#which is giving person who is cold all the time

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── you, clouds and rain (and the wine on your lips)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my mindy requested something soft and domestic with a slice of spicy tension with hyun and who am i to say no? enjoyyy <33 and let me know your thoughts <3

When shooting your tired boyfriend a message this morning, inviting him over for lunch and a cuddle sesh by the television, the last thing you expected was a power outage. Even though it was still light outside, the sun and its bright rays were obscured by dark and angry clouds that could only mean one thing: rain.

Hyunjin was a fan of rain, loving the silence and how the whole world seemed to slow down and hurry home. He could be as silly as he wanted and nobody would judge him, too busy to remain dry to care about anything else. You, on the other hand, hated rain. It usually ruined all of your plans and kept you stuck inside, depriving you of sunlight and everything you loved. Including seeing your beloved and going on cute dates, holding hands throughout the day while exploring new and exciting places neither has seen before.

And now it ruined another one of your plans because things could never go your way, now, could they?

“I’m so sorry, Hyun.” You sigh, playing around with the food on your plate, absolutely dejected.

Hyunjin shakes his head and tries to hide the smile threatening to stretch across his features, freshly dried hair bouncing with his every move. “You’re sorry for what exactly?”

Thunder interrupts before you can even begin, souring your mood further as Hyunjin reaches for your fork, twirls it around expertly and brings it to your mouth to eat before it gets cold. You’ve worked hard on this pasta, letting it go to waste would be a shame.

“The rain.” You mumble before chewing, pouting. He waits patiently for you to finish before leaning over the table to wipe some sauce that has somehow landed on your chin.

“You can’t control the weather, baby.” He smiles, fondness spilling from his eyes as he watches you reach for your drink. Your apartment was no longer bright, engulfed in this darkness that would fool anyone into believing night was about to set at any moment. Fortunately, you managed to prepare everything before the power went out so at least your lunch date wasn’t completely ruined.

To set the mood and try to lift your spirits, Hyunjin has lit a lone candle between you on the table – a romantic till the end, you’re convinced your boyfriend would shrivel up and die if he couldn’t spoil you somehow.

“Well, I want to control it all to make you happy!” The statement is a bit childish but not far from the truth. For Hyunjin, you would do anything to see that beautiful smile of his lighten up every room. Control the weather, move mountains and even give him the moon which he embodied without even realizing. As bright as he was, Hyunjin was the moon in your eyes, illuminating every dark corner of your world with his ethereal glow that left every passerby in awe.

Breathtakingly beautiful, both from the exterior and from within. There was no other person like him in this universe.

This time, he laughs, eyes turning into two crescent moons as if to prove your previous point. “I’m the happiest as long as I’m with you, no matter the weather, time or place. I thought you knew that?”

You’re aware yet your heart still skips a beat, as it always does whenever he opens his mouth and hits you with such a line. Hyunjin wasn’t shy in the slightest when it came to you and the love that was overflowing out of him. All of it was yours, of course. He could never love another in the way he loved you for as long as he lived.

“Doesn’t matter.” You still shake your head, deciding to be stubborn. “It still ruined our plans. I was looking forward to finishing that show together and now we can’t.”

He takes a sip of his wine, the condensation on the glass proof of the warmth in the apartment. “It’s not like we can’t watch it another time, baby.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t pout.” His bigger hand settles on top of yours on the table, bringing it to his plump lips to plant a lingering kiss on the smooth skin. “I came over to see your beautiful smile and talk each other’s ears off. Don’t make me sad.”

Hyunjin makes a face, dramatizing his sadness and you finally laugh, returning to your meal with newfound vigour. He always managed to make even the gloomiest days happier, and you suspected your boyfriend might actually be an angel in disguise, sent from above to watch over you.

“So,” he starts, happiness radiating off of him at the delicious food, his hand still holding onto yours, “did you finish that new book you were telling me about the other day, yet?”

The rain was hitting your windows heavily, creating a curtain of sorts that kept you and Hyunjin separated from the outside world, protected from all evil in your little love bubble that continued to grow with every moment spent together. Excited, with your whole face lighting up, you stand abruptly and make your way over to plop yourself onto his lap without shame, just so you can snuggle while granting his wish. You were about to talk both of his ears off until he begged you to stop. And knowing Hyunjin, he might actually like that.

Time flies as you’re having fun with your other half, while he listens attentively to your every word, so drawn to you and the way your mouth moves that he can barely look away as he remembers to keep feeding you and himself until both of your plates are empty. If it were up to him, Hyunjin would glue your hands together so you’d never have to be more than a foot apart at all times. But reality is cruel, and spending all your time with your beloved was not socially acceptable – for some reason, you couldn’t make money this way. He really hated capitalism for keeping you away from him.

After a while, you both stand to wash the dishes, with him on your trail and being assigned to drying duty.

You’re laughing together as Hyunjin tells you more stories from work, something that happened the other day at the company, not leaving anything out. He was so honest and open about his feelings that nothing he said surprised you anymore.

Your back is to him as you wash the last glass when you feel strong arms pulling you to a sturdy chest, wrapping around your middle to ground the man as he leans over to hug you with all his might. You smile, genuinely, and rest your head on his shoulder just to plant multiple kisses on his cheek. He giggles, and you quickly shake the water and bubbles off your hands to turn around in his embrace and face him.

“Hi.” You smile, briefly kissing his nose. Thanks to the smaller windows, the kitchen was even darker than your dining room, creating a cosier, more intimate atmosphere one could only dream of basking in. Romantic with a pinch of tension neither could shake off - the pleasant kind.

The rain showed no sign of stopping any time soon so for the time being, you were the only two people in the world.

“Your smile is my favorite.” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, strong hands following the outline of your body downwards to rest on your hips and bring you closer, wanting to make you one. The butterflies start going crazy, flapping their colorful wings against your ribcage in a desperate attempt at being let out, longing to be touched by him just like you were.

Your arms come around his neck, and you’re nose to nose now. “You’re my favorite.”

Hyunjin breaks into a grin, one he can’t contain before closing his eyes and burying his face in the crock of your neck, hugging you close.

“You know what I really want right now?” His voice is low, the vibration against your skin sending a shiver down your spine as his hold on you tightens.

You shake your head, one of your hands moving to tangle into his hair and massage his scalp. “Tell me, so I can make it happen.”

He chuckles, thumbs drawing random shapes on your sides you could make out if concentrating on anything else other than his voice was possible. “You don’t even know what I want to ask for yet.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You respond a little too quickly, tenderly coaxing his head out of hiding just so you could see his eyes again and marvel at their beauty. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Anything?” Hyunjin leans closer, trapping your body between him and the sink as he towers over you, few strands of his hair tickling your forehead. Your breath catches in your throat and you try shallowing, anything to get rid of this sudden lump that’s preventing the oxygen from reaching your brain.

When you nod, his eyes soften, warm hand sneaking beneath your shirt to feel skin, needing this contact to remind himself you are real and the possibility of you disappearing right before his very eyes were slim.

Then, without waiting for his next line, your hand grasps at his fluffy sweater and yanks him forward to connect your lips in a sweet kiss, one that has you both releasing a relieved breath, that acts like the lifeline you need to cling to, to survive.

His lips are soft and warm, and you can faintly taste the wine he indulged in, lingering on his skin. The hand that isn’t under your shirt finds solace at the back of your neck, gingerly deepening the kiss as thunder strikes once again. Not like you care anymore; not when he’s kissing you like he’s trying to burn to memory every nook and cranny of your physical existence.

Heads tilted, his tongue sneaks in to greet yours for the briefest moment before Hyunjin pulls away with great difficulty, chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

“A blanket fort.” He almost croaks out, voice raspy and heart very much disappointed when he tears himself away from you to make some room.

You blink, confused and a little dazed, hands darting to latch themselves onto his sweatshirt so he won’t go too far. “What?”

With a laugh, he throws his head back for a moment, calming down before clarifying. “I want to build a blanket fort. Since the power isn’t back yet, I thought we could have some fun doing that.”

You’re bamboozled, almost spinning around in search of the hidden camera that will confirm this is all a prank.

“But I thought…” You trail off, arms falling to your sides as you look down in embarrassment.

Hyunjin is quick to raise your head, with a finger under your chin and another dazzling smile. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything for me?”

What a fucking tease. How were you ever supposed to say no to that smile?

[rhysintherain]

Here's the thing: capitalism and the misogyny built into it sucks and unfortunately we all have to live in it for the time being.

But if we're stuck here anyway? We might as well hack it to our advantage when we can.

It's patently ridiculous that everything from shoes to soap is gendered. But when you've spent your life being told that if you didn't smell like a pine forest or an arctic explorer you were doing gender wrong? I bet it feels really good to smell like a vanilla strawberry sundae. If all you ever wanted was to feel like a woman and enjoy feminine things? You're not betraying anyone by enjoying all the frilly, powder-pink options capitalism gives you.

And if that's not what you're into? That's fine too. If your version of womanhood leans more towards combat boots and flannels and you feel safe and comfortable that way, do your thing. Nobody ever 'wasted their time' being butch, trans or otherwise.

The best way you can undermine the misogynistic and gender-policed system capitalism upholds is to be yourself and like what you like, regardless of who they say those things are for, regardless of your gender, sex, or society's expectations. Just... refuse to let the looming Expectations take the place of what makes you happy.

Personally? I love Man Products. I really do want to smell like a rugged pine forest and wear t-shirts with motorcycles on them. I want distressed rocker jeans and jewelry made of car parts and Old Spice and big jackets with wide shoulders in colors like Worn Leather and Concrete Bunker. Love it. All of it. You can also pry my mascara out of my cold, dead hands.

And Manly Man branding gets pretty dumb, I'll admit. But I enjoy it anyway. And I know people who get that same joy from lipstick and heels and shampoo that smells like a rose garden, and I love seeing that.

Systematic gender norms are about fitting people into boxes, whether you like what's in your box or not. And sometimes resistance looks like picking the box you want to be in, regardless of which box they put you in. Sometimes it also looks like treating the gender norm's boxes like a rummage sale, taking the parts you like, and leaving the ones you don't.

You can't break down all the boxes and throw them in the recycle bin today. But you can choose to do what makes you happy. Some days that's resistance all on its own.

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[greengoblinswifey]

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part II

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Summary— You’re thrusted into a PR relationship with your new neighbor, Nicholas Chavez, you’re hesitant at first not knowing how it will benefit you but you warm up to it and find out he’s not the cold and detached person the media says he is.

Warnings— Fake relationship, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Mentions of Substance Use, Smoking.

Series Masterlist

The following morning, you were up earlier than usual. The events of the past day still loomed over you, from the damaging headlines to your ex-best friend slandering your name. Thankfully, it was mostly small blogs and gossip sites spreading her story, and you were confident you’d rise above it all. The photos of you shopping downtown were taking off on social media, and for once, the narrative seemed to favor you. You just hoped Angela’s so-called plan would center on building you back up.

Determined to present your best self, you called in your stylists to give you the ultimate morning glow-up. You chose a sleek off duty model look, an oversized Chanel tweed jacket paired with high-waisted tailored shorts and classic black ballet flats. The cream and beige color palette contrasted beautifully against your dark skin, which practically shimmered under the lighting. You felt put together, and it was a good feeling—one you hadn’t experienced in weeks.

At exactly 10 a.m., Angela called to let you know she was at the gate. “By the way,” she said casually, “I’m bringing a guest.”

“A guest?” you asked, glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time. “Who?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, then hung up.

You stood in the foyer, waiting for the sound of the bell. When it came, you smoothed down your jacket and opened the door, only to freeze in surprise. Standing next to Angela was your neighbor, Nicholas Chavez, looking annoyingly polished in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a crisp white tee that screamed effortless charm.

Angela was all business. “Morning,” she said, breezing past you into the house. Nicholas followed, offering you a small smile.

“Uh, morning,” you said, closing the door. “Why’s my neighbor your guest? Wasn’t the cake enough?”

Angela turned to you with an exasperated look. “This isn’t about the damn cake. And Nicholas, thank you for humoring us this morning,” she added, motioning for him to sit.

Nicholas smirked as he lowered himself onto your couch. “The cake was really good, by the way. Thanks again.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the armrest of the sofa. “Okay, so why is my neighbor in my house? What’s the plan here?”

Angela gave you a pointed look, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “The plan,” she began dramatically, “is a relationship.”

You blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound echoing off your high ceilings. Angela didn’t laugh. She just stood there, unimpressed, until you finally composed yourself.

“You know I don’t do relationships,” you said, raising a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“A PR relationship,” she clarified. “Very public. Very strategic.”

You tilted your head, glancing between her and Nicholas, who was casually leaning back on your couch, arms stretched out along the cushions. “I don’t get it. Why would either of us need that?”

Angela crossed her arms. “Because you are in damage control, and Nicholas here is the perfect solution.” She gestured to him. “He’s new, popular, fresh, clean-cut. Hollywood’s golden boy in the making. A rising star who just scored a breakout role and needs the right kind of visibility to stay in the conversation. You, on the other hand, are…” She trailed off and gestured vaguely at you.

You scowled. “A supermodel? A party girl?”

“A mess,” she corrected. “A rich, famous, gorgeous mess, sure, but still a mess. The public loves a redemption arc, and this will give them one. The troubled supermodel tamed by the sweet, boy-next-door actor. It’s a PR dream.”

Nicholas finally spoke, his voice calm and low. “I’m not exactly boy-next-door, Angela.”

“Close enough,” she shot back, waving him off.

You shook your head. “This sounds ridiculous. And I don’t see how being tied to me helps him. I mean, I’m in the middle of a PR crisis.”

Angela didn’t flinch. “It helps him because you’re you. You’re a household name, a media darling, even with all the drama. Being seen with you puts Nicholas on magazine covers, gets him into rooms that will skyrocket his career. And for you, it softens your image. It shows stability, maturity, and lets people focus on something positive for once.”

Nicholas turned to you, his expression unreadable. “And for the record, I’m not opposed. If it helps both of us.”

You frowned, unsure how to respond. “And what? We just pretend to be in love?”

Angela nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Exactly. Dates, appearances together, a few staged paparazzi moments. Maybe even some cryptic Instagram posts.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you muttered.

Angela stepped closer. “It’s not forever. Just a few months. Long enough to shift the narrative. You’re already halfway there with those shopping photos from yesterday. Let’s seal the deal.”

You looked at Nicholas, who shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Could be fun,” he said lightly.

“You think this is fun?” you asked.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s an opportunity. For both of us. And honestly,” He paused, his eyes locking with yours. “You don’t strike me as the type to back down from a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your resolve wavering. The way Angela had laid it out, it almost made sense. And Nicholas, well, he was easy on the eyes. You could admit he was fine. If nothing else, he might distract you from the chaos for a while.

You sighed, finally throwing your hands up. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Angela grinned. “Good. That’s all I need for now.”

Nicholas stood, adjusting his jacket. “Let me know what you decide. I’ll be next door.”

As you walked them to the door, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being dragged into something much bigger than you anticipated.

You screamed out in frustration, the weight of Angela’s plan sinking in. You didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t make a big move to salvage your image, your agency would drop you. Bookings would dry up, shows would pass you over, and the fashion world would leave you behind. You’d be finished. And you couldn’t let that happen. You’d worked too hard to get here.

The thought of smoking on the balcony crossed your mind, but you shook it off. Paparazzi were probably camped out in the bushes beyond your gates, waiting for any misstep to capture and sell. You’d come too far to give them an easy headline. Instead, you lit up inside, taking a long drag from your joint as the familiar calm washed over you. You were making changes, after all. No hard drugs anymore, just weed. Baby steps.

