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lippyispunk · 3 months

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When the World Is Quiet, What Thoughts Remain

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

A near-death experience provides Astarion some clarity.

Word Count: 3.7k

fluff, realized feelings, developing relationship

a/n: Hello all!

I wrote this to take place in Act 2, after the Yurgir battle but before Astarion's confession. I believe it is gender neutral, but if anyone finds something that says otherwise, please let me know! First time posting on here, so I apologize for any formatting errors.

Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

Despite the centuries that had passed since his mortality had been lost to this plane, the experience was seared into his mind. Back then, it had been horrific. The excruciating pain. The paralyzing fear of what was to come, as his body was drained of blood and his heart thumped erratically in his chest, desperately trying to keep his blood flowing- his body alive.

This time, the pain is ever present. He lies on his back in the mud and puddles, the yawning storm above continuing to release torrents of rain. His ruby eyes blink slowly, despite the droplets landing in them. Twin daggers have been abandoned at his sides, pale elegant hands having to hold his innards together instead. His white lounge shirt clings to his trembling frame, now dyed rusty brown and crimson red.

The fear, however, is blessedly absent. His thoughts trudge through his mind like oozing honey. It’s almost peaceful. Cazador. The parasite. His never ending hunger. All seemed so far away now; the normally constant concerns looming at the forefront of his thoughts, now caught in the sticky trap of insignificance.

He had been hungry earlier. Always so hungry. The small respite he received immediately after feeding never lasted as long as he wished it would. His condition had been even more bothersome as of late. Ever since he and the little group of misfits he traveled with had entered the Shadowlands. Prey was sparse. And any blood he lost during battle needed to be replaced somehow. That was how he found himself here tonight.

He had hunted further from the group’s campsite than he normally would, in search of the few living creatures that had not yet been felled by this accursed land. He had been ambushed by shadow beings, caught unaware due to his weakened, dulled senses. Their claws had cut through him so easily. His lack of armor was another mistake, but a decision made in hopes to be quick and quiet enough to catch a meal.

His head slowly lolled to the side, eyes attempting to focus in the direction of the camp. The monsters that attacked him had begun to slither that way before vanishing into hazy mist. His breath wheezes from his lungs, chest shuddering. Breathing wasn’t a necessity for him, but a habit nonetheless. Even now.

He wonders, idly, if any of his companions will be awake at this hour to intercept the attack. His muddled mind cannot bring forth who was supposed to be on watch tonight. He even admits to himself, perhaps his blood loss getting to his head, that he would not wish to see them come to harm. Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart…

His drifting thoughts were brought to sudden clarity. A breathtaking, wondrous, kind creature unexpectedly ensnaring his thoughts.

You.

Gods, how could it have taken this long for you to flit back into his mind? You were all he seemed to think about anymore lately. Your smile, your laugh, your boundless good heart. But also the confusion he felt that always seemed to twist whatever lovely feeling you inspired in him.

He may not wish to see the others harmed, but you… you’re different. The way he feels for you is- different. He cares for you. In a way that he cannot recall ever feeling for someone else. You understand him in ways that he doesn’t understand himself. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. The most alive he’s felt in, well, ever.

But it wasn't supposed to end up this way. He’s comfortable pretending. Seducing. It’s as familiar as the back of his hand. And the facade had worked with you too, for a brief time. Until that second time he propositioned you at the tiefling party. What had you called his seductions? ‘Honeyed words’? And then the complete dismissal of his fraudulent love confession. He had recovered well in the moment; he’s used to pivoting his tactics when the occasional target gets antsy with his persuasions. Even still, you had rejected him that night. You let him down easy, of course, with a compassionate smile and a sweet whisper of ‘perhaps another time'.

Later that night, when he was alone once more, he contemplated. You were on to him, in one way or another. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of his ploy, but you could tell his flirtations were… insincere. Why else would you turn down another night with him?

He had expected repercussions, a growing distance between the two of you that would put all his progress with you to ruin. You didn’t seem the type to settle for this feigned romance. You'd push him away.

But you hadn’t. You were just as warm and welcoming to him as you had always been. Attentive. Friendly. Hells, even laughing at his irrelevant, snarky quips. He was surprised. And in that surprise, he found himself off guard. You still wanted to spend time with him, despite everything. Maybe… maybe he didn't have to try so hard with you.

Since that revelation, Astarion had found himself just enjoying existing . He had fun around you, and the others too, he'd be loath to admit. Now that the metaphorical weight of seducing you had been lifted. But inevitably, at night when he was alone, the pesky question returned, cycle after cycle. If not his body, what did you want from him?

More recently, there had been the battle with the Orthon, Yurgir. Astarion was still befuddled, even now. No one in his extensive time on this plane had ever gone to such lengths for him. When Raphael had offered the deal: one very dead devil in exchange for information on his scarred flesh, there had been no question, no doubt from you. Just resolve and an all encompassing respect for Astarion and his decision making. It made his chest ache.

He's not entirely sure what to call the emotion he feels for you. It goes beyond simple lust for your form or an appreciation of your personality. And Gods knows he's scared to Avernus and back of what this all might mean. But he's not scared of you. Never of you. He realizes that whatever comes, he wants to explore this. With you, if you'll have him.

Returning to the present from his recollections, one conviction finally banishes the wandering thoughts in his mind. You deserve better than this. These pretty lies he had been trying to feed you. This mask that he had used for so many years, so many decades. You had given him some of the most important parts of yourself. Your trust, your belief in him, your patience. It was time he did the same.

Ruby irises shift skyward once more, a newfound purpose and vitality clear in his pupils. He has to get back to you. To explain. To apologize. Hells, to bathe in the warmth of your presence just once more would make this endeavor worthwhile.

He steels himself before his body begins to twist, rolling to his stomach ever so slowly. An agonized cry peels itself from his throat, unbidden. The fresh wave of pain that crashes over his stomach ripples through the rest of his body, leaving him shaking in its wake. He keeps one hand underneath him, continuing to hold as much pressure on his gaping wounds as he can. The other arm is bent in front of him, poised for what he must do.

He begins to crawl.

He grunts with the effort, free hand scrabbling in the mud for purchase as he drives his legs into the ground to push his form forward. This is far from the worst thing he has ever endured. But Gods, hasn’t he endured enough in this lifetime?

Tears spring to his eyes as he continues his plight. His beautiful white curls are drenched, flattened to his head and dropping into his field of view. His anguished gaze is so unfocused that it doesn’t matter. He’s moving on instinct now, forcing his limbs to respond by sheer force of will alone. The will to live.

Somewhere distantly his mind registers that his voice has become an endless stream of moans and broken sobs. Blood continues to slip stickily between the fingers clutching at his stomach. He doesn’t care. He will do anything to make it back to you. He has to. He owes it to you. Hells, he owes it to himself.

Time moves in slow motion; he loses all sense of it. He knows not how long he’s been dragging his body forward, just that finally, finally , he reaches salvation.

“Astarion!”

He hears you as if he’s underwater, but he would know your voice anywhere. His mind is fuzzy, consciousness fading from his being quickly. He stops crawling and lifts his blood-red gaze. You’re here. His breath hitches in his chest, a new sob rending itself from within. Though this one was not brought out from pain, but rather relief. He's never seen a more welcome sight.

You’ve come for him, battleworn and bloody. Your feet pound the sodden land, racing toward him as you pay no heed to the slick mud. You drop to your knees in front of him, hair plastered to your cheeks and eyes wild with adrenaline and some other emotion he is unable to wrap his disoriented mind around. His eyes trace your face with his last remaining strand of focus.

Astarion had long given up on praying to any deity. What was the point? They never answered him anyway. But you- you are divine. The sight of you here, now, almost has him reconsidering his stance.

“Gods, Astarion! Just hold on, okay? Please!”

Your hands flutter in his vicinity for a moment, unsure of where to touch without causing more harm. He watches you, the barest hint of his lip tilting up at the corner.

“I don’t think you can make it much worse, darling,” he breathes, tone sounding brittle in his own ears. “Just do it.”

He sees you wince before you brace yourself. Ever the leader, doing what must be done. Your hands rest on him gently, but firm. Warm. Comforting, despite the circumstances. He wants those beautiful, lively hands to touch him again after all this. He wants to savor it. To feel them carding through his curls. To rest gently on his arm to catch his attention. To pull him in close, a secret for him alone dancing on your lips. He wants to- he doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He just knows-

He cries out sharply when you turn him onto his back, the pain rocketing his thoughts out of his musings.

“I’m sorry,” you grimace, eyes scanning over his torso, cataloging the damage.

Carmine eyes are glazed with agony, but he fights to stay conscious. He grunts when you move him again, swiftly tucking your legs underneath you. His head lays in your lap, face tilted skyward and ivory neck lengthened by the newly created slope of your legs. A healing potion appears at his lips, your hand holding firm as you tip it towards him.

Normally he’d have some smart comment, he’s sure. Something about being a damsel in distress, perhaps. Or maybe something about how this isn’t what he means when he says he wants to take a drink from you. But exhaustion takes hold, and he follows your lead mutely.

The effect is instantaneous; the healing potion is a glorious balm for his wounds. The pain numbs to a background throb, much easier to withstand. The gashes across his stomach begin to seal, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. Astarion sighs through his nose, relief radiating through him down to his fingertips.

The rain has abated to a lazy drizzle. It’s the only reason Astarion can hear your faint confession.

“You… you scared the shit out of me, Astarion,” your voice wobbles, such a far cry from the fearlessness he is accustomed to hearing from you. He blinks up at you, his gaze taking in your anxious expression as you lean over him. Seeing your expressive concern for his well being is still something he's getting used to.

He finishes the potion, licking the remnants from his pale lips as you pull the vial away.

“Apologies, my sweet,” his voice comes out stronger than before, but roughened from his earlier painful overuse. “You know I have a flair for dramatics. What better way to keep things lively than almost dying. Again,” he does his best to smirk, to don the mask of devil-may-care that comes so easily to him.

“Gods above, Astarion. ‘Dramatics’? That’s all you have to say? You were nearly gone when I got here. I was almost too late,” your voice tapers off, ending in a near whisper.

He blinks again, shocked. The facade slides off his face. Truth be told, your vulnerability is making him… uneasy. He doesn’t know what to say. Why are you so distressed? This is hardly the first time one of the group has come up gravely injured. He doubts it will be the last.

He will recover eventually, as he always does following a particularly nasty battle. It may take a little extra healing from Shadowheart, and a belly full of blood would absolutely go a long way in fast tracking the process. But regardless, his body will endure.

He’s painfully aware that his usefulness has… limitations. It extends to his body alone. His battle prowess, his dexterous fingers, his ability to deliver pleasure. But that’s it. He has nothing substantial to offer you. No worldly possessions, no powerful connections, just… himself. His biting nature, both literally and figuratively. His trauma, broken pieces with razor sharp edges. He's not even sure if you are interested in something like this with him, something deeper. No, he thinks. No one could want this. Not truly. His growing feelings for you are one sided, of that he is certain.

But then you throw his world off its axis again.

“I can't- I can't lose you. You mean the absolute world to me.”

His eyes soften, rounding out as he searches your gaze. For what, he’s not entirely sure. Deceit? Twisted humor? But all he finds is tenderness along with the shine of unshed tears.

You pause for a moment, swallowing. He can see you're trying to continue so he waits, eyes rapt.

“I would miss how you always manage to make me laugh, even when I'm having a horrible day. And getting to hear your laugh in exchange when I do something you find particularly impish,” your serious expression finally gives way to a small amused smile. ”The little sweets you sneak into my bag whenever you manage to get your hands on some, just because you know I love them.”

Astarion's eyes widen imperceptibly. Shit. He didn't realize you knew he was the sweets supplier. It was…nice for him. To be able to provide you something you enjoy and a brief respite from all the weight on your shoulders. If only for a moment. To see the stress evaporate from your face for the few minutes it took you to chew. You'd only indulge every so often, when camp was quiet and nothing urgently needed your attention. He'd watch silently from his peripheral vision on occasion, not wanting to ruin your contentment but also needing to witness it for himself.

But he hadn't exactly wanted to mentally unpack what this absurd little habit of his might mean beyond the superficial. Hence, the secrecy. He was going to eviscerate whichever loudmouth at camp had clued you in.

“You're there for me, in ways that I could never begin to fully describe. I know we don't always agree entirely, but I'm never afraid to tell you how I feel, or what I think. Because at the end of the day we'll still support each other,” you glance away briefly, and he sees the heated flush on your cheeks.

Embarrassment. Always so delicious to him. For anyone else it means he'd get to loosen his tongue on some provoking quips. How he loves to rile people up from time to time. But now, he finds it enticing for an entirely different reason. Gods, you're beautiful.

You find your courage again quickly, making eye contact with him once more. “I could probably go on, but what I'm saying is… I would miss you endlessly. I can't do this without you.”

What a novel concept. To be wanted, needed beyond anything he could provide carnally. To be desired purely for his presence will take some adjusting. But, if you truly believe everything you said about him, then who is he to disagree? Maybe there is some truth in what you say. If you can see some good in his wretched soul, then perhaps he can try too.

“I'm… I'm not going anywhere, my love,” he promises.

It flows from his lips so naturally, ‘my love'. It hadn't even been a conscious thought. Anxiety spikes in his gut at the admission, his mind already beginning to spiral. Love? Is that what this is developing into? He doesn't know how to tell; there's no past memories in his mind to pull reference from.

But the smile that splits your lips at his vow is radiant, and he finds that his racing thoughts slow immeasurably. Regardless of the unintentional reveal, the moniker fits. He feels it in whatever remains of his soul.

He smiles then, all honey and warmth. For you.

“I'll be here long after you tire of me, I'm sure. Vampires always tend to overstay their welcome, you know,” he jests softly, voice lacking his usual edge.

You gasp quietly and he recognizes it as the familiar sound of you remembering something.

“I’m so sorry, Astarion. You've just reminded me, I can't remember the last time you've eaten,” you immediately brandish your wrist, pulling your sleeve up.

He freezes, the roiling, constant hunger in his gut flaring at the sight of your wrist. He knows how close the veins are to the surface there, just how deliciously easy it would be to sink his teeth into that soft skin. His mouth waters at the thought. But he is no animal, and neither are you for that matter. He comes back to himself, muscles uncoiling and gaze connecting with yours again.

“I appreciate the offer, darling. But you need your strength. Moonrise Tower won't storm itself, and having our fearless leader stumbling over their own two feet along the way won't instill much terror in our foes, will it?”

He can't bring himself to say the truth in its entirety aloud. He truly doesn't want to weaken you before the battle at Moonrise. But it has less to do with fearsome appearances and entirely more to deal with your safety. His feedings always take a toll on you. You smile and wave him off every time, but he sees the effects. Reflexes just a touch slower than usual, stamina not quite up to par with the rest of the group.

It's not your fault he's starving. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about his lack of successful hunts since arriving in the Shadowlands. And you were absolutely overwhelmed with everything going on. Between the deadly shadow curse, Ketheric Thorm, and the Absolute, it was a miracle you could ever focus on anything else. No. He doesn't blame you. He wants you to be okay.

He can't be the reason you become injured, or worse.

But you insist, your wrist gravitating closer to his plush lips and aching canines.

“I'll be okay, I promise. I'll even ask Shadowheart for a little healing incantation if I really need to. Please, you need to be healthy too,” you plead, eyes doing just as much of the convincing as your words.

He breaks. He might be embarrassed at how quickly he bends to your will if he wasn't so hungry.

His hands close gently over you, one a little ways up your forearm and the other on your hand. You know it's to hold you steady when he bites, but the way his cool thumb runs pleasing circles into your palm sends shivers coursing through you. He presses a kiss to your inner wrist, featherlight and fleeting, but it lights a fire under your skin all the same.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before his fangs pierce your flesh. He is as gentle as possible, retracting his canines from the wound immediately. He keeps his lips attached to your wrist, sucking in a saccharine mouthful.

He’s uncertain of how much time passes while he drinks, or when his eyes drifted shut, but the feeling of your fingertips sweeping his soaked curls off his forehead pulls him from his reverie. He finishes his feeding, tongue caressing the new puncture wounds as they begin to clot.

His irises are vibrant now, a livelier red more akin to a pulsing wound than the darkened burgundy shade they become when he is ravenous.

“You're wrong, by the way,” you begin softly. “When you said I'd tire of you. I could never.”

He would look back on this night later on and distinguish it as the exact moment his dead heart began beating once more. But for now, he smiles up at you- one full of genuine adoration.

“The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs, unwilling to shatter the moment. His tone is low, husky. More sincere than he's heard his own voice sound in centuries. Despite all that had occurred this evening, he finds a bone deep contentment in himself. He could stay here for a decade in the comfort of your arms.

A few moments later, however, the world kickstarts back into motion, voices carrying on the wind to your positions and popping the seclusion around the two of you.

Your head perks up at the sound, eyes scanning through the darkness.

“Ah, must be the others looking for us,” your attention returns to Astarion. “Think you can make it back? I can help if you'd like.”

