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softboo · 1 month

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love me, ever so gently - part III

pairing: austin x reader

summary: you recently moved to a new apartment, making some new eccentric friends along the way. but what you didn't expect was falling in love with a stranger. a stranger you somehow couldn't stop thinking about

words: 2.3k

warning: depictions of alcohol, dark themes of domestic abuse in relationships, *minors please don't interact*

author's note: hii here's part III of the story!! this one was a lot of fun to make omg and it wasn't even supposed to go this way at all... it kinda just happened lmfaoo. i'm already writing the next part heh. but yeah, it truly means the world to me that you guys read these stories. like it really warms my heart, so thank you. hope you enjoy <3

previous part // next part coming soon...

part III

"he's being abused cassie," you wanted to be straightforward on the topic, especially with how delicate the issue was. you thought she would say something, but she paused. like the weight of your words were slowly sinking in. the realization and the possibility landing right in front of her.

you were just afraid she wouldn't see it.

and she didn't.

"sweetie, what makes you say that? he seems fine."

for the past few weeks, austin started attending more events. the cooking class being one of his favorites. you no longer sat with him anymore, feeling awkward every time you spoke to each other. the silence became so deafening that you soon changed partners. but a part of you always seemed to wonder how he was doing. if he had any new bruises. if he was still healing from past injuries. if his pain was still there.

and if he was genuinely okay.

from someone who knew nothing, like the rest of your friends, he seemed to be doing amazing. and he was pretty good at keeping that front up.

maybe he found a way to put his guard up even more after you.

you all were spending dinner in the kitchen; evelyn taking her proper position as cook, insisting on making everything by scratch. it took a long time to convince her that george was there to help and when she did accept, he never left her side. making sure she had every ingredient ready.

he genuinely looked like he was a cook working for the head chef, but you and cassandra both knew he was mainly doing it for the food.

"i promise you cassie, he's not okay."

"if he wasn't okay dear, then why is he coming here to spend dinner with us?"

your eyes widened at the news, which made cassandra smile.

"you invited him?" panic started to rise up to your throat, "but why?"

"george invited him because his girlfriend is out of town for two weeks. he's going to be alone and no one deserves to be alone at a time like this."

you gritted your teeth, the thought of seeing him again after so long and now he was spending dinner with your friends made you feel slightly uncomfortable by the idea. not because you didn't want to see him, but moreso because your heart was so desperate to talk to him again.

"cassie, his girlfriend is the problem. he's probably so excited that she's gone, which is why he's attending more events."

"my love, listen to me." she took your hands from across the table, eyeing you with such intent and comfort that she let out a sigh.

"you know why i don't believe you?"

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not knowing where she was going with this.

"because i know how you feel about him," she waited for your reaction, but all you did was blink at her. "let's say this is true, the girlfriend is an abuser, then what?"

"then we help him right?"

"sure dear, but you need to ask yourself if you're doing that because you care about him or because you like him."

you bit your lip. why did there have to be a difference? you can care about someone right?

"and if it's the latter, you need to wait and see if he'll reach out to you. because again, he is taken."

that last part stung because it was true. some little part of your heart thought that maybe, just maybe, if he left his girlfriend, you could come in and be everything he deserved.

but it wasn't that easy. and he wasn't single.

"elvis my boy!! elvis is in the building!!" george exclaimed as austin arrived, wearing a black suit blazer. his blonde hair was styled in a way that looked messy, but accentuated his curls. and his eyes had oceans again, overflowing with life.

but what got you was his smile. he looked genuinely happy, embracing george into a tight hug. something george wasn't used to since he was always the one initiating, but he was all for it.

and for the first time, you doubted yourself and your theory. maybe cassandra was right.

maybe he really was okay.

austin went around to evelyn, who soon grew fond of him as her little cooking mentee. austin learning dinner dishes to desserts from all the classes he attended.

"the food smells lovely evelyn," his lower tone enveloped your heart and you hated how much he really did affect you. evelyn thanked him for his kind compliment.

"austin come and sit, the table is already made." cassandra offered the chair next to you and you panicked once more.

"hi again," his voice was smooth as he maneuvered his way around you to sit at the chair on your left. something about his tone and the way he held himself now felt like he was a stranger to you. like the guy you met before wasn't him at all.

or maybe a part of you saw him as broken and thought that you could be the one to fix him.

but your heart still stuck to that possibility. that this was all a front somehow. but you had no real reason to follow that thought. all you had was that pull on your heart.

"i like your suit," you gave him a weak smile as he thanked you kindly, pressing against the little wrinkled areas and loosening his jacket and tie.

"i just came back from dropping my girlfriend off at the airport so... i'm all yours for two weeks." he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. your heart fluttered when he said that, but you knew it wasn't what he really meant.

evelyn and george placed the food on the table, a beautiful dinner feast for all of you. cassandra followed suit with the rest of the desserts as george popped up from his chair, running to get something.

"we forgot the wine!" he screamed from the hallway, hobbling back with two bottles. he eagerly poured an outrageous amount of wine in everyone's glass, left standing to offer a toast.

"to our new friend elvis," his toothy grin wide and proud as everyone raised their glass too. austin getting flustered as he tried to turn down the compliment, but evelyn insisted.

"and to my first cooking mentee, who i am so proud of," evelyn added, squeezing austin's cheeks. he laughed and you weren't sure why that sound hurt you.

you were the last to raise your glass as everyone cheered.

something about him being a part of the group should be celebrated, but you didn't know why it felt so painful. why him being a part of your life was hurting you.

or why him being happy killed you.

maybe because you wanted to be a part of that in his life, but knowing you couldn't be.

by the time you were done flooding yourself with all your conflicting thoughts, the dinner ended and all that was left was the chocolate cake in the center of the table. and you, picking at the icing with your fork.

you didn't remember anyone saying goodbye though, which made you feel even worse. you weren't exactly sure how much wine you drank either, considering your glass was empty. but you could've sworn it was full just a few minutes ago.

and then you saw him, coming back to your table. his blazer long gone and just his white dress shirt underneath. he looked disheveled but in a good way. something that showed he had a good time with his friends, which he did. he just wasn't sure if he remembered all of it.

"you want to bring the cake upstairs?" his voice felt like a blanket around you.

you looked at him with such confusion because... why would a kitchen have an upstairs?

"upstairs? why am i going upstairs?"

"because you need to go to bed."

"but i don't want to go to your apartment."

and his cheeks flushed red at your firm decision, feeling suddenly embarrassed for what you assumed. he did offer his arms for you to hold onto though, but you were hesitant to take it.

"i'm taking you back to your bed."

you sat there quietly, like you were debating whether or not to trust him. but you couldn't feel your legs so you had no other choice. and he smiled at you as you sat there and contemplated.

it wasn't long until he made the first move, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you up while the other hand made sure you draped your arm around his shoulder. it felt like you were floating off the ground, either you were so far gone now or he was a lot taller than you thought.

when you reached the elevator, he struggled with keeping you upright, multiple failed attempts along the way of you falling forward, which made him almost lose his balance. it was like trying to walk without knowing where to go and not feeling the ground beneath you.

austin finally made it to your door as he tried to fumble through your bag for your key, while you nodded off for a split second. he kept one hand on your head, placing you as close to his chest as possible so you wouldn't fall over again, which made you blush immensely. your arms limply fell around his neck and he didn't mind at all, not even reacting to the way you fit right into the crook of his neck. your face surrounded by the smell of his cologne and little wavy pieces of his hair. you wished you could stay here forever.

"you smell really nice austin..." your words slurring with wine in your breathe. "can i have your cologne?"

"of course you can."

he couldn't help but laugh, which felt like a sympathy in your ears.

he finally found your key, opening the door for you. he slowly let you move first as he followed suit, trying to hold on to the sliver of soberness he had left in him.

it wasn't until you saw your living room that you excitedly left the comfort of his arms and screamed at your furniture.

"oh my gosh... YOU HAVE THE SAME APARTMENT AS ME!!" you squealed, turning back around to pull him into a hug, almost knocking him back outside. he held you for a moment, convincing himself that this was the alcohol talking.

this was just the wine.

"we're in your apartment love," he remarked and you let go all of a sudden and he felt the emptiness with it.

"oh."

your voice sounded so heartbroken that he almost felt bad for smiling at you.

"then why are you in my apartment?"

"because i need to make sure you get to bed okay." the alcohol still wavering a bit in his balance as he tried to maneuver you towards what he assumed was your bedroom. and he assumed correctly.

"i can do it on my own." you protested, finding your bed covers. you felt the softness of your blanket before you collapsed onto the bed, letting out a long awaited sigh. your eyes closed as you tried to ignore him. him and your overly excited heart.

"do you want to change first?"

you perked your head up and suddenly felt the room spinning. you were adament in saying yes, but you couldn't move your legs again.

"go away. i can do it by myself." you whined, slowly getting up and then collapsing on the floor, giggling.

austin just looked at you, holding in a laugh. you tried to push him out of your room and it actually worked, but only because he fell over outside.

"and you stay outside until i'm done." you ordered, your voice stern but slurred.

getting dressed drunk was probably one of the most difficult tasks you had to do at this very moment. and you haven't drank like this since college so you were mixing which part of your shirt was meant for your arm and your head.

by the time you finally had yourself dressed, you opened the door to see austin lying on the ground. his eyes closed, sound asleep.

"austin..." you whispered, crouching over him. the alcohol making you see double for a moment before using the floor to ground you. "austin, you can't sleep here."

he fluttered his eyes open as he gazed back at you. oceans engulfing you in endless waves. his hair all messy now as he just looked at you with such intrigue. it was so inviting.

he was so inviting.

you could've done anything, but you couldn't. you knew you couldn't.

but he was just laying there, gazing up at you like he's never seen you before. like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

you wanted to caress his cheek, play with his hair, tell him he could stay.

but you couldn't.

it broke your heart that you couldn't have him. that he was with someone else.

you mustered enough courage, enough strength for the both of you, and whispered ever so softly to him.

"thank you for taking care of me..." your words blending into each other, feeling as if you were so far away from him.

and without thinking, you let your hand fall on his cheek, moving the little strands of hair that fell onto his face. like it was something natural that you've done for years.

and he closed his eyes to your touch.

you started to tear up, pulling everything you had left in you just to smile at him. that somehow he needed reassurance for your heartbreak.

"your girlfriend is so unbelievably lucky to have you austin," your voice breaking at the end, wanting to so desperately do something. do anything.

but all you did was collapse on the floor next to him, your body feeling limp from all the alcohol. he hardly moved from where he was, your words sinking slowly into his chest.

the weight of everything settling into him.

and for the first time, you were the reason why his oceans went dry.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler #fic writing #romance fiction #first fic #fuck i hate him so much

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strongheartneteyam · 2 months

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I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Pairing: widowed!dilf!jake sully x younger!female!human!reader

CW: slight sexual language, can be triggering to some, heartbreak, age gap kink, hurt/no comfort, age gap relationship problems, angst, reader reminiscing (pls tell me if I missed anything)

So, yeah... I never know when I'm gonna come back with another writing. My hiatus n working periods are all a bit unpredictable lol sorry. Anyways... I literally spent the whole night awake n I was struck by a sudden lightning of creativity early in the morning and I edited this chapter n wrote a bit more, but I still haven't slept at all, so, I apologize if some parts of this make no sense at all. I'll fix it when I can. Hope you guys like it <3 ily guys a whole lot :)) obs: this chapter is a shorter one.

Slightly proofread.

Chapter 4 𓆩♡𓆪

They say all's well that ends well

But I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind

You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine

And that made me want to die

The idea you had of me, who was she?

A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

All Too Well - 10 minutes Version (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

It had been 1 year since the last time you saw Jacob Sully. Or Jakey, like you used to call him. The wound never healed. It still throbbed and bled every time you remembered the words he told you that dreadful day. "I think we should stop seeing each other." It felt like you would never get over him. How can one get over such an overpowering, raw feeling? He marked you forever, like a bruise that seemed to never disappear from your skin.

The flashback came like thunder in a storm, haunting your thoughts with a loud pain that echoed through your mind. What you told Jake that night.

“The truth is I love you. The truth is I can't take this anymore. I'm giving you my everything but you don't seem to be doing the same. You're still guarded.” There was a tense period of silence “Jake… I love you. But I don't think you feel the same.”

Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut, he would still be with you.

Ugh!! Stop that, now, (y/n)! Some self love, please? You're better than this. You deserve better.

You tried to convince yourself of that, at least.

The pain was unbearable at times and almost easy to conceal at other times. It depended on how distracted with work or your studies you were. These days you ran to any distraction that could ease the perpetual angst that squeezed your heart inside its hands all the fucking time. It had been like that ever since Jake left you. What were you expecting anyway? You should have known you were never truly loved by Jake. The love of his life was Neytiri and it would always be, alive and walking through Pandora or dead and with Eywa.

It felt beyond weird to have to hear people talking about Jake and have to pretend he was a stranger to you, someone you barely knew, when he had actually left a mark so strong on you, a memory ingrained in your brain, a feeling, a pain buried inside your heart that made you want to scream and hit your head against a wall. That's how much it hurt.

You would never have his body against yours again, warming you up when it was cold, after you spent the whole day in that damn lab, studying Pandoran plants but all you could really concentrate on was how much you missed his reassuring, protective presence. He made you feel safe for the first time in your life. But now he is gone. Just like every single good thing you ever had in your life. But you know what? Maybe your mother was right, maybe love wasn't really something that could ever last forever.

Did Jake ever really make a real effort to be with you? Thinking back, it was extremely easy for him to just come to you and fuck you anytime he felt sad and lonely. What if you had just been a naive, dumb girl all this time? Were you mourning a love that never actually

existed? It was always so hard to talk to him about his feelings for you, he never actually let you in, to be honest. All the time you two spent together, you were never able to know if he ever saw you as a partner or just a fuck buddy.

Oh, but the high… it was worth all the lows. The butterflies in your stomach every time you guys were almost caught fucking in the back of your work room by Norm. Eventually you guys had to tell him about your situationship because, oh well… he already knew what was going on, really. Norm is not a fool or a child. He could add 2 plus 2.

The adrenaline was worth all the tears. And, fuck… you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

𓆩♡𓆪

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flametrashiraarchive · 11 months

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The Wind and Wisteria- chapter 3.

It’s here!! I have one more chapter left to write and then this part of the story is wrapped up!

I have thought about going back in time and writing about the first time you meet (and bang) Sanemi, or maybe jumping ahead to another sexy adventure. If you’d like more please let me know.

Content guidance: There is no smut in this chapter (but we’ll make up for that in chapter 4.) CW for violence and blood.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2|

Chapter 3

The morning after the kiss, Sanemi is called away on another mission. His Kasugai crow wakes up the entire house as it frantically delivers the message, and Sanemi leaves before dawn. He doesn’t say goodbye, which isn’t surprising. He never has.

It takes a week for the tingling to subside whenever you remember the sensation of his lips on yours, and even then it catches you off guard when you think you're safe.

You try your best to push him from your mind and throw yourself into your work.

Little by little, day by day, your house empties. Most of the kakushi have left by the second week. A few days after that the doctor returns to check on Kyojuro Rengoku, the wounded flame hashira.

After checking him over, the doctor proclaims that the patient is out of immediate danger and recovering well. To be honest though, you could have told him that. Your home has been filled with Rengoku’s loud, effusive laughter for a couple of days.

“Someone needs to write a study on the healing properties of your shrimp tempura, my friend,” Kyojuro sits in bed a month after he first came in with his injuries, happily working his way through his second plate of the dish that afternoon as you change his dressing on his chest.

You chuckle and shake your head. “Eat your fill, Rengoku-sama. If anyone deserves to consume their body weight in crustaceans it’s you.”

“I truly cannot thank you enough.” The flame hashira is all smiles once more. His good eye is full of light and warmth, the other still concealed behind a patch. It won’t work again but it doesn’t seem to bother him. None of his injuries do. He’s still just as pleasant, enthusiastic, and friendly as ever. “But please don’t concern yourself with formalities. Kyojuro is just fine.”

You finish dressing his wound, which appears to be healing well considering. “The doctor confirmed that you're well enough to travel to the butterfly mansion today. The kakushi will be here soon to take you.”

“Ah! The butterfly mansion? That is good news. Perhaps my brother can visit? My family’s home isn’t far from there.” He puts his hand on yours and smiles. “But I will miss the tempura, my friend.”

You laugh, “I’ll pack some for you to eat on the journey.”

“You’re a blessing. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.”