The high brought clarity. A PR relationship wasn’t just an idea—it was a necessity. As much as it stung to think about Nicholas Chavez leeching off your fame, you knew it would be mutually beneficial. But still, the thought of tying yourself, even temporarily, to someone like him made your stomach twist. Sure, he was very attractive but he wasn’t in your league. You were scared of how much you’d have to give to make this work.

But it was fake. That’s what you told yourself. It was all for PR. Nothing more. Nothing less. He wouldn’t ruin your image, and you wouldn’t ruin his. It was transactional. Professional. It would be fine. Right?

You stubbed out the joint and made your way to Nicholas’ house next door. You barely had to ring the doorbell before he opened it, an actual smile lighting up his face. It threw you off. You’d never seen him smile in person or even in interviews. His reputation for playing cold, detached roles, especially after his breakout as Lyle Menendez—preceded him. Maybe Angela was right. He needed this just as much as you did.

He led you into his sleek, modern living room. The place was clean, organized, and clearly decorated by someone with taste. He motioned for you to sit, and you took a spot on the plush sofa.

“I hope you’ll be seeing more of this place,” he started, his voice smooth but slightly nervous. “And have you thought about our manager’s plan?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, Angela’s your manager too?”

He nodded, and you rolled your eyes. Of course, she had orchestrated this from every angle.

You leaned back, crossing your legs. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s the best move for you.”

He looked a little taken aback, his ego clearly bruised. “For both of us, I think you’d benefit too,” he replied, his tone defensive.

You smirked, brushing him off. “Sure. But we both know you’re the one getting the most out of this. Let’s not kid ourselves.”

He let it go, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Fine. So, are we starting this now? What’s the first move?”

His eyes flickered to your lips briefly, and you caught it. Clearing his throat, he added, “I was thinking we could stage something big to kick things off. Flowers, candles, the whole deal. I’ll set up a space, maybe on your balcony or one of your other properties, and ask you to be my girlfriend. We’ll take pictures and post them to soft-launch the relationship a few days from now but first we’ll get paparazzi to snap a few candids of us but making sure to not get my face. Just enough to get people speculating.”

Your brow arched. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

He grinned, a hint of smugness in his expression. “Guess I’m cut out for this Hollywood life after all.”

“Or you just really want to be seen with me,” you shot back, and he laughed.

“Can you blame me? You’ve been my celebrity crush for years,” he admitted, his tone playful but honest.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Expected.”

By the time you left his house, the plan was in motion. You both snuck off to one of your properties near the beach, Nicholas’ team working quickly to decorate the space with candles, roses, and twinkling lights. You’d gone home to change into a white Chanel dress that flattered you perfectly and made your skin glow under the evening light.

Once the setup was complete, you snapped a picture, careful to keep Nicholas out of frame. The photo went into your drafts, ready to post in a few days. Before leaving, you called your paparazzi contacts, making sure they’d capture strategic shots of you on the decorated balcony with your “mystery man” in the background, his face obscured.

The photos hit the internet within hours. By the time you were back home, your phone was blowing up with texts and notifications. Every media outlet, TMZ, Page Six, even Vogue—was talking about the “romantic mystery” surrounding your evening.

You and Nicholas sat close together on your bed, scrolling through the headlines. Angela called, her voice practically buzzing through the phone.

“Congratulations, to the new couple! This was perfect. Everyone’s talking about it. I knew you could pull it off.”

“Not like I had a choice,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Angela laughed. “Well, keep it up. Keep the image clean. And, Nicholas, I trust you to handle this.”

“What about me?” you snapped. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not as much as I trust him,” Angela teased before hanging up.

You scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. “Great. Well, since we’re here, we might as well stay the night. But stay away from the windows. Last thing we need is more candid shots.”

Nicholas nodded in agreement. “Makes sense. Where should I sleep?”

“In here,” you replied nonchalantly. “We’re going to have to share hotel rooms eventually for appearances. Might as well practice now.”

He blinked, a little surprised, but didn’t argue.

You decided to shower first, stripping out of your dress and walking into the bathroom, fully aware of his eyes on you. You smirked to yourself, knowing he was watching your naked figure from behind. When you returned, towel-clad and refreshed, he took his turn. You couldn’t help but notice his muscular back and firm figure as he disappeared into the bathroom.

By the time he returned, you were both in bed, lying on opposite sides in a comfortable silence, the glow of the TV casting soft light across the room.

Nicholas broke the quiet, turning his head to you. “Alright, girlfriend. Since we skipped the talking and dating stage, tell me about yourself.”

You chuckled, rolling onto your side to face him. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything, you can start off with your modeling career if you’d like,” he said simply. His expression was soft, genuine. For the first time, he didn’t look like the detached actor or the PR project Angela had roped you into.

And, against your better judgment, you started talking, hesitantly at first. “I started because—I wanted to feel like I was someone, like I mattered, I want to be appreciated for what I had to offer. But it wasn’t easy,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “It took years of hard work, long nights, endless rejection, and now it feels like it’s all slipping through my fingers.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “The scandals, the rumors, it’s like everything I built is crumbling, and the worst part is they don’t even know the real me. I’m not that person they paint me as—some careless, drug-addicted mess.”

Nicholas’ expression didn’t waver. He didn’t interrupt or glance away. Instead, he shifted slightly closer, his elbow resting on the mattress as he propped his head on his hand. “And now,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly, “I just feel like a failure. Like I’ve disappointed everyone who ever believed in me.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so uncharacteristic, that it caught you off guard. You froze, your breath hitching as you stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly, his deep voice laced with sincerity. “You’re not what they say you are. I see you for who you really are—a hard worker, talented, smart, beautiful, and so much more. We’ll figure this out. We’ll fix your reputation together.”

Your throat tightened at his words. You didn’t know how to react—this wasn’t the detached, unfeeling Nicholas the world talked about. He was warm, reassuring, and entirely present. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not like what people say you are either.” You managed a small smile. “Detached with dead eyes? Doesn’t seem to fit right now.”

He chuckled, a low, genuine sound that made your chest feel lighter. “Guess they don’t know me that well either, huh?”

You laughed softly, the tension between you easing. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. “So, uh, do you maybe want to cuddle?” he asked nervously, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Why do you wanna do that, Chavez? Ain’t no media or paparazzi in here to see what’s going on.”

He paused, his mouth twitching into an embarrassed smile. “Just practicing,” he said with a shrug.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, rolling your eyes as you shifted closer to him, resting your head against his chest. His strong arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders, and you let yourself relax, his steady heartbeat soothing you. “You’re something else,” you murmured before sleep claimed you both.

Hours later, you woke to the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours. The room was still dark, the quiet hum of waves beyond the windows faint in the background. His arms were wrapped firmly around you, his body pressing against yours in a way that felt impossibly warm and secure. You blinked groggily, realizing your legs were tangled with his, your face nestled against his chest. And then, you felt it—a firm pressure against your hip.

Your cheeks heated as you carefully shifted, trying to move without waking him. You turned away slightly, hoping to create some distance, but before you could, his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him once more. He shifted in his sleep, his breath brushing against the back of your neck as he spooned you. You froze, hyper-aware of every inch of contact, his solid frame molding against you and the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

“It’s just—early morning wood,” you muttered quietly to yourself, trying to convince your racing thoughts to settle. “That’s all it is.” You closed your eyes, willing yourself to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. After a few moments of stillness, his steady breathing calmed you again, and you drifted off, lulled by the warmth and weight of him enveloping you.

Maybe this PR relationship thing wouldn’t be so bad, he was tolerable—just a bit, for now.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Taglist: @blackynsupremacy @rafeysslut

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Small Talk (Jason Todd x Reader, Pt 1 of 2)

Jason frowns as he looked down at his drink. A cup of steaming hot cocoa you had prepared for him, insisting it will warm him up.

His frown deepens as he glances at his fingers wrapped around the mug. Knuckles which were bloody and bruised an hour ago now carefully bandaged in ointment and gauze.

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t bother wrapping his wounds. They were surface level, didn't need stitches. The dried blood would serve a reminder of another target taken down. He wouldn’t bother taking any painkillers either and certainly not bother fending off the cold with a warm drink. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things.

His eyes then flit to you, sitting on the couch beside him, blanket wrapped around your curled up form as you distractedly flit through TV channels. 

Jason knows you’re not paying attention to the screen, it’s all just static and white noise. He can tell by light frown lining your brow, the way you bite your lip and the tautness in your shoulders that you’re worried. Worried about him, but unwilling to voice it. Probably cause you’d been bluntly dismissed the last couple times you raised your concerns.

Because Jason doesn't have the privilege to acknowledge his pain, doesn’t have the time to sit in his feelings nor reflect on his past. He's had to forego all that if he wants to move forward, to seek justice. At least his brand of justice anyway, drenched red in revenge as it may be.

But you, you stubbornly insist on being soft, on treating his wounds as if he’s delicate, making space for his feelings as if they matter, tolerating his outbursts without judgement or ire, staying in spite of how much the sight of his battered and bruised body coming home scares you.

It’s not like you know all that much about him to justify his antics. He’s not exactly disclosed his past beyond the fact he’s cut ties with his family, hasn’t really told you all that he gets up to as Red Hood. And his standoffish personality? A supposed byproduct of being resurrected only to realise you were abandoned by daddy dearest, though he’d rather not go down that rabbit hole.

So he can’t help but wonder why you choose to stick around. Why you put up with a caustic man like him, surely his sarcasm and occasional witty remarks don’t balance out his other self destructive tendencies.

“(Name)” He calls out, waiting until your eyes are on him before he continuing

“Do you feel sorry for me?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, almost as if you need a moment to register that’s what he really asked.

“What?… What do you mean Jason?” your expression conveying genuine confusion at his out-of-the-blue question.

“You heard me” He mumbled gruffly, internally warring with the uncomfortable atmosphere he's created but also unable to sit with his doubts any longer.

“Do you pity me? Is that why you stick around and play house?”

He knew that last bit was uncalled for, but it was hard not to feel that way when his mind whispered those cruel words. That you felt sorry for him. Saw him as a broken man, damaged goods.

He knew that’s how the few people still in his life viewed him. A young boy subjected to trauma at the hands of Gotham’s most nefarious villain, turning to a life of revenge and vengeance... too far gone to see the light. An 'anti-hero' who needs to be stopped. Captured and contained.

Except how others perceived him didn’t quite bother him, not like he held any of them in high regards, especially not Bruce. Yeah okay, he was still bitter at how quickly everyone seemed to resume their day to day routine in his absence. Not like he had any evidence of them trying to avenge him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give them the benefit of doubt.

But you, well you were different. You weren’t a part of his previous life, you only had the (dis)pleasure of meeting reborn Jason Todd. The jaded, sardonic Jason Todd, who was done with the world and all it had to offer. 

And yet you smiled at him. Cared about him. Worried for him. As if he’s deserving of any of those sentiments, as if even though you don’t fully understand him or the things he does, he still matters.

You seem to accept him in a way he’s yet to accept himself, and that thoroughly confuses him. To the point where the only conclusion his mind can offer is that you pity him. 

So here he is. He’d like to think this is him laying his cards on the table, but really he’s just an archer looking down the tall castle walls he’s built around himself, waiting to pierce an arrow through the one good thing he’s got going. Cause it’s just too good to be true. 

He’s not going to put a label on what he feels towards you, not just yet. Not when he doesn’t know where he stands with you.

He raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms, curious but defensive in his stance as he braces himself for what you have to say.

He sucks in a quiet breath as your lips part. As much as he’d like to think he’s prepared for the worst, the possible reality where you do view him as damaged goods would definitely sting. 

His eyes flit back to yours regardless, he’s no coward after all.

—————————————————————————

Gotta love the random burst of 1am inspiration disrupting my sleep schedule. Let me know what you think of this! Part 2 is likely going to be dual POVs for maximum angst  

[fakeagatha]

Made from Scratch | Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal & Nicholas Scratch

A/N: I haven't written anything like this before but I really enjoyed it. Here's an alternative scene of Nicky's birth for you!

Summary: Rio arrives just in time for the birth of her son.

Word Count: 701 Warnings: Birth, Blood

Salem, 1750

Loud footsteps and crunching leaves were heard, as Agatha Harkness stumbled her way through the forest to the river that she found the most peace in. She sat under a tree, panting, holding her stomach protectively.

Her water had broken just as she had finished stealing the powers from her new founded "coven". Panic filled her, and all she could think about was getting herself, and her soon to be born baby, somewhere safe.

She yelped in pain, sweat dripping down her forehead as she struggled. Her eyes shot up at a sudden sound of a twig snapping, giving the mysterious person a look that could kill.

The figure came out of the trees, and Agatha's face washed over with relief.

"My love, he's almost here!" Agatha cried out, and her wife, Rio Vidal, approached her, sitting down in front of her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I had to take care of some duties." She says, guilt filling her eyes as she met Agatha's forgiving gaze. "I'm here now, I promise."

The purple witch was unable to hold eye contact for long, as the pain got worse, which she didn't know would be possible in that moment. Sure, her magic has no limits, but one thing that she had promised to herself and her wife, was that no magic was going to be involved in any of her pregnancy.

She gripped Rio's hand tightly, screaming in pain as she pushed. Her cries of agony soon turned into tears of joy at the arrival of her crying son. 

Agatha held him in her arms, and Rio sat next to her, at a loss for words at the beautiful sight.

Agatha looked over to her wife, and smiled. "He looks like you, my love."

Rio's heart swelled, unable to pry her eyes away from her baby.

"Nicholas..." Rio muttered, looking back at Agatha, who was wiping away her tears.

"He was made from scratch..." She replied, "We did it... We created him." 

Agatha used her magic, and created a soft, gray cloth, and handed it to Rio, who walked over to the river and soaked it. She squeezed out some of the water and bent down again, carefully cleaning the blood off of Nicholas' face and body, then moved on to attempt to clean Agatha.

"He's perfect..." Rio smiled, her eyes tearing up again, as she sat down, sharing a passionate kiss with Agatha, though she suddenly paused. She took off her green cloak, and gently wrapped it around the newborn, to keep his body protected from the cold.

Agatha leaned her head on Rio's shoulder, before the green witch spoke up.

"You chose to bring life, to the place we met." Rio whispered, looking up at Agatha lovingly, who nodded.

"If I were to bring the life I love most into this world, I choose to do it in the place I love dearly." Agatha muttered back, supporting Nicholas' head against her chest.

Rio pulled her in for another kiss, running her hands through her hair, looking down at her son again when they parted.

"Would you like to spend the first night with him here?" Agatha asked softly, as not to disturb Nicholas.

Rio nodded, taking out a tapestry and laying it on the grass under the tree. Agatha carefully laid down, holding the baby closely as Rio took out a knitted blanket and covered the two with it. She took out two of her cloaks, and folded them up to use as pillows for her and her wife. 

She got under the blanket next to the pair, wrapping her arm around Agatha for warmth, who sighed in content. Rio had never seen Agatha move so cautiously, and so delicately up until the moment she held her son.

"You should get some rest, okay?" Rio whispered, looking as the newborn started to fall asleep already.

"Okay..." Agatha said hesitantly, making herself comfortable. "You should sleep too." She added, looking up at Rio.

"I will, and don't worry. He'll be safe, I'll make sure of it." 

Rio pulled Agatha closer to her, watching as sleep had already overtaken her exhausted body. She stayed awake for a little while longer, wanting to make sure that nothing could harm them, until the tiredness took over her as well.

"Sleep well, my darlings."

[cass-kiram]

On duty

Summary: On duty as an enforcer for your counsellor wife, along with your daughter.

Pairing(s): Cassandra Kiramman x Reader, Daughter!Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

You stand posted outside your wife's tent for the festival, you keep a watchful eye on your surroundings, scanning every person for any potential threat to your loved ones.

