but yeah! Hope you like him :)

[cynthiesjmxazrielslover]

Bittersweet love

An original AUmodernAzriel x Reader

these songs remind me of them <3333

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mention of trauma Summary: Growing up with your abusive father and your mother who never spoke up against him, you had truly given up hope of any chance of a real relationship, of real love, the ones of the kind that you read about in your books, till you're proven wrong.

A/N: this is my first fic ever+english isnt my first language, and I wrote this in a daze, the idea came to me at like 3 AM,so....enjoy muah<3 Thump.....thump. DAMN IT CAROLINE GET OUT HERE! Another night another fight, that too on their anniversary, a classic. I scoff thinking about all the picture-perfect smiles and the absolutely lovely speech my dad had read out for my mom tonight, a show, it was all a show, no one knew what went inside our house every week, how my dad hit my mom, screamed at her and then bought ridiculously expensive gifts for her as if that would fix everything. I was so so tired of their useless fights, every time it all ended the same way, with my mom never leaving. I heard the rain outside before I saw it. One thing about me was that I always loved the rain, growing up, and till now it just felt right to cry under its cover, to cry with it, to admire how beautiful it felt to be enveloped in her comfort and just...let everything go. I sneaked out my window and walked out of our backyard. There was an abandoned house right behind mine, I spread rumors just so everyone thought, it was either haunted or inhabited, in truth it was my den. Snacks, clothes, comfy blankets, duvets, you name it. It had all I needed to feel better. When I entered my lair I noticed that most of my snacks were empty and the empty packets pristine clean. Oh no, someone had discovered the truth, I turned around only to find a pair of hazel eyes staring back at me, the darkness enveloped him, I couldn't see him, but guessed well enough he was taller than me. I cursed at myself for being stupid enough to enter an abandoned place at night in the middle of a heavy down pour. No, no, no, no. I stepped back I couldn't die like this, not in this shit hole. "Um, hello there. Are you okay? you just seem a little pale" I gaped at him. He had the most alluring voice id ever heard on a man and damn did it mess with my senses. "I won't hurt you, I promise. Look I'm not armed plus I dont even have enough energy to argue right now." He stepped a bit closer enough that I could make out his silhouette illuminated by the moonlight. His hazel eyes were a sweet honey brown shade, tanned skin, muscles, tall as frick, and hot too. Holy crap this guy looked straight out of a book. "Hello?". Realizing I'd been gaping at it the whole time it took me second to remember the situation I'd found myself in before I said "Hi, Im Lana" I lied, my name wasnt lana but i wasnt gonna tell some random guy who ate my snacks AND all my blueberry sour candy my name, Im not that dumb. He steps out of the shadows so i could get a proper look at him, and so he could look at me i realize. "Hello Lana, Im Azriel". I looked at him, really looked at him noticed 3 things, 1. He didnt look much older than me, meaning either he was in school or in college, 2. He was wearing my oversized hoodie which looked a little too small on him, and 3. He looked in a bad shape. He had bruises on his face marring his body, burned hands, swollen eye and looked cold, very cold and malnourished. He looked almost......homeless.

I snuck a glance outside.

I silently swore, if this man- Azriel, stayed here any longer he would DIE, either of fever or due to infection. I might already have brought a one way ticket to the deepest darkest pits of hell but doesnt mean he did. Without a thought i spit out "Come to my house". "Im sorry what?" he chuckled out smirking at me as a flush crept over me. "I-I meant that you cant stay here, there's heavy rain and its cold here. pfft that's totally what i meant" i stammer out. Reminder to curl up and die in a corner later on. He furrows his brow at my statement, a hint of amusement on his face. "Haven't you heard of stranger danger Lana?" He pipes out, his voice low and gravelly. "I doubt an 18 year old guy who wears Minnie Mouse hoodies with dora the explorer socks and a pink bow pajamas would try to kidnap me" Okay now this dude was really crossing it for me. Reminder number 2- Drown these clothes in holy water before wearing them again. Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. "I still look better in these than you could ever. But you're smart and these clothes fit me like a fucking tank top and shorts, so yes, Lana, I'll come to your house. Only because Im freezing out here" He added FRICK. FRICK THIS WAS A BAD,BAD IDEA

Azriels POV I stepped out of the shower, steam rising from the hot water. I smelled like lavender soap and vanilla- The scent of real men. I put on the fresh pair of clothes Lana gave me, A little smaller than what i wore but better than those hoodies of hers anyway. I saw her reading a book when i stepped out, no gods not another book-obsessed psycho. She motioned for me to sit down and applied some bandages, honey, and anti-septic cream and gave me some medecine, pain killers i guessed. She seemed to know what she was doing, better than going to a doctor if it meant it was free and she wasn't going- "Who gave you get these" My chain of thoughts are interrupted by her words. "I got myself banged up by a....raccoon?" A raccoon? A RACCOON? Thats the best I could come up with? Telling a girl that i got banged up by a raccoon? She laughs at my answer. It's not a soft melodic sound like i expected but a burst of laughter. She snorts and smirks at me. "Damn, a raccoon huh? Wait,does that mean your're pregnant now?Plus,what? did it tackle you to the ground with its little toe beans? What were you even fighting over, who gets the last thrown out doughnuts from the dumpster, oh, or, did she kick you out of the house instead? You're lovely raccoon wife." She laughs out, barely able to form the sentence without controlling her laughter. I roll my eyes but I cant help smile, I knew very little about this girl but i did know 4 things, 1. She was a terrible liar, introducing herself under a fake name when her name was written under every single one of her drawings, 'y/n' I liked that name, it sounded different yet familiar on my tongue. 2.She might have just saved my life 3. She had a very good taste in candy and 4. we are about to become very, very, very good friends, something I hadn't had in a while. Tell me in the comments if you want to be tagged in the next parts, plus im open to supportive constructive criticism so let me know how i can improve =) taglist: @anarchiii @starlightazriel @velarisdusk @siriuslystyle1989 @scorpioriesling

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] The first of many reposts from my old blog. [ SYNOPSIS ] You're the child of a dead preacher. He's an angel on the run. [ WORD COUNT ] 6.5k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, fallen seraph!Vash, I'm just making up shit about angels honestly, graphic injuries, sacrilege, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, virginity loss, Vash has a big dick and he does not know how to use it, creampie, sad ending (I'm sorry).

“I don’t remember it looking this…”

Your now former groundskeeper guffawed on the other end of the line. “Shitty?”

You shook your head even though your father’s abandoned church was in rough shape. It was clear not a soul had been looking after it.

“It looks…”

“I ain’t got all day.”

You thought long and hard. “Depressing,” you finally muttered. “I thought you were going to take care of it.”

“You think I’m gonna work for free?”

“If money was an issue you should have said something,” you sneered.

She coughed. “I ain’t that chapel’s keeper,” she replied firmly.

The chapel was tucked away deep in the mountains away from town. You looked at the ivy covered door barely on its hinges. Lichen had overtaken the walls. The roof was covered with decaying leaves and bright green moss and had a sizable hole. It was a miracle it hadn’t caved in. Most derelict buildings didn’t survive the rainy season let alone several.

“Probably full of mold and critters anyway. I don’t know why you wanna be there in the first place.”

“I…”

Even you didn’t know why you came. Your father had been dead for a while. It’s not as if you were seeking closure. Your scars had healed long ago, the pain only a dull twinge if you saw photos of him giving you a piggyback ride or sleeping on a sun soaked beach.

“Boredom,” you laughed. “No other reason.”

“Lia—”

You hung up before she could utter the entirety of the word. You knew it was mostly out of guilt for letting things get this bad.

You walked the perimeter and tried to avoid the tall grass that surrounded the church. It was amazing how fast the mountain was able to reclaim it all. Sooner or later the concrete pathways would get eaten up by the earth, but for now it was only nipping at its heels. As you made your way to the back, your feet leaving deep imprints in the soft, waterlogged soil, you were confronted by a massive hole in the ground. You were centimeters away from falling into it.

“Holy shit.”

You squatted down to get a better look at the crater. There were iridescent white feathers scattered about, some stained with blood. You couldn’t tell if it was fresh or not. There was no bird in the area that could make a hole of that size in the ground, but you couldn’t think of any other explanation. You stood up and noticed evidence of something clawing its way out of the hole. A trail of bloodied feathers made their way to the back door of the church, or rather where the back door should have been. It was missing altogether, ripped from the hinges.

All the signs pointed to getting the fuck out of there, but you couldn’t quell the curiosity swirling inside you. Sweaty palms and the pit in your stomach weren’t good enough deterrents. You took slow steps towards the gaping doorway. Each step felt like a potential death sentence but you were steadfast.