He can definitely walk on his own, the potion and your invigorating blood have him feeling almost as good as new. But the idea of feeling the curve of your body pressed into his side is too intoxicating to turn down. So he won't.

He breathes deep and nods, resolve settling into his very being.

“Yes, I think I've had quite enough of this mud bath. Darling?” He pauses, it's now or never. “After we settle back in at camp, come find me when you have a moment. Please. I think we need to talk.”

a/n: Thank you for reading! <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #fluff #blood drinking #blood and injury

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dysfunctional-doodle · 4 months

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Raph finds Mikey annoying but if you hurt Mikey he will kill ya lol

Exactly. Mikey is annoying but he couldn’t live without him.

Something I really like about 2003 was the subtle hints throughout the show illustrating how much Mikey means to Raph. It is never said out loud, but watching the series again made me see details that I had missed, some more obvious than others.

First off, that moment in attack of the mousers where Raph, cornered by mousers, is oddly sincere when Mikey makes a joke to try and ease the tension of them potentially getting killed:

“This is it, it’s been fun guys!”

“Even me, Raph?”

“Even you Mikey - especially you.”

Mikey’s tone is light, half joking but Raph responds in complete sincerity (at least that’s how I interpreted it lol). The show had already begun showing that Raph has a fondness for Mikey different from his other brothers. I was pondering as to why, and I think I have a reason.

Mikey, I think, is his best friend (at least before Casey). At the very least, he’s someone that he can always goof around with, always willing to do whatever reckless shit he’s doing. Mikey is annoying, but Raph teases him for it, which I turn releases any pent up stress he has. Mikey is just as reckless and rough as he is, and Raph knows this. He knows how much Mikey means to him, even if Mikey doesn’t.

Another major example I can think of is in Back to the Sewers, when all the brothers get mind controlled by a virus and believe they are a part of The Foot Clan. To break the control, a strong memory of emotion/love (it wasn’t too clear, just a fond/treasured memory for them) needed to be remembered. Whilst the other brothers remembered their childhood with Splinter as the final memory, Raph was much harder to fix.

When he did remember, however, it wasn’t a memory of Solinyer that broke the control - it was a memory of Mikey. It seems really small. Just a memory of Raph dunking Mikey’s head into his cake on his birthday, but this kinda solidifies the theory for me.

Raph loves Mikey because of that annoying, playful streak he has in him that fits his own personality so well. His best memory seemed insignificant, but I think it’s actually the opposite. Him being able to be much more irresponsible and youthful only happens with Mikey around because Mikey brings that out of him. Honestly, with what Mikey said about their roles in the family in season 4, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mikey was fully aware of this fact and is why he doesn’t mind being teased by him.

TLDR: Mikey is annoying but in the best way for Raph. You mess with Mikey, you deal with Raph

#tmnt #tmnt asks #tmnt hc #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph #tmnt 2003 #sunset duo #wow this was a long ramble for a funny ask #my bad holy shit #i just really like their dynamic in 2003 okay #i am going to write a fic just about them very very soon I swear

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sourle · 10 months

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This is the anon with the LBD request. I copy pasted the plot again, just in case.

I was wondering if you could have the Fem S/O of MK, Red Son, Monkey King, and Macaque who gets possessed by LBD instead of that girl. Like one day after seeing their S/O, they suddenly disappear for hours, then days, then weeks, and they're now going on a desperate attempt to find them only to discover they've been possessed by LBD, and they're in desperate attempt to get them back leading up to their S/O being freed, and the aftermath of defeating LBD.

I'm sorry it took me a while to complete those because i was having small writer blocks. I'm sorry but i couldn't really do specific gender.

MK, Red son, Sun Wukong, Macaque.

Type: Angst

Summary:

The reader got possessed By LBD. How would the Monkeys and Red son react?

He was.. sad, mad, and devastated at the same time. You, his insignificant other that he dearly loved, was taken from him and used against him.

He won't do a harder attack which gave LBD an advantage on her side since MK doesn't want to hurt you.

He would always plead and beg for you to snap out of LBD possession and come back.

C'mon man he's desperate, you're the only one he truly loves and he doesn't want you to go.

He loves you because you doesn't fuss about popularity just on dating someone who's under Monkey king wings. You love him because of him. And that's what he loves about you.

Yet now all he saw was you standing there looking down at him laughing, he knew it's not you. He knew but he seems to always think it was you.

He's upset, the others tried to hold him back. Screaming and crying as he tried to get you back.

Red son

Of all people.. of ALL people, it had to be you. He's in denial. He doesn't want to believe you're gone, he doesn't want to believe what is the truth.

He lost his parents in this chaos and destruction and now you?

He's in grief after accepting that you've been possessed, but not long. He'll go and promise to save you and his parents.

He'll try everything to get you back, even by helping MK and his friends. It's only a last desperate attempt to get you back.

He knows you're still there, he knows he's the one that's gonna get you back. It's only by time, and patience is the key.

He'll get you back no matter the cause and what he has to do, he'll get you back.

He promised and he'll fulfill that promise.

Sun wukong

Pain, pain all over. This man has hatred towards LBD now double it.

The moment he sees you he knows something was wrong. Trying to trick Him isn't that easy LBD.

You know that moment when he was in guilt for his actions? Yeah, now add you his guilt got the best of him even further.

He's going head on. On that one scene where he's about to get rid of LBD and the girl, he's definitely having second thoughts. It's you now in that girl possession.

Don't know but knowing this man, he's doing whatever he can to stop the evil. No not for civilization, not for the people. But for his own entertainment.

So 8/10 he will definitely sacrifice you to stop LBD.

Well until the table turns. You know what I meant.

Macaque

He's speechless, he doesn't know how to react or feel. Out of all LBD had to take you away from him.

At first it was his sworn brothers now you?

He couldn't take another loss and that's a snapping point for him, he'll stop at nothing, obeying every command LBD gave as she promised to free you when it's all done.

He's more aggressive than before— and more dangerous. Which is bad for Mk and his crew.

Overall, he's definitely going through 5 phases of grief before getting revenge on helping MK, but it will take him a lot to convince.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk x reader #mei #mk #lemon writes #sun wukong #macaque #red son #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk redson #x reader #mk x reader #sun wukong x reader #red son x reader #macaque x reader

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anxiousnerdwritings · 4 months

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Peppermint Anon would like to ask if you have any general yandere headcanons for Duplikate from Invincible? Peppermint Anon understands if you aren't taking requests at this time and thus will humbly apologise.

Yandere Kate Cha/DupliKate Headcanons (general)

You can say goodbye to any and all alone time you once had. All personal space will also be a given with Kate in your life now. You won’t ever be alone again, something Kate promised very early on. A promise she never plans to break.

She is extremely clingy but not physically so, like she isn’t hanging off of you but she is glued to your side, attached to the hip really. She really likes to be in your presence, she feels content, whole even. There isn’t anywhere else she’d rather be than with you.

Kate has no problem monopolizing all of your time, whether it’s her or her clones, she just can’t take someone else having your attention. It’s not like she’s trying to be controlling over what you do or don’t do. You can still do a good majority of what you want but she just wants to be right there along with you while you go about whatever. She gets extremely anxious and on edge when she isn’t with you, no matter how little those times are when she actually is totally away from you. Kate just has a really hard time being able to separate herself from you even for the tiniest amount of time.

She isn’t the most trusting of those around you either, even if they are her own teammates. Kate just can’t willingly put her trust in anyone to be able to protect or care for you like she can. The only one she can really trust you with is herself (i.e. her and her clones). Noboby else is capable or rather worthy enough to be by your side. To take her place.

It starts out small, almost insignificant when Kate first begins occupying your time. At first it’s just her and her alone. Then one clone gets added to the mix, and then another, and another until eventually your entire friend group has all become just Kate. She’s able to isolate you now, the she wanted from so early on. You can still have your ‘friends’ though, of course you can, but Kate will still always be right there. An overseeing presence completely unwavering in her rightful place where she belongs. And she sure as hell is here to stay.

To say Kate can be spoiling is an understatement. She and her clones are extremely attentive towards their darling, no matter the relationship. She wants to make sure her darling is taken care of to the fullest extent and she’s the only one who can ensure that they are. To an extent, Kate’s darling will be handled and tended to like a doll. She and her clones will help her darling get ready; they will assist in dressing you, brushing/styling your hair, picking out and putting your clothes on for you. Kate especially relishes in being able to bathe her darling. Kate’s favorite thing is being able to take a long, hot shower or bath with her darling (platonic or romantic) after a long day, and get them and herself ready for bed, spending the rest of that time with her and her clones all cuddled up together with their darling right in the middle as they sleep the stress of the day away.

Kate doesn’t really do punishments, she never felt she had to. Now that doesn’t mean she’s completely forgone the idea or the necessity of punishments, but as of right now she feels she doesn’t need to go that route. She’s already pretty much monopolized you to just her, the most she may do for a punishment is isolating you even from herself. Even the mere thought of having to do that throws Kate into a near panic attack. She would much rather avoid it altogether but if it’s a must than she knows she can find it in herself to get through it. After all, if it’s what needs to happen to further ‘improve’ your guys’ relationship than so be it. At the end of the day all that matters is you and her, and she’ll do anything to keep it that way.

Now with a romantic obsession, Kate has much more creative forms of punishment for them that she takes full advantage of. She’s much more willing to partake in punishments with her darling in this case. As far as she sees it these kind of punishments bring you and her closer together, she gets to show you just how much you mean to her while still being able to get a point across too. But honestly, she can’t leave her darling without for too long.

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 2 months

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Simon Flinches

Simon x gn!reader

Finally did it! And I looked at it so much that I hate it now, even went back in and changed some small words and stuff, but here you go. Take the flinching trope and make it Simon instead of reader flinching.

Warnings: panic attack, hurt/comfort, barely proofread because I'm too tired, reader being called "Sir" as a honorific not referring to the gender

Wordcount ~3k

You'd say you've gotten good at navigating the minefield that is Simon. You've been together a while by now and you've learned how to handle him so he feels safe and can be himself. It's been a long process that's far from over but you wouldn't have it any other way. Simon is worth all the time, all the effort. And if it means losing a limb in the process, crossing that minefield to get closer to him is worth it.

Simon would say he's gotten good at defusing the ticking bomb that he is. He's been with you for a bit now and he's learned how to trust you more, how to be vulnerable with you. His walls are lower than they’ve ever been and it has actually lead to good things.

But sometimes things don’t go as you want. No matter how hard you try, how carefully you try to navigate Simon. Sometimes just a tiny thing, a gesture, a word, makes everything explode, traps you in that minefield without knowing where to put your foot next, how to reach out to him without stepping onto another scar, tearing it open in a violent explosion.

Like now. It’s so goddamn stupid you could kick yourself. You've been arguing about whose turn it was to choose the movie. Something so insignificant, so trivial. But it's been a long day for both of you and what started as a joking argument has turned into an actual one and now you don't know how to stop it. Your voices are raised, you’re both shouting the frustrations of the day at each other. You hate arguing with Simon, just as he hates arguing with you.

You know it’s a normal part of any relationship, but with Simon it scares you. With Simon you never know when it could turn into him leaving. Into him pulling away. Yet you find yourself unable to stop your frustration from dripping from your tongue like venom. Simon’s not doing any better.

"Your movie choices are questionable anyway!", Simon throws into your face. "I suffer through them just for you. But they're horrible really! They all suck. I want to watch something that actually entertains me!"

Okay, that stung. Just a few days ago you'd shared one of you favorite movies with him. A movie that changed something in you when you first watched it, a movie that slightly tilted your world view. You didn't expect him to like it but that stung. And in your mind his sentence turns into you not being entertaining enough.

So you step forward, trying to hold back tears. "Yeah, as if your", you jab your finger at his chest, Simon flinches back "movie choices -"

You freeze. He'd taken a step back, raising his hands to shield himself and your heart drops, shattering at your feet. His big eyes are watching your next move in apprehension.

It should be ridiculous, really, someone as capable as Simon, a trained soldier, flinching over you putting your finger on his chest. As if you could actually inflict harm on him. As if you wouldn't rather die than hurt him.

But it's not ridiculous. It's a fucking fist to the face.

The sudden quiet makes your ears ring and Simon doesn't seem to be any better. His chest is heaving. His arms are still up, shoulders hunched, his entire stance small and scared. He’s ready to block your blows, ready to deal with you finally putting your hands on him.

His breathing is loud and quick and you want to guide him to calmness but you don’t know how when you caused his distress in the first place. This is new territory. A new step you took that landed you directly over a mine and it’s exploding right now. Exploding in slow motion, letting you see the details of everything you’ve built with Simon shattering and crumbling into dust.

Then his entire demeanor changes and you almost get whiplash. In a flash he’s squared his feet, narrowed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. His hands have gone down but they’re fists at his sides and there’s nothing relaxed about his new stance. You just watched every wall he’s let down for you come back up in the matter of a second.

His cold gaze almost hurts, his eyes distant and calculating, trying to guess your next move. Like a shield of ice that slipped into place before his soul, keeping it hidden from you.

"Simon -" It's whispered. A plea.

He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and then starts walking towards you with purpose. For an irrational second you think he’s going to hit you for scaring him. You think he’s going to get revenge on you for everything that’s ever been done to him.

The next second you’re ashamed for even thinking that. He’s not going for you. No, it’s worse. He’s going for the door of the living room behind you.

You’re helplessly watching, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry, almost painful. Your heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying break your ribs from the inside. Trying to break free so it can follow Simon.

You’re frozen as you watch him leave the room. Every single muscle in his body is coiled tight, ready to whip around and stop any threat. Stop you should you so much as breathe too hard.

Holding your breath, tears gather in your eyes, dripping wetly down your cheeks. This is it, you’re waiting for the telltale sound of the door to the apartment opening and closing, Simon walking out of your life because this is irreparable.

The relieve you feel when you hear the bedroom door instead almost brings you to your knees. Then you hear the lock to the room turn and your heart breaks all over again. He’s locked you out of his safe space.

Fuck.

You sink down onto the floor and start crying in earnest. You never wanted to scare him. Never wanted to provoke that reaction. You had only pointed your finger!

You’re not even sure if you’re crying over what you’d just done or if your tears are for Simon, how he must be feeling right now. The one person he’s let in raising their hand at him, making him feel unsafe.

He’d thought you’d hit him. He’d thought you’d put your hands on him in a harmful way.

The pain coursing through you makes you breathless as you cry for Simon and everything he’s endured, as you cry over what you’d just ruined.

Hopefully he can’t hear you from the bedroom. You don’t want to cry over this, it’s not your place to cry when Simon is the one hurting. But you’re so scared of losing him of losing your best friend of losing your forever that you can’t help it.

In a weird twisted, crooked way his reaction is prove of how much he trusts you. Trusted you. He’d trusted you enough to let his guard down so far that a gesture of yours caught him off guard. You’ve never seen him so surprised by something someone did, his eyes always all over everyone. He’s always so aware of everyone and everything.

The fact that he felt safe enough to even be caught off guard shows just how close he’d let you. It was a privilege, a gift. A fragile little thing with broken wings in your palms and now you’ve crushed it.

You try to calm your breathing more. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Deep, slow. The way you instruct Simon to breathe when he’s battling his demons.

Demons he might be battling right now. And suddenly your tears run dry and you jump to your feet. This really isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. So you get a slippery grip on your emotions and push them back for a later time.

Rushing to the bedroom, you raise your hand and pause. You can hear Simon’s steps in the room; he’s walking in circles like a caged animal. You’ll be damned if you don’t at least try to help, doesn’t matter if this is your fault in the first place.

You knock.

His steps halt.

And then they approach the door, soft thuds drawing closer, you can see the door handle turn but it doesn’t open. And then he’s frantically shaking it, apparently not remembering locking it.

“It’s locked!” His voice sounds so confused and scared that your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“You locked it, baby. You can unlock it. The key is on your side.”, you try to say in a calm soothing tone but you’re pretty sure your voice is shaking.

The turning of the key is frantic and the door gets ripped open and then you’re face to face with Simon and his eyes are wide, flitting all over the room, disoriented. His chest is still heaving, even worse than before, and when you see him shaking, you know there’s no stopping it.

Simon’s eyes lock on you and he doubles over, his hands clawing at his chest and neck, he's breathing too hard, always in until his chest must feel like it’s exploding.

“Can’t… breathe…”, he chokes out, eyes utterly terrified, tears starting to drip as he’s frantically trying to breathe and not drown in his feelings.

You don’t know if this is a ‘touch helps’ kind of panic attack or a ‘don’t you dare touch me’ panic attack and you’re scanning over him trying to guess, when his hand grips your shoulder in an iron grip and his wide eyes look straight through you.

He’s still hyperventilating and your heart seems hell bent on matching his hectic panting. Grabbing his arms, you try to steady him as he goes down, his knees buckling. He’s heavy in your hold and your muscles scream but you put your all into preventing him from falling and hurting himself in the process. At least you manage to slow his fall and then he’s on the floor on his hands and knees. One of his hands tries to dig his fingers into the floor as the other fists his shirt, damn near ripping it.

