#these are all normal things that i’m just now having to consciously remember when i eat

[solbaby7]

Killing Me Softly

pairing: cassian x reader

[ part 2 ]

warnings: swearing, violence, blood, jealous themes, angst

summary: [based off that episode in greys were Mer got beaten by that patient who didn’t remember anything when they woke up]

—

It had started out as a normal fight.

Something small and fixable.

But somewhere along the way, things had snowballed and the playful Cassian you’d always known had disappeared before your very eyes. “You have a responsibility,” His tone is firm; slightly condescending and you can feel the attitude beginning to form when his arms cross over his chest. Cassian shoulders squared out, spine straight and wings pulled taut as he stood his ground. “The answer is no.”

“Cass, you’re not even listening. I told you I had this planned a week ago,” It comes out rushed, brows furrowed as you tried to meet something else besides that hard wall behind hazel eyes. “Besides it’s the med wing, they always have volunteers coming in to help—it’s just one date.”

“This really isn’t up for discussion,” His steely exterior nearly crumbles to pieces when he sees the way you visibly deflate, fingers grazing over the pretty dress you’d spent three days searching for with Mor and Cass had to pretend to be thrilled when you came barreling through his bedroom door with it in hand. You were beaming, smile so wide he thought your cheeks would split in two. “Now, go get changed.”

Guilt bubbles in his belly at the sight of you, jaw clenched tight and eyes blinking furiously to push back the frustrated tears; you had been really excited. You say nothing when you breeze past him, making sure not to touch him or make eye contact when you disappear back where you came and Cass doesn’t even need to turn around to know the way Azriel is looking at him. “Thought you said the med-wing was fully staffed? Easy day, you said.”

“Don’t even start.”

“It was just one date, she bought a dress and everything.” Az doesn’t buckle at the remorse that begins to scrunch at hard features, hands that clench and unclench at his sides as Cass battled a war that didn’t take prisoners. “If you won’t act on your feelings for her then leave her be so she can be happy.”

“Seriously, mind your fucking business.” Cassian all but snarls, golden eyes like burning lava when regarding his brother; the words hitting much harder than and punch. “She had a job to do and she’ll be here doing it. We don’t have time for stupid dresses and dates when people are dying.”

You don’t speak when you re-emerge in something more sturdy, medical equipment neatly organized in a bag that you held loosely in one hand. A whole folder of papers had been shoved in your grasp from a brooding General, inky hair flying away from his face when the wind cut through on his speedy departure. Frustration builds but you don’t allow it to overcome you, ignoring Azriel’s inquisitive stare, arms crossed over his chest and thick leathers hugging muscular thighs. “You okay?”

You sigh, gesturing to the stack of papers while you begin down the hall. “I’m busy.”

Times flows significantly slower now that you’re aware you’re missing something of importance; you’d really been looking forward to dressing up. Taking special time on your hair and the dark kohl that Mor insisted would make your eyes pop. The bittersweet daydream of what could’ve been is interrupted by the ruffled patient, his body covered in a serious of wrappings and notes near his side table on the tonics he’d been given—heavy duty sedatives and even stronger pain alleviants. Dosages so high there was no was he should’ve been moving, eyes blinking into consciousness and slurred speech stumbling from his tongue. “Where am I?”

“Sir, it’s okay just relax. I’m only here to help.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Your hands are gentle when they reach out for him in attempts to soothe but it only makes him more agitated, arms whipping around wildly and his volume steadily increases. “Who are you? Why am I here?”

“Sir, please. If you just calm down I can explain—you were hurt, I’m only here to help.”

Rational thought and logic make no home in the frantic patients mind, his terrifyingly sturdy grip latches onto your shoulder. You’re jostled in close, bandages and antiseptic falling from your grasp and you only have time for one sharp yelp before his hands are wrapped around your neck. It takes alarmingly little effort for him to get to his feet, slamming your form down on the cot he’d been recovering in for days. Broken noises pull from your throat, nails scratching at his arms and face and whatever skin you can get your hands on, punching and kicking and reaching for anything to help and just as a black spots line your vision you finally get a good kick in, enough to push you from his hands and your body tumbles to the floor with a thud.

Deep heaving breaths pull from you, sucking in as much oxygen as your lungs will allow and tears you didn’t even realize you’d let out are streaming down the curve of your cheeks as you struggle to gain your footing, to get out of the room but hands are back around your arms. A broken cry fills the air when your face is shoved into the wall, heavy weight pushing you over and over until blood pooled from your temple and choked noises caught in your throat.

You can’t even remember when it stopped, a darkness overtaking you but even that’s abruptly ripped away from you for what feels like just seconds later. Someone screaming, strangled, pain filled shouts when you feel a set of hands on your body, lifting you from the floor and setting you on a cool table. “She’s awake,” You hear Madja firmly speak, hands quick yet sturdy when reaching into her bag to pull out medical grade scissors. “Anyone not necessary needs to leave.”

“She’s family, we aren’t leaving her.” Azriel retorts even stronger, leaving no room for discussion and you can feel the warmth of his hands on your own when he looks down at you. “You’re going to be okay, we’re here. We’re all here.”

You can’t even form words, eyes watery and panicked when darting between both of his own and the grip you have on his fingers when the healer pressed down on your abdomen is enough to have him barking at her for pain relief. “I can’t just give her things without a full assessment.”

“Assess faster—she’s in too much pain.”

Everything goes in one ear and out the other; you keep trying to speak, to beg them to please stop poking there and prodding at that bruise and asking if it hurt there, because it hurt everywhere. Broken whines pull from your throat, chest heaving and limbs trembling so hard the table shook. “I can feel three—no four broken ribs, collarbone fracture on the right side, shoulders dislocated on the right as well.” Madja begins, voice almost void of any emotion as she drifts from a person to a woman in charge. The High Lord in standing near your head, murmuring encouraging words while soaking in the information, a grim expression shared between him and the shadowsinger. “Damage to the brain is possible with such intense trauma to her head; two males had to physically pull the patient off of her.”

“Why would he even do this?” Rhys takes the warm cloth handed to him and gently begins to drag it over your forehead, trying his best to comfort you through the agony. “She’s harmless—she wouldn’t have hurt a fly.”

“It was the first time he’d been lucid since we’d found him; he doesn’t even remember what happened.”

Half a dozen more healers filter in the room with handfuls of equipment, eyes filled with worry when regarding one of their own but they quickly shake it off and step into line to assist. Azriel snarls at Madja’s words, stomach clenching in disdain at the helpless groans you let out, head lolling from side to side, tears treading trails into your hair as the pain overwhelms you.

Madja skims a knuckle over your jaw on accident when accessing the harsh bruising at your throat and the yelp that pulls is absolutely devastating. “Grab the restraints and hold her down,” The healer commands to the others, insisting they wrap them tighter while ignoring the deep shouts of the two males guarding you like their lives depended on it. “Her jaw is broken,” A heavy sigh pulls from Madja, dark hair tightly braided behind her shoulders. “—I have to set it and it won’t be fun so help me or get out of the room so we can do our jobs.”

Rhysand’s fingers are running through your hair, Azriel’s thumb rubbing soothing circles along the back of your hands and you feel the exact moment they both go stiff, heads turning to face the towering figure that stuttered to a stop in the doorway. “I’ll hold her arms,” The shadowsinger holds your arms with a firmness you hadn’t experienced from him before, soft apologies being whispered into your ears when your heart rate surges. “Cass, hold her legs. She needs to be still.”

The General doesn’t move, eyes wide and mouth hung open when he takes in your form. The clothes that were cut from your body, the countless amounts of thick gauze and medical towels soaked with your blood pooling in piles on the floor. Warbled streaks of crimson red is a stark contrast against the white floors; the smeared print of ten fingers and two palms drag along the wall, the small side table and the around door handle—you’d just nearly gotten away. “Cassian,” Azriel snaps, the rough tone ripping him from his trance. “Hold down her legs, now.”

The shock doesn’t wear off even if he does do as he’s told, golden eyes stuck on every bruise, ears painfully attuned to every whimper, every cry and gut-wrenching scream when your jaw was forced open, the bone shifting with a deafening crunch. “Please, please, please.” You barely get the words out; speech slurred, sweat lacing your forehead, body shaking so hard from the pain you couldn’t tell what was up from down. “Please, make it stop. Please, I’ll do anything—please stop.”

“Give her something!” Rhys snapped, wiping away tears and bracing you from moving around too much.

Madja scoffs, outnumbered and overwhelmed she calls for a tonic, allowing a higher dose than normal and your relief is instant. Deep cries fade to drawn out whimpers before your whole form goes eerily limp. “This will not be an easy recovery; if you think that was bad, just wait.” Quick hands make work of setting your shoulder with a sharp jolt and another healer is wrapping it in thick bandages to keep it in place. “Why was she even in here? The form specifically stated that supervision was required for this patient—she shouldn’t have been alone.”

“She shouldn’t have been here at all,” One of the healers muttered under her breath, hands quick and careful when tucking your hair behind your ear and dabbing your face clean of the blood that had started drying. “—she had a date today. I took this shift for her so she could go. She’s been talking about it all week.”

A silence fills the room and Rhys follows the sharp stare Azriel had trained on the General who’d been stuck in place at your feet. His hands shake where they rest near your calves, gaze seemly stuck on the socks you wore, fabric torn and stained in your own blood and he can just picture how hard you’d struggled trying to escape. Cassian says nothing, not when the others seem to catch on; putting together a piece of the puzzle in his silence—the shock that settles in every pore and the guilt that radiated from his burly form.

He only watches as they collect the soiled gauze off the floor, antiseptic filling the space when they begin to scrub your handprints off the wall, sweeping up the drywall that gave way from the pure strength put into smashing your body to pieces. “Four broken ribs,” Azriel’s voice is unnervingly calm when the last of the healers filter out, the door shutting behind with a soft click. “—a fractured collarbone; she was thrown into the wall so hard her shoulder popped out of socket.” Rhys takes a step forward, a hand raised to stop the shadowsinger but he’s sharply cut off, Az’s tone getting just a bit deeper when he stalks towards Cassian like predators did their prey. “He nearly shattered her skull—she’d be dead if it weren’t for one of the other patients. They heard her scream and found me.” Inky shadows slink around Azriel’s shoulders, but it’s the hand that pushes Cassian a step away from you that finally gains his attention.

“Azriel—“ Rhysand begins to intercept but abruptly pauses when the spymaster continues, fingers pointed at the leader of the Night Courts armies.

“You made her stay today because you were jealous.”

The High Lord goes still, violet eyes sliding from one friend to the other. “What?”

“She had a date and Cass was jealous because he has feelings for her and is too afraid to say anything.” Azriel can’t seem to stop once he’s started; such pure rage burning beneath his skin at the selfishness that resulted in such unimaginable pain.

“You think any of that matters right now?” Cassian doesn’t even sound like himself; no booming voice or need to make his point, no logical facts and carefully thought out points. He can’t even stop looking at you, eyes glassy and shoulders slumped when remembering what you’d looked like just two hours earlier. “I thought I didn’t deserve her before but now—after this? I know I don’t.”

[copperbadge]

RE watching thoughts: I’m not 100% sure, but it might be that the whole “I am not my thoughts” is about engaging and identifying with your metacognition MORE than your initial thoughts. Because I get where you’re coming from - what is a consciousness but a collection of thoughts and feelings? But you can also have thoughts about your own thoughts that are more useful for dealing with whatever situation you’re in, I guess. (Random aside - every time I start thinking about thinking about thinking my brain inevitably starts thinking about Tiffany Aching and The Wee Free Men.)

I really should have replied to this ask sooner because it's going to seem like a non-sequitur now (this was sent much earlier in March) but I'm kind of glad I didn't, because I've been chatting with people about this and I think I understand more why there's an emphasis in some therapies on the idea that we are not our thoughts.

(I uh, haven't read the Tiffany books so I'm not much help there.)

I am coming to understand that many, perhaps most, people judge themselves, comprehensively and harshly, based on their thoughts. Perhaps it's just a lot of people who struggle with mental health, but given the commonality of the sentiment I don't know if I'd confine it that tightly; generally it appears that people cannot conceive of themselves as anything other than a binary of good or bad. So many people I've talked to about this portion of DBT, the watching-questioning-identifying thoughts portion, say that it helps to snap them out of a spiral of "I'm a horrible person, I deserve to suffer/die, I can never be redeemed" after they've failed at something, or had a negative thought, or reacted poorly to an unexpected event.

That is not something I've ever experienced. I mean, jokingly maybe, but not in a real, internal sense.

And that's not to brag -- I'm not saying I think I'm a good person, either, because I don't think I'm a good person. I don't conceive of myself in terms of good or bad. I never cuddle my cats and think "I'm such a good cat dad" or forget to feed them and think "I should die now." I have a perpetual morally neutral attitude towards my own existence; my thoughts and actions might trend me one direction or another but I'm aware of the temporary nature of that. If I fuck up I'll worry about who I might have hurt or whether I'll be fired or what's going to happen as a consequence, if I am polite to someone who didn't deserve it I know I was acting kindly in the moment, but I don't make an inherent moral judgement of myself based on that. And it seems like the vast majority of people do. Which you would think would make me feel pretty good about myself, but honestly...I don't know.

A lot of people I know who have ADHD or are Autistic have talked about seeing themselves as other, as alien -- like that one webcomic artist who draws themself with little antennae to indicate they're strange and different. I've always understood why one might do that, but I never felt that way myself, before or after the diagnosis. After all, let's remember, I was The Normal* Child of my siblings, and if I was The Normal One before the diagnosis, why wouldn't I remain Mostly Normal after?

* As ever, I'm using "normal" as a cultural term, to indicate what we think of as mainstream, not because normal is a thing that really exists.

My life has been relatively solitary -- I have friends and family and I love them but I'm rarely part of a large group, I don't spend a lot of time out in public interacting with people, I'm not a big socializer. Before the Adderall, I really couldn't be, I took too much psychic damage from interpersonal interaction, so I chose those very carefully. And now my DBT class has been a rare moment when I'm encountering contradictions to a lot of my assumptions about the way human beings in our society interact, react, and behave. I just...don't fit that mold very well. I think of it as having crossed wiring, not in the sense that I'm faulty but just in the sense that I'm very, very different. Not Normal. It's not exactly a bad feeling but it's certainly not a great one, internalizing the sensation of alienness.

DBT is proving to be a mixed bag but not in the way I or my therapist intended -- it seems to be either things I was already instinctively doing or things that simply do not apply to me. In one way it's disappointing because it means there isn't much help to be had (we're a little over halfway through the course and I keep thinking "Maybe next class will be useful") but on the other hand it's validating that so much of what I came up with myself as unconscious coping mechanisms is literally what I would have been told to do anyway.