Feeling a light tap on your shoulder you turn your head to come face to face with your daughter's blue hair, you scan her appearance before you scoff out a chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" She looks down at her enforcer uniform anxiously, trying to find any flaws in her appearance. Finding none she looks back up at you before crossing her arms.

"Just wondering what strings your mother pulled to get you posted here." You reach over and flick her hat lightly, chuckling softly as she swats your hand away with a roll of her eyes.

"Not many i'm presuming...she's a counsellor after all." She mumbles as she adjusts the hat on her head, you reach over to flick her hat again before she grab your hand and twists it back.

"Ah! Cait, Cait! Shit." You shake your hand to relieve it from the pain before you look around to see if anyone saw you nearly break your hand due to your own child twisting it back.

She grins at your obvious pain before she squeals as her hat is knocked off her head, you take her distraction as a sign to bring her into a headlock and rub the top of her head, effectively giving her a noogie.

She breaks free from the headlock and kicks your legs making you fall to the ground, you see her foot lean back to kick you before you roll away and stand up.

Grunting from the pain in your leg from her kicking it, you prepare to strike again before shuffling from the right of you begins to sound.

"Break it up you two." A disappointed voice is heard, causing you to raise your hands in surrender. "Didn't you learn from last time you guys did this?"

Ah, last time. One of you ended up with the broken nose and the other with a swollen eye, to say your wife wasn't impressed was an understatement.

"Sorry, honey."

"Sorry, mum."

Both refusing to make eye contact with the woman stood in front of them. You close your eyes before you run a hand down your face and look at your daughter.

She looks right at you before she walks away from the pair of you, to stand somewhere else around the tent. She mumbles something under her breath; inaudible to both you and the beautiful woman in front.

"What happened to staying on guard?" She questioned, reaching over to flick some dirt off your shoulder, before resting it there "Hm? What happened to the promise we made about not having little fights with our daughter?"

"I- Uh- We-" You stutter over your words before you give up and place a hand on the back of your neck, scratching it. Not everyday you get scolded by your wife.

Her eyebrow raises at the stutter before she chuckles and leans over to kiss your cheek softly, the hand that's placed on your shoulder moving down to rest on your chest.

"Don't let it happen again." She pats your chest before she removes her body from your form entirely, leaving you with a slight coldness.

Watching her form enter the tent, which you're pretty sure is empty, you glance over to Caitlyn who is posted not too far away. She wouldn't mind if you slipped away for a few minutes right?

You quickly walk in after your wife and scan the empty, "Well this is a bit of an overkill." You state as you walk around, the shuffle of your uniform the only other audible sound.

Jumping at your words Cassandra whips her body around, her form softens once she realises it's only you. Hearing your words she rolls her eyes and walks over to you.

"Counsellor's get spoilt. What can i say, we need the extra safety." She scans over your appearance, truing to find any flaws that need fixing, she opens her mouth to speak again before lips collide with her own.

Her eyes widen in shock before they close and she leans into the kiss... it's when you start kissing down her neck she starts resisting.

"N-Not at work, someone could walk in." You find a sensitive spot on her neck, not allowed to give her any hickeys you rather nibble a bit, hearing a little moan from her mouth is when you pull away.

She twists her head towards the entrance before she relaxes, you chuckle at her realisation not every person in Piltover is going to storm into the room she's in when she's having an intimate moment.

Moving your hands to rest on her waist you lean down to kiss her again, her hands reach up to wrap around your neck, her gloved hands placed at the back of your head.

"Someone can still-"

"Shut up and kiss me."

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The truth - Part 1." Daryl Dixon imagine.

(Not my gif! But thanks to the amazing people who make them)

For the first time in his life, Daryl tells Carol the story of how you two met.

A/N: This got longer than I thought hehehe that’s why I’m dividing it in two parts. Thank you so much for all the love my last imagine received! I still can’t believe it. That’s why I thought of combining the stories a bit, and showing you how I imagine Daryl and (Y/N) met, just because I’m crazy and I even thought about making it a serie hahahaha but here you’ll see a bit of how they broke up and in the second part, how they got back together and then later had Marley. Only on this occasion (I’ll try not to do it often) I used the pronoun she and her, but you can read it however you like. Thanks in advance!

“Rick told me that Spencer invited (Y/N) to his house for dinner. He’s been really insistent on them getting to know each other more since we got here.”

For him, it is as if Carol’s words are a sharp razor that cuts his breath away, that makes the world, his world to stop completely, leaving a great void where silence lies and reigns, without the constant grunts of the walkers on the other side of Alexandria's gates, without the singing of the birds that nest in the tree just outside the window of the home they share, without being able to hear the sound of his own breathing that seems to stop too just like the beating of his weak heart. 

Because it was Daryl who told (Y/N) he couldn’t be with her, so he wanted to believe that after that, she managed to extinguish every feeling she once had for him, as well as the light of their love that once shone and the one that was turn off when he left her, which trapped them in the shadows of a cold hurricane and an endless night, always so close but never together, running in circles far from each other without knowing where they were going, drifting like a lost ship in the ocean and in a complete darkness.

But that’s bullshit, Daryl knows it, because she had been the only woman Daryl Dixon was capable of loving, and she is the only woman he would love for the rest of his life.

“Um…” He swings the knife against his finger, sinking it in a little harder than necessary, but not able to ask more.

The night melts into his deathly silence, but, sitting beside him on the wooden step outside their house, Carol lets out a long sigh.

“What do you want, Daryl? Do you really want to see her with someone else?”

Daryl’s chest feels hot, boiling, like the result of a high fever, like he’s been running for hours without stopping to catch a breath.

“I jus' want 'er to be happy.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Carol shakes her head, incredulous, but she has a magical way of telling the truth and still sounding sweet. “She loves you, you, and I know she’ll only be happy with you, even if you’re the surliest man I’ve ever met.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, unable to look her in the eyes as he continues to stare at the grass, hiding behind his hair the eyes of a man who would give his life for the person he loves, but who is too cowardly to stop listening to the voices in his head that tormented him every night, that kept telling him that he would never be worthy of her love, that he would never be the man capable of being loved.

But Carol knows him, and she knows that he is beginning to drown, so, with a warm smile, she speaks again.

“How did you meet her by the way? I don’t think you ever told me that story.”

Softly, because he wasn’t used to doing it often, Daryl smiles at the memory, and his ocean-blue eyes light up and fill with life, and for a moment, he is able to lift his head and look at the moon shining above them.

“We were still pretty young. One night, Merle kicked me out of the ugly apartment we shared during one of his meetings with some drug dealers, so with nothin' to do, I went to a bar to kill some time. It was a shitty place, so I was surprised when she sat at the bar too, just a few feet away from me.”

“What was she like?”

“As beautiful as she is now.”

Carol can hear the smile in his deep voice, as warm as the thought of (Y/N).

“And what were you like?”

“A motherfucker with nothin' to offer 'er.” There’s no emotion in his voice, but before Carol can give him a telling off, Daryl speaks again. “But she looked at me like she could see somethin' in me, somethin' I didn’t even know existed. She talked to me first, and asked if the bike outside was mine. I told 'er that it was, and she, with 'er eyes full of life, told me that 'er older brother used to have one just like that. I laughed a little because she shouldn't be there, she didn't belong in a place like that, and when I asked her, she chuckled, a warm sound, like she was full of colors in that shitty world…”

Daryl chuckles, and for the first time in the long night, he is able to look at Carol, only to confirm with his gaze everything he still could sense about (Y/N) at that moment. Carol can see his smile this time, slight but unmistakable.

“And what happened next?”

“She told me she was runnin' away, that 'er father was goin' to marry her off to some dude of a wealthy family that would get 'em out of the debt that bastard got himself into in the first place. She was goin' to be sold, like a thing, by 'er own fuckin' father.” Carol can hear the venom in his voice, the hatred, the spite in the memory of his own father before he abandoned them. “I asked 'er if she had a place to go, and she said no. I don’t know what went through ma mind when I told 'er ma couch was available, I don’t know what went through 'er mind when she said okay n' thank you. That night when we got back to ma place, Merle told 'er she didn’t look like some hooker he used to bring home. And (Y/N), without any fear, walked up to him and pulled out the gun she had stolen from 'er father, then pressed it against ma brother’s chin, askin' him to repeat what he had just said. Merle loved 'er after that, and I didn’t even know that asshole was capable of lovin' someone.”

Carol laughs.

“I didn’t think I could love (Y/N) more, but now I kinda do.”

Daryl chuckles too.

“Yeah, I kind of did too. I even thought, I have to marry this woman.”

“And you wanted to? Marry her, I mean.”

For a few seconds, Daryl thinks deeply about whether sharing one of his many secrets is the right thing to do, whether saying those words out loud would change the course of things, but at that moment, he considers that saying them is appropriate.

“I bought a ring a year after we got together. It took me a while to get the money, but I finally did it.” Daryl is relieved that she can’t feel the heat on his cheeks, the blush of a boy who fell in love long before he knew what the hell love was.

“And how did you two get together in the first place?”

Daryl shrugs, smiling slightly at her like a little boy: and thankfully, he’d stopped pressing the knife against his finger.

“I don’t even know myself. I guess it started a little after the dinner she made us the next day. I told 'er she could stay as long as she needed to get 'er life together, and Merle asked her to stay if she made him dinner. She was about to shoot him when he told 'er that our mom had never made us such a delicious dinner…” Daryl chuckles, just a little humorous, because the funny memory is mixed with the sad one. “We jus'… at first it was purely carnal, we would have sex to release stress, we would do it and then I would leave ma room that was hers at the time, but there was always somethin' sweet about 'er, I could feel it in the way we kissed, in the way 'er body shuddered as I touched 'er soft skin, in the way she pulled me against 'er body durin'…” Daryl looks back into Carol’s eyes after realizing that he was dreaming out loud, but Carol is there, smiling at him. “There was one night, where I jokingly told 'er that I was enjoyin' this thing of makin' love every night so much that we should consider doin' it durin' the day too, and she jus' looked at me with a confused expression, but with a slight smile on those lips that I was dyin' to kiss in the mornings and at all hours, and she told me that was the first time that I didn't say we had sex.”

Carol smiles, quickly understanding what came next.

“You were falling in love with her.”

Daryl nods softly.

“I was completely devoted to that woman from the moment I met 'er.”

“And you told her?”

Daryl shakes his head.

“Not with words, I ain't good with words, never was. But she knew, I think that’s why she stayed with me all that time.”

“She stayed with you because you’re a good man, Daryl, you always were and you always will be.”

Daryl shrugs, this time in a gesture that dismissed such an affirmation.

“I never told 'er I loved 'er, and she never asked me to tell 'er, but I could feel that she loved me in every kiss, in every hug, in every blessed smile of hers.”

“And how did you two split up when the end of the world began?”

“She got a job shortly after I invited 'er to ma house. She was a vet, and even though she had little experience, 'er boss trusted 'er n' gave 'er a job. That night when people started runnin' and shootin', I went to look for 'er but she wasn’t there. Her boss had been bitten n' I even thought she had been too, but somethin' in me told me that she was stronger, smarter and that she had managed to escape. When Merle and I left town, I never stopped lookin' for 'er: I knew she was alive, and I jus' had to find ma way back to 'er.”

“And you found her after all.”

“Yes, I did, but when we got to the prison, somethin' in me kept tellin' me that I wasn’t enough for 'er, that even if I took care of 'er, she deserved better. That night I told 'er that I couldn’t be with 'er, not in the way she would have wanted. But the way she looked at me, as calm as she had always been… I’ll never forget the way she nodded and walked away…”

Unconsciously, Daryl presses the tip of the knife against his hand again, so imperceptibly that neither he nor Carol notice.

“But you couldn’t stay away from her.”

Daryl chuckles again, embarrassed with himself at the memory of Carol almost catching them in the act.

“Hell no, I had missed 'er body so much. But it was like goin' back to the beginnin’. We had sex when everyone else went to sleep, but I knew it was jus' that: sex. I knew it the moment she wouldn’t let me kiss 'er, the way she hid 'er face in my neck, holding onto my shoulders. So I jus' held 'er against me, huggin' her for as long as she lemme until we were done and she asked me to leave. It was like that all this time. I always have 'er close, but never close enough.”

Carol nods.

“That’s why you stayed here, even though you never really adjusted to this life.”

Daryl frowns, going deeper into his own thoughts.

“I always spent most of ma life in the woods, runnin' away from ma father n' mother, and when they left, I did it to escape from myself. But when she came into ma life, Merle used to tease me and tell me that I had been tamed, that after every job I had, I always came home jus' because she was there. When we came to this place, I considered livin' on the outskirts like I always liked, but I… I can’t be away from 'er.”

Carol’s expression turns into pure sadness, because she knows that Daryl is a good man, strong, loyal to his family, willing to die for one of them without a second’s hesitation, so the insecurities he kept secret were like a knife in his heart and hers. But when she sees (Y/N) from afar coming home after her job at the infirmary, Carol knows that everything comes down to that moment, as if there was no way to escape that decision that Daryl must make, which is now or never.

(Y/N) is still a little far away, so she takes advantage of the moment.

“You are the best man I have ever known, Daryl Dixon, and you deserve all the love you can ever get: from me, from our family, and from her.” Carol steps closer to him, hoping her words are as honest as she intends them to sound, and for a moment, they manage to draw Daryl’s gaze into hers. “I’ll ask you one question only. Do you love her? Do you really, truly love her?”

Daryl holds her gaze, but despite his terror, he manages to find the words he’s been dying to say to her. And when he speaks, his voice is low, husky, but self-assured.

“I do. I love 'er.”

“Then tell her, Pookie.” Carol kisses his temple, smiling at him with all the love she has for him. “I guess you still have the ring. So take her to someplace she likes, tell her the things you always wanted to tell her but were always afraid to say, and ask her to marry you.”

Daryl looks at her silently, with the expression of a scared child.

“What if she says no?”

“She will say yes. I promise. But you have to do it now, Daryl, before she loses hope with you.”

Without saying another word, Carol gets up and goes into the house, leaving him alone, so Daryl can silently contemplate his life, the choices he made, and the love for her that he kept deep in his wounded, frightened heart. But there's something about Daryl that drives him to stop always keeping to himself like he always did, to stop staying on the sidelines, to stop being that man tortured by his own thoughts, to stop loving her silently from the shadows, always behind her to protect her from everything, just so that, in that moment, he would be the brave man she always saw in him.

When (Y/N) arrives at their house, she smiles at him slightly before walking past him, but stopping, just like her heart, when she hears him call her by that funny and almost ridiculous nickname, but with his voice full of love.

“Peach?”

Her hand stops on the doorknob.

“Yes?”

For a small, fleeting moment, Daryl forgets how to speak, as if she were able to snatch all the words from him.

“Are ya doin' somethin' tonight?”

She frowns slightly, and although he hasn’t turned to look at her, she looks at him strangely.

“I don’t think so… going to sleep I guess, why?”

Daryl swallows the lump that forms in his throat.

“I thought that… maybe I could take ya somewhere, but we would have to leave before the sun comes up.”

Her heart is beating fast, an involuntary movement, because it’s been a while since they’ve been truly alone. It's a scary feeling, but deep down, she knows that everything is okay as long as they are together, even though they weren't together.

“Okay.”

There’s a certain playfulness in her voice, masked behind her confusion, but Daryl can sense it.

“I’ll knock on yer door when it’s time to go.”

She nods.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

“G'night, peach.”

She laughs softly, but it’s the same lively sound he heard when they first met, and that, somehow, is like a good omen for him.