You have to do something even if you don’t know if it’ll help or make things worse. There's no forgiving yourself if you don’t at least try, even if it’s fishing in the dark. If it doesn’t work, you can change the approach. But doing nothing won’t help anyway. So you wrap your arms around him. “I’m going to lay you down, baby. I’m going to hold you.”

You don’t think he hears you but maneuvering him without telling him feels wrong anyway. And then you do exactly as you said, you tug Simon with all your strength towards you and he topples over onto his side, landing on top of you instead of the floor and you’re glad you’re there to soften his fall. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises from it.

Immediately you wriggle partially out from under him, keeping him on your thighs, in your lap and you wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve got you, Simon. I’m here. You’re in our apartment. Everything is okay. You’re safe, baby.”

Tears silently start dripping fdown your face again, when he curls in on himself clawing at the floor and you know he will black out if he doesn’t get his breaths more even.

In a desperate attempt you put your hand over his chest and push. “Simon, breathe out, baby, come on. Out.”

You exhale in an exaggerated way next to his ear and you think you hear him exhaling the tiniest bit, before he’s sucking air in in in. But that’s something. He can hear you, he reacts, which means he’s allowing you to guide him.

You press again. “Good, again. Ouuuuuut.”, you exhale and this time he manages to get a bit more air out. The way your top is sticking to you with sweat makes you shiver but you don’t give any attention to your own body being stressed. It will calm down when Simon does.

You continue. You don’t know how long you talk to him like that, reassurances between commands to breathe. It’s probably only been a few minutes, but you’re exhausted like you’ve been going for hours, fighting for every exhale until finally his breathing is back to a rhythm that’s as close to normal as it can get in this moment.

The exhaustion rolls over you as if you’ve had the attack yourself and your body curls over him, resting your head on him as he shakes in your lap and breathes.

The thumping of his heart under your cheek is still way too quick and he’s shaking like a fucking leaf, so you drag your tired body out from under him and turn him onto his back. Goddamnit he’s heavy.

Looking at his face resupplies your tears. His cheeks are wet, he’s pale as a sheet and his arms are clutched tightly to him as he continues shaking. You know he’s somewhat aware of his surroundings again but he’s still victim to his mind and body.

Remembering what he’s asked for before in moments when he’s needed grounding, you crawl over him and lay down with your full weight. Your head rests on his chest, near his shoulders and his arms, curled over his chest, dig into your own uncomfortably but that doesn’t matter right now.

Your own body shakes with his as you raise your hands, gently lifting his head - after a silent “please” because he resisted for a moment until his eyes focused on you - and pull a rug closer so he can rest his head on that instead of the hard floor.

Your entire body sags with relief when he pulls his arms out from under you and wraps them around you instead. His hold is tight as if he’s trying to make your bodies merge into one. As if he’s trying to push you into his ribcage to keep your right next to his heart.

His heartbeat slowly returns to normal under you and yours follows his lead. When he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your forehead, you curl your fist tighter into his shirt and finally try to push yourself off of him. The slight tightening of his hold on you makes you settle again.

The broad palms of his hands are warm and soothing as they pass back and forth over your back. You press your lips to his chest through his shirt and his next exhale is long and shaky.

He moves, jostling you slightly, and you try to get up again, but he doesn’t let you. His voice is low and tired as he says: “Hold on, lovie.”

You do and he sits up, maneuvering you in his arms until he’s got one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then he stands up and even though his movements are slow and exhausted the little to no effort with which he handles your weight still steals your breath.

His heavy steps take you both back into your bedroom and he puts you down on your shared bed, crawling in with you immediately.

You turn onto your side, as does he and then you’re looking at each other, the exhaustion on his face making you feel your own all the more.

Simon moves his hand, covers one of yours and squeezes twice. Immediately you return the gesture. A small sleepy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The reassurance behind that gesture making both of you melt into the mattress.

Still there’s so much talking to do and you end up whispering “We need to talk about this, Si.” into the small space between you, where your joined hands lie.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to each of your fingers, before letting it fall back onto the covers, still in his hold. His eyes are exhausted but you know you can’t sleep without having discussed what happened.

“I need you to know, Si”, you swallow against the tightness in your throat “I would never, ever hurt you. I’d rather chop off my own hand than touch you in a way that could cause you harm. I’m so sorry, Simon, I-“

“I know.”

You shut up, big eyes on his and he smiles, kissing the back of your hand this time.

“I know.”, he repeats and practically watches the gears in your head turn. So he takes a deep gulp of air and continues. “It’s not you, ‘luv. It’s the fucking past. Not your fault that a damn finger is all it took today to set me off. It’s my brain being a fucker.”

You’re so relieved you could cry again. He didn’t think you’d hurt him. His brain just didn’t make the distinction between the finger belonging to you or someone else at that moment. In that moment it was only a hand raised against him.

Still, maybe there’s a way to prevent that in the future? So you tentatively ask: “What can I do so you feel comfortable trusting me more? So you don’t feel like you’re endangered by a gesture from me?”

“I trust you.”, he states calmly and you shake your head.

“There has to be something I can do better. So it’s easier for you to trust-“ The way Simon takes your joined hands and brings them up to his throat, abruptly shuts you up. He's pressing your palm against it so it would be easy to squeeze and hurt and – you try to pull it back and he forces your hand harder against his throat with his own. You freeze completely.

“I trust you.”

Your eyes widen and fly to his from where they’d been locked onto his throat and the way your hand is curled against it in a chokehold.

His eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes fixated on you, willing you to understand. The soft caress of his thumb on the back of your hand - a hand that could cut off his oxygen if you wanted - makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

“Okay.”, you whisper and he finally drops his hand, allows you to slowly draw your hand back from his throat. Your eyes are still widened and lock onto his neck again. Leaning forward you press a kiss to the delicate skin over his Adam’s apple and feel him swallow heavily under your lips.

When you look at hom again his eyebrows are still furrowed and warm palm finds your cheek. “I’m sorry, I reacted like that to something so small.”

You shake your head and nuzzle into his hold, giving a little kiss to his thumb. There's desperation in his eyes and you whish you could kiss it away.

“I’m sorry, ‘m all kinds of fucked up, ‘luv. Wouldn’t fault you if it’s too much. If you want to –“ Your hand covers his mouth and his eyes betray the surprise at that gesture.

“Don’t you dare, Si. Don’t you dare even say that. As if I’d want that. You shouldn’t even think that. The only reason why I mind the panic attacks is because I know how heavily they weigh on you. You can flinch, you can scream, you can break, I don’t mind. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, if I could I’d make it stop, but I’ll take that as long as I have you in my arms at the end of the day.”

His hand gently draws your hand away from his mouth and he whispers: “But I’m a handful, lovie. How can you not mind the hassle?”

You smile at him, a little mischievously. “Good thing that I’ve got two hands then, baby.”

He snorts, while his entire face softens, and draws you in closer, you're pressed into his chest, his arms around you and he showers your head with kiss after kiss.

“I thought you were going to leave me.”, comes your muffled voice abruptly halting all of Simon's movement. Gently he pushes you away a bit so you can see his sincerity when he answers.

“Never. As long as you’ll have me.”

Your eyes water and he tilts your head up, with the tip of his finger under your chin, and presses the softest of kisses to your lips. “Don’t care about the flinches and panic attacks and hard moments as long as I get to be in your arms at the end of the day.”

You laugh, when he uses your words against you, a cracked, teary laugh and kiss him again.

“Fuck I need a nap.”, he groans once you’ve managed to stop spelling your love against the lips of each other. You giggle.

“We both do, but drink something first. You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t.”, you say and he groans with the effort of rolling over and drinking out of the bottle on his nightstand.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, what he did to find someone so caring. Who looks at his hard exterior and handles it with soft touches and patience. He doesn’t know what he did right in his life, because he for sure can’t remember ever doing anything right, to find someone like you. He’s not going to let you go and if he has to beg at some point, then he’ll strangle his pride with his own two hands and do so.

When he faces you again he grins. “Mission accomplished, Sir.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands, missing Simon’s soft expression at your flustered state. God you’re so cute. Especially when you’re voice comes out all embarrassed when you say: “You can’t say that! You know what it does to me when you call me that!”

He wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close, your bodies fit to each other, immediately finding comfort in each other. And he can feel a wave of calmness crash over him, making him sleepy and slow. “Ya can do something ‘bout that when we wake up. Don’t think my soldier’s up to doing any long marches right now.”

He’s expecting it when your hand wriggles free and slaps his shoulder. “Simon!” You can feel his upper body shake with silent laughter.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Si.”

Your eyes are heavy, your muscles finally relaxing after all that tension of earlier. Your bodies melt into each other. You can feel Simon’s breathing getting slower, a telltale sign of him falling asleep.

“I love you.”, you mumble again before sleep takes you.

Simon’s too far gone to reply but you feel the two squeezes of his hand on you, pressing his love directly into your skin.

#the sewer writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #hurt and comfort #simon x gn!reader #simon riley x gn! reader #gn! reader #hurt/comfort #panic attack #mentions of being hurt in the past #cod simon #cod ghost x reader #cod simon riley x reader

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windvexer · 1 year

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find some stuff to do magic about (feat. practicing sorcery is fun and good)

Do you want to do magic? Yes. Do you know what to do magic on? Maybe not. Here is a post for that. Take what you like and leave the rest behind.

Confront your learned helplessness face on because I'll bet money that there's a shit ton of stuff in your life you'd change if you hadn't trained yourself to pave it over just to make your highway of life a little less bumpy.

Let me tell you something I believe. I believe that most all of us have been trained to think that:

wanting things to go well,

wanting to be happy,

wanting little joys and pleasures in life,

and wanting not to be aggravated by the small things

somehow makes us weak, lacking, immature, or insecure,

or even worse,

that putting up with bullshit is somehow automatically makes us a better person, as if we've all got a cosmic thermometer that won't ding "good person!" until we've had it up to here with bullshit and then still force ourselves to grin and bear it.

"If I do magic to shorten the Starbucks drive-through doesn't that make me impatient? I don't want to use magic as spiritual bypassing in order to avoid my flaws."

Well then. Far be it from me to decry the kratophany of Prometheus getting his liver pecked out by eagles every day, manifest in your sacred sacrifice of having your minutes pecked out of your day, one by one, as you wait in line.

Make a list. Keep it with you. On paper, on your phone. Doesn't matter. It's a list of things you'd like to change. Little fleeting things that rear their head only for a second or so before our industrial-powered steamrollers smash it into the ground. Big things that you stew over day to day.

No problem is too petty. No splinter in your side is too insignificant. Betty at the office blows her nose every day at 8:15am and if you have to hear it one more time you are going to burn the building down? Put it on the list.

Do you have to leave 20 minutes early for work on Thursdays because a freight train blocks the freeway for five minutes and your city backs up like Betty's nose? What is magic going to do, rearrange the city's entire traffic patterns? Maybe so. Who cares. That's magic's problem, not yours. Put it on the list.

Have your eye on quite a cute designer bag? Does it cost your monthly rent? Put it on the list.

Learn to stare your life in the eye again with the verv of someone who has just found a reality-warping gun with unlimited ammunition. Game night gets cancelled too often? You never remember to use your pizza coupons? You can never remember to get ginger ale at the store? Put it on the list.

Feed yourself what ails you like a crab going absolutely bonkers in a plankton-filled tank.

just do some of that normal "witchy" stuff, why not

Protections: Not only for spirits and stuff!

Against unwanted solicitors

Against your room mate's creepy partner coming over

Against debt collectors finding your new phone number

Against surprise quizzes in your course

Against nightmares

And from time to time a sorcerer does like a good house ward. Experiment with yours, why not? Waiting until you're under attack to learn how to put up protections is like waiting until you're drowning to learn swimming. Sure, the sheer adrenaline-fueled terror might get you somewhere - or it might get in the way.

You don't normally use altars? Build one, why not. Build secret ones in shoe boxes. Experiment with altars and compound magic.

Perhaps you'd like a mini spellcasting kit to go? I don't know if making one counts as doing magic, but it's fun to make them.

Why not develop and prepare an oil or incense blend that must steep for a few months before it's ready? You don't need it now, right? So that means it's prime time to make things that are supposed to "mature" before use.

And hey, what's the deal with cleansing? A lot of people make fun of it now. Some people say it's important and necessary. Why not get really into cleansing and develop your own take? Practice gentle cleansing, nuclear cleansing, cleansing with pure energy and cleansing with candles, cleansing with cleaning products and cleansing with joy.

casting a spell right now is not the same thing as activating it right now and you can still gain a lot of experience in magic without releasing spells into the wild

I think that a lot of people think of spells as I light the candle and the spell is activated and it goes and does the thing, so if there is no Thing right now, then I can't cast the spell,

whereas if you reframed it as I am creating a spell-creachur that will hibernate in this little vessel until I spill it out into the world,

you may actually find that there are dozens of spells for you to actively develop, experiment with, cast, learn from, and passively benefit from - without necessarily needing any of them right now.

And the benefit is, if you don't actually need it right now, that takes a ton of pressure off of you. If you're not acting out of desperation, experimentation can be very fun indeed.

What about the most intense jaw-breakingly stupid strong protective amulet you've ever conceived of? Make it, why not. Make five prototypes on your journey to the strongest danged protection amulet this side of social media.

Who cares if you don't need them? Maybe some day you'll meet someone who does. Or, you know, magic is fun and doing it is its own reward.

What about a talisman for dreamwork and astral travel? Make something that reeks so intensely of the moon that it launches people out of their bodies just by walking past it.

Decide to perfect the most dazzling money-drawing candle spell. Make that your thing. You don't need cash right now? No worries; donate it to charity.

Have fun. Experiment. Made something that came through a little too hard and now it's causing problems? What a wonderful opportunity to learn how to disassemble a spell vessel.

Make yourself a cabinet full of enchantments. Learn how to contain the energy radiating off of all those enchantments. Realize you need more space and learn to combine multiple similar enchantments into one vessel.

make trusting friends who will let you cast on them.

(self explanatory)

#just starting #to masterpost later

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puppyguppy · 8 months

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You're trembling.

You flex your ha- no. Not hands. Wrong. Paws.

They ache. They ache in ways you can't comprehend; in ways your brain tries to block out. Your thoughts are fleeting, as is your consciousness -- something about phantom limbs comes and goes. Like the space where your fingers were once digging into the carpet, the digits now shorter, but sharper, tearing at the shag. Gone, wrong, but so, so right.

The way it hurts, it's like your whole entire body needs to teethe.

Bones and muscle grown too fast, synapsis switched. You want to run. You want to scream, and dig, cry, and crunch, you want to roll around and -- you can only do half of that now. And you know that, know this, but your rationality is warring with your newly gained instincts, and losing.

You'd been told to leave.

Not forever or anything, but just for...this. A night or two. Somewhere far, far away. Away from someone, anyone you could hurt; someone, anyone who could see, or hear, or -- like an abandoned building. A deserted beach. The thick of a forest. But, none of those had sounded safe to you. And wouldn't it have been worse, then? For you to freak out? At least, that's what you'd reasoned. Stupidly. Locked yourself away in your apartment, deep in your room, with the rawest, most organic snacks possible, already unwrapped, and a - a bowl of water. You'd grabbed extra bedding for your bed, and laid protective plastic down and fucking puppy pads on one half of your bedroom floor. You'd, at the very least, prepared.

But, everything in there has a scent.

Scents you usually like, yes. But not to this degree, not so overwhelmingly. It burns. Your detergent, the plastic on the floor, the constructive makeup of your whole apartment -- there's chemicals everywhere. There's so little that smells natural, something inside you riots like a rat in a lab. This is your home, where you go to escape and relax, and you're terrified. Unwelcome, in your own den.

You should've listened.

Why the fuck did you think you'd be different?

Or, maybe you'd just hoped --

Your head pounds, a white and then red rhythm, the same as your enlarged, racing heart. You hear things you can and can't describe, the decibels and tones of what you once thought was silence so loud, too loud. At least you'd managed to get through the worst of it on the protected half of the room. But, such a relief is short lived, as are your memories, falling from your head and drifting through your fur like the dirt you wish you were in. You can't remember your name. Or why you even needed one, or wanted one -- thoughts are feelings now. Too big and too strong not to do something with. Something about.

But, what --

You do and don't notice a sound. It starts off so small, but not insignificant; foreign from the rest, and it makes your ears snap and swivel. The feeling makes your stomach churn; old muscle moving in new ways. It's hard to focus on the sound, until it's louder, which means closer. A pattern opposite to the pounding of your bones. A heavy, fast-paced thump thump thump -- though, one thump sounds a bit different. You don't know why, don't know what it is, but automatically, it's dangerous. You feel the urge to protect; not this place, but this body. And you know you will fight.

Fighting is right.

Fighting will feel good.

You're ready. With new teeth and talons; both bared, as your body poises to strike. To leap and sink in, to stretch out and give in. This body is yours. You'd survived, you'd earned it.

