#you ever get a bit emotional when drawing your comfort character? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kooktrash · 8 months

Text

the art of obsession | kim taehyung [teaser]

NOW POSTED

summary: in a world of painters and poets, there were two college students looking for the right sort of inspiration. through devotion in your craft, you find yourself drawn to kim taehyung—a grad student painter who’s everything you’ve ever looked for in a character. his walk, his form of speech, his art, it all captivated you to the point where you wanted to recreate him in words and you begin to realize how similar the two of you really are. you share a sort of obsession in your work that seems like only each other could understand and he invites you into his world of oil paints and charcoals in hopes of drawing you on paper.

✎ genre/au: dark academia. college au. painter!taehyung x writer!y/n [afab. she/her]

✎ TBD

“There is no beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” — Edgar Allan Poe

warnings: smut. slight obsession. prestigious college. dark characters. tae literally takes oc to a graveyard. MORE WARNINGS TO COME

“I told you, it might be scary,” Taehyung said as he walked parallel to the graveyard toward a tree that stood tall along the sloping hill, “But this is the best view of twilight, if you want, I could walk you back to campus.”

“No, it’s fine,” you cleared your throat deciding to walk ahead of him so you could be the one sitting upright against the tree. Taehyung dropped his backpack a few feet away from you and began getting his things out.

You didn’t question him, only observed the way he carried on like you weren’t even there. It’s not like you minded, you didn’t have any real agenda to get him to spend time with you and frankly, you felt a bit relieved to see that he wasn’t trying to figure out what you wanted. It was unspoken the way the two of you seemed to think similarly and brought out your tools.

Taehyung didn’t say anything when he flipped his sketchbook open and found a charcoal he could use as he began to sketch without much thought into it. He even made himself comfortable by lying back, using the angle of the hill to help him not lay horizontally and he bent a knee up as a sort of flat surface he could rest his book on. There was a small breeze that carried through his linen shirt and brown trousers but he wasn’t much worried about himself.

He was more worried about you, who had asked to spend time with him but had no real plan to do so. He’ll admit, when he said no it was just on reflex from all the other times he’s out right rejected others before but he only thought it over because he’s been curious of you two. When you told him you would join him for a moment he debated saying no again because this was his favorite place to be to watch the sunset but it wasn’t all that normal. He even tried to warn you and offer to take you back when you saw the graveyard but you didn’t even seem to care when you sat down. Now that he’s looking at you up close, he can see the way your brows furrowed in concentration as you scribbled in your journal, already feeling inspiration.

It’s now that Taehyung is realizing why he’s been so curious. He finds you beautiful, he’s sure he’s mentioned that before, but he finds you beautiful in an unsettling way. Just looking at you seemed to send him into a wave of emotion like you’re exactly what he’s wished to create on canvas. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were working away to make another sketch, eyes on you as he worked.

“What are you writing in that little journal of yours?” He found himself asking after some time. The sketch was rough and yet it was so refined that there was no mistaking what it could be. It was a monochromatic sketch of you with your back against the tree, legs straight before you and your hair covering your face with the howl of the wind. Your hands looked delicate when you wrote and you looked so lost in your own work that managed to capture that same essence in his drawing.

Your eyes met his and he didn’t back down from the stare even as it intensified with each passing second until finally you said, “I’ll tell you if you show me what you’ve been doing in that little sketchbook of yours.”

For some reason a small smile came to his face as he laid on his side using his elbow for support and reached over to hand you the sketchbook. You took it with a sense of excitement that quickly turned into disbelief as you looked at it. The back of your index finger hovered over it but never touched for fear that you would smudge it and when you finally handed it back to him, wordlessly, you gave him your journal.

At this exchange, Taehyung moved to sit up, not bothering to brush off any loose grass blades off his linen shirt and read over a short passage.

A certain coolness in his gaze that made him appear cruel.

A charming aura that seemed timeless, not modern but ancient like he was created from every classic literature known to man.

His gaze, his smile, his voice—all deep like red velvet.

The list went on, each short sentence followed by another in what one could assume was meant to describe him. He didn’t say anything either as he handed it back to you the same way you had done with his sketchbook. Neither of you were looking for critique or praise, more so acknowledgement of what the other had been doing and once you had it, it was enough.

Taehyung stared forward as the line of bright Orange finally vanished from the sky and a cool blue clouded it. Nothing was said as you both stood up with your things and even less was brought up on your walk back to campus.

It wasn’t until you stood at the bus stop that Taehyung decided to ask, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No.”

He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket in his trousers followed by a pen as he scribbled something down before handing it to you, “Meet me here

at 8:00pm.”

You didn’t have to say anything for Taehyung to know you would show and he left without much of a goodbye.

::.

here’s just a little snippet of what I’ve been working on bc I miss fall and need it to hurry up

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby

#kim taehyung #taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagine #taehyung au #Taehyung smut #bts taehyung #taehyung fiction #taehyung fluff #taehyung oneshot #taehyung drabble

448 notes · View notes

cinnbar-bun · 5 months

Text

Hugs and Kisses (One Piece) Pt.2

Featured Characters: Robin, Franky, Chopper (platonic only!), Brook, Jinbei

Scenario: How they like to give hugs and kisses to you <3

Rating: SFW

You can read this on my AO3 here!

Chopper (this is platonic!)

Chopper really loves being held and kissed by you.

While you’re not his dad (Zoro) or his mom (Robin), you’re very up there when it comes to Chopper’s affections.

He loves when you scratch his ears and feed him cotton candy.

He likes just sitting on your lap. It’s comforting, and feels he can trust you a lot to keep him safe and hold him.

