#they were laughing at a show. there was something so haunting about the torment and the violation going on all around a small group

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Alright I have a bunch of contenders here but I'm going to narrow it wayyy way down to the one that I think hooked me into the books in the first place.

Happens right at Book 1, when Visser 3 eats Elfangor. Someone else has already explained the horrific details of the relationship between Esplin and Elfangor and Alloran and all that, and they worded it excellently, so I'd like to bring up a different aspect. Not only was it grotesque and gruesome and detailed, it was an immense shock to my little 9 year old system. I was a big reader as a kid, and all of my nerd kid instincts were telling me that, somehow, Elfangor was going to survive and become the mentor for the kids. The Gandalf, the Obi-Wan, the loving parent character who you go home to at the end of the adventure. A moral compass and protector, because there's no way these kids are going to be left to their own devices, right? That just doesn't happen in stories, that doesn't make sense. And then he didn't. He didn't just not survive, he was obliterated. He was chewed up and swallowed and the kids recount the deafening silence that fell when his screams stopped echoing in their minds. It wasn't just the horror of what was happening in canon, there was almost a meta level to it for me. It's when I felt myself go into free fall with the characters because the story walked right up to me and said "this will not be what you think it will be. " I always felt very strongly with book characters, reading was a major emotional outlet for me, but this was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I wasn't protected by the frame of the narrative anymore. All the rules that I'd built up in my head from tons and tons of kids adventure books meant NOTHING here. There is an adult who is kind, who is a soothing presence, who seems to have the best interests of everyone at heart, and he is immediately bitten apart and swallowed before he could do anything about it. I honestly think that's the thing that made me so invested, it was a book that didn't want to protect you, it didn't want to shelter you, it wanted to challenge you. I wasn't aware of it at the time of course, but that was something that totally changed the way I engaged with media and storytelling, and I love it for that.

in your opinion, what was the most messed up moment in animorphs? either most shocking, weird, gross, horrific....however you want to answer

The scene I've always found most viscerally disturbing is Ax and Marco on the Normandy beach on D-Day (MM3). It's the soldiers rushing the beach in waves, "Like cattle going down the chute to the slaughtering floor. But, of course, cattle don't know what's corning. Humans do... And they still came." It's the way Marco sees every murdered soldier "Like Jake. Cassie and I had sworn to protect him. But there'd never even been a chance." It's Ax being awed by the simple act of the medic being killed "while trying to save a man he must have known was doomed."

The two coldest and most aloof Animorphs are reduced to "crying, sobbing" and "digging in the sand" at their inability to make sense of the battle. It's Ax desperately wanting this to be Visser Four's fault, because surely this can't be the way history is supposed to happen. By the time Rachel is dropping grenades, we understand her sheer desperation to make it stop, regardless of the cost.

That said, maybe I find that one so impactful because it's a real event. My grandfather fought in that war, my distant cousins died in that war. I don't have the same visceral fear of turning into a spider that I get from "Bullets entered organs by neat, round holes and came out in a shredded mess... One second they were scared and brave and alive. The next second they were dead."

Anyway, everyone's mileage may vary, and if someone else has a different contender then toss it out there.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : BROKEN SILENCE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ John Wick x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Angst!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Kidnapping, mentions of torture, trauma, ptsd, emotional and physical abuse, angst

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You are kidnapped by a mafia group seeking revenge on John Wick, enduring weeks of brutal torture for refusing to reveal his whereabouts. When John finally finds and rescues you, you're barely recognizable, shattered by the ordeal. He takes you home, gently caring for your wounds and helping you recover.

THE WAREHOUSE SMELLED OF BLOOD AND FEAR.

John Wick’s steps were eerily silent as he moved through the decimated hideout. The bodies littered around him were evidence of the storm he’d unleashed, his rage manifesting in every gunshot, every blade that tore through flesh. He had come for you, and nothing would stop him. The moment he heard you’d been taken—kidnapped, tortured—his world had become singular, focused on one thing: getting you back.

He kicked open the last door, heart hammering in his chest. The room was dark, save for a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. And there you were—tied to a chair in the center, bruised, bloody, barely recognizable. Your head hung low, limp like a ragdoll. The sight of you ripped something primal inside of him. He moved quickly, holstering his weapon, eyes scanning you for signs of life.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice rough, almost pleading.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, dull and lifeless, yet still aware. You tried to lift your head, but the weight of your injuries and weeks of torment held you down.

His hands trembled as he untied the ropes binding you to the chair. Your wrists were raw, chafed from days of resistance. You hadn’t broken. Even when they starved you, drowned you, beat you until you could barely breathe, you hadn’t given them anything. Not a single word about John. Not a hint. But the cost of that defiance had hollowed you out, leaving behind a shell of the person you used to be.

When the ropes finally fell away, you collapsed into his arms, too weak to stand. He caught you easily, pulling you into his chest.

“John…” you croaked, your voice nothing more than a rasp, a faint echo of what it once was.

“I’m here," he murmured, holding you tightly. His voice broke, the cracks in his facade showing. “I’ve got you.”

You didn’t respond, and that killed him more than anything. You, who used to be so full of life, who laughed with such ease in his arms—now you were silent, staring past him with a blank, haunted look. He could feel the tremors running through your body as he carried you out of that hellhole, each step a reminder of the weeks of suffering you’d endured without him. Each step weighed down by the guilt that crushed him.

When he brought you home, it didn’t feel like home anymore. The warmth had bled out of the walls, leaving only a cold, empty space that mirrored the emptiness in your eyes.

John helped you into the bathroom, his touch gentle, almost afraid of breaking you further. Your skin was marred with bruises, cuts, the evidence of everything they’d done to you. He drew a bath, the steam rising in the small space as he eased you into the water. You winced, your body so broken that even the warm water felt like a new kind of torment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, though he wasn’t sure if you even heard him. His fingers were careful as they washed away the grime and blood, every touch a silent apology. He washed your hair, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each gesture might undo the horrors of what had happened.

But you were silent still, your eyes closed, face pale and gaunt. You didn’t cry. You hadn’t cried once since he found you. He didn’t know whether that was a relief or a worse kind of nightmare.

After the bath, he dressed you in one of his shirts, the fabric hanging loosely on your fragile frame. He led you to bed, helping you under the covers, though you lay there like a ghost, staring at the ceiling.

~

Days passed, and you began to speak again. Slowly, haltingly, like you were relearning how. At first, it was a few words, barely audible.

"Thank you," you'd whisper when he brought you food, though you never ate more than a few bites.

"Okay," you’d mutter when he asked if you needed anything, though your voice always trailed off, as if you were unsure of what you were saying.

He watched you, never leaving your side for long. He was patient, though the fire inside him still raged—a quiet, controlled fury, always on the verge of exploding.

One night, as he sat beside you, you turned to him. Your face was drawn, eyes glassy, but there was something behind them now. Something fragile, yet real.

“John…” Your voice wavered, and for the first time, he saw the tears welling up, the flood you’d been holding back. His heart clenched in his chest as you reached for him, fingers trembling.

He was by your side in an instant, taking your hand, feeling the chill of your skin.

“They… they didn’t stop.” Your voice cracked, and then the dam broke. “They kept… they kept hitting me. They tried to drown me. They wanted me to tell them where you were… but I didn’t, John. I didn’t tell them.”

Your words came out in gasps, sobs choking you as the weight of everything you’d endured came crashing down.

“I thought… I thought I was going to die. Every day, I thought this would be it. And I kept thinking about you… about how I couldn’t give them anything, not after everything we’ve been through.” Your voice wavered, breaking. “But it hurt so much, John. It hurt so much.”

He held you then, pulling you into his arms, his heart shattering with every word you spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

You buried your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body, and for the first time since he found you, you cried. You let it all out—the fear, the pain, the hopelessness you’d carried for so long. And John held you through it all, his hands trembling as he rocked you gently, whispering the same promises again and again.

“I’m done,” he said quietly, his voice low but firm. “I’m done with this life. I’m not losing you again. I’m not doing this anymore.”

You didn’t respond, but he felt the way your grip tightened on him, the way your body finally relaxed in his arms. He made the vow then, to you, to himself. The world could burn, but you were all that mattered now.

John Wick, the assassin, was no more.

———

I watched the first two John Wick movies today and I’m lowkey crushing on John so i decided to write something small…i might make more oneshots about him🤷🏽‍♀️

[valkyrieromanoff]

🧛DANCING IN THE SHADOWS: Vampire! Anakin  x you (day 21 of 31)

synopsis:  after decades apart, vampire Anakin Skywalker reunites with the one who ignited his long-dead heart in the haunting shadows of a small Irish town.

warning:  slightlydescription of blood and deaths

a/n: hello there, inspired by 'Interview with a Vampire', if you didn't see, watch, and read it really worth it, hope you enjoy it ;)

ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇꜱ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴀ ꜱʜɪɴɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ

Being a vampire had its allure, a dark gift wrapped in eternity, where centuries drifted like autumn leaves, societies rising and crumbling before his eyes. Anakin once found excitement in this existence, though tinged with melancholy. The endless night held a certain thrill—the hunt, the chase, the moment of the kill when blood surged, eyes dimmed, and life ebbed away. His former master had always warned him against playing with his prey, but Anakin found it exhilarating, almost poetic, to toy with them. Time no longer mattered, so why rush? He let the blood drip, let the warmth fade, let the world around him fall silent as he stood at the edge of the abyss.

But when the night stilled, and he retreated to his coffin, thoughts unbidden came rushing in. Why continue? Why bother to exist? Was it for the kill, the fleeting thrill of draining life from the living? His mind spiraled as he lay in the dark, searching for meaning, for purpose. He had no one left to love, no reason to care. Or so he thought.

That was before you.

Anakin had given up on love decades ago, casting aside the idea that a creature like him, cursed and damned, could feel something as pure as love. But the night you appeared, his world shifted. It was as though his long-dead heart stirred once more. A vampire like him, yet so different. There was something about you—an enigma, a spark that defied the darkness.

You met at the Théâtre des Vampires, that strange and twisted place where mortals laughed and cried, unaware they were watching their own being slaughtered on stage. The elaborate shows of blood and death were too real, too devilish to be mere theater, yet the humans returned night after night, drawn by the thrill, oblivious to the truth. And you—he saw you there, night after night, sitting in the shadows, your gaze distant but sharp. Unlike the others, you seemed untouched by the chaos, unwilling to indulge in the cruelty, yet somehow unable to leave.

Anakin observed you from the balconies, hidden in the darkness, watching how your eyes flickered with each death on stage, how your lips tightened as the blood flowed. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t revel in the torment. He sensed you were selective in your hunts, choosing your victims with care, perhaps seeking to cleanse the world of those who deserved it. And still, you returned to the Théâtre each night, witnessing the horrors, your bright eyes watching the chaos unfold.

Months passed in this silent dance. Anakin, from his perch above, you in the shadows below. Your gazes met across the room too many times to count, a connection forming in the void between you. But before any words were exchanged, the Théâtre burned in a roaring fire. The hedonistic, cruel playground of vampires and mortals alike crumbled to ashes, taking with it Anakin’s one chance to know you.

You didn’t die that night, but you vanished, disappearing like smoke. He tried to forget you, but you haunted his waking thoughts and dreams alike, your presence lingering in every shadow, your memory an ache that would not fade. Years passed, then decades. Anakin wandered the night, never feeling whole again, always missing the piece of himself that had been left with you.

Until now.

Here, in this little café in a small Irish town, in the year 2024, over seventy years since that fateful fire, Anakin heard your voice again. “You.” The word slipped from your lips, soft but clear, like a bell cutting through the fog of time. He turned, and there you stood, a smile playing on your lips, your fangs just barely visible beneath the deep crimson of your lipstick. You looked just as you had all those years ago, untouched by time, as if not a single day had passed.

His heart lurched in his chest. You stepped toward him, and he moved to meet you, as if you were drawn together by some invisible thread. His hands found yours, your touch like electricity, and before he knew it, the two of you were moving, swaying to the rhythm of the music that played softly in the background.

You danced between the shadows, his hands firm on your waist, yours tangled in his hair. Anakin spun you gently, pulling you back to him, closer than before, his cold breath mingling with yours. The air between you was thick with the weight of unspoken words, of decades of longing.

Then your eyes locked. Time stood still, the room fading away until there was only you and him, suspended in this moment. Slowly, your lips met—soft at first, a hesitant touch, then deeper, more urgent. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you against him, while your fingers wove through his dark hair, anchoring him to you. The kiss felt eternal, as though the world outside ceased to exist, and all that remained was the taste of you, the feel of you.

When you finally parted, it was too soon, yet it felt like you had already stolen an eternity together in that kiss. Anakin brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek, thumb tracing your skin in a barely-there caress. It was tender, too tender for creatures like him.

“Shall we get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you replied, your smile teasing, yet warm.

You took his hand, pulling him with you as you slipped out into the cold night. Together, you vanished into the darkness, two shadows disappearing into the eternal night.

[livdomtruther]

THREE LITTLE WORLDS, 3.

Dominik spent two agonizing weeks living a lie, forced to pretend that he despised Liv every time he was around Rhea. It was a torment unlike anything he’d ever known. Each encounter with Rhea demanded an act—a coldness that felt alien, like a second skin he couldn’t peel off. Inside, though, Dominik was crumbling. Every forced word, every bitter glance directed at Liv’s memory, gnawed at him like a relentless beast.

Liv hadn’t appeared on any of the recent Raw shows. It was as if she had vanished, leaving nothing but a hollow void where she used to be. Dominik’s eyes searched every screen, every corner of the arena, hoping for even a fleeting glimpse of her, but she remained elusive. The one time they played her video package on the screen, it felt like a dagger straight to his heart. Her smile, her voice—it all flooded back, a tidal wave of memories and emotions he had been trying to suppress. In that moment, something snapped within him. The wall he had so carefully built to contain his feelings began to crack.

He longed for her with an intensity that scared him. It wasn’t just desire; it was a deep, aching need. He missed everything about her—the way she laughed, the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the world. But more than that, he missed what they had once shared before everything went wrong. And he knew, deep down, that he was the reason for her pain. He was the one who had broken her, and the guilt of it was a constant, suffocating presence.

Dominik hated himself for it. He hated that he had to keep up this cruel charade, hated that he couldn’t just reach out to her, hold her, and tell her how much he still cared. All he wanted was to love her, to make things right, but it seemed like every time he tried to hold onto someone, they slipped through his fingers like sand. It was as if the universe was conspiring against him, punishing him for sins he couldn’t atone for.

The days dragged on, each one heavier than the last. Dominik felt trapped in a nightmare of his own making, one where his heart and mind were at war. He knew he had to keep up the facade for now, but with each passing day, the weight of it became harder to bear. And in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, all he could think about was Liv—how much he wanted her, how much he needed her, and how much it was killing him to pretend otherwise.

Dominik found solace in Finn’s presence almost daily, a fragile comfort amidst the turmoil that raged within him. Finn could see the pain etched in every line of Dominik’s face, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible weight. It tore at Finn’s heart because he knew—he knew this was his doing. The guilt was like a shadow that followed him everywhere, a constant reminder that the plan he had devised with such confidence had gone terribly wrong.

Finn had crafted the plan with meticulous care, believing it to be flawless. In his mind, it was supposed to bring them all closer to their goals, to achieve something greater. But he hadn’t foreseen the emotional wreckage it would leave behind. He hadn’t anticipated that Dominik’s heart would be caught in the crossfire, or that the fallout would be so devastating. Now, every time he saw the haunted look in Dominik’s eyes, Finn felt another piece of his own resolve crumble.