"Well thank you for being such a wonderful guest. And for all that you do, Kyojuro."

He squeezes your hand and smiles, radiating warmth and kindness.

You leave the room in a wonderful mood. It does your heart so much good to see the flame hashira alive and well, and to be honest, you’re going to miss him when he goes.

When the Kakushi arrive later that day with a cart to carry him to the butterfly mansion, you stand at the front door to your house and wave him off. A wry smile pulls at your lips, because you can still hear him talking and laughing long after the road curves and he disappears from view.

It’s a beautiful evening and your home is empty once more. You head out into your garden to bring in the laundry. The sun has just set, leaving the sky kissed with hues of gold and pink. The breeze blows through the sheets and sways the wisteria blossoms, scenting the air with a sweet, pleasant smell. You close your eyes and just stand there, appreciating the beauty of the fading day before turning round and almost slamming right into–

“Sanemi?”

Right away your body begins to heat and some foolish part of you hopes he came back to finish what he began in the kitchen a month ago.

But his lips are downturned, his eyes are weary, and they’re looking everywhere but at you. “I need to stay here tonight.”

Whatever mission he has been on the past month has visibly taken a toll on him; there are fresh scars on his arms and chest, and when his gaze finally settles on you, there are horrors reflected there beyond your imagination. There's also an open wound on his shoulder.

Sanemi may be a difficult man to deal with–and a difficult man to develop feelings for–but there isn’t a person alive who can claim to fight harder than he does against the demons who feed off humanity. And whatever feelings you have for him pale in comparison to your duty as the mistress of a house with a wisteria crest.

“Okay. Well, of course you’re welcome here as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. I’ll prepare a room for you.”

"Thank you," he says, his eyes still fixed on the ground.

"You're bleeding… should I fetch–?"

"I'm fine," he says bluntly.

His voice has always contrasted sharply with his appearance. To look at him; his scars, his wild eyes and unruly hair, you would never expect his voice to be so smooth and calm. It's the type of voice that can send shivers down your spine even when he isn't whispering filth in your ear.

You lead him into your house. He knows the way by now; he has stayed with you so many times, but he follows a step behind as if he needs your guidance.

"Here you are," you say quietly, gesturing to the room he has stayed in time and time again.

He pulls in a long, slow breath and raises his eyes to meet yours. For a moment it seems as though he's about to speak but then he looks away again.

The air between you is stifling.

"Sanemi–"

"Don’t." He grits his teeth and glances away, a quiet growl sounding at the back of his throat. "I know I shouldn't have come back, I just didn't know where else to go. I'll leave in the morning."

That hurts a little but you're not about to tell him that. "Fine. Do what you like, but if you won't let me fetch the doctor to look at that wound, at least let me clean it and bandage it. Otherwise it could fester."

A dismissive grunt sounds in his throat as he takes his katana from his belt and props it against the wall. He gestures to his scarred face and torso. "Look at me; I know how to treat wounds. Bring me the supplies and I'll do it myself. I don't need you."

There's no point in arguing. You know Sanemi will only dig in his heels.

"Such a stubborn ass," you mutter under your breath as you head off to get the supplies. You always have a first aid kit on hand because of how often demon slayers come to you with minor cuts and scratches.

The world outside the window is pitch dark now.

As you head back to the room you notice a trail of little blood droplets all the way down your hallway floor leading to the room, and your chest tightens with worry. The wound is clearly worse than Sanemi is letting on.

Approaching the room you try to make him see reason, "Sanemi this looks a little worse than–"

He's asleep.

You hesitate in the doorway, instinctively afraid of waking him. But asleep or not, one of you needs to stop the bleeding. You head into the room and approach the sleeping hashira. For the first time since you've known him he looks peaceful.

Sanemi barely stirs as you sit on the edge of the bed and begin to tend to his wounds. His eyes open only slightly before he mutters something unintelligible and drifts back off.

Carefully– and with considerable difficulty since Sanemi is absolutely no help whatsoever– you remove his haori so you can better access the wound. His hashira uniform is sleeveless beneath, which makes this a whole lot easier.

The wound is fairly deep but looks far less dire once you get the dried blood cleaned up. In fact, it's odd that it left a trail of blood droplets at all. It doesn't look like it needs stitches but it's likely he'll have yet another scar.

You apply pressure, trying not to let your gaze linger on him for too long. As always it's a battle you lose.

Finding yourself attracted to Sanemi is a curious thing.

At first glance you can't help but see his scars and bloodshot eyes, and his general air of shitheadedness. But once you notice how handsome he is beneath all that, his beauty takes root in your heart and refuses to stop blooming. It isn't just his muscles or the scars or the way he can fuck you. It's the tangle of contradictions which make him who he is.

No one treads the line between angel and devil quite like Sanemi.

You finish bandaging his wound and stand to leave, halted by the sudden sensation of his hand around yours.

"Stay," he murmurs softly, his sleepy voice laced with a vulnerability you aren't used to hearing from him.

So you stay.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, holding his hand as he sleeps. Sanemi's hands break your heart. They're hands which have endured and dealt unimaginable pain. His knuckles are scarred, his palms thick and callused from years of wielding his blade.

And yet that night, when he kissed you, those hands which have known so much violence, caressed you with more tenderness than you ever thought existed.

Even the way they feel when he touches you; when he's rough, bordering on brutal, his wounded, abused hands still have the ability to coax out so much pleasure.

His hands are just another of Sanemi Shinazugawa's contradictions.

Deep down inside, an urge stirs in your chest; the urge to keep holding onto his tired hands forever.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know," you say quietly as he sleeps.

He stirs ever so slightly, rolling onto his side and bringing the back of your hand to rest on his cheek. Your heart squeezes as his brow furrows and he gently nuzzles your hand before falling still once more. You can’t help but smile.

A sinister, inhuman laugh breaks through the stillness, and at once the air reeks of fetid, rotting flesh. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"Mmm… the air here is ripe with marechi blood," a demonic voice snarls from above.

Fear shoots through your body; a deep, primal instinct telling you a predator is near. You're suddenly no more than a rabbit realizing too late that a fox is in your warren. You freeze, not daring to look up.

Droplets of blood drip from the ceiling onto the white bed sheets.

Panicked, your instinct is to wake Sanemi, but the moment you try to rouse him, you're pulled away from him and dragged out the door with so much force you don't even have time to scream.

In the blink of an eye you're outside surrounded by darkness and trees, and staring into the blood-red eyes of the demon.

Sharp teeth and claws, blood running from its eyes like rivers of tears, and that cruel, inhuman laugh.

Your back is pressed to the cold earth as the demon scrapes a long, black claw along your cheek. Its mouth hangs open, drool dripping from its fangs, ready to bite into your flesh. Your hands find a fallen stick and you shove it into its mouth, preventing it from biting you.

Wicked laughter rattles from between its lips as it bites the stick in two. Your efforts bought you a couple of seconds, nothing more.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" it growls, plucking a splinter of wood from between its teeth. "That's good. Adds a peppery taste to your flesh. Tell me, are you the one with marechi blood, hm? Or is the sleeping one? Doesn't matter either way, I'll eat you both."

You don't hesitate to ram the jagged point of the broken stick into its neck, the bones of your arm rattling from the force.

Gargled curses fill the air as blood spills from the monster's mouth. If it were a natural creature, that would be the end of it, or so close enough that you could attempt to escape, but the demon recovers quickly, its flesh healing before your eyes as you try with every last remaining ounce of your strength to overpower it.

Don't give in. Fight. Fight. I have to fight.

You wedge your feet beneath its belly and push with all your might, sending the gargling fiend back just a few inches, enough for you to wriggle free and crawl out from under it.

The demon only laughs, wiping away tears of blood as you find your feet and begin to run. In an instant it's on you once more, pinning your arms behind your back and stopping your escape. Your instincts scream at you to break free from his iron grip.

Whatever it takes, you must survive.

"I was going to kill you quickly, but not anymore. I'll break your arms and legs, make you watch as I eat your lover. I'll take my time with both of you," it snarls into your ear. "Feast upon you one little piece at a time so you live as long as possible. Your screams will echo in this place long after you are gone."

Kicking back with all your might, your heel is met with the solid boney flesh of its leg. It doesn't flinch. It isn't enough.

I'm going to die.

A sudden wind blows, so strong it steals your breath away, and apparently knocks the demon back, because at once your arms are free and you fall forward onto the ground.

The figure of a man appears, crouching defensively in front of you, blocking your line of vision.

His all too familiar voice calls out to the darkness, "I'll tear you to fucking shreds!"

"Sanemi!"

The hashira doesn't move. He remains crouched between you and the demon, like a wild beast waiting to pounce upon its prey.

You move to try to pull yourself up, but he reaches a hand behind him and places it between your shoulder blades, pushing you firmly to the ground. "Stay down."

The demon cackles in the darkness. "Ah… a hashira, is it? Good. The pair of you will make a fine meal."

The voice seems to come from every direction at once.

"Come on out, demon," Sanemi calls. "You think you can take me on? Bring it on, you ugly fuck."

A snarl sounds from above, and a fraction of a second later, Sanemi pounces. His movements are so fast your eyes can barely keep up. He and the demon clash mid-air, his blade slicing its abdomen in half. It's not enough to kill the demon, but Sanemi doesn't hesitate to slice again and again, carving the demon to pieces.

"What's the matter?" Sanemi taunts as the demon thrashes on the ground. "You thought you could get away with attacking her? Well you were dead wrong." He stabs the demon again. "What was it you said? Your screams will echo in this place long after you're gone?" He smiles, plunging his blade into the demon's eye socket and twisting it. "Thanks for the inspiration."

The demon shrieks, its claws swiping helplessly in Sanemi's direction. The hashira simply swings his blade, slicing off the demon's hands. And then he stabs and stabs. The demon's pained howls ring through the darkness.

Sanemi's eyes are wide and wild. "I'm gonna send you to hell, and when you get down there you're going to give every demon you see a message. Understand? I'm going to carve this message into your damn soul so every demon that comes after you instinctively knows it. Burn these words into your blood." He grips the demon by the hair and yanks its head up and around, snapping its neck to make it look at you. Sanemi jabs a finger in your direction. "You don't get to threaten her. You don't get to hurt her. If any demon so much as thinks about it, I'll kill them far, far more slowly and painfully than this. Got it?"

There's so much fury, so much possession in his voice, and as he delivers the killing blow to the demon, you can only lie there, astounded.

The demon's body crumbles to smoldering ash, carried away by the fresh night air, and the forest falls completely silent.

"Are you hurt?" Sanemi asks.

"No. I'm fine." You pull yourself to your feet and dust yourself off.

"No you're not, idiot." He steps up to you, tilts your chin with his index finger, inspecting the claw mark on your cheek.

"I said I'm fine."

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. "You sound like me. But yeah, you're right. It's just a cut." As quickly as his smile appears, it dissolves to a scowl. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. It took me a minute to figure out what had happened to you. I'm not at my best right now."

"That wasn't your best?"

He shakes his head. "I'm exhausted."

"You fell asleep so deeply and so quickly before. Was that the demon's influence?"

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. "No. I'm just… tired. I'm so tired of fighting, of losing people, of feeling like we're never gonna win. The only time I ever feel good is when–" he cuts himself off and turns away from you. "The mission I was on this past month… The victims were kids. I haven't been able to sleep since. Not until I came here." He adds quietly. "Not until I came here… to you."

"Sanemi–" You take a step toward him, half expecting him to flinch away, but he doesn't. He lets you bring up your hands to cup his face.

"Goddamn it. I've tried to push you away. I've tried to stop myself from feeling anything for you but…" He mirrors your gesture, carefully caressing your cheeks with his scarred and bloodied hands. "Caring for you terrifies me, because everyone I've ever found comfort in has died. Every one of them."

"You care for me?"

"Dammit I've tried not to. At first it was just sex and spending a few hours drinking sake and pretending to be normal, but then…" He sighs. "I thought if I never looked you in the eyes, if I just focused on pleasure and kept you at a distance I could keep fucking you and stop myself from caring but I can't. I can't. And now you're the only person I've cared for that I've been able to save and… maybe that means something."

Your cheeks are burning, your heart pounding to a frantic rhythm.

"Fuck. Say something." His voice is tinged with desperation. "Tell me to leave you alone. Tell me you don't want me–"

"Never."

His eyes widen and a look of sheer panic crosses his face.

"Sanemi, I can't do that." You pull in a deep breath. "I am yours."

"You're…"

"Yours."

His lips are on yours a heartbeat later, but where the first kiss was gentle and tender, this is anything but. He pins you to him, his lips possessive and desperate, claiming you entirely. There's no hesitation, no reluctance, just relief and release. One of his hands tangles in your hair, and you’re barely balancing on tiptoe as he holds you against his body with his other arm at the small of your back.

You kiss him back with just as much passion, burying your fingers in his hair, feeling him groan against your lips. The heat of his body pulses against yours as he kisses you.

He pulls back, hands holding your face as he grits his teeth and you brace yourself, expecting him to walk away again. But he just strokes his thumb across your cheek, following the path of the demon's shallow claw mark.

"I'm never going to let you get hurt again," he whispers. "You hear me?"

He kisses you again without waiting for an answer, this time softer but no less passionate.

"Tell me you're mine," you whisper against his lips.

The soft moan which emerges from him is enough to send shivers through your entire body.

"I'm yours," he says. "I'm yours. And I've been an idiot. Let me… I can make it up to you. I'll do anything."

This time, you kiss him, and your heart somersaults when he kisses you back. "Take me home."

Sanemi nods and takes your hand in his. "Let's go back then. I'll take you back home and I'll do what I should have done the first time you asked."

...To be concluded...

#sanemi x you #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi fanfic #kimetsu sanemi #shinazugawasanemi #shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer sanemi #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x f!reader

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commander-rahrah · 7 months

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Talking to the Moon: Part III

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~4450

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here

Summary: Set in Act II in Moonrise Towers, after meeting Ketharic and Araj the first time; Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings for you, and takes a chance.

Notes: I love elements of both versions of Astarion’s confession scene, so I decided to combine them and add a little extra to them too! There is some dialogue borrowed from the game from Astarion's actual confession, but I added a lot more into it, especially with Tav/Reader's responses.

I love this pairing so very much. I know it is very soft, but I just think Astarion deserves someone soft and gentle and patient with him.

Thank you for reading and interacting! It means so much to me ♡♡♡

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Bile was rising in Astarion’s throat. The scent of the room, the things that drow was doing to those vials of blood. It was wrong, all wrong. He thought he was a monster for the curse bestowed upon him. But whatever experiments were being conducted, they were monstrous in a completely different sense. His entire being had screamed at him to flee when she had turned her violet eyes onto him. He hated that she even knew his name. He wanted to get as far away from this miserable tower as possible. To go find the stupid artifact for themselves and never return. And the drow was still trying to convince him. Gods, he wished she would just give up. Maybe if he just gave in — it would be only a moment, and then it would be over. His body would still cringe as he remembered it, but he could just add it to the list. But then he glanced to you. You had shown him, the other night, the power of listening to yourself. Of stopping. Of saying no. Really, you had been teaching him that over and over during your little adventures together. When he first realized his new found freedom, all he could focus on was being away from Cazador. Being away from his looming, threatening presence — the pain, the anguish. What he didn’t realize was that freedom came with something else. Autonomy. A choice. Astarion had been making many of them, every day for weeks and he hadn’t realized. Sometimes they were tiny, insignificant decisions. And sometimes they were remarkable… or foolish. But they were his and his alone. And he felt like he could make them. That he wouldn’t be punished or gutted by the group. Betrayed or humiliated for it. And that was because of you.

When Astarion had decided to seduce you he had done it for his protection. He had seen your abilities and power those first few days and realized the threat you could pose to his master. He had done it to ensure you would be on his side, always — that you would never turn on him. What he hadn’t expected was how your protection would really feel, what it would entail. He knew he had your blade and powers now — just as you had his. But what you had given him was so much more than just your abilities. It was sanctuary. He felt shielded, secure. He could let his guard down, he had let his guard down with you. He could make decisions and mistakes and grow… Feel what he wanted, think what he wanted. So as he stared at you, his mind resolved. His red eyes narrowed as he gave his attention to the drow one final time, “I gave you my answer.” She scoffed, “Your control over your spawn has lapsed. Order him to do this, you will not regret it.” The alchemist spat at you, her arms crossed with irritation from his rejection. Even just the word spawn made the hairs on the back of his arms raise. And she thought you were his master. He knew exactly what Cazador would do if he were here. A bleak thought tried to surface in his head, but he forced it away. No, you weren’t like Cazador.