While he says he doesn’t like to be babied, it’s obvious once he’s in your arms that he really loves how secure you make him feel.

You’re like a… hm… cool older sibling! Yeah! That’s it! He goes to you often for fun or to help sneak him something he may want, and you’ve become something like a sidekick to his habits.

Not that you mind, he’s your baby bro Chopper. If Mom and Dad say no, well, he can always go to you (and 99% of the time, you give in).

Robin

Ever the elegant and mature woman, she will be more likely to express her emotions and love for you in more private settings.

It kinda traces back to her personality and history, she’s just worried you’ll be an even bigger target by being seen so closely with her (the last thing she’d ever want is for you to be captured or tortured because of her)

But in an innocent way… she would like to play the part of a “normal” couple. She knows it’s a pipe dream, considering she’s the Devil Child and you’re both a part of the Straw Hats, but still.

That’s why, if you want to surprise her, hold her hand in public on slower days, like in the market or at a wonderful view of a flower field. She's touched when you do that, and she decides to join you in playing along as the “normal” couple she sometimes fantasizes about.

She's never had anyone she was close to in the way you are to her, so she’s very protective of you. If she feels you are in danger or someone is trying to fight you, she immediately stands in front of you.

She prefers hugs in private, where she can pull you close and hold you without fear of being hurt or seen. When she gets more comfortable though, she’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder or keep an arm around your waist so you two can be close.

Robin can be a bit of a tease, and while normally her kisses are simple pecks on your forehead, cheek, or nose, she can and will put on bold red lipstick and kiss you, leaving an obvious stain (she may or may not tell you).

Perhaps it’s something of a possessive streak coming in… and, well, she kinda can’t help it. You’re too cute.

Franky

Should be obvious, but Franky is SUUUUUPPPPERRRR into PDA. He’ll just sweep you in his arms and throw you over his shoulders, or snuggle you like you’re a teddy bear (and seeing how big he is, you kinda look like one).

He doesn’t get embarrassed by what others think, he’s just wanting to hug you and kiss you lots when he feels like it.

He’s so needy when he’s not building things. Straight up will beg to be able to hug you and sob if you have to decline.

Despite his eagerness to be with you at almost all times, he’s not gonna jeopardize you or anyone else in a serious situation. He knows there’s a time and place for things, and he won’t try to be physically affectionate in the midst of a battle.

He will, however, wink and say that once this is over, you owe him some kisses and hugs.

If you compliment and hug him, he’ll give himself an ego trip and smirk. He knows he’s super, but when you say it, it just makes him feel uh- super-er!

He likes you sitting on his lap most. It’s so comfy having you there, and he likes resting his chin on top of your head.

Often likes to look at what you’re doing when in these positions. If you’re reading, for example, he likes to try and follow along with it. If you’re doing something like say… gaming or drawing, he’s happily watching to see what you’ll do next.

He might even create something to go with your favorite hobby to make it easier/better for you!

Brook

Brook is a gentleman (for the most part), and so he won’t do anything forward without your permission.

Listen, he’s always going to be down for you wanting to hug, hold his hand, or kiss him. He will make many, maaany jokes about how he “can’t feel it cuz he’s dead” and laugh his signature laugh, but he really does treasure your affection.

Sure, he can’t feel it or reciprocate it back the way he could as a human, but he does enjoy and appreciate how effortlessly you make him feel like one.

Similar to Robin, the idea of a relationship, especially in his physical state, was nigh impossible in his mind. But you, for some reason (he’s still trying to figure it out), loved him, even for all the reasons you really shouldn’t have.

Also like Robin, when you hold his hand or kiss his cheek (or where his cheek would be if he had one-), he feels almost… “nostalgic”. That’s how he likes to describe it. He’s gotten used to life as a skeleton, and though he yearns for skin to be able to hold you correctly, he enjoys what he has with you. It’s the closest he ever gets to feeling alive again, and only you could spring forth such feelings from him.

He can’t “kiss” persay, but he likes to press his mouth against your forehead- so at least you can get a kiss without him possibly hurting you or making it feel weird!

He loves when you lean against him, so he’ll wrap an arm around then. Also loves when you pepper kisses all over his face, it makes him happy.

Yes, it’s a bit unconventional, but it’s your unconventional relationship and damn it, he’ll treasure it and fight for it like no tomorrow.

Extra thought: Brook would make sure to give you an accessory that matches with him, so he can always remember you and be connected with you, even after death.

Jinbei

Jinbei is so respectful, so gentlemanly, and so sweet, and you can’t help but feel adored with him.

Often takes your hand and presses a kiss to it, especially as a greeting or good morning. He likes how your hands compare to his larger ones.

Again, very respectful and honorable, so he will not force his affection onto you unless you ask. Then when he gets more comfortable, he will begin to ask if he can hug you, kiss you, hold your hand. If you say you don’t mind/he doesn’t need to ask as much, he will take note and make an attempt to “surprise” you with a hug. He does like the look on your face when your eyes widen and the large smile on your lips once he randomly decides to hold your hand.

Likes to hug you in private, and when he does, he makes sure to wrap you in his arms and stroke your back. It’s so nice, and Jinbei is quite warm, funnily enough. It’s like a very snuggly heater wrapped around you.

Jinbei, despite being the “adult” in the Straw Hats for the most part, he tends to get super cute and bashful when you kiss him. It’s adorable seeing the slight blush on his face and the goofy grin when he recovers.

He often jokes that it’s an eye for an eye, so if you kiss him, he must kiss you back, and vice versa. He's all about being equal and treating you with respect while making sure you understand how much he loves you.