“You too.” But she pauses, thinking deeply if her next words will make any change in him. She is afraid, she is so afraid of feeling close to him again, but the fear of losing him at some point is bigger than anything, but not by some walker, because he was smarter than that, but perhaps by himself, because Daryl's worst enemy was his own conscience. “Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

Her heart beats differently, but she can’t hold her words prisoner anymore.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

He knows it without her saying it, because after so many years, she knows him well, better than anyone, and Daryl can feel his own shame blossoming inside him.

“M'sorry.”

There’s a deep emptiness in his words, and she can’t help but feel that weight on her shoulders too. So, silently, she sits beside him for a moment, admiring the beauty of the moon that, despite that new world, hadn’t changed thankfully.

(Y/N) reaches out her hand to him, the hand he hurt, and Daryl, unable to look her in the eyes, holds her hand as he feels the warmth of her body close to him, for the first time in months. Maybe she was never good with words either, but right now, all he needs from her is to have her close, as close as he would be to her if she said yes.

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn

Word count: +3,5

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14.

Iris sat in the stark, fluorescent-lit interrogation room, her fingers nervously fidgeting in her lap. She never imagined she would find herself in a police station, let alone facing such horrifying circumstances. The recent attempts on her life and her friends' had thrust her into a nightmare she couldn't have anticipated. Life had a way of surprising her in the most fucked up ways and now she would've to deal with it.

Beside her, Sam and Tara sat in tense silence, the gravity of the situation hanging heavily in the air.

In front of them on the cold, metal table lay a series of photographs depicting the gruesome aftermath of the recent crimes. Among the images were shots of Greg and Jason, their faces frozen in time, reminders of their horrible deaths. The sight was chilling, and Iris couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in her stomach.

"It would be nice if someone could explain why they think showing us pictures of dead people is a good idea," Iris muttered under her breath. Just then, she felt a sharp kick to her shin from the youngest Carpenter sister, a subtle but clear warning to keep her comments to herself.

The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly as the door creaked open, revealing Quinn's father, Wayne Bailey. He stepped inside, a brief smile flickering across his face as he took a seat opposite them. In his hands, he held a bag that unmistakably contained a Ghostface mask.

"This was found next to the body at the apartment crime scene," Wayne informed them in a calm, steady voice. He placed the evidence on the table, allowing the three of them to examine it closely. The item—a worn Ghostface mask—seemed to absorb the room's light, casting a shadow of unease over them. "DNA analysis indicates it belonged to someone named Richie Kirsch."

He glanced at each of them, searching for something in their faces. "Does that ring a bell?"

"Unfortunately," Iris replied, her voice tinged with dread as memories of past encounters flooded back.

"We're all familiar with him," Sam added quietly, her gaze fixed on the mask.

"But the one who attacked us had a different mask on," Tara interjected, her brow furrowing in thought. "It was kind of more beat up. Like it was older.".

Wayne's expression shifted as he furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation. "I gotta ask, do you have alibis for earlier tonight?"

"Iris and I were at a party with our friends," Tara answered, her voice more assertive now, eager to distance themselves from any suspicion.

"I was at my therapist's," Sam muttered, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone. "I can give you his information. You can call to check if you want."

Wayne nodded in acknowledgement as Sam continued talking.

"And then I met Tara at that party, where I tased someone," Sam said, glancing at the police officer. "Unrelated," she added with a roll of her eyes.

Wayne turned his attention to Iris, his eyes narrowing as he noticed her busted lip. "What happened to you?" he asked, gesturing towards her injury.

"I might have punched someone," Iris admitted, her tone surprisingly casual. She caught Wayne's surprised expression and quickly added, "Completely unrelated too."

Wayne blinked at her, a flicker of skepticism crossing his face. "A lot of unrelated things happened tonight," he observed, his tone probing.

"I know, crazy right?".

Wayne didn't respond directly to Iris. Instead, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through videos, his expression shifting to one of focus. "Was this before or after this happened?" he asked, turning the screen toward them.

The video played, revealing the moment where a woman dumped her soda over Sam's clothes, followed by the sound of both Iris and Sam shouting in indignation.

"Before," Sam confirmed, her voice steady as she watched the footage.

"The point is, we were with people all night," Tara interjected firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. She leaned forward, intent on conveying their innocence.

"So, our roommate's dad just happened to pull your case?" Sam inquired, her voice tinged with suspicion.

"That'd be a crazy coincidence, right?" Bailey replied sarcastically, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Completely unrelated, isn't it?" Iris added, furrowing her eyebrows in an attempt to mask her unease.

"Yeah," Sam echoed, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of tension.

Wayne leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he continued. "The detective who had the case offered it to me because it involves Quinn. But I can totally give it back if you're uncomfortable. It's up to you."

"It's fine," Sam said, rolling her eyes after exchanging a quick, silent look with Tara and Iris.

Wayne shifted his focus back to the case. "So, if the man who attacked you did steal your license and planted them next to the body," he stated matter-of-factly, "it's probably someone close to you. How long have you known your friends?"

"We moved here about two years ago with Mindy and Chad," Tara explained, her voice steady. "That's when we first met Quinn, Ethan, and Anika."

"I think I can vouch for Quinn," Wayne said, offering a small, reassuring smile, trying to bring comfort to the girls. "So that's one less person we have to worry about."

Iris felt a flicker of doubt at his words. Just because Quinn was his daughter didn't mean she could trust her completely. She could still be the killer, no one was innocent in her mind.

"Do any of you have anyone that might want to target you?" Wayne continued, his tone shifting to one of serious inquiry.

"I would love to say no but we both know I would be lying".

"Not anyone who's still alive," Tara answered coldly as Bailey stared at her in shock.

"Yikes,"

The door swung open, revealing yet another police officer who strode in with an air of urgency. "FBI's here, claiming jurisdiction," he announced, his tone leaving little room for doubt.

"Where are they?" Wayne asked, rising from his seat.

"We should probably follow him," Iris suggested, her instincts kicking in. After exchanging glances, Tara and Sam nodded in agreement, and they all stood up, following Bailey out of the interrogation room. As they stepped into the bustling hallway, they spotted a blonde woman  talking to the man in a suit. Sam's eyes widened in recognition.

"Kirby?" she blurted out, shock evident in her voice.

The woman turned at the sound of her name and walked over, a broad smile spreading across her face as she enveloped Sam in a warm hug. "Hey, Sam!"

Tara looked on, surprised, as Kirby shifted her attention to her. "Tara," she acknowledged with a nod before her gaze landed on Iris. There was a brief pause as Kirby took a deep breath, preparing to greet her as well.

"Hi, Iris."

Iris felt a wave of confusion wash over her. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "Hey, do we know each other?"

Kirby smiled softly, her eyes reflecting a hint of nostalgia. "You don't remember me, but I used to babysit you."

"Wait, really? When?" Iris's mind raced, trying to grasp the fragments of her past.

"When you were about six or seven, I helped your sister out a lot," Kirby explained, her tone warm and reminiscent. Suddenly, memories began to resurface in Iris's mind. "Olivia was my friend."

Iris's eyes lit up with recognition, she was Kirby Reed one of the survivors of the Ghostface attacks in 2011. "I remember you now" she exclaimed, a soft smile breaking across her face.

"You're with the FBI?" Sam asked, Kirby nodded, her expression shifting to one of seriousness.

Wayne, who had been observing the exchange with growing curiosity, interjected, "You guys know each other?"

"Yeah, we went to Woodsboro High together," Sam said, shaking her head in the slightest. "She was a senior when I was a freshman."

"We share a certain history, yeah," Kirby murmured, then she turned to Wayne."I'm not trying to get into a jurisdictional pissing contest here, I just want to help. I'll show you mine... etc".

Kirby handed Wayne the information she had, one of them being another mask.

"He left this mask at the bodega," she affirmed. "DNA traces of two individuals, Charlie Walker, Jill Roberts, both deceased."

"The Ghostface killers of 2011," Iris said. Kirby looked at her with sadness. She lifted up her shirt, revealing the scar on her stomach. "Charlie Walker gave me this."

"Like I said, I take a special interest". Kirby stated, turning her attention to the three women standing in front of her. "Is this the mask he was wearing when he attacked you?"

"No," Tara replied, shaking her head firmly, the memory of the attack still vivid in her mind.

Wayne furrowed his brow, processing the implications of their exchange. "So he's leaving them on purpose," he voiced aloud, the realization dawning on him.

"Exactly," Kirby added, her expression serious. "Which means whoever's doing this is a student of the killers who came before. Maybe he believes that Sam is the latest in a long line"

"Which means he's insane," Iris interjected, her frustration evident. "That's nothing new."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Sam replied sarcastically, crossing her arms as she glanced at the mask. She felt an overwhelming urge to escape the suffocating environment. "We're getting out of town."

As the three friends tried to walk away from the investigators, Wayne suddenly halted their steps with one firm statement. "I'm sorry, that's not possible."

"Why not?" Iris asked, anger bubbling beneath the surface as she turned to face him. "We are allowed to leave at any moment. This is absurd."

"All three of you are person's of interest in a double homicide, so you're not allowed to leave town, sorry."

Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Tara quickly jumped in, her voice steady. "Are you serious?"

"He's right," Kirby confirmed. "But if we work together-"

"Yeah no thanks, we rather escape".

"We're going" Sam interrupted Kirby as she tried to talk once again.

The three of them burst out of the police station, squinting against the bright afternoon sun that bathed the street in a harsh light. As they stepped into the open air, they were immediately met with reporters shouting and cameras recording.

Microphones were thrust toward them, questions shouted in rapid succession, Iris felt her heart race, a mixture of anxiety and frustration coursing through her. "We need to get out of here," she muttered, glancing at Tara and Sam, who looked equally disoriented.

Tara shielded her eyes from the sun and tried to push through the throng. "Just ignore them! Let's keep moving!"

Sam nodded, her jaw set in a grim line as she tried to maintain her composure amid the frenzy. The last thing they needed was to become the center of a media circus. They started walking faster, trying to navigate through the crowd, but the reporters closed in, creating a wall of intrusive questions and flashing lights.

"Samantha, do you have an alibi for last night's murders?"

"Tara, do you feel safe around your sister?"

None of them bothered to answer any of the questions they were thrown.

"Gale Weathers, Channel 4." Sam, Iris and Tara turned around to glare at the older woman. Just when they thought things couldn't get worse. "Do you ladies think you're the reason the Ghostface killer has come to the Big Apple?"

Sam didn't even bother to answer as she tried to punch Gale in the face though the woman was quick to dodge it. "Nice try, sweetie, but I've done this dance before,".

Then Tara, without anyone expecting it, punched the woman right in the face, making Gale place her hand in her cheek in surprise and pain.

"Good punch" Iris whispered as she stared at Tara.

"Don't take one more step Gale, we want nothing to do with you" Iris snapped at the older woman.

"Are you guys still mad at me?" Gale exclaimed in shock as if she couldn't believe someone wouldn't want to talk to her.

"You said you wouldn't write a book about what happened," Sam shot back at her. "And then you wrote a book about what happened."

"Oh, come on! Somebody was going to write about it. It's what I do!"

"I heard you couldn't sell the movie rights," Tara taunted her.

"It's all about true-crime limited series these days," Gale sighed in despair.

"After everything we went through together," Sam said coldly, she couldn't believe the audacity . "What would Dewey think?"

"That was a low blow."

"Good, I hope it hurts to know that Dewey would be disappointed in you" Iris spoke.

"So was your book," Sam was quick to speak once again. "You called me unstable and a born killer."

"That's taken out of context-"

"That's literally a quote."

"You don't think what you wrote has something to do with what's happening to us?" Tara questioned the woman.

"Come on," Sam muttered to the other two as she turned to leave.

"Hey, I talked to Sidney," Gale added, as she followed them.

"Please tell me she's not coming" said Iris.

"No. She sends her love," The woman answered. "But she's taking Mark and the kids somewhere safe. She deserves to have her happy ending.

"On that much we agree," Sam sighed in relief for the Sidney.

"At least someone should have a normal life".

Then they stopped a taxi and they all got in.

"Hey, I want to catch this fucker as much as you three do!"

"Maybe," Tara shouted back. "Or maybe you're just afraid that without Ghostface in your life, you're gonna fade away."

A few hours later, the group found themselves gathered on a set of benches in the sun-drenched university campus, the air buzzing with anxiety. Mindy had orchestrated this reunion with a singular purpose: to dissect the events surrounding Ghostface. It was one of those beautiful days that seemed ill-suited for discussing such horrific topics, yet here they were.

"Okay, nerds! Listen up!" Mindy clapped her hands, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the matter. "As terrifying as this all is, I'm actually glad I have the chance to redeem myself for not calling out the killer last time."

"Not this again," Iris muttered under her breath, her eyes rolling in exasperation.

Mindy waved her off with a playful grin. "Okay, hear me out! The way I see it, someone is clearly trying to create a sequel to the requel."

"Uhm, what's a requel?" Anika piped up, raising her hand as if she were in class, her curiosity shining through.

Mindy beamed at her girlfriend, momentarily distracted. "You're beautiful, sweetie," she said, her smile warm and genuine. "But let's hold all questions until the end, alright?."

"Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro". Sam interjected, her voice steady. "And Stab 2 took place in college."

Tara's eyes widened as she connected the dots. "So, we think the killer is trying to copy the movies?" Chad, leaning back with a weary expression, sighed deeply, as if the weight of their predicament was already exhausting him.

"That is one possibility," Mindy agreed with the girl. "Heroes now in college, check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and body count check." She pointed at Ethan, Anika and Quinn. Anika tensed up at Mindy's declaration while Ethan looked nervously at the group and Quinn just looked confused.

"I don't like this," Ethan blurted out, a hint of panic in his voice. "It sounds like you're accusing us".

Iris raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as she studied him. "That depends. Have you done anything weird lately?" She tried to mask her words with a teasing tone, but the weight of her question hung in the air, making it clear she was serious.

Ethan chuckled awkwardly, his eyes darting away. "If you count weird as going to classes, then yeah, I guess so," he replied, forcing a laugh that fell flat among his friends.

Iris tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "You said you haven't watched Stab, right?"

"Yeah, what about it?" he asked, the confusion in his voice deepening.

"I just think it's curious, that's all," Iris said, adopting a nonchalant tone that didn't quite match the intensity of the moment.

Ethan frowned, trying to decipher her meaning. "I'm not the biggest fan of horror movies, you know that,".

"Sure, but it's not just that," Iris pressed on, her tone shifting to something more serious. "In a situation like this, it's almost suspicious not to be familiar with those movies. Especially with what's going on."

Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So you think I'm acting suspicious because I don't watch slasher films? That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"I just think it's worth discussing," Iris insisted, her eyes never leaving his. "The last time someone told me he hadn't watched those movies was also the last time we got stabbed so...".

"He's also dead now".

"Jesus Iris". Ethan whispered in horror.

The group fell silent for a moment, the tension thickening as they all considered the implications of Iris's words. Mindy exchanged glances with Tara, and Chad shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

Iris would have continued pressing Ethan for answers, but suddenly she felt a hand gripping her thigh. Glancing up, she realized the hand belonged to Tara, who was silently signaling her to back off. Understanding the cue, Iris fell silent and placed her own hand gently over Tara's.

"Thank you, Iris, for your wonderful comments. I'm sure everyone appreciated them," Mindy said, clapping her hands together in a conciliatory gesture. "But we can't just focus on Stab 2."

"Why not?" Tara asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we're not in a sequel, because nobody just makes sequels anymore. Were in a franchise!" Mindy's excitement was palpable as she delved into her theory. "And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise"

"I'm shocked" Iris sarcastically said. "This is shocking news"

"Rule one: Everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count. Longer chases, shoot-outs, beheadings. You got to top what came before to keep people coming back"

"Beheadings?" Chad questioned fearfully. He was taking notes of everything his sister was saying.