He trusted you. Your nostrils flared as you snapped your head to the mad alchemist, “He is his own person. And he gave you his answer.” “If you would just—“ “No,” You growled, stepping forward with your lips in a snarl. “He said no.” The group blinked at you — you had never been so short with anyone. You were usually flowery and lighthearted even when were outright rejecting someone. Even when someone had a blade pointed to your chest, you were at least civil. They had never seen you like this. Astarion’s red eyes flickered across you face, you seemed just as upset as he did. He could hear your heart thundering, your blood boiling. “Stay away from him.” Your tone was final, your jaw set. “I’ve had enough of this wretched place. Let’s get out of here.” You huffed, turning on your heel and marching out of the tower. Astarion trailed behind you and the rest of the group, studying you carefully. You were vibrating. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you this mad. He almost expected you to go into a rage like Karlach did. He knew you would often put on a mask — one that said everything was fine, everyone was good. You used it because you wanted to be a good leader, because you so often wanted to see the best in the world. He had seen it slip up before, had seen you remove it just for him. But this anger was something entirely new. And it was on his behalf? Astarion grasped that in defending him, not only had you revealed something about yourself, you had made him feel something he had not known in hundreds of years. Respected. Safe. Alive. Not a pawn or tool. A person. He realized that you were both just two people. And that one of you (and maybe if the gods were kind), both of you… stupidly cared for one another.

Fallen for the other. His plan had gone out the window much sooner than he wanted to admit to himself. He hadn’t been performing with you for quite some time. No, he had not been your plaything or object of desire. He had been… himself. A version of himself he had never known he could be. And the final step was to relinquish the thing he was harboring — control. To show you what he truly has to offer. To put his faith in you. And trust that in turn you would listen, and understand. And not immediately stake him through the heart. A thousand scenarios of how his confession would go began to swirl in his head. But his shoulders lifted as you all left the oppressive atmosphere inside. Even the doom and gloom of the Shadlowlands was appreciated over the dark energy swirling in Moonrise Towers. “Well, that was not what I’d expected.” Gale broke the silence first as the party finished crossing the bridge away from the imposing tower. You were about to begin the trek back to your camp. “Ketheric is…” “An abomination.” Lae’zel interjected, her teeth barred slightly as she spoke. Shadowheart let out a loud breath from her nose, “Agreed.” “Everyone in that place is vile.” Wyll grimaced as he looked over his shoulder, “That alchemist…” He glanced over to Astarion, worry plastered over his face. Though the vampire was sure it was for his missing father more than anything, not for him. “She was a little obsessive. But can you blame her?” Astarion put on his usual snark, letting out his fake laugh as he gestured at himself. “It wasn’t obsessive, it was disgusting.” Your voice was low — your distaste was clear. “She didn’t treat you as a person, only an object of her desire.” “She isn’t the first.“ He gave you a sad smile, before quirking his white eyebrows. “Well, she will be the last. And how dare she look to me, to try and get me to what—leash you? Control you? How dare she think of me as your master—“ “Darling,” Astarion grabbed onto your elbow, halting your rant and your movement. “You aren’t Cazador, trust me.” No, Cazador would have leapt at the opportunity. Not even for the potion. The sadistic bastard would make him do it just to get off on his humiliation. You were as opposite of Cazador as there could possibly be. The furrow in your brow softened, before you nodded your head. The pair of you looked around to realize you had stopped in the middle of the pathway, the rest of the party halted as well, watching your interaction. Realizing the sudden attention you cleared your throat, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you turned your attention back to the group. “Well, I think it’s best we get back to camp to strategize, right?” “Right.” Wyll nodded at you with a knowing smile, before you and the warlock started to lead the group again. Astarion’s red eyes trailed after you, a soft look tugging at his features. “You’re looking a little smitten lately, Fangs.” Karlach poked him in the ribs as she walked by, “Don’t worry, they look at you like that too.” She said over her shoulder, before taking extra long steps to catch up with you.

He fought the smile that stretched his lips, before trailing after you.

• • •

Astarion knew he was being anything but subtle as he sat across the campfire from you. His red eyes continually found their way to your figure throughout the evening. The different scenarios he had been imagining in his head were still swirling, consuming his every thought. When he told you his intended plan, but how he had fallen for you instead — how would you react? What if he told you and you laughed? Or screamed? Or attacked? His mind was a cruel, treacherous thing he realized. But his half-dead heart still thumped with the same tune of... hope. What if you had fallen too? Your laughter snapped him back to the present, the joyous sound something he had missed hearing lately. The shadowlands did not leave much time or room for happiness and lighthearted moments. But this evening seemed to be an exception. Gale continued his story, some tale of his about being a foolish boy with much too much time and magic on his hands. The group was hovering and sitting nearby as they listened. Even Shadowheart had joined, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips as she listened with Karlach’s arm slung behind her waist. “The hubris of wizards.” Lae’zel sneered with a roll of her eyes. “I do not understand how you have made it this far in life, istik.” “Dumb luck?” Wyll joked as he ruffled Gale’s brown hair. “Har har," The wizard rolled his eyes, before raising his finger in counterpoint, "But to be fair, the spell was transcribed improperly—" The group groaned collectively, but it was Karlach who spoke up, “Nooooooo, no more talk of proper etiquette and techniques. You’re the only one who cares for it!” He slumped, “Ugh, I miss Tara. She and I would have the most heated debates about proper techniques…” You placed an arm around his shoulders and gave him a half hug. “She is a much better companion than we are then.” You grinned at him, before finishing the last of your meal and placing the empty dish on your lap.

Envy coursed through Astarion at your casual touch with Gale. He wished... He wished he could touch that easily. Be touched that easily, so casually. Without a second thought.

“Are you done?” Shadowheart stood above you, with her small hand outstretched and gesturing to the empty dish in your lap.

“I— oh, yes,” You stumbled over your words before you held it out for her. She grabbed it gently, and you let out quiet words of gratitude. The cleric bowed her head bashfully, before grabbing the other dishes and heading to the river to wash up. Shock went through your face, your eyes shining bright and hopeful. It was the most interaction you’d had all week — and it had been soft and gentle. Remorseful, even. Karlach caught your eye and gave you a small smile — nodding her head in reassurance at you.

Eventually, the tell-tale signs of the camp beginning to wind down for the night started. Gale grabbed a glass of wine and his spellbook, before excusing himself to his makeshift desk near his tent. Wyll and Karlach were now playing cards, chuckling softly between hushed stories. Lae'zel had excused herself for an early night, and Shadowheart remained at the fire pouring over a book she had picked up today. You were kneeling in front of your tent, searching through your pack for something.

The vampire glanced around once more — if he didn't do it now, he didn't know when he would build up the courage to do it again. Standing up, he nervously picked at the sides of his leather pants as he tread closer to your tent. He made purposeful steps as he approached, alerting you of his presence.

"Astarion, hi." You sounded breathless as you stood up quickly, abandoning your belongings on the ground.

“Walk with me?” He quirked his eyebrow, his hands still twitching apprehensively at his side. “Sure,” You said with an easy smile, falling into step by his side as he brought you towards the sandy bed near the river. The sounds and sights of the camp began to get quieter and quieter as you walked away.

You both took in the sights around you, the dim evening light revealing the dark water that was flowing slowly and a quiet breeze that didn't snare in any of the bare branches. “Even with the curse — this place can be quite beautiful sometimes.” His red eyes glanced around before settling back on you, “You think so?”

"I do."

He thought that spoke more about you, then it did about the Shadowlands. Seeing the beauty in somewhere like this, was a reflection of your own. You made him believe that some good and beauty could really be found in such darkness. Clearing his throat, he spoke with his fingers twirling behind his back, “I brought you out here because… I think we need to talk.” You cocked your head, “About what?” “I— I, uh…," His steps stopped, then yours. "I want to thank you.” “For?” He turned to face you, “For what you said while I was in front of that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same — to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.” You winced, “I would never — You should never have to do something you don’t want to." “It’s a novel concept, I admit." He gave you a sad smile, "And a little intimidating… it would have been so easy to do it. Just to go along with what I was being told to do. A moment of disgust to force myself through. And then I could have carried on, just like before…”

But things were different now.

“That would’ve been wrong. How she treated you, how he treated you is wrong.”

"I know. I know that now. The entire reason for my existence was to seduce anything with a pulse. And every instinct I have tells me that nothing’s changed. That I’m still just a means to an end... But you made me see that I never stopped thinking like I was still his slave, even in freedom. But I’m more than that. More than a thing to be used.” The vampire stood up a little taller, his chin lifting.

"You are so much more, Astarion. You deserve so much more.” His mouth twitched as he tried to force down the swell of emotion climbing up his stomach and into his throat. “Are you all right?” “Oh yes, I’m fine. I just — feel awful." His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes glancing down to his boots. "Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan — seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy — instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in." He finally looked up at your face, studying intensely for your reaction.

"All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You… you’re incredible.” Your eyebrows raised on your face as you stepped a little closer, “Astarion… what are you saying?” “I'm saying... That I’ve fallen for you.” He finally admitted.

A look of astonishment crossed your face, before your lips pulled into the most beautiful smile he had even seen. If you were about to stake him — at least it would be a sweet death.

“And I you.” You whispered back. His mind went berserk, the thudding in his ears amplifying even more. “You — you have?” He sputtered. “Absolutely. Astarion, you are wonderful, you are… My parents paid for some of the best tutors you can find on this continent, and I still can’t think of the words to describe you.”

You both let out breathy nervous laughs, both of your eyes darting across the other's features with grins on your face.

The corners of his mouth turned down as he got serious, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” “So do I. More than anything.” You admitted, your eyes sparkling with hope and maybe something a little more. “I just don’t know what real looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. Being close to someone — any kind of intimacy— was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

Because he did want to. There had been moments with you that had brought him such unexpected bliss, touch and pleasure more euphoric then anything he could have imagined. And he wanted to experience that again with you, all of it with you. But he wanted to experience it without it being marred from his past. “I care about you — deeply. For longer then I should admit… My feelings for you have been about more than sex and attraction for quite some time now.” He knew what you were saying was the truth. He’d seen the look on your face in the Last Light Inn — the hurt and pain etched into it when you thought he only saw you for sex. That in the last few weeks you too, had been stepping away from the physical — and yet, you still spoke to him, protected him, cared for him.

But he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his mind. "Really? You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure. May I hug you?” You asked carefully, your brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Uncertainty flooded through him. No one had asked his permission like this before. No one had offered affection without some end in sight. But he remembered your previous soft touches, and noticed how cautious you were being now. He nodded his head, convinced. He awkwardly moved his arms out, unsure of how to do this.

You wrapped your arms around him slowly, giving him ample time to change his mind or pull away. He felt your fingers bunch the material on the back of his shirt, tugging at it gently. Your scent filled his nostrils, your warmth seeping into his cold body. No one had very touched him like this, comforted him like this. He choked back the sob that almost escaped him, his mouth puckering before he wrapped his own arms around you — burying his head into the side of your neck and pushing into you more.

Astarion wasn’t sure how long you stood there like that — but he didn’t really care. He hadn't realized how long he had yearned for this, for you.

It took every fiber of his being to pull away from you, but he caught your hand before you could fully pull away. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing... or what comes next." He placed his other hand on top of yours, enveloping them with what he hoped was a tender touch. "But I know that this? This is nice."

You gave him another life-changing smile, “It is. Isn’t it?”

He couldn't stop himself from matching your expression, “Gods, I feel so foolish — I don’t know how to do this, to be romantic or anything without—“

You interrupted him softly, “We will learn together. And take our time doing so.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so patient and kind? It makes me like you even more.” He said exasperatedly, staring at your now intertwined fingers.

You looked up to the now inky black sky, “It’s getting late,”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “I don’t want to turn in yet. I just got you to myself…”

“There will be more nights, I promise.” You assured him.

His eyebrows rose as he had an idea, but the worry of rejection flooded through him, “Would you, if you wanted, you can say no—“

“Starry.” You gave him a reassuring nod, your eyes telling him to speak up for himself.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked in a hushed tone.

You quirked your lips, “Perhaps you need more time before we share a tent — even just to sleep. I do not want to rush you.”

“I—I must admit I quite enjoyed having you next to me while we just slept at the inn." He confessed.

“You would be comfortable with that?”

He nodded, “Yes, I believe so.”

“And if you change your mind?”

“I will tell you. I promise.”

“As you wish, love.” You squeezed his fingers once more, before beginning to lead him back towards the camp.

He stumbled behind you for a moment, slightly dazed.

Love. The name made his heart swoon and flutter. Gods, his name on your lips had made him come alive again, but that single word made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

• • •

Thankfully the rest of the party had retired to their tents by the time you two returned. The campfire snuffed out, and supplies tucked away. Scratch had lifted his head from his watch on a rock as you approached, but settled quickly as he saw who it was.

You had changed in your own tent, insisting on that boundary until more time had passed. You had been shivering in your nightclothes as you slipped into his tent and immediately hid under one of his blankets. Astarion had chuckled before joining you, leaving a respectable amount of space between you. A comfortable amount for him, as you insisted.

He couldn't help but look at you laying next to him. When he had laid next to you in the inn he had to force himself to look away, but he allowed himself to now. Your face and hair glowed in the soft light of the few candles he had kept lit. His eyes focused on your lips as you licked them before speaking.

“You are much braver than I am.” You whispered, keeping your voice low so as not to wake your sleeping companions.

The vampire scoffed, “Me? Brave? Darling, don’t make me laugh. I made Karlach wear me like a backpack today to cross over vines.” “To say what you did tonight first… I had been trying to work up the courage but I… I think I care about you so much it just terrified me.”

He had seen you stand up to cambions, run through burning buildings. But that is what terrified you? “Why?” Your brow instantly furrowed, your eyes flashing down. “I… I never thought you would reciprocate. I was happy to take whatever scraps you gave me because I just assumed… I’ve been told I’m hard to love most of my life. Too loud, too much.” “I could never have enough of you.” The words left Astarion’s lips without a second thought. Instant tears formed in your eyes, turning them silver in the glowing candle light. You clutched your chest for a moment, before brushing the tears away, “Oh, you can’t just say things like that.” “Even if they are true?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Astarion… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

He scoffed, "If anyone should be asking that it’s me.”

You shook your head at his intended self-deprecation, before settling onto the bedroll as you prepared yourself to sleep.

He watched your eyes flutter open and closed for a few times, before he spoke again quietly. “Would you tell me one of the things?”

“Hmmm?” You asked with a hum, your eyes still closed as you rolled slightly closer to hear him. “A few weeks ago you— you said that you wished I could see myself the way you do… How do you see me?”

Though he was overjoyed with you reciprocating his feelings, he couldn’t help but be bewildered by them. Why him? Out of all the people you had met and befriended, why in the hells had you picked him? He was violent, arrogant, traumatized…

Your expression softened as you opened your eyes, a happy sound escaping you as you thought. “I love the way you act when you think no one is looking.” He blinked. “What ever do you mean?” “Oh, when you hum around camp when doing chores or… oh, that cat at the inn. You were so delighted, petting that the little thing.” You smiled at the memory, “Everyone is afraid of being perceived, I know. And with the walls you built around yourself… it is such a lovely sight to see when you let them down for a moment.”

He stared at you in disbelief. You had been seeing him for longer than he realized.

He whispered your name, before choking out. ”I— Thank you.”

You looked over at him like he was the stars in the sky. “Goodnight Astarion.” You said sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed as you began to doze off. “Sweet dreams, darling.” He rolled over onto his back, his eyes moving from your form to close and see you in his dreams instead. A smile tugged on his lips as he fell into his trance.

And so began the nights of you joining him in his slumber.

Even just laying next to him, your presence was a gift. Blanketing him with safety and companionship — granting him a peace he had never known.

The deepest intimacy he had ever experienced. And he wasn’t afraid of it. It wasn’t painful.

And perhaps that is why the moon came up every night — so that the stars did not feel so alone.

Part IV

#bg3 fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #astarion/tav #astarion/reader

125 notes · View notes

radiant-reid · 1 year

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Eleventh Hour

Summary: Spencer's about to move across the country, until his ex-girlfriend gives him some news

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst then fluff)

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist | Navigation

This is not how it's supposed to go.

Or maybe it is.

College relationships are tricky, tumultuous, and the tangling of lives of two changing people. Although it makes her seem cliche, Y/n thought Spencer was different, and she would stick with that opinion to the end. He was wiser than any other college boy and more mature.