Jinbei doesn’t admit it, but he would adore wearing matching kimonos or outfits with you. He might like to wear contrasting colors but with a similar theme, or just the same pattern and color. It makes him feel closer to you sharing outfits like that.

#nico robin #robin x reader #franky #tony tony chopper #jinbei #one piece brook #brook #nico robin x reader #franky x reader #jinbei x reader #brook x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece hcs

358 notes · View notes

wttcsms · 4 months

Note

"i (Nanami Kento) bet on losing dogs" x the losing dog (reader)

no other sadness in the world would do, kento nanami ;

pairing kento nanami x f!reader word count 1.5k synopsis a quiet and intimate examination of modern day suffering content contains implied abusive spouse (for reader), implied unrequited love (nanami has feelings for reader)

There is nothing in this world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

What a pathetic trait, he would think to himself. How could someone just blindly follow someone, constantly chasing after their shadow, only to be mistreated time and time again? It’s disgusting. Shameless. Weak.

He feels disgusting, shameless, weak.

Powerless, too. That’s a new one. That’s how things usually go when it’s just the two of you; you start evoking all sorts of new emotions, like he’s a video game character and you’re helping him unlock upgrades to his character. It’s a bit disarming, really. Kento much prefers to remain as impassive as possible while in the office because unnecessarily giving up any pieces of himself to this skyscraper shithole feels like he’s letting his stupidly rich clients win.

Kento likes routine, which is why he settles into one quickly and refuses to make adjustments unless absolutely necessary.

And then you became his new desk partner, and his perfect, meticulous cycle is thrown off course.

Being observant does more harm than good. He notices the shiny ring on your finger and draws an invisible, never-to-be-passed boundary. He already has made up his mind on not engaging with any of his coworkers, female or male, married or otherwise, but with you, he makes the mental effort to visualize the line, the flashing red warning signs, the whole nine-yards. This is the first sign that you are going to fuck up his life. Already, you’re embedded in his insides, owning real estate in his subconscious long before he can even realize it.

At first, you don’t talk to him much; you don’t talk to most of the men working here, and Kento can’t fault you for that. Most of them are assholes, and all of them don’t have any morals. If this wasn’t the case, they wouldn’t be working here, after all.

Eventually, you start to withdraw, and Kento becomes the person you’re most comfortable with talking to. What you see is what you get with him. Kento refuses to be one of those people who are a waste of perfectly good oxygen, and he doesn’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re in an industry where men purposely like to talk over women, just because they can get away with it. With Kento, you are given free rein of the conversation. It’s kismet, you and him.

He gets used to your constant conversation, never seeming to be put off by the fact that he doesn’t offer up his opinion unless explicitly asked. Kento normally doesn’t like it when people talk to him when he’s trying to get work done, but your voice is pleasant, your topics always interesting (“do you think there are different levels in Hell, or is a one-victim murderer being prodded by pitchforks right next to Hitler?”), and he finds that listening to you speak relaxes him somewhat. He doesn’t go home with a tightness in his shoulders and a persistent, throbbing ache in his head that aspirin can’t seem to fix.

The first time Kento initiates conversation is when he sees you wearing a blazer during the sweltering heat of one of Japan’s most unforgiving summers.

“A bit warm for all that,” he says, trying to adjust his tone and make it sound like a joke. Even if it did sound like a joke, he knows that your reaction would remain the same.

“Oh,” you give a nervous, insincere laugh, reflexively tugging on the sleeves even though your arms are still very much covered. “I get cold easily.”

That’s a lie. Kento knows because he knows you well enough to tell that you are the most genuine person he has ever interacted with. He doesn’t know how you ended up with this job when you’re much better suited for a career that actually helps people. He thinks back to when the office’s air conditioning went haywire and blasted the office with near-freezing temperatures. You had remained in your short-sleeved blouse, saying that you love the cold.

He doesn’t call you out on it, though. He just makes a noise from the back of his throat and turns back to his monitor.

He can only pretend to ignore your erratic behavior for so long. You keep yourself covered to the point where you make a nun seem indecent. You withdraw from him, not initiating conversation unless Kento brings something up (he’s never been good at making small talk, and so more often than not, the conversation fizzles out quickly and awkwardly). And then you come to work with a black eye, and Kento refuses to let you suffer in silence any longer.

You break down and cry, feeling pathetic, feeling lost. You beg him not to say anything to anybody, that this is just a rough patch, that this’ll pass, and everything will be okay. Amidst your sobs, Kento finds himself wondering who you’re trying to convince right now.

He holds you on the comedown.

Now, there’s a new cycle. Things don’t get better for you; it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that one out. If a man lays his hands on you once, he’ll do it again. And again. And again.

To take a life is a serious thing, but sometimes, there are worse ways to kill someone without ever murdering them. Your husband is killing you right now, a slow, soul-sucking type of death, and Kento would like to kill him. Some people are more curse than human.

What did your husband do, Kento wonders, to make you fall in love with him? What can your husband do to make you finally wake up and realize that he is entirely undeserving of your love?

Kento Nanami does not belong to any religion, does not attend church, does not even bother questioning the possibilities of a potential afterlife because his current life is already a bust as is. But after every late night he spends comforting and consoling you, holding you while you wet his button-down with your tears, he goes home and prays that you get the strength to fucking leave him. Pack your bags and get the hell out of Tokyo. Even if it means he’ll never see you again, the only person who makes this insufferable existence somewhat bearable.

But the cycle doesn’t seem to ever break. He’s watching you fade away, and he decides that all the faith systems are fucked up for ignoring his pleas.