Sometimes it's a combination of both, though, which really blows. I guess most people, if they reframe another person's actions, actually find emotional relief in that, and I don't. An example from the class is that if someone is rude to you, you can consider how they might be having a hard day, and be polite in return; that's great, in terms of defusing a situation, and it's something I do a fair amount of. But apparently it's also something that for most people results in feeling less awful about the interaction, and that's not the case for me. Which is why so much of DBT feels to me like lying to oneself. It's not lying for most people.

So, yeah. I'm going to finish out the course and keep trying things with the therapist but I suspect given everything, I might already be at "as good as it gets" in terms of emotional work. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, and there is still the option to try medication that could help, but I think there will come a point where I'm going to have to deal with the fallout of just how different I am, and how that has impacted my life. Might end up a good thing; something I've really been trying to resolve is unhappiness over being unpartnered and highly likely to remain that way, and at least if this provides a better understanding of why, then perhaps I can process that and put it to rest in a way I've been trying to do but not succeeding well at.

So, we'll see. But I find it both fascinating and kind of horrifying how many people can believe they are irredeemably bad, even if the belief is only temporary, simply because they had an uncharitable thought or impulse. It makes me somewhat grateful for the crossed wires, at least.

[jxydiel]

Dean winchester x male!reader

Note : I’m just writing to pass some time nothing serious but I hope you will still enjoy

English is not my first language sorry if there’s mistakes

Dean comes to pick up drunk (Y/N) from a work gathering.

.

.

.

(Y/N) was about to pass out, slumped over a table in a restaurant whose name he didn't even know. His colleagues made him drink in abundance when he didn’t wanted to go at this gathering in the first place. They played stupid games and a girl confessed her feelings for him. That’s all he could remember at the moment. That was surprisingly a lot. His tie was in the way and he undid it in a clumsy gesture before looking around him. Everyone had vanished. Only empty or half-drunk glasses decorated the table with loneliness. (Y/N) wouldn’t lie, it did worried him but his sleepiness was way more intense and his head went back on the hard and cold wood. Bobby will definitely be mad to see him come back home in this state.

Bobby adopted (Y/N) when he was a teenager since he knew his biological parents who died during a hunt. That’s how (Y/N) became so close with the Winchester. He didn’t really grew up with them since he got adopted at the time Sam went to college and Dean was hunting with John but he saw them way too often. At first, when they met, (Y/N) didn’t like Dean. He was too arrogant, too… (Y/N) didn’t really knew, he was just too Dean. (Y/N) realised way later that he was probably annoyed at the fact he loved him way much more than he should. Dean was way too perfect in his eyes. He loved him but Dean would never in return. At least not as something other than Bobby’s adopted son, so as a so called lil’bro.

(Y/N) head started to hurt and his vision made him have doubts about reality. Actually, all his colleagues abandoned him there. It was really a surprise. He never had been the most liked. On the contrary, The girl, she was quite popular at the office so some of them left with jealousy but the most abandoned him because he rejected her. At least it would be a better excuse than just the fact they disliked him. (Y/N) didn’t reject her in a harsh way just in honesty. He liked someone else for so many years now. But I guess his colleagues didn’t see it the same. The girl cried and made herself the victim so everyone supported her and saw (Y/N) as a villain. Obviously, no one would help a drunk villain right ?

One of the barman went to (Y/N) and checked on him. He shook him, going from gently to briskly, but nothing (Y/N) didn’t regained consciousness. (Y/N) wasn’t even feeling anything. The bartender sighed and picked up the customer's phone. Unfortunately, he had a habit of calling the relatives to pick up his terrible customers. The barman went stray to the emergency contact and didn’t hesitate. The other responded quickly at his pleasure and he explained the situation quite annoyed.

On the other side, Dean wasn’t expecting this situation. He was about to finally go to sleep after his terribly long day and now he was back on the road. This is probably one of the routes where he drove the impala at its highest speed. Before leaving, Dean warned Sammy that he was going to get (Y/N) and the brother didn’t asked much more. He was used to it by now. It wasn’t the first time it happened. Dean leaving at whenever hours of the day to help (Y/N). The older Winchester arrived not long after the call and went stray to (Y/N)’s table. The man looked in an awful shape and that made Dean frustrated, probably anger. He took a chair and sat next to him.

- “(Y/N), I’m here.” Started Dean softly.

The other turned his head in the direction of the voice with implacable slowness. He thought he was dreaming. Dean couldn't be there, he was in another state normally. The barman gave the phone back to Dean that thanked him in the background. (Y/N) was just sitting awkwardly his eyes fixed on Dean. He realised the situation and felt ashamed. He bothered Dean. The person with maybe the most things to do in this world. Dean was on a case with Sammy he couldn’t be here, even more at this hour he should be resting. He couldn’t just drive here and take care of him like that. (Y/N) wasn’t the happiest when he drank, that was a fact.

Dean looked at the other with sad eyes and made him sat straight. (Y/N) played with his tie again and Dean helped to take it off.

- “I’m driving you home, let’s go.”

Dean picked the other up easily and placed (Y/N)´s arm around his shoulder. (Y/N) didn’t helped much and staggered with difficulty.

- “Come on buddy, help me a bit”

Dean gently sat him down in the car before going back to his own seat. The other didn’t even said anything since he was here and it worried him more than he could admit. They both sat there in silence for a while. The Winchester also couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

- “What happened ?” The taller one continued.

- “Nothing serious.” (Y/N)’s voice was sore and difficult to hear.

- “You expect me to believe that ?”

- “It’s the truth. I was at a gathering that’s all. I didn’t know the bartender would call you. You shouldn’t be here. You should have declined, they would have called someone else.”

- “I’m glad they called me. How else would you have gotten home? Call who else ? Do you have any friends other than us ? I don’t think so. Don’t you ever think ? Drunk as you are right now something could have happened to you.” Dean’s voice sounded harsher than what he would have like it to be.

- “I’m sorry.” (Y/N) was only watching at his hands while he played with them, stressed. “I didn’t wanted to bother you.” The conversation was uncomfortable and felt so far away in his state.

- “come on, you’re never bothering me sweetheart. That wasn’t what I was implying. I’m just worried about you.”

- “I know it wasn’t what you were saying. But I’m still a burden to you Dean. You have more important things to do than that. I’m not a kid you need to take care of. Gosh I hate this.”

- “But, you’re the most important” replied Dean deeply serious.

- “That’s not true and you know that” (Y/N) didn’t liked the answer.

- “That’s not true for you but that’s true for me” the anger of the taller one kept on increasing.

- “Don’t say things you don’t mean Dean. Not things like that. Don’t mess with me.”

(Y/N)‘s head wasn’t clear at all at the moment. He didn’t knew how to think correctly. Dean could mean it but not in the way he wished he did. (Y/N) was convinced Dean though he was the most important just because Bobby ordered the boys to always look after him. It was nothing more, nothing less. Dean couldn’t love him.

- “Drive me to a motel, Bobby can’t see me in this state he will got mad and it’s not good for his heart.” (Y/N) stated coldly.

Dean started ‘baby’ without a word and drove to where he was ordered. (Y/N) took out his pack of cigarettes off his pocket and light up one. Dean looked at him in disbelief and took it from him before throwing it out off the window.

- “Dean come on !”

- “We have a rule. Not in my car and I stop bothering you with it.”

- “It’s expensive, you could have just told me to turn it off.” (Y/N) was definitely more than pissed off.

- “just quit smoking it’s easier.” Dean was being deadly serious. He hated it.

- “You’re a funny guy, you know. You quit drinking.”

- “Quit drinking first if you end up like this every time.”

- “I told you I didn’t wanted to. It’s just work. I had to or I will be a paria or some stuff like that.”

- “I believe you’re already one honey.” Dean was actually joking on this but how (Y/N)’s colleagues were treating him was worrying him.

Dean sighed deeply. He didn’t knew how to help the other. He knew something was up with (Y/N) for some time now but when he tried to get the end of it (Y/N) pushed him away every time. On the contrary, Sammy knew more on the subject. Dean was convinced on that. The eyes of Sammy were always implying something when it comes to (Y/N). Like a big secret that the big brother was the only one not knowing. (Y/N) swore he never told Sammy anything but something was fishy.

They arrived pretty quickly at the motel and Dean took a room for both of them while (Y/N) sat in entry drinking water to come back on earth. The Winchester took the key and went back to the other. He helped (Y/N) to stand up while the other explained he could manage alone. They headed to the room in a tense silence they never really had between them. (Y/N) never behaved that cold with Dean. He felt far away and it was strange. Dean didn’t liked it. He didn’t like the feeling all this procured him. He hated the tension. The only time there was any was when they met and it was ages ago. It wasn’t normal.

Dean unlocked the door and directly throw his stuff on the bed. Only one bed. (Y/N) frowned. It wasn’t the first time they actually shared one but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. There’s wasn’t any reason behind this choice. Generally, when they shared a bed Sammy was there too, so it was just less expensive to take two big bed than three. But right now, Dean could have just take two. It was just them only. Sammy wasn’t there.

- “Why did you took only one bed ?” It wasn’t just coldness, (Y/N) voices was deeply stressed, like he was scared.

- “Oh, I didn’t through of it. I’m just used to us sharing one I guess.” Dean unpacked some stuff, not looking at the other.

- “Well I don’t want to.”

Dean eyes went stray on (Y/N) who was avoiding his stare. The Winchester analysed the other up and down. (Y/N) was staying in a corner of the room not moving a single part of his body. He just looked so uncomfortable in every aspect. His hands were twitching from stress. It felt wrong.

- “Hey what’s going on ? Talk to me. What’s happening to you ?”

- “I don’t wanna share a bed with you.”

- “I don’t think that’s the real matter it never bothered you before.”

- “It always did.” It was a half lie. It’s not like he disliked it but (Y/N) felt wrong every time. Like he shouldn’t because if Dean knew the truth he would probably be disgusted or something.

- “Really ?” Dean frowned. “You never told me. You could have said so.”

(Y/N) didn’t responded and stayed in his corner his eyes on the ground. The Winchester walked to him in worry and tried to catch his eyes.

- “Do I need to take another room ? Do you want me to do that ?”

Still no answer from the other, no look, nothing. Dean took his hand in the greatest softness like (Y/N) could break from that.

- “(Y/N) talk to me. What’s wrong ?”

(Y/N) eyes suddenly locked with dean’s in pure sadness. Dean felt like his heart was breaking in pieces he hated that look. Every time he saw it he was swearing to himself it would be the last time and yet (Y/N) was sad again. He failed his mission. Dean put his hand gently on the cheek of the other.

- “what’s going on ? Huh ? Tell me.”

- “I can’t” (Y/N) was about to cry. Every word was just pure torture to pronounce.

- “why ? You can tell me anything. You know you can.”

(Y/N) shook his head to say no and Dean hugged him to calm him down. He rubbed the other’s back gently.

- “You’re fine, it’s gonna be okay.” At this point Dean was probably reassuring himself too.

Dean continued hugging him while (Y/N) tears fell down slowly, one by one.

- “You really can’t drink, huh.” Dean tried to joke.

- “I love you.” (Y/N)’s chest was about to explode like the world was ending.

- “And I love you too sweetheart. Always.”

- “No, Dean. I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you.”

And (Y/N) got silence as an answer. Dean stood back. He stopped the embrace and his heart broke. (Y/N) felt like suffocating, his chest was way to heavy. He felt disgusting, he felt wrong, he felt selfish, inconsiderate, unmindful. Not because they were two boys, who cared about that. But because it was Dean who Bobby presented like a big brother and always acted like one even tho (Y/N) hated it more than anything. Plus, Dean liked girls and dated way too many for those feelings to be reciprocate right. He couldn’t do that to Dean. His tears became a wave in a second and his hole body started shaking.

- "You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying." Dean’s voice was distanced. “We will talk about this tomorrow.”

- “No I’m not. Dean I’m in love with you. Why would I lied on that ? I always loved you from the beginning and I think it’s kind of obvious. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. I will stop if you don’t want me to.”

(Y/N) felt inconsolable. Everything was blurry and silent around him and it was killing him slowly.

- “Dean I- ”

And just like that Dean was kissing him. (Y/N) always thought Dean kisses were rough, wild or stuff like that. He never imagined it could be that soft and comforting. Dean hand was in his hair caressing it. Everything felt sweet and gentle. That was so unmatching with Dean image and if he wasn’t in a state of pure shock he would have definitely chuckle about it.

When (Y/N) finally realised what was happening he pushed Dean slowly away.

- “Dean you can’t”

- “what ? Why ? Did you disliked it ?” Asked the taller one, concerned.

- “No it’s not that. But why ? You can’t kiss me just to please me or calm me down. That’s wrong. You can’t miss lead me like that."

- "what ? No. I didn’t do it for that (Y/N). I didn’t did it just for you. I love you too, that’s why."

- “that’s not true. You can’t.”

- “Why can’t I ? You can’t forbid me. Why would I, in the middle of the night, drive through several states, at full speed, just to pick you up if I didn’t love you.”

- “Because Boddy told you two to take care of me.”

- “Honey. He told us that when we were kids. What are we now ? I’m 26 and you’re 24. We’re grown men. I don’t need Bobby to tell me to care about you. I just do. Because I love you.”

(Y/N) stayed silent looking at Dean in disbelief.

- “Is that why you never liked when I said you were the most important thing to me ? You thought it was because of Bobby that I was saying that ?”

- “Yes.” (Y/N) just nodded softly in shame.

- “That’s insane. Sweetheart I can think for myself I don’t just follow Bobby orders because he says so. I love you because you’re you not because anyone told me to.”

Dean sighed and hugged the other one more time. He felt relieved. The big problem wasn’t something unsolvable in the end. He continued :

- “I love you too. Now let’s get some sleep I’m exhausted.”

(Y/N) nodded in Dean arms softly hugging him tied.

- “I really hope this isn’t a drunk dream" chuckled (Y/N)

- “You will see in the morning.”

[arvandus]

Obey Me: OG + NB Theory - Something's Fishy About Barbatos...

Look, I'm just gonna scream into the void and see if the void screams back cuz I'm hyperfixating and need to sleep. Sorry if this has been done before btw; I know OG has been out for forever and I’m finally catching up to everyone else… but humor me. 😅

I'm calling it now, OG lesson 80 and NB are CONNECTED.

(read more for length and OG spoilers)

This black crevasse thing isn't over, and NB is a continuation of that.

What makes me say that?? Because it's hinted at during the morning after interactions with Barbatos in Lesson 80-12.

To recap what happened at the end of OG, a dark crevasse was accidentally opened and Mammon, Levi, and Asmo were sucked in. Solomon called on Barbatos to save them and bring them back, and then seal the crevasse. Later, it's pointed out that while Solomon was strong enough to close the crevasse, he didn't have the ability to save the brothers. He used Barbatos and his time powers to save them.

Which MEANS that they were technically dead once they were sucked in, and Barbatos reversed their deaths using his time ability when he pulled them out.