Whether they are the right people for each other or not, it's not the right time.

Their breakup wasn't sad, per se. They're both realists for the most part, and ending their relationship was on the horizon for a while. In the final semester of her senior year and Spencer's last semester of all his years of degree-collecting, their lives are about to go in such different ways that being together will cause more problems, making them sacrifice parts of their lives they don't want to.

So it's uncomplicated and much more pragmatic.

But a dangerous touch of hope comes with being a romantic. Those feelings make it hard to hand back each other's things, tell their friends and families, and sleep alone again.

Spencer's realism and romanticism work inversely, the former getting stronger as the latter gets weaker. It's why he never expected her to call.

Now he's sitting in front of her, frowning because something's really wrong. She hadn't looked so distraught when they broke up, but tears prick her eyes while her stomach threatens to evict her lunch.

"What's wrong?" He asks. He would never be able to stop caring about her, and he figures it would take a monster to not care about her after speaking to her just once. It could be about her mom or dad or a friend.

Y/n knew she had to tell him when she found out. Morally, it was the right thing to do, and Spencer deserves to know. Just because it was an easy choice to make doesn't make it easy to do. As soon as she tells him, everything changes between them again. They've gone from strangers to lovers to strangers, and now they're going to be something else. Whatever they're going to be, it's up to Spencer, and there's going to be very little she can do to change his mind about how he feels for her.

She keeps playing with her fingers in her lap, failing to reach the threshold of confidence needed to look at him. "This is... shit- I don't even know how to tell you this, Spence." She admits, heart pounding in her chest.

That makes Spencer even more puzzled. What could she really need to tell him a month post-breakup that was so life-changing. "It's okay." He assures her.

He's back to that old shyness she used to find endearing. She knows it because she can see his itching and resisting to touch her hand. "I'm pregnant." She confesses, biting her bottom lip.

"You're what?" He spits back.

Yeah, it was life-changing news. Earth-shattering.

He's spiraling like he never has before because, holy shit, it's news that he's never heard before. It's news he didn't expect to hear ever, honestly. And not from her, that's for sure.

"Pregnant." She repeats, so it'll sink in quicker. "And I'm sorry."

"It's not your...fault." He tells her, although he doesn't seem genuine.

There's upset in his features, and against her better judgment, she pushes it. "What are you thinking?"

"That I don't want a baby." He snaps, standing up as the realization hits him like a freight train.

It catches her off guard. Majorly. Spencer never, ever speaks to anyone in a tone that short, let alone her. And it makes her want to cry because she needs someone. She had hoped it would be him. Whether it's the new hormones or him being in front of her again, there's a longing for the connection they walked away from.

Her inner romantic wanted him to jump at the chance to have a baby with her, promise they could work things out, and the immense love she's been feeling for him wasn't one-sided.

"Y/n, I can't have a baby. I'm about to move across the country tomorrow." He declares.

It's categorically cold, just factual. That makes it the most heartbreaking.

She actually can't believe what she's hearing. They're young and not together, but she thought he might care a little bit more about the baby that's 50% him and growing inside her. Maybe he isn't as different as she hoped.

"That's why you broke up with me?" She asks, tears clouding her vision.

He doesn't do what she expects, and she's starting to think it's downright stupid that she ever thought he'd wrap his arms around her until she stopped crying. And why is she crying all the goddamn time now?

"Don't do that." He says sternly. "It was mutual."

"It's not now." She informs him, wiping up her tears angrily.

Spencer stops for a moment, taking a breath to avoid saying something he can't take back, something that might ruin his chance at ever getting to meet his child.

"We can't get back together just because we're having a baby." He reminds her. "You have to know that."

Y/n bites her lip, nodding. "Yeah. So this is just me telling you. We can forget everything else."

He's not sure he wants to do that now that she's being so upfront about it, but he's not going to be that contradictory. "Thanks." He whispers. "Whatever you need, let me know. Not that-"

She cuts him off, getting up from the couch and opening the door. One thing- along with the fact he doesn't want to be part of their lives- that she didn't want to hear about is him pledging money, thinking it's the same thing as love or time. "I know." She says, somehow able to get her following words out without crying. "Call me if you ever want to meet an adorable baby."

That makes it real, and his stomach flips in a new but not terrible way. Once she shuts the door on him, he stands there on her apartment step for a whole minute, wondering if he should go back and fix the fuck-up he's just created.

There's not much more crying Y/n can do. She's got a plan, a job lined up for once she gets a degree, and friends who love her. Her baby won't have a dad, though, because she'll never be able to love and trust someone like she does Spencer.

Unless someone has taken Spencer's phone, he's calling her early that morning. Something compels her to answer. "This isn't sending the right message." She answers the call, joking to relieve the tension from her major confession less than 12 hours ago.

"I need to send a different message." He confesses, confusing her. She's not going to let herself believe it's good until there's no doubt. "Can you meet me?"

"On this coast." She agrees. It's for her baby, she reminds herself. A baby who deserves a dad, even if he breaks their mom's heart.

"My apartment?" He suggests.

She sighs, resisting the urge to sob about the place she used to spend so much time at. "I can't. Not when your stuff is packed up."

"Some of it's yours." He tells her. "But I can come to you."

That's worse, she decides. She can't have a replay of last night. His apartment will look generic without any mementos in it.

"No, I'll come to you." She decides. "Soon?"

"Whenever you're ready." He assures her, bouncing his knees up and down nervously.

She's not sure what she's doing, and she knows she's dumb for fixing her hair and putting on makeup, but she does it anyway. Then she's out the door before she can rethink her poor decision.

"Coffee?" Spencer offers once she walks in and takes off her shoes.

The walls are bare, and there are no books in the bookcase. It's not Spencer at all which doesn't make her feel better.

Y/n shakes her head. "I can't."

"Fuck, right. Sorry." He stammers out his words. "Do you want to sit?"

She doesn't know what she's doing there, so she nods, sitting down on a couch they'd fucked on so many times it wasn't appropriate. He doesn't follow suit. "Why am I here, Spencer?" She asks.

He snaps out of the trance he's in. "Oh, yeah. Hold on." He requests, walking off before she can ask any more questions.

Every second he's away, she gets more and more in her head until that feeling of wanting to be sick is too overwhelming. "I, uh, should go, you know? I'm sure you've got stuff to do." She fails for an excuse, but she knows she has to get out of there before she's in tears on his couch, looking even more pathetic than she does now.

"Please." Spencer walks back into the room with a box. A box with yellow and white horizontal stripes on it that she's sure is new. "Can you just open this?"

"The person going away doesn't give the gift." She shakes her head, rejecting the gift. "Don't make this hard for me."

His heart breaks seeing her trying not to cry, the sweetest person he knows who thinks he's running away. "Please."

Those fucking puppy dog eyes. She takes the lid off the box cautiously because she's terrified and takes out the contents. A baby onesie with an FBI logo on it. It's the first onesie she's ever held, and it has her crying.

"What are you doing?" She asks between tears.

"Trying to stop making decisions that'll ruin my life." He tells her, sitting on the ottoman in front of her. "Like I did a month ago."

She frowns. "Yeah?"

"Oh my god, yes." He assures her, crying a little himself. He's feeling the pressure because he cannot mess this apology up. "Y/n, I should have fought to be with you because you're worth fighting for. You always will be. I shouldn't have let you go then, and I will do anything it takes for you to not walk now."

"You're not getting on a plane?" She recalls what he said before, safeguarding her heart.

He shakes his head. "Not today. And not ever if you don't want me to." He informs her.

She's honestly gobsmacked with so many questions in her mind and no idea what order to ask them. "I want this baby." She mumbles, unsure about if it's going to put him off.

"I'm terrified." He confesses. "My dad was... lousy, at best, so I don't know how to be a father, but I'll learn. I'll read every book there is." He promises. "I acted like an asshole, and I'm so sorry. I got that." He nods to the onesie she's gripping tightly. "Because I promise I will do anything to be in your and the baby's life."

"Is this a hint?" She wonders, reading over the logo.

Spencer chuckles, nodding. "Not very subtle." He admits. "I'm supposed to be going to live in DC and work at the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico, but I'll quit before I even start to stay here if that's what you want to do."

She thinks it over for a moment, but the decision is pretty easy. Sure, Spencer can get a job anywhere with his brains and degrees, but he wants to help people. "Let's do it." She agrees, smile widening.

"Do what?" He asks, caught off guard.

"I can't be without you." She tells him, reaching out to touch his hand softly, testing the boundary. "I've tried, and it's the worst. I want you in my life. Let's move to DC."

"We don't have to." He reminds her quickly.

She shakes her head. "We can have a fresh start." She reminds him. "We're following these dreams together as a team."

Spencer leans forward to cup her cheeks, wiping up her tears. "I'll do anything to make it up to you." He promises.

"Pack my stuff." She jokes, feeling his breath on her face as he laughs with her.

"Can I kiss you now?" He asks desperately, earning a nod from Y/n. He dives in quickly, missing feeling so close to her. His lips are gentle on hers, like he's worried about breaking her. When he pulls back, he nods at the box. "Finish opening it." He suggests.

She does, crying a little again when she sees the teeny tiny converse and teddy bears. "This is perfect." She mumbles.

He beams at the praise and her. "You're perfect. I'm just lucky."

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collectingthestars · 1 month

Text

my full review of ttpd (a month late, shhh)

tw opinions. if you like a song that i don't or vice versa or you don't agree with a comment i made, good for you! get it off your chest, get it off my desk!

fortnight

One of Taylor’s weaker openers, it’s a nice song, not much going on though

the production is boppy, not much going on once again

Interesting how Taylor sees her muse as living a good life without her and a nice domestic scene with his wife watering flowers but for her, her husband is cheating on her, implying she thinks she will never be happy, maybe because of how this relationship went or her general perception of relationships and her experiences with them. That is my interpretation of the song.

The outro with post and taylor's harmonies SLAPS

Like I said, this song feels a bit lacking of substance both thematically and technically, it doesn't do it for me, i don't hate listening to it, i just don't love it.

i think it might be a song that grows on me over time but it won't ever be a fave for me.

i also think in light of the music video, it's lost some of its spark for me, as that music video made no sense to me. i don't think it deserved to be a single.

the tortured poets department

“You left your typerwriter at my apartment, straight from the tortured poets department” implying that this thing of which she is now part had been introduced to her by the muse

The muse has probably compared them to poets like Dylan Thomas and Patti Smith and probably romanticised their relationship into the work of a tortured poet, but that’s not real life.

Taylor brings back to reality that now because of his self sabotage that brought both of them down in this relationship, he has lost the one who will decode him, hold him, know him

the above are just little analyses i like making as i listen to the song, they have nothing to do about whether i like the song or not, it's just me trying to make sense of it. you'll see that a lot.

i do not like the charlie puth line. at all. why is it there?

also don't like the tattooed golden retriever line, the image of a tattooed golden retriever is terrifying.

i was so off-guard about the namedropping in this song, sorry i had no idea who dylan thomas or patti smith were.

this song is trying too hard to be poetic, i think (which one could argue is the whole point of this song), but it doesn't stand out much to me. the themes are interesting though.

this is a pretty weak title track, personally. i feel like it doesn't encapsulate the essence of the album (which i am confused about tbh, ttpd has a lot of aesthetics going on for itself). it has nothing on little fearless and evermore.

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

so we all thought this song would be pretty petty, but i honestly don't think it is extremely so. there's a sort of pity for the muse, that the breaking of his 'favourite toys' is a form of self sabotage and that they could've had it all.

i love how it starts so defeated, "oh here we go again", which i think is in reference to the muse's self sabotage ruining her life

it also feels a bit reflective and nostalgic of the fact that it wasn't all bad, which i quite liked. i liked the contrast of feelings.

"once i fix me, he's gonna miss me" is a devastating line btw

so is "he saw forever so he smashed it up"

song is a bop, i like the lyricism, overall i enjoy this song :)

down bad

i enjoy the cunty synth here ahaha. for all the jokes the fandom makes about jack fucking around with the synth while taylor sings the most soulcrushing lyrics, it is so real especially for this song.

taylor has never sounded so good while swearing. "fuck it if i can't have us" is such an earworm.

i feel like this is the most petty song in the album, mainly because of the "teenage petulance" in the lyrics

the callback to new romantics in the bridge is so insane, i noticed it immediately.

the production is so mystical and giving space alien vibes, i enjoy it.

so long, london

the intro is giving big ben bells and/or wedding bells

the fast beat vs the slow melodies is such an interesting juxtaposition (to my lit teacher, i hope i used this word right XD). i think it really highlights the conflicting feelings this song explores ("i'm just mad as hell 'cause i loved this place") and also how taylor isn't able to keep up with how quickly the relationship is dying (the production) and she's still sifting through her feelings to find acceptance (the melody)

"how much sad did you think i had" something something "how long can we be a sad song" something something "don't want no other shade of blue but you"

the bridge is just the most devastating strike to my heart

"you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days" is one of my favourite lyrics on this album

track 5 is track 5ing

this song is a masterpiece, i genuinely love it so much

but daddy i love him

get this song out of my face, i hate it so much. blocked on spotify.

why did taylor have to waste good lyricism and production on such an awful premise and "fuck you" to her fans dishing valid criticism of her association with matty?

the baby line is hilarious though, because i did indeed fall for it the first time

like you can talk about taylor's agency all you want but everyone knows what the implications of this song are and i feel hurt and offended that this is the attitude both taylor and some swifties are taking.

"the most judgemental creeps" um, is this fucking play about us?

fresh out the slammer

her voice sounds beautiful in this

love the country twang in the production

it's giving getaway car thematically

i think it's interesting to see this song so soon after so long, london, where she says she was "going down with [the ship]" but she was literally dreaming about running into the arms of another man and was "[doing her] time". like ok girl!

vibey song but not for me. i don't have much to say on this.

florida!!!

IMMEDIATE FAVE, i had claimed this since day 1 and i was so right

cunty production, i can tell florence had a lot of influence. no more synths! bring out the drums!

at first, i had no idea what was happening in this song, but when taylor talked about it being about reinventing yourself, it made a lot more sense to me and i love that interpretation, it rings so true.

can i be honest and say that i thought it said "arms" not "home", like that doesn't even make sense 😭

florence's verse fucking slays, my only gripe is that her voice in the verse is kinda quiet compared to the instrumental. could've used some better mixing here.

"me and my ghosts had a hell of a time" is a banger of a line

the bridge is immaculate, has been in my head since i first listened to it.

this song is amazing, there is nothing like it, pure perfection. top song on the album.

guilty as sin?

obsessed with the beat

hedge maze = labyrinth = the mind, idk i just loved that connection

we have reached the ovulation song lmao

did you know it took me so long to realise the chorus was talking about masturbation? like i knew the song was horny, but i didn't realise it was THAT horny.

i think i called this a mature, sadder false god in my notes. that uncertain, sensual, desiring tone is probably what motivated that connection in my head.

WHAT IF HE'S WRITTEN MINE ON MY UPPER THIGH ONLY IN MY MIIIIIND

the bridge is so beautiful, i am a sucker for religious imagery.

overall i'm obsessed, beat good, lyricism good, i love it

who's afraid of little old me?

now i know this is the fan favourite, and i understand why. it gives an eery, angry vibe, and i also enjoy it. to some extent.

namely, the part i enjoy most is the circus imagery, i liked how she leaned into the circus animal metaphor to depict her struggles in fame and her relationships. it's like a badly behaved circus animal about to be put down absolutely losing it and raging about its plight, which i enjoy as a means of storytelling and expressing emotion. i also enjoy it as a callback to mirrorball and what happens when the mirrorball finally has had enough of shattering in a million pieces and performing for a largely uncaring crowd.

... which is why i don't like the asylum lyric. to me, it doesn't add in anything significant thematically when the rest of the song hardly has similar strains of discussion. not to mention the ableist overtones and trivialisation of the asylum experience but i just don't like this lyric. it weakens the premise of the song.

the production is also off in some places, it feels muted and underwhelming compared to the premise of the song.

it's an okay song, i 100% like the acoustic demo better that she came out with recently. some changes in production and the omission of that asylum lyric would put it higher up for me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

good thing this song is short because she couldn't fix him at all and i don't like this song.