There were moments when Finn’s guilt became almost unbearable. The urge to pick up the phone and call Liv would surge within him, a powerful, almost instinctual drive to set things right. He wanted to tell her everything—that Dominik’s coldness was nothing but a front, that behind the mask, he was still deeply in love with her. Finn wanted to confess it all, to break the silence that was causing his best friend so much pain.

But he couldn’t. The plan was simple, or at least it had been on paper. They both had to stick to it. Any deviation, any moment of weakness, and everything they were working towards would unravel. Finn knew this, and yet, the knowledge didn’t make it any easier. Every time he looked at Dominik, he was reminded of the cost of his decisions—the cost of loyalty, of strategy, of trying to outmaneuver their opponents.

So instead, Finn did the only thing he could: he stayed by Dominik’s side, offering what little comfort he could. He’d place a reassuring hand on Dominik’s shoulder, listen to him vent his frustrations, and try to lift his spirits, even though he knew it was like trying to mend a shattered mirror with tape. Finn didn’t have the answers, and he couldn’t undo the damage, but he could be there.

And yet, as much as Finn wanted to be strong for Dominik, there were nights when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there was another way—if there was a path where no one had to suffer. But those thoughts were fleeting. Reality was harsh, and the stakes were too high. They had made their choices, and now, they had to see them through, no matter how much it hurt.

Tonight was the night the truth would be laid bare, and the anticipation was thick with tension backstage. Finn and Dominik stood in the locker room, the atmosphere charged with the weight of what was to come. Dominik’s anxiety was palpable, his hands trembling slightly as he fidgeted with the edge of his jacket. His gaze remained fixed on a distant point, his mind clearly racing through worst-case scenarios.

Finn watched his friend with a mixture of concern and guilt. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing remorse that had settled deep within him. He had orchestrated the plan, believing it to be the best course of action, but now, standing here, he saw the very real cost of his decisions etched on Dominik’s face. The sight of his friend so visibly shaken was a dagger to Finn’s heart.

Approaching Dominik, Finn placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort despite the turmoil churning inside him. “It’s going to be alright, okay?” he said, his voice steady but laced with its own undercurrent of worry.

Dominik sighed deeply, the sound escaping him like a puff of air from a balloon. He shook his head, eyes still distant, as he voiced his deepest fear. “What if she... doesn’t believe me? What if, when I try to tell her everything, she just thinks I’m lying? She said she couldn’t believe me tonight.”

The tremor in Dominik’s voice was a clear sign of the emotional strain he was under. Finn’s heart sank further at the confession, his face darkening with a frown of self-reproach. He had hoped that by now, the plan would have made everything clear, but the prospect of Liv doubting Dominik's sincerity was a painful reminder of how high the stakes were.

“She’ll believe you, Dom,” Finn said, trying to infuse his voice with the confidence he wanted to project. “She needed time after everything that happened, and that’s okay. People need time to heal.”

Finn took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “Look, I know she loves you a lot, Dom. Liv talked about you all the time. She cares for you deeply. That’s not going to change overnight, but it will change.”

He offered Dominik a small, reassuring smile, hoping it conveyed some of the conviction he felt. “Trust me, she’ll understand. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Finn,” Dominik said softly, his voice almost a whisper. The heaviness in his heart remained, but he clung to Finn’s words as a fragile hope. He attempted to find some solace in the reassurance, even as his mind continued to cloud with worries about Liv and the guilt that weighed on him.

Before Finn could offer any further words of encouragement, Rhea burst into the locker room. Her presence was commanding, her eyes locking onto Dominik with a determined focus that didn’t waver. Finn, once again, was left in the background, his presence unnoticed as Rhea took charge.

“Dom, we have to get going!” Rhea’s tone was brisk, her urgency palpable. Dominik gave Finn a final, albeit troubled, glance. “Alright, talk to you later, Finn,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of the internal struggle he was feeling.

As Rhea approached, Dominik felt the familiar mask of pretense sliding back into place. He forced a smile, one that was meant to be warm but felt hollow. Rhea immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders, guiding him towards the entrance with a firm but affectionate grip. Dominik followed, his movements mechanical, as his thoughts remained tangled in images of Liv and the gnawing guilt of his actions.

The journey to the entrance seemed interminable, each step dragging as time stretched unbearably slow. Dominik’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—he was present, yet miles away in his thoughts, lost in the ache of longing and regret.

Suddenly, the staff rushed them along, signaling that it was almost time. Rhea’s theme music hit, reverberating through the corridors and drawing an enthusiastic roar from the crowd. The excitement was palpable, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside Dominik.

As they stepped onto the ramp, the bright lights and deafening cheers swallowed them. The crowd’s energy surged around them, a stark reminder of the spectacle that awaited. Dominik walked beside Rhea, his smile fixed and unyielding, even as his heart remained heavy with unresolved emotions.

Dominik watched as Rhea performed her entrance with practiced ease, her confidence evident in every step and movement. She was a force of nature, commanding the crowd’s attention and drawing their adoration. Dominik, however, was a contrast in turmoil. As Rhea’s entrance came to a close, she turned to him, her smirk widening. She pulled him close and pressed a kiss against his cheek. The gesture was intended to be affectionate, but for Dominik, it felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.

He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to recoil, to push her away. The pretense of their relationship was a painful farce, and the kiss was a stark reminder of the charade he was trapped in. His heart pounded with a relentless rhythm, a drumbeat that echoed the chaos in his mind.

Then, the unmistakable strains of Liv’s theme song blared through the arena, cutting through the roar of crowd noise. Dominik’s world seemed to narrow to the ramp where Liv appeared. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her step into view. She was stunning—her presence, her grace, the way the light caught her features—all of it intensified the ache in his heart. The image of her, looking so beautiful, felt like a bittersweet dagger.

Liv moved with a purpose, her eyes focused straight ahead. She didn’t glance toward Dominik, and Dominik could see the strain in her expression, the effort she was putting into keeping her emotions in check. The sight of her made his heart ache even more, a visceral reminder of everything he had lost and could not easily reclaim.

As Liv made her way to the ring, she seemed to be in a world of her own, a protective bubble that shielded her from the emotional turmoil that might ensue if she were to meet Dominik’s gaze. The distance between them felt like an abyss, one filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Dominik’s eyes stayed locked on her, his heart breaking with each step she took closer to the ring, knowing that tonight would be the moment where the truth was finally laid bare, but the pain of it all was already palpable.

Not once did Dominik’s eyes leave Liv. There was something mesmerizing about her; she seemed almost ethereal, drawing him in with an irresistible allure. The intensity of his gaze reflected a deep, aching admiration. The loud ringing of the bell jolted him from his trance, his focus snapping back to the present moment with a surge of anxiety.

His eyes were fixed on Liv with a worried intensity. The thought of her getting hurt, especially tonight, was almost unbearable. No matter the strain in their relationship or the complications between them, Dominik felt an unwavering protectiveness. He couldn’t bear the idea of seeing her harmed—he would rather take the pain upon himself than watch her suffer. For him, her safety was paramount, and he would do anything to ensure that she remained unharmed, no matter the cost.

As the bell rang, Liv swiftly rolled out of the ring, narrowly avoiding Ripley’s initial charge. Frustrated, Ripley pursued her with determined strides, but Liv was agile and evasive, maintaining a strategic distance from the powerhouse. When Ripley finally caught up, she executed a powerful suplex, demonstrating her dominance early in the match. The raw force of Ripley’s attack was undeniable as she followed up with a brutal Riptide from the top turnbuckle, leaving Liv crumpled on the mat.

Rather than going for a pin, Ripley’s overconfidence led her to seek further torment. She seemed intent on extending Liv’s suffering, but liv seized the opportunity to escape, sending Ripley crashing shoulder-first into the turnbuckle. The shift in momentum was slight but significant, as Liv began to focus on Ripley’s injured shoulder, aiming to exploit the vulnerability and weaken her opponent.

Dominik’s anxiety surged, his heart pounding with a frantic rhythm as he watched the unfolding chaos. His instinct was to run to Liv, to pull her into his arms and whisk her away from the danger that loomed. He bit his lip, struggling to contain his fear and helplessness as he witnessed Liv endure the grueling pain. The match’s brutal reality was a sharp reminder of how much he cared, and every second felt like an eternity as he hoped for her safety and well-being.

The entirety of the match was a whirlwind of emotions, a relentless torrent that tested the limits of everyone involved. Liv had to maintain a tight grip on her emotions throughout, each fleeting glance towards Dominik causing her heart to ache with a deep, unfulfilled longing. The brief, painful connection between them, fleeting as it was, made the match even more excruciating.

Rhea, on the other hand, was consumed by resentment and a fierce determination to reclaim her title. The intensity of her need to win was palpable, driving her every move and amplifying her aggression. For Dominik, the constant undercurrent of fear for Liv’s safety was a relentless burden. Each time Rhea aimed to inflict harm on Liv, Dominik’s heart twisted in anguish. He was tormented by the desire to rush to her side, but he remained rooted, struggling to contain his impulse to intervene.

In a critical moment, Rhea’s focus wavered, offering Liv a precious opportunity. With a sudden burst of resolve, Liv seized Rhea and hurled her into the corner of the ring. The impact was severe, and Rhea’s injured shoulder, still recovering from previous damage, bore the brunt of the collision. An agonized scream escaped Rhea’s lips as she clutched her shoulder, the pain evident in her expression.

Liv rose to continue her assault on Rhea, her determination unwavering, but the referee intervened, halting her progress. Liv let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes flicking toward Dominik as he moved closer to the ring. She quickly turned away, unable to bear the sight of the man she loved—the man who had hurt her—showing concern for the woman who had betrayed her long ago.

Dominik’s silence spoke volumes; his gaze, fixed intently on Rhea, seemed to silently plead with the referee to let the match continue. His frustration was palpable, even though he remained largely passive.

Liv, seizing the moment, taunted Rhea with a mocking “Awww” as she approached, her grip tightening on Rhea’s hair. But before Liv could press her advantage, Rhea retaliated, kicking her off with force. Rhea then rolled out of the ring, attempting to regroup and escape further punishment.

Dominik stood at ringside, momentarily dumbfounded by the turn of events. His eyes briefly met Liv’s, and in that fleeting glance, he checked to ensure she was alright. The brief connection between them was charged with unspoken emotions, a reminder of the complicated web of feelings that enveloped their lives.

Rhea, seething with frustration and agony, let out a pained expletive, “Fuck!” Her distress was evident as she clutched her injured shoulder. Dominik, trying to offer some comfort, gently placed his hand on her uninjured shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” he murmured soothingly, his voice strained with concern. Rhea, overwhelmed by the pain, clung to him for support.

Liv saw Rhea’s vulnerability as an opportunity and wasted no time. Sliding out from the bottom rope, she approached with a determined stride. Dominik’s heart raced with anxiety as he recognized Liv’s movements, and he instinctively stepped back, giving her space.

Liv seized the moment, delivering a sharp kick to Rhea’s injured shoulder. The force of the kick sent Rhea crashing against the steel stairs with a harsh clang. Liv then leaned against the ring, visibly tired but sporting a smug smirk. The sight of her was jarring to Dominik; this fierce, ruthless side of Liv was something he hadn’t witnessed before.

Liv's grip on Rhea’s hair was unforgiving as she yanked her opponent’s head back, her actions punctuated by a series of sharp, unrelenting blows. The aggression in Liv’s eyes was unmistakable as she turned to face Dominik, her expression a mix of anger and bitter defiance. “This is your girl! This is who you chose!” she spat out, her voice edged with contempt. With a final, vicious strike, she made her point before stepping back, leaving Rhea reeling from the assault.

Dominik could only watch in anguish, his heart heavy with the weight of his conflicted emotions. He shook his head, the gesture an almost physical manifestation of his internal struggle. Silently, he told himself, “You’re the one I want,” as he witnessed the brutal side of Liv he had never seen before.

The match resumed with Liv focusing her relentless attack on Rhea’s already injured shoulder. Rhea was soon outside the ring again, her pain evident as she clutched her shoulder, struggling to cope with the agony. Dominik moved quickly to her side, trying to offer what comfort he could, his concern for her clearly written across his face.

However, his attention was abruptly drawn back to Liv as she barreled toward them with a fierce determination. Dominik’s heart raced with panic as he realized the imminent danger Liv posed. Knowing that if he didn’t act, she might inadvertently hurt herself, Dominik made a rapid decision. He pushed Rhea aside with a decisive shove, then stepped into Liv’s path just as she leaped over the top rope.

In a desperate bid to protect her, Dominik caught Liv mid-air, the force of their collision sending both of them crashing down onto the mat. The impact was jarring, and Dominik felt a surge of pain course through him, the sharp sting of the landing intensifying with every second. Despite the discomfort, a wave of relief washed over him. Liv was unharmed, and in that moment, Dominik’s resolve was reinforced. His promise to protect her, no matter the cost, was fulfilled once again, even as he endured the pain himself.

The match had reached a fever pitch, with every fan in the arena hanging on every moment, captivated by the intensity of the confrontation. Dominik, though, was grappling with his own turmoil. He knew it was time to act, and with a quiet resolve, he slid a steel chair from beneath the ring, its cold metal glinting under the arena lights. He pushed the chair into the ring, his actions concealed by the chaos of the ongoing battle. His plan was to aid Liv, though neither she nor Rhea was aware of his true intentions.

In the heat of the moment, Rhea’s anger flared uncontrollably. She grabbed the steel chair, raising it high above her head, ready to bring it crashing down on Liv. The chair shimmered ominously in the arena’s lights, a symbol of Rhea’s unrestrained fury. Dominik’s heart raced as he saw the scene unfolding; this wasn’t how he had envisioned things.

He muttered a frustrated curse under his breath, realizing that the match was veering off course. With a burst of determination, he leaped onto the ring apron. His movements were quick and deliberate as he reached for the chair, yanking it out of Rhea’s hands with a sudden, forceful pull. Rhea’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and fury as she spun around to face him.

"You can’t win like this! You know you can’t use the chair or else you’re not winning!" Dominik’s voice was sharp and authoritative, his words cutting through the clamor of the crowd and the chaos of the match. His tone was a mix of urgency and deceit, masking his true intention to protect Liv.

Rhea’s face contorted with frustration, the anger in her eyes palpable as she stared at Dominik. She was visibly irate, her breath coming in short, angry bursts. Despite her frustration, she begrudgingly acknowledged the truth in Dominik’s words. "Okay! Fine!" she snapped, her voice laced with resentment. Her anger was evident in the way she slammed her fists by her sides, though she reluctantly accepted that Dominik’s point was valid.

Suddenly, Liv launched a fierce kick, propelling Rhea against the ropes with brutal force. The impact was so intense that Dominik lost his balance and toppled off the ring apron, crashing onto the floor below. For a moment, he was stunned and disoriented, but his focus quickly shifted. He knew that with Liv now holding the upper hand, victory was within reach for her.

Liv, driven by frustration and determination, let out an exasperated scream. She raced towards Rhea, who was still caught in the ropes, and launched into her finisher—the Oblivion. The arena seemed to hold its breath as Liv executed the move with precision and force. Dominik watched from the outside, trying to contain a smirk of satisfaction. He was almost certain that Liv’s powerful maneuver would secure her win.