“You should leave him.” He tells you, handing you a tissue. It’s technically a waste of breath; he tells you this shit all the time, and you never take his advice, but he says it anyway. Foolishly hoping that this time will be the time where you decide to listen to him.

(And besides, he finds that anything he says to you could never be a waste.)

“But I love him.” You give him that same sad, watery smile, and Kento wants to pity you, but you wouldn’t accept it. Outwardly, he treats you the same as he used to, before he knew all that stuff that happens to you behind closed doors, because he knows what it’s like to be treated like you’re incapable of processing anything but kindness. The sweet, sugary kind of kindness, too — none of that blunt, pragmatic stuff. Kismet, he snorts. How fortunate that the kindness you need — re: blunt, pragmatic — is the only type he’s capable of giving to you.

Being treated like you’re surrounded by broken glass and everyone around you is trying desperately to avoid it makes people feel even worse. When Yu died, everyone acted like not being overly nice to Kento would somehow make him snap and go off the deep-end. The fact of the matter is, none of these people have ever been so overly cautious around him, and it actually made the pain of losing Yu somehow more unbearable.

There are lots of replies that rest on the tip of his tongue.

But does he love you?

Why?

Have some self respect, holy shit.

Your love is killing you from the inside out.

I could love you.

He tosses away your snotty tissues into the trash can, somehow not disgusted by you even though you think he should be. His grocery list now includes painkillers, band-aids, and bruise ointment. He thinks prayers are a waste of time, and before bed, he takes a shot in the dark and hopes some benevolent god is rooting for you like he is. There is nothing in the world that Kento Nanami despises more than baseless loyalty.

“I know.” And he leaves it at that.

#kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #one shot #drabble #sleepover event

336 notes · View notes

hotpinkboots · 8 months

Note

LISTEN LISTEN

Headcanons to how Emily (Corpse bride) would react to GN!darling drawing her? Like having several pages just full of drawings of Emily

I love her so much and the movie <33

~~~~~~~~~~

~𝔈𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 w/a Darling That Draws Her Headcanons~

~~~~~~~~~~

YES YES YES. PLEASSSSSE REQUEST WITH EMILY MORE OFTEN I LOVE WRITING HER🙏🙏🙏

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝔈𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶

★★★★

~She is completely and utterly whipped for you.

~Knowing you're just as completely and utterly whipped for her makes her giddy and excited.

~Expect a lot of kisses and hugs because of this.

~Sometimes, she can grow a bit insecure about herself- she knows she's very pretty, but her eye, the decay, the visible bones, ect. can make her overthink about her looks sometimes.

~Seeing you draw her so often fully convinced her she's pretty.

~Will happily pose for you if you ask her to.

~But she might get a bit giggly and amused, expect her to move sometimes without thinking, or talk while you're trying to paint or sketch her.

~Not that she talks a LOT, but she gets excited over the attention you give her.

~Her Maggot may tease her around and try to make her feel self-conscious, so Emily may feel silly posing at first.

~Hasn't gotten her portrait done in years, so once she gets used to staying still for a pose again she's the perfect model.

~She's a very lovely model!

~If she ever found that you've been drawing her already even before she knew about it, she'll feel SO touched.

~Might even get a bit emotional about it!

~Very often compliments your skills and brags about how good you are.

~Now she purposely tries to look extra pretty in case you're around with your sketch pad.

~Which sometimes can lead to her doing something silly and clumsy by accident because she's trying too hard LOL

~May need a reminder that she's pretty when she's simply existing, that she doesn't need to TRY to look pretty.

~She loves having an artist for a partner!

~~~~~~~~~~

SHE IS SUCH A COMFORT CHARACTER AHH 😭