"Beheadings." Mindy repeated back to her brother. "Rule two: Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations. If the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with letterbox accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be true here"

"And rule three: No one is safe. Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point.

Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. It's not looking to good for Gale and Kirby" Mindy said, glancing at her friends. "Oh, and that's not even the worst part!"

"This is the part where she tells us the worst part" Chad muttered not looking up from his notebook.

"The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic installments designed to boost an IP. Which means main characters are completely expendable now, too. Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley..."

"What the fuck is she talking about?" Iris whispered to Tara.

"Just say yes and nod".

"I mean, even Luke Skywalker, they all died so their franchises could live on. That means it's not just the friend group. Any of us could go at any time, especially Sam and Tara" Mindy finished her rant. "Well so do you Ris".

"Thanks Mindy, I especially liked the part you told me I was going to die".

"Wait, any of us?" Ethan asked, glancing nervously around at his friends. Mindy nodded, her expression serious.

"Am I even in the friend group? Am I, like, one of the targets here?" He questioned, his voice rising with a hint of panic.

"Mm-hmm," Mindy replied again, her tone unwavering.

"Am I gonna die a virgin?" he blurted out, causing everyone to exchange bewildered looks.

"Definitely," Iris shot back, her tone matter-of-fact, which made Tara and Chad snort quietly in amusement.

"That was a weird overshare," Mindy cringed, shaking her head. "But it does lead us to our current suspects: Ethan, the shy, dorky guy that no one would ever suspect, precisely because he's so shy and dorky."

"Why am I on the suspect list?" Ethan asked, trying to keep his tone serious. "Just because I happen to be Chad's roommate?"

"Roommate lotteries can be juked," Mindy scoffed at him. "You could've fixed it to get next to us".  Ethan's expression darkened, clearly offended by the insinuation. "Also Iris had a point."

Mindy shifted her focus, turning toward Quinn with an expectant look. "Let's not forget Quinn, the 'slutty' roommate," she continued. "A horror movie. classic".

"Sex positive, but...thank you?" Quinn told her not knowing if she should be offended or not.

"So, how did you end up living with Sam, Tara, and Iris?" Mindy asked Quinn, her curiosity piqued.

"I answered their ad online," Quinn replied like it was obvious.

"Okay, say no more," Mindy said, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You've already implicated yourself enough."

"It was an anonymous ad, Mindy," Tara defended her, a trace of irritation in her voice. "And you know we vetted her. Plus, her dad is a cop,"

"And that makes it more likely that she's the killer, because having a cop dad is a great cover. Mindy shot back, her tone accusatory. "Do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?". Iris shrugged in agreement, a thoughtful look on her face, while Quinn shot them both an offended glance, clearly not pleased with their insinuations. Iris mouthed a quick "sorry" to her.

"Is she always like this?" Quinn whispered to Iris, her voice low enough to avoid being overheard.

"Yep, you get used to it," Iris replied with a smile. "It's part of her charm, really."

Mindy, not missing a beat, continued her theatrics. "And finally... Anika!" She blew kisses in Anika's direction. "Never trust the love interest." Anika's smile faltered at that remark. "Last attack proved that point, didn't it?" Mindy pointed a finger at Sam and Iris, the latter grimacing in response.

"Okay! So, we have our rules and we have our suspects," Sam said thoughtfully, leaning forward on the bench, her brows furrowed in concentration.

"But wait. What about you guys?" Ethan muttered, motioning towards the rest of the group.

"I think it's pretty safe to rule out the five of us who went through this two years ago in Woodsboro," Mindy declared confidently, though Iris shot Ethan a wary look.

"Agreed," Chad chimed in, nodding his head.

"Um, not so fast," Quinn interjected. "What if the trauma you all experienced caused one or more of you to snap?"

"That's literally bullshit," Iris retorted, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Yeah, or maybe the fame you gained from surviving those killings made you thirsty for more," Ethan added, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Let's be honest here, some of the theories online about Sam are..."

"Don't you fucking dare," Tara said, glaring at him, her voice low but fierce. Ethan looked down, wide-eyed.

"Okay, she's right, though," Anika attempted to defuse the tension. "I mean, if we're all suspects, then you're all suspects".

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Chapter 3: Epilogue

{A/N: Here's the link to my masterlist } Link under for ch 3!

Ghost thought that you had to be a desperate bloke that happened strolled in to the hotspot of mafiosos.

‘A muppet!’ As Price would like to put it, but oddly enough, you looked more like a sad and pathetic one than a desperate one.

He well knows the reputation this bakery holds in this city, and you just stumbling along here- cold to the bone and hot to the head- didn’t quite add up to him.

An itch in his brain you were for some reason, even more so now when his boss had called for an immediate meeting back at HQ, even though they had a mission to go out for that night.

He digresses, nodding in agreement to Price before going back into to get Gaz— who was currently negotiating with a worried Nonna and Nonno about your sudden presence at their place.

“Hey,” all three turn their heads to his sudden entrance, “Price says we gotta head back.”

Gaz nods, his gaze hardening in understanding- he caught a snippet of it as he came back down.

“Nonno, Nonna,” he smiles to them in appreciation, “we’ll come back tomorrow for her.”

They nod in understanding.

Nonno then follows up with a- “we shouldn’t be too worried about it, right?”

Ghost quirks a brow, making eye contact with Gaz, as if to gauge that— were you really just a nobody? Or somebody they should be concerned about?

Gaz then shakes his head, “you shouldn’t,” he reassures.

Nonno smiles in appreciation, “then go on your way then boys- we know you got your jobs to do.”

Giving one last goodbye to the two, and reassuring Nonna once again that they would be okay, they finally get to leave and meet up with Price by their car, who was was just leaning on it with a lit cigarette hanging at the side of his mouth.

“That took a while,” Price comments, his eyes not leaving the paper in his hand, to which both took interest in.

“Are we gonna have that meeting before the mission?” Ghost asks, ready to nick pick the hell out of what’s going inside of Price’s head at the moment but pouts internally, seeing him shake his head.

“Mission comes first,” he says assertively, “we’re already short time— and we need to wait for Soap.”

Gaz groans, “ugh, why does he get to be left behind!”

His boss chuckles, “you’re the better driver, Garrick.”

Gaz instantly perks up and Ghost couldn’t help the chuckle as he watches the man quickly run to the driver side and lock into his seat.

“Well, hurry up then— we better get goin’, yeah?”

They both rolled their eyes, doing the same and hopping inside well- making sure to focus up for this meeting with an underground kingpin.

“Be sure to check your six down there,” Price reminds as they near the entrance to the under ground bar and casino in the west-end side of the city— where the growing red light district started to bud and grow.

It was a pain to go here, but this was a hub for information aside from the usual sleaze bags and scum that drowns themselves into greed and lust.

Ghost now knew that this became a 2-in-1 mission, take out the kingpin wanker that’s currently cheating off of 414’s good graces, and to get intel on that…paper.

Once Gaz buzzed in that he locked into the target, he knew this was going to a breeze for them, “like clockwork” as Price would put it.

As if it were a daily occurrence to them, Price and Ghost quickly dispatched the Kingpin’s men one by one, while Gaz instantly knocked out the man who was sitting and drinking with girls in his arms. Those women screamed and instantly ran away, not wanting to be the next person Gaz’ll take out.

Just like that, they had this man tied up in a chair in his office, with Price leading the interrogation.

“So Pierre,” Price starts with an inquisitive grin, “how’s the business comin’ along?”

Pierre glares, thrashing relentlessly against his binds but Price knew he wouldn’t be able to get out, Ghost’s handiwork will never room for any kind of that possibility.

“Fuck off!” Pierre growls, “I said I was gonna pay next week!”

Price tuts, “did I say we agreed on that date?”

“Seems like he’s weaselin’ and havin’ too much fun boss,” Gaz grins from behind the man, hands fidgeting with a butterfly knife.

His boss nods and Gaz takes that as signal to throw the knife right by the man’s temple, barely grazing his ear and the skin near it, then landing onto the wall across from him.

“Whoops,” Gaz giggles, “my hands slipped!”

“You bastard!” Pierre shrieks, “I’m fucking bleeding now!”

“Oh, you’ll be being doing more than bleeding, ya wanker,” Ghost snides, whipping out his own choice method of getting answers from this man.

“I suggest you start behavin’ Pierre,” Price smiles, “or else that tiny scar would be the least of your worries.”

Eventually, they got the man to talk as Price finds his secret bank book with receipts of where all his and their money went.

Though that went well, on the other hand- getting answers on the paper were proven…futile.

Pierre insisted he never saw it and even double downs- unlike before.

Though Price is a the type of man who wastes time for anyone, so he nods to Gaz, and he is all-too-happily ending him with the displayed gun in the man’s office.

“Dispose him,” Price commanded and Gaz pouts, hating the clean-up work but goes on with it anyways.

“He’s lying,” Ghost mutters, “wanker was pissin’ his pants.” He had a knack for these things and he could tell the genuine fear that grew in the man’s eyes. His legs were bouncing more relentlessly, eyes constantly glancing back and worth— all the signs were there.

“Figured,” Price lights a cig and then huffs out a response, “was too quick to reply— too antsy for my taste.”

Ghost observes his boss and brother, that itch coming back in and bugging him even more that he had no choice but to scratch it.

“Can I have a look at it, John?”

Price turned to him, silently debating whether he should let Ghost know now or later.

He pinches his brows yet hands it over to him anyways, Ghost taking this opportunity and snatching it.

He reads the direction paper side first, looking at it oddly before overturning and—

“John what the fuck?”

Price nods, “I know.”

“We have to fucking go now.”

“No,” John glares at Simon, “we don’t.”

“And why the fuck not?!” Simon roars in his face because he knows John wouldn’t fuck them over with something so important, but at the same time was frustrated that he didn’t tell them sooner.

“Told you guys earlier,” John puffs another out, “need everybody to be together.”

“You weren’t kiddin’,” Simon mutters and he thinks about you happening to meet them at the front of the bakery again.

“Was it really from ‘em?”

Simon couldn’t really wrap his head around you and this goddamn piece of paper. It was hard to believe that you would pop out of nowhere, just to send ‘em this sweet nifty reminder of their past.

“Yes,” Price nods, “nabbed it from the purse myself.”

Ghost gives him a look, opening and closing his mouth before ultimately deciding not to say anything and just nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

“All done here~,” Gaz enters back to the room, wiping the sweat of his brow but immediately stops, his easy-going attitude gone with sensing the heavy air that permeated the room.

He sighs and leans by the doorway, “its the paper isn’t it?”

“We’re prioritizing this as number one priority now on the intel team,” Ghost decides, standing and leaving through the door where Gaz was.

“That was quick,” Gaz’s eyes rows jumped to his forehead, “number one?”

He sees him nod and Gaz just hums, looking back to Price who just seemed to accept it then and there as well.

“If that’s rolling,” he claps his hands and juts his thumb out the door, “let’s skiddaddle and hop on it, then?”

They both nod to his proposal and head back to the car.

Ghost was reeling in his emotions in the car ride back up until the meeting with everyone now present. Even with Soap at his side, squeezing his shoulder in comfort— his mind was a mess.

“What the fuck…” Soap drawls, head thrown back and hands weaved through his hair.

Silence hung in the air as everyone digested the information passed on from Price and everyone stares at that simple drawing of a horn.

“It can’t be him, right?” Soap’s elbows were now on the table but his hand were on his face, voice seeped deep into denial.

“Has to be,” Ghost mutters, legs thrown on top of the desk and crossed over each other while his hands laid on top of his lap. “Can’t be anyone else.”

“Unbelievable!” Gaz denies loudly by slamming his hands on the table, “do you think they’d be his lackey?”

“A bait,” Price interjects, “an innocent or passer-by that might just be a little too unlucky.”

“Unlucky?” Ghost scoffs, “there’s no such thing as coincidence boss— you of all people should know that.”

“That’s fucked up,” Soap comments before growling to Ghost, “you saw ‘em— sick and whittled to the bone!”

“The perfect candidate.”

Soap is immediately at his brother’s collar, pulling at it and putting everyone into a panic.

“Soap, Ghost- chill-!” Gaz immediately moves to part them.

“He’s being a fuckin’ wanker!” Soap grits.

“And you’re being a dumbass.” Ghost seethes.

“Everyone down.”

Price voice booms, cold as ice with his eyes steeling hard as he takes in the mess of the room. He waits for everyone to get situated again before talking, now standing before everyone with his hands on hips.

“Ghost.” He called out and he nods in response, “go with our initial plan.”

“Yes, boss.”

Ghost nods whereas Soap protests, though he was immediately silenced by both his superiors.

Back at the bakery, Ghost gets time to thinks to himself as he replays the scene of you and Soap go at it in his mind. With Soap even acting like a gnat with his stupid grin— all because of you.

You.

With the itch finally seizing, his mind is now clearer. Fully deciding how to treat you in the face against his family—

“You’re driving cara to the market district for me.”

Ghost turns to him as if he was even offended at the thought of doing it. With a glare and Nonno giving one of his own, Ghost knew he wouldn’t back down, so he had to look at Price who gave him a smile.

“Nonno asked you to, Ghost.”

He huffs, his chair making a loud enough shriek that makes you jump once as you get to the last step of the stairs, making you almost slip, catch yourself, then breath out a sigh of relief.

“Where to?”

He hears you ask Nonno, and he couldn’t be bothered to hear the rest as he approaches the door.

“You should get going sleepyhead,” Soap advised you, “he ain’t gonna wait for someone like ya’.”

You give him the bird before quickly chasing after the weird brooding man with a mask on.

“Get the fuck in already,” Ghost commanded irritatedly while he stares you crossing your arms in indignation.

“Can’t you move your stuff so I could sit at the front?”

He deadpans at your comment.

“No.” He clips, “To the back.”

He sees you huff and slam the door shut before opening the one behind it, sliding into the seat smoothly then buckling in.

Once he hears the click, he is revving it.

And dear whatever-deity-is-out-there hope that this wouldn’t be your final moments.

He hears you let out a sigh of relief once he cools down and enters the busy streets, letting the traffic be then turning to you for questions.

“Hey,” he calls for your attention, “you know anything about gangs or mafias?”

You shook your head no then follow up with a- “why?”

Ghost stays quiet for a moment, stewing in your response.

“The city’s full of people like us,” he decides to explain, “and that’s common knowledge.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “really? Did not know that…”

He hears your mumble and nods all the same.

“But what isn’t,” you feel him break the car suddenly and you slam into the front seat, “is that bakery.”

Your eyes couldn’t tear away from the glare he gave you, it was stilled onto you and you were afraid that even breathing in this man’s capacity would end you for good this time.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, “I got lost.”

“What a laughable excuse,” he huffs, leaning back on the seat, gaze now directed again at the traffic and you feel free to move now.

‘Now that Medusa’s eyes weren’t trained on me.’

“Well,” you shrugged, “up to you to believe or not but that’s what happened.”

You hear his growl of complaint so you shot him another before he could reply.

“I know you have your issues and I got mine,” you started slowly, “but I got nothing to do with it and frankly— I don’t care.”

You yelped back to your seat when he grabs your collar, pulling you forward and come face to face with him.

You tell that— from the way his nose was flaring, the crease on his forehead growing deep, and the frown that could be seen protruding through his mask- he was pissed.

“You would care if it involved your family.”

With a click of his tongue, he tosses you back and goes back to driving, the silence less palpable than ever.

Ghost can’t believe he lost to his whims, it was supposed to be an interrogation— he fucking stepped over a line he shouldn’t and his ass would be had by Price.

He told himself that he’d treat like an enemy but that seemed to be less likely, the more he learned about you during lunch.

Now, he isn’t confident.