The referee���s hand slapped the mat—“1... 2...” But in a stunning twist, Rhea’s shoulder lifted off the mat, breaking the count. Dominik’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. He felt a surge of frustration as the realization hit him—Rhea had somehow managed to kick out of the Oblivion, a feat no one had achieved before. Dominik's mind raced, grappling with the unexpected turn. “How the fuck did she kick out?” he wondered aloud, the frustration evident in his voice.

Liv’s reaction was one of raw exasperation. She let out another anguished scream, her face contorted in disbelief as she stared at Rhea, who was now showing signs of resilience despite the assault.

Liv's heart pounded wildly in her chest as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened. The disbelief and mounting frustration caused her hands to clench into tight fists. Every second of the match seemed to stretch into an eternity as doubt and anger churned within her.

Dominik, watching from ringside, was deeply troubled. This wasn’t the outcome he and Finn had planned, and he was determined to ensure Liv didn’t lose. His mind raced as he devised a plan to intervene without drawing attention. The steel chair he had previously taken from Rhea was his tool. With calculated precision, he slid the chair back into the ring, placing it strategically in front of Rhea, who was struggling to regain her footing.

Rhea, disoriented but resilient, began to rise, unaware of the trap being set. Liv, poised and ready, watched Rhea like a predator tracking her prey. Dominik seized the moment, sprinting to the opposite side of the apron to distract the referee. His eyes remained locked on Liv, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation.

As Dominik created a diversion, Liv took advantage of the opportunity. With Rhea’s back turned, Liv adjusted the chair slightly, setting the stage for her finisher. As she prepared for the Oblivion, the tension in the arena was palpable. Liv launched into her move with determined precision, slamming Rhea onto the steel chair with a forceful crash.

Dominik’s face split into a smirk of satisfaction as he saw the result of his interference. The chair was now clearly a part of Liv’s strategy, and he watched eagerly as she moved to push it out of sight. With the chair removed, Dominik quickly jumped off the apron, stepping back to allow the referee to resume their count.

As the referee’s hand came down for the count—“1... 2... 3...” — As the referee’s hand slapped the mat for the third count, Dominik's smirk widened into a full-fledged grin of pride. Liv had triumphed, successfully defending her title, and the sight filled him with an immense sense of satisfaction. His eyes sparkled with joy as he observed Liv's tears of happiness welling up, her emotions barely contained.

Exhausted but elated, Liv lay sprawled on the ring mat. Her chest heaved with every breath, the sheer exhaustion of the match taking its toll. Dominik watched her with a soft, admiring gaze, unable to hide his smile. The contrast between Liv’s fatigue and the ecstatic crowd created a poignant moment. The arena was alive with cheers, the roar of the fans echoing around the arena as they celebrated her hard-fought victory.

Respecting the gravity of Liv's moment, Dominik took a deliberate step away from the ring. He gave her the space to enjoy her well-earned achievement. Liv, her face awash with a mixture of disbelief and joy, slid out of the ring, clutching her championship belt close to her chest. The title, a symbol of her relentless effort and determination, seemed almost to radiate with the sweat and emotion of the battle she had just fought.

Overcome with fatigue, Liv finally sank to the floor outside the ring, unable to muster the strength to stand. She lay there, the championship belt resting beside her like a precious, hard-won trophy. Her eyes were still brimming with tears of joy as she looked up at the cheering crowd, a mix of relief and elation etched across her face. The crowd’s roar continued unabated, a fitting backdrop to her moment of victory.

Dominik watched from a distance, his heart swelling with pride and a complex mix of emotions. Despite the strategic maneuvering and the intricate plans that had guided the night, the sight of Liv's genuine happiness and the fulfillment of her hard work made everything worthwhile.

Dominik’s emotions surged uncontrollably, the weight of the moment finally overwhelming him. His heart ached with a desperate longing to hold Liv and rectify every mistake he had made. He knew that deviating from the plan and facing Finn’s anger was a risk, but the thought of Liv misinterpreting his actions any longer drove him to act.

With a determined stride, Dominik moved toward Liv, who remained oblivious to his approach, her back turned as she rested on the mat. His steps were resolute, fueled by a need to bridge the gap that had formed between them. As he drew closer, Liv suddenly felt the familiar warmth of his arms encircling her, lifting her gently off the ground. Confusion clouded her face as she looked up to see Dominik’s concerned eyes meeting hers. He helped her to her feet with a tenderness that seemed at odds with the intensity of the moment.

Liv, too exhausted and disoriented to resist, could only stare at him in bewilderment. Dominik’s gaze shifted to Rhea, a smirk forming on his lips as he looked back at Liv. His hands cupped her face with a gentle, reassuring touch, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. Liv’s confusion deepened, her heart racing as their eyes locked, the unspoken emotions between them palpable.

In a soft, fervent whisper, Dominik said, "I love you." The words were barely audible, but they carried a weight that made Liv’s heart pound even harder. She blinked, trying to process his confession. “What?” she managed to mutter, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and anticipation.

Before she could react further, Dominik closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss. The contact was sudden and intense, a mixture of all the emotions and unspoken words that had built up between them. Liv’s mind raced as the kiss deepened, the heat of the moment enveloping them both. For Dominik, it was a chance to convey his feelings, his remorse, and his unwavering affection in one powerful gesture.

As Dominik’s lips met Liv’s, she instinctively dropped her title, its metallic clatter barely registering amidst the overwhelming emotions. The kiss sparked a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, a sensation that dissolved all the pain and anger she had been holding onto. In that moment, Dominik’s presence eclipsed everything else, including her championship. Her heart was completely devoted to him, and she felt an unwavering readiness to do anything for him.

Liv’s smaller hands instinctively cupped Dominik’s cheeks, her touch tender and reassuring. The kiss, passionate and intense, was not just a declaration of love but a profound affirmation of their connection. Rhea, watching from the sidelines, was paralyzed by disbelief and seething with a mix of betrayal and anger. The scene was a stark contrast to her own turmoil, leaving her heart churning with resentment.

But for Dominik, the presence of Rhea and the world’s judgment was irrelevant. His focus was solely on Liv. He was resolute in his desire to make his feelings known, regardless of the consequences. After their lips parted, they remained close, their foreheads resting against each other, their breaths mingling as they steadied themselves. Their noses brushed lightly, a symbol of their deep, intimate bond.

Liv’s voice, soft yet clear, broke the heavy silence. “I love you too,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips, her eyes shining with unspoken emotions. Dominik felt his cheeks flush with warmth at her words. Overwhelmed by a surge of affection and relief, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. Together, they began to walk away, their connection palpable and unbreakable. They moved past Rhea without sparing her a glance, fully immersed in their shared moment of reconciliation and love.

Dominik carefully took the championship title that was on the floor and placed it gently on Liv's shoulder, his touch tender and deliberate. Liv’s eyes sparkled with disbelief and joy as she cradled the title, a symbol of her hard-fought victory. He wanted her to understand that she didn’t have to choose between her achievements and their love—she could cherish both.

As they walked away, their arms entwined, they remained oblivious to the discontent surrounding them. Dominik offered a nonchalant shoulder shrug towards Rhea, who stood on the edge of the ring, her face contorted in betrayal and anger. "Cry about it, bitch!" Liv exclaimed, her grin wide.

Dominik, still reveling in the moment, raised his middle finger in defiance towards those who were upset. The gesture was both rebellious and playful, reflecting his disregard for the negativity directed at them.

For Liv, the significance of Dominik’s actions was clear. In that moment, she realized that what had seemed like a strategic façade was actually a profound declaration of his love. It wasn’t just part of the plan—it was the truth. Dominik’s feelings were genuine, and his affection was deeply felt.

Feeling a surge of fulfillment, Dominik embraced the sense of possession and pride he felt. Liv was his, and he wanted the world to know. His hands gently patted her hair, his touch affectionate as she giggled with happiness. "Mi princesa," he murmured softly, his voice filled with adoration. The term of endearment, spoken with a tone brimming with love, encapsulated the deep bond they shared. In that intimate moment, Dominik felt complete, and Liv knew she was cherished.

After all they had endured, those three little words—"I love you"—held a profound significance, crystallizing their experiences into a moment of pure, genuine joy. They had weathered pain, deception, and heartache, but those words had become their anchor, a constant reminder of the depth of their connection. In the embrace of each other’s arms, their hearts beat in unison, the weight of their struggles melting.

Those words were not just spoken—they were lived, and they formed the very essence of their happiness as they stood together, stronger and more united than ever.

[victoria-grimesss]

Hello! I was reading what you are okay with to write and I noticed that included angst and self harm? I know that's a heavy topic, but if you're still okay with that, could I request Gale and Astarion finding out their fem Tav (separate please) has self harm scars? I have my own and this game is currently my comfort. Thank you

masterlist

->Pairing: Gale x Fem!Tav, Astarion x Fem!Tav ->Warning: Trigger Warning for talk of self harm/suicidal thoughts. Please do not read if you are not comfortable with these topics. And if you ever are going through anything please reach out to someone, you matter and are loved :) My inbox is always open. ->A/N: Some game spoilers. I wanted to use both character's stories to really connect them to Tav. I hope this is something like you wanted!!

->Astarion:

He had been troubled since opening up to you about Cazador. You never did mention the scars on his back after your first night together but he saw your lingering stare. He wondered what you thought. He never really cared about what others thought about him until you. Others were always just pawns to be played, what could he gain from them? How could he get them back to Cazador easily? But you ruined his whole plan, he didn't like how mushy he felt around you. How his walls were coming down and he didn't know how to handle it. So he turned his back on you, becoming shorter and more distant. Trying to build the wall between you two back up.

--

Everyone was asleep by the time you had wrapped up your night and approached his tent. He was staring at the symbol on the ground, the marks on his back you had so kindly drawn into the dirt. The scowl on his face was evident.

"It's repulsive, isn't it?"

You cross your arms, sympathy blooming in your chest.

"I find no part of you repulsive Astarion. This being one of them."

You point to the ground. He scoffs, his eyes rolling before he huffs and sits before the marking.

"May I sit with you for a while?"

"I suppose."

You join him on the rug adorned right outside his tent, it's a tense silence. You're not quite sure what to say. Of how to approach this.

"We'll figure out what it means, I promise." You place a hand over his in a way to comfort him. He pulls back, if eyes could burn that dirt would be lit-aflame by now.

"And what good will figuring it out mean?! It will still be there, a reminder of all the torment and years Cazador had-has a hold on me.”

“Maybe it can give you some closure, we’ll figure out what it means and we’ll take down Cazador together.”

He laughs a bit, standing and looking down at you. “I do admire your ambition darling but I don’t think you know what you’re up against. And gods even if we did kill the bastard what then? It will still be there. Taunting me, reminding me of what those 200 years held.”

You chew your lip, somehow comforting people was the hardest battle you’ve encountered.

“Your scars are a reminder of how strong you are, of what you’ve gone through and survived. They don’t define you.”

By now he’s grown frustrated, trying to maintain his suave composure and demeanor.

“Right. And what would you know about scars hm? Did you have them forcibly carved upon you while all you could do was sit there and bear it?”

“I do.”

“Oh”

He’s surprised, he certainly didn’t mean to taunt you with those words, all those times he fed on you he never saw any scars. But to be fair you were quite elusive with exposing yourself.

You clear your thoughts and urge him to sit beside you again.

“I may not understand scars being forced upon me, but I inflicted them upon myself.”

Your eyes move to your sleeve where you roll it up, your scars being shown to him, your past on full display.

“Darling, I-”

“It is fine Astarion. These scars are just a part of me. Within the darkest part of my life, I carved them, hoping they could take my pain away. But I look at them now and I see a stronger version of myself. I lived through this dark time and it shows I am stronger than my haunted past. I want you to find your strength in yours. You are more than your past. I fell in love with the man before me for who he truly is.”

“Gods you truly do speak like those romance tomes don’t you.” He speaks through a sniffle that’s masked with a laugh.

“Well, this has turned into quite the sappy night.”

He laughs but his eyes are watery, as are yours.

"Plenty of adventuring to be done tomorrow, lets go to sleep yea?"

"Yea, lets. My sweet."

--

->Gale:

What a kind man.

He was always so honest and caring towards you.

It had been a long day, grueling and never-ending. Your thoughts just yearning for any kind of rest. You slowly make your way over to Gales's tent, he's propped up on some pillows inside reading as usual, candle-light flickering, painting the walls of the tent with shadows. His eyes light up seeing you there.

"Hello, my love what a pleasure seeing you tonight."

You smile and he pats the spot next to him, you oblige and lay next to him, his tent smells of old books and tea leaves. It's instantly soothing, you study him in the low light. How the veins from the orb move and weave around his chest, lightly dancing around his cheekbone.

"I can feel you staring." He looks at you from the side of his eyes, a smirk just barely there. You hum lightly,

"Just admiring you." He traces your eyes back to the orb, then refocuses on the book.

"Does it bother you, it being there forever?" You ask quietly.

He closes the book and sits up more, full focus on you.

"I mean, seeing how the route I plan to take will keep it there forever I have.. made my peace with it. Although your generosity with those magical items certainly makes it easier. I do owe you that much. Why do you ask darling?"

You grow quiet, nerves playing with you.

"I just, sometimes I wonder if I will grow comfortable with mine as you are with yours."

He seems to understand the gravity of your words.

"Oh Y/N."

He grasps your hand before placing a kiss on the back of it,

"I may not be able to make you comfortable with yourself or your scars but I assure you, you are everything one could want and more. I assure you I see the most beautiful woman in front of me and nothing in your past or present could ever change that."

Your free hand comes to cup his cheek, pressing your lips to the other one.

"Promise?"

"My lady, you have my word."

[spacexseven]

I saw art of Nikolai in the backrooms and the bursting out the computer screen

And now I'm think of demon Nikolai who also haunts your electronics...and randomly busting out them.

You almost never see Nikolai, he for sure mumbles about attachments and fickle silly human lives. He's gone for weeks at a time and then suddenly he just busts out your pc screen and starts yammering about boredom and silly human lives and that he just needs to see you!

He would find your attempts at getting him away super funny and just laughs at you before waving it away and tormenting you still. Maybe sometimes he'll play into your dumb human fantasies and pretend to be sent away before just being on your couch, eating your food too that bum, as you walk in from work. He would act like nothing happened.

Demon bsd lives in my brain and now I suffer the consequences

demon bsd is a parasite that has taken over my brain. Help.

cw: mentions of murder

nikolai is an unprecedented guest.

not like you expected any of the demons you've met to show up when they did, but nikolai in particular had never shown any prior interest in you before turning up one day. he's so inconsistent and unpredictable that you can't even tell when he's around—he tends to like hiding from you and creeping up on you when he's in a particularly mischievous mood. most of the time, however, he just comes to your place and lingers around like an unpleasant memory you can't get rid of. always there, even if you don't remember in the moment.

his initial entrance is perplexing. you were simply reading through a random and suspicious-looking webpage that promised foolproof and effective ways to ward off demons and other evil spirits (it was about time you kicked fyodor out for good), when suddenly your screen glitched out and the whole room went dark, before this white-haired man with a card over his eye came out of a portal in your computer. he stood up after pulling his bottom half out, shook off his coat, and took a deep bow in front of you, a wicked grin on his face the whole time.