When the door to your apartment is kicked in, the sound of it shatters through your senses like a bomb. The floor beneath your vibrates -- no, you vibrate, your freshly added vocal chords thrumming in threat. It's a growl, it's a warning, and one ignored as the human gets closer. That's what you smell, first and foremost. Human. Male. When the door in front of you is given the same treatment, the shock of it is enough to send you reeling. In the split second you could've attacked, instead, you buckle, whimpering and then whining as the sound of it, and then the scent of it, is too much. You're too weak, too new, too alone --

"Down."

It's human, but you understand the command, and it shoots through you like an arrow. Like a gun. Like silver, something you know to be bad, to avoid, in the form. It's a second of clarity, of thought instead of feeling, and you obey the command easily, and almost eagerly. You're already halfway down, anyway. "Stay down."

The sudden weight over your shoulders and across your back stuns you, and you snap your eyes open. They shouldn't have been closed so long, you should get up, you need to get up. So you start to squirm, and growl again, but that weight gets heavier, stronger, and wraps around your neck, under your front legs --

"Shh, I've got you."

There's a new sound.

A new vibration.

A rumble not your own.

But, all at ounce, you also recognize it as your own. One of your own.

Wolf.

And then the rest is familiar, too. The voice, the scent, the long streaks of black hair falling into your face. The cooler press of a silicone prosthetic against one of your hind legs. Silicone, not the metal one. That's why it'd sounded different. He'd changed it for this. For you. Because he knew you'd been stupid. Again, you want to run, but now to hide, and as if sensing this, the human atop and around you moves. Your head is more or less slammed down into the floor, front legs on either side, whilst your back legs remain standing, locked, with your ass up and --

There's teeth in your neck.

Dull, human teeth, digging into the shaking muscle close to your shoulder. Too weak to break skin, but strong enough to get the point across, and a slew of new emotions swim through you. Along with some thoughts, and a few memories -- a confusing concoction which slowly creates only one conclusion. This position was...vulnerable. You'd been forced to present. Were being commanded to submit.

This was a mating press.

And the human performing it --

Was doing so as a comfort. A distraction.

Out of love.

There's a language barrier like this, but still you try, as the first wave of safety ripples and soothes down your spine. You roll your tongue around your mouth in a happy whine, and your tail twitches to wag where it's kinked between the two of your. A weird feeling, one full of possibly pleasant tingles. And when your next sound is something still animal, but akin to Shouta, the laugh that flitters across one of your ears is worth the trouble.

"Good pup."

#aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa shouta #gender neutral reader #werewolf aizawa #werewolf reader #transformation #hope ya buckled up for this one bestie

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dreamties · 1 year

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Various! Horror Reacting to their S/O Sleeping W/ Stuffed Animals

A/n- Let me know what character's I should do for the prompt next :D

Inspired by a previous headcanon set I did! If you want to read some quick ones for Billy/Stu, Brahms & Michael -> click here

T/W for some mild language + mentions of torture !! <3

This set includes: The Sinclair Brothers, Randy Meeks + Sidney Prescott

Taglist: @strawberry-moonpies —> let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from this list <3

Sinclair Brothers

None of them really mind <33 except Bo, he's a totaly stinker abt it >:(

Bo finds it weird and he lets you know that. he is literally the lamest partner when it comes to this . . . don't let his negativity bog you down tho, hun!! his brothers are far kinder on it, you don't need Bo's stupid reaction <3333

having said all that about Bo . . . there is some redemption for him!! when he starts noticing you acting funny or a little down around him, he realizes it's his doing and he has a lot of guilt & regret about how he acted.

he'll get you a plainer looking doll, or get Vin's help to sew something up for ya. He leaves it on your side of the bed and doesn't say a word about it . . . neither should you. Be appreciative of what he did, just don't tell him that. He'll just pretend he had nothing to do with it, and get all flustered.

Bo might be kind of a dick to you about it, but if anyone that's NOT him does it?? if someone's passing by and they think they just get free range on the language they use?? oh, hell no!

he has a few tricks up his sleeves, I promise <3 (these may, or may not, include more torturous methods when dealing with guests . . .)

Lester thinks it's mighty sweet!! an' he ain't got much to judge, he knows he's a lil weird. he don't mind ur weirdness tho <33

creativity seems to run in the family, cause sometimes he'll take the animals off the road 'n he likes to skin em and make lil furs out of em. not so much taxidermy . . . he ain't got the patience for that

and i bet he would ADORE to make ya a lil somethin from those critters <3

what's better than seeing your lover all safe and cozy, cuddled up with somethin-- than when that somethin is one of your own creations??

yeah ... nothings really better than that, huh? <3

Vincent's not one to judge on such a small thing. he's spent so much time feeling like the odd one out, for mannerisms and facial deformities . . . and you're so sweet and kind hun . . .

he'd hate to upset ya, especially over something so insignificant.

it brightens his day seeing you down in his studio space with him, while you happily watch him work, while holding a floppy-eared fuzzy pal close to ur arms <333

Randy Meeks

he thinks it's a little silly but mostly endearing <3

he won't poke fun at you . . . unlike certain Scream boys (cough cough Billy n Stu... cough cough)

randy loves doing little voice impressions, and my favorite concept is him playing around with ur stuffies and making them say silly things. or sometimes, since he's a bit of a romantic, but also awkward n nerdy he'd make them say things like "i love you" <3

Sidney Prescott

Tatum still has a ton of stuffies from when she was a kid, and some of her current faves are definitely ones that Stu have gotten for her

Sidney doesn't really sleep w/ any of her stuffies, but she does keep them out on her bed sometimes or on her dresser as like, decoration.

long story short -> she honestly gets it! sleeping with a stuffy is nice, and she wants you to sleep well <3 there is nothing wrong with ur stuffies <333

after the ghostface attacks!! she tends to be more closed off to other people, sort of weary, and isn't always good with contact/touch. the two of y'all's favorite way to sleep is in the same bed, next to each other, but cuddled up with ur comfort buddies instead of holding each other :'3

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selenecrown · 2 months

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I just watched the Spider Within and honestly, I think it is great. While it may not mean anything in the grand sceme of the Spiderverse series-I personally think it is a great addition full of good panic attack representation especially in the Black community, and In-Universe implications.

While I cannot speak much on the part of speaking about panic attacks to others representation, as while I have had panic attacks in the past, I am white and have had a much different experience then those of color, who have a distrust of the medical system in my country and deal with different stigmas and my panic attacks went in a different direction then Miles where he is seeking help whereas I almost. . . Game Overed myself before I got the help I needed-I think The Spider Within's verson of a panic attack is still a good interpretation of a panic attack. While it does not show physically what it is-it creates a wonderful metaphor for it.

Anxiety is like a spider on you-you may not even notice it at first, it's small and insignificant. But overtime, it gets worse and worse, until eventually, the spiders become too much to handle and attack you all at once if they are not swatted away. It also feels like the more spiders you notice, the worse it gets. And when anxiety strikes-it feels like many spiders attacking all at once and makes you feel unsafe even in your own skin.

So, in that regard, I love the use of Spider Horror as I think it serves as a wonderful metaphor I can use to explain it to someone who doesn't have anxiety.

Another thing I love, is unironically, the implications of the short-as a comic book fan (or at least to my experience) it's never really been addressed the struggles between your superhero identity and your true identity and what that entails for a person.

We have to remember Miles is 13 in Into the Spiderverse and 15 years old in Across the Spiderverse.

Let me say that again.

Miles Morales is 13 and 15 years old at the time of the movies he stars in.

He is still a teenager and he is balancing his identity as Spiderman and Miles Morales.

Most of the superheros we see are adults. Fully. Grown. Adults. who HAVE the skills to cope with their double lifes and often times have a support system of superheros and those who understand around them to help and guide them through whatever they are dealing with. This is especially clear in the Marvel Cinematic Universe where is it very clear most superheros have help.

No superhero is ever truly alone in the MCU.

Miles is not that case and this has been emphasized by many Spiderman characters-they feel truly alone and they have to do things by themselves. Miles doesn't have the help like other Marvel characters do. He is the only Spiderman in his own universe, and possibly the only superhero in his universe. To quote Peter Parker in the first movie, "The only thing standing between this city and destruction, is me."

It is just Miles Morales against whatever threat there is, and he has the deal with the consequences after. And as he saw in The Spider Within, this is taking a huge toll on Miles, enough for him to have a panic attack.

This shows, like the movies keep saying over and over, being Spiderman, and by extension a superhero-is NOT something to be taken lightly. It takes a lot from a person to be a superhero, which also has not fully been addressed in comic books or comic book movies. It is not just a simple you get superpowers, side with the good people and BOOM! You are superhero no questions asked. It is a commitment to a cause, a curse and blessing and honestly I LOVE that.

I also love what this implies during the first movie-Peter Parker of Mile's universe most likely have gone through the same thing, which makes his line of "You're like me." That much more impactful and devastating to me.

The hope in Peter's voice-when Peter Parker and Miles Morales first met, through the Spidy Sense they knew they where one in the same. And this gave Peter Parker hope because in that moment, he was not the only one who had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. And to add insult to injury, it is HIGHLY implied Peter Parker was NOT a part of the Spider Society as seen in Across the Spiderverse. Peter didn't have that help so he truly felt he had to do everything by himself. Peter Parker felt he was alone until Miles came into the picture, which got his hopes up and I imagine really comforted Peter even in death that things would be okay, despite him saying otherwise.

Being a superhero takes a toll on people. And I think The Spider Within addresses that wonderfully.

#the spider within #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #marvel #marvel comics #marvel cinematic universe #miles morales #peter parker #personal shit

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oboetemasuka · 2 months

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On death's door

(An "Order of Attack" side story) (title subject to change)

Amane thinks it's all over. Or has it been over? Or The "everyone is dead" theory meets "Order of Attack".

Concurrent with part 3.

Cw: cults, child abuse, child death

Lying on her side on the ground, Amane can hardly see what is going on anymore. Just a shadow of a figure standing over her, about to deal one more blow. Time seems to stand still. This is it. Everything ends here.

Where did she go wrong? All she did was act according to her faith—unless she hadn't been doing so all along. She keeps telling herself she did because it is all she has. She wants so badly to believe this is just another trial she can overcome. One that is meant to make her stronger. Not the end punishment. If this is the end, if Hell is all that waits for her after this, then what is even the point?

She can't make out the shoes of the person who stands before her. Who is there? Is it her father, coming home after a long trip? No, this looks too different. But who else could it be?

A voice rings in her head, telling her she shouldn't have killed. She tries to shove it away, but it's not easy when it's her father. All she wanted to do was carry out a righteous act for once. Is that such a sin that warrants death?

She looks at the bloody, unconscious form across the room. She doesn't recognize it. She thought it was her mother, but it looks… off. Deep down, though, she wishes it would wake up so she wouldn't have to die alone. Even if this is all her fault. Despite everything, she loves her mother deeply and hopes she would wake up and comfort her. What comfort? Anything, really. Anything is better than dying alone.

But this doesn't look like her mother. If this isn't her mother, though, then what has this person done? Would Amane punish someone without knowing the full extent of their sins?

How did this all begin? She tries to turn her memories back a few minutes. She's standing over her mother. The door opens, and she turns to see her father enter the room. Before she can speak, he begins to chide her. But she hasn't done anything wrong, has she? She can't form the words, and instead, she drops to the ground as her father approaches. When she finally speaks, it's a desperate apology.

No, this isn't where she's at. This room looks nothing like her apartment. Then where is she?

She searches her memories again. She is the one who entered the room. The person standing over the body is a stranger. No… it's someone she met a short while ago. And it was still Amane who fell as the person approached and told her what a grave crime she had committed.

Small wonder she got the scenes mixed up.

Amane doesn't blink as the figure raises a foot. She wishes she could claim she's facing it with dignity, but it's really because she can't blink.

But before the foot can stomp on its mark, another figure barrels into the room, shoving this one away. Amane can't hear what is happening.

Several figures shuffle around, and then one of them approaches her and presses a wad of cloth on her face.

After a while, her mind clears up. This wretched doctor, Kirisaki Shidou, is taking away her trial. At least that's what she tells herself. Deep down, she's relieved that someone is looking out for her. Even if that someone is Kirisaki Shidou.

Then the person lying unconscious on the ground has to be…

Fuuta-san, she wants to say, but the words won't come. If you're going to steal trials, then at least help Fuuta-san first! At least that's how she would maintain her righteous front.

Death did not come for Amane that day. But she can't help but feel otherwise.

Yuno sits by her bedside to watch. Better her than Kirisaki Shidou. Besides, Yuno could actually help her out with something.

"Yuno… san…"

"Hmm? Do you need something, Amane-chan?"

"I was wondering about something you said a few days ago." Something that she had brushed off as insignificant at the time.

"What was it?"

"'Am I really alive?'"

#milgram #amane momose #cw child abuse #cw cults #cw child death #bad things happen to amane

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limehaspassed · 11 months

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To Give a Man His Name

(Thomas Hewitt x M!Reader)

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In which you have dinner with the Hewitt’s.

Part Three (Soon)

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He was a brute of man, tall, wide, and intimidating. His eyes were like bottomless pits of undeterred determination, envy, and pain. His gaze was strong, sharp, it encompassed you and compressed you. Under his gaze, you felt small, insignificant, weak. You felt as if you were nothing more than prey waiting for its predator to attack, but you didn’t want to believe he would attack, you refused to believe he would attack.

“Good morning.” You greeted him one morning.

You were met with silence.

“Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you around here yet.” You asked, trying to make small talk.

At these words, he turned from where he stood in front of the table to look at you. His eyes were sharp, it felt as if he was melting you with a glare beyond anything you’ve ever seen. You wanted to sink away but you refused to, not wanting to back down. You didn’t want to let the rumors get to you, to ruin your image of him before you’ve even held a conversation with him. You didn’t want to let them be true.

You cleared your throat and looked away, his piercing gaze weighing heavy on you. You returned to your work and continued speaking from there.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t miss yah, you’re a pretty big guy.” You spoke casually not meaning your comment as a slight against him. You were simply trying to make a joke but from the glare you could feel bore into your head, you knew you had said the wrong words. You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was staring at you with righteous anger. You had entirely spoken without thinking.

“I didn’t mean that against yah.” You clarified. You could still feel his burning eyes. “I just meant that you’re tall and there ain’t anything wrong with that. I think it’s pretty cool. In fact, I wish I could be that tall, you know how easily I would be able to grab things if I was that tall? Stupidly easy.” You expanded your comment, rambling on at this point, just speaking whatever came to mind.

Eventually, after a moment, his eyes fell and you internally sighed, glad to have dodged that bullet. You knew he wasn’t a monster but you also knew that you had no gauge over his emotions, he was a new pal after all. You didn’t know how quickly angered he was, or how quick he was to resort to cruelty. You hoped he was passive, that he went against what the people say about him. There was a part of you that wanted to explore his mind and prove to everyone how wrong they were about him, how different he is compared to their unjustified expectations.

He didn’t talk for the entire day and you didn’t push him anymore. You kept quiet for the remaining work time, deciding that it was best not to force him to talk. You wanted him to like you after all and forcing someone to talk is a guaranteed end of a relationship, even if it was just recently formed.

“Goodbye. Have a good day.” You spoke before taking your leave after your shift had ended. He didn’t return the favor. You didn’t mind it.

You went to start your walk home when the sheriff showed up. He pulled up beside you and flashed you a smile.

“Want a ride?” He asked.

You went to say no but stopped yourself, knowing that a lift would be a lot of help.

“Couldn’t hurt.” You replied and hopped in the cab.

The ride was silent for a bit until Hoyt broke it.

“So, you get out often besides work?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not really. Wish I did but there is little to do in this town.” You explained with a sigh.

Hoyt hummed in agreement. “Right. So I’m meeting an old friend, Charlie for dinner. He told me to bring someone else. Would you be interested in joining? It’ll give you something to do and a reason to put on something a little more formal.”

You rolled your eyes at his last statement but ultimately agreed, not having much else planned either way. “And this is now?”

“Yeah but I thought we should swing by your place so you can get cleaned up.” His words held no weight to them but his expression did. He was waiting for something, something you didn’t know.

“Sounds good.” Your reply was short. There was a tension in the air now, one you felt but not the latter. You were afraid of what this something might be, what he might be searching for inside you. You did your best to push your suspicions away and to give the man your benefit of the doubt. After all, he was a part of the police system.

Soon enough, the two of you arrived at your house. He pulled into the dirt driveway and set the vehicle in park. “Go get ready, sweetheart.” He teased, giving you a sly look.

You feigned a smile and exited the cab, making your way towards the front door. You dug your keys out of your pocket and jammed them into the keyhole with a little more force than needed. Hoyt was quickly growing to be an annoyance, his remarks building up underneath your skin. You slid the door open and let out a relieved sigh, happy to smell the familiar air of your home.

Quickly, you made your way inside and into your small room. You walked into the bathroom off the side of your room and washed up quickly before heading back into the main area of your room. “What to wear?” You thought aloud as you rummaged through your dresser. You wanted to wear something casual but formal, something modest but cute.

Eventually, as you reached the bottom of your drawers, you found a flora printed shirt that you haven’t worn since you lived in California. It held a faded print and was cut enough to tease but not enough to show, it was appropriate enough. You slipped it over your body and adjusted it before grabbing your go to pair of shoes and heading out the door.