And that makes his stomach churn.

“Then tell me about it.” He hears you speak, and just like that— the clouds parts.

“What do you mean?” He grunts, and looks up at the rear view mirror.

He was quite surprised at the expression you wore- it wasn’t one of resentment or fright, but a compassionate one.

An unfamiliar one, he notes.

“I don’t have family.” You put it bluntly. “So I don’t know how it…feels—“ your hands wave wildly about, “—so tell me about it.”

‘Oh.’ He sucks in his teeth. ‘That’s what you meant.’

It takes him a moment to digest and reply, and frankly, you were quite used to that reaction.

“Well…” you wait patiently for him to continue, “…it makes you feel like you care.”

And you nod, letting him know that you were listening.

“Makes you feel… like they’re a treasure,” he starts tapping on the wheel, “makes you feel… like you got treasure ‘em.”

“Like a pirate and their booty?”

He chuckles at your sudden quip.

“You could put it like that.”

From then on, you both continue throwing questions back and forth- letting you ask about him and the family.

Furthering confirming that you were just a passer-by.

Furthering proving that Price is right- you were a bait.

A quite unfortunate one at that.

Once you both get to the market, you turn to wave him goodbye, Ghost- shocking you- did the same, then pulling up the window and leaving as soon as he came.

Ghost wasn’t confident— but he is sure now.

He feels his stomach settle from lunch, making him sigh in relief.

The day was long and rough, and you finally got what you wanted— a place to yourself (for now) and a job (for now).

Once you got up to the room, you were surprised at how clean and homey it was— quite a stark contrast to the building it was held in.

From the carpet to the drapes, everything matched perfectly to what you would say a, “academia aesthetic with flora.”

Well, more like dead flora.

You digress, brushing that aside for the more important part was a good shower and some nice sleep— until the morning welcomes you again in the form of a knock at the door.

Opening it then gets you a,

“Hey shortstack! Missed me?”

Making you instantly slam the door and trudge back to bed.

A/N: A bit of in between moments during previous chapters with this one focusing on Ghost’s POV this time! Already cooking up the next one✨

Taglist! <3

@astreaaaaaa6 @accidental-obsessionist

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 4: Dikke

Welcome to entry four of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. For today's character we have: Dikke!

Ah one of the first characters hit by the yuri-beam that became very popular in the fandom for her being easily paired with other characters. Her character is pretty interesting, as being one of the vessels of justice and one of the oldest characters in the game. Just wish that her kit was as powerful as her canon, anyway lets get started!

Lady Dikke is a European arcanist coming from the middle ages, born on October 10th. She is the current magistrate and Supreme Chief of the Special Court, and is a very eccentric person who carries out justice in unconventional ways.

Her arcane skill involves an ancient Babylonian soul, who resides in the flaming sword "Justice" and is often depicted as a spiritual claw looming over Dikke's shoulder. While ferocious, it has been her guiding spirit when it comes to doing her job. She states that its sentient, being easily swayed by what it thinks is an injustice. Whether it'd be an action or some believed meaningless rumors, it will respond accordingly.

It can be assumed that this soul is likely based off of Babylonian King Hammurabi, as he is the creator of the law code that ultimately became the law code for others. The code, named after him, is one of the earliest, longest, and best-preserved legal texts made in the ancient Near East.

We don't know too much about Dikke as herself prior to her work, but when she grew older, she first became a chancellor in the (Medieval) Inquisition. Its power started to grow in Europe to carry out cases and trials in place of the secular courts, and when Dikke became bishop, it grew more powerful, gradually prevailing control over the courts and laws across the region.

The Inquisition also had some degree of control on handling the cases of arcanists, both innocent and guilty. While being viewed as cruel and abusive by some, it can't be doubted that it held a special place in the arcanum world. Dikke usually carried out some of these trials herself, providing justice for the guilty and giving mercy for those innocent.

Some time after the Black Death pandemic, Dikke visited one of the villages to investigate the death of a member of a church, conducting a long investigation that seemed unconventional but fully efficient to be able to reach a conclusion.

She found that all the townspeople (including the church) were guilty, as multiple factors led to the death of the church member and the case was silenced further before her arrival. However she carried out no punishment.

At some point, she went to the Roman Catholic Diocese of Pamiers in France, and became a magistrate and Supreme Chief of the Special Court there. During this time, she became in charge of conducting retrials of temporal court cases, to prevent wrongful convictions.

She used this to her advantage, as her control of this aspect led to many innocent arcanists to be saved from the witch hunts carried out by humans.

Dikke can be described as a very straightforward and active character, always making it a point to be fair and to be truthful. She never really lies, and continuously works towards carrying out the justice that guides her in every step she makes. Dikke is very insistent on it, and is often reluctant when it comes to accepting a position of power due to its connection with greed.

Despite these, she's not a stone cold person. She'll occasionally have a drink, make a humorous jab about the corrupt and the guilty, and enjoys quiet nights when the day ends with her goals fulfilled.

Dikke's belief in justice aligns with her layered empathy, but she is in no way to consider making an exception. She even tells herself that if she were to carry out an injustice that she too must deserve punishment. No guilty person can escape the blade of justice, neither will the wealthy and the powerful. Dikke will make sure of that.

[daisymbin]

prompt list for requests!!!

check out my masterlist!

please allow me some time to write them though I promise to get them out as fast as I can within my capabilities! word count will vary for each prompt!

prompt list includes: fluff, suggestive, second chance romance & angst

+ please let me know which genre + no.

+ for angst, please indicate if you want a happy ending or not, or if you would like for me to decide!

full prompt list under cut! check here for all completed req works: #daisymbin: reqs

fluff ⤵️

1. "you look good in my clothes/hoodie/sweater."

2. "you looked cold, so i brought you a blanket/jacket/sweater."

3. "do you wanna come over and watch that movie we always talk about?"

4. "stop stealing my food."

5. "you can stay over if you want."

6. "your hands are freezing—here, take mine."

7. "your laugh is my favorite sound."

8. "why are you hiding behind the door?"

9. "i didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch."

10. "do you ever think about us like… as more than friends?"

11. "you remembered my favorite drink?"

12. "you can’t fall asleep without your goodnight hug, huh?"

13. "i kept this photo of us—don’t laugh."

14. "oh, so now we’re holding hands?"

15. "you’re my favorite person, you know that?"

16. "how do you look good even in sweatpants?"

17. "you forgot your umbrella, so i came to walk you home."

18. "wait, don’t fall asleep yet."

19. "you can borrow my jacket, but don’t lose it, okay?"

20. "you can braid my hair if you want."

21. "we should bake something together—it’ll be a disaster, but fun."

22. "do you think you could ever love me back?"

23. "you stayed up all night taking care of me?"

24. "you’re the only person who knows how to make me smile like this."

25. "your playlist is basically my soundtrack at this point."

26. "are you… blushing? because of me?"

27. "did you plan this whole day just to make me happy?"

28. "you’ve been carrying that photo of us in your wallet this whole time?"

29. "you’ll always have me, no matter what."

30. "is that my shirt you’re wearing?"

31. "you’re like my personal sunshine."

32. "hold my hand—just until we get there, okay?"

33. "you fell asleep on my shoulder again."

34. "you make my world feel a little brighter."

35. "i know you hate hugs, but i’m giving you one anyway."

36. "i couldn’t imagine my life without you in it."

37. "you brought me flowers? just because?"

38. "stop looking at me like that—it’s unfair."

39. "you talk about me in your sleep, you know?"

40. "i can’t believe you remembered my favorite ice cream flavor."

41. "you’re staring again—what’s on your mind?"

42. "sometimes, i wish time could just freeze when i’m with you."

43. "you’re my home, more than anywhere else."

44. "let’s stay up all night talking, just like we used to."

45. "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

46. "you doodled hearts in my notebook again."

47. "did you really save the last piece of cake for me?"

48. "you’re the best part of my day."

49. "what would i do without you?"

50. "you’re my person—always have been, always will be."

suggestive ⤵️

1. "if you keep looking at me like that, i might kiss you."

2. "are you trying to distract me on purpose?"

3. "you’re lucky you’re cute, or i’d be mad right now."

4. "you’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart."

5. "is that your way of asking me to stay the night?"

6. "you can’t keep teasing me like this."

7. "come closer, i won’t bite—unless you want me to."

8. "you don’t have to pretend to be innocent with me."

9. "your hands feel good on my skin."

10. "you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?"

11. "that’s not what you were saying last night."

12. "stop biting your lip like that, it’s distracting."

13. "don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me."

14. "you’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes."

15. "if you keep talking like that, i won’t be able to hold back."

16. "do you have any idea what you do to me?"

17. "come here and let me take care of you."

18. "why don’t we skip the movie and go straight to the good part?"

19. "you’re going to be the death of me, i swear."

20. "you’re not as innocent as you look, are you?"

21. "do you want me to kiss it better?"

22. "your place or mine?"

23. "i didn’t say stop."

24. "you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?"

25. "do you trust me?"

26. "if you don’t stop teasing me, i might have to do something about it."

27. "come here, let me help you out of that."

28. "you’ve been on my mind all day."

29. "don’t make promises you can’t keep."

30. "you’re too tempting for your own good."

31. "what are you doing in my bed?"

32. "i think we’d both be more comfortable if you took that off."

33. "you’re cute when you’re flustered."

34. "what if i said i wanted more than just a kiss?"

35. "you have no idea how much i want you right now."

36. "is that a dare?"

37. "you look so good like this."

38. "tell me what you want, and i’ll make it happen."

39. "you’re mine, remember that."

40. "don’t look at me like that unless you mean it."

41. "you’re not as shy as you pretend to be."

42. "i love it when you get all worked up."

43. "keep talking like that and see what happens."

44. "you drive me crazy, you know that?"

45. "you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now."

46. "i’m not sure i can behave if you keep looking at me like that."

47. "let me show you how much i missed you."

48. "is it bad that i like seeing you all flustered?"

49. "you’re the best kind of distraction."

50. "you’re irresistible, and it’s so unfair."

second chance romance ⤵️

1. "do you ever think about what we could’ve been?"

2. "i never stopped loving you."

3. "if i could go back in time, i’d do everything differently."

4. "do you think we could try again?"

5. "i still keep your picture in my wallet."

6. "this place reminds me of us."

7. "do you ever miss me?"

8. "you’re the one that got away."

9. "i can’t stop thinking about what we lost."

10. "i wasn’t ready to let you go."

11. "you always had a piece of my heart."

12. "every song reminds me of you."

13. "it’s been years, and you still feel like home."

14. "i hate that i lost you."

15. "you deserved someone better than me."

16. "you still wear the necklace i gave you?"

17. "i saw you in my dream last night."

18. "we were so close to forever."

19. "do you think we could ever be us again?"

20. "seeing you again feels like a second chance."

21. "i thought i was over you, but then i saw you smile."

22. "you were my first love—you still are."

23. "i thought i’d never see you again."

24. "every road i take somehow leads back to you."

25. "do you remember the promises we made?"

26. "it’s always been you."

27. "i thought i was okay until i saw you with someone else."

28. "why did you have to come back into my life now?"

29. "i wrote you so many letters i never sent."

30. "you’re the only person who ever truly knew me."

31. "i don’t think i ever really moved on."

32. "i kept the gift you gave me."

33. "can we start over?"

34. "it still hurts, seeing you."

35. "i thought leaving was the right choice, but now i’m not so sure."

36. "you’re still the first person i think of when i hear good news."

37. "i was so stupid to let you go."

38. "do you think we could fix what’s broken?"

39. "we ended too soon."

40. "i never wanted anyone else—it was always you."

41. "you’re the reason i came back."

42. "i miss the way you used to look at me."

43. "it feels like i’ve been waiting for you forever."

44. "you used to love me."

45. "i wanted to call, but i didn’t think you’d pick up."

46. "i still dream about you."

47. "do you regret what we had?"

48. "you taught me what love is, and no one else has come close."

49. "it’s not too late for us, is it?"

50. "i still believe we were meant to be."

angst ⤵️

1. "i saw you with them—don’t deny it."

2. "you promised you wouldn’t hurt me."

3. "why didn’t you just tell me?"

4. "i thought i meant something to you."

5. "is that all i am to you?"

6. "you chose them over me."

7. "i don’t know if i can forgive you."

8. "was anything real between us?"

9. "i can’t keep pretending i’m okay."

10. "you don’t trust me, do you?"

11. "do you even love me?"

12. "did you even think about how i would feel?"

13. "don’t act like you care."

14. "you never really loved me, did you?"

15. "i’m not enough for you."

16. "do you even know how much you hurt me?"

17. "please don’t go."

18. "i thought you were different."

19. "it’s too late to fix this."

20. "i wish i could hate you."

21. "you don’t get to walk back into my life like this."

22. "i can’t lose you again."

23. "you broke me."

24. "i waited for you, but you never came."

25. "how could you keep this from me?"

26. "i wish we’d never met."

27. "this isn’t how it was supposed to end."

28. "you always put them first."

29. "stop pretending you care."

30. "i saw you with them—it’s over."

31. "don’t lie to me."

32. "you said you’d never leave."

33. "what about us?"

34. "you made me believe in us."

35. "why am i never enough?"

36. "you could’ve told me."

37. "don’t walk away from me."

38. "it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this."

39. "why are you pushing me away?"

40. "i thought we were forever."

41. "did you ever really love me?"

42. "please don’t make me choose."

43. "how could you think i didn’t care?"

44. "i loved you with everything i had."

45. "you were my everything."

46. "we can’t keep doing this."

47. "saying you're sorry isn’t enough this time."

48. "you knew this would destroy me."

49. "you’re too late."

50. "i hope they’re worth it."

[thedissonantverses]

Davrin or Harding: Is it Arbitrary?

No, of course it isn’t. This whole blog got started because I want to bring recognition to how the gameplay decisions work with the narrative. Also, I don’t feel comfortable as a white-passing Hispanic to get into if it’s racist or not. I think we’re probably all the on the same page about is Davrin’s VA as well. I’m not here to talk over anyone, I just want to share why I love this as a story moment. If you’d like to correct me please do! As with everything I write here it’s meant to be a conversation starter.

Anyways, I am still not over it. Not only because this game gave me, a certified dirtbag and queer woman not one but two outdoorsy romantic interests which is incredibly unfair.

All joking aside, let’s talk about what these two characters represent. Learning from the mistakes of the path to build a better future is one of the central themes of Veilguard.

Lace Harding. Her name represents something soft and delicate in combination with strength which is representative of her whole personality. She’s a bad ass already. She was with the Inquisition for ten years. She’s helping Varric track down the elven god of lies, trickery, and rebellion, depending on the story. Everything she goes through from the Inquisition’s formation to the time of the final battle can be linked back to Evanuris meddling. She is the dwarves, they’re kindness and strength and anger even when she didn’t know it. An avatar. A paragon. She respresents a future where the Titans, and the dwarves, have their dreams returned.

Davrin(I don’t think he has a last name??) is a Grey Warden who is also a bad ass. He’s worked his whole life towards the goal of being a weapon, joining the Wardens voluntarily so that he’s a killer with a purpose by his own admission. He’s a hard man, forged so by necessity. But, he’s the inverse of Harding, who presents a soft interior but with a steel spine. Davrin’s heart is softened by his partnership and love of Assan. He’s a Dalish man and a Warden, both of which are groups that developed in response to what the Evanuris did to break the world. He represents the future of the Wardens and Thedas by being the father of the griffons. A future where the Blight won’t shape the people of Thedas, but one where the people of Thedas will carve out their own, better, future.