"it's wonderful to meet you!" he exclaims, though you note that his uncovered eye looked at you far too calculatedly for his words to be genuine, "i hear you have quite the party here. mind if i join?"

he doesn't wait for your answer before he spins around and starts exploring your apartment.

from behind him, you demand he put down your things, though everything you say is easily ignored. he picks up your phone, which had suddenly stopped working the day before—"i didn't realize it couldn't handle my portal," he sighs, "it's beyond saving now. but dos already said that, right?" (you don't get an opportunity to ask how he knew fyodor, or demand for compensation—and inspects your couch with a frown, trying to lie down on it before huffing. "this won't do. i'll be taking your bed," he declares, as though you had no say in the matter.

the good news is that nikolai doesn't come around very often.

the bad news is that he never tells you when he's coming by.

you come home after an exhausting day at work to find nikolai on your bed, giggling as he scribbles all over the papers you had painstakingly finished organizing over the weekend. while doing some work at home, you get up for a late-night snack, only to come back to find nikolai at your seat and typing whatever he likes onto your open documents. once, you're trying to sync your phone to your tv in order to put on a movie for dazai, and instead, nikolai crawls out in the most terrifying way (dazai screams so loud and leaps into your arms, after which he refuses to face you out of embarrassment for the rest of the week).

and nikolai prods at you like he was dealing with an unexpected experimental result, pinching and poking and coming up to look at you from awkwardly close like he was studying you. and then he'd pull away and go back to loitering around your place.

"humans are so boring," he groans, splayed out on your sheets, "do something fun! go commit a crime! sell your soul to me!" he huffs and glares at you, "i can't believe i left everything to come see you." "weren't you here for fyodor?" you ask, tired of his whining. "i was, but i was also curious because he's never been so enthralled by a human before. i don't know what he sees in you." you roll your eyes, biting back a snarky reply. from the corner of your eye, nikolai visibly deflates.

he talks a lot too, if he's in a good mood. you don't necessarily know what to make of his ramblings of fleeting life and feelings and freedom, but he's a lot more entertaining than any of the other demons when he gets like this, and so you have no complaints. sometimes, he even promises to come back and kill you ("really!" he says, "i mean it!") because he was starting to spend too much time with you, but he has yet to act on it. and if his reaction to fyodor's usual threats was anything to go by, he definitely did not want you dead anytime soon.

the salt circles become challenging when it concerns him. his coat, it appears, has some kind of portal in it, and just as you start drawing the circle, he's gone with the flap of his coat, now in a completely different corner of your room. he laughs at you the more you fail, and by the end of it, you don't have any salt left—dazai and chuuya have never been happier.

you convince fyodor to stand guard for a day, bribing him with a promise to increase his daily limit of humans he can torment (because if nikolai scribbled over your documents one more time you might actually lose your job), but it doesn't help. nikolai finds a way, crawling in through the mirror in your bathroom and waiting for you to wash off your cleanser to come face to face with him.

but when he finds dazai on your lap one day, giggling as you read out a bedtime story for him—an intriguing collection of curses—nikolai looks the most angry you've ever seen him. he disappears then, and doesn't stop by for almost a month afterwards. while the demons are happy, you can't shake off a sticky feeling of dread.

you realize exactly what you should have been scared off when you come home one day to all the other demons gone, with your whole apartment in disarray and nikolai waiting for you on your bed, with an innocent smile and a book in hand.

[positivexcellence]

Interview: Jared Padalecki on Walker Season 4, The Show’s Future & More

KSITETV’S CRAIG BYRNE: What can you tease about The Jackal, particularly in relation to his history with certain characters?

JARED PADALECKI: The Jackal is a serial killer who haunted then-Ranger James and Ranger Walker five years prior when they were partners, and before Ranger James became Captain James. The Jackal, and his choice of kills and the victims he left behind, really tortured and tormented James and he took it personally. We were never able to solve it, and the Jackal;s case went cold, and we have kind of assumed he had died or stopped or something. And then, as we found out during James’s wedding of all times, someone with a similar M.O. to the Jackal surfaced, and because of how dark it sent James five years prior, Trey and Walker decide to look into it low-key with Detective Luna from Corpus Christi, who Walker and James had worked with back in the day.

We find out in Season 4 that sure enough, the Jackal is back, And so, Walker finds himself stuck in a position. We’ve learned in the first three seasons that keeping secrets among Rangers is not a great idea, but Walker thinks he’s doing what’s best for James. He doesn’t want to him spiraling. James just went on his honeymoon, and he’s married, and he’s going well. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe this is a coincidence. But we soon seem to settle that it is the original Jackal, and the Jackal is back. Walker takes it on himself to save James from that same torment that he went through five years ago., but the question is how much can Walker take on on James’ behalf, without falling prey to the same feelings himself?

Twitter made me ask you this: Is there any chance that The Jacckal might be played by an actor that you’ve referred to as “Jackles” before?

[LAUGHS] No. All But that’s a great question!

The readers of KSiteTV loved Walker Independence, and it’s great that hopefully we’ll be seeing more of Justin Johnson Cortez as Detective Luna. Is there any chance we might see more people from the show in new roles in the present day, or maybe another Hoyt flashback?

JARED: Let’s say yes. We will be seeing some of our our Windy family. We loved the show as well.

And is there any chance we’ll see those classic characters again?

The answer, again, is yes.

Jensen [Ackles] and I used to have something funny during Supernatural. We did several seasons with 23 episodes, and we likened it to sports analogies. We’d be like “you know, if you’re going to shoot 23 three pointers during a game, you’re not going to make ’em all. If you’re gonna drive the lane 23 times, or go to bat 23 times, then you’re gonna put some air balls. You’re gonna strike out sometimes. But with 13 episodes, they’re all knockouts. They’re all home runs.

We didn’t waste any time this year [on Walker]. We have 13 episodes to make an amazing season of television. I’m on set right now shooting the finale, and I can say with confidence that this is our strongest season.

Are you feeling good about the possibility of a fifth season?

I am. I don’t know… I mean, even during Supernatural’s last season, something can always happen. There can be a strike. There can be COVID. There can be a merger. There can be something.

My career for the last 25 years has been based around not really knowing what’s going to happen. You know, “is Gilmore Girls gonna go? Am I going to get an option to do it again? Oh, now it’s CW instead of Warner Brothers. Oh, now we have a new showrunner. Oh, now we have another showrunner! Now we’re changing nights. Now there’s COVID. Now there’s a strike.” [Last year’s strike] was the second strike I had been through in my career. So, all I can speak to is the quality of work we’re putting out, and there’s nothing I could change.

I will say that I have no reason to think that we we will not carry on. I intend to do the show for another 10 years, so hopefully the powers that be feel the same way. I know our cast and crew all hope for the same. We’re willing and able. Our writers are incredible, with the stories they come up with and the speed with which they can come up with great storylines and great arcs for each and every character… and our crew that makes it… if I was a network, then I would want this show to go as long as everybody who’s making the show would go.

I couldn’t be more proud of the work that we’re putting out there. I think we kind of stand alone, as far as new scripted hour-longs out there. We’re a great combination of heart and action, and trying to mimic reality as best as possible, which I think is needed and necessary. I’ve certainly heard from fans on the street and via social media and whatnot, how much they appreciate it and enjoy it. I’m very optimistic.

How are things with Cordell and Geri as we get into Season 4?

They’ve had five months together since Larry and Kelly’s wedding, snd things have been going well. Things have kind of cooled off; the Jackal’s trail went cold, and so maybe it was not a big deal. They’ve kind of been enjoying the summer with August and Stella and Bonham and Abeline, and they’ve had some time together.

There’s been work for Cordell and for Geri, obviously, but they’re on the same page. They’re living together, and they’re enjoying each other’s company, and they found a place.

Obviously, they both went through some hardships in their prior relationships. Luckily, I think with a lot of great relationships, when they become romantic, they start as friendships. Because Geri and Cordell started as a platonic relationship for many years, they’ve seen each other as friends, and they kind of know who each other’s hearts are. I think they’re enjoying that time and chance to breathe together, and just be with each other.

Is it hard for Cordell that Stella and August are both growing up, with Stella already off to school and August approaching senior year?

It’s very, very hard, and I think you’re more prescient than maybe you even realize; we kind get into that in Episode 2, and as the season goes on, of what it’s like to be to be preparing to be an empty nester, especially without your spouse. So we certainly do see that, and again, going back to what I said earlier about Walker’s storylines imitating life as best as we can, we certainly do see Walker going through that very real [situation].

At work, he is this big Texas Ranger who gets to go in and save the day and all as well, and then at home, he wants to be a Dad, but the clock is ticking. One of his kids is already gone, and the second is a senior in high school, and presumably soon to be spreading his wings. So what does that look like and feel like for this big tough dude?

Will we get to see Walker’s reaction to the situation that Stella got into at the end of last season?

Oh, yeah. And that storyline doesn’t stop, because it’s not all over. Obviously, months have passed and there have been investigations and there is conclusion of sorts, but as with most things in life, it brings about a whole new set of problems that we will deal with through the entire season.

Why should people check out the season premiere on Wednesday night?

I think a lot of us, myself included, have been dying to see what the whole Walker clan is up to. Not with the Walker clan with with the last name Walker. And we get a great catch up with a friend we haven’t talked to in a while. We have action. We have comedy, we have drama… but also, it feels like a dear friend that I haven’t caught up with in way too long, and I get all the ins and outs of what’s been going on their lives over the last period of time

ksite

[shadowqueenjude]

Coriolanus kills Dr. Gaul: post-TBOSAS

Coriolanus wasn’t sure why he had named his son Sejanus, really.

Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he had named him that. As a punishment. A reminder of his worst mistake- not just the betrayal, but the lies. He had lost both Sejanus and L-

Do not say her name. Not even in your mind.

Coriolanus clenched and unclenched his fists. After all this time, it still haunted him so. It’s dangerous for an obsessive man to fall in love. She may be alive, or she may be dead, but either way she’d certainly live on in his memories.

In his dreams.

The guilt was unbearable. Much as Ma Plinth annoyed him, she was the closest thing to a mother he had had after his own died. She looked at him like he was her son, and it was like a knife to the gut every time. He had to do something to alleviate it- this pain.

Well, truly, not all the blame could fall on him. He had expected Sejanus to be taken back to the Capitol, maybe his father paid some people off, and that was it. Instead, a few days later, he was standing vigil at his execution. Dr. Gaul, the sadist. He had never forgotten the delightful glee she exuded as Clemensia had been bitten by those snakes. She did not value human life in any capacity; more than being the harbinger of violence, she relished it. Gloried in it. Had been ready to sacrifice his life for the sake of her twisted games.

She had to die. Coriolanus had long desired to end her life, and now, when all others would be preoccupied with the Hunger Games celebrations, would be the perfect time to carry out his plan.

He almost laughed at the position he found himself in. While several sweet maids prepared him for the ball tonight, his mind was plotting murder. He wondered how little they knew about the man they served; he wondered how little they knew about human nature itself.

He admired himself in the mirror. He wore a cobalt trenchcoat over a pale gold button-up and pants. His hair was beginning to curl at the ends again, and Coriolanus made a note to get them fixed later. Those curls were a sign of his youth; they brought back memories he’d rather not revisit anymore than he had to. Torturous sad and wet dreams in the night were bad enough.

He smoothed down a small crease on his shirt and gave a practiced smile. “You’ve outdone yourself ladies,” he said smoothly, and all three ladies preened. He didn’t mention their comical feathers and outlandish makeup that made them look like clowns. Best to keep those close to you on your side.

The first party hosted for the victors. All part of the show; it disgusted him really, that the people were so immune to it. He would never be immune to the deaths of others. He counted every life that had been lost in that arena, and though he deemed it a necessary evil to prevent more deaths, he’d begun counting their lost lives as part of his kill count.

Hundreds of deaths had come at his hands. And there would be hundreds more.

Innocent children. But at least he would be doing some good. At least he would be freeing Panem from Dr. Gaul’s brand of torment. What a terrible waste this ceremony was. Coriolanus couldn’t stop it, couldn’t repress that desperate part of him that still lived in the post-war times when there was nothing to eat but cabbage stew. To see the way the Capitol citizens flaunted their wealth…he wished to give them all a good punch straight to the teeth.

Coriolanus gave his ridiculous speech, being sure to use the words “honor” and “celebration” and “delight” and “victory” a thousand times to get it to sink in. He met the victor, a big burly male who reminded him of Reaper, which reminded him of the tenth hunger games, which reminded him of its victor-

For fuck’s sake. Coriolanus flexed his hands again. Just a little while longer he had to stay here before he could retreat to his chambers. Just another hour or so of entertaining these sycophantic fools who saw him as their social climbing ladder or worse, a pretty object to lay with. He drank one glass of wine, willing his face to go expressionless as women pawed at him, unbuttoning his shirt. He said calmly, “I’m not interested, ladies. I’m still mourning my wife, I’m afraid.” Lies. He had murdered his wife in cold blood four years ago. He had despised that bitch. The only good thing she had given him was his lovely son, who was currently being looked after by nannies. He didn’t want to overwhelm him with huge crowds yet. The woman murmured in disappointment, but they were only replaced by more. He hated how raunchy these parties got, hated that they expected him to join in the festivities. No, he would never touch them. There was only one person he’d willingly partake in such actions with, and she had scattered to the trees. Unable to bear it, Coriolanus left the party a lot earlier than he’d intended. He walked away from the main hall, seeking the men’s bathroom. He heaved into the sink, the memories flooding him. Lucy Gray’s smile, Lucy Gray’s laugh, Lucy Gray playing the guitar, Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray Lucy Gray-

“Coryo,” a soft voice called. Coryo whipped his head around wildly. He could’ve sworn he heard Lucy Gray’s voice. But…no. He must have been going crazy.

He walked back to his room, feeling like there was a heavy weight on his body. The tears fell down his face, and Coryo didn’t bother to stop them. Most days he could get by without thinking of her, but on the days that it hit hard, he became absolutely miserable, and he could not focus for the rest of the day. He had to do something. Nothing like bloody murder to get your lost love out of your mind.

This one would be for her. His Lucy Gray, who Dr. Gaul had taken from him.

Were it not for Dr. Gaul, Sejanus wouldn’t be dead. If he hadn’t died, Coryo wouldn’t have lied to Lucy Gray. If Coryo hadn’t lied to Lucy Gray, she wouldn’t have run into the forest.

Flex. Unflex. Coryo took a deep breath, trying not to think of her earthy smell and warm smile, but he could sense it so clearly in his mind it was like she was there.

What method would he use to kill Dr. Gaul? How poetic would it be if he killed her with her own mutts? But he was sure she had gone to great lengths to ensure that they wouldn’t harm her.

But how sure could she be, really? They were animals, right? Once you took them out of their controlled setting, all bets were off. So, Coriolanus armed himself with his old Peacekeeper rifle. He sometimes kept it on him, for nostalgic purposes. Part of him believed nostalgia was only fit for a fool, but it didn’t hurt that the gun still worked.

He walked down to the labs located in the basement of this very building. Found Dr. Gaul tinkering with something, even this late at night. Twisted psychopath. “Ah, Coriolanus! Don’t you have a lovely party to be at?”

Coriolanus gestured down at himself, his hair mussed up, the top of his chest peaking out, the belt of his pants loosened. “Doesn’t it appear as if I have partied enough?”

Dr. Gaul let out a chuckle. “All those ladies jumping on you as soon as they get a chance, You must power through, and remember all this is part of the…” Coryo smirked. “Dance. All part of the dance.” A dance that would end tonight. Dr. Gaul clapped her hands delightedly. “Come, look at these lovely new mutts I am working with.”