Afterwards, Barbatos started having horrible headaches, and the brothers started to cease to exist - Levi turned invisible, no one could remember Mammon's name, and Asmo no longer had a reflection. By the end of it, when the group has opened a new dark crevasse and are trying to throw the magical item (the treasure chest) into the abyss to fix it, all three brothers are invisible, Levi can no longer touch solid objects, and Barbatos is barely clinging to consciousness.

Of course, the magic from the chest is released, it's sucked into the dark crevasse, the crevasse is sealed, etc. etc. The brothers are back to normal, and Barbatos's headaches are no more. It seems as if all's well that ends well...

OR IS IT?

We get to stay the night at the castle, and the next morning, Barbatos wakes us up. This is already suspicious, since it's pretty much implied that we went to bed with one of the brothers (Mammon, Beel, or Belphie). So the fact that Barbatos is waking us up for breakfast instead of whatever brother we selected to go to bed with...?? Weird. Normally, I'd expect Mammon to nag us awake, Belphie to still be in bed with us, and Beel to probably bring food to us in bed. But nope, we get Barbatos.

Sus. Very sus.

And for good reason. As it turns out, Barbatos is acting... different. There's so many ways I can dive into how exactly based on the different interaction options, but that will add too much length to this post, so I might make a separate one later.

Either way, he's definitely not quite acting himself. So much so, that we get a chance to point it out to him as a dialogue option regardless of what romantic/nonromantic option we chose prior:

I'll type it here for those who need it:

MC: Is it just me, or is something different about you? Barbatos: About me? No, I don't think... Barbatos: ...Wait. Actually, perhaps you're right.

Then he just proceeds to be like, "Okay, come meet us for breakfast! Toodles!"

Like?!?!

BRUH, YOU CAN'T JUST RESPOND LIKE THAT AND NOT EXPAND UPON IT???

It's not even the fact that he doesn't expand on it - that part is actually very normal for him. He's never one to tell more information than he wants. But I DID find it interesting that he straight up agrees/admits it to MC that something is different about him. AKA, we as the readers are SUPPOSED to notice this. It's important to the plot.

So, to recap, we know the following:

The brothers were sucked into the crevasse and essentially died as soon as they entered it

Barbatos saved them using his time abilities

Barbatos had SERIOUS consequences to doing so - really bad headaches, nearly incapacitated by the end of the finale, so much so that it was taking everything he had just to stay conscious with MC after they caught him. (This is MAJOR because he's always been so OP and invincible up to this point. Whatever this black crevasse power is, it's strong enough to bring him to his knees. Terrifying.)

Something is "different" about him afterwards, which he even acknowledges but doesn't expand on.

Whatever happened with that black crevasse impacted Barbatos. It did something to him. I'm not saying I know what that is, even though I have my theories (I'll save that for another post too). But I'm pretty damn sure this is going to tie into Nightbringer in some way. Barbatos has become a much more major character for the NB storyline, and there's a reason for it.

OG is the "fuck around" and NB is the "find out." Right now, we're finding out (...hopefully... if the writers can get their shit together).

(Also, as a side note, the idea of Nightbringer coming from the Dark Crevasse just tickles a part of my brain that I can't really describe.)

[outofgloom]

THE TOOLS WE HAVE

He was back. The room spun, and he heard, rather than saw, the worm-like creature slough away and plop into the water of the nearby pool. Then he was very, very sick...

When it was over, he raised himself shakily and checked the interface suspended above him. The six brains glowed faintly, and the six Matoran bodies attached to them remained motionless, as still and unmoving as they had been since the Signal crossed the universe and worked its terrible transformations, however long ago that’d been. There were no more days or years since the sky had been taken apart, so it was hard to keep track.

The various linkages of the interface seemed unphased, which was more than he had expected. He steadied himself against another wave of dizziness. His mind felt…bloated…expanded, worse than normal telepathy. Helryx had mentioned side-effects…the toll of “transtemporal projection”. She was one to know, of course.

Aside from that, everything had gone according to plan. He’d conveyed the information that Helryx had provided, as best he could. The Matoran that he had addressed…the Matoran had been strange—confused at first, but seeming to understand by the end. Afterward, he’d successfully pulled himself back, though the effort had been greater than expected.

Was it enough? How would he know? Even Helryx hadn’t been sure. The fact that he was still here, in this chamber, still in continuity with past thoughts…Did that mean he had failed? Would he even recognize success? The changes might be subtle...

He looked around. The chamber looked no different than before. He placed a hand against the cool stone of the floor and sent out a sonar pulse into the substructure. Mostly intact, no new incursions, although the ominous microtremors were still there, as always.

Unsatisfied, he stood and crossed to the long row of masks embedded in the wall nearby. He removed an Akaku and an Iden and placed them on the faces of two of the inactive Matoran. He tried not to look at them for too long. It still disturbed him to see them this way, even after all this time. His sensitive hearing registered the ever-so-slight shift and rasp of their autonomic breathing.

“Get used to it,” Helryx had told him time and again. “We work with the tools we have. If you succeed, you can have all the stimulating conversations with them that I’m sure you would’ve had otherwise. I never found Ce-Matoran to be particularly good talkers myself…”

Krakua wasn’t sure that he would ever get used to it.

The interface hummed ready. He stooped and positioned himself in the center again, and the six brains glowed in a circle above him like a living Suva. Eyes closed, he exhaled and activated his own Suletu.

Suletu into Iden. Up through the stones of the fortress his consciousness projected, broadened, then coalesced. He was in open air, hovering just above the central column. Into Akaku, he swept the interior rooms briefly from above. All as expected. The many defenses continued to be manned by his forces. No change.

Now he moved his mind-spirit out to the ramparts and brought the telescopic components of the Akaku online. The dense protosteel walls went transparent, and he looked beyond:

Dry oceanbed greeted him, but that was nothing new. He had hoped...but no. In all directions the waste spread from what had once been the shores of the fortress island. His fortress, now. The ocean floor was eaten into numerous holes and channels, all the way to the smoke-filled horizon. The Swarm appeared to be focusing its efforts elsewhere for the time being. He glanced up at the sky, or what once had been sky—now a mixture of jagged gaps and fitful flickering lights. It was a strange, broken thing, and beyond his sky there was another sky. More alien, with a single great light burning down.

He remembered when the Swarm had started to eat the sky, and the stars had gone out one by one. That was when he’d known for sure that the world was over.

He had not felt that way when the first Cataclysm had struck the universe, and they all learned that the Great Spirit had been deposed by a treacherous Makuta named Teridax, nor even when the second Cataclysm followed, and the seers said that the Makuta was contending with the Great Beings themselves.

Even when the Swarms had appeared from every hollow and deep crevasse, and the strange Signal washed across the universe, converting every Matoran it reached into a servant of the Swarm, into a destroyer...he had not yet given up hope. Everyone he had sworn to protect, gone. All but the Ce-Matoran, whose minds were different, and who instead were simply hollowed out by the Signal and left empty. The seers cried that the Great Beings had cursed the universe for the crimes of the Makuta, and had sent their robotic servants to accomplish one last terrible Duty: to eat the world into Nothing.

Even then he had not fully despaired. But the sound of the world being unlidded: a deep, unnatural groaning noise that shook the atmosphere and went down into his innermost ears, into his bones…That had been the moment. There was no going back.

But Helryx had another plan. A backup plan. She always did.

The interface powered down as he reinstalled himself into his own body. He sat motionless, letting the seconds beat by. Nothing outside had changed, as far as he could tell. After all the battle and desperate strategy, all the effort, the sacrifices and pain, all the millennia of preparation…he had hoped that it would be enough, that he would not have to—

The ground shook slightly, enough to ripple the water of the dark pool. Suddenly there was a squat figure in the doorway at the other end of the chamber. Two icy-blue eyes stared at him from beneath a domed faceplate. It was one of his. It chkt'd at him in its ugly way, and he understood it—he had by now become adept at communicating with the creatures via their sound-frequencies.

“INCOMING INCURSION. NORTHERNMOST HEXTANT, BELOW,” it chkt’d.

He’d been the only Toa of Sonics in existence when the second Cataclysm arrived, and that made him uniquely suited to combat the Swarm. He was able to confuse their command-structure, deactivating individual units entirely or even turning them to his own will.

“RETURN TO COMPLEMENT,” he chkt’d in reply. “INTERCEPT AND DIVERT.”

The swarm-unit acknowledged his command and swiveled to go. Another tremor went through the floor as it did so, and for a moment it teetered, off-balance.

“Careful, Mazek—” he began to say involuntarily, but stopped. Helryx’s words drilled into him. They are gone. Their names are gone. He fought back a tide of memories, memories of a Ko-Matoran, a friend…the accursed Signal ringing in their ears—unexpected, too fast for him to neutralize it with his own counter-vibration—of the painful sound of limbs buckling and stretching, of armor fusing here and splitting there, of a voice pleading for help, pleading as the vocal tract deformed and the words distorted, and the eyes elongated into slits, still icy-blue.

Disconnecting it from the rest of the Swarm had been the only mercy he could give. They are gone. Shut it out.

No, he would never get used to it, not even after ten thousand years.

The swarm-unit had left. He sighed, resigned at last to what he must do. He removed the Iden and Akaku from the interface and re-cycled the system, checking the attachments on the Masks of Truth, Translation, and Helryx’s own Mask of Psychometry once again.

Next, he retrieved a stack of tablets from a nearby table. They were covered with writing and calculations: Helryx's logs. He waved to the far wall, and the door of the vault opened with a hiss. The chamber beyond was cold and damp, green-tinged, and filled from top to bottom with hundreds of small tubes.

And in each one there was a worm.

He surveyed the result of their centuries-long hunt through the wreckage of the world. The Order had known for some time that the transtemporal memory encoded in the nascent minds of the creatures could be used to reconnect to moments in the past, but never to change those moments. Not until Helryx’s research, and the creation of the interface.

He consulted the tablets again, tracing along the carefully organized shelves. He would have to select another specimen, target the right moment, and communicate the right message, but which to choose? Helryx had been unsure if a sequence was required, even with all her years of traversing alternate dimensions and spying on different timelines using the last remaining Olmak.

For his first attempt, just minutes ago, he had used the one that Helryx deemed to have the broadest potential: a specimen that had attached itself to a single Matoran prior to either of the cataclysms. The messages he had transmitted were obscure, something about the importance of “lightning” and “six heroes”. That was as much as he could transmit through the link.

It was odd, though. The Matoran had not responded to the name Helryx had listed. It insisted its name was something else, something starting with a “V”. He couldn't recall. Hopefully it wasn't vital. The target had been located in an important place, after all—very close to the Core. Surely it had been the right Po-Matoran...

What next? The logs offered many options. A number of specimens had apparently interacted with the Makuta Teridax himself at one point, but such direct interference seemed unlikely to succeed. Another of the worms had apparently linked itself to an ancient entity called Tren Krom at least forty millennia before the cataclysms. There might be an opportunity there, yes…

He pulled down the canister containing that specific worm and tucked it under his arm, returning to the main chamber. There was another shudder in the ground, and the stasis tubes clinked and jostled as he moved to the interface, preparing to unseal the tube.

Something stirred in the doorway on the far side of the chamber—another of his swarm-units, or one of the lesser couriers he’d peeled off. He chkt'd to dismiss it without looking, too absorbed in his task.

“The Manutri chirps its greeting,” a voice said, “but the icehawk is earless and cannot hear. It dives for the kill. Who is the greater fool?”

Krakua’s eyes snapped upward. It was a Matoran—bent and ill-shaped—standing across the room from him, examining the interface with sharp eyes.

“Who—?”

Another tremor shook the fortress. Harder this time. His forces must have engaged with the latest incursion below ground. The Matoran moved into the room. A Po-Matoran. A familiar mask. Krakua stared. For a split second, he thought he might be hallucinating. His mind still had that bloated feeling. It was possible...

“I take it that, from your perspective, we have only just spoken,” the Matoran said, stepping into the room. “For me, it’s been a little longer, but here I am.”

Krakua finally found his words: “How are you not…not…”

“Not part of the Swarm, like the rest? When the fields of Flameleaf dissolve each season and must be replanted, the hardier Firevine is exposed, for it does not melt. But that’s not really important, is it?”

It was relief that he was feeling. Relief like pain, washing over him. He felt his legs go weak. He hadn’t had a real conversation for such a long time. It was difficult to formulate his thoughts aloud.

“I thought…I thought nothing had changed,” he stammered. “Thought the message didn’t work. I can’t believe it.”

“Well...” The face of the Matoran now grew flat and serious. “You’d better get over that quick. I’ve had time to consider this plan of yours, messy though it is. You’ve at least done most of the legwork, I see.” The Matoran motioned to the open vault.

Krakua nodded slowly, still feeling a little dazed.

“First,” the Matoran continued, “you can put back that worm you’re holding. It’s the wrong one—the markings are off. We’re looking for a specimen from Metru Nui, around the time of the first Cataclysm. You have this, yes?”

“Metru Nui…” Krakua set the tube down and focused his attention, sorting through the tablets he still held. “Yes, here. I dredged the specimen from the ruins of the city outskirts, but Helryx classified it as ‘minimal impact’.”

“Did she? How disappointing. No matter. There is, or was, a certain Toa of Fire in the city who will need some special...encouragement, I think. And then…then we’ll see what happens.”

“Encouragement? There’s nothing about that in the notes…I wouldn’t even know where to start...”

“Encouragement was never her strong suit, I suppose. Well, I'm sure your mentor did her best, but this may have been a little beyond her expertise. Where is she, by the way? I thought she would be here.”

Krakua blinked: “She…The last time…she never came back.”

“Encouraging.”

“She was probably just delayed. Time runs differently on other planes. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe not.” The Matoran shrugged dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll work with the tools we have...”

The tools we have. Krakua’s gaze wandered to the interface as the Matoran spoke. The masks stared back at him. The eyes were open, glowing but empty.

“...And we’ll have to get a bit more creative with our messages,” the Matoran was saying. “We can do better than...whatever it was you relayed to me back then.”

The floor trembled again, just a little. By the feel of it, he could tell that his forces had been successful in deflecting the incursion. His tools...They’d report in soon.

They are gone. Their names are gone. But if you succeed...

Krakua shook himself. The Matoran was looking at him expectantly. “Well, uh...the messages have to be simple,” he said. “Otherwise the disturbance is too great, and the timeline splits.”

“Of course. Basic causality.”

“And they have to be cryptic as well—not too easy for the target to comprehend immediately, but still decipherable at the right moment.”

“You don’t say.”

“That’s the hardest part, really. Helryx hated it, and I was never any good at riddles...”

Velika smiled.