~~~~~~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~~~~~~~~~~

Join my Discord Server! There you can talk about my fanfiction, roleplay, chat, watch movies and listen to music with other fandom nerds!:

~~~~~~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots

#emily #emily corpse bride #emily x reader corpse bride #corpse bride #corpse bride x reader #tim burton #tim burton movies #emily x reader #corpse bride emily #corpse bride fic #pink's fanfic

163 notes · View notes

marigolddove · 11 months

Text

Love Begins With Murder, Believe it or Not.

Part 3

Request by: @yandere-dark-cupid

I stayed up until 3 am writing this, passed out and then woke up at 6 am to finish it lol. It's okay though I'm not tired, I'm just happy to be writing. I hope you all enjoy this part there will definitely be another part which will probably be the final for a while. I'll probably try and leave this story with a not-so-official ending because I might make one-shots based around this in the future.

Also I'm getting a new job soon so that might cut into my writing a bit but I'm going to keep writing no matter what I'm so grateful for Welcome Home and all it's characters and all my fellow fanfic writers and artists out there making more and more content for this fandom. You guys are all awesome and Welcome Home is officially my comfort Fandom, without it I might've never wrote anything ever again. So thank you to @partycoffin, and all of the AU creators, you're all truly wonderful people.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of torture and violence, anger issues.

@elegantkidfansoul, @sunkyss, @all-things-fandomstuck, @sailorsimp13, @cricketsjunk

💀♥️💀

Wally couldn't believe he didn't have one single vase in his apartment, not one! He had been so certain he'd had flowers before, surely he'd had…he was a lover of beauty and nature, so it was extremely frustrating when he couldn't find his—imaginary—vase.

He could've let it go there, just put the bouquet in a tall glass or leave them out to dry and get a vase tomorrow, but to be honest he was procrastinating when he suddenly decided he needed a vase before his nap; he knew of a flower shop fifteen minutes away on a strip he was well familiar with—he often got lunch or dinner from a nextdoor diner, well he did before he hit this depression.

That's what all this is about, after all. Depression.

He lost the desire, the drive, to style his hair, paint, draw, talk to his friends and employees, he doesn't even make eye-contact like he used to; and now to top it all off, he realizes, there's absolutely no life in his apartment. Even his old paintings feel soulless, hollow, because they don't fill him with the emotions he once held as he crafted them.

When the depression set in, he couldn't be sure, it had been a gradual change; but it was one he hadn't noticed until now, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

He feels his face flush in embarrassment as he thinks of his neglect of himself and his home as he drives to the shop, the sky turning orange and blue behind the many buildings surrounding him.

As he kept his eyes trained on the still bustling road ahead, he could only hope he would make it in time so this uncoordinated trip wouldn't be a complete waste.

—————————

With traffic being convinently merciful to him this early in the evening time, he is soon racing to the shops entrance door, bouquet delicately cradled by his left arm; completely missing the 'open' sign flipping to 'closed' as his unoccupied hand grasps the door handle and turns.

As he pushes into the building he is shocked to find an employee standing right at the entrance, hand quickly retracting from the door as they lock eyes with him, seemingly just as shocked by his sudden entrance.

The bell above the door chimes.

For Mr. Darling, renowned local kingpin, ruthless 'family' man, time seemed to slow for a moment, just a moment. It was almost as if the chiming of the bell had put him into a trance, or maybe it was just you.

There you stand, (h/c) hair fluttering from the sudden rush of wind that came from him opening the door, staring right at him; your work uniform fitting you quite nicely, especially with your own accessories that added a unique personal touch, not to mention the smell—which was most definitely the shop, but there is no doubt in his mind that you smell any different—sweet and floral.

You're the first to speak, voice a bit nervous at his stare, "O-Oh! Hello, we–ah, I, was just about to close up shop." You move the hand that had been reaching for the door handle to fiddle with a ring on your opposite pinky finger, a sign of anxiety.

Realizing how he must look, a bit wild from the wind whipping his already disheveled hair around with tired eyes, his ears and cheeks grew a little hot, but he clears his throat into his hand as he tries to recover from his sudden and silly attraction.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to just barge in here, but…" he shrugs the arm cradling the bouquet, "I'm looking for a vase, this shop was the only place I could think to find one and it wasn't a far drive…I thought I had a vase, but I was wrong." He explains ratherly lamely, his usual suave and calm demeanor shattered by his growing embarrassment at his current mental and physical state. This was a mistake, he should've just waited for the morning or let the flowers dry out, he should be sleeping right now.

Like an angel you smile at him, so bright and warm it almost feels like the sun is beaming at him, "That's alright! I don't mind a bit, sir, follow me I have some you can choose from in the back." You move to allow him full access and then make your way to what looks to be a storage closet at the back of the shop.

He follows without a word, eyes glued to your figure as you seem to glide to the back, your feet making little to no noise as you move.

The door to the storage closet is open with chalk board sign leaning against the wall next to the door frame, 'small vase $10, medium $15, large $25 ALL HAND MADE!!'.

"You make your own vases?" Wally asks, impressed even before seeing the quality of your work.

You flush as you glance at the sign and then gesture to the closet, signaling him to take a look at your stock, "Yeah, it's a new thing I started doing…I've always been into crafts and stuff like that and working with clay seemed really fun and challenging, so…." He notices your words grow softer, seemingly embarrassed.

Well he can certainly tell you're a beginner, many of the pieces seem a bit lop sided or misshapen, but some are charming due to their faults. Something art had taught him early on is to love imperfections just as much as perfections.

"They're charming." He says, and it's the truth, hearing the honesty in his tone makes you turn a bit more red as you smile gratefully at him.

"Which would you recommend for this bouquet?" He asks, he already has an idea of which vase he'd pick but he wants to hear your opinion.

You eyeball the bouquet, a knowing look sparkling in your (e/c) eyes, and look to the assortment of pottery, "hmm".