"the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud" euphemism for bigoted, taylor?

production is boring, the melody is also pretty boring. the lyrics are good, but not enough to save the song, in my humble opinion (it is after all my review here)

"good boy, that's right" taylor GET UP

the 'woah maybe i can't' is funny though, i'll give her that

loml

slayed, devoured, left no crumbs, left me emotionally devastated

the lyricism is absolutely beautiful, the sadness is tangible

the first time i listened to this, i was on the train, and i was so emotional, it was the perfect music to stare out the window to.

the impressionist painting line is also absolutely brilliant, took me out when i heard it. one of the best lyrics on the album.

the bridge and outro are the reasons i need therapy, destroyed me

loss of my life theorists won but at what cost.

i think some of taylor's simplest songs melodically have some of the most beautiful prose and emotional connection, i think she needs to tap into that more.

10/10 no notes.

i can do it with a broken heart

extreme whiplash hearing this after loml. similar whiplash to what taylor felt, i think, going on tour after such a heartbreak

someone pointed out that the almost metronomic beat and the faint counting in the background is like what taylor hears in her in-ear monitor on tour and i think that's really cool.

obsessed with this song so much

it has been stuck in my head since i first heard it

i never expected this to be the cuntiest song on the album but i am not disappointed at all.

"i cry a lot but i am so productive" is so mecore if i was actually productive

the ad libs at the end are also perfect

is it just me or can i hear crowd noises in the background?? am i imagining this??

i'm afraid the fandom is gravely misunderstanding this song. some are saying that taylor hates us because we were "shouting 'more!' " when she was feeling like this. some are saying that she doesn't resent us at all and that this song absolves us completely. those are both two extremes and my interpretation lies somewhere in the middle. this is not a callout to fans but also some factions of the fandom were (or are) being assholes demanding reputation tv and double albums all the time. acknowledge the nuance.

10/10 obsessed, fave song after florida!!!

the smallest man who ever lived

this song is good.

bridge of all time, indeed, she went OFF

the verses feel a bit meh to me but i love the chorus.

"you didn't measure up in any measure of a man" HAHA TAYLOR IT TOOK ME A SECOND TO GET THE DOUBLE ENTENDRE

this song is indeed petty, but it also feels defeated to me? like taylor just sounds tired of it all and quite hurt, that's what i got from it.

i also love the performance of this song on the eras tour. she is marching with an army and they keep taking hits throughout the song, until she eventually falls at the end. something something "the great war" something something "fighting with only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me", etc.

the alchemy

i feel a little let down by this song? because from the name, i assumed this song would be using the concept of alchemy being a medieval science of turning things into gold or finding a universal cure as a metaphor for a broken/dying relationship.

also i don't understand how this is meant to be a love song, sounds really sad to me? like almost defeatist in terms of how the relationship.

why am i being bombarded by football metaphors?

i mean, it sort of plays on the idea of alchemy being a sort of magical transformation, but to me, it just feels like a synonym for chemistry.

" 'cause the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me" is a cute lyric though.

it's quite formulaic as a song and there's not much going on for me. anyway.

clara bow

i really enjoy the concept of this song being the torch of fame being passed onto different women, from clara bow to stevie nicks to taylor swift to whoever's next.

once again, it's quite simple melodically, but this is where she shines! the typewriter while she was writing this must have been on fire!!

i also love how it plays on the concept of being put onto a pedestal as a famous woman and how you're only appealing until people decide you're not

"it's hell on earth to be heavenly" is such a perfect lyric.

the namedrop of herself GAGGED me on first listen, i was amazed.

it's a perfect closer to the first half, putting everything into the perspective of her fame and passing the torch onto something else because society has decided out with old, in with the new.

the black dog

the thing about the location settings makes me so ill, he didn't even think to turn it off for her. they probably shared locations to make sure they could check up on each other, and it was still on. it is such a tiny thing but so devastating.

the buildup on "old habits die screaming" ohhhhh this is amazing

the best laid plans... hoax...

"i still miss the smoke" people are making parallels to daylight but my first thought was lavender haze, like missing the lavender haze, you know?

the priest lyric is so devastating if you think about the fact that taylor thought she'd be meeting a priest about this relationship for a different, happier reason...

obsessed with this song, it's so beautiful.

the quietness of the verses and the loudness of the chorus, i am genuinely entranced, it is cinema.

imgonnagetyouback

do not ask me to compare this song with olivia rodrigo's "get him back", they're both on different levels thematically and tonally even though they use the same double entendre.

what narcotics did she put in this bridge XD

so boppy, and sensual, i adore it

i remember going on a long search for the literary device that is present in "i hear the whispers in your eyes", decided it was antithesis with the help of my followers. not at all relevant, but wanted to add it.

the albatross

i can make a lot of parallels to peace with this song.

it's so eery and mythical, i love it, treats taylor like a fable, an urban legend.

aaron dessner is a fucking legend, i am loving the production on the anthology

my folkmore girlie self is loving the anthology for real

i love the bait and switch to "fake news", exposing these rumours for simply that, and saying that she's not the dangerous one, the "jackals rais[ing] their hackles" are.

i am always a sucker for when taylor changes from third person to first person narration, it's so important to me. bait-and-switch, you are everything to me.

10/10 no notes.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

heartbreakingly beautiful. just a general melancholy around the breaking down of a relationship and is so so perfect.

the hologram lyric is not about cheating at all. the relationship is long gone, this is taylor envisioning her muse in a new relationship but she isn't there, hence the hologram. i've seen some people say it was about cheating, that interpretation doesn't make sense to me.

"you turned me into an idea of sorts" -> "the idea you had of me, who was she?"

random thought, but the lyricism on the anthology is so much better and natural as compared to the first half. i enjoy the bops on the first half but it also suffers from trying too much to be poetic (i think i said this about the title track especially). there are so many overloaded lyrical runs and random references that leave me confused and overwhelmed. the anthology however feels so much more quintessentially taylor.

don't have much to say on the song itself, i quite like it.

how did it end?

the intro literally makes me ascend!!

i really love how this song investigates and criticises the inherent curiosity people have around big news like a breakup, constantly probing for details.

once again, the simpler songs contain the best lyricism and melodies!!

this song both explains and expresses confusion about the end of the relationship, so i love the paradoxical nature of that.

"we learn the right steps to different dances" is such a devastating line and i think sums up the end of many relationships so succinctly.

the second chorus is giving right where you left me: "did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?" etc.

THE BRIDGE, TAYLOR HOW DO YOU DO IT

the d-y-i-n-g part is just so devastating. taylor uses the themes of death and haunting so well on this album.

i know i've said this like 10 times, but this is just so so beautiful.

so high school

the guitar in the background is giving hits different, it hits different when it's you!!

despite the happy tone and lyrics, i do feel the sad, anxious undertone, the key example being the marry, kiss, or kill me part (the echoed "kill me", "it's just a game but really")

the aristotle and grand theft auto line has been used countlessly to shit on taylor's songwriting, and personally, i don't like this line. just doesn't hit right for me. however, i think it's unfair to pick cringe lyrics and ignore all the beautiful, meaningful ones to shit on taylor.

i do love the imagery with high school games like truth or dare and spin the bottle, really cements the "so high school" of it all.

this song is okay to me, it feels too american for me to enjoy it more lmao.

i hate it here

i love the poet and finance guy line at the beginning, it expresses a sort of desperation to get to know this person, to uncover their insecurities, deepest secrets, and love them anyway. it may also be introspective of taylor herself, idk.

calling comfort a construct is so quietly sad. convincing yourself since you've never had it, it can't be real because it's better than being cursed or doomed to never have it (see the prophecy)

this song is so escapist, but also so cynical about the escapism, it clearly isn't a preferred option, like it's not just escaping into childhood and nostalgia for the sake of it, it's because the real world fucking sucks.

the chorus slays, and is quite relatable.

the use of the word "precocious" is so interesting to me. she used it also in "but daddy i love him" if i remember correctly. like she resonates a lot with the feeling of being stunted in childhood or having seemed to never grow up -> "i have this thing where i get older but just never wiser" -> "i never grew up, it's getting so old" -> "i hit my peak at seven", idk i find it an interesting recurring theme in taylor's discography.

the 1830s line, and just that entire first half of the verse. i know why it's there, i know what it's doing, i know it's not meant to be taken seriously. still i don't like it. it also feels weird that she is calling out racism as a staple of the 1830s or whatever when she has shown us she is perfectly fine with dating a racist. you can say i'm being overdramatic. you can say i don't get it. idc. i try to ignore this part because this is a very good song and i love its themes and production.

"nostalgia is a mind's trick" i really love this because the entire song is so nostalgic for childhood and escapism but then she's like "actually nostalgia sucks" or it's not what it seems. no, the past would not have been better.

production feels like seven. themes quite different however (thematically, it would be robin, i think.)

the bridge combats the cynicism of the second verse which is so interesting to me. i love how opposing views on nostalgia and escapism are presented, the nuance is there.

the bridge is so mecore, i feel it in my bones.

thanK you aIMee

i really enjoy the small town as a microcosm for the giant music industry and reducing kim to a bully in this analogy.

this song is so cathartic for me, i really enjoy it in the lens of a friendship breakup.

she's so funny in this song "and so i changed your name and any real defining clues" while clearly spelling out her name in the song title.

the bridge fucking slays, likely thing for taylor to do.

it's such a breath of fresh air to have such a cathartic moment in an album that's largely dealing with huge emotions in huge ways, it's so interesting here as an addition to the anthology.

i look in people's windows

it's such a beautiful song and it's criminal how short it is

her voice sounds heavenly, i love how breathy it is.

it's giving "the outside" which is why i love it so much, i think

i think this not only works as a song grieving the end of a relationship but expressing the feeling of being left out in a current one; i definitely relate to it in that sense.

"does it feel alright not to know me?" is so so heartwrenching, i cannot do this

the prophecy

i am a sucker for mythology references so i'm already drawn in with the title.

once again, the song itself sounds so beautiful.

"i got cursed like eve got bitten" except she didn't get bitten?? the curse came after she ate the forbidden fruit?? i'm a bit confused here

WAIT NVM IT'S THE FACT THAT SHE DIDN'T GET BITTEN THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF THE SIMILE, HEAR ME OUT

saying something so factually incorrect and comparing it to her own experience implies that the latter is ALSO incorrect. she didn't "get cursed", she cursed herself!! which also defies the notion of "the prophecy", ohhhhhh i find this so interesting.

i think the notion of "a greater woman" or "a lesser woman" speaks to the expectations placed around women in relationships, they mustn't appear too desperate for love because that's undesirable but if they are nonchalant, they are also undesirable, it is worth exploring in terms of this song.

this song is so so sad and sadly so so relatable, i definitely find some comfort and resonance in this and it makes me really sad :(

i love the references to mythology and folklore made here, "the pricked hand" very obviously referencing sleeping beauty.

i always love it when taylor repeats the first verse at the end of a song, i think it speaks to the cyclical, circular nature of this specific feeling, that no matter how much she begs and pleads, "the prophecy" will never change.

cassandra

another mythology reference!!!

this being after "the prophecy" is so so deliberate, godssss

the piano is giving "mad woman", which i think is so fitting

"so they killed cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst" that's not actually why cassandra was killed in mythology but go off queen

"they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware" is an unreal run

that being said, i love it when taylor takes common sayings and aphorisms and gives them a twist. she does it a lot in this album, one of my favourite examples being "old habits die screaming" as a twist on "old habits die hard"

"blood's thick but nothin' like a payroll" i am hooked completely oml

10/10 no notes

peter

more folklore references, let's go!!!!

this song is so hauntingly beautiful, the lyricism is so poetic and flows perfectly, genuinely this is what i love about taylor

as a folklore girlie, i am WINNING with the anthology

i can't get over the "jet stream" line here vs "jet stream" in "call it what you want" 🫠

once again, a bridge that fucking slays, how does she keep doing it

it's so interesting how taylor grapples with the concept of childhood and precociousness in this album with so many mentions and callbacks to childhood and feeling stunted as a child and now, it really is an ode to "you're stuck at the age you became famous" (which is sad in many aspects but also problematic in others)

the chorus is also just so perfect, everything about this song is perfect.

the bolter

obsessed does not even cover it

what a banger start to a song

the chorus reminds me a lot of "illicit affairs", i think, interesting connections can be made there

"as she was leaving, it felt like breathing" as in a sigh of relief that it's over, but also she does it so often it is quite literally as quotidian and simple as "breathing"

i love taylor's tendencies to make songs in the third person narrative voice, i think her best storytelling comes out like this.

"there's escape in escaping"- i think this is sort of a commentary on how the identity of "the bolter" is like a coping/defense mechanism to ensure that she doesn't get hurt in a relationship, in that there is an escape from her insecurities, her worries, and the eminent pain she will face in the relationship by quite literally escaping.

but there's also often the bait and switch ("then it was bought by me", "i'm the albatross, i swept in at the rescue") but i find it so interesting that this song does not do that, if only i can make a meaningful analysis there, but my running theory is that she deliberately chooses to distance herself from the identity of "the bolter", bc while she does dote on this character and is rather affectionate in how she tells the story, she doesn't feel like attaching herself to it, in that maybe it's an identity she no longer wants to hold or that, like she frequently says, she doesn't believe these songs or stories are about her anymore and that they take on new meaning..

anyway i am loving this song, 10/10

robin

WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS SONG, IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL

it's so sweet how she is consoling the child, ensuring them that they should enjoy this time they have now, and that they will be kept safe from their future.

but it's so sad in that regard, like, "we don't wanna hurt you so we're not telling you how this will pan out to protect your childhood innocence".

this once again cements my preoccupation with taylor's discussions around childhood and youth, she mentions frequently how that was taken away from her too soon and how she has felt "precocious" because of it. it's so important to understand and this song should NOT be overlooked.

i really like it.

the manuscript

this song is so heartbreaking, i want to punch the wall

i never thought about the fact how doing the atw short film would have rekindled these old memories and feelings, and this song is surely a direct result of that. not surprising, in hindsight, but it still compelled me when i first heard it.

once again, youth being taken too soon!! precociousness!!

someone needs to take the word "precocious" away from me

"but the story isn't mine anymore" HHHHHHHHH THIS IS THE WHOLE POINT

very nice song, beautiful closer to the anthology and the entire album as a whole, "these stories used to be about me but now they're about you".

overall thoughts

i hate to say it, but i think this album is in a desperate need of editing; there's so much going on, most of which is compelling and worth exploring, but everything is disjunct with each other and i know this work is meant to feel messy, don't start with me there, but it shouldn't be messy to the point where it's confusing and overwhelming. there are so many concepts and metaphors that are so intriguing and clearly important in taylor's music but the final products of those become half-baked in mediocre production or mixing. this album feels rushed and is soaked with questionable decisions. for example, i think "i can do it with a broken heart" should have been a single and title track because i think it's such a central part of her experiences recently and clearly something permeating the rest of this collection, and how she learns to move on and cope in light of heartbreak. there are several moments where the lyricism of the album feels overwhelming and overcompensating, as in trying too hard to contain meaning. the best lyrical moments on this album are seamless and subtle, and very prosodic as well. taylor tried to deviate from that formula quite a bit and it didn't always work out for the best in this album. she is not as adept at throwing in conversational lyrics as her peers, her strength is in prose and storytelling. the production is also getting a bit old, it's very sonically cohesive, almost to the point of it being boring, and i think taylor needs to get a bit more experimental sonically, and also ensure that the melody and production work together in more different ways, and that maybe the melody is not relying on the production but vice versa. the album is certainly not all lows, but the lows are particularly lower than in other instances of her discography.

that being said, the highs on this album are absolutely breathtaking. the majority of the anthology and quite a few songs on this album captured me instantly. this album is quite mellow, and could have benefitted from another bop or two, but the ones we received were astounding!! this album also had some really strong lyricism, especially in the anthology, and it was so intriguing seeing the many metaphors and situations she used to express her feelings. her storytelling in particular really shone in this album in songs like "the albatross", "the bolter", "clara bow", "cassandra", "the manuscript" among others. i love the themes and ideas that taylor explored in this album, and overall the premises really compelled me.

in terms of rankings, i've separated the two halves. the first half (ttpd) is second-last and the second half (the anthology) is 8th out of 12 (not 11 because ttpd is split in two).

if you've read this far, congratulations, have a treat of your choice. please be mindful and respect my opinion, thanks!