You peeked your head inside and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just pews and the other side of the church. Light streamed through the hole in the ceiling and a few of the lancet windows, giving everything an ethereal look. It felt liminal, a place between worlds. Stepping inside you were greeted by native grasses popping up between the wood paneled flooring and a few more bloodied feathers.

“This can’t be safe,” you muttered, making damn sure to take careful steps.

You really had no business being in there. There was nothing special or sentimental stowed away. Your father’s belongings and any items of religious importance were swiftly removed upon his death. All that remained was dust and several moldy study bibles.

You stepped deeper inside and stood beside the pulpit. Images of your father preaching fluttered about your mind. His voice was clear as day, only making the lack of him more apparent. You felt like someone was pushing needles into your heart. You stumbled away to the pews, hoping distance would rip you away from your memories.

You crept down the aisle, following the trail of feathers. It was much like your father had many times before on his way from the pulpit. The pews were in terrible shape, the cushions had all rotted away. You hoped to sit in one for old time’s sake, but it was a risk you were unwilling to take. Stained, festering nylon curtains covered most of the lancet windows, though a goodly portion of them had been haphazardly torn down. You assumed it was an animal for your own comfort.

Continuing down the aisle you noticed a large heap in the corner where the feathers ended. It was wrapped up in the missing curtains and shivering. You tried to think if there were any sightings of enormous birds in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all. Of course nothing came to mind; it was only wishful thinking.

Your eyes darted around, looking for something long to poke the heap with. The only option was a study bible. You quietly reached for one near the pews, the cover moist between your fingers. You started to dry heave as the smell of the old, wet book enveloped you.

“Ew, ew, ew,” you said, tossing the bible at the shivering mound.

Your aim was terrible and the bible slammed into the wall before hitting the ground beside the heap with a loud thud. Your mouth filled with saliva, anxious nausea overwhelming you. The heap shot upright, the curtains still clinging to its form. You didn’t know what to do so you ran out the back door. In your hurry to escape you tripped into the crater. You could feel death surrounding you, the air around you signaling your inevitable demise. You tried to climb out of the hole, but it was simply too deep. Fertile soil wedged itself under your fingernails in your futile attempt to escape.

You sunk down and sat in the dirt, holding your head in your hands. You felt like an idiot. Why did you come here? What purpose did this serve?

In the midst of your mental breakdown, you heard footsteps and again made a pathetic attempt to pull yourself out of the hole. You nearly vomited when you saw a tall figure obscured by curtains hovering above you. It squatted down and held out a shaky, wounded hand. You were too frightened to move.

“Take it,” a small voice rasped.

You continued to stare at it, wide-eyed and terrified. It wiggled its fingers.

“I don’t have all day.”

You slowly reached up and grabbed its hand. Its palm was rough, fingernails full of the same dirt that was underneath yours. The heap hoisted you out of the hole with an ease you didn’t expect. It seemed so fragile when you first saw it shivering in the church.

It quickly scuttled back inside before you could properly thank it. You stood there, eyes fixed on the open back door. You knew the right thing to do was run down the road and get in your car, but again your curiosity got the best of you. You made your way back into the church and tip-toed over to the figure. It was resting in the same corner, only this time its feet were sticking out from under the curtain. Streaks of blood marred its skin.

“Hello?”

Its shivering stopped.

“Hey. Uh, I…”

Your sentence trailed off and again, the heap was silent. Against better judgment you reached out to it. Just as it was within reach it swiftly grabbed your wrist. You stared in horror at the scarred arm. Your life began to flash before your eyes, or it did until you got a glimpse of the heap.

As you tried to pull away the curtain parted enough so you could see half of a face and the prettiest eye you’d ever seen. It was a striking blue-green color with long, dark eyelashes. Strands of blonde and black hair peeked out as well. The heap released your arm and tried in vain to cover his face.

“I… I just wanted to say thank you!” you blurted out.

“You’re welcome. Now go away.”

“... Can I ask why you’re here?”

“No,” it said.

“I’ll have you know this is my property,” you said, trying to sound threatening. You felt like a bad actor. “Either you tell me or I’ll call the cops.”

It paused. “I’m resting.”

“Okay… Are you hurt?”

Maybe it was a hiker that got injured and sought refuge in the first building it saw. That seemed the most likely though it didn’t explain all the feathers.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“No. I mean, yes! Please. Leave me alone,” it said as the curtain slid down, revealing its face.

It was a man, a handsome one at that. His face was scratched up and covered in swatches of dirt. His skin was tanned, like he was someone that spent his days toiling under the kiss of the sun. His hair was a disaster, blonde and black strands sticking up like he’d just woken up from a neverending nap. Your starry-eyed expression seemed to make him realize the curtains were no longer obscuring every part of him.

“Dammit,” he whimpered.

Your heart was caught in your throat. You needed to focus on something else, something other than him and his arresting beauty.

“Y—you know those curtains are pretty gross. I wouldn’t wrap myself up in them… Just saying.”

He looked away from you and stared at the ground.

“I don’t have any other options.”

“Okay I get that, but those curtains are still beyond disgusting.”

The man narrowed his eyes before letting the curtains drop. You only got a brief glimpse of his beaten body before a mass of wings appeared and shielded himself from you. They were made of the same iridescent feathers that littered the church.

“Ow.”

Blood still clung to many of them. You tried your best to stay calm.

“So you are hurt.”

“It’s not like you can do anything about it. Now leave me alone. I’ll be gone soon.” His stern voice gave way to a whinier one. “I hope.”

“Are you, like, waiting on someone?”

“Oh yes,” he sneered. “I’m waiting for my brethren to pick me up. They should be here any day now. I just have to wait for the sound of their herald.”

“No need to be hostile. You are in my chapel.”

“And? I’m one of your God’s messengers.”

You gulped. You never thought you’d be in the presence of a literal angel. After your father died you “turned your back on God” and dissolved the congregation much to the chagrin of the parishioners. You didn’t see any reason to continue on. Scripture was nonsense and served to remind you of the things you lacked, namely your father.

The angel peeked out from behind his wings.

“Ha. Can’t beat that, can you?” he asked with a weak smile.

“I guess not… How long will you be here?”

“Don’t know,” he said before wincing.

He looked tired. You weren’t sure if angels needed to sleep or not, but resting certainly wouldn’t hurt. Carting him to your apartment crossed your mind, but there was no way you could explain his presence to your neighbors. If you lived in a city, you could probably get away with it. But small towns weren’t made for secrets and strange men.

“Stop staring,” he said before a small wing appeared, hiding his face. “Ouch.”

“Does that hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Uh, like, having your wings out.”

“It’s excruciating.”

“You can put them away then. It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked body before.”

The angel let out a heavy sigh as the feathers fell and the bones seemed to melt away. His arms were torn up and covered in cuts, his left arm was practically ripped to shreds. One of his clavicles was broken so badly the bone had torn through his skin. His legs were much like his arms and riddled with cuts. Pillowy yellow fat spilled from one of the deeper ones. A wisps of iridescent feathers still clung to various parts of his broken body.

He held his legs close to his chest, trying to hide as much of himself as possible, and looked up at you like a neglected puppy.

“Who did this to you?” you asked.

He laughed, the fakest one you had ever heard. “The ground.”

Prying crossed your mind, but you doubted he’d be truthful. A strong gust blew through the church, the cold drilling itself into your skin. You dug your hands into the pockets of your coat as your body began to fold in on itself. You were never one to successfully withstand the cold.

It seemed the angel wasn’t either, if his whimpering was anything to go by. You straightened your back and cleared your throat.

“Here,” you said, pulling off your coat. You squatted down next to him and draped it over his shoulders. It didn’t offer much coverage, but the thought was there. “I can’t stand seeing someone look so miserable.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling weakly.

“You’re supposed to say thank you.”

The apples of his cheeks flushed pink and he bashfully thanked you. It was astounding how cute he was. You found yourself lost in his eyes; they looked like perfectly polished turquoise. Every aspect of him drew you in. You weren’t sure if it was because of his angelic nature. You couldn’t remember if they were capable of being so bewitching.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with your staring. Your skin grew hot the second you realized this.

“Fuck. I guess I’m the one that’s sorry now, huh?”

He smiled weakly once more.

“It’s fine,” he said before looking out one of the windows. “The sun’s going to set soon. You should get going.”

You nervously scratched the base of your skull. “I feel kind of weird leaving you here in… this state,” you said, eyes fixed on his busted collarbone. “Let me, uh, you know… help you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Most things in my life can be described like that and it has yet to stop me.”

You reached out and wiped away some of the dirt on his cheek with the pad of your thumb. You usually weren’t so gutsy but you felt overwhelmingly compelled. You need to help this man, this angel.

“Do you have a name?”

“Vash.”

“Cute. Shit. Cool. I mean, nice to meet you,” you said before telling him your name.