When it comes to the decision to kill either character, it is not supposed to be easy. It is supposed to feel like a hard choice, and the reason it is so difficult to decide is because you know, either way, you’re sacrificing someone who has already given up everything to put an end to the Evanuris. Someone who has been shaped by the centuries of torment Solas and Mythal unleashed. Someone who represents what the future might look like. It’s an impossible, terrible call, and someone has to make it to ensure that better future for the world.

Davrin and Lace are presented because once more the past requires another sacrifice to put it to rest. While that’s cold comfort to the survivors, they don’t die in vain. There are times you have to give up everything to make the world a better place.

I know they’re both my heroes. I know I will always cry choosing between them, because they’re my friends and sometimes my lover. I hope the choice never becomes easy.

I also know that like Davrin and Lace, I would give up anything and everything to ensure the future is a better place.

[iwriteasfotini]

Where do we draw the villain line?

Something which is so intriguing to me about the Harry Potter fandom is how flexible *most/some/a few* (honestly IDK how many) people are in giving the villains of the story their own story. Personally I LOVE THIS. Because the best villains are the ones who aren't simply macho bad guys (or gals) who are bad because the author said so. The best villains are the ones you are almost rooting for. The ones you begin to think... wait maybe that person isn't so bad. Or the ones who earn some empathy. And then go and be total arse holes anyways. Because a good story needs a villain, it's simply a fact.

If there was ever a time to remember humans are each living our own story, it is now. It doesn't excuse ANYTHING. It is infuriating and sad. But it is reality. Someone's villain is someone else's hero. And vice versa. But let's not get off on a tangent.

Now the curious thing is while certain HP characters are given some grace where their evil deeds are concerned, others are not. Like at all. Have any of you read Crimson Rivers? Of course you have! If you want to shift your mindset on how you view most of the Death Eaters, read that fic. But in it, I do not remember Mulciber or Avery being mentioned in any sort of good light. Walburga... her terrible parenting is quite undisputed. Umbridge! Barty Crouch Senior! I think Vernon Dursley falls into this category. There are still characters who are seen as simply evil for the sake of evil.

So how did Tom, Bella, Barty, Draco (but I mean, Draco is really a terrible villain to begin with) and a few others end up with backstory, humanity, and quite a few people invested in them. I don't have the answer, but it is an interesting phenomena. Because I am quite new to the fandom and it took all of three tumblr posts to get me fully on board with Rosekiller. Bella, I don't like her, but she is a fascinating character to write for. And she has redeemable qualities. Tom is a cold hearted killer who might have turned out completely different if he didn't have the childhood trauma he did. I imagine Tom's orphanage life was about as void of love and affection as it is possible to be. Sure his basic survival needs were taken care of, but he wasn't loved. And that was his life from birth.

Perhaps it is the fact there is just enough humanity given to these characters in canon that in fandom we take that nugget of humanity and turn it into a full fledged backstory. Barty is a great example. He is screaming at his father during his trial and his father flat up ignores him, all while his mother is weeping in the background. His mother sacrifices herself for him, then DIES two days later (clearly she wasn't in good health to begin with... hmmmmm...). Does Barty even have a Dark Mark? WE DON'T KNOW. Does Barty feel like he has a personal connection with Voldemort, yes, their fathers were both pieces of shite. How did Barty learn this about Tom? It means Tom went out of his way to connect with Barty on a PERSONAL level at some point. Why would he bother, he so rarely give away personal information? Also I feel Barty has a relationship with Winky which is reminiscent of Regulus and Kreacher. Basically there is mutual love and respect on some level (while some wizards see house-elves as servants only).

The fact we can ask all these questions about someone who essentially guided Harry to his should have been death and then was kissed by a dementor (which Dumbledore was LIVID about BTW) makes him such great fodder for the fandom to sculpt a intriguing if not rich back story. It's why I was able to get on board with the Barty isn't a pure villain idea so fast. And I think it really enhances the fandom.

On a side note, Peter's an interesting one as I feel like he is often either forgotten about or lumped into the evil for evil's sake category. Peter made appalling choices, but I think he has a backstory, just like everyone, which can at least account for some of why he did what he did. And it does not have to do with him being bullied, pushed around, or constantly berated by his supposed friends. The Marauders loved each other, and Peter was included in that love.

That being said, there are plenty of people who disagree. Who like to see the Death Eaters as evil. Who cannot fathom how anyone in their right mind can ship Jegulus or be invested in a villain. But to those people I say, Regulus committed suicide as part of taking down Voldemort, Remus put peoples lives at risk every time he left the shack while he was at Hogwarts, Sirius has made some very questionable choices, Harry uses Sectumsempra on Draco, Severus was a Death Eater who changed allegiance, Ron deserts his friends/Harry when they need him, even Fred and George test products on first years and give Hermione a black eye. The lines between good and bad (which are at least somewhat defined in canon) become far less clear in fandom. As Sirius says, the world isn't split between good people and Death Eaters.

If you have read this far into my rant, kuddos to you. If you enjoy thinking and talking about backstory of HP villains, maybe we can connect in some capacity and exchange HC's and thoughts. I also hope you will check out my very epic series which has started posting on Ao3 because I am striving to tell a lot of people's stories in a fast paced, entertaining way.

Thank you for your time and attention. This concludes my rant.

[tellyouily]

maybe stay here forever

dnf - couch cuddles - 1.4k words

george likes dream's sweater and patches seems to like it too

There is this sweater that Dream wears sometimes, a dark blue half-zip fleece with leather patches on the elbows and deep, warm pockets, that George is a little bit obsessed with.

Of course, the pockets are mostly there to be used by whoever is wearing the sweater, not by his best friend slash boyfriend who constantly has cold hands, but it’s a nice benefit. Not to mention that Dream also happens to look especially great in it, all broad and soft and rugged—especially with a few days worth of stubble on his face and his curls a little messy.

Which has been the case for most of the time these recent weeks, much to George’s contentment.

If someone were to ask him about it, though, he would maintain that he likes the blue sweater a normal amount. Give or take. And he might bring himself to admit that it’s the person wearing it who he likes more than just a little. An abnormal amount, you could say. A ludicrous amount.

He’ll admit that happily.

After searching high and low for the past ten minutes, he finally finds Dream in the guest house, of all places. He’s on the couch with his legs outstretched and his laptop—surprise, surprise—perched on his lap. Somehow, Patches has fit herself on his chest, too, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder like a baby. She must have ventured in here looking for him, too.

And she must have taken one look at the dark blue sweater Dream is wearing and deemed it a nice place to take a nap.

George doesn’t appreciate that she succeeded on that quest before he did.

“Hey you,” he says, announcing his presence. He leans his back on the door to close it.

Dream looks up and stretches, lifting a hand to the back of his head. His screen casts a soft glow on his face, and George would bet good money that either gmail dot com or his editing software is currently filling it. Or both. Dream likes the split-screen function.

“Hey you,” Dream echoes, making George smile as he nudges past the coffee table to join him.

This is really not a couch that can fit two people lying down, it can barely fit one if he’s honest, but Dream scooches closer to the back pillow and lifts his arm as a wordless invitation.

George does not need to be asked twice, climbing into position. He feels like he’s precariously close to the edge, but then Dream wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him close, and he relaxes like he’s been given a sedative.

Patches stirs ever so slightly at the commotion, giving George what he’s sure is a pointed look.

“She took my spot,” he mumbles, frowning at her and watching her simply close her eyes again and let out a sigh.

Dream’s hand comes to rest near the waistline of George’s sweatpants, his fingers grazing the sliver of skin where his hoodie has ridden up.

“There’s two spots,” he says gently.

And he’s right, of course. And really, George thinks it’s a good sign that Patches has chosen this as her desired nap location. She’s a smart cat and if this is the safest, warmest place she could think of, then he trusts her judgment wholeheartedly.

He would probably do the same if he was a cat. He’s even doing it now, as a human.

Only now does the laptop screen in front of him come into focus, showing something entirely different from what he was willing to bet money on. It’s a sports game of some kind—football? Or is that rugby?

All he knows is that each team is wearing a different color and that they are both running around on the field trying to win. And that Dream might be a furnace in disguise with how warm he is. Mostly the last thing.

“What are you watching?” George asks.

“Football game,” he answers, followed by a soft huff of amusement. “That you don’t care about.”

“I care a lot, actually.”

“Uh huh.” His smile is audible. “I’m sure it’s so interesting to you.”

George nods into the folds of the fleecy fabric. “It is. I love it,” he lies, making Dream laugh.

The game on screen seems to go on some kind of break and the camera pans to the players standing around, leaning on their knees, out of breath, and to the crowd and muted discussion between the referee and who George assumes is one of the team captains. Dream sighs and presses a kiss on the top of George’s head.

“If it was soccer you’d care,” he says. “ Actually care.”

George hums in a way that means yes. Real football, you mean , he would have said if he wasn’t so comfortable that he is tempted to let sleep overtake him. Take a page out of Patches’ book.

He’s surrounded by the kind of warmth that reminds him of his childhood. Of coming back inside from playing in the snow and getting to sit by the fireplace and watch cartoons to get the feeling back in his fingers. It’s more than enough to make him want to succumb to sleep.

Dream’s palm coming to rest fully on his bare stomach makes him blink. On screen, the game has started back up and so has the faint sound of cheering coming from the speakers.

With some difficulty, he retrieves his phone from his pocket. If he is to keep himself awake while lying here, watching American football is not the way to do it.

He uses Dream’s chest to prop up his phone and lets his thumb swipe past X and over to Reddit instead. 

Some of the posts are worth reading, others he scrolls past. It doesn’t take long for Dream’s attention to inevitably get pulled to his screen, as well, abandoning the game. George doesn’t blame him. He can tell that he’s reading, concentrating, by the way his hand starts drawing mindless shapes on his hip. He tries to move as little as possible in hopes that Dream won’t realize that he’s doing it and possibly stop.

They’re halfway through a particularly technical post about the motion detection system they’ve set up for the titan when a message from Sapnap pops up at the top of his screen.

Something stupid, of course. So stupid he might have just ignored it had it not been for the way he feels Dream smile against his temple.

George snorts. “What an idiot.”

He swipes down and types an even more stupid reply, making Dream turn his head away to laugh. Really laugh.

George grins. He knew that would get him. He’s much funnier than Sapnap could ever dream of being. “What’s so funny?”

Dream answers by burrowing his face into the back of his neck, his quiet laughter getting muffled by the hood of his hoodie. He’s in that kind of mood, George thinks; the one where he could say anything and Dream would find it funny.

It’s his favorite Dream-mood by far. He would know—he has them all cataloged.

“I should be a comedian,” he says, if only to prove his point—which it does.

“No, your guys’ humor is like, fucked,” Dream says, clearing his throat.

George sighs and clicks his phone off, moving his head back so he can see Dream’s face.

“You like it though,” he counters, running his hand over the stubble along his jaw.

Just then, Patches’s ears start to twitch and they both glance over at her, watching as she opens her eyes and stretches out her paws so far that they poke against George’s bottom lip.

“Oh no,” Dream says softly, petting her head with his free hand.

“Good riddance,” George mumbles, feeling a sense of smugness at the look of discontent he is sure that she gives him.

It’s not like they’re in a competition for Dream’s attention—except that they are, and he won it the second he walked into the room.

Dream shakes his head at his comment, but his amused-by-everything-George-says-smile hasn’t left. Patches stands up and hops onto the back of the couch, and then onto the floor, going off to somewhere quieter.

Good riddance.

“Guess she’s not a football fan,” Dream says.

George presses closer just because he can, hitching his leg up higher across Dream’s.

“Good thing I am,” he says, closing his eyes.

Dream shakes his head, his hand finding his thigh. “You’re an idiot, is what you are”

And George might like Dream’s sweater, but he thinks he likes making him laugh even more.

[actualclownfucker]

i really like the idea of bcsr being suuuuuper pro-muggle. so like, barty would be raised with a muggle and wizarding education (he is a math nerd and you cannot, will not convince me otherwise LOL) and bcsr always had muggle technology, muggle and wizarding books and literature around the house

so bcj read call of cthulhu and said “i am gonna get me some of THAT” he goes to hogwarts and sees the giant squid and he fckin cums

(sometimes i wonder why regulus tolerates him, it’s def for the dick tho)

and yes, i believe voldemort was hot during the first war, at first. it wasn’t until he had all his horcruxes that he started to look “waxy”

but i mean, i am basing it off the opinion of harry and by god. he sees any dark haired man at all and he just goes “smash.” big reason why he didn’t like bcj (apart from his wormface), he’s a blond!

ohhhh, i have a lot of thoughts about bcj humanizing voldemort, actually. i know it would be easy to jump to the conclusion that voldemort didn’t like it, but i actually think he did

(i’d even say he let bcj call him “tom” when they were alone, if bcj could say anything other than daddy”)

i feel like, in a way, voldemort is a lot more human than some people give him credit for

yes, he’s cold and heartless and tried to get rid of his past. but at the same time, he’s sort of… not that cold

he likes jokes, he gets angry, he laughs, he resents his family and has his own surplus amount of daddy issues and all of this makes it easy for me to see the human in him

and i think bcj looking at him, talking to him, like yes he’s he’s the greatest dark wizard of all time and bcj worships him, but he can still just talk to him like a person, would be something voldemort actually loves. he doesn’t need bcj to be scared of him, there’s no point in that

the way to get bcj under his thumb is, oddly enough, with kindness and appreciation of his intellect, which voldemort would be happy to do. he would be thrilled to have intelligent conversation with bcj

it’s that exact right amount of worship and still being able to talk to him that voldemort would make bcj tolerable

barty has always wanted to be someone’s favorite. being voldemort’s bitch, the only one with that title, being preferred over everyone (except maybe snape, wtf voldy, that was stupid) it’s his way of being special

him finding out about what voldemort’s told harry in the graveyard scene could go one of two ways IMO, he was either devastated that someone else mattered to voldemort as much as him, had convinced himself to be delusional enough to believe he’s the only one that mattered

OR because he’s gotten to know voldemort so well, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him at all about harry. he knows how valuable and connected he and voldemort are, it’s okay. because voldemort still needs him too. he wouldn’t kill him like he’s going to kill harry anyways~!