#diya's musings #ts #ttpd review #ttpd #fave

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precious-little-scoundrel · 7 months

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Somebody’s Daughter

an Elvis Presley, southern gothic fanfiction dealing with the disappearance of a legend

Note: I wrote this ages ago and intended an entire universe for it but to be honest I’ve run out of motivation. Still, in time for spooky season, here’s my most unreal fic I’ve ever written

Word count: 2k

Some swore he was dead inside that grand ole place. That without gardeners to keep it in check, the kudzu that wove its way up the pale brick like a gnarled shroud was the only consecration provided for the mortal shell of the King of Rock and Roll. Like God alone had cast a leafy covering over his wayward son, a last act of grace like fig leaves were woven for Adam’s shame after The Fall.

Even the musical gates had rusted closed, not unbarred in eons, not even to allow the Grandma’s out of the living sepulcher for their knitting circle and the driveway itself was busted up by age and shifting earth, weeds overtaking asphalt. Gone were the days of verve and bustle, the guard shacks were empty of vigilant relatives and the gates no longer held back a throng of autograph seekers. One look up the decadently long driveway towards the dilapidated mansion was enough to disincline anyone from inviting someone -or something- out of the place.

Not that anyone was in it, there was no way there could be anyone in it. Not anymore.

They were probably dead, too, the grandmas. Or dying inside there themselves, slow as the growth of the vines that grew and grew and blocked out all sunlight into the inside of the mansion. But a house of corpses was too horrible a thought and deserved some investigation which no one was willing to do. It was better to assume they were dead, hopefully they all were, the other option was too unsettling.

But no hearse had passed through those corroded gates. And so folks wondered.

Such speculation was all very wel for the fates of the grandmas, even for Elvis Presley and his laundry list of ailments, narcotic abuses and pathological ticks. But there was the young woman to be considered, none of this explained what she was doing all these years holed up on the estate, only photographed from afar by daring souls who climbed the trees near the back fence line.

Those daring souls got the fright of their lives, buckshot to the asses and blurry photos of a dark haired female of indistinguishable features for all their pains. Civilallians pointed out that the photographed figure could be easily mistaken for a pillar or large planter. Maybe a dog up on its hindlegs. A blob really. And no one knew where the shots came from, not at midnight in a seedy part of Memphis; could have been from anywhere. After a few years they just stopped trying, some saying they found the place too spooky to even be hanging around.

It was very…undead, for such a decaying place.

And so the world speculated and shuddered and then hastily shelved the topic, only wondering whatever became of the most famous man in the world when a magazine would print a new article celebrating his heyday with his fresh and lean young self on the glossy cover, or when his ex wife got in the news while still toting around his surname like monogrammed luggage through the gossip slums, or when folks passed the overgrown wall and cankered gates and wondered, wondered and wondered what became of him until they stopped wondering.

When they stopped wondering it was because they collectively assumed -like he always knew they would- that they’d heard from somewhere that he’d died. A mass misremembered memory, that was what his demise was. But then they could mourn him, and that was far more comfortable than knowing they had driven him to it, driven him to madness and into the arms of sorrow and seclusion -to make a home with her and never show his face again.

No, they collectively liked him dead. He was smaller that way and they felt less guilty, they could write tributes and share anecdotes and feel less horrified by the human proclivity towards self destruction if he were nice and dead. Quite dead. Thoroughly dead.

Elvis Presley was dead, they were sure they’d heard it somewhere.

But Joe Esposita ran outta money. And to make more he opened his big mouth to do what he did best -extemporize some facts. And unfortunately for the storytellers and the tribute makers and the record collectors, George Klein was obliging enough to broadcast Joe’s yacking nationwide over radio waves (anything for an old buddy) and all the sudden folks cared about Elvis Presley again. They cared with the same detached fascination they held for Sasquatch and Mothman. They cared whether the crazy fucker of Joe’s retelling was rotting inside his house and if the ghoulish figure in chiffon, pictured always in a white streak of unnaturally swift movement towards the shadowy figures of the guardian lions of Graceland -ever actually existed.

“You’re saying that he made her up? As an excuse to get rid of you all?” George prodded his by no means bashful guest to speak into the mic.

“Yeah that’s right,” Joe spoke with the confidence of a man who never really knew as much as he wanted to and had been making up the shortfall with embellishments ever since, “EP was already lost to the drugs by then. And he did go out one time and sorta rendezvous with a woman…this lady of the night, you might say…and he didn’t care after. But then later, he did care, and he cleared the whole house out saying he was going to bring her in and redeem her.”

“So there was a woman, a prostitute really,” George pressed the obvious as his listeners clutched on to reveal with talons grown of gruesome fascination with the macabre last days of the King.

“Yes, and it was a funny story, one of a thousand. It was no big deal. Supposed to be no big deal.” Joe was a little put upon to have to divulge any one of those thousands of funnies. Not just for the sake of preserving his old boss’s dignity but because Joe really was a self retiring fella that didn’t like to betray a trust, a nice fella that kept things close to his chest and tried to paint them in their most noble light if they happened to get out. So it was that after an entire quarter of second’s pause to consider his words carefully and measure the weight of his imminent disclosure he revealed, “The boss had been pounding the pills on tour, right? And the last few weeks he got this stiffy and it just wouldn’t go down, gave him trouble pissin’ and walkin’ and preformin’ got so awful he started tellin’ us to bring him anybody or a couple anybodys who might help. And we brought him back a lotta women and he blew through ‘em and they all came out smilin’ but he wasn’t. It wasn’t working’ and he told me and Sonny he was worried he was gonna hurt wanna these groupies if he kept at it. Nothin’ was cuttin’ it. And ya might say “hey Elvis you should go see a softer about that” but of course-“

“-His doctor was the one who had prescribed him the medications with those side effects!” George helpfully added a little professionalism to this locker room anecdote.

“Right!” Joe barreled on, “So we cut the tour a little short and we got him back to Graceland and figured that settlin’ down and weening off the pills and with the help of Miss Candy, he’d find some uh, uh, relief. But he didn’t, Candy seemed to have her period about ten times a month and the rest of the time he said she said he was being too rough. Eventually he told me he needed me to make some calls.”

“For a specialist or something?”

“No, a hooker -escort, whatever.” Joe quite forgot he was on air, or maybe he didn’t, “Talkin’ a lot about the book of Hossea and how god had made the prophet marry a prostitute and all that, to represent uh, umm, well I can’t remember, uh, but he was all into the spiritual shit and really thought he was a messiah or something. The upshot of it was that we moved a grandma and a whole ventilator situation into the big house. But I never saw anyone else, though I heard the upstairs shower running one time when EP was downstairs. But no, there’s no ‘white witch of graceland', hell no. She was an acid trip, man, he dreamed her up and said she’d replace Pricilla, then robbed a nursing home, I guess, to prop up his narrative. The man would cheat over anythin’, he’d cheat to win an Easter egg hunt.”

“So it was a revenge fantasy of sorts.” George supplied a life raft to his floundering friend, “A delusional version of his intended life, you’re saying?”

“Yeah! He was all ‘this one’s never gonna be able to leave me’ and all that stupid, possessive shit. He dreamed her up and wanted us to believe him.”

“You could say she was a figment of a particularly heavy dose?” George put on his most solicitous talk show voice.

“Yeah, yeah exactly, nothing more. Folks need to move on.”

Moving on was not exactly intended or facilitated by the soon after release of his tell-all book, the last five chapters of which were dedicated to suggesting that Joe Esposita and Joe Esposita alone knew a great deal about a woman he had previously said didn’t exist. Fans went nuts, theories flew like confetti and folks camped out at the Graceland gates till the hoot owls scared them away come nightfall.

Not to be outdone, Red West wrote a book of his own, and while he didn’t even pretend to have so much as known about Elvis’ rendezvous with an average Memphian streetwalker, he sure spent a lot of ink about it and talked about how he could feel her presence upstairs the last day he was at Graceland.

Which was the day he got sacked and a loaded gun pointed at his face by his erstwhile boss and friend.

At which point Red’s book really lagged on about betrayal and brotherhood and army days. Readers thumbed through the rest of the sore narrative hoping to read more about the feeling of a mysterious woman upstairs and her strange hold on a man who had spent his life drinking in the admiration of a crowd and now spent his life, or death, like a hermit inside an antebellum tomb. Charmingly self absorbed, Red’s book never did focus back on her after that throwaway mention and after the initial frenzy for his hot take, the sales died down and folks were left again with blurry photos that never quite matched up.

But so it was that people took to eyeing the dilapidated home of the King once more and took to wondering anew. Only his horses, turned feral from neglect and still grazing around the house and occasionally spooked into a fiendish gallop (perhaps by some unseen movement inside the verdant facade) kept a new generation of ghost hunters from climbing over the wall and clearing away the verdure from the front door to see if the lady inside was pale from lack of sun or lack of life.

One soul among a nation’s worth was less impressed by the supernatural aspects of what she termed a macabre pity party. Being intimate with the man, marrying him, bearing him a child and then watching his virulent prowess slowly go to seed before her very eyes had that effect on a child bride.

Once, and only once, Priscilla Presley had pried open the Graceland gates before they had fully melded together in their decay, hell bent on discovering if there was any life left in the place. The grandmas had long since stopped their Wednesday exit, no fans gathering or maimed photographers, nothing to suggest that the place she had once called home and planned on spending forever in was still inhabited. Her Lisa, her baby deserved the place, she deserved to have her inheritance and no folklore legend of a gas station hooker wandering the grounds was going to keep her from getting her due. -Lisa’s due, of course.

Pricilla never was quite the same after that trip. In vain did the ambitious young journalist who sought to write a biography on the King’s one true love attempt to extract from her something resembling a credible narrative. When asked for details of her life, for anecdotes of her famous love affair, she kept mumbling as if in a daze

“I’m not sure, I just don’t know, I can’t say for certain, where am I?”

She never answered to “Pricilla” again.

Pricilla had been a creature crafted in his image, eponymous with his desire, a figment of his fevered ambition for a perfect marriage. When the first fabrication had failed, he had found another, more squalid, more mailable, more pitifully needy -but perfect in her lack of self. In her was no woman to take his beloved child away, to test his patience with her wantonness or ruin his reputation with her deceit.

“You’re not Pricilla,” the figure of the man she once knew told her coldly from between the grand columns of the porch, “I made Pricilla, without me you’re just one a’the crowd. I’ve made myself a Pricilla, and this time she’s gonna stay.”

#elvis fanfiction #somebody’s daughter #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #fic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #Elvis #elvis and me #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic

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orion-tyche · 18 days

Text

Risk (2/4)

Summary: She’s gone. Omega fell over the catwalk ramp, after shooting Hemlock herself. Hunter hardly knows what to do with himself. He failed her. Omega feels what death is like. Or…is it really even death?

Word count: 1003

Notes: part 2 of Risk! Go read pt 1 first to understand what’s going on (and if you want more sad). Also, if you would like to be on the tag list for pt3, reply or reblog letting me know!

Part 1

It was cold. Cold and painful. That was all Omega felt. Was this some sort of afterlife? Stuck in eternal suffering? She couldn’t see anything. Just an abyss of nothingness.

She felt something else now. Something through all the pain. It was faint, granted, but she felt it. The occasional drop of water on her face. Like rain. There was rain when she fell. How could she forget? Maybe that’s what death was like. A black void with nothing but small reminders of how it happened. Well, except for the pain. It was spiking throughout her entire body, lighting up every nerve. It hurt. It really did. It was strange, in all honesty. Omega had heard people say that death is when pain stops, that death is the escape. But here she was.

In pain.

Hunter walked through the thick jungle of Weyland, using his vibroknife to cut through any thick plants or vines. Previously, he had met up with Echo and Wrecker in the hangar of Mount Tantiss. After…what happened on the catwalk. Wrecker was badly hurt, so Echo took him and the rest of the clones they’d freed onto a shuttle. There hadn’t been many. Echo said there was a fight between them and the operatives. Not many made it out. Crosshair went with them as well. His hand, or where it used to be, needed treatment. And he couldn’t take much more. Between being back at Tantiss and…the catwalk, he needed rest. Hunter did, too. But he refused to take any. He needed to find her. He wouldn’t allow her body to rot away in the jungle of the place she hated most, especially with Hemlock. No, he needed to find her. And, even though he knew it was impossible, he had just a sliver of hope that she was alive. But hope was hope, and it was all he had.

He kept walking through the jungle, quietly as not to disturb any creatures that might be nearby. He remembered the giant creature that slashed at Wrecker, and how he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late. It was clear his senses were off. He needed to be on guard if he was going to make it through the jungle, or to find Omega, for that matter. He knew everyone was waiting on a shuttle to leave as soon as he got back. So he had to be careful, but quick. He didn’t want anyone staying here longer than they had to.

The pain hadn’t gone away. But Omega’s head had cleared up a little. It didn’t hurt as much now. She could feel something slipping away. But what exactly it was, she didn’t know. She was already dead. What did she have left to lose?

Death was uncomfortable. Omega wondered if she would have to be like this for the rest of eternity. In pain. In sorrow. Left alone with her thoughts.

She felt something new, now. Like movement. She felt what used to be her arm shift just a bit. Strange. It was the arm that was cuffed to Hemlock. She heard a noise. A groan of pain and discomfort. Something was wrong.

She wasn’t alone.

Hunter moved over a rock, careful not to slip. It was still raining, but not as hard as it had been. His movements were slow, his energy drained by all that had happened. He kept scanning the jungle for any sign of Omega. Anything. He needed to find her. He had been searching for hours now. Nothing. Hunter heard his comm device beep. He pressed a button on it to let the transmission through.

“Hunter, it’s Echo. The other clones here are getting restless. We have to leave.”

“I can’t. I haven’t found Omega.” Hunter heard Echo sigh through the device.

“Hunter. I…I’m sorry. I really am. But we both…we both know she’s gone.”

“Even so, she doesn’t deserve to rot away here.”

“Hunter, we have no other choice. We can’t stay here any longer. Besides, the Empire will be showing up soon to see what’s happened here.” Hunter stood in silence for a moment. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave Omega’s body somewhere in this jungle. But he knew what needed to be done.

“Alright. Heading back to the ship now.”

Omega felt the movement near her arm continue. It was strange. Could she feel such things in death? She heard another wince. And then something like…crying? It was a familiar voice. But not a good familiar. The crying stopped and Omega felt all movement stop. Whoever she was hearing had clearly noticed something. Now she felt like she was being dragged. Not a good thing, considering how much pain she was already in. She groaned and winced as she felt the pain get worse again. The movement stopped a second time.

“You’re alive.” She heard a voice say. Oh. That’s where she knew the voice. It was Hemlock’s voice. What was he saying? Was he talking about her? Was it really him? And how was she hearing any of this? She was supposed to be dead. So was he. Omega felt herself being moved again. The darkness around her began…fading away? She couldn’t properly see anything, but there was a ton of green and blue and white around her. She was turned by whoever was there, presumably the one with Hemlock’s voice, and saw a fuzzy silhouette in front of her. Her vision stabilized, and realized it was Hemlock. She gave a small gasp before coughing and feeling a sharp pain…everywhere. Everything hurt so bad. She blinked and looked around. She was in the jungle on Tantiss. Still cuffed to Hemlock. He looked at her with something like concern behind his eyes. He was clearly injured, burnt skin visible through his uniform on his shoulder. That must’ve been where Omega shot him. His arm looked broken. But, sadly, not the one attached to Omega. He was here. With her.

And both of them were alive.

Part 3

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void-ink-studios · 7 months

Text

Touch of Light

This is in the same timeline as "Wrath of the Wishmaster" which you can read here! Specifically, this is a bit before the events of that fic. They're not officially together yet, but they're getting close.

Do I have two other WIPs I should be working on? Yes. Will I write this instead? Also, yes.

Enjoy, y'all.

Word Count: 2,300

Scarab had gone missing again.

While Prismo was not the type to take much stock in what the beetle got up to in his spare time, the disappearing act he's been pulling lately is getting... concerning.

It wasn't as if it was a problem per say... Scarab lived here now too, and he had as much right to explore the space as Prismo did. Plus, it wasn't as if Scarab was necessarily required up in the main chamber all the time.

But Prismo was starting to miss the company.

Him and Scarab had seemed to finally strike up some kind of peace. He'd help the Wishmaster with his fanfics that needed a certain bloody zest, he'd talk of his adventures across the multiverse, and he'd been slowly teaching him his strange language of chirps, clicks, trills, and buzzing.

The Time Room just felt more alive ever since that blue shadow was added to the routine. And it felt like they both had finally gotten used to each other enough to just... be. Relax. Smile.

It'd been a long time since Prismo smiled in earnest.

But now Scarab was gone. Well, not gone, but it's not like Prismo knew where he was.

The disappearing was relatively new.