You stopped short of crossing the threshold when a hand reached out and grabbed your arm.

“Where are you going?” Your daughter asked, looking up at you with confused eyes.

“I’m heading out to dinner.” You started, turning to face her. You bent down and sat on the same level as her. “How about this? You come with me?” You offered.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. She immediately ran to her room and got ready. You didn’t know if she would be allowed to come but you didn’t care. She was your daughter and if you’re going, she’s coming too. Time passed and she soon came running out of her room, wearing a dress similar to your shirt. It was modest and you were thankful, not wanting to force her to change into something else.

“Did you match on purpose?” You asked, examining her dress next to your shirt.

She grinned and nodded, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door. You led her to the car and stopped in front of the passenger side door.

“And who is this?” Hoyt spoke the second you opened the door of the car. He held that mystery expression he held before, that intention you weren’t aware of.

You forced a smile in his direction. “This is my daughter, Lillian.”

“A Princess, how swell. You sure you want to bring her to a drinking party?” He questioned.

“You said it was dinner. Besides, I won’t be the one drinking.” You explained, opening the back door for Lillian to climb into the back of the cab. She got situated quickly and buckled up. You closed the door and took your own seat.

“Suit yourself.” He said and pulled the car out of park and reversed it out of the driveway. The three of you were now on your way to Charlie’s house.

You have heard of Charlie but you’ve never met him. The only bit of information you knew about was that he was the town’s local pervert. The reason you were glad Lillian wore a more modest fit was because of this rumor. You only wanted to play safe, after all, there was still that mystery intention Hoyt seemed to hold, the something you still haven’t figured out.

The ride was silent besides Lillian’s quiet humming. You could tell it was starting to tick Hoyt off but before he could say anything, they pulled into the driveway of Charlie’s house.

It was a larger house, certainly bigger than your own. From the looks of it, it held two floors. You haven’t seen a house quite this big since when you lived in California as you would drive through the upper class neighborhoods, wishing that you could one day live there. This reminded you of those upper class neighborhoods and what they might be when the economy fails.

The car was placed in park and the engine killed. You climbed out and opened the door for Lillian, who thanked you as she descended from the car.

The two of you walked towards the front door where Hoyt already stood, waiting for you. He knocked once you guys caught up to him. The door opened quickly, it was an older woman that greeted them with a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be Charlie’s friends. Come on in. My name is Luda Mae.” She introduced herself, waving the three of you in.

Hoyt was the first to walk through the door, followed by you and Lillian. You didn’t miss the sweet smile the elderly lady gave Lillian. You could only hope that Lillian gave a smile in return, that she has listened to your teachings. By the lady’s face, you could tell Lillian was listening after all.

As the two of you entered, you were both met with the smell of cooked meat and vegetables. The smell was appetizing to your hungry bellies. It was enticing and invited you further into the home. You would have followed the smell to the kitchen if it wasn’t for Luda Mae, who directed you to the living room while she finished making the food that smelled absolutely wonderful.

“Please, take a seat in the living room, dinner will be ready momentarily.” She spoke before disappearing into the kitchen.

Hoyt led the two of you to the living room, where a second person was introduced. He was in his late forties and he held crazed eyebrows. You did your best not to judge but it wasn't that difficult to keep up with eyebrow maintenance. You knew Lillian had noticed the man’s eyebrows as well and was probably snickering about it behind your back.

“Charlie!” Hoyt greeted excitedly, clasping the man on the back.

Charlie, returned the favor and hugged his friend back. The two then took a seat opposite of each other and started talking. They talked quickly and rather loudly. You didn’t really know where you fit into the picture so you just had Lillian and you took a seat on an unoccupied couch. Lillian sat close to you, practically sitting on top of your leg.

“Oh, these are my friends.” He goes on to introduce you and Lillian to Charlie.

“I said bring only one person.” Charlie restated his guidelines.

“It’ll be fine. It's only a kid.” Hoyt brushed off the situation.

“Whatever.”

You could tell Charlie was a bit aggravated by this but he didn’t say anything on the topic further. Instead, he started a conversation with Hoyt about the state of the town and how it seemed to be hitting a downward curve. They continued to talk about this for a while until Luda Mae came back into the room and announced that dinner was ready.

All four of you stood up and made your way into the dining room, you simply followed behind Hoyt and Charlie who knew where they were going. When you arrived at the table and took your seat, Luda Mae wheeled in yet another person, one that was older and couldn’t walk. The man looked over at you for a moment before looking away, towards the food on the table.

You watched him for a moment before turning your attention to Luda Mae, who was already looking at you with a sweet smile. You smiled back. She then turned to Charlie and waved at him, a signal he understood.

He stood up from the table and walked away. You could hear him yelling someone’s name but you couldn’t fully make out what he was saying. He returned back to the table with nothing in tow, coming empty handed. He sat down at the table and started talking with Hoyt once more.

“Is he coming?” You heard Hoyt asked to which he was interrupted by a door sliding shut fairly loudly.

There were loud footsteps heading towards your direction, they entered the dining room and stopped behind you. You were nervous to look behind you. A moment passed and Luda motioned for the person to take a seat. The footsteps continued and soon a man came into your view, taking a seat next to you.

It was him.

“Thomas?” You asked, rather shocked.

He looked up at you, slightly jarred that you remembered his name. He had seen you earlier that day, he didn’t expect you to be here, nor did he expect you to remember his name, especially considering most people only know him as the word, “freak.” It was quite a shock.

“Have you two already met?” Luda Mae asked.

“Yeah, we work together.” You didn’t let your gaze fall from the man beside you. He stares you in the eyes, almost as if it was a competition. This goes on for a bit until you blink and look away, not able to hold eye contact anymore. This didn’t stop him from staring.

For the rest of the night, for the rest of the time you were at that table, he stared at you intently. You didn’t know what he wanted and you wished he wouldn’t stare, it put you under a spotlight, one you didn’t want to be casted underneath. You hated being the center of attention and it felt like you were whenever his eyes landed on you.

You tried your best to distract yourself by exchanging a few words with Luda Mae but it never seemed to help, his stare was just as invasive. It loomed over you, causing you to sweat with nerves. You hated being looked at like this.

“Dad, are you alright?” Lillian asked quietly, tapping your arm.

You turned to her and forced a smile. “Of course, dear. Just a little out of it. It’s been a long day.” You explained, something that wasn’t a complete lie.

She nodded and continued eating. You were glad she didn’t ask anymore questions, that she accepted your lie.

Dinner came to an end and you were soon all saying your goodbyes. Luda gave each and every one of you a hug. Her hug was warm and inviting. You enjoyed it more than you would like to admit.

You turned to Thomas after Luda had moved on to give Lillian a hug. You gave a smile and a small wave. “Goodbye, Thomas.” You said before grabbing Lillian’s hand and walking towards the front door where Hoyt was with Charlie.

The two were engaged in a small conversation when you met up with them. Hoyt shook Charlie’s hand and said his goodbyes. Charlie smiled and wished him a good day. Hoyt headed out the door and you went to follow him when Charlie stopped you.

“Now you better stay nice to Tommy.” He warned, a threatening tone overtaking his voice.

You nodded sternly. “Of course.” You spoke, trying your best not to show your fear.

Charlie let you go after that, patting your back and sending you on your way. He closed the door after you left.

“That was odd.”

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Part 2/9

Tag List: @one-green-frog @kodasstar @cross-axis @the-lonely-abyss

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wakraya · 7 months

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My Experience With Roblox

Hey! Hi! Hello! I have just gone through some pretty frustrating stuff and I wanted to share some experiences I've had with the Scam Formerly Known As Roblox.

So let me tell you a little bit of a story.

Back in the day I used to be a small Roblox Creator. And when I say 'back in the day', I mean like a decade ago, before a lot of the current extremely shady monetization and exploitation practices weren't implemented yet. And mind you, there WAS the 'Builder's Club' and there was Buying Robux, but it wasn't as blatant, and you still had Tix as the Free Currency.

Roblox was a place where I found quite the community. I was still not all that good at English, and it was through interacting with others that I pretty much taught myself to speak English. I met some of my longest-lasting friendships, I had my first Hyperfixation... Hell- It even introduced me to Homestuck!

But then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

And by the Fire Nation, I mean that Roblox updated something that broke several of the scripts inside of my game. It dropped without warning, without a Legacy option, and forced Creators to simply adapt and update. Now, it wasn't even anything too big- I believe all I had to do was add 2 lines of code to my scripts, and they'd be fixed.

But, you see. I was inspired to make my own place, because of the work of other Creators. A major inspiration, in fact, was a pretty legendary Bleach Fighting Game, whose... Maker hadn't been on in years.

That was the day I learned the words 'Backwards Compatibility' and realized that Roblox had unceremoniously broken a lot of classic things that now had no repair. Alongside security concerns and the increasing monetization of the place, I decided to simply leave and never look back.

... A few years back, I got an email, telling me that there'd been a successful login to my account.

I quickly got in, changed my password to complete nonsense, reiterated my distaste for the state of the site, and left.

I didn't think much of this event for half a decade, but today. Today I was trying to see if I'd gotten a verification email from a different thing, and I ended up rummaging my Spam Folder, only to find someone writing an email... Asking, politely, for trading of some of the limited items left on my archaic account.

Unsure if this was a scam or not, and wondering what 'cool' items I even could've had in my inventory (Apparently I've got some unique octopus that sells for 22K Robux or something? Shrug-) I decided to log into the site, and... Just on a whim, I checked my messages.

Every single message for the last several years going back were just scams, which truly speaks volumes to how the site had developed. But, more importantly. Going further back, I found people asking me to please come back, and fix the game... Or. 'Make it free'.

...

Apparently. Apparently. In the time I got hacked years ago. Before whoever did it changed my email or password. They had, effectively. Updated my old game, with a message that 'it was back', and monetized it.

Apparently for the past few years I've gotten an insignificant but existent stream of Robux from some poor kids or nostalgic people trying to get back into my game.

I immediately went to try and fix things, only to realize there were no Options to remove the 'pass', and I couldn't find a way to remove the monetization, either.

Now. Mind you. I was doing this on the Browser. Maybe from the client it would've been better, easier, and clearer, but let me tell you- I have not. Seen. SUCH a Hostile UI in my entire life trying to just. FIND what to do to stop this from happening, and eventually I just. Opted for privating and taking down the game entirely. It's broken anyway, after all.

Following that I tried to make a statement on the description of my account, only to see, in horror, that my 1000 word message turned entirely into ####### because apparently I'd written one too many banned terms, because I was, in fact, talking about my account getting hacked, and monetization.

I tried writing a few other messages, and I swear, that was one of the most aggressive content filters I've seen in my ENTIRE life. 'Consent', 'Whole', and several other completely innocent terms just constantly eaten by the censorship algorithm, making writing a new description one of the genuinely most frustrating experiences I've ever had with any website online.

So. I guess. There's not much I want to say here. I am mostly venting about what an awful, awful experience this whole thing is, but like... Seriously. The hacking and security was rampant back then, and I doubt it's any better now. Even if it was, the sheer scope of the scams and exploitation that this... Service is even allowed, is genuinely a Late-Capitalism Nightmare.

Anyway, that was a wretched experience, and as nostalgic as I am for Those Days, and as sure as I am that there's people who still love Roblox and who have made incredible friends through it...

That... Thing... Is a monument to Humanity's Hubris, and shouldn't exist-

#Roblox #Long Post #Longpost #Ranting

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dahliarose2 · 1 year

Text

KINDRED SPIRITS - PART 9

summary: you and your group must end the fight with the saviors, as they continue to wreak havoc on alexandria. when the danger dissipates, tearful reunions are had as you struggle with your first night back home. a certain someone is there to help

daryl dixon x reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

You panted as you picked up one of the discarded guns on the floor that lay next to the area of dead Saviors that Daryl had just single-handedly taken out. Daryl's eyes and his rifle were locked ahead as he scanned the area while you grabbed the gun. Without averting his gaze from straight ahead, one of Daryl's hands dropped from the rifle to extend behind him, grabbing a gentle hold on your shoulder as he led you both to a safe, secluded spot between two of the Alexandrian houses. As soon as you reached the hideout spot, Daryl turned to look at you immediately as he slung the rifle over his shoulder. He looked almost unsure, before he took a breath, grabbing a hold of both sides of your face shakily,

His eyes darted to every inch of your body, scanning for injuries of which he found plenty, eyes landing on your bandaged arm. "I-It's fine," you whispered back shyly, watching as his face contorted from worry into anger at the sheer amount of wounds you adorned on your body. "It ain't fine," he grunted out bitterly, but you knew his anger wasn't directed at you. He treaded lightly as he began to step towards the end of the house, grabbing his rifle again as he looked around at the empty street, the sound of gunshots echoeing in the distance. You began to panic, wondering where the rest of the group were and if they were okay. Your panic took hold quickly as you struggled to hide it, your breath catching in your throat,

"Y/N," he whispered again, a bit louder, though you hadn't heard him the first time through your panic. You could just barely hear him now, as you heard the shots and the yelling, needing to find them. Once he realized you weren't going to hear him and that you needed a bit more coaxing, Daryl moved towards you quickly but quietly, coming down to your eye-level a bit. "Look at me, sunshine," he whispered gruffly, as his petname for you brought you out of your worry-fueled trance, bringing your gaze up to him, eyes lined with tears. "Atta girl," he praised, nodding so you would keep your eyes on him, "now, we're gonna leave this spot now, just follow my lead, okay?"

To make sure you heard what he wanted to do, he moved his hand towards yours, brushing your knuckles lightly to not startle you, before gently linking your pinky with his. The small gesture; the seemingly insignificant gesture that you both would always share, whenever things would go wrong. You had done it the night that Hershel's farm was overrun with walkers, the night the Governor had attacked the prison and the line-up with Negan. And he was doing it now. You were grounded by the gesture, squeezing his pinky back as he let out a small sigh of relief, knowing you were back now and ready,

You smiled at him weakly as he moved his hold on your pinky, to grasp your hand in his, pulling you gently towards the spot he had been looking from before. He took one last look, seeing no Saviors, just people of the town running in peril as you both made a run for it, his hand still clutched in yours. If it weren't for the circumstances, you probably would've blushed at the contact. You realized as you both ran that the gunshots were becoming quieter. You stopped dead in your tracks on the sidewalk, as he turned around with a slightly worried look, thinking there was something wrong. "Daryl, where are we going?" you asked hurriedly, knowing now that you weren’t headed towards the battle, as you panted. He shook his head, continuing to pull you in the direction you had been running in as he answered you,

"We're gettin' you out of here and back to the house," he replied rushedly and gruffly. You stopped once again, this time pulling your hand out of his hold, making him turn towards you completely now. "What are you doin'?" he asked roughly, with more anger than he meant to. He just wanted you back in the house safely and every moment you both stood here in the footpath, made his chances of keeping that promise to himself way more difficult as he continued to look around, ensuring there were no Saviors sneaking up on the two of you. "We're not leaving the others. We're outnumbered already. They need every person that they can get," you answered sharply, frustrated with his attempts to keep you away from the fight that your group were currently losing,

He shook his head with a clenched jaw, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he grasped your upper arms, looking at you again. "You don' get it. I need you safe. I-I need you back in the house," he growled out, but the last part came out as more of a plea as your anger dissipated now, a bit more understanding. You brought your hand up to hold his as you sent an apologetic look. "I'm going to help the others, whether you like it or not, Daryl. I have to. They need us. If you want to keep me safe, cover me," you reasoned, as he rolled his eyes at your stubbornness, but not as furiously as he had earlier, knowing that your stubborn nature was one of his favorite things about you,

He nodded assuredly, as you smiled at him. "Let's go," you whispered as you ran back the way you came, Daryl shadowing your every move, turning to make sure no one was following the both of you. Just as you rounded the corner of one of the houses, you retreated to your position, swinging your arm out behind you, knocking Daryl lightly back against the house, as you plastered your back against the house also, your arm still outstretched across his abdomen as he looked at you curiously. You said nothing, given how close you were, gesturing your head towards where you had retreated from, as Daryl brought his head away from the wood slightly, seeing Negan, Simon and a dozen Saviors, surrounding Rick and Carl, who were now both kneeling on the floor,

You both watched on as Rick shook, you and Daryl both noticing this at the same time. Your eyes darted to his side, where his once blue shirt had a massive patch of red which his hand was clutching, attempting to slow down the bleeding. You gasped involuntarily but not loud enough that they would hear as you both put your heads back against the house. "What are we gonna do?" you asked fearfully, as Daryl stared on at the scene again, looking completely lost. You'd never be able to fight them the two of you alone. You saw Daryl's vacant eyes, as he thought hopelessly of what to do and you sighed, knowing both of you had nothing, no ideas,