He repeated your name under his breath and your stomach was aflutter. You wanted to hear him say it over and over again. You inhaled deeply and tried to compose yourself. You stood up and gazed down at the nude heap of a man that sat in front of you.

“Come home with me. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

You furrowed your brow. You weren’t confident in your ability to persuade him. You didn’t want to press too hard and scare him off.

“Fine. But I’m coming back tomorrow with some clothes. Maybe a blanket. Food too. Wait… Do you even eat?”

“I eat. I don’t have to, but I like to.”

“What should I bring you?”

His eyes widened and seemed to sparkle.

“Doughnuts.”

“Noted.”

“And pizza.”

You giggled. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, flashing his pointy canine teeth.

After a restless night’s sleep, you set out to gather supplies. You went to a thrift store and grabbed a bunch of shirts that seemed like they’d fit Vash’s lithe yet toned body. You bought a few pairs of pants that looked long, and briefly stared down an old and opened pack of men’s underwear. You wouldn’t dare bring him such a cursed item. He was an angel after all. You didn’t want to inadvertently get on his shit list. He would just have to go commando.

Your next stop was the grocery store where you bought a sizable first aid kit and dozen doughnuts of varying flavors. You couldn’t parse out his taste so you decided to go a little overboard. If anyone deserved to be spoiled, it was him. You wanted him to be comfortable, to be at ease.

The drive up the mountain was peaceful. But the sky was gradually becoming speckled with blotchy, grey clouds.

“I’m back,” you said in a sing-song voice as you entered the chapel.

You walked down the aisle in between the pews and found Vash where you had left him last night. He was asleep under the musty curtain and was using your jacket as a makeshift pillow. You put down your bags and squatted beside him.

“Hey,” you said, running your hand over his dirty hair.

His eyes fluttered open, his expression was of momentary terror before he realized it was only you.

“Hi,” he yawned.  

“No pizza, but! I have doughnuts and some clothes. I don’t know your size so I just grabbed a bunch of shit.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting up slowly. You were happy to see that his collarbone was no longer piercing his skin. All that remained was a dark scar.

He reached for the bag and pulled the clothes out, expressing zero interest in them. His eyes lit up when he saw the pink box and eagerly took it out of the bag. He almost looked a little teary eyed.

“I also didn’t know what flavor you liked so I—”

He shoved a glazed cruller into his mouth. “I like all kinds,” he replied, voice muffled by his full mouth.

He swallowed and beamed. He had one of those smiles that could melt the heart of even the coldest person.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out a chocolate doughnut from the box.

“No problem. I—” 

Before you could finish your sentence a droplet of water landed on the tip of your nose.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Looking up at the hole in the ceiling you saw that the sky was now an unforgiving and darkened grey. You tossed your head back and groaned. Your mind was assaulted with a cascade of thoughts.

I hate driving in the rain. The road back has so many hairpin turns. He can’t stay here. Not like he can stay with me though. I guess I could leave him. But I’m sick of running from everything. What if the entire ceiling caves in? What’ll happen to him? What would dad do?

You knew he wouldn’t leave an angel behind to rot in his chapel that was for sure.

“Something wrong?” Vash asked before biting into a maple bar.

“Come home with me.”

“What? No way.”

“You can’t stay here. Not in the rain. You’ll be miserable.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you snapped. “Now get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

You kept your sentences short and firm. You didn’t want to give him any room to weasel his way out of your demands. There was no way in hell you were going to let this battered angel suffer. His protesting meant nothing to you.

Vash winced as the rain worked its way into his wounds.

“Well when you put it like that,” he said as he eased his way up from the cold and unforgiving floor.

You averted your eyes, making a conscious effort not to stare. The urge was there, an ever present annoyance, but you looked everywhere else. The hole in the ceiling. The decaying floors. The rain tapping at the windows. When you finally looked at him he was dressed. The white button-down wasn’t a perfect fit; the oversized nature of it made him look even more fragile. And the pants were too short, the hems just barely covering his shins.

“Do I look stupid?”

“You look like… I had no idea what I was doing while I was shopping,” you laughed. “C’mon. Let’s go before it starts pouring.”

You held out your hand and immediately felt like an idiot. He was an angel. Would someone like him ever need assistance from someone like you?

Surprisingly, he took your hand. His palms were big and rough, fingers long and graceful. Your heart pounded in your chest as you led him out of the chapel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his hands caressing your shoulders and how lovely a sensation it must be. You sighed in relief once you saw your car, immediately unlocking it. He went to get in the backseat and you stifled a laugh.

“You don’t wanna sit up front?”

“Do you want me to?”

You hated him for asking. Of course you wanted him to, but you didn’t want to have to actually disclose that.

“I’ll feel like a chauffeur if you sit in the back,” you replied, purposefully avoiding his question.

He smiled, eyes narrowed, a teasing expression. He wasn’t stupid and you were a bad actor. Wordlessly he got in the passenger seat much to your relief.

The drive itself wasn’t all that bad, but still you were consumed with anxiety. Vash kept his face glued to the window, looking outside at the redwoods that embraced the mountain. His inattention gave you plenty of time to craft an excuse as to why he was with you in the first place.

“If anyone asks, and I’m really hoping no one will, say we went to college together,” you said, hands clenching the steering wheel.

“Hm?” he said, redirecting his attention. He gazed at you, eyes trained on your lips. “What were you saying?”

“I—uh. If anyone… Be normal.”

“Normal?”

“Ye—yeah. Normal.”

“Should I say I’m your boyfriend?”

“What?! No!”

“Is that not normal?”

“It’s… ugh. Technically! I guess!”

“So I can say that then?”

“No. Say something else.”

“Something else.”

You spent the last twenty minutes of the drive feeling vaguely nauseous and mildly sweaty.

The two of you managed to make it to your apartment door without running into anyone. You hurriedly tried to unlock it, only to drop the key because of your impatience.

“Hello,” you heard Vash say cheerily.

You turned around in horror and saw your landlord. He merely nodded and waddled out of sight.

“Nice to meet you! I’m their boyfriend!” Vash shouted after him.

“What is wrong with you?” you growled, shoving the key into the lock.

You swung the door open and pulled the obnoxious angel inside.

He stood bashfully in your living room. “What? It was funny.”

“Hardly,” you hissed.

Your annoyance with him was gone as fast as it came. He somehow looked more exhausted and battered surrounded by the comfort of your home. How could you hold even a pinch of resentment for someone in his state and of his stature? The right thing to do was ease his misery, not stoke its flames.

“You should shower. You’d probably feel better.”

“I don’t think I can stand that long.”

“Bath?”

“With my luck I’d fall asleep and drown.”

“What if I help?”

He appeared to be deep in thought. “That’ll work.”

You led him into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Steam filled the bathroom. The warmth was welcome on such a harsh and rainy night. Vash got undressed and lowered himself into the water. He let out a pleased groan, one that made your brain stop functioning.

You buried your lewd thoughts into the depths of your mind and sat on the edge of the tub, guiding Vash so he was positioned in between your legs. Suddenly you were plagued with shyness.

“Ah, um, co—could you dunk your head?” you asked timidly.

He obliged, sliding further into the tub and submerging himself in the bathwater. He shut his eyes and lingered underneath its weight. His face was solemn.

“Oh—okay. You can come up now,” you said.

He opened one of his eyes and smiled. He sat up. His wet hair slicked back leaving face on full display. You swallowed hard and squirted some shampoo into your hand.

“Let me know if it gets in your eyes.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll scream like a little girl.”

You laughed, probably harder than you should have. But you felt obligated to. He was trying so hard to keep up this thin facade.

You worked the shampoo into his hair, letting the silky strands slide between your fingers.

“Smells nice,” he murmured.

“Thanks…”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. Neither of you knew what to say, what subject to broach. You focused on massaging his scalp, washing away every bit of blood and dirt. Every so often he broke out into a delighted hum.

“That feel good?” you asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yesssss,” he moaned.

You choked on your own spit.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Yeah! I mean, yeah. Yeah. Yes. Uh, I need to—to rinse. Dunk your head again.”

He slid further into the tub, but he kept his face above the water. The soap spread through the water, encircling his head like a halo. He stared up at you, eyes still doe-like but now with a piercing quality. Silence filled the room once more.

“Is there something on my face?”

“What?” he said, eyes softening. “Oh! No, I was just staring.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his bluntness.

“You’re very beautiful.”

You felt dizzy, like the world was spinning around you.

“Th—thank you. Uh.” You lifted his head out of the water, unable to use your words. He followed your lead and sat back up. “You can wash your body, right? I can get your back. But… you should… probably do the rest.”

“I think I can manage.”

You got up and grabbed a fluffy washcloth off your bathroom counter.

“If it hurts—”

“I’ll let you know,” he chuckled.