[nix-xin-art]

//SPOILERS FOR HSR 2.2 STORY

It’s 1AM and I’ve finished the latest update for HSR

So let’s talk about it, and by talk I mean let’s write out a few paragraphs about my wildly running thoughts and feelings about my husbands

FIRST OF ALL, let’s talk about Gallagher. The man that you are, I never stopped being a Gallagher apologist and I’m so happy I didn’t. The fact he’s so laid back and nonchalant about having dormancy as a pet is actually such a serve on his part.

I think Gallagher in particular had a cool little story here, with the introduction of his actual connection to Mikhail being so fucking sad man, I need to give this guy a cwtch because Oml. The scene where he showed his frustrations towards Mikhail were some of my favourites, he gets a little bitter about Mikhails unwavering faith in the express. And in my brain I’ve interpreted that bitterness as a regret that maybe he could’ve done more for him, maybe been something else to have faith in dispite Gallagher not having a faith for himself.

A tasty tidbit that I enjoy from Gallagher is also the fact he calls Sunday ‘Mr Wings’ as a snarky nickname. As a Gallgher enjoyer and a Sunday slapper I enjoy that.

As for why I have ended my friendship with Sunday: Welt.

This is all I have to say, my man wholly trapped welts consciousness in his own to take him as a bargaining chip for the express, eventually hoping to trap the rest of the crew too. I don’t like that.

Im all seriousness though I do like the way all of that was handled. Welt was on his self sacrificial bullshit again and ended up getting himself into possibly detrimental trouble AGAIN. When will this man learn? It’s been 80 something years mr yang, reflect, I beg of you.

Another side tangent. The fact welt immediately understood something was up with Sunday? The fact welt immediately understood there was something wrong with gopherwood. This man never misses and I love it. I’m convinced that the reason he had to be split from the main group in 2.1 was because he would’ve seen through Gallaghers lies in an instant.

Especially since he brought up Gallaghers suspicious history lesson detour as soon as he heard about it.

Im so normal right now oh my god I need to go bounce around the walls for a bit

Also, side side tangent. The scene with the trailblazers and Mica? (Was that his name? The grave keeper in the dreamfulx reef) When welt is mumbling and he just says “huh? Were you talking to me?” I know for a fact that hoyo doesn’t skimp out on the tiny details and even himeko made a noise of confusion in that scene (if I remember correctly of course) but I might be looking too deeply into that.

Also. What is with penacony and having such plot relevant 4* characters. First it was Gallagher, now it’s Misha??? Hello??? I’m loving this 4* love.

NOW ONTO BOOTHILL. I love that guy he’s such a dumbass in all the best ways. I’ve read through the leaks of his story and… oh boy… knowing what k know… ‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt such a long awaited reunion’… currently kaying my ess.

Then there’s Acheron. Acheron has played a huge part in all the story quests of penacony so far and I’m actually starting to really warm up to her, it might’ve been mostly because abuse of her cutscene with Tiernan. That shit pulled at my heartstrings in all the most painful ways. Also the art in these cutscenes???? Hello??? Hoyo are really popping off with these. I was looking at all the little rendering details like a goddamn owl.

Lastly I wanna talk a little bit about the boss battle for this update… specifically the design of that thing… oh my god it’s gorgeous… this massive robot angel that’s also a conductor, it’s such a gorgeous design I just start kicking my feet and rolling around the floor, the boss design in this game is goddamn beautiful. First Phantilia now this.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Never have I Ever: Vampire AU?

I actually have never written vampires. Welp. Here goes a first try??? Am I crossing my vampire lore with zombies and werewolves??? It’s not usually my flavor and Idk what I’m doing, but here you go, Anon!

❤️ kdnfb

Never Have I Ever

RATED E: vampires and biting (duh), questionable medical stuff, sexual content, dark themes.

She should be relieved. Peeta is back. He’s been missing for nearly six months, vanished the night his brothers took him out for a surprise bachelor party. He’d last been seen on the bar’s security footage, stumbling, apparently drunk, in the arms of a woman Katniss hadn’t recognized. At first, the police suggested she was a prostitute who had taken Peeta out back of the bar to conduct her services.

Katniss refused to believe that. Not her Peeta.

Further examination made them postulate that she had somehow drugged Peeta and taken him against his will.

While that thought made Katniss violently ill, she was more willing to believe it than the prostitute theory. But why would someone want to abduct Peeta?

And as she stares through the widow of a surgery room at the hospital, Katniss doesn’t even try to hide her tears. Emaciated and pale, sweating with a dangerously high fever, the man they’ve identified as Peeta Mellark thrashes and fights the doctors, until they sedate him and strap him to the gurney.

In a daze, Katniss listens to the litany of his symptoms. He seems to be fighting some kind of blood borne disease. His heart rate is so low that the monitors keep declaring him flatlined. He’s not responding to normal fever reducers and antibiotics seem to have no effect. The only thing that seems to help are blood transfusions. They’re not certain yet if it’s contagious. Measures have been taken to isolate him.

His body shows signs of malnutrition, dehydration, and abuse. They haven’t ruled out the possibility of rape but won’t know for sure until he regains consciousness.

Her mother brings her coffee she barely drinks and food she barely touches.

“You need to eat,” her sister urges when she stops by during one of her breaks.

“Today should’ve been our six month anniversary,” she murmurs and pushes the flaky croissant away from her.

Eventually, he wakes. And Katniss is allowed to see him and speak to him through the glass.

He remembers her and presses his palm to the window, as though desperate to reach her. She places her hand so they’d be palm to palm if the glass weren’t between them.

“I love you. You have to let me go,” he says in a throaty voice and Katniss shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

Several days later, the fever finally stabilizes and now the doctors worry that his body temperature occasionally dips dangerously low. But he’s started eating, mostly meat that’s nearly raw, and his need for the blood transfusions has dropped to once every couple of days.

He still doesn’t remember what happened to him. That or he refuses to say.

On the day Katniss brings him home, Peeta stares around their apartment as though he doesn’t recognize the place at all. He can’t remember simple things like where he stores his favorite whisk or how the living room window often sticks and has to be juggled a certain way before you can open it.

At night, he refuses to touch Katniss.

She tries not to take it personally. The police now firmly believe he was taken by and escaped from some kind of human trafficking group.

She tries to tell herself that he’s just traumatized and will come back to her eventually. If she’s patient and loving enough.

His appetite has changed drastically, and Katniss rarely, if ever, sees him eating. He never baked or cooks for her anymore. He refuses to leave the house. He seems almost scared to do so. He can’t sleep at night. He does paint again, though. Sometimes he’ll lay in bed with her until she falls asleep, but when she wakes up, he’s locked himself in his studio. When he emerges, his skin will be pale and flecked or smeared with paint. Dark circles will ring his eyes. At least he’s painting, but he seems to take no joy in it and he refuses to let Katniss see any of his work.

When she suggests maybe he should seek out a therapist, someone he can talk to about what happened, he loses his temper.

They fight. They fight like they’ve never fought before. Katniss can only describe the expression glittering in Peeta’s eyes as malice as he yells at her that she’s asking too much of him.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I just want the man I was going to marry back! Just for one night, I need you to be my Peeta!”

“And what if I can’t? What if the cost of me being like that again is impossible to pay?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

She breaks down in tears after he storms from the apartment. Hours later, when he still hasn’t returned, Katniss drags herself to bed and stares at the empty pillow where Peeta’s head should be.

She sleeps. Fitful and marred with terrible, blood soaked dreams. She must sleep because she wakes to Peeta nuzzling her and whispering her name, inhaling at her throat and moaning.

She’s missed that sound. So desperately that she doesn’t question the sudden change or demand an apology. He licks something dark from the corner of his mouth and she shivers at the heat glittering in his cool blue eyes.

“I want to taste you. Katniss, I need to taste you now,” he practically growls. They push her shorts down just enough for him to slide between her legs. She sighs and then moans, her fingers clinging to the silken strands of his hair as his tongue relearns her taste.

He hasn’t forgotten much, she barely has time to think as he drives her so quickly towards orgasm that she doesn’t bother to quiet her moans. Damn the neighbors and courtesy.

She’s still dazed with an earth shattering release as Peeta settles between her spread thighs, licking her from his lips and grinning down at her as he teases her entrance with his tip.

“I miss this so much more than real food,” he whispers, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. Before Katniss can process his strange words, Peeta thrusts his cock inside her. He feels different, somehow, but he moves too deep and too quickly for her to name the difference.

And it feels good. So impossibly good, especially when Peeta kisses and nips at her neck. When she comes again, his moans and frantic thrusts tell her he’s right there with her. His teeth sink into her neck and his entire body shudders, and his euphoric moans border on obscene. Dazed and drugged on pleasure, Katniss sinks into a deep, dreamless sleep before he even pulls out of her.

He’s different after that. More like himself. He still refuses to go out much at all, and never alone or during the day. He still won’t talk about what happened during the six months he was gone. He still doesn’t cook and barely eats. He still won’t let Katniss see his paintings.

But he holds her at night and once a week, he’ll wake her and ravenously make love to her.

He’s been home almost a year when Katniss turns on the news one morning, singing to herself and scratching at the spot where Peeta bit her last night when he came.

“And it seems this couple suffered the same ritualistic style killing as the last three pairs. Their bodies were entirely drained of blood—“ Katniss pauses with the bread hovering over the toaster, honing in on the words. “—and left in a dumpster behind a bar. The killings seem to be happening at regular intervals, about once a week.”

“Hey,” Peeta says as he wraps his arms around her from behind and nuzzles her neck. “Anything interesting happening in the world?”

She drops the bread into the toaster and flicks off the tv. Turning in his arms, she smiles and kisses his lips.

“No. Nothing is wrong. Life is wonderful.”

[kywaslost]

Maternal Affections - Grell Sutcliff

A/N: When I tell you I slaved over this one, I SLAVED over this one! @idyllic-affections asked that someone write this for them, and I liked the idea so I decided to give it a shot. Usually, I knock out requests or ideas in one sitting, but this, this piece took DAYS. I worked on it every day for hours and ended up falling in love with this. I really hope yall like this one! And as a reminder, I haven’t read the manga yet so I’m sure there are things in this that aren’t canon at all.

Request:  fanfic writers, i NEED you all to write grell PLATONICALLY taking care of a young (16-18 kind of age range) non-binary reaper and being like a mother/big sister figure to them. just... her knowing what it's like. her knowing and truly understanding how much pain they were going through in life, how bad it must have been for someone as young as them to end up as a reaper. her making damn sure absolutely no-one treats them like that again because god knows grell is hard to handle normally; lord forbid someone genuinely piss her off. grell just taking a young lil non binary reaper under her wing, it would be so sweet.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, sh, drowning. Proceed with caution please <3

The line between reality and unconsciousness was such a blur you weren’t 100% sure you knew where you were. The last thing you could remember was sitting on the edge of the dock, looking out over the endless sea. Then the feeling of water flooding your lungs as you slowly lose consciousness. You remembered there being a warm breeze, but now you seemed to be cold. You couldn’t grasp your surroundings, floating in and out of consciousness.

Then there were voices. Your breathing stalled for only a moment, fearing you had been found before you could die. And that’s when you began assessing your physical state. You weren’t in any pain, not like you were before you lost consciousness. In fact, you felt just fine, as if you had only fallen asleep instead of attempting to take your own life. And you were lying down. Did you wash up on shore? Last you remembered, you were too far under the surface of the water to be seen.

“Well, good morning dear,” you heard someone say to your right. “You’re finally waking up!” 

You stilled, unsure you wanted to open your eyes just yet. You didn’t recognize the voice, and feared it was a nurse, or a doctor, that you’d open your eyes just to see a hospital room. 

“You can open your eyes, you know,” the voice spoke up again. 

You slowly opened your eyes, only to groan and close them again when you were met with a bright light. Blinking back the tears that formed from the light, you rubbed your eyes and sat upright. The room you're in didn’t look like a hospital room, which made you feel a bit better, until you realized you had no idea where you were, and the person beside you was a complete stranger.

They had bright red hair, dressed in extravagant red clothing. They sat in a cushioned armchair in the corner of the small room you were in. Their legs were crossed at the knees, and they smiled widely.

“Hello, darling.” There was a slight accent to their words.

“Where am I?” you groaned softly. Looking down, you saw a thin blanket covering your legs, and suddenly you were grateful for the fabric. You fiddled with the hem of the blanket as you asked, “Who are you?”

The stranger smiled even wider, bearing sharp, pointed teeth. “Why, I am the infamous Grell Stufliff, the most beautiful reaper around if I do say so myself.” The reaper flicked her long red hair over her shoulder, looking over to you. “Welcome to HQ. You’ll be spending a lot of time here, reviewing souls and whatnot.”

You were so lost and confused. You couldn’t believe what was going on. Surely this wasn’t true. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of oxygen. Maybe you haven't died yet, but in the process of doing so. But why were you dry?

“You’re confused, that’s common,” Grell said, pushing up off of the chair. “Follow me, and I’ll explain.” She walked over to the door, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder. “Coming, dear?” Snapping out of your thoughts, you pulled the blanket off of your lap, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and lowering yourself to the floor. You had no shoes, like you remembered, and you could feel the cold linoleum floor through your socks. Stumbling to the door, you followed Grell out into the hall.

“Am-am I dead?” you asked hesitantly, pulling at the hems of your sleeves. Grell turned around, walking backwards in order to talk to you. 

“Well of course you are darling, how do you think you got here?” She smiled kindly, leading you into a busy room, crowded with people trying on different outfits, much like a clothing store. “This is where people go after they end their lives.” Grell beamed at the sight of red, gripping your hand suddenly to drag you over to them. “Now, first thing’s first, a uniform. Most reapers wear black, but really you are allowed to pick whatever you like.” She let go of your hand to flick through the various tops, taking one off the hook and holding it up to your shoulders. “Oh, red suits you so well, darling! Positively stunning!”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Um, I’d prefer a different top, please.” 

Grell frowned, but nodded understandingly. “Aw, alright. I’ll help you, and explain more about why you are here.” 

As Grell helped you look for a new outfit, she also explained why you were with her, as well as what you are now. She explained the purpose of reapers, what to expect on the job, and the works, such as death scythes and the death schedule. You didn’t say anything, just taking in her words as you tried on various articles of clothing. 

You didn’t understand how you could feel so calm. You’d think waking up in a strange place with an unknown ‘human’ beside you would freak you out, let alone finding out you’re now a supernatural being. But death does that to someone, you think. You already felt safer in this new environment than you did back when you were still living. 

It wasn’t until you were dressed in your new clothes and led back down the hall that Grell asked for your name.

“Oh, I’m such a terrible woman!” She shrieked dramatically, falling onto you as you walked beside her. You pushed her away quickly, uncomfortable with her touch. She was still a stranger. “I haven’t asked for your name!”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking at the ground and shrugging. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

And it was now that Grell finally took in your appearance. Your slouched posture, as if you were trying to hide within yourself. You let your hair fall into your eyes, and avoided eye contact. You wouldn’t say much when you spoke, and had such a soft voice it was hard for ehr to hear you sometimes. It left her wondering how old you were.