You watched panicked as Negan struck a deal with the woman you had seen pointing the gun at Rick when you first arrived, recognizing her as the one who had betrayed your people. Your eyes squinted as you watched Dwight hand Negan his bat, as he strolled closer to Rick and Carl, Rick's face completely drained of color from his wound which made you worried and even more eager to do something, anything. "What I'm going to do now, Rick. Is entirely your own doing," Negan taunted cockily, as he circled the pair, "it's going to leave you broken. I like to have fun." He smirked as Rick struggled, and Carl stared at his dad, face full of concern at his state, which Negan seemed to enjoy. "Maybe you forgot who I am, Rick. See, I'm not the guy who makes your kid spaghetti. I think you've forgotten what I did to your friends. Oh shit," he started dramatically, as he placed his gloved hand to his forehead, "maybe this is on me. I'm just going to have to remind you of who I am,"

Your breath quickened as you heard his words, realizing that either Rick or Carl, maybe even both of them, would suffer the same fate as Glenn and Abraham. You watched as Rick and Carl's eyes widened at something down the street that neither of you could see from where you stood. Negan crouched down, gazing at Rick wickedly. "Oh. Ohhh. You just lost someone close to you, right now. Like just now," Negan said in mock sympathy, as your heart dropped. Michonne. You knew from their eyes that it was Michonne. You felt tears fill your eyes as some began to slip out involuntarily. Daryl must have noticed this. "Y/N-" he started, trying to comfort you, but you shook your head feverishly, begging him not to say anymore, unable to hear it right now through the overwhelming nausea you felt and the sound of your heart pounding,

Negan's voice brought you out of your own grief as you heard his voice bellow, watching him gesture up the street to whatever had just happened to Michonne. "It's fair game now. See, you took somebody close to me. Now we're even. Now if you could give me my darling wife back, I might rethink just how harshly I have to punish you and your people," Negan seethed angrily, though his evil smirk remained. At his words, your heart beat faster. Daryl had read your mind already, grabbing your arm harshly. "No. Y/N don't you dare. Don't," he stated firmly, ordering you not to do anything stupid, but you didn't listen, moving quicker than he had, following your heart instead of your head, as you moved before you even realized you were moving,

"S-stop!" you yelled shakily, through your tears for your friend, as you practically sprinted out, feeling Daryl's hands attempting to grab at you as you tried to push them away. At your cry, everyone had turned to look at you. Negan's gaze locked with yours as you felt uneasy with his stare as his smirk widened, throwing his arm towards you dramatically. "There she is," he chanted in a sing-song voice as you walked closer, holding your hands up in an attempt to show you meant to do nothing, as the trigger guard of your gun, hung on one of your fingers as you walked closer to them now. "As if by magic," he laughed as he licked his teeth slowly, making you nervous, as his eyes glared daggers in your head. You looked down, seeing his left leg shake slightly as you spotted the red patch at his side from the graze you managed to give him, though he was in much better shape than Rick, the cut seemingly not affecting him at all,

"P-please, don't hurt anyone else. No one else has to die," you yelled slightly, making your point be heard. Two Saviors had now took Daryl's gun, who had surrendered it hesitantly, knowing he couldn't shoot his way out of this one, with people in his group being in danger in front of him. They grabbed either of his arms, forcing him to kneel next to Rick as he huffed angrily, sparing a glance at Rick who looked even worse now, but was managing to still stay upright. They shared a certain look. Negan didn't answer you for a moment, strolling up to you slowly as Simon took your gun, tossing it onto the grass as he moved to hold your arms behind your back roughly now. Negan seemed to contemplate his options as he smiled arrogantly, eyes looking between you and your group,

"Let me bargain here. Because I am a fair man, before anything," he said thoughtfully as you practically scoffed in your head, as you heard those words leave his mouth, "you come back home, sweetheart, and I'll forget this little block in the road ever happened." Your heartrate quickened as you weighed up your choices, looking at Rick, Carl and Daryl; all of them shaking their head, telling you not to. But you didn't see another way out of it. Tears filled your eyes as he came closer to you, bringing his hand to your chin, tilting your gaze from them towards him as your breath hitched, shaking in his grip. "Fine," you agreed through a shaken whisper as he smiled celebratory, as just as you uttered the words, Daryl began to thrash around,

"She's not goin' back with you, you prick. Take me back instead," Daryl shouted fiercely as the two Saviors struggled to keep him subdued, Negan sauntering towards him in curiosity, watching him become irate. Tears filled his eyes. "Yeah, good offer. But not good enough I'm afraid, Daryl. Not after you ran away from me," Negan replied venomously, charming smile still painted on his face as Daryl fought back harder at his rejection of the offer. Negan chuckled for a moment, watching Daryl struggle, before lumbering back towards you as your tearful eyes gazed up at him, dreading to think of going back there, but you had to. You had to save your family. He smirked at you momentarily, before swinging Lucille onto his shoulder in one swift movement, making you flinch as he laughed at this,

He crouched down in front of Rick again, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak; to say something, anything. Rick's face hardened, despite his pain. "I told you already. I'm gonna kill you, not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you and your group? You're already dead," he fumed through gritted teeth. Negan's smile disappeared as he listened to the threat, making you fearful. After a few painfully uneasy moments of silence, Negan spoke. "Wow. Wow Rick," Negan muttered, standing up once again, swinging Lucille a few times skillfully in his hand. "I'm real sorry, but deal's off," he said faux apologetically to you, "retribution is clearly needed so I'm gonna have to break one of the clauses of our agreement." He began walking towards Carl, taking his hat off his head as Carl shut his eyes,

"No. NO!" you shouted in alarm, voice shaking as you felt tears pooling. "No. Please. Negan!" Your cries continued as you thrashed and squirmed against Simon's harsh, bruising grip on your arms. "I'm real sorry, princess. But I'm sure I can make it up to you when we go home," he cooed, sending you a seductive wink as your tears began to fall, Daryl struggling even more fiercely now at Negan's comments. You continued to cry out, trying to take the attention away from Carl, but it was no use. You watched as the bat swung behind him, ready to bring it down in a harsh blow. Your mouth was agape as you watched the scene unfold. Suddenly, a bellowing roar was heard as in a split-second movement, a large tiger had taken out a Savior behind Negan,

You almost thought you were dreaming as you saw the animal, jaw still dropped as, at the sight of the animal, Simon's hold on you dropped fearfully. You snapped yourself out of the shock, your tears stopped, as you eyed the gun on the ground. Without warning, you struck your elbow back, hitting Simon square in the nose as he yelled out, using the moment of distraction to pick up the rifle, beginning to skilfully take out the Saviors who stood around you, having help as you watched soldiers run out from seemingly nowhere as they helped you fight. You breath hitched as you turned to look at Daryl worriedly, who was now standing the same as you, clutching his gun as he nodded at you,

He rushed to stand beside you quickly, using one hand to pull you slightly by your elbow, even closer to him, as he stood close to you, shooting the remainder of the soldiers. You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw Carol. You hadn't seen her at the gates and you were worried something had happened. You had been taken before she left Alexandria. You had no idea of her disappearance to the Kingdom. "Alexandria will not fall, not on this day!" you heard a man with long, grey dreads yell out ferociously. You watched Rick lunge to grab a gun, before a Savior cocked his rifle, pointing it straight at Rick's head. Just as you raised your gun to shoot him, your finger hadn't met the trigger, before he fell to the floor. You turned to see Maggie, holding her gun as her and the people of Hilltop ran towards you,

You smiled lightly even though she hadn't seen you yet. You stayed back to back with Daryl, continuing to shoot the Saviors. You watched Negan, Dwight and Simon begin to make a break for it. You raised your gun in Negan's direction, but he had disappeared from your eyeshot behind a car before you could get a clear shot. You turned to shoot the Saviors behind you who were making their way towards you, all of them landing in a heap on the floor. You looked back to the car, which was further away than you'd like, to see Negan's head came into view over the hood of the car as he began shooting at Maggie and her group who hid behind the other vehicles,

Your heart beat faster in rage, as you moved away from Daryl now, as you began to stride towards the car, raising your rifle to shoot multiple times. Negan's eyes widened as he saw you, retreating behind the car now. 'Nowhere to hide, you son of a bitch,' you thought to yourself as you continued to shoot, the glass windows of the car shattering, your bullets making indents in the car as you continued to shoot furiously, refusing to let him or his two lackeys to get out from behind the car unscathed, just needing one shot at one of them to be satisfied. In your rage, you felt a hand hit your shoulder as you spun around quickly, aiming the gun at the perpetrator as you panted; Daryl. You lowered your gun, turning back around to see Negan had fled from behind the vehicle,

"Fuck," you cursed loudly, checking your cartridge to see how many bullets you had left. "C'mon, we've gotta go help 'em at the front gate," Daryl told you hurriedly, as you nodded, both of you sprinting towards the front gate, where you group were shooting at the remaining Saviors. You looked around as you ran, seeing smoke as you could make out figures climbing over the gates, fleeing Alexandria. You heard the engine of a vehicle amplify, as it approached you. Daryl and you rushed off the road, turning to see one of the Savior's cars drive passed you. You saw Negan's hand stick out the window, middle finger up as he drove away. At the sight of it, you began to run after the vehicle, shooting at it furiously. In a final shot, you had managed to hit the rear window in a certain spot that caused the whole thing to smash as the glass clattered to the ground as it drove away,

Your gaze narrowed to see Negan turn to look at the rear window smashed to pieces, eyes locking on you for only a moment. Suddenly, any upset that you had felt had melted away, anger replacing it. You began shooting wildly through the now accessible, vulnerable spot. Negan ducked behind the seat as Daryl ran after you, trying to help you but he saw the Saviors who had gathered beyond the smoke, on top of the vehicles that stood outside the front gate before you had seen them. A final step and you were in the firing line of the Saviors you hadn't seen through your rage and some of your group stood next to you, joining you in your shootout. You looked into the scope of your rifle, now realizing the vehicle that was driving away was too far away to get a clean shot,

You cursed as your jaw tightened. A few shots from the Saviors alerted you to their presence as your eyes widened, your group scrambling to get back as you felt yourself get tackled to the floor. You turned around on the floor to see Daryl covering you, looking around you to see multiple bullets being fired at where you had stood previously. You both panted as he gazed at you worriedly, before realizing he was still on top you, getting up swiftly. He held his hand out to you as you took it, gently pulling you up. The group began to try pulling the gate open, but to no avail, they had clearly jammed it somehow from the other side to make their escape. You continued to shoot up at the remaining Saviors on the top of the vehicles as Daryl climbed up the ladder, to the top of the RV. The men disappeared from yours and the group's sight as you breathlessly looked up at Daryl, as he shook his head, letting you know they were gone,

You turned around to look at the group now as they all panted.; you won, for now. You finally allowed yourself to crumble as you saw Maggie walking towards you, as she began to cry, throwing her arms around which you reciprocated after a moment of disbelief. Disbelief that you were finally home; after weeks, you were home, you were safe. You let the tears fall as you clung onto her. Eventually she pulled away as she brought a hand to your shoulder, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of your bruises and cuts that she had only now noticed, your makeup Negan had forced you to wear smeared, mascara running. You realized you probably looked a state; you were. "We're so happy to have you home. I was so worried," Maggie told you through tears, as you smiled back at her,

"I'm happy to be home," you replied, trying to force your tears down as you watched her look your body over, taking in your form. You waited a moment, before you launched yourself at her again, hugging her for a final time, almost to ensure that she was actually here and not part of some figment of your dreams that you had imagined; of which you had plenty of when you were at the Sanctuary, dreaming of being rescued, dreaming of running away, only to wake up in the same place as you had been for days; weeks. When you pulled away, your tears were now freely falling as much as you tried to stop them, not wanting to be pitied by anyone. Carol walked towards you as she cried too, immediately enveloping you in her hold as you hugged her tightly, crying even further,

At the sound of people walking towards you, you both looked up to see Rick and Carl walking towards you, Rick carrying somebody in his arms; Michonne. Your jaw dropped slightly, as you couldn't believe it, giving Carol a smile before rushing towards the three of them. Carl saw you and he looked at you with relief, eternally grateful that you were finally home. After he had been forced to leave your side in the Sanctuary, he couldn't forgive himself. He blamed himself for not rescuing you. You cried as you had been so close to losing him earlier when you watched Negan's bat nearly come down on his head. He was a brother to you, and you were his sister. You threw your arms around him,

He rubbed your hair instinctively as you both cried. You were pulled away by one of his hands as he moved to ruffle your hair playfully. "Don't ever pull that crap again," he said roughly, clearly about the stunt you pulled earlier, willing to sacrifice your freedom for him. He was angry that you would do that, refusing to let you be taken again, but the smile on his face said he wasn't angry at you truly. You laughed through your tears. "Language," Rick ordered, as Carl muttered an apology. You turned to look at him and Michonne, as she lay there, moving but not much as her eyes closed and opened slowly, not realizing you were there. Rick, because of his lack of hands as he held Michonne, sent you a tearful nod, happy you were home as you smiled back at him, before he walked with Michonne to the infirmary to patch her up and let her rest,

-------------------

After your tearful reunions, Daryl gave you space before walking towards you as you spoke with Tara, coughing gruffly. You turned to look at him mid-conversation to see him moving closer to you. You smiled at him. "C'mon, need to take a look at that," Daryl said roughly as he pointed to your bandaged arm, as you began to see the blood seeping through slightly, needing a new bandage, but not immediately. "Daryl, I'm fine, it can wait-" you replied gently, gesturing to Tara, who only smiled. "It's okay, I've gotta go check on Rosita anyway," she interrupted, rubbing your upperarm, letting you know she understood as she smiled, "he's been like a lost puppy since you were gone anyways. An angry lost puppy." She walked away as she giggled, making you smile slightly,

But when you turned to look at Daryl, he didn't share your happy expression. "What's wrong?" you asked sweetly. At the sound of your voice, his expression softened. "Nothin'," he replied, as he motioned towards the house. As soon as you were in the door, he had pulled out one of the chairs at the dinner table in the kitchen, making you sit down as he began digging through the cabinets, in search of medical supplies. Once he found what he needed, he sat down in the chair next to you. He looked at at you blankly for a moment, as if he was thinking. "Can I um. Can I take a look at it?" he asked through gentle murmurs as if unsure, as he pointed to the bandage on your arm. Your heart warmed as he checked with you,

You nodded with a sweet smile as you extended your arm, as he took it in one of his big hands, his touch so light and gentle that you could barely feel it. You watched as he worked carefully, unwrapping the white bandage that had been wrapped around your cut. He tried to hide his slight gasp with a cough, but you caught it as he looked down at the long gash on your arm. He began working on cleaning it as you watched him in content. "It ain't infected," he said gently, sounding thankful as you let out a sigh of relief as he took a clean bandage, wrapping it with much more care and consideration than Dr. Carson had back at the Sanctuary. He finished it,eyebrows furrowing as he looked up to spot a small cut on your lip, which already seemed to be scabbing over. He hadn't spotted it before,

Without thinking, Daryl reached his hand up to brush the cut with his thumb as your breath hitched at his action. Once he realized what he had done subconsciously, he blinked rapidly, moving to pull his hand away, but you were quicker as you swiftly placed your hand on the hand he had on your cheek. You looked at him worriedly as he tensed up, but relaxed at the feeling, allowing himself to be guided by his heart rather than his head for once, as he leaned towards you slowly, trying to sense what to do. "I-Is this okay?" he asked in a gruff voice, trying to sound sure of himself, but he was nervous. You nodded lightly, as he let your confirmation process for a moment, as if he was thinking about it for a second before he leaned in closer,

His lips brushed yours gently, before you leaned in more, reciprocating his touch, his hand still on your cheek, your hand still atop his as he moved his chair closer to you with his leg. He began to deepen the kiss, both of you letting the nerves melt away, as you did what you had both wanted to do ever since you both had been taken to the Sanctuary. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your cheek as his other hand moved to your waist. Your other hand moved to the back of his neck as you traced light circles on the base of his neck and ran your hand through his hair as hummed in approval. You relished in his touch as the kiss sparked fireworks in your stomach. Without realizing, your tears you had been holding in for so long began to fall,

As you both pulled apart, Daryl's awestruck expression shifted to shock as he pulled his hands away immediately. "'M sorry, was it that bad?" he muttered gruffly, looking embarassed, "I shouldn've have-" He began cursing himself. One hour back and he had already made her cry. He moved to get up, with a clenched jaw, annoyed at himself, but you grabbed his hand to ensure he stayed sat down on the chair across from you. "No it's not that," you replied, begging, hating him to think it was something he had done wrong. His gaze softened as he breathed a small sigh, relieved that he hadn't done or said something wrong. He looked at you encouragingly almost, as your tears fell. You shook your head, feeling shame for crying. "It's just. I just didn't. I didn't know if you'd still want me after-" you started, already breaking out in a sob,

The second he heard your words he grabbed the two of your hands, making you stand, before he cupped your face in his hands as your breath hitched. He was looking straight at you with a confused expression. How could you ever think that he wouldn't want you for something out of your control? "None of that was your fault," he stated firmly, needing you to hear that more than anything else. He paused before continuing. "I'd want you no matter what," he whispered, as your crying continued upon hearing his words. He didn't let you say anything, not that you could through your tears, through your exhaustion. He pulled you close, bringing his strong arms around you, letting you cry into his chest, as he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, what to say. He was never any good with that stuff. But he had to be now; for you, you needed him, you needed him to try,