You smiled nervously and wetted the wash cloth, squeezing out a generous amount of body wash into it. You looked at his back and the wounds that covered it. As you began to bathe him his shoulders tensed up. It didn't take long for the washcloth to tinge pink. His discomfort made you feel like there was a hole in your chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he whimpered.

“How do you plan on getting back?”

“Back to where?”

“To heaven.”

“I don’t,” he said solemnly.

Again you were unsure how to respond. You wrung out the washcloth and handed it to him. You watched as he washed his arms and nearly fell to the floor when he lifted one of his long legs out of the water.

“You can stay here as long as you want. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Please. Don’t.”

“But you have nowhere else to go!”

“I’d be putting you in harm’s way,” he said, the sweetness gone from his voice. “It’s for your own good.”

How could he know what was good for you? You considered pressing him for more details, but his comfort trumped your curiosity.

“I just want to help you,” you muttered. “That’s all.”

He said nothing.

“I’ll… grab you a towel.”

You got out of the tub and left the bathroom, looking for any excuse to step away. You were caught between your need for answers and your need to keep him calm, to let him feel safe. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness but frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t sure what it was supposed to be, but you knew this wasn’t what you wanted for him.

As you searched for a towel your brain was overwhelmed with questions.

Who is he to decide what is and isn't for my own good? What harm is going to seek me out if he stays? How can I get him to stay? What will it take? What am I willing to give?

Your concentration was obliterated by the sound of him getting out of the tub. You grabbed a towel from your linen closet and returned to the bathroom.

“Here,” you said, handing him the towel.

As soon as he took it from his hand you turned and moped to your bedroom. You got undressed and threw on an oversized t-shirt. You planned on letting him sleep in your bed. You would take the couch even though it was uncomfortable to sleep on.

“Do you have something I can sleep in?”

You froze. You absolutely did not. You stumbled over to your dresser and searched for something, anything. He approached, standing beside you as you frantically looked.

“Those might fit,” he said, pointing at a pair of black running shorts.

He tried them on and they did indeed fit though the tip of his cock poked out. You pretended like you didn’t notice.

“I was thinking you could sleep in my bed.”

“That sounds good to me. Fair warning though, I’ll probably end up cuddling you.”

“I… I’m not… I’m gonna be on the couch.”

“Oh,” he said dejectedly.

“Did you want me to sleep with you?”

He blushed.

“I mean like… sleep-sleep,” you clarified.

He laughed. “Yeah! Of course. I knew… I knew what you meant.”

Your awkwardness was rubbing off on him. The two of you crawled into bed, leaving a sizable amount of space between your bodies. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling, and failed at trying to will yourself unconscious.

You glanced over at Vash who seemed to be doing the same, except he was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” he said.

You rolled over and closed the gap. You draped an arm over him and rested your head on his shoulder. You held him close to your body, hoping he could leech away some of your warmth.

“I should have covered you in band-aids.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m more worried about my sheets.”

“I see how it is. I don’t matter anymore?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m holding you. I don’t care about you at all.”

He snorted and wrapped his arm around you. The weight of it against your back made your heart pound. Making a move on him crossed your mind, but you were crippled by your inaction.

“Not comfortable,” he grumbled before turning to face you.

He pulled you into his embrace, arms snaking around your body. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, lips practically touching it. You were coming out of your skin; being so close to him left you spiraling. The likelihood of you ending up in a position like this again was slim. It was clear he had no intention of staying. If he turned you down it wasn’t like you’d have to face your failure for long.

You pressed your lips closer to his neck and kissed it. He slid one of his hands under your shirt and rubbed the small of your back. His rough palm against your flesh felt superb. You kissed his neck once more before you started to suck on it, grazing his skin with your teeth. His breathing grew heavy.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he blurted out.

“What do you mean?” you asked, lips still pressed to his neck.

“I’ve never done anything like this.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” you said, grinding up against him.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you cooed.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, catching his bottom lip between yours. Your noses awkwardly bumped up against each other. You forced him to tilt his head. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, teasing his. He eagerly reciprocated, rolling his tongue against yours. The kiss grew sloppier, more desperate. Drool trickled down your jaw.

You rubbed his exposed cocktip, swirling around the precum that leaked from it. He moaned in your mouth before breaking the kiss. He wasn’t able to quiet himself and you could listen to him whimper all night.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” he choked out, his eyes half-lidded.

You smirked and sucked your fingers clean.

“Lay on your back,” you purred.

He didn’t even hesitate as he swiftly moved into position. You pulled down the shorts you lent him and stared down his semi hard cock. You flicked your tongue against the tip.

He let out a pathetic moan. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His brows were knitted in agony and he was trying to shut himself up with the back of his hand.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” you said while stroking the length of his cock.

You gently squeezed his balls and relished in another one of his pained moans. You guided his cock into your mouth and rolled your tongue against the underside of it. You bobbed your head, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. He groaned and bucked his hips. The sweet taste of precum coated your tongue. His cock was so leaky, so needy. He covered the entirety of his face with his hands.

 “It feels so good,” he panted, his voice muffled.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded.

“You wanna fuck me?” you asked, arching your back.

He slightly sat up and looked down at you.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

You got up and straddled him. You wrapped your hand around his cock and rubbed it up against your throbbing clit. He grabbed a hold of your hips, his grip tight. Your legs felt like jelly as pleasure washed over you in waves. You lifted yourself up and slid his cock inside you.

“Oh my God,” he groaned as your cunt tightened around him.

The tip of his cock prodded your cervix, sending a shooting pain to your core.

“Ouch!!”

He sat up and cradled your face in his hands.

“What?! Are you okay?! What did I do?!”

“Too much too soon,” you said through gritted teeth. “But it’s fine. We—we’ll just take it slow.”

“Okay. Okay,” he repeated.

He lifted you off of his cock and gently rocked his hips, easing it back inside you.

“Perfect,” you moaned.

You matched his movements, careful not to jam the entirety of his cock into your cunt. You placed your hands on his chest, pinching his nipples between your fingers.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” you laughed before biting his neck.

“Ke—keep doing it,” he stammered, caught up in a haze of ecstasy.

You again pinched his nipples, harder than you had before. You sucked on his neck, determined to leave behind a bruise, something to remember you by. His pace was becoming a little more urgent, his thrusts growing more intense.

“Gentle,” you groaned.

Your cunt was dripping with arousal.

“What would God think about this?” you asked. You bit down on your bottom lip and awaited his answer.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“C’mon,” you begged, rocking your hips.

“He—He.” Vash took a deep breath. “He’d be really—shit—disappointed.”

“Would he send me to hell?”

“I don’t know,” he whined. “I can’t think about that right now.”

You tightened your cunt around his cock.

“But I wanna know. Tell me how bad I am.”

He buried his face in your neck. He clearly didn’t want to play along and you didn’t want to push it any further. His thrusts were picking up in speed as he bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, but it thankfully didn’t hurt this time around.

“Your cock feels so good,” you moaned.

He held you close and continued to fuck your aching cunt. You felt so light, body and soul. It was like you were ascending, leaving the world behind. You grabbed one of his hands and directed him to rub your clit. His touch was anything but gentle as he roughly pressed up against your sensitive bud.

“Fuck! Please, don’t stop.”

He was more than happy to obey. He kissed you as you came, swallowing your enraptured moans. He continued to thrust, your cum coating his cock. His groaning and whimpering overtook the room, the most heavenly symphony you experienced.

“Are you gonna come too?” you cooed in his ear.

“Uh-huh,” he panted.

“Wanna come inside me?” 

“Yeah,” he whined.

Vash bucked his hips and spurts of warm cum filled your cunt. He reclined, taking you down with him. He released you from his embrace and you rolled over onto your back.

“So… What did you think?”

“I liked it a lot. Maybe even too much.”

You giggled. “I’m glad.”

You glanced over at him and noticed he was staring at you with his big, puppy dog eyes.

“Can we cuddle?”

He nodded and laid on his side, spooning you. You dozed off, listening to his breathing and the rain tapping against the window. It was so peaceful, one of those moments you wanted to last a lifetime.

A loud roar cut through the air. You sprung up out of bed and covered your ears, desperate to block out the noise. It sounded like the unholy combination of a jet engine and a blaring trumpet. You felt like your head was splitting in two, like someone was smashing your skull with a mallet. You were consumed with dread, with guilt. You felt sick to your stomach.

You saw Vash sitting on the edge of your bed, staring out the window.

“What the hell is that? Was that a fucking trumpet?” you asked, rubbing your head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You yawned. “I’m getting really sick of you saying that.”

He turned to look at you, his face pale like a ghost’s.

“Just go back to sleep.”

You reached out to him. “I need you near me to do that.”

He gave you a wistful smile and snuggled up beside you. You held onto him tight, hoping your grip would be strong enough to trap him. You didn’t want him to leave. You needed him to stay. He was in no position to wander around on his own, running from God knows what.