She decided to back off a bit for the rest of the night, calming down in hopes of making you feel more comfortable. She helped you pick out the perfect pair of glasses, and even recommended death scythes. In the end, she had finished walking you through the beginning steps of becoming a reaper, and it was beginning to get late into the night. Grell was growing tired, and she could see that you were as well.

“Every reaper is assigned a trainee from time to time,” she explained, leading you to yet another unknown location. “So each reaper is assigned a housing unit with spare rooms for the trainees to stay until they become fully-trained.” Grell smiled as she pushed open another door and led you inside. “Welcome home! Mi casa es tu casa, as they say.” She opened yet another door, revealing a decently sized bed with a small closet, and even a desk tucked away in one corner. “This will be your room for the next few months. Make yourself at home!”

The next week passed too slowly for your liking. You learned more and more about becoming a reaper each day, and to be completely honest, you didn’t mind becoming a reaper. Sure, you were lonely, and it looked like a tedious job, but it seemed much better than the life you had when you were living. At least here, there was some understanding of pain between everyone.

You wouldn’t admit it, but having Grell by your side almost 24/7 really helped. She trained you hard. Enough to challenge you and leave you sore, but not enough to hurt you in any way. Every night, once you both returned home, she would make your dinner while you showered and changed into your night clothes.

One night, sleep eluded you. You layed in bed for hours, tossing and turning, but you just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. So you decided to get some fresh air. Grell’s apartment had a small balcony, with the entrance in the living room. So you snuck past Grell’s room, hearing her snores from the hall, as you slipped into the living room and out into the balcony. There wasn’t any furniture, so you settled in the corner, leaning your head against the railing.

Breathing in the fresh air, you closed your eyes, letting the gentle evening breeze caress your face. There was a slight chill in the air and you shivered, curling into a tight ball. 

“Darling, what are you doing out here?” You jumped, not hearing the balcony door slide open. Shooting your head up you saw Grell standing in the doorway, blanket draped over her shoulders and another one bundled in her arms. “Mind if I join you?”

You didn’t say anything, only moving your feet slightly so the reaper could sit across from you. She leaned over you, tucking her second blanket around you before sitting in front of you. She let you sit in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Is something troubling you, dear?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

Grell smiled kindly. “There’s no need to be sorry, love. Would it make you feel better if I stayed with you?”

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “Please?”

“Of course, darling.” Grell took this moment to analyze you again. You looked so young compared to the other reapers-to-be, and you were so quiet. The more she thought about it, Grell realized that she really didn’t know much about you. She only really knew your name, not your age, or how you died, or what caused you to become a reaper. 

“How old were you?” Grell asked quietly, also leaning her head against the balcony railing. 

“Hm?” you hummed, raising your eyes to meet Grell’s bright green ones.

“When you died. How old were you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before you answered. “18. I was 18 when I died.”

Grell inhaled sharply. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to die so young.”

You shrugged, closing your eyes again. “I did. I deserved to die. But it’s ok, it’s nicer here.”

Grell placed a comforting hand on your knee. “No you didn’t. No one deserves to be pushed to kill themselves so young.” She received no response, and that’s when the reaper realized that you had fallen asleep. She sighed out of grief for you. She didn’t know how you died, or what pushed you to do so, but Grell had grown fond of you over the past week.

She could never have kids of her own, but she felt so protective over you in this moment, so motherly towards you. So much so that she carefully picked you up, carrying you back to your room and tucking you in. Stepping out only long enough to grab a pillow, Grell returned to your room, making a make-shift bed on the floor beside your sleeping form.

Two days later and you were running off of no sleep. You’d spent the last two nights staring at the ceiling, not daring to sneak back out onto the balcony. By the second day, Grell could notice that something wasn’t right. You were much quieter than usual, and your movements were growing sluggish.

The reaper quietly made two cups of warm tea, bringing them to your bedroom during the early hours of the morning. Knocking softly, Grell slowly opened your bedroom door. As soon as she entered your room, however, her heart sank. Your back was towards the door, but that didn’t stop her from hearing your quiet sobs as you cried into your pillow.

“Oh, darling,” she said quickly, rushing over to the bed. Grell lowered herself to sit on the bed by your hips, then placed the two mugs of tea on the nightstand. “It’s alright, dear. I’m here with you.” She rubbed your back gently as a means of comfort, letting you cry ‘til your heart’s content.

When your tears were reduced to soft hiccups and stuttered breaths, Grell spoke again. “What’s troubling you darling?” she asked softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You sniffled, moving so you were laying on your back. Grell brushed the hair from your eyes. You looked like you wanted to speak, but you wouldn’t say anything. With a sigh, you pulled your blanket up to your chin then sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. “I thought that once I die, I would be ok. I wouldn’t have sleepless nights or anything to worry about. I’d be dead.”

“Oh, love,” the reaper cooed. “I understand how you feel. I was once in your shoes. It’s hard to understand the supernatural world while also coping with memories of your past life.”

Tears welled in your eyes again but you refused to let them fall, wiping them away with your sleeve. “Haven’t I struggled enough? I mean, it was so bad I had to kill myself, wasn’t that enough?” You hid behind your hands as you began to cry again. “I suffered for so long, I just wanted it to end.”

Grell slid to sit beside you against the wall then wrapped her arms around you, pulling you against her chest. You let her hold you, stroking your hair and whispering comforting words into the crown of your head. She held you like she’d hold a small child afraid of the monsters under their bed. 

While rocking you back and forth slightly, your sleeves slid up just ever so slightly. Grell expected as much, the scars on your forearms showing just how much pain you were in in your past life. She had them too, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt her seeing your scars. When you noticed her green eyes staring at your arms, you quickly pulled your sleeves back down, crying harder.

“Honey, it’s alright,” she cooed. “You don’t have to hide them, I have them too.”

After what felt like years of crying, you lay against Grell and she ran a hand through your hair. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the fact you felt so comfortable with the reaper at the moment, you began telling your story. 

“Drowning,” you muttered into Grell’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that dear?” she asked quietly. “I couldn’t hear you.”

You repeated, “Drowning. I drowned myself in the river.” Grell’s grip around you tightened. “I’ve always loved water. It’s so calm and I feel like everything will be ok. It’s a nice distraction. So I drowned myself so I could finally have peace.”

Grell was silent for a moment. “I know you may have talked about it when you were living, and it did nothing to help you, but you’re here now. Whatever, or whoever, hurt you is not here anymore. So if you’d like to talk about it, maybe you can finally put it behind you. And if you tell me, maybe I can help you, dear.”

You rubbed your eyes, putting your full weight against the red-head. You then proceeded to spend the next two hours spilling your life story to Grell. You told her about anything and everything, from how you were treated by the world, to how you felt about yourself. You told her about the time leading up to your death, what your thought process was and how you were feeling during that time. The best part was the fact that she didn’t judge you in the slightest. She only held you firmly, rubbing your back or running a hand through your hair. 

By the time you finished your tale, you were practically asleep in her arms. There was so much she wanted to say to you, but she couldn’t bear to wake you, and she couldn’t decide what she’d even say. So she just continued to hold and rock you, resting her head on your own. She was definitely keeping you home for the day. There was no way she was going to risk the other training reapers hurting you, either physically or emotionally, while you were in this state. 

For your remaining life as a reaper, Grell took you under her wing. She was unbearable most of the time, you learned after speaking with William once. But you learned how to handle her and her crazy personality. After officially becoming a reaper, Grell requested that she be paired with you, and you with her when either of you were scheduled to work. And when she wasn’t paired with you, she’d follow you, hidden within arms reach at any point in time.

When you were given your own apartment, you were lucky enough to be next door to your favorite reaper. You were still young, afterall, and didn’t fully understand how to live on your own in this new world. You still spent a few nights a week at Grell’s place, especially if you had a particularly hard day or weren’t feeling well. 

Once, Grell caught wind of some of the newer reapers talking about you and how you dressed. Oh boy, they began praying real quick when they saw Grell storm over, chainsaw propped up on her shoulder. Needless to say, those reapers were out of commission for a while, and Grell came home so pissed off you had to force her to go on a walk with you to cool off. 

Now that she knew your whole story, and just how young you were when you died, Grell kept an eye on you at all times. If you had a bad day and she knew before you came to her, she’d make sure she makes your favorite food for dinner, as well as have your favorite warm beverage on hand. Her quest room was always prepped and ready in case you wanted to stay with her. 

If you had to be gone for long periods of time due to work, she’d clean your apartment and do your laundry, making sure everything was clean by the time you returned home. Grell saw you as her own personal child, one she couldn’t have on her own. So she made sure to look after you and take care of you in any way she could.

[starryhiraeth]

Azriel x Reader

Warnings; Angst if you squint

Probs some spelling errors (but that’s normal here now)

He was pacing, how long had it been 30 minutes? An hour? 2 hours?

He couldn’t tell, the last thing Azriel could  consciously remember was Rhysand telling him that you, Mor’s sister, was getting married to Eris!

The relationship between you and the inner circle hadn’t been great by any means, when Mor was saved and brought to Velaris you were unbelievably happy for your sister and you waited, waited for them to save you too, knowing that you were your fathers backup plan and had already been exposed to much abuse, you waited and waited and waited and waited and no one came not until centuries later when the High lady Feyre found out Morrigan had a sister, did they come,

By then you had already mastered your way of life, you knew what to do to get out trouble, how to act and talk, of course it was all for the purpose of survival but there was something else…

When your sister was rescued you were merely 16 and it was also the time when your father told you, you would be taking her place, once you were older and trained, you would marry Eris.

The day your sister and her friends arrived and tried to play Hero, you were furious, you yelled that they had centuries to come and rescue you and they hadn’t, they abandoned you! And you didn’t need them, you would marry Eris, you would be the future lady of autumn and you will be happy.

You sent them away with your sister in tears and your cousin with a shameful look on his face. Good. They should feel bad. They deserve it.

But there was one person who didn’t say anything or show any emotional apart from slight shock.

The Shadowsinger Himself.

He felt it the minute he saw you, he felt all your rage, your sadness, your bitterness

He couldn’t say he held it against you in fact he couldn’t really say much, there was just shock pumping through his system

You felt it too, of course you did, but did your care, no…okay maybe a little-

But it didn’t matter.

You knew he was in love with Mor for centuries, everyone knew that, he was in love with the “better sister” you knew that was how they viewed you “the sister made of nightmares”

Fuck them.

Azriel kept on pacing, they were invited to the wedding for Cauldrons sake!

Nobody knew this of course but since that night, that night when he met you, Azriel visited the court of nightmares once a week for 18 weeks

At first he just had his shadows watch you and the report back, next he would watch you at balls and finally on the 8th week he spoke to you, now granted you threw a vase or 2 at him but when you calmed down it wasn’t so bad, it was definitely a journey though

1st-8th week; watching

“She’s okay?”

The shadows moved up and down in a nodding motion in response as Az let out a breath of relief

8th-12th week; Sacrifice vases

A vase flew at his head as he dodged it again

“GET OUT AZRIEL”

“Okay, okay…I just wanted to talk to yo-”

He was interrupted as another vase flew at his head

12th-15th week; I’ll talk but I’m bitter

You were sitting in a bench in your garden starring up at the sky

“You know, the stars in Velaris are much brighter, clearer and beautiful” he said, sitting down next to you

“I wouldn’t know” you snapped slightly

“Let me take you there” his voice held desperation

You just shook your head

“Why not” he ask

You didn’t even look at him, only shrugging

“Your not telling me something, what is it”

I’m marrying another male

Your head snapped to him “I don’t have to tell you anything”

“We’re mates…” there it was again, that’s hint of desperation, for a tiny bit of care, of anything, he waited for centuries for a mate, for that one special person…instead he got you…

You wanted to snap and say that, that meant nothing to you but you thought it would be cruel…and a lie, you cared, of course you cared, you didn’t exactly know why but you did. It didn’t matter though, your hand was already claimed. Azriel was Too late.

So you said nothing and kept looking up at the dull stars of which seemed to hold a glimpse of your future

15th-17th week; the first time

Those past few week were filled with happiness, it was the first time you’d ever laughed so hard, smiled so much and blushed so furiously.

Azriel was otherworldly.

“Admit it, you don’t hate me so much anymore” he laughed

You playfully laughed “I never hated you” He gave you and you kept on laughing “okay fine, maybe a little but you should feel honoured,I wasted many good vases on you”

he laughed “Ah yes, I’ll be sure to mention your brave sacrifice of the vases in my vows”

Both of your laughing stopped as you both realised what he said

His vows.

Blood practically flew to your cheeks as he started to stutter over his words before you both fell into a  comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s presence

Your mate.

The sun started to come up as Azriel went to leave, he places a kiss on your hand.

After he was gone your smile fell into a look of despair knowing you’d never hear his vows, only Eris’s

18th week; …you ended it…

You two were on the bench again

It was time

“We have to end this…us…no more flirting, laughing or talking” tears shone on your eyes as you couldn’t look at him

“Why…” tears glistened in his hazel eyes, his voicing breaking

“I can’t tell you…”

“I deserve a reason!…”

This was killing you…

You looked at him

“I’m sorry Azriel, I’m so sorry”

You left him there.

Present;

So that was why…

You were marring Eris…

What.the fuck.

Rhysand had told everyone that he had received an invitation to the wedding and that everyone would be getting their own personal invitations soon

It was true, Azriel’s arrived that evening, long story short, he threw it in the fireplace

Every word on that piece of card, every stroke of ink made him feel violently ill.

That’s why you ended it, your cunt of a father is trying to marry you off!

You didn’t want this…you couldn’t…right?

Not after everything…those months were the best in his life. You were the best thing in his life

His mind was racing of ways to stop this.

Nobody knew about the mating bond.

He could go to your house right now? No, you were probably already in autumn court.

Another flash of sickness hit his stomach and a stabbing feeling hit his heart

He…he could…He could crash the wedding…

3 weeks later

Azriel wasn’t in his seat, he was hiding behind one of the Ruby red curtains, his wings tucked in as tightly as possible, he could see his family looking around for him but they soon gave up after the music started to play.

The organ played a song that sounded like a death march as Eris look towards the doors at the end as they opened, revealing you.

Beautiful, beautiful you.

Your dress was covered in stones and shaped like a cupcake, your hair was curly and flowing down your back.

After what felt like a century you finally made it to the Alter, you didn’t hate your dress, it wasn’t what you would have picked but it was decent, your vail was removed and you look to Eris, your…your soon to be Husband…

Finally the priestess said those sweet yet also bitter words.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

How nice it would be but it won’t

Or so you thought

Azriel himself walks onto the isle and all eyes go to him as he stares at you

“Don’t do this…” he said

“Azriel-” Rhysand calls out but Azriel completely ignores him

“Don’t say yes, Run away, Run away with me. Don’t be his wife…be my mate” he breath was shaky and he held out his scarred hand as you feel your own slip away from Eris’s

Beron gets up to do mother knows what-

Hurt Azriel?