Once, every few weeks or so (maybe, time was always strange here), Scarab would open a hatch to the Time Room's basement, slink away, and vanish for the rest of the day (probably). He'd be back after a while and not acknowledge he was even gone.

It never exactly sat well with the Wishmaster. What's with the sneaking around? Was he hiding something?

Maybe he thought Prismo wouldn't notice?

That would make sense, considering how Scarab would always cast quick glances at him before slinking away. Like he was checking if Prismo was watching.

Prismo shut his laptop. He pondered for a second.

Should he try and go find Scarab? He wanted to give him the privacy he deserved but this whole thing was starting to freak him out.

A small part of him wondered if perhaps he was looking for a certain sleeping old man.

Prismo shook his head, scolding himself for even the thought.

They were friends now.

Hopefully.

Maybe...?

Hmm.

The more he thought, the more he freaked himself out. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to just take a quick peek.

He sent duplicates down into the basement, just to poke around, of course.

One stood guard over his old, sleeping body. Just in case.

He pondered where Scarab would wander off to. The Time Core, perhaps? He always did have quite the awe for that place, despite how bright and loud it was in there.

But nope. Nothing.

He searched every nook and cranny of the Time Core, but nothing. No hint of blue on the wall, other than the light fromt the time waves.

Okay, plan A was a bust.

And while Prismo was pretty good with plan Bs, he didn't really come prepared with one for this adventure. Great.

Okay, it's fine, it's just one guy, potentially anywhere, in an infinitely extending downward pocket dimension that's walls could shift and move.

This was fine.

Prismo had to take a moment to breathe. Scarab managed to find his way back up before, so it's not like he was lost forever. Probably not.

He pondered if he should give up the search.

Until one of his duplicates passed through the pickle room on a whim. It was quiet. Almost too quiet to hear. But it was there. A soft chirping.

Almost all at once, Prismo's form condensed into that room as he looked around.

It was definitely Scarab's chirping. But was that also... crying?

Now Prismo was sweating. He'd known Scarab for eons, even before they became roommates. But he's never... never... heard Scarab cry before. No one had, as far as he knew.

He peered into one of the empty cubby shelves from his pickle stash, and... sure enough, there he was.

Scarab was curled up into as tight a ball as he feasibly could. His arms covered his head, and his knees tucked up into his chest. He laid on his side, shivering.

And... his mask was off. Granted, his face was covered by his arms and hands, but Prismo could see the spots of a lighter blue where his shell was parted.

The Wishmaster didn't know what to do. What could he do?

He gently reached a hand into the hole, fingers lightly brushing against the edge of Scarab's form.

"Scarab...?"

Several things happened at once.

Scarab's mask flew right back into place, save for his mouth, which he bared in a primal hiss. All his limbs shifted into some kind of spring-loaded position, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"Woah, woah, Scrabs, it's me. You know, your buddy, Prismo?"

But Scarab didn't relax. His growl ended, and he closed up the lower half of his mask, but none of the tension left his shoulders, his legs, his back, even though all of it was shaking.

"Go away!" the beetle hissed, swiping at Prismo's hand. It's not like it hurt, but it was enough to startle the Wishmaster into pulling back. Scarab seemed to regret the action almost immediately, tucking himself further back into the cubby. "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, okay, I won't touch you. But... what are you doing down here, buddy? Didn't think you were the type to enjoy pickling." He laughed to himself, but it puttered out when his friend didn't return the sentiment.

Scarab just kept his body low to the ground. Even behind the mask, Prismo could hear his mandibles clicking together. While he wasn't fluent in all the noises his roommate made, he could put together this one's meaning. He's afraid. Deathly so.

"...You I'm not gonna hurt you, right? Remember, we're friends. Friends don't hurt each other. Right?"

"...I-I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I startled you, I get it. But... can you tell me what's going on, dude? I've never seen you like this."

"It's... It's nothing! Nothing!"

It was a lie. An obvious one. A desperate one. Prismo didn't even have to say it. He just continued looking into Scarab's eyes.

"I... I won't do this again, if that's what you're concerned about..."

"That's not it, Scrabs. I just want to know what's going on. And... why the pickle room?"

Scarab seemed to consider his options in answers.

"...This is the only room with holes in the wall I can get to..."

"Why did you need a hole in the wall?" He gave Scarab a soft look, a little encouraging smile.

"It... It makes me... feel... safe."

Scarab ducked his head in shame. Prismo frowned at that, for many reasons.

"Did you feel... unsafe up in the main chamber? Did I do something wrong?"

"N-No... No, it isn't you... I just... I needed to feel isolated... just for a little while..."

"Is this where you've been going recently?"

"...Yes."

Prismo sighed.

"Scarab. You don't have to if you don't want to but... Can you tell me why you've been disappearing? I'm worried about you, dude." He slowly, gently extended a hand into the cubby again, leaving it a few inches away from Scarab's silhouette.

There were a few beats of silence before Scarab's little hand extended to rest overlapped with Prismo's. The Wishmaster smiled but didn't otherwise draw attention to it.

"I... I wanted to feel safe because... my body... even in this form, it fights against me."

"What do you mean?"

"...I'm in pain, Prismo. I'm in pain and disoriented. And... my instincts make me need to hide while I'm like this. This... is the closest I have to a burrow in the Time Room."

His voice sounded so small. Much smaller than Prismo ever would've suspected the might scary God Auditor Scarab to make.

"Oh... I'm sorry Scrabs, I didn't know..."

"No one does... When I... had my job, I could ignore it if it got this bad. I was always moving. On the hunt. I could avoid listening to my own body long enough for it to fade away. But now... the Time Room is so still... so... I've gone back to... hiding."

He said that last word with a lot more contempt than Prismo expected.

"Hey. Thank you for telling me, Scrabs. How about this. When you're feeling a bit better, you can come with me, and we can make you some better hiding spots than the pickle room cubbies. I bet it's not really relaxing when everything smells like vinegar, right?"

"I... I actually can't smell it much."

"...Really? I thought beetles and stuff had, like, really good smell. With their antenna and stuff?"

Scarab flinched at that. Prismo's eyes widened.

"...Scarab... Oh no..."

The beetle sighed, slowly scootching out of the cubby, closer to the Wishmaster. His mask rearranged slightly, showing the cropped little stumps where antenna clearly used to be.

"It's... part of why I'm here. It's... disorienting, some days... And... it's not the only reason..."

Scarab seemed to hesitate again.

"...You don't have to show me if you don't want to, Scrabs."

"...But I think I do... because... well..." he trailed off. He turned around, slowly opening his elytra. "...you make me feel safe, Prismo...

The Wishmaster swallowed down the gaps he felt trying to climb up his throat. He never thought about why he'd never seen Scarab fly, either in the Time Room, or on his hunts. But... he'd never suspected this to be the reason...

His wings looks awful. Or, more accurately, what was left of his wings. It resembled pages ripped out of a book, the edges jagged and tattered. One was bent at an awkward angle, twitching ever so slightly.

"Oh Scarab..."

What could he possibly say? Sorry? It'll be okay? There wasn't anything to add. So he didn't.

He reached slowly with his other hand. Scarab flinched a little when it began overlapping his back, but his shoulders eventually relaxed as Prismo began rubbing soft circles in the center.

"...Is there anything you'd like me to do, Scrabs?"

"...I'm usually able to ride days like these out if I just stay put... I can manage."

"Yeah, I guess but... is there something that could make you more comfortable? I like blankets, personally."

"I..."

Scarab looked to the ground, like he was pondering.

"I... Don't know... I've never... thought about it before."

"...Give me a few minutes. I'll be right back."

Prismo left a silent duplicate behind to continue petting Scarab's back as he went to make his little preparations. A lot was on his mind, top of which was "What happened?"

Because something clearly did. The injuries seemed too... deliberate to be just part of the dangers of being a God Auditor. It was too specific. It was meant to hurt, but not kill.

Prismo felt his form shiver and darken the more he thought about it. He shook his hand, watching the purplish black lighten back up into pink. He couldn't get mad yet, he was on a mission.

Just as promised, Prismo returned a few minutes later, now finding Scarab's eyes closed, lightly purring at the feeling of the hand on his back.

"Hey Scrabby. I've got a surprise for you. Can you walk, or do you need help?"

Scarab slowly opened his eyes again, looking at the Wishmaster carefully.

"...I can walk, I suppose. Just... slower than you might like."

"That's okay. It's not going anywhere."

The two walked through the halls of the Time Room's basement in relative silence. Prismo occasionally hummed, and Scarab sometimes joined in with a soft trill, but neither felt the need to speak at the moment.

"Alright man... here we are."

Prismo gestures to a new hole in the wall. Scarab raised an eyebrow, curiously crawling up the wall into the hole. The Wishmaster smiled at the surprised little gasp he heard.

Tucked into the back of the hole, which was much deeper and cozier than the pickle cubby, was essentially a nest. A soft heated blanket covered the bottom, a white noise machine, and a thermos of hot tea waited for Scarab.

"Prismo... you... you didn't have to do this..."

"I guess not. But... well, maybe I wanted to. I didn't know you were in pain, but now that I do, I'd be a pretty bad friend to let you wallow in it. So... think of this as your space to get away if you need it. We can make more when you're feeling better, but I think this is a good start, yeah?"

"This is... all mine?"

"Yep. There's a little remote in there too, with a little screen. If you want to watch something, or whatever. If need anything else, just push the big red button on the bottom, and I'll send a dupe down here to help."

"I..."

Scarab sounded like he was on the verge of tears again, but the beetle choked them back down.

"...Thank you, Prismo."

Prismo couldn't help but smile.

"Feel better soon, Scrabs. We still need to figure out the next chapter for this mystery drama we've been cooking up, yeah?"

Scarab let out a soft chuckle as he curled himself into the back of his hiding spot. "Yes, indeed."

The Wishmaster nodded before leaving the beetle to his rest. It wasn't common for him to help without a wish but... Well, he had a feeling he might be more than willing to bend the rules when it came to things like this.

And, with the tired smile in Scarab's eyes still fresh in his head, Prismo couldn't find it in him to mind.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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melanieph321 · 10 months

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - Try Me Part 2/6

Summary - A six part series where reader is a very passionate football player and Ruben is her new and equally passionate football coach. However, the two of them can't seem to get along.

Enjoy!

It was the second match of the group stage. Sixtiy minutes into the game and Ruben still had you seated on the bench.

"Coach?"

He stood with his back to you, facing the pitch, shouting at the girls to "Push!"

"Coach?" You shouted in vain. Either he was completely ignoring you, or he was just that emerged in the game.

"Ruben!"

His head snapped back to look at you. A bit forgetful that you were back there and not on the pitch.

"Please, just put me in." You pleaded.

His smug smile betrayed a hint of amusement. "Not this time," he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. "This will teach you a lesson, not to disrespect me again."

"But we're losing." Your plea turned into frustration as you tried to reason with him. "I've worked so hard. I deserve a chance."

He shook his head dismissively. "Hard work isn't everything, Y/N. There are many factors to consider when playing football, and your attitude towards me is one of them. Maybe this will teach you some humility."

Desperation filled your voice, "Please don't do this!" You stood, ready to walk onto the field and help your teammates weather he liked it or not. However, Rubens outstretched arm altered your steps.

"Sit down or your not playing for this team anymore."

"But..."

His stern gaze told you that he wasn't joking. During his time as the assistant coach he had never once cracked a joke.

"Fuck this." You said, bending down to remove your shin guards, tossing them aside and storming off in a trembling rage.

You didn't bother getting back to the locker rooms. You headed straight for the gates and out of the stadium, towards the nearest bus stop.

Ruben's words stung like a slap to the face. The fact that he was young and handsome only made him more annoying to you. What did he know about football? He had previously played for a team that often threatened relegation from the highest devison. A terrible merit for a coach, along with his alleged knee injury that forced him to put his football boots on a shelf. What did he know about coaching a women's team? What your team needed was a real coach, with real competence. Like your old coach.

"Y/N? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was shook to see you standing at his front door, dressed in all your football gear.

"It's a disaster." You announced, stepping through the door, without invitation.

"What is?" He asked, wearing a robe with palm trees on. Retirement didn't look good on him, you thought. He had gained weight and moved awkwardly between the furniture in his home.

"The new assistant coach, Ruben. He's taken over as if someone has given him your job already." You sat down in one of his leather sofas, exhaling your frustration.

"Now Y/N, Ruben is most likely to turn into your permanent coach for the next season anyway, which makes him your new head coach. "

"Unless someone else accepts the position, right? Like you?"

"But I am retired dear. Finally after sixty seven years I'm allowed to put down the whistle, sit down and rest."

You frowned. "Is that really what you want to do during your retirement?"

"Mostly, yeah. I've been worked all my life, coaching both women's teams and men's teams in football leagues all over the world. "

He seemed to hold for applause, but you just stood from the sofa. "You know, sitting down all day is gonna make you fat."

He chuckled. "Y/N. You were always one of my favorites. I already had plans to retire after stepping down from my position as the head coach for the mens team. I would have gone through with it years ago, If it hadn't been for a stubborn little bucked tooth girl who kept showing up to train with the boys team, insisiting that she'd do so until the club astablished a girls team.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, hiding your flustered face "I'm glad you didn't." You muttered.

"Me neither dear, me neither. Turns out I still had a few years left in me. As for your new coach, Ruben, his journey has just begun."

"But why does his journey have to begin with our team." You sighed.

"Give him a chance Y/N, he might turn out to be a good one."

You pondered the idea. You came to a conclusion. "I doubt it. Got anything to eat?"

Coach shook his head, rising to his feet. "You football players have the apatite of elephants."

You followed him into the kitchen.

When you were younger coach and his wife were the ones to give you a ride to and from practice after school. They knew that your situation at home wasn't ideal and never hesitated to help out. You never had to buy new cleats, not that you could afford any. Coach and his wife would always gift you with a pair of new ones ahead of the season, saying it was an early Christmas gift for you not to refuse their charity. You often felt embarrassed by it, your situation at home. But as you grew older you learned not to have it way you down too much. If it wasn't for Mimi, you would have moved out of that place a long time ago. But with Mimi's mother gone, you couldn't just leave her. You wouldn't.

"So, how are things at home?" He asked, reading your mind from across the table.

"It's...."

"Olá, estou em casa!"

You were about to answer his question when you heard a key turn in the front door, followed by somone stepping into the house. A man, with a voice that rang a bell.

"Olá, estamos aqui!" Coach replied. Him and his wife were Portuguese, always speaking the language around the house, even if you were there.

"Nós somos?" Ruben appeared in the kitchen doorway, two grocery filled bags in his hands.

"You?" You frowned.

He looked equally suprised to see you. He still wore his coach tracksuit, perhaps coming straight from the game.

"Ruben, I take it you know my former player Y/N. Y/N let me introduce you to my nephew in law, Ruben Dias."

"No way." You shook your head, rising from your chair. "You're fucking with me aren't you coach. "

He smiled. "I am not."

You looked to Ruben who still looked at you with furrowed brows. "This is not happening, this is so not happening right now. "You pushed past the both of them, on your way to put on your shoes on and leave, saddened by the fact that you wouldn't be able to step foot in this house again, EVER.

"Y/N, wait!"

You were out of the house, on your way to the bus stop, when Ruben came running after you, his hair somewhat tousled by the wind.

"He wanted to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You stopped, turning around to face him.

"That I was living with him since my aunt died."

"So why didn’t he?" You were a bit taken back. Ruben didn't look like himself anymore, or at least who you thought he was. Your new uptight coach. His face was more relaxed and he wasn't shouting at you.

"He knows that you and I...." He scratched the back of his head. "...that we've had some problems in training and perhaps if you knew that I was his nephew in law you would stop coming over to his house."

You're damn right. "So you knew about me before we met?"

Coach introduced Ruben to the team just ahead of the summer training. He must have told Ruben about you before that, about you and your home life? Coach and his wife were the only people outside of your family that knew about it, not even your teammates knows.

"I was like you once" Ruben said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"What, a 23 year old girl?"

"No. I mean passionate about my sport. The same passion that fuels you ahead of every game, the passion that makes you work harder than your teammates. I see it in you because I used to have that too."

"And then what happened?" You weren't sure where he was going with this. Unless this conversation would end with him apologizing for keeping you on the bench today, you didn't want to hear it.

"I got carried away and too driven, loosing the sight of what's important."

"Winning?"

"No, to play a good game with your teammates."

"Any game where we win is good game for me. Scoring goals is just a bonus."

He nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with conpassion. "You think that now, until the day you win a badly played game. The victory won't taste the same."