“Promise you’ll stay. For a little while at least.”

He was silent.

“Vash.”

His eyes were shut and he was lightly snoring. You prayed that he heard you before he fell asleep, that he would remember what you said and let you help him. There was no reason for him to carry his burden alone, whatever it might be.

That morning you were dismayed to see your grip had been too weak. He was gone. You got up out of bed and looked around, hoping he was in the bathroom or digging through your kitchen cabinets. But he was nowhere to be found. You wondered if he had ever been there in the first place. Maybe he was just a delusion, the beginnings of a religious frenzy triggered by mental collapse.

You returned to your bedroom, hoping to sleep away your misery, and saw a hastily written note on your nightstand.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I knew leaving would be impossible if I waited for you to wake up. Please don’t take it personally. I wish I could sta

Thank you. For everything.

[metaphoricgibberish]

Nights Like This One: V.

"Sarah had never had a woman in her life, no mother, no one even close to fulfilling that role, and that, despite how desperately he tried to push it down, ate away at Joel, filled him with such sloshing, heavy guilt that he rarely allowed himself to harp on it because it hurt too fucking much. He could only do so much, be so much, and regardless of how much he tried to make his daughter's life full and happy, he knew there would always be a hole, a biting, gaping mother-shaped hole in her life."

paring: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 4.4k a.n. hi. happy father’s day— here’s a little something for all my fellow friends with daddy issues. also, just a friendly reminder to please comment on the fics you're enjoying! and not just mine, though that would be super appreciated. it's always a little disheartening to spend so much time writing something only for it to silently tick up in hits and kudos. we can't tell what ya'll like and don't like if you don't tell us! anyway, have a lovely day, hope you're all healthy and happy <3

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[haine-kleine]

After rewatching the final episode of Arcane and listening to The other side of paradise for an hour straight, started thinking how cool Dabi's arc would have been if it had taken a similar approach.

Shouto confronts Touya and reminds him of the home he had left behind, of a gaping hole his absence had created. He is empathetic and well intentioned, he genuinely wants to understand Touya and get to know him better, but he just can't wrap his head around his brother committing such heinous acts. Wasn't he raised by Endeavour, who taught all his children to treat villains with contempt? Didn't Touya want to become a hero, someone who fights villains and saves innocent people? So why did he get it backwards? Why protect the villains and attack the innocents, his own brother?

Ultimately, Shouto doesn't really know Touya. He would like to treat him like a victim, like someone he could understand and bond with. He barely has any memories of his brother, so he turns to Fuyumi, Natsuo and Rei to get their impressions of Touya, before the second war. They paint a picture of a sad, lonely boy, who kept hurting himself despite the family trying to get him to stop. He learns from Natsuo that Touya used to be a crybaby. He learns from Fuyumi of how sensitive Touya was, storming off to sulk alone when his feelings were hurt. He learns from Rei of the burning, double-edged sword Touya's obsession with his father used to be.

He learns from Dabi that he did come home after the fire. He learns that his agency wasn't fully taken away from him, that Touya wasn't molded by force into the shape of Dabi.

Shouto, much like the rest of the family, fails to fully realize that Dabi isn't what become of Touya, that Dabi is Touya.

No matter how many times they visualize a Touya who isn't Dabi, he will always remain a picture at the altar, a grave headstone without a body.

Without them even realizing, the family chooses the dead, buried and mourned Touya over the one who survived. They need to 'kill' Touya again to even accept Dabi being him. He is a despicable lie, a monster who stole their son and brother's good name. Shouto, who had barely interacted with Touya at all, has an easier time looking at Dabi and accepting him as Touya, but partly due to seeing himself in his brother.

They share the trauma of being their father's 'product', a means to an end, but after that point, their paths diverge.

Touya does have a life outside of his family and the trauma associated with them now. He does have people at his side who won't see a ghost of his past self looming over his head and always choose the ghost. He has people who understand and value him, the people he loves and wants to support back. His family would never come to a point of supporting or even ever understanding these people. It's his own unique experience that has led him to finding his place in the League of Villains, and this experience had irrevocably changed Touya. He is still himself and will always remain so, and as much as he wanted to die after the fire, wanted to die for the long and hopeless seven years before Stain's appearance, he has reasons to live and fight for now. Even if these reasons are going to separate him from his family. He has accepted the pain of letting them go, they had let go and mourned him already.

Faced with a choice of confronting his father for the last time or following Shigaraki and Toga, he chooses the latter. While he had processed the grief of being separated and buried by his family, he still can't accept Twice's death. He doesn't want to lose any more people from the League. He had come back home after his death, and he chose to leave it for good. He is never coming back.

[aiysan2]

Teaser for 'Going Under' Dabi x reader

When Dabi runs away from home and comes a cross a curious girl who grew up in a cult.

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It was a very spontaneous decision, running like that. He just couldn't bring himself to turn around and confront him again. The constant neglect that he endured became to much for him, he wanted to cry more than anything, he just wanted something to put his pain out on but no tears came. A product of the fire he suffered many years ago.I should kill the bastard.The bastard could be anyone, his brother, his father, infact it should be everyone, everyone who stood by and watched the torment and increased his pain should fuck off and disappear. They should burn in hell alongside him so he can taunt them for eternity.His legs couldn't stop moving and he couldn't stop the flames surrounding his face almost obscuring his vision as he ran through the woodland area miles away from any city.He stopped, just for a second clutching his chest in anguish. He was tired. His legs having enough strength only to hold his weight, and with a burst of adrenaline make him able to walk about 100 metres more.Touya was filled with dread as he looked around, it was dark, he couldn't see much the only light coming from the azure flame in his palm. Yet, that gave nothing as the wood surrounding stretched for miles and had no unique features that could be used to mark his way." Fuck." He muttered fingers twitching in anxiety. He didn't know where he was, he didn't remember how he entered, his anger clouding his judgement. He was stuck.He took a staggering step forward trusting his instinct to take him somewhere safe, he was absolutely fucked if he fell asleep when the creatures of the night drew near. If he could find a cabin or something that proved safe he could find rest for the night.He panted, the sound of blood in his head muffling his ears, his body begging for some type of break. What the fuck?Almost like an iron wall, trees grew thick and tall, eerily symmetrical in height and size. Easily 60 All Mights tall and 15 wide. It had to be the result of a quirk, trees didn't grow in a circle barricading whatever was in the circle.He didn't hesitate to investigate, curiosity overcomming whatever his body was begging him to do.He was happy for the rain otherwise he would've set the trees alight with his methods. His body set alight, he had little care for what he did with it now, it already seemed damaged beyond repair anyway. The bark crisped up as he walked forward, burning a Touya shaped hole in the tree as he moved on.He had to have walked 50 metres before reaching the other side of the tree. He gaped when he saw what was there.Obviously some people had run away and left a civilization behind. He wouldn't have thought it was barren but the lack of light and overgrown trees, proved that had to be true.His heart flipped in joy at the thought of having somewhere warm to sleep. He walked to the closest cabin, it was quite small and basically empty when he looked through the window.He didn't hesitate to kick down the door, not taking into consideration the noise he was making when entering. The room only had a small stool in the centre, eerie, but he had no time to think about that as he pushed himself into a corner to sleep off.He thought about his father, he thought about his mother, he thought of his two brothers, his sister, his friends from school and all he felt was sadness. He wished he would've died all those years ago instead of being stuck wandering the earth with evidence of his suicide attempt. And with these thoughts occupying his mind, he wept.

Wattpad: aiysan2

trying to figure out if I should release the book or not

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[temyteabag]

The Smiling Critters are small, colorful, anthropomorphic animals, each appearing as a plush toy with a zipper on the front chest, large gaping smiles, and black eyes with white pupils. Each toy has a unique pendant representing the core aspect of each of their personalities.

In addition to this, each Smiling Critter comes with the ability to emit their own unique scent via a hole in their mouths by pulling on their tails, all of which are traditionally used to aid with sleep or relaxation, being based on a specific type of fruit, herb or flower.

Picky Piggy - SCENT: Citrus - What's more important than play and learning? PickyPiggy knows the answer. A playful body and keen mind are fueled by what's put into them, which is why she encourages her friends to eat a well-balanced diet. Secretly, PB&J's are her favorite food.

Bobby BearHug - SCENT: Rose - A kind, caring soul, Bobby BearHug shows compassion for everyone, and for everything. People and places and things, large or small, are all receivers of her love. Each is enriched by this attention and affection, and in turn, so is she.

DogDay - SCENT: Vanilla - This is DogDay, the sunny, strong, and determined leader of our critters! Each trusts him to find the bright side in any situation, and to have a friendly word of encouragement should they feel down. He'll always keep his friends going, no matter what.