Your sobs wracked your body as you let the embarrassment you felt go out the window, allowing yourself to break down in front of him. "I-I wanted to leave, I-I tried to. But a-after he hurt me, I thought it would be e-easier to just let him. I-I let him kiss me, I-I let him-" you whimpered out hurriedly, trying to tell him. You felt ashamed. His hand darted to your hair, smoothing it as he shushed you. "Shh, you didn't let him. He forced you to. But he ain't ever gonna do that again. He ain't ever gonna touch you. No one is. Ever again," he whispered softly, but there was a certain anger there, like he was swearing to you that was a promise. That he'd hurt anyone who tried to get close to you like that again. He was going to kill every last Savior in his path,

Your crying died down as he continued to whisper comforting words to you. You felt him place a kiss onto your hair every once in a while. You weren't sure at what point you had done it, but you had wrapped your arms around his waist, both of your hands coming up to his back, to pull him closer, needing his comforting warmth more than anything you had ever needed before. Your hands clutched his grey shirt in your fists, scared to let him go or you'd lose again. His heart broke as he listened to your cries, trying to keep a strong front which proved impossible. He continued to whisper comforting assurances and place soft kisses on your head as he smoothed your hair. Eventually, you both pulled away as you stared up at him blankly now, the tears making you look exhausted; which you were,

"I'm sorry," you sniffled, a laugh breaking through your words as you pointed at his shirt which was now covered in tears. He looked down puzzled, before spotting what you were pointing at. He looked back up at you, giving you a small smile, his heart warming at the sound of your laughter. "Don' worry about it," he replied softly. You yawned as he pushed his chair back into the table, turning to see your tired expression. "C'mon, you need to rest," he murmured, as he moved towards you. You nodded in agreement, before your nearly shut eyes widened as you felt yourself be picked up gently. You looked up at him with confusion. "Daryl, I can walk. There's nothing wrong with my legs," you said through a laugh, as you looked up at him, watching him shrug,

"I don' care," he replied gruffly with a smirk, his smile saying the exact opposite of what he said as you laughed. You relented, letting him walk up the stairs. Once he reached your bedroom, he placed you down gently as you moved to get up and grab your pyjamas, but he put out a hand to stop you. "Stay there," he mumbled as you rolled your eyes playfully, watching as he dug through your drawers, in search of your favorite pair. As he did that, you looked around at the room you hadn't seen in so long. Eventually, he pulled out a pair, smirking in victory. He handed them to you gently. "These are my favorite pair," you muttered as you brought them up to your cheek to rub the soft material against your cheek,

"I know," he whispered as he watched you smile. In that moment, watching you smile, he wondered if that was his only purpose in his life. And if it was, he would die happy. All he ever wanted to do was make you smile. It broke his heart to see you so distraught earlier, but seeing you smile now made it all melt away. You gazed at him in wonder. "You knew?" you asked in surprise, almost not believing his words. "Yeah," he shrugged as he continued, "you mentioned it this one time." This one time. You had managed something so small, one time; and he had remembered,

-------------------

FLASHBACK....

It was well into the evening, as the moon shone iridescently into the kitchen. Daryl couldn't sleep, that had been a usual thing for him, he never had been a great sleeper anyway, always restless. He filled a glass of water as he looked out the window at the full moon that sat high in the sky, illuminating the other houses in his sight. Suddenly, he heard a sound and whipped around defensively, ready to attack if he needed. He saw you standing there, eyes widened, as you smiled apologetically. "Sorry," you whispered awkwardly, "I couldn't sleep." He breathed a sigh of relief as he took a drink from the glass, before placing it down on the counter. "Thought you were an intruder or somethin'. Don't do that," he said gruffly, not wanting you to sneak up like that,

You laughed slightly as he furrowed his brows at your amusement. "You, Daryl Dixon, the high alert tracker, thought I was an intruder in my pink pyjamas and slippers?" you giggled, as he waved his hand at you dismissively, rolling his eyes at your teasing, which only made you laugh further, as you walked over to the sink, having come down there to do the exact same thing as him. "It ain' got nothin' to do with tracking. You snuck up on me is all," he scoffed, as you laughed at his attempt to pretend he didn't jump at your presence moments earlier. "Besides, I'd like to see you try and attack me in those pink pyjamas," he jeered back at you, making you scowl slightly jokingly, "what are those on 'em anyway?" His question was real, he couldn't tell what they were, but the way he asked you let you know he was clearly taunting you,

"They're bees, duh," you commented as if it was obvious, as he nodded at your reply, resisting the urge to laugh at you. "I don't know what you're snickering about, Dixon. I think you're just jealous that you don't have a pair. These pyjamas are very durable, comfortable too," you argued, as you changed your stance, punching the air, inches from his body a few times, before you did a mock karate stance, making him roll his eyes at your antics, but he was loving it underneath it all. "I might even wear these on our next run. They're super cozy," you joked as you pretended to attack him once again, as he cowered back slightly as a joke, trying to fake fear. "Ha ha, very funny," you sneered, as you took a glass out of the cabinet, filling it up as you smiled,

"You wear 'em enough. Maybe you should start wearing them outside the house," he teased lowly, noticing in the amount of time you had lived together in the house, you had always worn that pair of pyjamas a lot. He tried to act stoic to hide the fact that he was engaging in your stupid hijinks. But you had noticed, as you faked a shocked look at this. "I wear them all the time because they're my favorite ones," you stated proudly as you beamed, secretly blushing at the fact that he had noticed something like that, but you brushed it off, convincing yourself that it meant nothing. He nodded his head at your statement as you took a drink of your glass of water, staring out the window that you were both stood in front of now. He realized now that he hadn't taken his eyes off you yet, as you stared up at the moon with a smile,

He averted his gaze, joining you in looking at the moon. "You know, full moons are supposed to be good luck," you reveled as you looked at him. Usually, if anybody else had said something like that, he would've scoffed and called it a load of crazy rubbish. But for some reason, seeing how happy you seemed to be to share that fact, as he watched your smile, he didn't have the heart. Somehow, it didn't sound like a load of crazy rubbish coming out of your mouth; it sounded interesting. "Oh yeah?" he asked curiously with his usual rough voice as he stared at you as your eyes were fixated on the moon as you spoke. "Yeah. A lot of people say it's the end of cycle and that it makes feelings you've had be highlighted," you said, as you turned to look at him, as he gazed at you in awe,

You blushed under his concentrated stare. "So I've heard anyway," you blurted out. Daryl nodded with a slight smile, listening to every word you said with care. "I'm sorry. I believe you but I just can't take you seriously in those bee pyjamas," he mutters, as you gasp, slapping his arm as he laughs as you smile at him,

---------------------

NOW.....

You smiled as you rubbed the pyjamas in your hands, blushing at the fact that he had remembered that. He scratched the back of his neck nervously, wondering if he should have said that. "I'm glad you remembered," you beamed happily, reading his embarrassed body language. He nodded back at you. "Well I'll um. Leave you to it," he muttered, but it came out as more of a question. Did you want him to leave? He was unsure. Did you want him to help you put your pyjamas one? Did you want him to- "Stay," you whispered, finishing his sentence in his head as his ears perked up at your small voice. "If you um. If you want to," you started nervously, unsure whether he'd want you to or not. You knew he told you before all this, before Negan, before the line-up, when you shared that special night together, that you could move into his room, but now you weren't sure if he meant it, if he said it flippantly, you couldn't recall,

His eyes darted nervously, but his stoic expression covered it up. "Well no. I'd like you to stay. I want you to stay. Could you?" you said more sure of yourself now, not entirely sure where your sudden burst of confidence had come from. His eyes widened at your forwardness, before he smiled lightly. "I'll stay," he whispered through the comfortable silence from where he stood at your bedroom door, "I wanna stay." The last part came out a bit quieter, but you smiled at it. "I'll uh go get my things if you wanna get changed," he said quietly with a smile, pointing to your bathroom, as you nodded, watching him go to his room next door to grab a pair of his sweatpants as you made your way into the bathroom shutting the door,

You changed as quickly as possible through your fatigued daze. Once you had pulled your pyjamas on, you walked into your bedroom, seeing Daryl fluffing up the pillow and shaking the duvet a little for you. "What are you doing?" you asked gently, watching as walked to the other side of the room. "I know you said before that you like sleepin' with a window open," he muttered as he opened the window. "But you don't," you recalled the conversation between the two of you. "It don' matter," he replied with small smile, dismissing you. You smiled back at him as you crawled into the bed, as he turned the light out before joining you beside you. It was the same as the first night you had ever spent together the night before the line-up; mirror image really,

You both tensed before Daryl spoke. "Your pyjamas look good. Nice to see you in 'em again," he mumbled, half jokingly and half seriously. You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips as you turned around towards him, as he did the same. You stared at each other for a few moments, speaking with your eyes. "I missed you. So much," you whispered through the silence. "I missed ya too," he responded. You leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips as you watched him blush at your action. "Thank you, for bandaging me up, for staying with me. For everything," you thanked gratefully. "It's nothin'. I'd do anythin' for ya, you know that," he spoke softly, gazing at your innocent eyes, before placing his hand on your cheek, brushing hair behind your ear. "I'd do anythin' for ya," he said more convincing, in case you didn't know that,

After losing you like he had, he wasn't going to let anything go unsaid anymore. He was never going to take you, your energy, your presence, for granted ever again. You smiled widely at his words and his movement. Your blinking became much slower and Daryl must have noticed, as he moved the hand on your cheek to your waist to pull you towards him. You succumbed to his comforting touch as you smiled warmly, nestling your head into his chest as he was unsure of what to do with his hands, before he wrapped one arm around your waist and brought the other to your head to cradle you even closer to him. Your hums of approval made him relax slightly, feeling at ease knowing you were comfortable,

Daryl waited until you fell asleep to even move from the position he was in, not wanting to disturb your sleep at all. Once he heard your soft snores, he readjusted as carefully as he could, before allowing himself to fall into a comfortable slumber, your warmth being his comfort,

----------------------

You walked through the door to your house cheerily, having spent the whole day with Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Carl; the rest of your family too. The second you opened the door your heart dropped to your stomach, seeing Negan standing there tall, smirking as his eyes met yours. You turned to leave, but realized you weren't in your house in Alexandria anymore, you were in the Sanctuary; in Negan's room. You panicked as you turned to look from the door to him again, but gasped as you realized he was right in front of you now. Before you knew it, his hands wrapped around your neck, pushing you against the door harshly as he laughed maniacally now,

"I told you that you'd have to suffer for what you did to me, pointing to the cut on his side, "you didn't think you'd get away, just like that, did you angel?" You thrashed against his hold, struggling to breathe as he stuck his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. "Oh that's real sweet. But there's no escaping from this, not this time. There's no escapin' from me. You're always going to belong to me. Try as you might, which you certainly are," he boomed mockingly with a wicked smile as he looked at you struggle in his grasp. "L-let go," you whimpered, "get off me. please. get off,"

Your pleas got louder now as he only laughed, worsening his grip as he repeated the things he had been saying as you screamed back at him. "G-get off of me. Let me go," you cried out through your tears, as his words echoed in your brain, all blurring into one another, until there was words that you could make out; your name. "Y/N," you heard the voice get louder and louder, before you jumped, eyes shooting open. Your breathing quickened as you felt hands suddenly touch your upper arms, making you close your eyes rapidly. "Let go," you cried out through your sobs that hadn't halted, as you thrashed around squirming against the grip. "L-let me go. Please," you continued to yell through tears,

"Y/N," the voice said a little louder, and you recognized it, "it's just me." You gasped as you opened your shut, teary eyes wide to see a face; Daryl. You stopped your fighting back to look at him, your chest still rising and falling rapidly, as you scrambled to sit up as his worried gaze followed you. You couldn't catch your breath as you closed your eyes again, trying to make your brain stop playing tricks on you. "Hey, I want you to look at me, sweetheart," you hard Daryl whisper, as you opened your eyes shakily, gazing into his eyes fearfully. "That's it," he replied, his voice rough and gravelly. He slowly reached to take your hand as you flinched slightly when he touched it,

He wasn't sure what to do, but he did the first thing he could think of, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest, his hand on top of your own, holding it there. "You feel that?" he asked you gently, as you nodded feverishly, feeling his heartbeat. "I'm gonna need you to follow that. We're both going to do it. Can you do that for me?" he asked you, his voice soft despite it's low tone as you thought for a moment. "Yeah," you managed to blurt out through your rapid breaths. "Good. Now feel my heartbeat. Follow it. And take a deep breath," he explained slowly, knowing your breathing wasn't the only thing running a thousand miles a minute as your thoughts spun in your head,

You listened to him as you pushed it all aside, focusing on his words and his heartbeat. You managed to take a breath as he took one at the same time as you, breathing out simultaneously. "That's good. Now again," he said as you were able to take another, feeling your heartrate slow already. After a few times of repeating the same process, your breathing slowed down, as it now matched his calm breathing. You began to cry slightly. "I-I'm sorry. I just can't get him out of my head," you choked out, as he pulled you into him, both now in a sitting position on the bed. He felt heat radiating off you as he held you tightly to him. "Sh. I know sunshine, I know," he murmured, tracing lines up and down your back now comfortingly, letting you get it all out. Moments passed, and he felt your sniffling come to a halt, feeling you slump in his hold,

He looked down, seeing your sleeping form against him. He moved carefully, pulling the two of you to lay down as you once had been, trying not to wake you. He got you into the same position as before, playing with your hair in his hand. His heart sank as he saw your sleeping form, so different from your distraught, panic-ridden state only minutes ago. He didn't know how exactly going to help you. But he was sure as hell going to. And if he knew only one thing, it was that he was never going to let anything happen to you ever again. He held you close, allowing himself to fall back asleep next to you

PART 10 COMING SOON ;) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 hope you enjoyed!

TAGLIST: @onlyheretoread2 @lothiriel9 @goosegorl @iheartyouyou @carlgrimeskisser @catisnotademonn @hopefulatrocity

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon x y/n #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you

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andejoe · 2 years

Note

Please write about The straw that breaks the camels back. A generally calm collected Human is having a terrible day (or week or month) and the crew has been asking if they are OK, because who would be at this point, but the Human says it's all good. Then something happens, something small and insignificant, a mild inconvenience at most, but it's the straw that breaks the camels back and all hell breaks loose as the Human goes on a rampage. Your stories are amazing and I've thought about it for years but have zero creative writing abilities.

And if you do please tag me so I can read it as soon as you post!

I’m new to tagging so forgive me if I do this wrong. @lazykingtyrant

Onwards to the story.

—

I was surprised to see Olive at breakfast. She just returned from leave to attend an obsequy for a family person, and I read that for species who bond with family, those rites were quite draining both physically and emotionally. But to look at her, you wouldn’t know it. She appeared exactly the same.

I watched from afar, concerned about my associate but not careless enough to get too close. Olive shared some brief but pleasant words with several others who wished to verify her well-being.

Everything seemed to be ordinary.

And then her straw bent instead of piercing her beverage.

The air around her seemed to darken and slow as she stopped moving.

She tried again, fruitlessly attempting to get a defective straw to break through a functional lid.

On the third try, the straw broke.

She appeared completely fine, but my long dormant instincts warned of danger.

She set down the broken straw, took a breath, and screamed.

Several crew fainted immediately, a long ingrained response to a predator cry. Olive, who normally was the most equable human, did not notice or seem to care.

Other human crew-mates were moving quickly towards the danger.

Olive stood, slamming her hands down on top of her drink cylinder, making a primal and terrifying growl. The drink bent, popping and spraying liquid under the staggering force of the relatively mild human.

Now wet with sticky drink, Olive’s next scream sounded pained, as if wounded. Her crumpled cylinder flew through the air and slammed against the far wall.

More crew scattered, rushing to escape a human with engaged predator instincts. It was a rare sight, and not one normally survived.

Other human crew finally reached Olive, but not before she had thrown her breakfast tray to the floor. They grabbed her arms to stop her, but she slammed her fists down onto the table.

I jumped, falling backwards out of my chair. My instincts may have been dormant, but they were still ingrained. There was only so much I could see before my body reacted.

The other humans were attempting to speak with Olive, and her anger screams were becoming more anguished, and she began to cry.

“Olive, you’re gonna give someone a heart attack! Just talk to us!” Sheryl commanded.

“He cheated on me!” Her wail caused the other humans to pause, but they did not release her. “My grandmothers funeral, and I found him with my cousin!”

Olive became overcome with her own tears. The danger she presented seemed to have passed as she now collapsed in to herself.

“H-he admitted he f-failed his placement test on purpose. He wanted to, to break up with me. He was too chicken to actually go through with it, so he pretended to be supportive and was sleeping with with my cousin the en-entire time.” Olive took a shaky breath. “Everyone knew, and no one told me anything.”

The other humans consoled Olive, holding her close. She wasn’t done though, and kept them at arms length, as if her words wouldn’t come with them too close.