Hurt you?

It didn’t matter since Eris quickly threw a wall of fire towards his father, stopping him, he looked back at you

“Go.”

Was all he said, smiling slightly

Your face break out in a smile of relief as you ran into Azriel’s open arms as you felt his shadows wrap around to you both, teleporting you away

You looked around too see mountains as tall as the clouds, the night sky itself seem to shine and a city like… like starlight…

“Where…Velaris?” You breathlessly ask

“Yeah” he breathed out, his wings wrapped around you, his hands on the sides of your face and his eye piecing into yours

He brought his lips to yours…and in that moment the world the quiet, the only sounds you could hear was your own heartbeat, the stars glistening and Azriel…through the bond, you broke apart to take a breath before putting both hands on his face and smiling like you never had before rejoining your lips.

You were finally happy.

Happy you weren’t in autumn

Happy you were no longer the princess off nightmares

Happy to be in Velaris

Happy to be Azriel mate

And so happy Azriel was there when they said “Speak now”

[inconvenient-stuff]

A while ago @st-hedge got a truly inspired ask about cowboy Vergil and there was a comment about this being Dante's fever dream. I wrote a short thing for that and posted it under the ask. Reposting here so it's with my other stuff too.

This is gonna be part of a bigger story I’m currently writing that won’t be posted for a while yet. Still needs a ton of revisions and some more chapters. So have this for now.

-----

Vergil is looking like a cowboy.

Why is Vergil looking like a cowboy?

Dante is very confused.

Not that his brother looks bad, or anything. It’s just odd, seeing Verge in a cowboy outfit. Very, very odd. Dante’s own foray into that kind of fashion was definitely not as elaborate as this. He just got the chaps and the boots.

Dante likes the chaps. They make his ass look great. Therefore, they probably make Vergil’s ass also look great, too. But his twin is currently facing him, so he can’t really determine if they do. Is that why Vergil is looking like a cowboy? Did he want his ass to look fabulous and just didn’t know when to stop? He is extra like that and would go all the way or not at all.

It’s still weird. Lotsa weird. Dante did not think Vergil is into cowboy fashion.

And Vergil is not only wearing the chaps and the boots. No no, he is all decked out, even wearing a hat. And, and… a jacket?

It’s got nice embroidery on it. And it’s brown. Why is it brown? And why is it a jacket? No. No, Verge can’t wear a brown jacket. That’s not allowed. They have a fashion theme going, he and his twin. Verge can’t just go and change it and not tell Dante anything about it. That’s just mean. Where is he supposed to get a brown jacket from, huh? Awful brother.

Dante is very confused and vaguely hurt.

He looks around for a jacket of his own, tugging self consciously on his red coat. Is he also supposed to be wearing a brown jacket? That seems… yeah no, it’s weird. It would be strange if they wear the exact same colour, right? Maybe he can go with grey? Distressingly boring, but it feels really wrong and itchy not to wear two different colours, but it’s also weird if it’s not blue and red. He looks back up at Vergil, who is frowning severely at him. Probably because Dante is wearing a red coat instead of a brown jacket. Or a grey jacket. He grimaces at him. It’s not his fault, he didn’t get any memo about the sudden wardrobe change. Asshole.

He spins in a circle in search of any not red outer wear. Bad idea. Everything is suddenly very fuzzy and tilting dizzyingly. And feels simultaneously too big and too small. But that may be the fact that Vergil is wearing a humongous belt buckle and a chequered dress shirt under his brown jacket. There is even a neckerchief. It kind of breaks Dante's brain a little bit. He looks back at his brother hopefully, ignoring the sickening lurching of his vision. Nope. Still wearing all of that.

“Hey there, cowboy,” Vergil says. In his normal no nonsense voice.

What.

wHaT.

Yeah, no.

Dante can’t deal with that. Any of all of that.

He is… just going to lay down. Yeah. That sounds like a great plan. Lay down, have a nice nap and hopefully Vergil will be back to normal when he wakes up.

—----

Waking up sweaty hot, miserable and very confused is not something Dante is enjoying very much. There is an itch in his throat and his head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. Altogether bad. No recommend.

He blinks blearily and takes a few seconds to just… readjust. 

Ok. Ok. So that was a dream. That’s good. That’s very good. Dante doesn’t think he can handle cowboy Vergil. He just breathes for a long moment in relief, trying to calm his racing heart.

Wait.

Was it a dream?

Oh no.

He turns around, too fast, everything tilts dizzyingly again. Whatever. Dante has bigger problems right now. He isn’t going to wear a jacket. No matter if it’s brown or grey or red. No way.

“Verge,” he mumbles, insistently patting around to his right where he vaguely remembers Vergil settling down to sleep. Nothing. “Verge!”

“-what.” A sleepy growl comes from his twin and then his wandering hand hits something that’s definitely a leather clad arm. 

Oh no. Is it a coat or a jacket? Dante can’t tell in the dark. Oh nooooooo.

“Verge…” Dante means to sound demanding, but lands on raspy instead. No matter. “Verge, no. No, I’m not going to wear a jacket. Fuck your cowboy aesthetic.”

There is a very pointed silence while Dante blinks rapidly to try to see anything through the foggy darkness. Why is it so dark, anyway. He has perfect vision, this is never a problem.

“What are you on about, Dante.” Vergil growls, out of the darkness like a monster in a horror film before it’s revealed to the audience as just being a guy in a badly done furry suit. Dramatic ass. There was no need to make Dante not able to see through the darkness just for the effect.

Dante rolls over onto his stomach, demonstrably away from his twin. It at least brings relief from the heat Vergil puts out even from all the way over there. Why his twin insists on being such an incredible space heather, Dante will never understand.

The problem with this, it’s suddenly way too cold to handle. Dante immediately starts shivering.

Bummer.

“We can do the chaps. I’m ok with the chaps. But not the jacket. ’s too boring.” Dante mumbles and buries his head into the ground, the important thing successfully communicated. Breathing is getting kind of hard, for some reason, though. And it is still very cold.

Vergil snorts and prods insistently at his shoulder like the annoying older brother he not so secretly is. Though luck for him. Dante may be freezing his chapsless ass off, and is kinda suffocating a little bit, but he is not moving any time soon. The world is spinning enough as is, even though he is laying down and his eyes are closed. It sucks.

As overbearing and demanding as ever, Vergil does not abide by Dante’s wishes and forces him onto his back. The world lurches sickeningly. 

Rude.

“Rud'.” What is supposed to be a teasing grumble mostly just lands on groggy and inarticulate. Dante officially gives up.

Vergil's frowning face materialises over him, when rapid blinking encourages his vision to stop swimming so much. Oh hey. No more darkness. Nice. Everything is still a bit fuzzy, though. Well, whatever. Can’t win everything. His twin is surprisingly awake for it being so early in the morning, actually. Vergil loves little more than sleeping in, after all. And then Dante remembers that he is the one that woke him up. 

Whoops.

A hand lands on his forehead. It feels amazing. He would bring his own up to keep it there but his arms feel like lead right now, so no dice.

Dante sneezes instead and a nearby tree gets absolutely decimated by a red energy beam.

Huh.

He blinks at it.

Huh.

“Di’ I do ‘at?” he mumbles.

Vergil snorts, which is not an answer. But he also keeps his nice warm hand on his forehead, so whatever. Dante will forgive him.

“Well, you are too warm, loosing control of your powers and,” Vergil peers intently into his eyes, “you clearly have trouble focusing.”

Dante stars vaguely up at him. Everything is suddenly too hot again. Awful.

“You are sick.”

Dante blinks groggily, somewhat offended. There is no need for Vergil to sound so amused about this. He remembers them being sickly children before their demonic healing got going properly. Thankfully once they hit six they got over it.

Huh.

Did being turned into whatever they are now make it come back? If so, like, so rude. Dante liked his sickness free existence. Fuck the alien thing for doing this to them.

“It does not seem to be anything too worrisome, thankfully. Simply a cold.” Vergil manhandles him around some more and Dante grumbles muzzily. He feels boneless and exhausted and kind of just wants to go back to sleep. Can’t even muster the energy to swat at his twin.

“Sto’ that. Gonna g’t sick t’.”

“Then you can take care of me in turn.”

Dante hums but sleep is beckoning and his eyelids have grown weights when he wasn’t paying attention.

He is nearly asleep when his eyes fly back open in sudden panic after he realises he forgot to check for the jacket.

[ikranwings]

WHATS MEANT TO BE

Chapter one: first meeting

Song for the book:

Navi is in blue

Authors note: I hope you guys enjoy! I haven’t written anything like this in years and I’m really worried about it. please enjoy and I hope you guys like it ❤️❤️

After I post this I have to head to bed it’s like 5:30 am but I had to get this out

I feel like the first chapters short but it will def get longer.

Warnings: mild swearing, talk of wounds?

Dedication: I don’t normally do a dedication but for the first chapter I am! I just want to take the time to thank @milknhonies . For hyping me up in the comments when all I did was tease the hell out of everyone looking forward to this XD. I appreciate you and I thank you so much for encouraging me ❤️

Miles had flown off in defeat after his war with the Sullys and metkyina clan. The mans own son wouldn't even join him after saving his life. As much as he tried to deny the kid as his own he couldn't. Sure Spider had come from the human version of himself so he wasn't technically his own blood so to speak. However he still felt some sort of responsibility towards him, his only family he technically had left had chosen to leave him and return back to the Sullys. His only choice now was to retreat on his Ikran. Even in his injured state the man knew sticking around here was not the safest option.

His plan was to head back to the base of operations, heal up and hope they would send him back out there to finish the job.Would the general blame everything on him? Revenge was the reason he was created, revenge was the only meaning he had in his life now. Surely there wasn't anything else that could be out there for the man now could there? They had to let him continue this mission, there was nothing else out there for him at least that’s what he thought.

Miles was tired, exhausted from the fight that had ensued not long ago. The man needed to rest, after inhaling all that water and nearly drowning amongst other injuries he needed to relax. Pushing himself further would only cause harm to himself in the long run especially if he were to lose consciousness while flying his Ikran back. There was only one choice he could make at this point, he had to land and make camp for the night and hope he was well enough to make flight early on the next morning. Landing and regrouping his thoughts was the smart thing to do, revenge wouldn't be possible if he was dead that was for damn sure.

Landing was the last thing he remembered. Sliding himself off of his Ikran after separating the bond and splaying himself flat on his back on a grassy plain. An open area he had briefly scanned before landing. It looked clear prior so he was almost positive he wouldn't be disturbed while he rested for a few minutes before he was to set up camp. He was only going to close his eyes for a few minutes, just a few minutes in order to hopefully replenish some energy. All he needed was a few minutes…

—---------

The next moment his eyes snapped open, what felt like minutes had actually been hours and a strange Navi woman was kneeling beside him,was she trying to cause harm? Or was she assessing his injuries? No, he wouldn't take that chance. Not this time around that was for sure. In an instant he had forced himself up and shoved her over, using what little strength he had in him to pin the woman before him down to the ground. Making it impossible for her to move as he used his legs to pin her own, there was no telling if she was going to thrash against him and he wanted to cover all basis. Especially since he didn't want to be kicked or knocked upside the head, Miles was sick of being knocked around for one day. Still the woman below him struggled trying to pull herself free from his grasp.

“ Lonu vrrtep! (Let go of me! Now demon!) She hissed still trying to shove him off despite the fact he had a hold of both of her wrists. She spoke a language he didn't understand or rather barely did as his son had begun teaching him prior and never finished. Still he wished he learned more than he had for moments just like this one. “ What do you want huh?! Come out to kill me have you? Well it won't be easy!“ Intimidation Was his tactic, that sort of thing always seem to work when he was trying to scare someone off. The Navi woman below him merrily hissed in return still trying to find some form of leverage in order to shove miles off of her.

“ off! Now! “ English? The navi woman before him could speak english? Sure he knew many could from the school The Rda had provided for them all those years ago, but that was just for the forest Na’vi. At least thats what it had been to his knowledge at the time, there was a possibility of more he had no clue of. His human self never bothered to take in that sort of information however. Found it pointless to teach these people that sort of thing as they never listened to reason. Always in the way of the end goal, trying to protect some stupid and meaningless tree in his opinion.

The distraction gave the Na’vi female the chance to take the upper hand away from Miles. His grip on her had loosened and given her the chance to pull an arm free and shove him forward with enough force that had him plopping back into a sitting position. Hands set behind him in order to keep himself from going all the way down.

“ Skxawng, you are hurt.. I was helping. “ the woman was pointing to his face, dried blood under his nose, a cut along his cheek and a smaller one on his forehead. She was only trying to clean him up as she had found him there laying on the ground seemingly unconscious. His Ikran had been nowhere in sit only some giant horse like creature he hadn't bothered to learn about in his past life or even present. The Na’vi woman had come across him and immediately attempted to help him out. Not something he was use to and still something he was skeptical about.

Miles arms seemed to falter in support, despite his burst of energy when pinning her down he was still weaker than what he would have liked to be. His little outburst had taken alot out of him and the woman before him seemed to notice that. Slowly she stood from her place on the ground, ensuring the man before her could still see her as she moved. Being able to see the person trying to help you at all times definitely would help her case. Stepping back to her pa'l(direhorse) she reached a hand into a pack she had situated on the back of the creature. Retrieving a small bowl, a handmade cantinee of sorts, a small cloth? and something Miles couldn't quite make out wrapped up in a small pouch.

Sitting beside him once again she laid her belongings on the ground in front of them. Carefully she poured some of the water into the small bowl, intent on wiping away the blood from under his nose and around his cuts in order to assess what she needed to do. Dipping the rag into the small bowl she attempted to press it to his face only for her arm to be swatted away instantly by the injured man’s hand. Really he was just making it difficult for her to help him out. Really his behavior was comparable to a child throwing a tantrum for absolutely no reason aside from the fact that they didn't want to follow what an adult was trying to teach them or help them.

Rolling her eyes proceeded to try again, dipping the cloth once more before squeezing the excess water out of it before pressing it just under the man's nose in order to wipe away the blood. It was working until… Smack. Miles had once again swatted her hand away in frustration.

“ Stop that! “ She hissed immediately smacking his arm in return, if he wasn't going to listen she would act with the same attitude he was giving her. “ You are no baby.. Do not act like one… I am helping, not hurting.“ instead of trying again she sat there, arms crossed with damp cloth still in hand waiting for him to just give in. The Navi woman wasn’t going to give him any other option aside from that. He was going to accept her help and it was just something Miles was going to have to deal with. “ alright fine damn it! “ A low growl slipped past his lips, had he been in perfect condition he would have shoved the woman away and taken off. “ Why are you so damn insistent anyway helping a damn stranger.. not real smart I’d say. “ Perhaps he could use this to his advantage in some way. Only time would tell really.