Kickin Chicken - SCENT: Ylang-ylang - This is KickinChicken, the cool kid of the crew, and he maintains that sense of cool through anything, even in the most tense of situations. Knock him down, and he'll pick himself up, brush himself off, and ask: "What's next?"

Hoppy Hopscotch - SCENT: Peppermint - Unafraid to hop where others might sit, Hoppy is the friend everyone needs to maintain their energy and enthusiasm. While sometimes loud or impatient, she'll always hop besides her friends, even if it means slowing up once in a while to keep their pace.

Crafty Corn - SCENT: Jasmine - A conscious observer of both color and creativity in the world. CraftyCorn understands the importance of art, and sharing it with others. Crayons, pencils, paint, or words on the page, CraftyCorn can see beauty in anything imagined given shape.

Bubba Bubbaphant - SCENT: Lemongrass - Bubba Bubbaphant is the brains of the critters. Bright and attentive, he keeps his friends steady and always steers them to make smart choices, that way they all might grow up to be bright and brilliant, each in their own right.

CatNap - SCENT: Lavander - CatNap is a calming presence for the critters and ensures he and his friends always have the right amount of sleep to jumpstart the morning's play! End of the day, there's nothing CatNap enjoys more than watching his friends sleep soundly.

Well hello there!, been a while hasn't it? Anyway, happy fathers day!!

I'm on the last week of exams, just two more and I'm done, hurray! I bring you the smiling critters, I like the story of the critters and Poppy Playtime, it's funny, and it can be shady if one wish to see ir like that. Curios thing, my favorite of the bunch is CatNap yet I think the best of the drawing os CraftyCorn.

In another note, have you seen the new Inky Mistery chapter?! 'cause boy was it really something! I loved it!! Go & check it out if ya have the time.

See ya all, hopefully we'll see each other soon!

P.D. all the info here came from the Poppy Playtime wiki, link below:

[ashcal99]

Golden Hour : Rosalie Hale~

Prologue

"She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night. I don't need no light to see you shine. You slow down time in your golden hour."

Summary: By the young age of twenty years old, Grayson Cly had been through his fair share of trauma. Trauma that had left him a single father. Trauma that only grew more complicated when he joined his cousin Sam Uley as a shape shifting wolf. But, what happens when he imprints on the one thing he was born to protect the world from? Can he stick to his instincts when it comes to that protection, or will the persistence of that imprint derail his life even more?

Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, violence, general angst, slow burn

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Not sure how many parts this will be but yahhhh. Comment if I missed any warning or anything plz. Lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list thnx.

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Grayson had always been mature for his age, taking every shocking thing that came his way with stride. So, when his girlfriend, Evelyn, of three years became pregnant with his child the beginning of their senior year, he promised himself he would be a better father than his had been for him. A father that their child deserved. His life had of course grown more complicated given the baby that grew more and more day by day, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course he was terrified. Terrified of not being enough, terrified of what this meant for not only his future, but Evelyn’s as well. That didn’t stop him from being excited at the end of the day. Deep down, he knew that this was what he was made for, the instinct of being a parent seemingly being born inside of him. So, when the day came that the contractions started, he had felt as prepared as possible, despite the butterflies filling his stomach. He had held her hand throughout the entire labor, her squeezing so hard that he was sure she would end up braking something. 

The cry of his son as he entered the world made him the happiest he had ever been in his life. And then everything else shattered around him. Everything was seemingly fine, until the bleeding wouldn’t stop. So much blood. Something was horribly wrong, that much was obvious, and the panic began to set in. There was nothing he could do, but sit back and pray to whatever god there was that the doctor would be able to save her. In the end, his prayers weren’t enough, and what had been the happiest day of his life had quickly also become the worst. 

So as he sat there, on the plush worn out cushions of his mother’s couch, just days after loosing the love of his life, he stared into the beautiful eyes of his child. The same eyes that he had gotten from his mother, and he allowed himself to feel the pain of her loss. The pain that left a gaping hole in his chest. Tears pricked at his eyes as he attempted to blink them away, but if there was one thing that he knew now to be true of grief is that it demanded to be felt. 

Despite the help his mother had been giving him in his time of need, the same mother who had raised him single handedly, he felt utterly alone in that moment. His heart ached so badly his whole body was sore as he realized that the beautiful child in his arms would never know just how wonderful his own mother had been. He would never feel the warmth of his mothers embrace, never feel the touch of her kiss on his forehead, and the thought sent his brimming tears over the edge. 

The big blue eyes of his son blinked up at him curiously as he eyed his father. Footsteps trailed into the room, a soft hand landing on his shoulder, flinching back as she felt the heat radiating off of his skin. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, Gray? You seem a little overheated.” She suggested, concern coating her voice as she gently took the baby from his arms, ushering him towards the back door. 

Grayson nodded, sniffling slightly as he moved forward, attempting to wipe the tears away as he pushed his body numbly to the door. A cool summer breeze blew through his hair as he shut the door behind himself, sucking in a shaky breath. The grief stabbed him in the chest, finally having been by himself long enough to feel all of the emotions he had been bottling up since her death. How was he expected to do this alone? Why her? She didn’t deserve to die, why was this world so cruel as to take her away from him?

An agonizing sob left his lips, the memory of her smile running through his mind.  A smile he would only ever see again on their son. Sudden anger flooded his heart, anger at whoever had taken the woman he had loved so dearly. Red hot pain seared through every inch of his being as something ripped inside of him. Fire raced across his skin, muscles tearing and growing back together all at once in a moment in time. Seconds morphed into hours of unbearable obliterating pain, before, almost like nothing happened at all, the pain vanished. It had taken a moment to realize anything had actually changed as his eyes trailed down to the ground that was occupied by a very large pair of paws nestled in the tall grass surrounding him, the white fur a stark contrast in the dark green landscape. The anger he had felt just moments ago vanished as it was quickly replaced by shock. 

“Don’t panic.” A voice rung through his mind. A voice he recognized. His eyes shot up to the large black wolf in front of him, knowing almost instantly who the figure was. Memories of the Quileute legends rushed through his mind as he realized that despite having learned the stories himself, the memories had been coming from the other wolf, seeing himself as a child within those memories. 

Suddenly everything was clear. It was all real, everything, and Sam was right there in front of him, explaining it all. They had grown up together, cousins on his mother’s side, spending hours upon hours together as children, so when the words had come from him, it had fairly quickly calmed the panic that had previously held a tight grip on his chest. 

So much had changed in so little time, it was almost as if he had reached his peek. So many emotions had been filling his heart in the past weeks that hearing that the legends were not only real, but included him didn’t set his world on its’ side like it should have. Vampires were real and the fact should have terrified him, but instead, knowing it gave him a sense of purpose. It was his job now to protect his child from the cold blooded monsters and he would be damned if he didn’t put every ounce of effort into doing so. 

As the months went on, the pack grew, along with the danger of the blood suckers around them. His newly found brothers created the strongly knit support system that he needed to cope through Evelyn’s death, and even though he knew he would never truly get over the loss that had left a gaping hole in his heart, he would try his best to be okay. To be the father that his son needed. To be the protection that he needed from the evil in this world, because there was no way in hell that he would ever let anything harm him.

Next Chapter -coming soon

[daisychainsandbowties]

Nell/Sophia + Blood, Magic, Sword

okay ^_^

//

She stands bleeding in the barred-light and Nell, despite herself, traces every vector of the bleeding’s path down from her brow – a sickle-shape that curves to cup her jaw and trickle down her neck, turning sinew red and redder. You forget, after a little while, how blood is darker from some places and brighter from others. How people bleed.

How girls do it.

Sofia is a natural, of course. She is dressed differently now – in a second-hand dress that is far too large for her, not fitted properly around bodice or hips or anywhere dresses are supposed to fit. She must feel like an eel inside it, squirming between two rocks, two rough walls of fabric. The sleeves are pulled up.

She bleeds down both arms and she sways and she is beautiful in her porcelain way even with bullet-holes in both shoulders. Nell wants to say she took them on purpose – running from the men roaming the streets above searching for them both and the powers hinged to them.

Or leashed, or however you want to say it.

Nell watches her enemy bleed and feels sick about it, like she’s back in smoke and gunpowder and mud and horse sweat and blood. Battlefield scents crawling on her skin, sticking her shirt to her spine.

She hates, mostly, how badly she wants to help.

Twin streams of blood flow down Sofia’s bared forearms and Nell is too distracted to say if they follow lines of new muscle, or skip over new calluses when they reach Sofia’s hands. Though they must, from how she looks. The wrought or overwrought look in her eyes and the fact that she is, somehow, even frailer-looking than before. The white of polished bone like something a dog licked into a more thorough form of dying.

She bleeds the same. Like a person. Maybe a part of Nell always wondered if she would, though she always knew the ways that Sofia felt different than anyone else.