Your eyes land on a particularly unique piece on the bottom shelf, it's wide and a bit overly round at the bottom and it narrows a bit more dramatically than you intended at the top, it was also colorful, painted with vertical rainbow stripes that had come out very pastel when you had originally wanted a very bold rainbow color. Overall it had been a bit of a flop, but at the same time it has become one of your favorite pieces and it was a tragedy it had never been used. Whether it looked good with this particular bouquet didn't really matter, to be honest it didn't compliment the bouquet at all, but it deserves a home.

Following your gaze, Wally examines the piece you're staring at so intensely.

"Is that the one?" It certainly wasn't the one he was going to pick, but the way you stared at it with such sentiment made his heart leap. Oh how he missed the days when he would look at his own art with such a nostalgic and sentimental gaze.

"I don't know…it's a little ugly, to be honest…it doesn't really go with the flowers."

"I can always get more flowers." He responds smoothly, catching even himself off guard.

The two of you lock eyes again and he wishes he had examined himself before coming here, so he could know how you see him. He's certain he looks like a mess, and not a hot one.

You seem taken back by his response, but recover quickly to smile, "Yeah, I guess you can. This is a flower shop after all." You glance down at his bouquet again, "you wouldn't happen to know someone named Julie, would you?"

He knew you would recognize the tag and the flower combination, so your question didn't phase him, "Yes, actually. I'm sorry I couldn't come in for the flowers myself, at the time I was…busy."

"Ah, no need to apologize, worrying about a funeral is tough even when you weren't close to the person who died. I'm sorry for being a bit nosey."

"I don't think you're being nosey at all," he ignores the bit about the funeral, not wanting to really lie, but still omitting the truth, "these flowers you picked are really very lovely, I almost want to keep them for myself." He absolutely intends on keeping them for himself.

Your smile turns a bit bashful, "Oh, well thank you. It's nice to know I got it right." Turning back to the shelves of pottery, you crouch to the one you had been staring at, "So is this the one you'd like? Or did you have your eye on another?"

"I'll take that one and these two as well." He gestures his free hand to two other pieces, one being a bit plain and lumpy, the other a bit more colorful; the base color being yellow with red and blue swirls.

"Three?" You ask, a bit surprised.

He grins at you, and unknown to him your heart flutters, "This way I have an excuse to come back, I'm going to need flowers for them, right?" It's been a while since he's tried flirting, but by the way your entire face seems to light up and flush he's certain it's been effective.

"R-Right," you grab two of the vases as he grabs one, "that's three medium sized pots so it'll be $45 dollars." The two of you make your way to the check out counter and place the three pots delicately, "I'll go ahead and wrap these for you." As he grabs the money out of his wallet, you rummage through the work table and pull out a bundle of plain wrapping paper. Carefully, you wrap each individual piece in a thick protective layer of paper, then delicately place the three into an oversized grocery bag, adding more wads of paper between each piece.

Wally lays the money down onto the counter, slipping an extra $5 bill as a tip, as you place the finishing touches on the bag of fragiles. When you're pleased with your work, you hand him the bag with a wide grin, collecting the cash; before you can finish counting Wally tips his head to you.

"You have a good night, doll, stay safe." Without another word he exits the shop, you call after him about his change but he doesn't respond. Upon examining the extra $5 bill closer you notice a series of numbers written on it, when had he done that?

It doesn't take a genius to know that he's written a cell phone number on the bill, despite his somewhat messy appearance your stomach feels as though it's infested with butterflies at the idea that he might have been interested in you. He certainly had flirted with you a little bit, but that didn't have to mean anything, but leaving his number? That means something.

He did say he would need to come back for more flowers, you smile at the thought, carefully folding the bill and tucking it into your pants pocket. You begin to close shop again, this time with no interruptions.

—————————

Julie should've told him he looked this awful, he thought to himself as he examined his reflection in the rear view mirror. No, no, no this won't do! Horror pierced it's way into his heart as he also realized that this is how he had looked during your entire interaction. He had flirted like this…left his number looking like this.

A part of him wanted to storm back into the shop and explain that this isn't him, just something he's been dealing with, tell you that he's not some pathetic, greasy nobody like he knew you must've thought he was.

He's Wally fucking Darling, he kills whoever he wants, whenever he wants, sells what he deems profitable no matter how morally gray and takes whatever he pleases. The people that surround him know to not only fear him but to adore him.

In his sudden shock and growing fury he almost, nearly, throws the bag of pottery to the floor of his passenger side; but he doesn't, of course, he's much too collected to just fly off the handle and break things—he most certainly is not, just two weeks before he broke that not-so imaginary vase he knew he had, it had been in a fit of frustration towards Howdy for failing a trade agreement; Wally didn't remember it now, but that day he had taken his only vase and chucked it at Howdy's much higher head. He had missed entirely, and now he's forgotten the whole ordeal.

Thankfully there's even less traffic, somehow, on the way back, which keeps his temper low but bubbling gently to the surface. A rolling boil was sure to start.

When he arrived back to his apartment, he placed the pots onto his sofa along with the bouquet, so delicate compared to the war of emotions he held inside.

Remember: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

He enters his massive, stunning bathroom and makes a b-line for the mirrors, he needs a better look at the damage his neglect has done.

If looks could kill one look would make the mirrors shatter, this isn't who he is. He feels like an imposter in his own body when he looks at himself, hair greasy and wild—no longer slicked back due to the wind, he doesn't even like slicking back his hair, it isn't his style! Then there's the grotesque bags under his eyes, when had they become so dark and puffy? How hadn't he noticed sooner? The rage was building now.

7, 8, 9—

Why was his skin so dull an–and sallow?!

Suddenly the sound of his marble counter top cracking triggers a roar of emotion to overwhelm him, he doesn't even register he's injured himself by slamming a fist down onto the marble. The emotions are so raw, so heavy, he doesn't even realize he's out of the bathroom now; doesn't hear the carnage he's creating or his own howls and shouts of incoherent anger and frustration.

When and how did he become so pathetic? How long had the others just sat idly by watching him grow weaker and uglier. His anger blinds him to the memories of when they had tried, all of them had; even Howdy, who wasn't the biggest fan of Wally to begin with, had tried.