Coriolanus looked over at them, pretending to be interested. In reality, they looked quite foul, with their mottled green skin and a forked tongue resembling that of a snake’s, only much longer. “Are those…chameleons?” Coriolanus asked with forced calm. In reality, the mere thought of these animals made him sick. This was the Capitol; such wild creatures shouldn’t exist in a civilized place.

“Partially,” Dr. Gaul said. That manic smile was on her face again. “Part chameleon, part snake, part my artwork. I call them chamelonakes.” Dumb name, Coriolanus internally scoffed. “They are venomous, can camouflage themselves, and their leaping capacity is much improved. They trust me, of course, but all others, they are trained to kill.” Coriolanus swallowed. “How do you? You know. Get them to trust you.” Dr. Gaul looked at him incredulously. “Why, the same way you’d get any human to trust you. By getting to know them.”

Hmph. Well, he didn’t have time for that. What if he went for a different strategy? He always kept a vial of poison on him ever since he’d killed Livia Cardew. You never knew when you would need to poison someone. While Dr. Gaul was busy cooing over some creatures, Coriolanus slipped poison into the food labeled for them. “Really? It’s that simple? They look very…dangerous.” Dr. Gaul simply laughed. “I thought you would’ve learned by now, Coriolanus, that animals are easily baited by food and basic necessities. Allow me to demonstrate.” She grabbed the food and stuck her hand into the cage with her bare hands. Coriolanus wondered if the creatures would even sense the poison, or if the poison he had used would even be poisonous to them.

He got his answer moments later as no less than three chamelonakes crunched down onto Dr. Gaul’s arm. Coriolanus wasn’t a vicious person, but he had to admit, some savage part of him reveled in Dr. Gaul’s scream, even as he backed several paces away.

“How does it feel?” Coriolanus asked. “To be bit by a venomous snake.” Dr. Gaul blinked. “What did you do?”

Coriolanus shrugged. “Nothing anyone will ever figure out. Just like they never figured out what happened to Clemensia.” He sneered at her. “You thought you were untouchable, indestructible, did you? So unbelievably arrogant; that was your demise.” The chamelonakes continued to crowd around the scientist, inspecting her suspiciously.

“I made you,” Dr. Gaul hissed. “Without me, you would be nothing.”

Coriolanus laughed mirthlessly. “No, you almost got me killed multiple times. You lost me my best friend and my girlfriend. You’re out of control; you relish violence, you sadistic witch. What Panem needs is control, not war. But you would be perfectly happy with another war, wouldn’t you, Dr. Gaul? More bloodshed for you, more dummies to experiment with. No longer. I always had it in me to be President; don’t fancy yourself some great guardian, Dr. Gaul. I will ensure your name is erased from history.”

“Without me, you’d still be rotting in District 12,” she spat.

Coriolanus only smiled. “You’re just angry because I’m better than you are now. Goodbye, heathen. No one will miss you. I’ve won.”

And just as he did after Livia had died before him, he said quietly, “Snow lands on top. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

Dr. Gaul’s eyes widened before the light left them.

Coriolanus left her there. Some guards would find her in a few minutes, dead. They’d assume her mutts had killed her at last, and they’d be correct. No one would ever realize the role he had played in making it happen.

Snow lands on top.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Here, Boy ~ X.T.

A/n: I didn’t know exactly how to end this. Hope it landed well :)

Request: “Xavier Thrope x werewolf!male reader where Xavier is crushing on a golden retriever sporty reader...” by anon

Word Count: 2,000+

MASTERLIST

Being friends with Wednesday hadn't been Xavier's first intention, but after bonding over their mutual gloominess and like for quiet and space, it really was inevitable. It had started mostly because she'd thought he was the Hyde, but when that theory was debunked and it was revealed who the real Hyde was their friendship got to form outside of that. Now they both had the habit of tucking themselves away in Xavier's shed - which had at this point become both of their space. Wednesday was allowed to chase any theory and put whatever pictures she wanted up, Xavier didn't mind. He was used to the gore and horror she was so enthralled by, having been plagued by dreams the same way Wednesday had been haunted by visions.

There were a lot of cons to being friends with Wednesday, but the biggest pro was that it came with a bonus friendship with Enid. Enid hated coming to the shed, but as Wednesday and Xavier started to hang out at lunch, during class, and in their free time, Enid started to tag along. By herself she was pleasant enough and Xavier liked having someone a little bit more positive and light in his life. She helped him out of his head, and out of shell, much more. He didn't just hang around Wednesday or his stuffy secret society friends - he branched out a lot more.

That was how he met Y/n.

Officially at least.

Nevermore was a small school, and one couldn't go far without running into at least half the student body in some passive way. Y/n and xavier had shared a class or a friend or a space several dozen times, but they'd never had much reason to talk to each other. The few times they had, left Xavier with a deep appreciation for Y/n though. Like Enid, he was a breath of fresh air to be around. His smile was contagious, and he found joy in the simplest of things. He was a sporty person, and had found his way onto every single team he could, but he wasn't obsessive about it. Sports wasn't the draw; being part of a team was. As a werewolf, he was already strong and had impressive stamina, but he also had a craving for that pack dynamic. He loved being apart of something.

Everyone pleasant loved Y/n. That was why he was friends with Enid.

Everyone unpleasant hated him. No surprise that he was being tormented by Syl then.

Syl was the kind of asshole that liked quiet, but in a way that rather than finding a peaceful moment or creating a space for herself, she tried to make everyone else calm down instead. She made any public space the worst to be in; her looks wiped off smiles and her biting comments soured sweet moments. She was a vampire who apparently came from a really old family, and it reflected in her beliefs. In the way she avoided Wednesday and Enid because of something about the "appearance of evil" even though Enid was dating Ajax, and Wednesday was openly aromantic and intensely uninterested in any kind of romantic relationship.

In the past, Enid and Syl had clashed a lot, because Enid hadn't wolfed out fully yet. Then Wednesday and Enid had become friends, and Syl learned very quickly to keep her distance. And then immediately moved onto Y/n.

Y/n wasn't an idiot. He knew she was being mean, but just didn't care. He knew that when she threw a ball and yelled for him to fetch, or that when she scratched behind his ear and called him a good boy, it wasn't actually a game or a show of kindness or affection. he always let it happen though, and the most he ever did was roll his eyes good naturally and laugh it off. It genuinely didn't bother him.

When Wednesday asked about  it, Enid was the only one who could come up with any explanation. "When you're high energy and good natured, and a werewolf, it just... is a pretty direct comparison," she offered half heartedly. "You already act like a dog - you're friendly and bring little presents and need a lot of affection and can get carried away with playing. They see him rolling around on that field and everyone just sees a house pet most of the time. Not like - like he's less for that. But, a lot of people scratch werewolves behind the ears and give them "treats" instead of "food" or play fetch or platonically cuddle or call us good boys or girls or even use baby voices - just like they would an actual job. I only experience it as little as I do because I go out of my way to do my hair, and my nails, and I put a lot of effort into my clothes and make up, so at a very young age I didn't want people touching me and I didn't play with everyone else." She shrugged. "Y/n doesn't have that luxury. He's just used to it."

Well that bothered Xavier. Used to it or not, he could see the shame and embarrassment Y/n felt every single time Syl made a big deal out of treating him like some common house pet. Like more of an animal than a person. And he could see the way that the more Syl got away with it, the more other people started to do it too. Not always with Y/n, and rarely with any malice, but...

It was still demeaning.

One day they were all at lunch and in the middle of their conversation, Syl called, "Come here, Boy! Come here Y/n!" She pat her thighs, bending her knees a little. Y/n froze mid laugh, his smile wiping off of his face as he cringed into his seat. A sheepish look crossed his face as he went to get up and go over to Syl.

Xavier had had enough. "Would you stop doing that?"

Syl smirked as she looked at the irritated artist, her shades lowering so her eyes could look directly into Xavier's. "What's the matter Thorpe? Claimed this one or something?"

Xavier's face twists with irritation. "I didn't claim him - what the hell is wrong with you? He's not an animal, he's a person."

"Half person," Syl shrugged. The courtyard was suddenly very tense and quiet, half shocked and the other half incredibly uncomfortable. "He's half dog, I'm not wrong."

Wednesday stood from the table, her eyes narrowed. "He's not half-anything, you small minded waste of shadow. He's part wolf and part human, and that's only because he can shift between either of his forms. That doesn't mean that when he's a wolf he loses his ability to think and feel like a human."

Syl's lips pulled back into a snarl as she went to snap something back to Wednesday, but Y/n suddenly stood to his feet to catch everyone's attention. "Guys, it's fine." He laughed off the awkwardness he felt, waving his hand through the air as if to dismiss all the negativity circling him. "I like when she scratches behind my ear, and fetch is actually super fun."

"Of course," Wednesday agreed. "But she's taking advantage of your enjoyment and is using it in a very mean way. She's twisting all the good things you'd usually allow and making them something not good." Her dagger throwing glare turned to Y/n, and then softened. Just a little. “Do you understand?”

Y/n nodded. “I’ll stop letting it slide.”

“That’s a great place to start,” Enid encouraged, and Y/n’s smile was back again. For now that would be enough.

-

The next time Syl tried to pull something, neither Wednesday nor Enid were around. Xavier knew it had been on purpose when she approached, eyes ignoring him completely as if he wasn’t even there. “There’s my favorite boy,” she cooed, reaching up to scratch behind Y/n’s ear.

Y/n leaned away. He frowned at her, not in the mood for this but not totally good at confrontation still. He had gotten a little better when Xavier had sat down and talked boundaries, agreeing that he would be more affectionate with Y/n to show him how it could be done well and not as a cruelty. Now Y/n knew the difference and he didn’t like Syl anymore. “Dont do that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. Come here-“

“He said stop,” Xavier piped in. Y/n looked relieved to have been backed up.

Syl slowly looked at Xavier. “God with how often you little twerps defend this weirdo you’d think he was sucking your dick or something.”

Something set ablaze inside of Xavier in a very ugly way. She thought the only reason anyone would be friends with Y/n was if they were having sex? “What is wrong with you?” He snapped. “You know why we defend Y/n? Because he’s a good person! I know that’s a really fucking foreign concept to you, because when he’s a little slow or misses little details or doesn’t click with the joke that was made or misinterprets tone or whatever - you just think he’s an idiot. That’s a bad thing to you. But it’s not bad, or especially good, it’s just a thing. That’s just how he is and the fact that in a school of freaks you decided that him being different than you was a bad thing? I don’t get it! We were killed in the last for being different, how do you not know that? How is it not ingrained in your blood? How do you not know that you’re just as bad all those people in the past? Like Crackstone.”

Syl hissed, like a mix between spitting and growling. “Jesus maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re sucking his dick.”

Xavier lashed out without thinking. He shoved her. “What we do behind closed doors is none of your business, you bitch, but just so it can sync really deep in your impossibly thick skull - no, we don’t have any kind of sexual shit. That doesn’t mean I don’t like him though! It’s almost like people have worth just by being people.” He took Y/n’s hand and gently tugged him away. Y/n followed the prompt. “Come on,” Xavier growled. “Let’s get out of here.”

They had gone down several halls and had completely lost Syl before either of them spoke. “You... like me?”

Xavier froze, finally processing all of the things he had said. In front of Y/n. Oh shit. “Uh-“ He turned to look at Y/n and something warm spread through his blood, comforting him but cooling down the raging storm from before. Y/n was smiling. “Maybe.”

Y/n stepped closer to Xavier, changing the palm-to-palm hand hold into a finger laced hold. “I think I maybe like you too. But I’m... slow, with stuff like this.”

Xavier eased, relaxing now that Syl was gone and Y/n was talking about something that he had wanted so badly for so long. “I would be okay, figuring it out. Taking as long as you need.”

Y/n nodded, then rested his head on Xavier’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

Completely forgetting about Syl now, Xavier chuckled. His smile was shy and small but bright. “That’s more than okay.” He turned his head, leaving a kiss on the top of Y/n’s head. “Is that okay?”

Y/n closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. “That’s okay.” They fell into quiet, but this time it was comfortable and familiar. Like falling into bed after a long day. “If Syl ever tries anything again, I’m going to go to staff. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, and neither should any of my friends. Or you.”

Xavier liked that idea very much. He also very much liked being excluded from ‘friends’. “That’s a good idea. I can go with you.”

“I’d like that,” Y/n whispered. “I’d like that a lot.” The bell rang and they moved off of the wall to head to class. When they had to delegate ways, their hands lingered, fingers still holding onto each other. Then their hands fell away but they still smiled. It wouldn’t be the last time they did that, and until they could come back later they were both just fine waiting until then.

-

Male readers tag: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[maybank5]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤 (𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭)

pairing ⤜ yn x jj

summary ⤜ you and jj have never gotten along; sworn enemies since childhood. so why is then, when he shows up with bruises, you want to burn the entire world down for this boy?

tags and such: abuse, mentions of abuse, fluff, comfort, walks on the beach, mutual crushes, jj calling you 'mama'

a/n ⤜ needing some comfort jj fics in my life right now, and i'm sure i'm not alone in that. enjoy! also this was supposed to just be a little drabble, but she kinda took on a life of her own. not complaining though lol

song inspo ⤜ any kyla la grange song

word count ⤜ 4k+

JJ Maybank - the bane of your existence. Ever since he had trampled your sandcastle on the playground back when you were seven, you couldn't stand him. And one trampled sandcastle had set the stage for ten years of torment at the hands of this boy. He seemed to revel in making your life miserable. He wouldn't be JJ Maybank if he wasn't pulling your hair or teasing you or shoulder-checking you in the hallway. And you wouldn't be you if you didn't put your hands on your hips and glare at him, shouting after him a scolding, "Oh grow up!" that was only ever met with that laugh of his that seemed to bounce of the cinderblock walls of the school halls.

You had come to realize sometime around sophomore year that you and JJ Maybank were destined to be enemies. You found yourself looking forward to the school day, to see just how he'd try to fuck with you, and to scold him and hear that damn laugh. Your friends couldn't understand it; why the two of you always seemed to seek each other out, despite your mutual hatred. "You wouldn't get it," you'd say with a shrug. JJ Maybank was your mortal enemy, but you honestly couldn't imagine your school day, your life, without him in it.

JJ is no stranger to a fight. He's always getting into something with the kooks from Figure Eight. It's not out of the norm for him to show up to school with a busted lip or black eye. He always shrugs it off, brags about how the other guy "looks much worse." You roll your eyes and shake your head. He's never seriously hurt though, so you don't worry too much. It's not like you lose sleep over JJ Maybank. Still, you can't help the relief you feel that shoots through you like a drug whenever he laughs off the bruises or black eyes.

But today is different. Yesterday, JJ wasn't in school. Not that unusual of an occurrence. But today, JJ shows up to school with his face a galaxy of purples and yellows. Your heart sinks to your stomach as if weighted with a lead anchor. This wasn't just the result of a spat between a Pogue and a Kook. He looked like he'd been jumped and you spend the entire morning following him with your eyes. You want to go over and check on him, press your palm to his cheek, and ask what happened, make sure he's okay. But that's not you and JJ. Instead, you hug your books tighter to your chest and follow him down the halls with your gaze. All you want to do is run after him, check on him. It makes no sense. You know he probably just got in another fight. JJ was always stirring up some type of trouble. But he didn't have the usual laugh or smile this time. His eyes looked almost hallow, broken. It made your heart feel heavy in your chest. You could barely focus in class, all your thoughts drifting to JJ Maybank and those haunting bruises. They were like ghosts in your head.