Now the blood falls and now it gathers and now Sofia gathers it until it forms a long shape in her dangling left hand.

A sword.

Of course she would make a sword out of her own blood and of course she would do it trembling like a leaf that does not yet understand wind, or falling, or that it is by its own nature a disposable thing. 

“Put it down, Sofia.”

Nell tries to make her voice into a command, but she will always be a plea against this. Never mind that one moment when she was in control, kneeling in Sofia’s manor with that horrible sweet voice in her ear. When she had the upper hand.

When she was the blade and not the flesh, receiving it.

Her voice rings wetly off the walls and when it arrives, dismal and damp, Nell watches as the dainty, blood-soaked hand hanging at Sofia’s side tightens. 

And it feels like they were young. Blood-soaked in other ways, tracing old deer tracks through the woods always looking for a flash of white between the trees or for a body to come whispering out of the darkness.

Nell has always called her cold – even then, her hands chilly as they flinched up under the shirt she’d dragged on, her breeches cinched tight at the waist. Luckily none of it unnerved Sofia – the fact that Nell stole her father’s half-damp clothes off the line on her way through the muddy yard and pulled them on with her back pressed to the shed.

Peering out at the pockmarks of light that chose certain pools of muddy ground to illuminate, and little else.

Fingers cold as they pressed into and up and under the fabric of what she would, if pressed, refer to as Nell’s shirt, and not just her father’s. Though that was true the fact was the truth hardly mattered in the forest at night between two girls.

Sofia, her eyes gathering the dark like hands, with her head bowed as she pushed the gaping of the shirtaside, fingers oh-so-nimble on the buttons. The smell of the herbs that Nell’s mother used to get sweat and beer and dirt and grease out of the homespun almost unbearable.

Not to Sofia, of course, apparently, who always ended up with her nose buried in the fabric over Nell’s shoulder. She took a stretch that summer – lucky her, towering so far above her feet and clumsy about it but not with Sofia wrapped around her like a promise neither of them could keep.

“Did you know that the Palace of Versailles used to smell unbearably like shit?”

“What?” Nell understandably perplexed with the first sting of Sofia’s teeth in her neck – low, where it wouldn’t be seen.

A tongue drawn over the sore spot and then breath washing hot across the hurt as Sofia paused again to speak. She was always doing that. Saying things and thinking things especially out here, where it was no more allowed than in her father’s house but at least it was not unwelcome.

Nothing to flinch from in the woods but shadows and the cold tips of fingers, rucking Nell’s shirt up until Sofia’s wrists disappeared beneath, roaming. Tugging and plucking and worrying the bindings around Nell’s chest.

“Yes. It was back when King Louis’ court lived there, all his quail-stuffed courtiers. It was just a lot of people and a baroque fuck of a building. A poor combination, no?” Her eyes lifted in the dark, only moon shadows to pick them clear for now, though Sofia always brought expensive candles in her pockets – “more dangerous this way. more risk. But I like seeing you.”

“M-me too.”

She pressed her mouth onto its wound again and Nell had to squeeze her eyes shut. Bury a moan where they would never find the body.

“The place was full of people, which means chamber pots and sweat and shit.” Nell is not sure, but she likes the sound of bad words in Sofia’s mouth. Mostly, she likes how it quickens Sofia’s heart where they’re pressed close – the skin to skin to skin of knowing that she is childishly afraid of saying wicked things and delighted to do it here.

Nell doesn’t know but she suspects that there is a long history under the boughs of every forest like this one outside of every small and dismal town – of girls, clashing in the branch-cut moonlight to say and do and think and feel wicked things.

Just for now.

But just for now, while we have no marriage beds and nothing that starts crying in the night and nothing to hold us like iron to the shapes of our lives.

“Apparently the whole place – palace - smells of perfume even now, a full year since Louis moved his court back to Paris.”

A laugh bright as a slap in the darkness, the tree shadows casting their limbs over Sofia’s slenderness. Half the time, Nell thought about her almost as a bird. Loud, and soft and often angry. And liable to fly away.

Sofia smells good, though. Like something floral and spicy at the same time. Her mouth, too, tastes different than the boys’ in the village. Theirs are always heavy, somehow, like rye and field dust and living off the land. It’s nice, sometimes, to be wrapped up in that, but it never feels right.

It never feels like standing in the dark in a man’s clothes with Sofia’s body wrapped tight as a promise around her. Teeth making her sting and then ache and then bruise. Clever of Sofia, whose mouth tastes of foreign tea and inkwells and hot metal, to leave Nell with something that lasts and hurts and changes colour every day.

She misses the hurt when it disappears. The mouth-shape that is just a bruise to anyone else, but Nell can see the shape of a girl’s mouth in its dimensions. Somehow. Maybe this is witchcraft. Maybe this is what they mean about girl-things out in the woods, who carry the devil in their pockets.

“I like how you smell,” Nell decides to say because she’s been quiet for too long.

Always doing that out here especially when Sofia’s hands are roaming over her skin. When her teeth are tugging at the collar of Nell’s shirt and she’s afraid and she’s hoping and she’s terribly enchanted by the idea of the fabric tearing. The harsh sound of it.

She wants the candlelight and to see Sofia flush at the things Nell knows by now to do to her. At first it was so fumbling, so quiet and exploratory. At first, it was enough just to kiss out here, but all sins grow in repetition.

Now, hers is so large that it has to be eaten to disappear.

Luckily, out here, she has the perfect impression of a mouth to work with. She has her hands and how Sofia presses close, suddenly, Versailles forgotten. Breath harsh on Nell’s chin as her hands slip down to the ties of her- their – stolen breeches. Undoing with the thoughtless dexterity of a girl who knows how to sew and embroider and how to play the piano.

Her fingers slipping into hot wet and Nell moaning and the forest swallowing it whole.

“God,” she says, and means it. Finds Sofia’s mouth in the dark as she works a little space for her wrist, slipping the breeches down over Nell’s arse with her other hand and smirking about it. Probably she knows somehow that Nell used the word arse.

No candlelight, yet. They save this for Sofia because Nell does not, in some imprecise way, like to feel seen. Out here, with only touch to tell, she is perfectly herself. Breeches and shirt and boots and Sofia’s hand tracing her jaw.

“God?”

From Sofia it is a question, wry as she starts to move her fingers and Nell knows herself how to do this but still it is astonishing. It is another hand and it is there, touching and unflinching and warmed now by all its roaming up around her chest.

Her hands are free but they’ve been gripping the tree bark at her back. Now, she uses them to find Sofia’s face and tilt it upward. Even here in the dark she will be looking down at what she’s doing but she can play the piano, so there is no interruption when Nell steals her eyes away.

Finds her mouth with the pad of her thumb and leans down – has to. she is tall and limned all in muscle where Sofia is softness abutting bone – and kisses her gently and then ungently. Bruising hard as Sofia laughs into her mouth and then makes other noises in there, and then concentrates until Nell is the one speaking, unspeaking. Making the forest hold them and all their sounds so tightly.

She shivers hard as Sofia slips inside her – two fingers easy and soft and nowhere tugging at her. They steal into her like two girls might steal into the forest at night to do wicked things.

And all of Nell’s strength means nothing in the face of this. Her knees shake and Sofia moves against her, hips in time with her fingers pressing her thumb high and soft and slow and slippery. This time, God trembles on Nell’s tongue when she tries to say Him.

“God?”

Another, again. Low in Sofia’s voice that sounds crackly with the fact that they are up so late and the air is chilly. Their bodies hot. This is not a summer tryst but a repetitive thing. She fucks Nell like she knows how, and she does.

One swallow does not make a summer but what about this? What of this? What is this?

“God!” – she cries this, or tries to, as Sofia’s fingers curl and press and move and god, fuck, and the sound is stolen away between Sofia’s lips. Delicately parted so they do not take all the volume. Just enough.

Afterwards they both tremble and neither of them imagine that in another decade they will do it someplace else. That Sofia, covered in blood, will look down at what she is doing to watch the long blade of blood form in her hand. That her smile will be rictus, and utterly unfamiliar.

And Sofia, standing with her back against the wall and a sewer stench crawling into her nostrils, – was Versailles like this? was it better? was it worse? did you ever tell me anything true? – cannot quite separate the red wet thing in front of her from the soft shadowed shape in the forest.

Perhaps Sofia has forgotten all about it. Perhaps she dragged dozens of girls into the woods. Perhaps she was the witch all along, devil in her pockets.

Nell, in boots and breeches and shirt and jacket and belt and sword and pistol, feels exactly the same as she did back then. Only more confused and better with her hands and, of course, afraid.

And, of course, not for herself.

The sword takes form, to the tip. It is so obviously magic that Nell wants to blink. She wants to give them away to the men stomping through the streets above, but then witches hang. They do it mostly in innocence and even now, watching blood drip off the tip of Sofia’s summoned sword, Nell cannot convince herself that this girl wound hang any differently.