“He sold my car to pay for their house! I built that car with my grandmother! It was the last thing I had of her, and he sold it!”

The humans succeeded in closing around Olive this time, holding her and her words in. Her cries could still be heard. The humans shuffled Olive out of the common areas, rushing her to a predator only space where she wouldn’t trigger the rest of us.

I’d never personally seen a human angry, nor heard a human struggle for air. I doubt I will be able to forget anytime soon.

#humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #I’m trying warnings out #grief cw

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eruden-writes · 2 years

Text

Room & Board - Part 12 (Vampire x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

Early access to Part 13 when it’s ready will be available on Patreon!

Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

Also, my inbox is always open for asks, so don’t be shy!

x x x x x

April 20, 1882

It has been 2 weeks since my last entry. Regrettably, there has not been much to report.

I have continued to visit Tabaeus and provide sustenance when requested. Others have not seemed to realize Tabaeus's dwindling feral appearance as their body shifts to something more human.

The council hasn't decided what to do with the creature. Caged, Tabaeus has been nullified. They have not fed on non-consenting parties nor shown any hostility, unless provoked.

However, a few entrepreneuring minds have tossed in the idea of 'leasing' Tabaeus out to interested parties. Thus, the vampyr would become a source of revenue for the town and a plaything for scientists or doctors with deep enough pockets.

I do not know how to feel about that option, yet there is not much else to consider at this point in time. If there were a way to reverse the vampyrism, perhaps. Which, I suppose, would be reason enough to allow learned minds to study or test Tabaeus.

Tabaeus's screams from Dr. Forsythe's surgery still haunts me, however. I do hope the council puts restrictions on such activities.

May 10th, 1882

The council has concluded to lease out the vampyr.

Tabaeus will remain in the morgue's basement, which has been equipped with safety measures such as silver bars at most exits and religious seals. In hopes of renewed coffers, the mortician has been relocated.

All studies and experiments are to take place on these premises. Interested parties shall be charged weekly, a hefty sum which varies according to the research or experiments to be accomplished.

I will stay on as a keeper, for now. My duties will include recording pertinent findings and relaying other research that may aid a doctor or scientist in their own work. I am also tasked with caring for Tabaeus, as one would an animal.

There is not much to the task, however. I simply provide him food and liquids, perhaps some entertainment by the way of books or art supplies. Something to give him stimulation in that dreary dark crypt of a basement.

I still do not know how to feel about this decision. If Tabaeus could be wrenched from the clutches of corrupt darkness, however, perhaps it will be worth it.

For the rest of the day and into the next, you continue to read Dr. Kieran Bennett's journal. Tabaeus often makes themselves scarce, when they see you nose-deep in the book, perhaps worried about what else you have found.

Or what you will find out.

You shove all suspicions away for the time being. For now, you just want to get through this journal and perhaps answer questions that have been itching at your brain.

Numerous entries fill the pages of the journal, once it's decided to "rent out" Tabaeus. They cover the better part of almost two years since Tabaeus's 1882 discovery. Many new names, new people come through.

Doctors, scientists, students. Even a few priests who try to 'sway Tabaeus's soul toward the light.' Sometimes, the fresh faces linger for months. Other times, they flitter in to get a specimen from Tabaeus or try a small, insignificant theory, before being lost to time.

Garlic has no effect. Silver can burn, but not to a huge detriment. Other than being an annoyance, spilled beans or small pebbles did not paralyze Tabaeus until they were all counted.

All through it, Dr. Kieran Bennett stays by Tabaeus's side. He sleeps in the upper part of the once-morgue, presumably in an apartment where the mortician once lived. Faintly, you wonder how often Kieran let Tabaeus roam the house, if at all. Kieran's tone when it comes to Tabaeus fluctuates over the course of their acquaintanceship.

There are times you swear Kieran is fond of Tabaeus, if not outright loves them. Then the usage of 'creature' and 'it' returns, to once more establish a cold distance.

Eventually, you stumble upon an entry unlike the others.

January 4, 1884

A new figure has arrived on the scene. A one Lord ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. He is allegedly learned in occult studies, medicines, herbology, and more. A modern day Renaissance scholar with a particular interest in unholy things, whether they be items or creatures.

He arrived last night and I have yet to meet him.

With squinting eyes, you try to make out the name that has been blotted out. It is impossible, though. Whether it's due to the ink or time that has passed, you can't make out the once scrawled name nor can you decipher it through the indents of the paper.

Quietly, you hazard a glance at Tabaeus. For once, they have remained close on the opposite end of the couch as you read, although there's still a healthy distance between the two of you. They're focused on their own book - ironically a vampire romance - while Liuva and Bjarka sleep in the pocket of their overall dress.

You wonder if it's worth it to ask them about the redacted name. Likely, it won't be. They won't remember or claim not to remember. But, it couldn't hurt.

With a nudge of your foot against their side, Tabaeus glances up from their book. They toss you an easy smile, delighted at your attention, but their expression falls, seeing the look on your face. "Yes?"

"Do you know who this is?" You turn the journal around, holding it open with one hand and pointing to the smeared ink.

Much as how you did, Tabaeus leans forward and narrows their eyes at the page. You watch their lips minutely move as they read the passage, their brows furrowing as they came to the blot. Their lips press together tight as their eyes drop, but you're not sure if they're trying to remember or trying to come up with an excuse.

"Regrettably, I do not know exactly what it says," Tabaeus sighs, but their eyebrows do not relax. You want to say they're struggling to remember, parting the curtains of time to find the answer, but you can't be sure. "He is an important figure, intimidating. It is all hazy, however."

A contemplative hum drops from your lips as you settle back into the couch. You and Tabaeus share an uncertain look across the space between you. Though you've continued to allow feedings, continued to trust Tabaeus despite the tenuous and muddled situation, there's a part of you still wary. And they are aware of that part.

You see the pain that crosses their features whenever the subject surfaces. It makes an answering ache twinge through your own chest.

"Alright," you shrug and sigh, turning back to the journal. You feel Tabaeus's red gaze linger on you as your re-read the passage, trying to immerse yourself in the words once more. Soon enough, they too return to their book.

January 27, 1884

I do not trust Lord ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛.

Tabaeus becomes tense whenever the man is around. They are clearly upset by Lord ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛'s presence. When asked, they cannot - or will not - say why. No matter how badly they are pressed.

Lord ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛'s treatments appear to be more cruelty than cure, as well.

I fear I feel the same as Tabaeus when it comes to my mistrust of this newcomer. However, my apprehension may be more personal than professional.

Too many townspeople have been discussing my lack of marital inquiries and my disinterest in finding a wife. Oftentimes, they dredge up my time spent with Tabaeus in the next breath.

It has grown... uncomfortable in town.

I do not know if Lord ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ simply picked up on it from burgeoning rumors or if his presence is what allowed the seeds of rumor to take root.

I fear my time here is coming to a close, very soon.

It will be difficult to say goodbye.

You turn the page, wondering who this Lord Blot is, what he was doing. Did he have something to do with Dr. Kieran's proclivities coming to light? Or was it simply happenstance, of a man who spent so much time in the company of a vampire?

Your eyes widen as you stare at the next page.

There is no date, but there is a frantically scrawled words, taking up the better part of the page.

HE IS NOT AS HE APPEAR

Mid-word, the ink makes a harsh line down before a splatter of ink messes the page. But that is not what causes you pause.

Most of the paper is stained a grimy reddish brown. You carefully lift the page, finding the stain has soaked through the remaining pages.

With a realization that makes something in your heart cringe back, you realize there are no further entries.

"Are you feeling well?" Tabaeus's quiet question rouses you from a swirl of nausea.

Feeling more than a little lightheaded, your attention flickers to them. Your eyes wide as your lips part to answer. Then your gaze flickers back to the book. Had Tabaeus killed Kieran? Had the Lord Blot?

Hell, you don't even know if Kieran was dead after writing that passage. Perhaps he just suffered a terrible injury and still lived. But who suffers such an injury while journaling?

"Amata?" You hear Tabaeus set his own book aside and sense, more than feel, their hand hover toward your shoulder. They do not touch you, though. You're not sure if you're grateful for that or not.

"I believe Dr. Kieran Bennett was injured or killed while writing this final passage." Your words are soft as you flip through the stained parchment. Faintly, you wonder if Tabaeus knows that stain is blood, if they could smell or sense it somehow. The air around Tabaeus becomes heavier, colder.

After a quiet moment, you hear them swallow and tentatively ask, "What did it say?"

"Dr. Kieran didn't finish it, entirely." "But I presume the whole statement was: He is not as he appears."

Tabaeus falls silent again, red eyes wide and eyebrows tilted upward. You cannot meet their gaze. Instead, you tilt your attention back to the book. Your teeth worry the inside of your cheek as you think.

Could the 'he' in Kieran's warning be about Tabaeus? Or the blotted out name?

Perhaps the blotted name was Tabaeus's own doing, you think with a start. Maybe it was the name of someone that did know how to do away with vampires, a hunter of some sort. It would make sense for a vampire to be leery of such a figure. Would a vampire's possible lover also have to worry?

When you tilt your attention back to Tabaeus, misery is painted across their features. They see the suspicions clearly on your face.

"Amata," they start weakly. You're not sure what they're going to say. Perhaps once more asking for your trust, reasserting their own uncertainty. Maybe, they were going to suggest parting ways.

Whatever they were about to say, you interrupted as you held up one of the later passages. You jabbed at the splotch of ink with your finger. "Did you blot this name out?"

Tabaeus's lips thin at your question. Now they look away. Your stomach is already in the process of sinking when they answer, "Yes. I blotted the name out a long time ago."

"Why?" The word comes out desperate and exasperated on your lips. As much as you want to believe them, you cannot ignore the conflicted feelings itching at your insides. There was too much piling up against Tabaeus. There wasn't enough information coming straight from the vampire.

They reached up to their head, running a clawed hand through their hair. A mix of expressions pinches their features and their eyes dart around, finding the right words and forcing them out, "I am... afraid of them."

"Who?" Half-answers, non-answer. It's all threading frustration through your thoughts. The only reason you can think Tabaeus to be afraid of anyone was if they were a hunter. Your thoughts spin back to the box, where the journal was safely lodged. Maybe this Lord had killed Kieran and Tabaeus had killed this Lord? Your mind spins with potential answers, but no way to verify any of them. "Why were you afraid of them?"

"I can't say," moans Tabaeus, pressing their face into their hands. You watch them as they scoot even further away, bringing their knees to their chest. As they curl up - though careful of the sugar gliders in their breast pocket - against the far end of the couch. Their shoulders hunch, their voice pitching into pleading though they expect to not be believed. "Please, believe me when I say I couldn't remember them."

With a disgruntled sigh, you snap the journal closed a little harsher than you mean to. From the corner of your eye, you notice Tabaeus flinch at the sound.

Silence blankets the both of you, neither of you looking to the other.

Tabaeus is a flawed source of confirmation and answers. You knew this. Catching your lower lip between your teeth, you try to calm your spiraling thoughts and consider other options.

You still need to research Dr. Kieran Bennett. Perhaps you can access some old records somewhere, via the library. Part of you worries what you'll find out, though.

A chime from your phone draws you from your tense thoughts. Picking it up from the couch's arm, you find a text from Ewan. After a glance to Tabaeus, who is pitifully skulking further into teh couch, you read the message.

Hey! Wanna go get some dinner and catch a movie tonight? We can catch up. ;)

Surprisingly, the message manages to draw a pleasant warmth in your chest, pushing away the cold and dread. After the last couple days, literally binge-reading the journal, you could use a dose of fun. A quick glance to Tabaeus makes you realize they could use it too. You'd been so consumed by the journal, the two of you hadn't really hung out. Not in the fun sense, at least.

Your attention slowly turns back to your phone. Ewan and Tabaeus likely wouldn't want to hang out together, you realize. A swell of disappointment expands in your chest at that thought. Leaving Tabaeus alone, after all of this, seems mean-spirited, as well.

It's not until your phone dings again that you realize Ewan started typing again.

If you'd feel more comfortable bringing your roomie, feel free to.

You just stare at your phone, surprised by Ewan's concession. Considering how both of them acted the other night, you thought you'd have to twist both their arms when it came to being in the same room. Hanging out hadn't even been a consideration, honestly.

Getting Tabaeus to agree, however, might be another problem. Sly-like, you peer over at the vampire, who still huddles far from you. Their expression appears strained and creased. Whatever Tabaeus is thinking of is definitely weighing them down.

Tentatively, you quietly interrupt the heavy silence. "Want to go to dinner and a movie with Ewan and me?"

Tabaeus perks up at your voice, but noticeably deflates at the mention of Ewan. Their arms tighten around their stockinged legs, their eyes refusing to meet yours. "I don't know."

Trying to revive some playfulness in the air, you lean toward Tabaeus with a teasing smile. "Well, if you don't come, Ewan will be all alone with me."

You almost cringe at how half-hearted the delight in your voice sounds. It's proving to be hard, shaking off all the heavy atmosphere.

"Why are you doing this?" Tabaeus sighs and their red eyes flicker to you. Their gaze seems duller than it usually is and you can almost see a cloud of gloomy miasma around them.

At their question, your eyebrows furrow, completely uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"

"How can you live with me if you don't trust me? Why offer to hang out after all that?" Tabaeus pushes themself off the couch, pacing back and forth along it. The sudden movement startles the sugar gliders, who squeak their complaints away. Tabaeus doesn't hear them, though. Their long arms stretch down to the hem of their dress, fussing with the edge of the fabric. "It'd be simpler if you just... just..."

You want to ask 'if I just what?' But you can't. Tabaeus gave you the vampire hunter box with clear intent. And after reading Kieran's journal, you know they'd been kept in a basement for years, experimented on, and even suffered through multiple surgeries.

What other misfortunes had they lived through that hadn't been recorded? Even if Tabaeus was lying about their memory, could it stem from the string of bad luck that seems to have followed them? An ache pierces your chest at that thought. Perhaps there were reasons for Tabaeus's memory problems, beyond trickery or genuine amnesia.

"A lot of things could make this whole situations simpler," you sigh when Tabaeus seems unable to come up with a course of action. If only there was a clear reason for their memory loss. If only there had been more explicit information in the journal. If only, if only, if only... A million thoughts spin around your head, but you shake your head, dispersing them.

Slowly, you get to your feet and approach the vampire. Pausing in front of them, you cross your arms, angling your head to look up at them. "I'm having a hard time believing you would hurt me, but there's still that suspicion that this, how you are, is an act."

Panicked and anguished, Tabaeus's voice crackles as they squawk, "It's not!"

An apologetic smile spreads over your lips, which doesn't seem to ease the woe in Tabaeus's features. Another blanket of silence briefly covers you both. Tabaeus towers over you, their shoulders hunched, staring at their hands still fiddling with their own skirt.

"Look, I think I got too deep, too fast, in this journal." You reach for the book, holding it up and waggling it in the air. With a toss, you throw it back onto the couch. Just holding it makes your head hurt, recalling all the awful things inside its pages. "I need to cleanse my palate and Ewan offered to hang out. Even extended the invite to you."

At that, Tabaeus looks up, surprise glinting in their eyes.

You can't help but smile, almost seeing the thoughts banging about Tabaeus's head. A werewolf extending an invitation to a vampire? How absurd.

Clinging to that image, and other amusements the night may yet bring, your smile finally feels genuine after a long hiatus. "I thought we both could use an outing."

"Perhaps," Tabaeus murmurs, their eyes flickering to your smile. The tension in their stance relaxes, apparently put further at eas with the return of your more pleasant smile.

"Let's forget about this for now and get gussied up." With a renewed sense of vigor, you type a reply out to Ewan - agreeing to meet and saying you would bring Tabaeus - before looking up at Tabaeus again. As your grin broadens, you wink at the vampire. "I'll even let you pick out my outfit."

"Oh," Tabaeus's voice has gone soft, their eyes widening a little. They had asked to dress you, on multiple occasions. Sometimes as a joke, but occasionally a sincere note bled into their words. Now, they shake their head. "You do not want me doing that."

Their hesitance only serves to deepen your amusement. "Why not?"

Tabaeus makes a noise, deep in their throat. Too ashamed to put their thoughts into words. Now, you're simply curious what they have in mind. Feeling more bold and amiable than earlier, you take their hand in yours. Their fingers flex at the sudden touch, before they ease into it.

"Well, let's get ready and knock Ewan dead." Excited to shove the despair away for the evening, you start pulling Tabaeus up to your room. However, you pause and squint up at the suddenly delighted smile pulled across the vampire's face. You sigh when you realize what you had said. "Figuratively knock Ewan dead."

"Killjoy," Tabaeus mumbles as their face falls a little. You snort and roll your eyes, pulling them back up the stairs and toward your room.

Thoughts of the journal - of Kieran and Lord Blot and everything else in those pages - gets shoved to the back of your head. You are still on vacation from work. You have a house. Your roomie is a vampire - who can foot your bills for life - and, quite possibly, a former co-worker is a werewolf.

There would be time to dwell on the past later.

Tonight, you just wanted fun.

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