At the end of the day, JJ was swinging his backpack onto his shoulder with a wince, about to hop into his truck with you surprised yourself. Instead of catching a ride with your friend Sarah, you find yourself running across the parking lot to his beat up, rusted old truck.

"JJ!" You call.

His head whips around, brows furrow when he sees you. Then, that lazy smirk spreads painfully across the snagged and scabbed lip, "Y/N," he says in that lazy, bemused kind of way of his, that let's you know you're in for something, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

You want to scold him like you would normally. Instead, you freeze. You don't know what to say that doesn't include some sort of spat or dig. Instead, all you want to do is pull him close to you and hold him in your arms and it makes no damn sense.

"You weren't in school yesterday," you settle for saying.

"Astute observation, Sherlock."

Your stomach flips a little, excitedly like it does before a fight with JJ Maybank; like you were born for these little interactions. Instead, you take a breath and try your best to push through the wall he's putting up. "I just...I wanted to make sure you're okay?"

"When am I ever not okay?" JJ asks, pushing the blonde hair off his forehead with a practiced flick of his hand.

You sigh. He's deflecting. Of course he is. When does JJ Maybank ever take anything seriously. You don't know why it bothers you so much, but you need him to know. You need him to know that you care, that you're in his corner. You'd fight against him a thousand times over, but when he shows up looking like this, all you want to do is fight at his side and burn down the world for him. You know it doesn't make sense, but when did anything regarding JJ Maybank make sense.

You decide to meet him where he's put you. "Just seen you prettier, that's all," you say with a shrug. If he wants to deflect and be snarky, you can do that too. If snark is his comfort zone, you can meet him there.

JJ tugs the corner of his bottom lip between those feline-like teeth of his. He's amused, and it makes you happy to know you made him smile. Or rather, JJ's version of a smile.

"You worried about me, darlin'?" He drawls.

"If someone roughs you up too badly, who do I have to fight with?" You ask, and JJ laughs. Your stomach dips with the weight of the butterflies that have filled it.

JJ pushing his hair back again, smirk still playing on his lip, "Don't worry, darlin', nothin' can stop me from fighting with you. It's my favorite part of my day."

You cross your arms, fighting the smile on your face as you shake your head. "You're impossible," you say.

"And you love it," he says. You don't realize right away that you don't deny it.

"So...need a ride?" He asks, glancing behind you as Sarah's car pulls from the parking lot. "Cause it looks like yours just left."

Sarah. She's always trying to get you two alone. For some reason, she has it in her head that all your fighting is just camouflaging your "real feelings." You think Sarah needs to stop reading so many fanfics in her free time.

"Of course," you sigh, "Remind me to give Sarah Cameron an earful when I get home."

JJ just chuckles and unlocks the truck, tossing his backpack in the backseat. "Get in," he says. You don't argue.

You toss your bag in the back next to his before joining him in the front seat. Sitting together on his bench seats of his old truck feels almost intimate. This is the closest you've ever been to JJ before, and it's happening when you're alone. Both your brain and stomach feel as if they're on rollercoasters.

JJ backs the truck out of the school parking lot. "So, where to, Y/L/N?"

You tell him your street and he nods. He rolls down his window and with practiced ease, takes out and lights a cigarette one handed. You try not to wrinkle your nose. This is his truck and he's being kind enough to give you a ride. You aren't going to be a pain about a little cigarette smoke.

JJ begins to drum his fingers on the wheel, his right knee is bouncing jitterijngly. The cigarette between his fingers is doing nothing to calm his nerves, and you fight the urge to rest your hand on his knee.

"So," you say after a beat, "You gonna tell me about the sick fight you got in that led to....that," you wave a hand in his general direction.

JJ takes a drag of the cigarette, the air in the truck suddenly feeling thicker. "Not much too tell. Mouthed off, the usual."

You nod, "We both know that mouth of yours is gonna get you in some type of trouble one day."

JJ smirks, but it doesn't quite reach his eye, "Yeah," another drag of the cigarette, "But fuck, I wish hadn't been so drunk out of his mind to forget he was wearing that damn class ring."

You freeze. "What?"

"Dad," another drag, "That's who I've got to thank for these sick bruises. Dear ol' Dad."

"JJ..."

"It's fine," he quick to say, quick to shrug, "I've got it under control. It's usually not this bad. But last night he was completely hammered and I should have known not to..."

"No, JJ," you're quick to say, "Nothing you did is an excuse for this. Whatever you did, you didn't deserve this. This is on him, not on you."

JJ sighs, tightens his hand on the wheel, "Whatever," he says, another shrug, a slight sniffle, "It's just a few more months, then I'm eighteen and I'm out. It's fine, really Y/N. I've got it under control. And usually when he gets like that, I can hide out at John B's place, lay low a bit."

"JJ, you shouldn't have to..."

"It is what it is," JJ says, another shrug, "It's just the roll of the dice. The hand I've been dealt. I learned a long time ago it does nobody any good to run around feeling sorry for yourself."

"Does anyone know?" You ask, you feel like your stepping out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the weight of the ice.

"John B, his dad. They do what they can. No one blinks twice at a kid from The Cut with a few bruises. I've got a home, I'm fed. That's more than most of the kids from the broken homes 'round here. Besides, if anyone did come sniffin' around and decide to take me away, you know what that means, Y/N? That means being taken to the mainland, to a group home that'd probably be worse than where I am now. And I won't have John B or Big John or the surf to keep me sane. So I lay low, try to stay out of his way. It's fine, Y/N. I'm fine."

Your hand hovers slightly before you press above JJ's knee, right where the khaki cargo shorts cut off. His skin is soft, tanned. You half expect him to jerk away, to smack your hand away. Instead, he tenses under your touch, his eyes draw to you. You give him a soft smile.

"It's okay not to be fine, JJ. You don't have to be fine all the time, and you certainly don't have to be fine around me. It sucks, and I'm so sorry this is what you go through. You've never minced words with me before, so don't start now. It fucking sucks. But you aren't alone, okay? I'm here for you too."

"Mind if we make a pit stop first?" JJ asks.

You shrug, "I've got nowhere else to be."

You're sure Sarah is probably glued to her phone wanting every detail. You can make her stew a little bit.

JJ pulls the truck over at the drive-in burger place, Storm's. He orders two strawberry milkshakes.

"If you don't like strawberry milkshakes, then I'm kicking you out of this truck right now," he says, paying the carhop the $5.50 and handing you your Styrofoam cup.

"If you don't like strawberry milkshakes, I might never speak to you again," you say.

"Damn it," he snaps his fingers with a grin, "Nearly had an out."

You give his shoulder a shove and JJ laughs. It feels good to hear him laugh, to be the cause of it. You want to make him laugh over and over again.

JJ takes the truck out towards the beach. You sit in silence as you watch the waves, sipping your milkshakes. Silence has always made you feel awkward, on edge. This silence between you feels almost comfortable. Like neither of you have to say anything, and that's okay.

Still, you can't help but ask, "You have somewhere to go tonight?"

"Been staying at John B's," JJ says, "Dad'll cool off in a few days. Sober up. He's predictable like that. Hell," JJ laughs humorlessly, "I'll bet this weekend he'll pull up with an ice chest of beer and cans of tuna and have a whole weekend out on the boat planned just the two of us. That's as close to an apology as Luke Maybank can muster."

"JJ..."

"It's fine, Y/N. Like I said, I've got it under control. A few more months and then I'm out. I've even got money saved. John B and I are gonna rent a place close to the water. It'll be sick."

"Sounds nice," you say. "This is nice," you wave your milkshake out towards the sea just ahead, "I don't come to the beach enough."

"You don't? How do you survive?"

You can't help but laugh at how genuinely concerned he sounds. "Not everyone needs the salt water to survive, Jage," you say, "I guess I just never grew up with it. My parents are definitely more inside people. And sure we go to the beach sometimes. But I guess I just don't go out of my way to come here."

"That's just sad, Y/N. One of these days, I'm gonna have to teach you to surf." The comment seems to take the both of you by surprise. "Uh..." JJ's hand goes immediately to the back of his neck.

"I'd like that," you're quick to say, and it seems to relax him just a bit.

"Really?" That lazy grin is back.

"Mmhmm," you nod, "No one's ever gone out of their way to teach me anything like that before. And even I know you're one of the best surfers on the island."

JJ beams with pride, sits up a little straighter, "Damn straight." He takes another slurp of his milkshake, then lifts his chin towards the water, "C'mon," he says.

"Where are we going?" You ask as he's already bailing out of the truck.

"Just c'mon," he says.

You can't help but laugh, leaving your milkshake behind. JJ takes your hand in his and pulls you towards the beach. The wind is kicking up as evening approaches, and you walk along the sand, breathing in the brine of the salt water. JJ's still holding your hand in his, and you can't help but think it belongs there, in his.

"This right here," he says, "is why I stay where I am. I can't imagine being away from the ocean, the surf. John B says I have saltwater for blood and maybe he's right. But this right here, Y/N, is my favorite place in the world. It's paradise. Everything else, all the bullshit, it's worth it to be here. There's no where else I'd rather be."

"It is beautiful," you say, "I definitely need to come out to the water more."

"I'll bring you."

"You better."

JJ smiles, tightens his hand around yours.

The two of you walk along the beach, enjoying the sounds of the waves splashing, the gulls cawlling from above. Some little kids are building sandcastles as you walk past.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" You ask, "I was building a sandcastle in the sand box on the playground and you trampled right over it."

"That was not the first time we met."

"Yes it was."

"Oh no it wasn't. C'mon, Y/N, do you really not remember?"

"I remember you trampling my sandcastle is what I remember."

JJ shakes his head, "We met before that. Nursery school. About two years before then."

"What?" Your brows furrow as you try to think back that far.

"It was your first day and you were crying and clutching that stupid teddy bear of yours. You didn't want your mom to leave you. You sat off by yourself crying all morning. I went over and shared my Goldfish with you cause I felt bad."

"Oh my God..."

"Yeah," JJ runs a hand through his hair, watching the sand kick beneath his feat, "And then that day on the playground, I was so excited to see you again that I ran over and...accidentally stomped on your sandcastle. But by then you were so livid that I'd ruined it and started yelling at me, and well...I've always been kind of a shit about things and so I started kicking it worse, just to get a rise out of you. I'd have done the same thing to John B. But seeing you get all...squawk like that."

"I do not squawk."

"Oh you absolutely squawk," JJ laughs, "And thus began our beautiful rivalry as we know it."

"You're a pain," you say, but you can't help the smile on your face.

"You love it though."

"Do not."

"Do too!" JJ gives you a gentle shove with his shoulder, "You absolutely start half the shit that's happened between us. You go out of your way to track me down and yell at me for something."

"I do not do that!"

"You absolutely do that. And you drag poor Sarah long with you and she stands there and tries not to laugh as we go at it. If I didn't know better, Y/N, I'd say you actually enjoyed our fights."

"That's not true! You are such a menace! You get on my last never all the time and..."

"Uh-huh," JJ's smirk deepens, the dimple forms in his cheek, "Keep tellin' yourself that, Mama."

The term of endearment makes your stomach tighten. You can feel your cheeks heat, and it's not from the sun.

"Don't call me that," you say.

"Why not?" JJ asks.

"Because," you can't think of a single valid reason. "That nickname is for a significant other," you finally say.

"True," JJ nods, "And that's definitely not you, right?"

"Absolutely not," you say, your hand gives his an involuntary squeeze, "In your dreams, Maybank."

"What do you know about my dreams, Y/L/N?"

You give him a shove, and JJ laughs.

"I like that," you say before you can stop yourself.

"Like what?" JJ asks.

"Your laugh."

You swear his cheeks go a shade of pink when you say it.

"No one likes my laugh," he says.

"That's not true. John B likes your laugh, I see the two of you. He's always trying to go out of his way to make you laugh. And I like it too."

JJ blushes deeper, "You can't just go runnin' around sayin' shit like that," he says.

"And why not?"

JJ just sighs, lifts his eyes to the sky like he's saying a silent prayer and shakes his head, "You just can't, darlin'."

The two of you walk a little further, to one of the rocky hills. JJ still holds your hand as the two of you climb up to sit on the top. He pulls his knees to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Love coming here," he says, "Best place to sit and clear your head when the noise of everything else gets too loud."

"It really is beautiful," you say, "Thank you for bringing me."

"Haven't had a chance to come out here since the other night," JJ says, picks up a rock and turns it in his hand. "Went straight to John B's after."

You finally reach a hand out, cup his cheek in your palm, "I'm so sorry, JJ," you say, wishing your gentle touch could somehow erase the pain from his flesh. You realize in this moment that JJ Maybank should only ever feel gentleness and softness. It breaks your heart to think he's felt anything else.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he says, overlapping your hand with his, "But thank you, Y/N."

"Make you a deal," you say.

"What's that?" JJ asks.

"Any time things feel like a lot, you can come find me and bring me out here. I need a surf instructor after all. Any time you need to clear your head and need an excuse, I'm here."

JJ smiles, nuzzles his cheek into your hand, "Thanks, Y/N." He takes your hand in his and runs his thumb over the back of your knuckles, "Can I tell you a secret?" He asks.

"Sure."

"I think that's why I pick fights with you like I do. Fighting with you...it's fun. And it pulls me out of my head. Distracts me."

You can't explain it, but his words make your stomach dip. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," JJ blushes again, ducks his head, "I just...it's fun. Isn't it?"

"It is," you admit, "I like fighting with you."

"But after all these years...." he sighs, "...sometimes I can't help but wonder..."

"Wonder?"

"If there might be something better...better than fighting."

The butterflies are back and you tilt your head to meet his eye, "Like?"

"You're my distraction, Y/N. Every bit as much as the waves are. You keep me grounded. It sounds stupid....but the reason I even still come to school at all is because I look forward to fightin' with you. I'm just sayin'....what if there was something more than fightin'."

"Can I tell you a secret?" You ask. JJ nods. "Sarah gives me so much shit for it, but fighting with you is one of my favorite parts of the day. I do look for you and go out of my way to yell at you for something. It's...it's fun, getting under each other's skin. I can't imagine you not being the fixture you've become in my life, JJ Maybank. I don't think I want to."

JJ takes a breath, the blush is back on his cheeks. You give his hand a squeeze.

"What would you want with a guy like me?" He asks and your heart clenches in your chest.

You let go of his hand and turn to face him, sitting up on your knees. "JJ Maybank," you say, gently scolding, "Don't you even think that. Not for a second."

"Look at me though," he says with a broken sigh, "I'm fucked up, Y/N. Just look at my face..."

You interrupt with a press of your lips to his cheek. JJ freezes, you hear the softest little gasp escape. You press another kiss to another bruise, and another. The bruise on his cheekbones, the cut above his eyebrow, the purple blooming along his eyesocket. JJ is almost shaking as you press a final kiss to the cut on his swollen lip.

"Jesus, Mama..." he says, and it sounds like a prayer.

"That a better distraction than fighting?" You ask with a smirk of your own.

"Fuck yes," his voice is thick and wrecked as you sit back, card your hand through the blonde bangs sticking to his forehead.

"I think so too," you say. "What do you say we retire our title of mortal enemies, hmm?"