“Put it down Sofia.” She tries again, her voice low and urgent, but the girl only smiles. She does it exactly the way she used to against Nell’s mouth.

Insult to injury. Alright.

She is bleeding so much.

Nell sets her feet, reaches down toward her belt. The cold a familiar hilt of a sword that doesn’t belong to her but does, now. As much as Sofia’s blood belongs to the girl it’s falling out of.

“Fine,” she says. Drawing steel, showing her length and her breadth and wanting to cry or laugh or scream or go home about it.

Sofia, to her credit, trembles a little more. Grins a little wider. Bleeds all over her bare feet.

“Fine,” Nell says, and this has always been the truth and mostly it has been okay, because she wanted it too. “Have it your way then.”

[aethes-bookshelf]

the stench of withered flowers || alucard (castlevania)/reader [part II to 'a garden of my love']

You ever write something so raw you make yourself cry? 'Cause I just did.

Also, if anyone was wondering, yes - I did write this impulsively, at 2am. I regret nothing.

Pairing: Alucard (Castlevania)/Reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst (a LOT of angst), major character death (Reader), Alucard/Greta plays a big role

Summary: He never celebrated another birthday after that day. Never ate any of the food he found lying by your body on the muddy village road. It tasted bitter like earth and sweet like blood to him. And earth and blood he could not stomach.

Alucard was sitting in a chair, reading, when the growing murmur of a crowd drew his attention. He was warm and comfortable, a blanket thrown on his lap, Greta sitting beside him. They shared a look; he knew she couldn’t hear the people outside as well as he could, but they were still loud enough to worry her. Something had happened — and knowing their luck, it was nothing good.

Greta got up first. By the time Alucard was done folding and putting away the blanket, she was already out the door. And by the time he was nearing it himself, he heard her shout in what sounded like pain.

Instinctively, he summoned his sword. It sliced through the air near his head as he rushed out the door, ready to face whatever was outside.

But no matter how ready he’d been to fight even the ugliest of monsters, nothing could’ve prepared him for what was coming.

The crowd parted when they saw him approach. A few people were crying, children were hiding their faces in their mothers’ skirts. There was a heaviness to the air around them, laced with a quiet, cold kind of shock. Like a splash of freezing water to the face; no one knew how to react.

Greta was in the middle of it all, in the empty space at the center of the crowd. She was cradling someone in her arms, their cloak stained with dark blood. The smell of it hit Alucard like an impenetrable wall. He knew that scent; he knew it from years ago, from the day he’d killed his father.

There was a basket lying nearby. Most of the food carried in it had spilled out and soiled with the bloody mud it was laying on. His favorites — roasted meats and breads, fresh fruit and wine from the castle’s basement. The food had grown cold already; the chill of the upcoming winter cooled it down pretty quickly.

He knew that blood. He knew that basket. Hell, he could even recognize the wine by its bottle — it was the same wine he’d been drinking every year, on his birthday, for quite some time now.

His sword fell to the ground with a dull thump as time slowed down to near-stillness.

No, his mind chanted, over and over again. Not like this. Please, not like this.

He approached Greta on shaky legs. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head. She’d been crying, quiet sobs barely escaping her pursed lips.

That’s when he saw your face; and everything came crashing down.

His knees gave out. He, just like his sword, bonelessly fell to the ground. He might’ve been crying, he wasn’t sure. Nothing felt real.

He reached out to you with shaking hands. When his fingers caressed your cheek and he found it to be cold and unmoving, something shattered inside him. Just above the spot he touched, there was a gaping hole in your skull, in the shape of the rock just beneath his feet.

Disbelief turned to anger. How could you have been this stupid? He’d told you to stay put, not to push yourself! Why did you decide to trek through the village all the way to him anyway?! With a heavy basket, nonetheless. Why didn’t you ask for help, why didn’t you say something? Sure it was his birthday, but—

Alucard paused. He took another look at the food sprawled all over the ground. The string around the roast was clumsily tied, the bread had baked unevenly, the fruit wasn’t chopped properly. It all wasn’t right, wasn’t the way you usually made it. Making this — this gift for him — probably took all the strength you could muster.

It hit him then — you knew you’d been dying. Despite his best efforts, you’d been dying for a long time now. You must’ve known you didn’t have long before it’d all be over. For good, this time. This, as far as you knew, could’ve been his last birthday you’d get to spend together. The last feast of yours. Maybe you wanted to make it special; to surprise him in his new quarters.

Or maybe you were just being too stubborn for your own good, like you’d always been. Either way, it didn’t matter now. Not with you lifeless at his feet.

Alucard gently coaxed you out of Greta’s shaking arms. His were shaking too; he dug his nails into the fabric of your cloak hard enough for it to tear just to try and stop them from shaking any harder. He felt Greta curl around him, hand clenching his shoulder, trying to ground him, keep him there. But he felt it all through a fog.

He was so sure that if anyone were to slice his skin open, what would come out wouldn’t be blood, but stuffing of hay and leaves. Nothing felt real.

Your weight in his arms, truly and terribly limp, didn't feel real. The stench of blood, sweet enough to burn his throat, didn’t feel real. The tears, slowly dripping onto your frozen face, didn’t feel real. He wasn’t sure if they were his or Greta’s.

Oh, your face. He couldn’t bear to look at it, but couldn’t force himself to look away. Your eyes were wide open, mouth slightly ajar, as if you were about to speak. But your eyes were cold, expressionless. It felt wrong, seeing them like this. They were the most animated part of your face; usually, he could take a single look at them and know exactly what you’d been thinking.

Not this time.

Trevor and Sypha pushed through the crowd. Sypha’s hand was cradling her pregnant stomach; another one was on her back. She was clearly holding back a wince of pain. Her face went slack with shock when she saw the three of you — you, motionless, and Greta and Alucard, curled around you.

She gasped your name and rushed towards you as quickly as she could. Trevor, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch. He stood, frozen, with his eyes glued to your face. His face was almost completely blank, safe for his eyes. Alucard couldn’t bear looking at them for longer than a second.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He’d always known you’d die someday. At first, he barely thought of it at all, but when he did, he hoped you’d get to die of old age. Peacefully, in your sleep. Then, after your illness tainted your lives, he’d hoped he could be there for you in your final moments. Soothe you to sleep one last time, even if you’d never wake up again.

You didn’t deserve to have died like this. Suddenly, all alone on a village road. Not like this, whispered his mind, heavy with the oncoming bitterness of grief. ‘Not like this,’ he said quietly, almost to himself.

Greta was looking at him, eyes drying but still raw. ‘Not like this,’ she repeated with him, head resting against his.

Alucard’s eyes stayed glued to your face. He took one last, long look at your eyes before closing them for you; saying goodbye to them forever. He tried to memorize their color, but the details were slipping his mind already.

He wanted to scream, wanted to rip and tear and kill whatever hurt you. But he couldn’t kill a rock. Couldn’t kill whatever illness had been rotting you from the inside for months. Couldn’t push down the terrifying realization that one day, he wouldn’t be able to remember your face. Or the sound of your voice. Or your laugh. Or your touch.

He keeled over your body, bent in half by sobs. The entirety of him was shaking now, wrecked by the raw, ugly pain in his chest. Nothing lasts, he thought, trying to remember his parents' faces.

He couldn’t.

[heartstringsduet]

A Heart with New Skin

Summary: A lizard shaped bribe. Carlos doen't think Louis was anything but that. Just a way to make TK happy, because Carlos isn't sure he’ll ever be ready to have kids. This is how he learns to love Louis like family, too. notes: a fluffy + hurt/comfort story about Carlos bonding with their lizard son Louis. __

Frankly, Carlos thinks he needs a bribe when he asks TK to stay despite the gaping hole he will bring into his life if they marry. A lizard shaped bribe. That’s a big part of it. It’s also a sacrifice that says, see, I will give up restful sleep if you stay with me. I will challenge this fear to make you happy. I know you and your big heart. I love you. 

A way to say, you might never get to have kids with me, but you’ll have a scaly insect-eating alternative? 

All because Carlos is scared to be a father. Or maybe he loves kids but not enough to want to raise them. All because of Carlos’ shortcomings.

Getting a lizard as a compromise is the very worst idea, and Carlos learns it wasn’t needed after all. He gets home to a homemade meal and wine, to TK saying he wants to stay, no kids, no lizard, just the two of them.

Truthfully, Carlos will only believe him to a certain extent. Insecurity doesn’t vanish with a single conversation. They’ll have to shed and shed it until both of them have grown completely new skin; skin that trusts because it doesn’t know a single cell of the initial insecurity. They’ll talk about it more than once; one’s a heated fight that drives them to sleep apart for a night and one's filled with tears and one's filled with laughter.

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