At first the Navi woman was quiet, mulling over the question or rather statement he had presented her with. In her heart she had a reason, albeit a very personal reason but a big one nonetheless. “ no one left behind. '' Uncrossing her arms she proceeded to gently press the damp cloth to his face, this time with no resistance “ if you wanted to do harm you had chances. “She had spoken up once more while slowly pressing the damp cloth around each cut upon his face until the areas were mainly free of the dried blood that had caked itself there during whatever journey he may have had. Fresh blood trickled down from the gash along his face which led her to assume that it had been deeper than the one on his forehead.

A huff left Miles as he rolled his eyes, he didn't like how right she was about the situation he was in and yet there was still nothing he could do about that, “ Youre just lucky, most don't speak to me that way and live. '' Miles tried to seem threatening in some way, he had a reputation to keep up after all. Not that the woman before him knew exactly who he was or what he had done. Intimidation clearly didn't work as she rolled her eyes at him only moving to dump out the small bowl of water in order to refill it. She then opened the pouch that had previously been set on the ground before them to reveal some sort of powder. Only taking some of it out and placing it in the small bowl along with a small amount of water in order to mix it together into a salve. Making just enough to cover the cuts he had on his face and to stop what little bleeding he may have.

“ This will keep it clean and help to heal, no infection. “ She didn't really give him a chance to say no as her fingers had dipped into the bowl to collect the substance and run it along his cheek and forehead where it was needed. The second this strange substance touched his skin he recoiled, the stinging sensation was not something he expected.

“ Oh and it will hurt a bit… “ Her warning came after the fact and he was not too happy about that. Really it just annoyed the absolute hell out of the man and yet the woman before him had a smile on her face, “ The hell was that for?! “ he practically roared, she should not find this amusing because he sure as hell didn't.

“ Tam tam( there there ) , That was for your threats. “ If he was going to be a pain in the ass about her helping him then the least she could do was give him a taste of his own medicine so to speak. The navi woman smiled once more, wiping away any excess of the substance that wasn’t adherent to any of his wounds. If it wasn't clear to her before it certainly was now. The man before her was completely alone and on his own, in need of a home or at the very least a place to be for a little while.

Miles rolled his eyes, did this woman really not warn him just out of sheer spite? Was she using this as her own form of payback since all he’s done from the moment he opened his eyes was snap and swat at her as if she where a fly on the wall? This woman had absolutely no fear of him and for some reason it thoroughly shocked the man. Not that he would admit that to her or anyone in the moment however it did get him thinking. Quaritch was but a small part to the RDA not many would know of him or his face. Or rather his human face that is. Even now this Navi woman before him didn’t know who he was aside from The very clear fact she had more than likely realized that he was different. An avatar built by the sky people for some reason or another.If he really wanted to he could sell it as if he had defected from the humans and run off seeking shelter. Find his way into a clan and learn their ways before using said information to bring it back to the general. Perhaps even use what he could get against the sullys and finally claim the one thing he had set out to do since he had woken up.

“ That’s my bad.. I’ve been on edge since I left the sky people… You got a name? “ Of corse she had a name, what an absolutely foolish question for him to ask. “ hm.. Tst-xo? “ Miles tried to use what little knowledge he remembered from his son, from the kid he had ride along with him from nearly the very beginning. Spider was his name and in all truth he wished he listened to him more. Wished he took in more knowledge of this language so he wouldn’t be so god awful at it as he was now.

The woman before him merely shook her head, his pronunciation was absolutely horrible to say the least. It would definitely need some work if he where to try and speak full coherent sentences. The running he spoke of was something she had chalked his injuries up to be from. Had he fled and gotten hurt in thr process of it all? There was really no way for her to know the truth in his words. “ it’s Tstxo.. “ The woman before him was quick to correct him, couldn’t have him going around saying the wrong thing after all. “.. Yes I have a name… Tilor‘atan te säsilpey Oare’yuey‘ite. “

Miles looked bewildered, it was entirely a mouthful and even he wasn’t sure he could say it all at once. How the fuck did they go around with these long ass names and not mess anything up in the process. It was beyond him, surely they had to go by nicknames or something. There has to be something else he could say instead, “ You got a nickname I could call you instead huh? “

“ You can call me Tilor… shorter, easier for you. “ she nodded in confirmation only. It was clear to her this man, this dreamwalker before her didn’t know the language all to well. Really he didn’t know a thing at all aside from what she assumed to be a few broken words. Still she watched him smile now that he had a simpler name to call her.

“ well then Tilor… I’m Miles. “

Taglist

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

@peachymemoriess

@blossom618

@bitchykittenconnoisseur

@mrs-sullys-blog

[i4bellingham]

Ugh, pt 2 for the choice!! Maybe when she goes home and tells Jude what happened? (Here’s to hoping she comes to her senses and sticks with him)

THE CHOICE part two : jude bellingham x reader

part two to this jude fic right here !! + not proofread !!! and can i just mention how my fondness for musiala and bayern grew basically a ton since i last posted a fic ?? like i've been rewatching games that i missed and have been binge-watching their entire content in youtube like ???? bruv i need to calm down

Everything was a blur.

A series of images flashing by your eyes in a fuzzy memory.

One minute you were answering your phone, mumbling a hurried “I’m on my way back home,” before you're wrenching your car door open in a frenzied state just to get away from Trent’s grasp.

You can faintly remember him calling out for you, a soft grip on your wrist as he tried to pull you back to him but you prevailed, an angry set of muttering leaving your lips before you now find yourself in front of your home.

Jude’s car is parked just beside you, signalling he's probably home now after hearing the shakiness and stress in your voice during the call that didn't even last for a mere minute.

The engine was already shut but you still remained stationary inside the warmth of your vehicle, with your thoughts running in crazy directions inside your head.

Jude is not aware of what truly transpired between you and Trent, and although you feel like he's got the gist of it, he doesn't know the entire thing that went down.

You feel like an absolute shit. Both as a person and as his girlfriend. You knew you should've told him everything before you said ‘yes’ to his question of being his girlfriend, sure you might hold some residual feelings for Trent and they're not as strong as the one you hold dear for Jude but the thing is, there is still a remainder fondness for the guy who you should have never let cross boundaries with you like that in the first place.

And worst of it all, Trent kissed you not even a full hour ago and you weren't there fully in your consciousness to stop it.

You don’t want to tell Jude and hurt him. But either way, you know there is a possibility that you'll end up doing just exactly that if the secrets and lies keep on piling up.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips at the thought. You really really don’t want to hurt Jude. It's the last thing you'd want to do especially to him but if you truly want to move past this stage, not just for your own self but for your relationship as well, you knew that coming clean to everything is the right thing to do.

And that's exactly what you're about to do.

The unmistakeable pounding in your chest and the clammy palms you wiped a few times over your shirt made breathing normally a tad bit challenging for you.

You take another deep breathe before pushing the door to your home open, immediately being greeted by the soft savory smell of a familiar dish you loved.

As you emerged from the hallway, you notice Jude on the open kitchen right away. There are drying pots and sauce pans on your sink, to which you presumed he used when cooking. The man himself was busy wiping down your marble countertop and mouthing the lyrics to a song playing in the background to notice your arrival.

In the dining table, two plates of your favorite pasta dish, a box of your favorite pastry and a bottle of your go-to non-alcoholic drink sat.

The temptation of punching yourself straight in the face was more than just a reoccurring thought. The guilt and anxiousness the brewed in the pit of your stomach made you want to throw up.

You could lose Jude after this.

There is a possibility that you'd lose him after this.

But you knew that he deserves to know the truth, for the entire thing even what happened tonight.

You're not certain how he'll react to it and you know losing him was feasible at this point. But if you have to beg on your knees to keep him, to make him stay, you will. If you have to endure a lot of things in order to keep him, you will go through them painstakingly.

Because you can’t lose the only man who showed genuine care and love for you. You can never get back up if you lose him, not after he picked up the only remaining fragile bits of you. Most importantly, you certainly can not let the man you love go even if it means not having some form of connection with Trent after this entire dilemma.

Slowly and silently, you walk over to where Jude was.

You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face against his back feeling him jump at the sudden motion.

“Bloody hell- love!” Jude sighs at the sight of you, turning his entire body around to properly face you before he encircles his own arms over your shoulders. “You scared me! Do you want to give me a heart attack or something?”

He plants a kiss on your head, brows wrenching when you remained unresponsive.

“Surely you're not upset you didn't give me that no?” He jokes, almost making you cackle had the weight of this entire situation not been dragging you down. Jude shakes your shoulders, slightly pulling you away from him to take a look at your face. He immediately sees the tears pooling at your lash line, and with this he grabs you by the shoulders before pulling you with him on the couch; the food on the table he'd cooked all forgotten.

He sits you down on the couch before crouching in front of you, cupping your face on his palms.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt? You were at Trent’s right? What's wrong? Did you guys fight-?”

“Jude.”

Sensing the seriousness and dread in your voice, Jude fixes his stance in front of you as he anticipates for the next words to come out of your mouth.

If you had a choice, you would take some time to collect your wits. Maybe spend a day with just yourself and think everything that you needed to tell him through. Just to settle down everything you wanted to confess to have your thoughts enunciated clearly in the manner that Jude can understand better.

But you don’t have that opportunity as you sat now, mouth opening and closing for a couple of times before you're being instructed by your boyfriend to breathe.

And take a deep breathe you did before the words came tumbling out of your mouth in a succession of how the events took place.

You told him about your feelings for Trent, what went down during the New Year’s eve and how your supposed best friend acted during his own birthday. You told him about how incredibly grateful you are to find him as a friend, before that title was ultimately changed into being your boyfriend. You told him about how you didn't want to lose him and everything you both got, not even in exchange for a future with Trent. You told him about your lingering feelings for Trent, one that he shouldn't worry about because you know they're only there and existing because you still care about him and the memories you had together. You told him about what happened during your visit at Trent’s tonight, how his friend and your best friend had kissed you and how you weren't able to push him fast enough because you were shocked and in disbelief. You told him everything, not leaving one single thought and memory behind, all the while gripping onto his hands that grew loose the moment you mentioned about the residual feelings you still hold for Trent.

Jude was silent the entire time you rambled, now hanging his head low as the space between you two grow silent.

He was still crouched down in front of you, but the hold on your hand had loosened incredibly that made your worries grow tenfold.

You know the thought is still a possibility, with the entire thing being let out in the open and susceptible for him to know of and understand, you know he could potentially break things up with you.

And the thought scares you more than you let on.

“... Jude?” You grip onto his hand harder, lightly shaking his wrists. “Baby please talk to me...”

But he doesn't.

Not straightaway at least.

When Jude removes his hands from your grasp, you almost felt like your entire world collapsed from that alone, thinking that everything was gonna be over for you and your relationship and the reprimanding thoughts spread wide inside your head, thinking that you deserved every bits of it if it did came down to having Jude break it off with you.

You wanted to breath a sigh of relief when he instead moves to sit down beside you, an arm's length of space dividing you both.

But you don’t. Not until he says something anyways, even if you're gonna be on the receiving end of his harsh remarks and accusations, you'll gladly open your ears to accept them.

Jude swipes a thumb over his lips, eyes fixated on the carpet underneath the coffee table as he speaks.

“Do you still love Trent?”

“Not in the way you think I do, but yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Everything that happened?”

“Because Trent and I swept it under the rug ourselves. That night you and I met at the party, Trent and I didn't really talk and meet up after that. We only started communicating back when we began dating officially and the whole thing kind of was just forgotten... until tonight.”

Jude takes a glance at you, seeing the pout in your lips and the tears that gathered once more on your lash line. “Why didn't you tell all of this to me by your own then?”

You grow silent at this for a few moments, fingers swiping underneath your eyes before a shaky breath leaves your chest, fingers fiddling with the loose ends of your shirt as you recollect yourself.

“Because I’m scared.” You whisper, shoulders sagging. “I’m scared that you'll leave me the moment you find out about my history with Trentㅡnot that it's impossible right now anyways but I’m just scared... I was scared that I’ll lose everything we have and that I'd lose you because of this. So I kept a tight mouth about it thinking that I’ll tell you everything once Trent and I talked, but obviously shit went down tonight so here we are.”

Jude didn’t show any reaction as he listened to your explanation, just sitting still on his spot with a nonchalant face that gave you no leeway to gauge of his thoughts.

Knowing how extremely expressive your boyfriend is regardless of the situation, this sight of him with a deadpan face on just concluded the thoughts racing through your head.

“... I feel betrayed and hurt.” He starts off, eyes meeting yours for the very first time since you've done your ramble. “I had an inclination of what happened between the both you, just that I thought you'd liked him and he didn't reciprocate the feelings or whatever but I didn't know you guys hooked up-”

“We made out a couple of times Jude I swear to you that's all there is to that.” You chime in. You sit in front of him, taking his hands in your shaky, cold ones. “I’m so sorry for keeping this from you. I’m so sorry that it had to end up like this but I swear if I had known Trent would try something like that I wouldn't have gone to his house in the first place. Jude, please believe me. I would never intentionally hurt you... please, I don’t want to lose you.”

Globs of tears freely rolled on your cheeks as you drop your head low, voice turning into a mumble at the end of your sentence to stifle down the sobs that wracked your body to quiver.

“Please believe me... there was not a single time in this relationship that I lied to you. I would never lie to you Jude, please don't hate me-”

He'd never pinpoint what it is, but Jude thinks it's the amount of love and trust he has for you that made him pick you up from the ground and onto his lap, securing you with an arm around your waist and one over the back of your head, cradling you as you wept for forgiveness against his chest and wetting his shirt with your tears.

Love is such a fickle thing. One moment he was ready to pack some of his things, let the entire situation cool down and give you a moment and space to think about everything.

Jude did feel hurt, and upset and betrayed and angry. But he couldn't entirely shift the blame of how this night ended on you. He did have a clue of what your previous connection to Trent was, he knows he could've done something then to prevent it from spiraling out of control entirely but Jude himself was afraid.

What if everything you both had and built was from a foundation of lies? What if you still loved Trent? What if you were still seeing Trent behind his back? When he wasn't there with you?

But Jude wills himself to stop forming these kinds of thoughts; ones that places you in a bad light because if he's being honest, all he's ever seen and felt from you since you started dating was your genuine fondness and care for him. All he's gotten being on the receiving end of you attention was nothing short of your love shown in many different ways. You were always so lovely, so kind and so thoughtful of him that there's not a single day where he doesn't think that he got lucky to have you as his girlfriend. You've never once lied about anything except for when the playful conversation starts.

And your panic and anxiousness from when you answered the phone and when you got home was also enough for Jude to believe you. He's not gonna question if it's the right thing to do or if he's gonna regret doing this, all because he trusts you.