"Yes please."

You can't help but giggle at the desperation in his voice, "What other title should we give each other then?" You ask.

JJ rolls his eyes, the smile on his face big enough to split him in two, "You're really gonna make me say it?"

"Mmhmm."

JJ shakes his head helplessly, "Alright, fine. You win. Girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend," you say back.

JJ ducks his head to hide the blush staining his cheeks. His smile has somehow grown even bigger. Then, as if finally getting a handle on himself, he reaches up and pulls you towards him, hand at the nape of your neck.

"You know what this means, right?" He asks, lips hovering above yours.

"Tell me."

"I get to kiss you any time I like."

"Well you god-damn better," you can't help but grin.

JJ chuckles lowly, before capturing your lip in his. The kiss is unlike any other kiss you've ever experienced; those sweet, shy kisses on doorsteps after dates to dances and diners. This is different. There's a desperation there, a hunger, and a hope all in one. JJ nips at your lip as the two of you pull apart.

"Fuck," he says on a sigh.

"Better than fighting?" You ask again.

"So much better."

You press another kiss to his cheek, "I wish I could kiss away every bit of pain, JJ."

"This?" JJ points to the bruise on his cheek, "Aint nothin'. I'd walk through fire and back for one kiss from you."

"I'd never ask you to," you say, cupping his cheek in your palm again. "You know what this means, right?"

"What's that, Mama?"

"I get to kiss you any time I like. No walking through fire required."

"You're letting me call you Mama," JJ says, reaching a hand out to twist a strand of your hair around his finger.

"Boyfriend privileges and all that," you say.

"I like the sound of that," JJ grins, "Tell me, darlin'. What other privileges do these new titles come with?"

You shake your head with a laugh, "You'll just have to see."

The sun is starting to set and JJ sighs, "Guess I better be gettin' you home."

"Pry should."

"And Big John is grilling out for us tonight, so I should get back for that."

"You gonna be okay?" You ask.

"Of course," he says, "I'm JJ Maybank. When am I ever not okay?"

You sigh and shake your head as he holds out his hand and helps you to your feet. "Besides," he says as the two of you start the walk to the car, "I get to look forward to seeing my girl tomorrow."

You can't help but blush. JJ holds the truck door open for you and you slide in. He goes around to the drivers side and hops in, turning the key in the ignition.

"Do girlfriends get AUX privileges?" You ask, reaching for the cable hanging down by your feet.

"Fuck no," JJ laughs, snatching it away, "I've heard the shit you and Sarah blast from her convertible. Girlfriend or not, Taylor Swift is not touchin' these speakers."

"But...girlfriend privileges."

"Girlfriend privileges nothin'," JJ grins, backing the truck out, "Girlfriend privileges mean I'm pressin' you up against this truck and kissin' you breathless before I tell you goodnight. It does not mean blasting Taylor Swift in ol' Daisy Mae."

"You named your truck Daisy Mae?"

"What?"

"That's more egregious than any music I could play from my phone."

"Don't you be talkin' shit about Daisey Mae, okay?"

"Stupid ass name," you say with a smile.

JJ lifts his middle finger at you with a smile equally as big.

"Alright," you say, "question."

"What's that?"

"Just because we've retired the title of mortal enemies doesn't mean we still can't fight, right?"

"Not the fun fights anyway," JJ grins, "Those fights I can always just shut you up by kissin' you."

"Menace."

"Always."

You shake your head, laughing and lean your head against his shoulder.

"Oh I am in so much trouble," he says, handing you the AUX cord, "You've already got me wrapped around your finger. You always have."

You press another kiss to his cheek, taking his hand in yours. You pull up These Arms of Mine by Otis Redding.

"And you've got me wrapped around yours," you say.

JJ grins, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. The two of you drive the rest of the way to your house in silence, your head on his shoulder and Otis' voice crooning from the crackling stereo. JJ Maybank was officially now no longer the bane of your existence, and maybe Sarah Cameron hadn't been that off-base after all. All you knew in this moment though was you'd spent the last ten years being driven crazy by JJ Maybank, and you'd gladly be driven crazy by him the next ten.

[nocophobia]

Peter Spankoffski but it’s my AU (Check previous posts for details) (Tumblr ISTG if you delete this ENTIRE rewrite I will bite you)

“A Spankoffski! I’m gonna have the whole set in my toy box!”

Peter knew from the moment he heard Tinky invoke his surname, that there was something to these mysterious Lords in Black that he could never fathom. With all of the drama that happened after that single moment, it was easy for Pete to forget his family name was ever mentioned, But fortunately, after the entire ordeal was over, and he had willingly handed himself over to a mysterious being he knew nothing about, Pete got to revisit that memory over and over from every day on after that event. He remembered that memory vividly, but the memory didn’t stop. He started remembering everything, Things that hadn’t happened yet, things that he wasn’t even there for, things that were so tiny and minuscule that they shouldn’t even begin to matter. Every memory at once started to overlap after several days, every minute being worse than the last. Pete couldn’t focus on the world around him, because he at this point didn’t even know which one was his.

Overstimulation overwhelm, migraines, and anxiety attacks became increasingly more common in his daily routine. Pete started to isolate himself from his friends. Even Stephanie, who desperately needed his help the most. With every choice he made his focus would branch off into another what-if scenario. It would continue in an instant overlapping forever. Every table he sat at, every route he took, he perfectly could see a world in which he chose differently, and it was driving him slowly insane.

With a complete mental break just around the corner, Pete made a desperate, unserious, selfish wish that anyone, anyone at all could take his burden from him. In hindsight, he would have never wished that had he known it would’ve come true and sent a random teen to a mental hospital. He felt horrible, but the relief, the small long missed relief he felt from the awareness transfer was addicting and healing. Pete finally knew how to maintain his sanity with his newfound godly curse, but he grew to learn that he would wish he didn’t.

Pete most likely had it worst of the bunch because now, even though he could use his powers to an advantage, even though he could have several victims to watch and sadistically laugh at, he was too morally in the right ever wish harm or suffering onto an undeserving soul. He’s forever now met with a dilemma that will haunt him more than any vision, memory, or what if. He’d have to torment to survive and to him, that is torture in itself. It seems that, though he is given much more freedom than most of Tnoy Karaxis’s toys, it goes to show that in the end, despite his gifts, he is still just a toy, like all Spankoffskis are meant to be.

TLDR: Peter gets the royal Time Bastard treatment with perks and he buys noise cancelling headphones.

[thealmightyemprex]

Halloweenathon:Elviras Haunted Hills

So a few years ago I watched Elvira Mistress of the Dark and was utterly enchanted by it ,a well deserved cult classic that I found very endearing and heartwarming.So this year I decided to check out Elviras second feature ,which is very diffrent .....But still charmed the hell out of me

This 2001 film follows Elvira (Cassandra Petersen ) and her servent Zhou Zhou (Mary Jo Smith ) as on her way to a show in Paris finds herself in Castle Hellsubus where resides the tortured and brooding Lord Vladimir Hellsubus (Richard O'Brien )

OK so....I hvae to explain what this film is,cause it is NOT a Mistress of the Dark sequel and that might dissappoint some people......What it is ,is something definately in my wheelhouse but kind of niche.....A parody of the Roger Corman/Vincent Price Poe films (With a dash of Hammer ,though mostly Corman ).ITs basically a mix of Fall of the House of Usher and Pit and the Pendulem but Elviras there .Now I LOVE the Corman Poe films and this is a brillaint parody .The common thing said about parody is you MUST parody something you love ,and this is one of the most loving parodys I have seen since Young Frankenstein ,not the funniest,but so loving,with scenes taken directly from USher or Penfulum,the convulated plot ,the crumbling castle ,and especially the hammy acting .I think the most brillaint choice in the film has to be the casting of Richard O'Brian as the Vincent Price type character....Cause he NAILS it ,I mean O'Brian is a spooky cult icon in of himself(I mean he created Rocky Horror for crying out loud ) ,but he absoultely gets the angsty torment and maniacal villainy of a Price character while gobbling up bits of scenery and nailing the humor of the part ,all while doing his own spin,hes not imitating Price ,but he nails the type of character Price excelled at ,he gets the vibe down .The rest of the cast is pretty fun especially Mary Scheer as the villinous wife who is wonderfully over the top and Scott Atkinson who plays the conniving Doctor while doing an impression of George Sanders .Elvira is Elvira ,despite it being a period film she plays it totally modern and I think it works as if Elvira is stuck in one of the movies shes used to hosting on her show .As a comedy it worked for me,mainly cause I got what they were spoofing ,I laughed a good bit ,my three fave bits where the doctor explaining the depraved history of the family and all the ancestors are Richard O Brien while Elvira comments on their activities,O BRiens take on the Vincent Price Pit and the Pendulem monologue ,and especially the handsome heroic stabkle hand played by Gabriel Andronache  who isintentionally dubbed badly by voice acting legend Rob Paulsen

Not all the jokes land and Zhou Zhou feels like a bit of a one note and kind of mean joke .....But those are my only complaints

This is a very fun love letter to the Vincent Price movies of the 60's.If you are a fan of the Corman/Price/Poe films,this is a must watch ,if you like Elvira its a must watch ,if you like Richard O Brian its a must watch and if you are looking for a horror comedy this is a good one .ITs not for every one but its a fun time

@ariel-seagull-wings @themousefromfantasyland

@the-blue-fairie @countesspetofi

@theancientvaleofsoulmaking @filmcityworld1

@amalthea9 @barbossas-wench

@princesssarisa

[p-sherman-42]

9/26/24

Dear N,

It's been a month now since we last spoke and you are still constantly on my mind, haunting me, tormenting me. I tell everyone that I'm over it, that I'm over you, that I don't even think about you anymore because I know that it's what they want to hear. I know they're sick of listening to me whine about you, ask the same pointless questions over and over, never getting an answer--never going to get an answer.

Why?

I wonder if you ever think about me, if you miss me. I want you to miss me. I like to think that you do, just like I like to believe that you really meant it when you said you love me.

I keep hoping that you'll show up here to surprise me, like you kept saying you would. I look for you everywhere, but you're never there. Just traces of you, things that remind me of you. Mossy trees and the way the air feels cleansed after a heavy rain.

I hope you're doing well. I hope your kids are doing well.

There's so many things I want to tell you, but I can't. I never can.

I loved you more than anything. I hope you know that. I still do.

You are in every sip of coffee, every autumn breeze that fucks up my bangs, every polite smile and hello I exchange with strangers, every click of a pen. You're even present at my lectures. Today my professor was drinking his coffee out of an Upsala University mug. I felt sick to my stomach. I wish I could talk with you about art again.

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot / The world forgetting, by the world forgot / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind / Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resigned" (Alexander Pope).

I wish I could forget you. I wish I never met you.

Last night, I broke down in tears while watching The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again. And it's so ridiculous because it's not like I ever have any fond memories with you that I would want to erase. I was never fortunate enough to get the opportunity to create any of those memories with you. Or maybe that makes me fortunate. Because if it's this difficult to get over you when all I had were some pictures of you and words you wrote (and the few you spoke), you would have destroyed me if I had more.

I feel ridiculous for becoming so attached to you when I never even had you in the first place. I don't understand how you were able to make it feel like I did though. You were so good at tricking me into thinking we were together, so precise and meticulous with your choice of words. More humiliating than anything, I can't believe I fell for your bullshit.

Whatever. It was real to me.

I miss you. I don't even understand why I do. I shouldn't. What is there to even miss, really? I never even got to feel your hand in mine. It was rare that I got to hear your voice or your laugh, even more rare that I got to see your smile.

I need to stop dwelling on what could have been, stop mourning the wasted potential for something beautiful.

What we had wasn't beautiful or profound. It was superficial and ugly and twisted and toxic.

And still, I miss you. And still, I love you.

Yours always, M♡

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.27

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - The party ends.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.5k

Another one :)

Inside, the party had ramped up in her absence. The dance floor was so packed with people she didn’t see how they were able to move at all. At times she had to physically push through the crowd to make her way deeper inside. She was looking for Martyn, who she still hadn’t had a chance to talk to. She felt guilty for leaving him in the dark but there hadn't been any time to tell him anything. A sloshing cup of wine poured out of a hand half holding it and Shanda barely managed to dodge around it. She was thankful to not still be wearing the silver wedding dress. She had changed into another gold gown, one with beautiful pale moonstones sewed into it. The stones glittered iridescent under the torchlight. She deftly moved out of the way of a stumbling Mallister who was being firmly escorted out of the hall. Glancing back she shook her head, she was supposed to start the trouble this time.

She twisted and craned her neck searching for her brother but only a wash of differing house colors met her eyes. She strained for a glint of gold in the crowd but was met with more blood red of the Blackwoods than the familiar color of home. She rubbed her eyes groaning. The crowd moved more restlessly against the music which was so fast paced it would’ve made her dizzy to dance to. There was no time to wait, the fever pitch of the room was at its peak and she could not miss the opportunity. She muscled her way over to a group of drunken Mallisters who were visibly upset about their friend being ejected from the party. The group was muttering amongst themselves and nursing their drinks, watching the other people with displeasure.

“Threw your guy out too did they?” She grabbed a cup off a passing couple and threw it back, trying her best to look as disappointed as the men around her.

A few murmurs of agreement went up at her words.

“It was that fucking Fisher cunt.”

Another cut in after saying, “Tully should ship them all back to that cursed isle of theirs, save the rest of us the pain.”

Shanda knew the Misty Isles were probably haunted with something but it wasn’t whatever the Mallisters were suggesting. But it did play into her hand, which was to rile the group up. She nodded along with them then looked around conspiratorially.

“I heard something like that about them. Well, I shouldn’t say that though.” She nervously glanced around again before plucking another wine glass off a serving platter as it went by. She made a show of tossing it back and spilling some on herself. Then she laughed and wiped her face with the back of her arm. “Definitely they are cursed men though.” She added as if it were obvious to all of them.

She knew the men were looking at each other, each sizing her up to see if she really knew anything worthwhile.

“What’d you hear?” One finally braved the question.

She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Oh it's probably nothing. My cousin, she just said earlier when all of the couples were gathered together that the Fisher guy was acting odd. Whatever that means.”

She let her words hang there a moment, letting their curiosity fizzle out. She hadn’t revealed anything after all. Then when they all seemed annoyed she was wasting their time, she continued.

“That was until Lady Smallwood told me what he said about the Misty Isles. No one knows where it's at because Fisher hides it with blood magic.”

Their attention was directed back at her though warily.

“Blood magic? Like old gods sacrifice?” The man who asked looked pale at the suggestion.

“Didn’t that fisher cunt say something to you as they dragged him off? What was it? Something about the pale wings? No was the white something?”

“The white dawn?” Shanda asked, completely making up the phrase but positing it as a probable answer.

The guy clapped his hands together. “Yeah I think so.”

The group pushed in closer around her and she gave another suspicious glance around before speaking again.

“Bad stuff that is. Being around the Blackwoods, I’ve heard mention of this kind of stuff. Sacrifices made in the dark, women stolen out of their beds and taken. You know they must be hiding the Isles from the reavers.”

She knew the plan was working when one disgustedly said, “Fucking cowards, leaving us to do all the work fighting off the Iron born while they hide in the mists.”

A chorus of angry agreement followed his words.