"Well then, I'll let you know when that happens, okay." You turned around, ready to walk away.

"I'll see you tomorrow Y/N and I'm sorry for not putting you on today. Hopefully we can move past this and...I dunno?"

"I..." You were lost for words. Turning around Ruben was still staring at you, hands in his pockets and that compassionate look on his face. Perhaps he was pittying you, knowing the trurth about you? But he had always known, which meant that he had always pitied you.

You adjusted the straps to your backpack, nodding your head his way. "See you tomorrow coach."

There wouldn't be a tomorrow. You'd have to quit the team now.

You lay in bed that night wondering which teams would take you in the middle of a summer cup. A team that didn't train too far from home, because you had to get home to Mimi every night in time for dinner.

You looked to where she slept peacefully. You pulled the sheets to cover your body, ready to sleep too, when your phone lit up, temporally illuminating the room.

You received a notification. From Tinder! Quick. Grabbing your phone, you sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the light from the display. It was a notification from Tinder alright. Another message from Ruben Dias 26. You tapped the screen to see your conversation thread, rembering the message you sent him a couple of days ago. He had left you on read since then, with you checking every night in vain. But now, he had finally given in, which guys on dating apps often did. Especially around 2:30 a.m., your current time.

"Is this big enough for you?" 😜

The message read. Followed by a picture attached to it.

Immense heat rose to your face as you blew up the image to cover your screen. It displayed a male hand holding on to the shaft of a throbbing cock. Rubens cock?

Tagslist:

@kathb59

#fanfiction #man city #football imagine #manchester city #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #football #football x reader #enemies to lovers #love and desire

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csilis · 7 months

Text

Five Nights At Freddy's William Afton x F!Reader A/N: The continution of Until Death Do Us Part, but can be read separetely. And yes, this one is longer. But at least the characters are talking now.

You left him in that backroom, choking on his blood and dying, never looking back. Still, that night haunted your dreams in ways you could never imagine. There was deep inside a part of you that genuinely loved that man. A part that thought he was only just broken and needed to be mended. But you buried it deep, only letting that part’s guilt torment you in your dreams.

What you knew is that when the management found him in the morning they decided to seal off that room and forget that William Afton ever existed. You wished you could erase him from your life just like they did from theirs.

To avenge your little sister, Cassidy, you had to become a monster just like him. You had to dirty your hands, be his partner in crime. It was the only way to make him think you madly loved him. And when the perfect moment came you betrayed him and took your revenge.

After making peace with what you’ve done, you thought it was finally over. But fate is a funny thing after all. Forgetting that knowing him, he will definitely return one day, you spent the next ten years helping those who have been wronged by William. And boy, it was a long list.

But in the end you circled back to this shithole as you realised that since that day, you didn’t get any older. Like as if you stopped aging. So you went back to his old house for his research papers, thinking that you might find some kind of answers in them.

In his old house you found his son, Michael. He wasn’t looking like he used to be when you two briefly met all those years ago. But you could tell that he’s been through hell. Maybe even worse than that because now he was a ghost, possessing his own rotting body.

He was also surprised to see that you haven’t aged at all. But wasn’t that really when he heard your story of you taking your revenge.

“That fucker deserved it. Maybe even more” That was Michael’s honest reaction to your story. You could only laugh at his response. He then offended to help, thinking that you deserved the same peace just like everyone else.

After looking around, you two found his old notes about the why and how of his killing spree over the years. What started as a promise to put his own damned child back together ended up in the death of many others, so that he could make remnant out of them, thinking that will bring back the children he have lost. On the last pages of the notebook he even wrote about you. It wasn’t what you thought he would write. Professing eternal love so deep that he even thought about just quitting altogether to start a new life with you. But you knew it well that he was way too deep for that.

Nevertheless you were surprised as you always thought he too played the part of a man madly in love with his woman. You thought this was a game where the one who fools the other sooner wins. But it was not the case. He genuinely loved you. That bastard!

In the end what you two come up with that the remnant must be keeping you in the same age, making you some kind of immortal. But when that night you dreamt about your sister, you realised. Cassidy was the one keeping you this way, so when Afton comes back you will have the strength to put an end to this.

So you spent the next two decades trying to think of ways how to kill him for good. Send his soul to hell. Hell… that’s what you needed. To burn him until nothing remains.

Soon, 30 years have passed since your cursed wedding at the backroom of the Freddy Fazebear’s pizzeria. And when that same place is reopened as a horror attraction, you knew he will soon be back. So you and Michael signed up for the night guard job and planned how you two are gonna end it.

On the second night he was there and your heart started to beat faster even at the sight of him. Though you didn’t really see anything as he tried to hide from the cameras the best he could.

“Do you wanna meet him?” Michael asked while looking at you. He knew the history you two shared more than anyone.

“Not now” you quietly said. You then pushed the button and the laughing of children could be heard in the next room, where William soon headed because of the programming of his suit.

“He looks so trapped in that suit. Hm… Let’s call this amalgamation Springtrap” came up Michael with the name idea as you two were sitting bored in the office.

“Fitting” you nod in agreement as you turn a page in your favourite book. Hours pass and you are still reading as Michael fell asleep on the desk, while watching the monitors. Noticing this, you put your book down, deciding it would be time to meet your cursed husband.

Walking past the monitors, you take note where he is now and continue your journey towards that way. Picking up the taser you confidently walked through the halls of the horror attraction.

When you close your eyes and go to sleep And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat

When you heard the song coming from the speakers throughout the whole building, you froze for a minute, only to realise that Michael was up and signalling this by playing the same song you've been dancing to with William on your first date.

"Fuck you Michael" you quietly stated as you composed yourself and took a deep breath as you turned right in the end of the corridor to come face to face with your husband.

He takes a good look at you, his mechanical eyes focusing on your unaged face. Even though 30 years has passed, you were still the same. Not like him. His suit rotted away, leaving even more wires and springs to be exposed. You could see through the holes how his flesh stuck to the metal, making him one with the suit.

You could hear the clancing of the gears as he tried to open his mouth, no doubt to speak to you. But it soon came to a halt as the rusty metal did not let him do what he wanted. However, he was William, so he continued anyway.

"It's been... been... a while" he finally managed to say, his quiet words loudly echoing between these walls. You did not say anything. He didn't deserved to hear your voice. "It took... took me long to... to realise. You are... the sister... the sister of Cas..."

"DON'T YOU DARE TO MENTION HER NAME!" you exploded, anger apparent on your cheeks as you held the taser higher and ignited it, electricity cracking between the two tiny metal rods. "She was just a child and you...!" you yelled, tears threatening too fall even after so many years. But you had to keep your shit together. "You gutted her like an animal and stuffed her into one of the suits" your voice dropped and became so calm that even William was suprised by it.

"So revenge... it is."

"The word revenge cannot even give you what I've planned for you. This time I will send your soul straight to hell and stay there to torture it until the end of time" you said, laughing leaving your lips as you took some steps towards him. You weren't afraid. From him? Never.

As you advanced towards William Afton, a sense of determination and purpose welled up within you. The past three decades had been a relentless pursuit of revenge, and now the moment of reckoning was at hand.

"That... that will be... heaven then" he smiled, or at least attempted to smile. "Because... I get to be with you... forever"

You couldn't believe the audacity of his words. Even now, he clung to the delusion that he could be with you for eternity. It was sickening.

"You are truly mad, Afton" you whispered, your voice dripping with contempt.

"Don't say... that you are... not..." he said and you had to admit that he was right. He infected you and now you were just as insane and bloodthirsty.

"I'm not saying it, love" you quietly answered, not even noticing that the part which still loved him was showing.

With a swift movement, you lunged at Springtrap, ready to push the taser into his suit, but your attempt was short-lived as he quckly grabbed your waist.

"You... can't... escape me" he wheezed, his words coming out in painful gasps. "We'll... be together... always..."

"Always, Afton?" you scoffed, your anger boiling over. "The only thing that will be eternal is your torment in the deepest, darkest pits of hell."

"I... I love... when you... determined like... like this" he whispered, pulling you close and giving you some kind of twisted kiss. And the worst part was... that you liked it.

You tell me that you want me You tell me that you need me

The song still went on and it made you even more unsure of your feelings right now. Conflicting emotions coursed through you. The memories of your twisted relationship with Afton, the years of seeking revenge, and the disturbing connection you still felt for him... it all clashed.

As the song played on, you found yourself grappling uncertainty. Afton's words and the sensation of his touch stirred something deep within you, a part of you that somehow loved him. But you couldn't allow that vulnerability to cloud your judgment.

So you had to trick him once again. So you kissed him back, knowing that this was the only way to get close enough to carry out your plan. As you deepened the kiss, you could see the surprise in Afton's mechanical eyes. He believed he had won you over with his twisted charm, but little did he know that this was your opportunity to get the upper hand. You could taste the desperation in his kiss, the longing for a love that could never be.

"You were always good at playing games, love. But the rules have changed since then..." Breaking away from the kiss, you reached for the taser with your free hand. You had to end this, for now at least. So you pressed the taser against his rotting flesh and activated it.

You watched him silently suffer from the electicity and twitch uncontollably. It felt great.

"You will... will be... back..." he whispered to you in pain. "Because you... you always come back... back to me" he then despite the pain managed to laugh before he shortcircuited and fell to the floor.

"Two down. Four more nights to go" you said turning around and going back into the office. You will make his life a living hell, here... and the other side too once you burned this fucking place down.

Word counter: 1857 Characters: 10037

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton #fnaf cassidy #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x y/n #springtrap #fnaf 3 #The_Revenge_Saga

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lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie · 3 months

Text

Merry Christmas, Janus

Summary: After the gift exchange, Janus returns to the Dark Side of the Mindpalace to relax and reflect. As he picks up his new socks, he finds a second gift from Roman…maybe he really should have laid off of the wine.

Pairings: None, background prinxiety if you squint

Warnings: WINE/ALCOHOL MENTION, NO COMFORT, I GUESS?

(A/N: So I'm posting this really, REALLY late because I had no energy to finish this but I finally do!)

When Logan had invited him and Remus to this year’s gift exchange with the whole Fam-ILY, Janus hadn’t expected things to go the way they did. Yes, he might have downed a few glasses as he refused to show up sober. He didn’t want to have to remember such a warm and soft event. He didn’t to have to hear all the sappy shit coming from those Light side dorks. Especially from Patton. Janus especially did NOT want to deal with Virgil and Roman while he was sober.

Speaking of the prince, Janus finds himself glancing over at the Creative side. Roman was currently curled up on the couch with Virgil, babbling away as he showed the anxious side his twenty-dollar bill with his face on it. Virgil chuckled, lounging against Roman’s side, and saying something Janus could care less about. Though…something twists in Janus’ stomach as he watches the two of them get cozy, Roman wrapping an arm around Virgil who nuzzles him. Gross.

Janus watches them a little longer before turning away. He finishes his remaining wine and makes the mug vanish as he tries to ignore his still throbbing cheek from the bitch-slap earlier. Yeah, he probably deserved it though. The lying side then glances at Roman and Virgil again, glancing away when Virgil suddenly glares at him. Janus doesn’t know when, but Virgil has been acting like the prince’s guard dog and hardly ever leaves his side. Huffing, Janus turns to Remus.

“Remus, get up. We’re going home.” Janus hisses.

Remus looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor with his air-fryer. Somehow, Remus has managed to put several substances and a stick of deodorant in it.

“Already?” he whines. “But I wanna stay! I’m making dinner!”

Janus cringes at the chunky slop in the air-fryer bucket.

“We already had dinner. You can bring that home and play with it all you want there.”

Remus pouts and unplugs his appliance, tucking the bucket back in.

“Boo, you’re no fun, you Scrooge.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be here. It’s getting too sappy for my liking.”

“Fiiine.” Remus then turns to the rest of the room. “Hey, dorks! We’re dipping out. Snakey here is getting grouchy.”

Janus huffs.

“Thanksss, Remusss…” he hisses.

After what felt like an hour of goodbyes, thank yous, and Christmas wishes as well as a good riddance from Roman and Virgil, Janus and Remus finally sank out and returned home. As soon as they popped up into the dark and cold common room, Janus beelined towards his office while Remus scurried off somewhere with the air-fryer. Janus didn’t care and entered his office, locking the door behind him. Usually, this is where he starts chugging a bottle of wine but for once he’s trying to sober up so he can sort out his mind. Maybe he’ll thank Roman for slapping him somewhat awake.

Roman…

Of all the sides…Roman had to be the one to have his name.

Janus sighs and stares at the box on his desk. Despite everything he’d done to the prince, Roman still put in the effort to make his gift look nice. Roman was even thoughtful, giving him a gift he could make use of rather than giving him some fancy trinket. The snake side picks up the box and opens it. Luckily, the bitch-slap-in-a-box was a one-time thing. Setting the lid aside, Janus picks up the mustard yellow socks inside and gazes at them. Sure, they’re just socks and usually they’re not a gift you want to receive on Christmas, but part of Janus couldn’t be upset. Roman gave him an actual gift rather than just leaving him with nothing.

Trying to ignore his heavy thoughts, the deceitful side discards his gloves and runs his fingers over the fabric of the sock. They’re quite soft, much to his surprise. He at least expected it to be some god-awful fabric that would try to rip the scales off of his feet. Janus then picks up the other sock and feels it only to pause when he feels something crinkly in the sock. He winces and prays it’s not another prank from the prince. Bracing himself, Janus reaches in, and his fingertips pluck a folded and now crumpled piece of stationery. Of course. There in black ink and written in cursive is his own name. Oh. Janus then opens the paper, a very long and cursive message waiting inside.

Dear Sna Dec Janus,

I apologize if my gift to you isn’t anything fancy. And I’m not talking about the bitch slap. Sorry for that by the way. I wasn’t going to do it at first but I thought it’d be funny. Honestly, I’m glad I got to see it in person. I really wanted to slap you, but I didn’t want to look like the jerk of all jerks. Again. Now, why am I writing this letter to you? Well…I have a lot to say to you and I don’t think you’d understand if I tried to say it in person. Despite your role, you’d never believe me. You’d probably think I was sucking up to our dear old dad or even Thomas. So, I’m doing it in letter form. Writing always helped me free my mind of the things I don’t want to think about.

I just wanted to know, why do you hate me? Forgive me if you’re still bitter about the hat stealing and the name calling. Everything. To be truly honest, I had no idea what to do. When we were in the courtroom, everything was flipped outside down and all around. They said to trust you and then they said not to. When I tried to follow, they didn’t like it. Like I walked down the wrong path despite them giving me the map. Funny, isn’t it? Trying to do what you thought was right only to hurt yourself and someone else. That’s probably why you hate me.

I suppose I should also apologize for my growing ego. Better it grew rather than let it fall apart and ruin Thomas, right? Then again, what do you care? I’m just a bumbling, arrogant prince who cares for no one but himself. Is that what you wanted to hear?

I also miss you. When we were up on that stage and I had no clue you had taken Patton’s form, I had fun acting on stage and having, well, ‘you’ to direct me. It was fun and you seemed to like drama and theater. I had hoped we could work together again but now I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to tell when you’re acting and when you’re not. It’s a shame, really. After we were formally introduced, I thought we were friends. I wanted to be friends, believe me, but I’m scared. I don’t want you to lie to me again and make me believe you care. For Thomas’ sake I’m willing to be as civil as I can so we can work together but outside of that, I don’t think I’m ready to face you. Maybe in the future, we could talk but not right now. Not until I feel ready.

I suppose I should end this letter now. If you’re still reading this, Janus, then thank you, I guess. Thank you for not trashing this letter. I mean, you can once you’re done reading if you want. You probably still don’t care. I’ll see you around the Mindpalace or something. Take care of Remus for me. He seems to like you more. I really wish we could’ve been friends. I hope you enjoy the rest of your Christmas evening. I mean, you won right? You beat the mighty prince and his massive ego. Congratulations. Merry Christmas, Janus.

Roman

Janus stares at the letter, rereading it once more before putting it down on the desk with shaky hands. He rubs at his face, ignoring the fact that his cheeks were wet now. He leans back in his chair, hanging in his head guilt. God, Roman…what had he done? He just…the prince wanted to be friends…Janus licks his lips, the taste of salt and bitter grapes mixing. He stares at the letter sitting on his desk, regret and something heavy pooling in his gut. Janus hadn’t realized how much he’d hurt the prince has was supposed to protect.

He really should lay off of the wine…

#li talks #sanders sides #sanderessides #ts fanfiction #roman sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders angst

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