If Jude had diminished all of it the moment you told him the truth, he wouldn't even bother hearing you out for every questions that you answered with a worried gaze to him, as if you're anticipating for him to just up and leave through the front doors.

Jude kisses your hairline, planting a few more over your head. “It’s alright love, I believe you... it’s alright, I don’t hate you...”

But you don't stop muttering apologies against his chest, almost as if you didn’t hear him.

“’m sorry please don’t leave me... I’m sorry...”

Jude holds you close to him, not even minding the time and how late it had gotten since your conversation. Your cries had simmered down now and your pleas had reduced into a sporadic whisper. There is a huge wet patch of where your tears had drenched his chest, almost soaking the fabric through and through. The hold you had on his arm was still in the same tight grip as he's carrying you to your shared room, never once faltering in their firmness even as you slept in his arms.

Jude places you on your usual side of the bed, taking of your shirt, pants and shoes and replacing them with your go-to nightwear that's basically just an old plain shirt of his. He takes your makeup wipes from the bathroom, slowly and carefully wiping away the residue of any cosmetics before he's doing it two more times just in case he didn't get all of them in three tries. He also combs your hair, unknotting the matted parts from the cold air before letting it freely lay on your pillow.

Jude himself freshens up, changing his shirt and throwing the dirtied clothes in the hamper along with yours before he's sliding underneath the blankets with you, throwing an arm over your waist as you turn around in your sleep, wrapping a hand over his biceps and a leg in between his with your head against his chest.

Jude holds you close to him, laying wide awake on your bed as you slept soundly. There are no other thoughts in his head, but he knows the both of you needs to talk this through if you want the relationship to work.

Though he feels as though you're not the person he should be having the conversation with the next time. Jude had already heard your side of the story, it's only a matter of time before a confrontation between him and Trent happens too.

And if sensing that he's in Jude’s intrusive thoughts, your charging phone on the night stand lights up before it shortly begins to vibrate against the wood. And the name that used to be on good terms with Jude flashing on your screen now brought nothing but a knitted brows and a frowning face.

Jude reaches out to take the device from the table, unlocking it briefly before swiping the icon to the left, red button and ending the on-going call immediately. Jude doesn't waste any more of his time before he's sending a message to the contact number, and not long after that he blocks the contact off your phone too.

　

　　　　　　　　　　ㅡ

　　　　　　　　to: trent AA

　　　　　　　　　　 　 3:06 am

nice try mate

some good friend you are

don’t contact my girlfriend ever again.

　　　　　　　　　　ㅡ

[blub-blub-bish]

Zombie Kenny, but every time he dies, he comes back and slowly becoming a zombie again

A very much self indulgent, Kenny centered, zombie au idea. Aka, a long ass idea that over uses the word “which “ and “HOWEVER “

Long ass idea below cut vvv

Basically, Kenny, who can’t stay dead, got bit in the zombie apocalypse. the first time he got bit, he became a normal zombie, like usual. After around a week, he lost consciousness and ended up in the afterlife.in hell he watched his body, still roaming around on earth, and thought “ oh, this must be it. I’m dead. For good.” Not really sure if he should feel sad or happy, but he’s dead for good. Right?

WRONG.

When his body, that for some reason decompose faster than others, decomposed enough and dies, he came back a normal human. HOWEVER, his body is slowly decomposing again, which has pros and cons.

The pros:

•He’s practically immune, considering he’s like…partially a zombie already

•The zombies think he’s one of them, so now, He can walk through a zombie horde or just wander around without getting chased and shit.

•He doesn’t need much sleep. He only needed around 2 hours of sleep to last 2 days, making him a great night guard.

•Cthulhu took pity on him and decided he would respawn around his allies every time he dies.

•He’s very light, people could pick him up like those school skeleton models and just carry him around.

The cons:

•His body is literally deteriorating, which hurts like a bitch. He feels constantly like he’s slowly dying (which he is)

•Because his body deteriorates over time, at some point, his body is wayyy too weak to function. So he had to either, kill himself, or wait until the virus kill him. Which can take months.

•He usually already have to kill himself every 2 weeks. If he does it over 2 weeks, he would literally lose control over his own body.

•When he lost control over his body (over 2 weeks), he is still conscious. But like watching a movie, he can’t do anything. Just watch. That’s why when he starts to feel like he’s loosing control over his own body, he kills himself.

•After finding allies, he would ask someone he trusted to make sure to kill him if he went over the 2 weeks mark. His allies usually remind him when this happens.

•After a week , he can’t cook for others. 1, because his tongue is usually dead, so he doesn’t taste shit, and 2, because his skin starts to peel, which might fell into the food. Which sucks because my headcanon is that his love language is cooking for others.

•Speaking of food, my guy could only eats meat and chocolate.

• If he doesn’t eat for over a day, he would literally go crazy and bite any meat (human, animal, don’t matter) which would turn the thing that he bites into zombies.(if he doesn’t eat the whole thing)

• The meat and muscles in his body rots, so he smells like shit all the time :v. Mf have to practically bathe in perfume so he doesn’t smell like a corpse.

———-

Why does his body still deteriorates you may ask?

Because Im the writer and I say so./j

The somewhat more logical explanation of that is because he was still conscious for a while after he got bit, aka his body is still somewhat alive. If only the zombies ate him, he would have been able to comeback normal. But they didn’t. So now he had to live with his curse. Womp womp

“Oh, but his curse make people forget he died.” Yes. People still forget that he died. HOWEVER, they still remember that he got bit. They still remember him saying he can’t permanently die and genuinely believe him when he started to look like an actual zombie. Like, his skin starts peeling, his meat and muscles starts rotting (which he usually rips out with a knife bc it smells like shit. Ripping it out also slowed the deterioration process), and bone LITERALLY showing on his arms and legs, yet he still have control over his body.

When he kill himself, he usually comes back after 2-3 days, but if the virus kills him, aka the virus taking over, giving him around 3 very, VERY, painful months, he would come back around a month or 2 . Basically recovering mentally and physically in the afterlife.

Basically, his life sucked for the rest of his existence. Even satan and Damian took pity on him, but they can’t really do anything considering his curse is in Cthulhu’s hands.

[monoconsciouscultureis]

hii i don’t know if non-asks are allowed but i was wondering if some monocon systems are like us?

so we’re a median system, so not everyone is like. distinct? but most of us r fictives. but the thing we’ve been struggling with the most is that we’re monoconsious. i don’t know if any systems work like this,, but reassurance that they do exist would be nice :,) so, for us, it’s like everyone is always there, but not 100%. like i wouldn’t say i’m _ right now, but they’re also not fully gone in headspace (we don’t even have one). it’s also hard bc it’s just the constant subconsciously telling ourselves we’re faking since we share memories, conscious, we don’t get amnesia at all (besides emotional!) and i was wondering if some monocon systems work the same,, it’s almost like everyone is a little 5% there but someone’s 95% there then when we figure out we switched whoever was the 95% turns back into a 5% (sorry if that’s so confusing, we’re new to being a system and the imposter syndrome is just. evil rn)

also, whenever we switch, we almost never even tell. usually we can only tell if our likes have changed (someone fronts earlier who just absolutely hates our main spotify playlist apparently?) or personality, ect, which makes it hard on identifying who i am 99.9% of the time. i wish our consciousness could just, get a break :,).

(also, is it normal for monocon systems to not have a headspace or be able to talk to one another? none of us can communicate internally once so ever)

sorry if this is so long D:

Id say thats kinda similar to our experience, so dont worry, you're not alone in that!

we dont have a headspace and cant talk to eachother either, most of our communication is thought or emotion bleeding or just knowing "this headmate would like that" etc. the sharing memories and consciousness and lack of amnesia past emotional is the most common form of monoconscious we know (and one we experience). like even if I have emotional disconnect from it I can remember the exomemories of, say, the ghostface in our system, even if Im not him right now.

the percentage experience is a new way to describe it to us, and we wouldnt say we experience that part, as Im sure I am NOT Velvet or Peony right now. but I wouldnt say it's unheard of! median and monoconscious systems are still under-researched compared to multiple and polyconscious ones.

your experience is valid, and I hope you figure this stuff out and feel more comfortable in your identity. if anyone else would like to help anon feel more comfortable by sharing their experience, feel free to!

[geeoharee]

I’ve never actually written up my ‘John Watson is the autistic one in that couple’ scorching hot take, have I?

Normally I am way over in ‘look at Holmes obsessing about chemistry and forgetting how to people’ with everyone else, autistic Holmes is fun. But there is a read of ‘Watson as a POV character is autistic as hell’ which is personally really important to me as someone who is also Baffled a lot of the time

We just read The Resident Patient for LFW, which [actually this scene belongs in Cardboard Box, but bear with me] contains the scene where Holmes watches Watson’s face for a little while and then tells him what he was thinking about.

Watson understandably goes ‘oh you read minds now. what the fuck’ and Holmes says remember back in Study In Scarlet when I said I could do this and you doubted me. And Watson says, I never said I doubted you. And Holmes says:

“Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows.”

And then goes on to explain the whole thing of ‘you looked at a picture of a general on the wall, so you were thinking about war’ and so on and so on. But being told that your face has betrayed you when you didn’t mean it to is my entire life, much as I would prefer it wasn’t. How dare people know what I’m thinking? I don’t know what THEY’RE thinking.

The common analogy used by autistic people is ‘I feel like I’m from another planet’ but we might just as well say that it feels like everyone else has superpowers. That’s not Holmes’s experience, it’s Watson’s. Katie Forsythe (who is more canon than the canon, as far as I’m concerned) has Watson react rather badly to the General Gordon deduction: Watson says, actually, I hadn’t consciously clocked that I was contemplating the horrors of war, but NOW I am, and could you fuck off out of my head, you great stick insect. (Paraphrased, ‘Birds to a Lighthouse’.) It’s a viewpoint I have some sympathy with.

This is before we even get into the ‘His Limits’ list and Watson’s refusal to just ASK his new flatmate what the work-from-home business he’s running out of their living room is, because that might somehow be rude. Or that Holmes runs his entire life (including some rather drastic decisions) on the assumption “Watson can’t lie”.

I dunno. I am by no means putting away ‘autistic Holmes’ because I also love that read, but sometimes I need to talk about how I identify with the guy who’s always one step behind the wonderful leaps of logic, and has to be kept in the dark for his own good, and spends all of Hound just wishing Holmes would come and sort all this out for him.

[5ummit]

It’s been 7 years since Civil War and I still mourn for the Bucky Barnes story we should’ve gotten.

I mourn for how quickly they showed him integrated back into society after CATWS. One moment he’s almost killing his best friend... and the next moment he’s living on his own and seems just fine. Sure, he’s a little quiet and awkward and sad, but he’s mostly pretty normal. Outside of the first half of Civil War, there’s very little evidence at all that would lead anyone to believe Bucky used to be the world’s most feared assassin, who was trained and molded into the perfect weapon through unimaginable pain and psychological manipulation. This man spent the better part of his life as a ruthless, mindless killing machine programmed to do nothing more than follow orders. You don’t just walk away from that without being fundamentally and irreversibly psychologically altered. Even the removal of the trigger words wouldn’t change that.

To clarify, I’m not talking about his lingering feelings of guilt and sadness. I think Seb has done a great job with getting that part across at least. I’m talking about his behavior. About way he interacts with other people and how he handles situations. He doesn’t act like a formerly-brainwashed ex-assassin who was treated as less than human for literal decades and who, by all accounts, should have the most severe form of PTSD known to man.

I just don’t buy the Bucky we see post-CATWS and particularly post-Civil-War. I don’t buy that Bucky would be joking around and flirting and basically acting like Just Some Guy – a grumpy guy but still Just Some Guy – and his recent haircut sure isn’t helping the situation either. That he wouldn’t always be a little bit on edge, a little bit animal (kinda like the way we see him at the beginning of Civil War but then never again). That being in the heat of battle wouldn’t sometimes make him either shut down or completely snap and go into a violent fugue state where he subconsciously reverts back to the brutally efficient methods of the Winter Soldier (we almost got this in TFATWS but they couldn’t commit).

Now maybe he received some absolutely incredible therapy in Wakanda. Maybe it worked wonders on him! The problem is I don’t buy it because I never saw it. I never got to see him struggle to learn how to be a person again. I never got to see him fight back against the thing Hydra turned him into.

It just sucks because I love everything about the concept of Bucky and the Winter Soldier, but the parts they’ve chosen not to show or address are, in my opinion, the most interesting parts of his character. But more than that, the lack of follow through and disconnect between what he was and who he seems to be now makes it really hard for me to see him as a fully-realized person in canon. It’s like my brain registers perfectly who he was in CATFA/CATWS and even kinda sorta now in TFATWS, but there’s this giant chasm in between them that mentally feels like fuzzy static.

How long did it take him to fully shake off the brainwashing and conditioning? When did he start thinking of himself as a human being with agency again? Did he ever have to fight the desire to return to Hydra, the only thing he’s known for 70 years, or was it an easy choice? How long did it take him to start recovering his memories? Has he recovered all of them? Does he now remember everything that happened before and during his time at Hydra? How long did it take him to stop flinching at every sound and expecting Hydra to track him down? How long did it take him to relearn how to interact with people like a normal person? How did he afford food and shelter between CATWS and CACW? How and why did he end up in Romania? Did he travel there immediately after CATWS or did he live somewhere else first? Did he get actual therapy in Wakanda or did they just work their science-magic to remove the trigger words and send him on his way? Is the the soldier still in there? Does he still have to consciously stop himself from using deadly force every time he’s in a fight? Is that why he deliberately avoids carrying any weapons now?

I have so many questions.

Fortunately we have fic and fanon to help fill the void but we shouldn’t have to. Bucky Barnes is one of the most interesting and unique characters to ever exist. There’s so much good stuff to dig into here and it’s been wasted.

They squandered the original opportunity to explore this part of his character when they turned Cap 3 into an Iron Man film, a decision I will forever be mad about (fuck you RDJ/Tony for stealing Bucky’s movie), but they finally had the perfect chance to make up for that with TFATWS! Bucky was getting his own show (6 hours of content!), and with it, plenty of time to really dig into his psyche and lingering trauma! I had hoped to see him relapsing a bit and falling into old patterns. Or maybe being triggered by something and having a panic attack. Or even just talking about his time in Hydra and how it felt to be used like that and his struggles to regain his humanity afterwards (instead they fucking gave Hawkeye the emotional “I was a weapon” speech that Bucky rightfully deserved). But other than that opening nightmare, a few brief teasing lines from Zemo about the solider still being in there (which was never followed through on), and the shittiest excuse for “therapy” I’ve ever seen, we really got nothing.

From everything they’ve shown us, and particularly from the ending of TFATWS, it’s clear Marvel believes Bucky has already “healed” and there’s little left to discuss or explore and it makes me incredibly sad.