The shrill ringing of his telephone snaps him back to reality, in his now bloodied and bruising hands he grips a broken frame that holds–held one of his own designs. His breathing is heavy and his head is swimming, wasn't he just in the bathroom a moment ago?

He drops the frame and stumbles to the phone, wincing at the loudness of it, he doesn't even take a moment to collect himself before answering.

"What do you wa–"

"Hello!" Your soft, sweet voice timidly interrupts his rude greeting.

Suddenly his stomach dips and his heart flips, he really hopes you hadn't heard him.

"Uh-uhm, it seems like I've caught you at a bad time, ha ha. I'm sorry about that, sir." You had heard his sour attitude, fuck.

"No, no," he corrects hastily, not wanting you to hang up, "I'm sorry, I just…I just injured myself getting to the phone." The lie feels bitter, like bile rising in his throat, fuck why did he lie?

"Oh," is your meek response, then a pause, "Well…I'm sorry for calling you so soon…and it's a bit late too, ah, this is so silly I'm really sorry."

He's about to reassure you he doesn't mind in the slightest, and it's the truth, but you continue quickly.

"It's just that I didn't ever give you my name, a-and I never got yours. Also I wanted to give you my number as well, that way I don't have to do all the calling myself, you see." Your stuttering is cute, but your sickeningly sweet reason for calling him has him swooning most of all.

"I see, well," he straightens himself, confidence filling him once more, "My name is Wally, Wally Darling, and you are..?"

"Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"That's a lovely name for such an enchanting flower like yourself, Y/N." He purrs, his turmoil and self-esteem issues quickly forgotten by this new cocktail of emotions, suddenly he's like a giddy teenage boy; twirling the phone cord between his fingers, a toothy smirk growing on his face and he imagines you blushing like you did in the shop.

"Your name is really cute too," you reply, you sound embarrassed but you're definitely smiling.

"Thank you," he grabs the note pad and pen he keeps by his landline, "Now then, what's your number?"

"O-Oh, right!" You quickly tell him your number and he repeats it back to you, once he's gotten it correct he smiles, gently placing his pen back down onto the table.

Sighing, "I must say, I'm glad you called." He admits.

"Oh?"

He hums, "Yes, when I got to my car I realized how I must have appeared to you. I typically take better care of myself, but, well, recently I've 'let myself go'." His tone remains light, almost dreamy as he speaks to you, even though on the inside he can feel the suffocating emotions from before bubbling up again.

"I just thought you were having an off day, you're actually very handsome." The way you say it, like its a fact he should already know, makes his face warm. Those emotions dying quickly before they can rise again, for a complete stranger you seem to have a powerful hold over him, you're able to make him feel nervous and excited.

It's pleasant.

"Well," you start, "It's getting late, I'm sure we both have things to do before nighttime."

He glances at the mess he made during his episode, as much as he wanted to disagree he knew he needed to clean up. He wouldn't live in this embarrassment any longer.

"Yes, thank you again for calling me, Y/N. I hope you have a good night."

"You too."

"Stay safe." He hears the receiver cut off on your end, he sighs into the now quiet and lonely air. He's grateful for your ability to distract him, he would've caused more damage to not only his home but to himself had you not called.

Wally looks around at the carnage he caused, grateful he didn't damage his newly aquired pottery and flowers. It's time to fix this.

—————————

When Barnaby returns to the building he's immediately greeted by Frank, with a disgruntled Eddie in tow. He had taken a bit longer than he would've liked with the rat, but the boss told him to really work on the guy, and he wanted to be sure the body couldn't be found and linked back to them. He's very thorough.

So he's a bit tired when he's approached by Frank, their face intense.

"Something's wrong with Wally."

Immediately dread fills Barnaby, worried something happened while he was gone, "What happened?"

"We heard him screaming and loud noises, like things being broken, upstairs."

"And neither of you thought to check on him?!" He barks, immediately heading for the elevator.

"It wasn't like the sound of struggling, I know what a struggle sounds like. He's probably just having a fit, like usual now-a-days, and I don't want myself or Frank to be caught in the cross fire." Eddie replies, his tone indifferent.

Frank sighs, following close behind Barnaby, "I wanted to go up and see him, but after what happened with Howdy–"

"I know." Barnaby cuts him off. A vase hadn't been the only thing Wally had thrown at Howdy the last time he became like this, and the vase hadn't landed anyway; but a paper weight had, and so did his punches. Despite not liking him, Howdy had stood there and taken it, claiming the boss "needed that more than anyone knew".

Barnaby wishes it had been him, not Howdy. He didn't want Wally to hurt him, but he's his best friend and he wants to be the one that's there for him at his absolute lowest, as well as his highest. It feels like recently he's missing all of the moments that are crucial for helping his first friend.

"Thank you for letting me know, I'll go see him alone now. You two get back to…whatever you were doing, have a good night." Frank looks like they're about to respond but the elevator doors close, effectively cutting them off.

Barnaby sighs into the silence of the elevator, readying himself for what's to come when he reaches Wally's penthouse.

He's surprised when he arrives and the room is filled with gentle music coming from the Gramophone—the record player—across the spacious living area; someone's singing in the bathroom, he soon realizes it's Wally singing and he's even more stunned. Wally hasn't sung a song in all the time he's known him, claiming he couldn't carry a tune.

To Barnaby, he sounds like a professional, smooth and suave. It almost feels like he's intruding, but the mess of the room makes him stay. Wally seems to have started cleaning up his mess, which is a nice change of pace. Typically Julie would come in and clean for him after hearing he'd had an episode, saying he deserves a clean safe space, even if he's the one trashing the place.

Barnaby moves to relax on the sofa, careful to avoid the bag Wally had left. He sits and waits a while, enjoying the soft melody and the surprisingly relaxing aura that the chaotic room held. He finds himself humming along with Wally, not knowing the words of his song.

When he hears his friend's singing end and the water shut off his posture straightens and becomes a little tense; worried how his little buddy might react at his sudden intrusion.

To his surprise, Wally exits the bathroom in a plush bathrobe, hair expertly wrapped in a towel atop his head as he continues humming a tune; and when he catches sight of Barnaby he's shocked but smiles.