She waited just a moment longer before walking off, she needed to find a man from house Fisher now. It didn’t take long for her to find Lady Smallwood and set the rest of the plan into motion. She wrapped her arms around the woman, openly and loudly congratulating her on her wedding before she leaned in to whisper to her the plan.

“Far right corner, they’re about as pissed as can be. Told ‘em the Fishers do blood sacrifices.”

Smiling brightly and showing no sign she heard her, Violet moved quickly to her husband's side. She tapped his arm and the large man leaned down to listen to her, Shanda didn’t stick around to watch the rest. She still needed to find Martyn. And hopefully she could find Ser Joth on the way. The next part of the plan was to have houses Piper and Wayn at each other's throats. She felt a twinge of guilt at involving Ser Joth in the scheme but then she spotted her cousin, Rebecken and discarded her guilt. She was about to throw her cousin into trouble as well.

“Cousin! Please tell me you’ve been watching out for Wendall and Ser Joth.”

Rebecken’s expression immediately soured at her words.

“Don’t tell me those two are at it again?”

“I lost sight of them. I was hoping you could help me out? I need someone to go check the godswood.”

The fight between the Mallisters and the Fishers broke at that moment. Explosive voices fired over the swell of the music.

“I’ll fucking kill you for that! I’m no coward, no lady killer!”

Shanda never heard the Mallister response because the man rared back and slugged the Fisher bloke. Then it was chaos from there which worked just fine for her.

“I see you’ll have your hands full here. I’ll go check the godswood.”

She rested her hand on his arm for a second “Thanks, Beck. I better go.” Then she hurriedly made her way towards the brawling group. She had spotted Wendall and knowing he would be the easier one to persuade, she pounced on him.

“Wendall! Joth Piper called you a woman beater, said he was headed to the godswood to pray for the undoing of your house.” She hadn’t even really thought of what to say to him before she said it. The way his face darkened at the mention of ser Joth had told her it didn’t matter what she said. He was going regardless. He hardly waited for her to finish speaking before he roughly shoved her away, making his way presumably to the godswood.

She surveyed the room looking for Ser Joth but an arm snaked around her hip and she was pulled backwards against a strong body. She huffed pulling at Benjicot’s arm.

“We don’t have time for this. Have you seen Ser Joth?”

He was dragging her further away from the fighting on the dance floor which had swelled to include several other house and she spotted the familiar red Tully hair amongst the crowd.

“Come on, let’s get out of here while we can.” He was still pulling her backwards against her efforts.

She was straining to hear the shouted arguments over the shouts of frightened guests. “Let go, Ben. This is the whole point of the thing.”

She ripped his hand free of her and quickly walked back over listening to the men shouting.

“House Mallister sends out guards to survey all of your lands, then they plot how to get piss you off so they can invade them!” A bronze haired Fisher spat.

A sickening crunch came from somewhere off to her right but her eyes and ears were focused on the two who had started this entire ordeal.

“We survey to help people develop defense strategies! Your house wouldn’t know because you hide in conjured mists like cowards!”

She was grateful that Lord Elmo had barred weapons from the great hall at that moment. The two were evenly matched despite the Mallister boy having several inches and pounds on the man from house Fisher. Shanda stood back a few feet away, posted beside a column off to the side. She could hear Lord Lord cursing at the top of his lungs but the crowd had grown beyond him. He would need to send for his guards.

“That’s not fucking true! We don’t do any bloody sacrifices.” The towering Mallister finally managed to take his opponent to the ground and the two wrestled on the floor.

She turned her attention elsewhere but Benjicot had returned to her side and was again trying to draw her away. Her patience had run out at that point, she turned to snap at him.

“Why do you think I orchestrated this entire thing? They’re all outing each other. Elmo’s book told us some stuff but its not like the lord paramount comes with an all seeing eye. We knew just enough to make them think their secrets were out. Now they’re exposing each other in retaliation.” She stepped around him, half listening to the fighting as she talked. “Now, we wait to get some answers.”

“And we did that.” He insisted. “Now I think we should leave because it’s escalating beyond that. You know tensions have been high this entire time.”

She rolled her eyes, still not looking at him. She dodge around a couple, trying to lose him in the crowd. An intense fight was happening near the back corner of the room and she was trying to hear what was being said. Benjicot pulled her around by her arm to face him and she started to seethe at the sight of him.

“Let go. What’s your deal? Honestly.”

“Do you want Elmo to know it was us? We can’t just march over to-“

“Since when do you give a shit about what Elmo thinks? Shove off Blackwood.” She pulled his hand off of her once again and moved away from him swiftly.

“That’s husband to you, stubborn wench!”

She didn’t bother to answer him, she’d caught a worrying shiny glint inside the shifting circle of brawling men and her anxiety had skyrocketed. Why was Royce fighting? And which house was it with? They’d intentionally left the Blackwoods and Brackens out of their schemes. They were in enough hot water causing the mess. The closer she got the more she worried, no insults were being thrown around. The fight was tight and intense. She had decided to barrel straight into the middle of it, Royce was young. Brawling men be damned she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She was in a panic as she did so, wishing she could find Martyn.

Benjicot was too slow to stop her from sliding into the mass of fighting men. She slipped through them unnoticed and knew her husband was too bulky to do the same. When she burst through the middle, it was not Royce bathed in blood. Martyn stood looking half crazy, a righteous god of fury as he rained blow after blow against his opponent. His opponent was… ser Joth Piper. Half scared and half confused she stood there frozen for half a second until Joth swiped her brothers feet out from under him. She moved with the speed of the wind as she grabbed his pulled back fist. She pulled backwards knocking him off balance, as he toppled over she helped her brother stand.

“What’s the problem? Martyn what happened?”

Benjicot had broken through the circle of men at last pulling several Tully guards in behind him. She stood with her arm around him and hissed at Joth when he stood to make a move towards them.

“It was them. They helped kill our mother, the bastards basically admitted to it right in front of me.”

“Sad little useless guard.” He taunted.

When Joth lunged this time Benjicot caught him by the throat and slammed him to the ground in an obscenely aggressive display of violence. Shanda was too busy thinking about what Martyn said to notice. Her mother had been killed on the kingsroad. She thought she had taken the road north, past Harrenhal after passing through the crownlands. She had always assumed some bandit at the Crossroads Inn saw her leave and did her in. But if she had gone west along the gold road she would have cut off the main road to pass by Hornvale and Pinkmaiden. She looked down at the man laying pinned to the ground and felt sick to her stomach. She had liked him, laughed with him. Meant to include him in her schemes to make Elmo’s life a little more annoying. The malicious look on his face made her feel cold inside. How poorly had she misjudged him. But more importantly why had they done it? And what had Martyn heard them say? She did not have time to ponder much more than that before Elmo spoke up, sounding ancient and weary. She didn’t know when he had arrived or how much he’d heard.

“I will see you all at Dawn.”

His guards personally escorted everyone from the hall. Everyone except for herself, Martyn, Benjicot and Alysanne. Shanda did a double take at the last party, the last she had seen of her new sister she was half sloshed outside. It had been a while since then and she hadn’t noticed her.

“Ill have it all now. No lies or I swear upon the old gods and the new I’ll eradicate both your houses and save us any further issues.”

Martyn was still leaning against her half bleeding and they all stood silently waiting for someone to make the first move. She sighed.

“Help me move Martyn to a chair at least first.” She implored looking at the eternally done Lord Paramount.

After Martyn was seated, she managed to wipe the majority of the blood off her arms onto her dress. She folded her hands together and took a deep breath.

Looking up, she met Elmo’s gaze and said ruefully, “A couple of months ago, I decided I was bored.”

[gorjee-art]

Skin, Monster and Hide for Claire and Sebastian mayhaps....

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

CLAIRE Skin - In terms of confidence and vanity, Claire is more than ok with being in her skin and uses it to her advantage, however at times there is a tinge of...discomfort. She understands that she's tiny in a world of dogs that are more than happy to tear her apart if they even just so happen to get the chance. Sometimes she tends to view herself as a shiny piece of bait, that delicious shred of "meat" for the lonely masses. Brittle bones, delicate skin, so fragile and easy to break. She thinks that...maybe, just maybe. She tends to talk a little too big.

Monster - Oh this, oh this makes me giddy to answer. Yes, Claire struggles with the idea of her morals. Unlike Charles who is physically able to break, smash, and destroy. Her specialty is mental destruction. To be up on that stage, bathed in white light, the savior of the land, the hope that every citizen craves. She set a thousand souls on fire, hearts ablaze with desperate love over her honied voice. To have the ability to make them cry, laugh, fume, and fear as if she were the puppeteer of emotion. To have the ability to make even the biggest, strongest, heartless of monsters grovel at her feet, begging for the tiniest shred of attention, when it's also just so...easy to stab them at their weakest, most vulnerable point, take whatever they have, and they won't even want to fight back. She made so many love her, and she's sorry for that. She sees herself as a heartless harpy, a siren of the sea, sending so many to their downfall with her voice alone. What kind of monster is she?

Hide - Not many know, what hides behind her apartment doors, not even a secret worth hiding, not many tending to even notice, not knowing it's her greatest shame. An echoing song of the carousel, the smell of sweet popcorn, a carnival in the past, lived an ugly duckling. Claire was once, a clown! Covered head to toe in makeup and silly outfits, practicing her acrobatics. She once loved the circus, she even still loves the idea of being a clown, but a great shame has taunted her love of the memory. A past tainted with being the runt of her family of cousins, brothers, and sisters, her existence only really matters to the masses once she takes a pie to her face. She'll never truly forget the haunting memories of being mocked for her sheer appearance. Only being seen under the lens of a joke. Only being remembered for just how many people were brought for her shows. Once she became a budding teenager, she packed her bags in search of a better life, not being able to take the negligence anymore, only to end up in Elysium...a forgotten island not even marked on a map. Now trapped in a golden cage. Photos still hang on her walls, souvenirs and knick-knacks sitting on her dressers. No one cared to ask, so she didn't answer.

SEBASTIAN Skin/Hide - The answer to both is...Nothing! He has nothing to hide and he feels perfectly fine under his skin, he's not tormented by much of anything. In terms of having something to hide...it's mostly things that he doesn't know he has hidden! With brain damage like his memories are muddled, sometimes he still believes he was born and raised in Elysium when he grew up in Vermont. He has trouble remembering how he even got his scar, assuming it was a birth defect. His answers to any question is...mostly assumptions. "What are you in here for?" "Well, I'm a very wicked criminal!" "Well, what did you do?" "I can't remember..."

He believes himself to be a budding businessman In the cruel clutches of Elysium, giving the people what they need! That's it, and nothing more...but sometimes he swore he had a sibling...that's probably nothing to worry about!

Monster - He's far from being aware of the...ethical questions about his work. He just sees it as being...ordinary! Normal! It's what everyone else is doing so why can't I? People are dead anyway, they're not using their organs, so what crime have I truly done? I'm just a harvester! Thus a farmer can't sell their products? Psh! Poppycock! Balderdash! Psh-! Psh-!

[mysticstarlightduck]

Songs and Ships Tag!

I was tagged by the wonderful @tabswrites, whose post is here.

Rules: write about two to five songs from them that represent a ship between your ocs (it can be platonic or romantic or a secret third thing). then add a quote from said WIP (if possible!) underneath it.

(I'll put snippets of the song's lyrics instead of the quote from my WIP because it's still in the process of drafting 😂)

Since I am writing the first actual chapters of my WIP Tales of WIlted Flowers this week and the next, I'll do this tag for both main ships from the book: Xarian/Lorelai, and Rylisan/Eiralis.

🍂 Xarian and Lorelai 🍂

Xarian is a fae outlaw, running from the sorcerer that destroyed his life in the past. Lorelai is a human oddball, yearning to become a hero like the ones of the old tales. Together, they might yet achieve something.

For the Dancing and the Dreaming - HTTYD Peter Hollens Cover

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas With never a fear of drowning, And gladly ride the waves of life, If you would marry me. [...] Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh beside me"

Bad Romance - Lady Gaga, Halestorm version

"I want your love And I want your revenge You and me could write a bad romance I want your love and all your lover's revenge You and me could write a bad romance"

King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men

"Howling ghosts they reappear In mountains that are stacked with fear, But you're a King and I'm your Lionheart [...] As the world comes to an end I'll be here to hold your hand 'Cause you're a King and I'm your Lionheart"

Wild Uncharted Waters - Jonah Hauer King

"Miles beyond the sea I was darkness-bound, I had almost drowned 'Til you came around and you found me [...] And I hope you're there in the open air There's no map or compass to guide me Time may change the shoreline, but time will not change me"

You Said - Eurielle

"You said I would swim, never drown You said I’d never be buried underground My breath would always breathe in and out Your love makes me immortal (Now the darkness will take me down...) Your love made me immortal"

+ Bonus - First Meeting Song! Brave New World - Kalandra

"Close your eyes and sleep Ignore all the burdens that you keep Come whatever may They could never harm you anyway, Stirrings in the wind Resonates a whisper from within Warnings from afar Telling you to heed the Morning Star Waking from The Dream Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in The end is what you fear The scent of embers lingers in the air"

🌸Rylisan and Eiralis🌸

Rylisan is a young elf who wanted to be a warrior but now lives in exile and is haunted by a dark past that he wishes to escape, desperate to prove himself again. Eiralis is a human girl raised by dryads, who is in equal measure too sweet and too dangerous for the quest she is in.

Unchained - Colm Mcguiness

"A way to resolve but no way to forget Unchained and unshackled but bound by regret Twisted in torment As you waged this war [...] How to atone and to wash what you've seen? Hands forced by another, But stained all the same [...] Revenge and Redemption both tread the same lines."

Lend Me Your Voice - Belle

"It's easy to push me away from you Easy to say you want to be left on your own Yet somehow I can't help but see How your eyes shy away Your hands seal the entrance and the path to your heart Anger kept fear and the sadness you feel Under the surface for so long Locked that room, you keep it in inside Lend me your voice Words you try so hard to forget, they will break through the silence Bring me close Let me see the past you regret deep down below Show it all"

Mary on a Cross - Ghost

"We were speeding together Down the dark avenues But besides all the stardom All we got was blues But through all of that sorrow We were riding high And the truth of the matter is I'll never let you go, let you go We were scanning the cities Rocking to pay the dues But besides all the glamour All we got was bruised But through all of that sorrow We were riding high And the truth of the matter is I'll never let you go, let you go"

Home - Dotan

"Run past the rivers, run past all the light Feel it crashing and burning, till it all collides Strike a match, lit the fire, shining up the sky As it all comes down again As it all comes down again As it all comes down again to the sound The sound of the wind is whispering in your head Can you feel it coming back? Through the warmth, through the cold, keep running till we're there We're coming home now, we're coming home now"

I'd Pluck a Fair Rose - Anne Dudley

"I'd pluck a fair rose for my love I'd pluck a red rose blowin' Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove What your heart's knowin' I'd pluck a finger on a thorn I'd pluck a finger bleedin' Red is my heart, a-wounded and forlorn And with your heart needing"

+ Bonus - First Meeting Song! Firecracker - Cami Cat

"Set all the world into a mighty blaze And dance the night away Light up the night with your fiery gaze He won’t forget your face It was then that the girl came into his sight Shining brighter than any star in the sky Spinning round her feet kick the ground into a spark Setting fire ablaze inside his heart With her dance she began to warm his world again And he knew he would love her until the end"

Tagging - @writernopal, @chauceryfairytales, @clairelsonao3, @aziz-reads, @cabbojage, and @rickie-the-storyteller