LOL! voldemort would’ve gotten such a kick out of humiliating bcj and i think bcj hates being embarrassed. which is unfortunate being as his entire personality is nothing but embarrassing. when he’s embarrassed, he cries (as usual) and then he’s even more embarrassed for crying about it

(people don’t like when i say this, but if they’re going to characterize the marauders as these “pranksters,” he would’ve made an easy target for them and they’d have laughed at him and all the others in that friend group (pandora, evan, just not regulus because yk, they ignore his presence entirely). i’m not anti-marauders btw obviously, i love them and don’t think they’re much of “pranksters” as much as they are just kids who like to joke around, them planning out these elaborate pranks and stuff, i don’t think that has any basis in canon? correct me if i’m wrong tho)

anyways! yes, bcsr is oddly happy to talk down to barty as well. i can especially see him doing this to sirius when bcj is around or mentioned (i think most of the time, he goes out of his way to pretend barty doesn’t exist). however, i believe bcsr also brags about barty’s intelligence. the reason we know bcj got twelve owls is because when bcsr was outside hogwarts grounds, trying to get to dumbledore, he seems to be convinced that he’s talking to someone in the past saying, “oh, yes, barty got twelve owls and we’re very proud” gives me the impression of a man who doesn’t want people to know what goes on behind closed doors

“my shirt got wet” aww, my baby. someone hit him, quick! not only is it raining but you were already sobbing before that, the shirt was already wet with your fucking tears, idiot!

every few minutes or so, someone has to look at him and be like, “oh my GOD. what is it NOW?!”

post azzie, i think he’s more cold tho. it kinda chills out once he gets daddymort’s attention, but sirius tells us bcj spent his first few days in azkaban screaming for his mother (this is why i think him making a scene in the courtroom wasn’t an act, because what’s the point of keeping up the act for the dementors and other prisoners?) and then he went completely silent. and i don’t think he was ever the same after that

honestly, in a way, sirius has good reason for not wanting to open up to anyone - even james. deep down, he knows what bcsr does to him is wrong, but on the surface level, he won’t admit it. and he knows james is going to say all the things that he knows deep down to tell him that bcsr is wrong and the idea of him actually starting to admit to himself is terrifying so he lashes out. it’s all he knows.

it hurts james, james takes it to his parents and i wonder if sirius would almost even see that as a breach of their trust? like, “well that’s the last time i tell you anything, james” if he’s just going to tell other people. even if those people are his parents. sirius being uncomfortable with the potters and feeling like a burden there is such an important thing to me. he doesn’t want to make his problems, their problems, he wants to stay out of their way and not cause them any issues or make them regret taking him in

ouch, you’re so right. attacking bcsr = attacking sirius, calling him stupid and it’s trying to make decisions for him. he’s perfectly capable of deciding things for himself, he’s perfectly capable of being on control of himself and he doesn’t NOT need james to control him and tell him what to do.

needing people is terrifying for him, but i think the least terrifying one for him to need is bcsr. because, in sirius’s head, bcsr will tell him when he’s wrong and he’ll correct his behaviors. james, the potters, they’re too nice about it, that’s not what he needs. he feels so much more validated by bcsr and i definitely do think he could misread the potter’s concern as pity

but then, bcsr insulting james back to him, sirius feels like he’s in the crossfire of people who are supposed to care about him, but suddenly, it seems like no one does and he feels more alone than ever

but sirius feeling guilty is exactly what bcsr wanted. i like the idea of it ending abruptly too, like bcsr sends sirius a letter saying he’s disappointed in him and expected sirius to do better, maybe even tells sirius how much he’s missed him lately, sirius writes back and bcsr just doesn’t respond. sirius should’ve made more of an effort with him

i think bcsr definitely took sirius to some educational things. museums, exhibits and (idk about timeline or if there was anything like this: but i think parents taking their smart kids to watch a rocket launch is fun) things like this, to both teach sirius about art and history, but also to hear what sirius thinks of it, because even as a child he was very, very bright. not unlike his own son, who would’ve been desperate to learn from his father and desperately begged to ask his dad if he’d take him to an exhibit nearby one day, bcsr said “no, i’m busy, stay at home with your mother”

wouldn’t even allow mrs crouch to take bcj, because he didn’t earn it. so mrs crouch stays at home with bcj to look at books on whatever it was about. bcsr shows up early from work, bcj thinks maybe he changed his mind and is going to take him after all?! haha, you thought, kid.

sirius honestly probably looks at bcj and just thinks, well, he can go another time. who cares anyways?? i love a chill sirius

mrs crouch and her husband scream at each other that night (which also makes bcj cry, what doesn’t tho?)

i think bcj is similar at school to sirius how he is at home, just more calm. he doesn’t follow him around, and bcj is a few years under him, but whenever they’re in the great hall or the library together, sirius can feel barty’s eyes on him. can feel himself being stared at and he knows exactly who it is.

bcj might take to trying to trip sirius in halls and other things like this, but sirius just evades it and looks at him like “ok dude. you tried again. you done yet?”

the crouches making the blacks seem normal is WILD. but yeah, like, walburga would never grab sirius by the hair and repeatedly smash his face into the table. honestly, bcj probably only shuts up because he passes out or gets a concussion LOL

i think walburga isn’t against physical punishment at all, but maybe she wouldn’t do it the “muggle” way, you feel me? i could see her not wanting to scar him too, because she wouldn’t want a tainted heir (bruising however? she’s just fine with that). i think it happens mostly too because she and sirius get into fights and she gets so frustrated with him that she casts a spell without even thinking about it. and well, it works. she wins and he shuts up (you can’t tell me mrs black likes to lose) and there’s no guilt in her at all about it. she doesn’t apologize, which is why bcsr saying “i’m sorry for hitting you sirius” is so okay to him. plus, what’s being hit versus being crucio’d?

bcj said mama/mommy and daddy until he took the dark mark. so at least until he was 16, maybe even a little after that. but then he got pompous and switched to “mother” and “father” maybe still mama sometimes when he was alone with her tho (let me have this)

love!! sirius getting triggered by bcsr telling mrs crouch not heal bcj because walburga does the same thing? how bad are we talking? like he has a panic attack bad? because mmmm bcsr seeing sirius having a panic attack is a delicious thought

and another thought i’ve always liked, i don’t know what this does to bcj’s pureblood status, but squib mrs crouch is such an interesting concept to me. she can still give bcj potions to heal him, but can’t perform any healing spells. can’t pull her son out of spells bcsr puts him under, cant help him and even more so can’t stop bcsr

oh, no. bcsr hates bcj trying to emulate sirius. which doesn’t make sense, because doesn’t bcsr always say “be more like sirius” to him??? he’s trying! he wants to be him, be in his skin, have his dick in sirius’s ass too! what he really hates is the way bcj is going about it. wearing his clothes, taking on his hobbies, maybe even his speech pattern, rather than being quiet and obedient (and pretty) like sirius is

ooooooo!!! i really like him doing that and pretending he is sirius to cry out for daddy instead. because his obsession with sirius does stem from jealousy, i think that makes perfect sense

and tbh, sirius probably does smell good, so who can even blame bcj?

do you think sirius would stop coming over if bcj drugged and raped him?? i don’t think he’d tell bcsr that it happened, because he doesn’t necessarily want to get bcj in trouble, even after he did something so horrible

but bcj would love sirius having a love potion omg! having sirius fawn over him like that would be everything to him

and this would be easily noticeable to bcsr, obviously, because sirius isn’t being himself and the obvious person to blame is bcj. he demands winky to tell him if she knows anything, she does and admits to doing it, winky gets beat, winky doesn’t follow bcj’s orders anymore. sirius just further slips in as his son to replace bcj

harry and sirius are really similar for that, actually, yeah!!

i think it’s so hard for sirius to come to terms with bcsr being awful, so not only does he justify the abuse being done to him, but he tries to justify the way bcsr treats bcj too. i would say mrs crouch as well, but i believe whenever bcj isn’t the topic of conversation and nothing is going on with him, they’re alright. bcsr still does romantic things for her, still tells her he loves her at night, even feels bad when they fight (tho does not change his behavior or feel bad for bcj, just feels bad later that he made his wife upset) and wants to take her on romantic evenings. which she accepts because fuck. at least it’s giving bcj a night away from him and then they end up having a wonderful time because bcj doesn’t come up

do you think lily would tell sirius he’s not “broken” or would she be more the type to say, “we’re both broken” in more of a solidarity type of thing??? because she believes she is too??

“he went to stay with a friend” meanwhile sirius knows bcj’s only actual friend is regulus and he’s pretty sure bcj isn’t at their house.

but yeah, we know bcsr isn’t above using the imperius curse on his son and i think it makes sense to lean into him doing things like that a little more. anytime mrs crouch is away, bcj is nothing more than a shell of a person.

when sirius is over, he’s locked in his bedroom with protections to make sure he can’t get out or make a sound, under the imperius, or just stunned. i think stunning is the best option, because i’m amazed bcsr could keep bcj under the imperius curse as long as he did in GoF and still do his job, you know? like, i have to think that made it a bit easier for bcj to break out of it (not that seeing his master wouldn’t have done it regardless, bc the hard-on in his pants seeing daddymort again would break any spell) and bcsr would want to be focused on sirius the entire time when he’s over, so stunning seems like the perfect option.

what this does to bcj tho is mean that his mind is still running, he still sees everything, all of his screaming and crying is kept entirely in his head, all the energy in his body is overwhelming and he probably feels like he’s choking the entire time, but not even winky notices that when he visits him. because he’s just sitting there in a chair, stunned

sirius would be so genuinely confused why bcj would do that, when sirius literally just got him off the hook and now, bcj about to get punished anyways (bcsr tells sirius to leave the room as he takes off his belt, bcj knows daddy isn’t about to fuck him, but he’s hopeful. no, instead he gets whacked with the belt. and those bitches hurt)

(why go for the best friend’s brother trope when regulus can just have his brother instead, right???) i love blackcest best when regulus is the seductor. when he maybe even manipulates sirius into it a bit. i feel like it’s too easy to have sirius be the creepy “older” brother that wants to fuck his sibling. plus, i think regulus would. he’s got no concept or ideas of boundaries and he doesn’t care to

my favorite thing in blackcest (whoops outing myself here) is regulus not knowing how to get off and asking sirius for help. and sirius is like “??? bro what…. uh, okay, here’s what you do” and gives him instructions not expecting regulus to just start doing it right in sirius’s bedroom, right in front of him???? regulus complains that it’s not working and asks sirius to show him and even tho sirius knows better… he does

ooo, that’s a good point!! sirius is perfectly content to just say “barty” when he and bcj are sleeping together and bcj is fucking him. and bcj likes it too, bc he can convince himself that sirius is saying it for him

(and again, by the end of it, bcj is chanting “i love you, i love you, i love you” which is what makes sirius cum bc the idea of bcsr fucking him and saying ily?? beautiful!!)

and honestly when bcj does want to get railed, he probably just goes to some shady place with a sign that says “i’m underage, please rape me”

i really just can’t help thinking about how much bcsr being attracted to sirius and sirius literally just looking for parental figure would fuck him up for life. he could so easily start believing that sex and his looks are all anyone wants from him? he knows that the potters don’t seem like some kind of freak family that would do that to him, there’s no way james would talk about them the way he does if so, right? but fleamont asks to talk to sirius alone in his office one day and sirius just Knows™️ that, that’s it. that they’re all the same and he’s never going to have anyone to love him if he doesn’t put out

and it would make sirius feel so sick everytime he lets bcsr touch him, everytime he hears bcsr whispering in his ear how good he’s being and he catches barty’s eyes from the crack in the door, where he’s just watching silently. bcj definitely wants to go inside, scream at them and demand his father fuck him instead, but he’s too entranced by actually seeing his dad that way to do it. (and he’s gotta have fodder to touch himself to later, right?)

ohhh, what does bcj think of to conjure a patronus?? he just has so many happy memories, there’s so much to choose from! after the dark mark, it’s definitely that, but before that, boy!! he’ll just think of something happy and different each time (of course, every single memory includes himself in pain)

i do think regulus would despise being called any name in bed other than his own, because he wants to be important and powerful in some regard, wants to be remembered as himself, he would not tolerate that. but bcj would be like “ok do u wanna call me sirius then?” and that might be okay with regulus

bcsr watching sirius grow into himself and deciding their relationship has to go from parental to sexual is so, so sad for sirius, he trusted bcsr so much.

yep!! and this reminds me… sirius’s replacement is obviously percy, who is PERFECT. for bcsr

i think sirius would love learning history and languages from mr crouch too, bc i mean!! that’s so many!! very much gives me pushes-his-son-to-achieve academic excellence as well, overachieving and not settling for anything below perfection

omg yes!!! bcsr giving sirius muggle things is so perfect. he doesn’t know anything much about motorcycles, but he went out of his way to find that for sirius, knowing sirius would be interested???? fuuuuuuckkkk.

also,,, MRS CROUCH, WHAT IS HAPPENING IN YOUR HOME?! THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!!! i don’t even think she knows half of it!!!

do you mean barty crouch sr by bcsr??? because omg plz tell me what you think about sirius’s relationship w him, i find the crouches so interesting, i would love to hear about that

YESS i LOVE you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i dont actually know how much of what i imagine for them can be fit into canon/is canon but like sglkfd.

so barty jr and sirius probably met during their childhood i think, bcjr was intelligent and well mannered and a respectable kid in sirius' age range, and ofc there's the hc that he was close friends w regulus, too. i hc he was pretty distant w bcjr himself but i just knoww sirius 'daddy issues' black needed everyone's parents' approval. orion was a negligent asshole sawr i think its a pretty valid course of action yk

and ofc bcsr loved him !! he was intelligent, he was quick, he was charming, well mannered, all the shit he wishes his bastard of a son was. and barty sr is a bit manipulative too yk he would definitely try to steal sirius away from his family and friends because he knows what sirius needs.

and like !! bcsr. he knows his son is death eater, he does use sirius as a replacement. he doesnt hide it, either, which he thinks justifies using a very obviously traumatized young boy to forget about the guilt in his heart about abusing, traumatizing and neglecting his own son. that being said, he gives sirius the watered down version of abuse his parents do - which sirius has grown comfortable enough with. that being said, the main reason sirius ran away isnt there: he's not a supporter of voldemort. he's actively fighting against him. (also hehe i hc walburga as bipolar so sirius is just happy he doesnt have a timebomb in the house 24/7) (or at least the timebomb doesnt explode around him !!). bcsr still mentions who sirius should associate himself with, still is disappointed when he doesnt get a good grade (an E instead of an O), he yells at sirius, maybe he raises a hand at him too - but at the end of the day sirius finds him justified because he's the one who took sirius under his wing, and is helping him, and is nice to him, and this is really what parents do to their children, right?

here is also when the post comes in btw: bcsr feels entitled to sirius' life, his idea of a parent/child relationship is ownership, and unfortunately that's sirius' view of it too, but bcsr is a lot calmer and quieter than walburga, he cares more than orion - to sirius its really the best of both worlds. bcsr wants sirius to go in politics which sirius does not want because he already has whatever career he's chosen for himself, and bcsr feels it necessary that sirius follow his - his own son wont.

bcsr does need sirius, he confides in him, he loves him (in his own fucked up way). sirius moves on, he runs away and gets farther and farther away from everything that reminds him of Before and feels resentment that bcsr (a man who he's considered his strongest father figure for years) doesn't even reach out to him once. bcsr feels that its a child's responsibility to reach out every time - he feels betrayed that sirius didn't runaway to him, that he didnt even know sirius had runaway till someone told him in passing. the letters they exchanged come to an abrupt end and it just feels like everything ended in the middle of it yk. barty crouch sr doesnt see sirius till sirius is arrested, soon after his own bio son is x

(also, yes sirius does still have the potters, but the potters are a completely different world to him. he's not used to that kind of completely unconditional love, he's not used to seeing how they shower their heir son in love. its a little bittersweet, it feels like a fantasy, sirius feels like he's intruding, he fills resentment to james for being raised with parents who love him and ofc he doesnt want that so he finds solace elsewhere. he thinks the potters are angels on earth, his relationship with bcsr is what the normal parent/child relationship. if walburga and orion are a 10 on the scale of what sirius considers to be 'bad parents', euphemia and fleamont are in the negative. bcsr falls somewhere in the middle, like a 2 or 3 to sirius. to bcjr, sirius can recognize, that bcsr is horrible. he yells, may hit, he's permanently disappointed when they do interact. they barely ever do - bcsr is always busy, he makes special time for sirius (which makes sirius giddy bc wowzers am i that important?) which cuts out even more time from bcsr and bcjr to interact. also, bcsr calls sirius son and he doesnt call bcjr son. sirius is lowk a homewrecker i love him.).

[sondheim-girly]

Marcia runs really cold and two bit runs really hot, I will not be taking criticism on this

just imagine Marcia with constantly freezing hands sticking them on the back of two bits neck without warning and him yelping and practically jumping 5 feet in the air- or her coooonstantly holding his hands and he always teases her that the only reason she ever holds his hands is because he warms up her fingers and she never argues with him on that-

or in the summer two bit overheating so much and taking Marcia’s hands and sticking them on his forehead and she’s just giggling and UGH THEY ARE SO GODDAMN CUTE

Also Trip had cold hands, yet another piece of evidence that their relationship was never gonna work out.