"Ah, you're back. I did wonder if you would come and see me again today, I'm glad you're back safe." He moves closer to the sofa, bare feet padding against the hard wood floors, "Sorry for the mess, I got a bit carried away again today. I'm also sorry if I've been short with you today."

"There's no need to apologize, Boss. I'm just glad you're looking better."

"I do look better don't I? It's amazing what a shower and a quick skin care routine can do to a man." He says as he rummages through the grocery bag on the couch, pulling out three bulky items wrapped in paper.

He sits next to Barnaby and unwraps them, the record now fading into a new melody. Wally places three…interesting vases on the low table in front of them. His smile seems brighter as he looks at them.

"You starting a collection?" Barnaby jokes.

Wally hums, "I'm considering it."

"I told Julie to buy flowers for the…rat's lady friend, I intended on sending her a message with them, only to find out she herself is a rat. So I decided I'd keep the flowers for myself, they're quite pretty." He explained, his voice soft.

"But what's with the pottery?"

Wally laughs, "Well pretty flowers need equally pretty vases, my friend." Barnaby wasn't sure he would call them pretty, but he wasn't an artist so what would he know?

"Why'd ya get three though?"

"You're awfully inquisitive today, aren't you?" For a moment Barnaby worries he's stepped too far, but Wally's tone sounds mostly teasing and light hearted, "I bought three because I couldn't just pick one that I liked; besides, my home could use more art."

"Yeah, sure. It's just nice to see you smiling and, uh, getting out there." He admits awkwardly, his smaller friend looking up at him with a wide grin, it seems genuine compared to his usual facade.

"It has been nice, today hasn't been perfect, but it's been nice." Wally rises from the sofa, grabbing the plain, lumpy vase and the bouquet as he moves to the kitchen.

Carefully, he fills the vase with the recommended amount of water and retrieves a bit of lemon juice he's had sitting in his fridge for a month now—it's been longer than a month, he just doesn't know that—he adds a few drops to the tap water before arranging the flowers inside the vase.

He carries the vase filled with flowers back to Barnaby and places them at the center of the low table, adjusting it's position on the table until he deems it perfect.

Wally sighs as he relaxes back onto the couch next to his much larger friend, "Now all I need is more flowers to fill the other two, perhaps I'll make paintings of them as well, they're inspiring me already." He didn't say what else might be inspiring him, but in his mind an image of you formed. Maybe he would sketch you as well.

Barnaby raised a brow at him, even though he wouldn't see it, and smiled, "Hey, I'm glad you're wanting to paint again little buddy, after what happened earlier I thought you might be giving up for good."

Mentioning their time together earlier that day seemed to sour Wally's mood a bit, "Yeah, well, torture and death aren't always the best motivation I've realized."

At his sudden tone change, Barnaby scrambles to get him back to his pleasant mood, "So where'd ya get the pottery? Any place I might know?"

This seems to work as a twinkle appears in his eyes once again and he turns to fully face Barnaby, a soft and genuine smile gracing his features.

"You might, Eddie talks about it all the time it would seem, everyone knew about it but me, ha ha." He continued, "Well, actually, I knew of the flower shop but I had never gone in before, until today. You might know it, it's (S/N), over on 9th Street."

Barnaby contemplates the location a moment, he can't say that he does recall a flower shop there, "It's not ringing any bells, but whats so special about it, you seem very…happy and I'm not so sure it's about a flower shop."

Wally's eyes widen and pink dusts across his cheeks, something Barnaby isn't sure he's ever seen happen to his friend before, "Well, I suppose it's about more than a shop, yes," then he stubbornly adds, "Although the flowers do make me happy."

Barnaby motions for him to continue, Wally sighs and while it sounds like frustration he still has a grin on his face.

That's when Barnaby learns about you, although he's certain he might have heard of you before through Eddie Dear, but he knows Eddie never talked about you so dreamily.

This is also when Barnaby learns that his best friend might have experienced love at first sight.

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x reader #eddie x frank #Mafia! AU #mafia!Wally Darling #wally has some personal issues #this is gonna be cheesy #its love at first sight #deal with it #barnaby beagle

196 notes · View notes

skibasyndrome · 3 months

Note

Following our conversation I want to spread some love for Wille and Simon because they deserve it!!!

What are your five favorite things about each of them? Can be anything like character traits or values or whatever else you admire and like about them 💜💜

Soooo, finally getting to this ask, thank you so much!!!! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 oh my god oh my god oh my god I LOVE thinking about this!!!! So okay,

What I love about Simon

he's such a caretaker........ always there for his sister (I know, it's complicated...) and for Wille and just... that boy has a heart of gold and he's not afraid to reach out and comfort the people he loves. everyone needs a Simon on their life

his unapologetic fucking authenticity, he will simply not let himself be silenced and that's not only why Wille fell in love with him but also why I love him to bits. my guess is he's been othered all his life, not only once he started at hillerska, and yet he's out and proud and will not let anyone give him shit about it. in a fair and just world it shouldn't be, but his unapologetic existence is such a bad-ass act of revolt in itself

he's a petty, petty boy [justified (TM)]... his flavor of pettiness and jealousy is like... so fun and so very teenager and the fucking dodgeball scene and the dancing-with-Marcus-while-eyeing-Wille will never not be absolutely fucking hilarious to me

he knows what he wants and he knows (or at least learns) to draw firm boundaries. you GO for not accepting Wille lying about you and about his feelings towards you! We love a king who will not let himself be treated like shit

he is so fucking brave. so so so so fucking brave. and it's terrible that he /has/ to be, but he's such a fighter. I guess that goes with the authenticity point, but he has his principles and he will not go down without a fight

What I love about Wille

this guy loves with his entire fucking heart, his entire fucking soul. he has so so so so so much love to give and is so dedicated to Simon. sure he has to learn how to actually act on that dedication and how to actually fight for that love, but my god... his heart is so big and he wants to give it to Simon wholly and honestly

his journey? the development?? like.... the changes he went through, of course with massive help and many nudges into the richt direction from Simon but like... this 16-year-old boy matured emotionally and grew into his authentic self in such a beautiful way it makes me teary-eyed

the way he loves with all his heart he also mourns with all his heart. he's so so so in touch with his emotions and always letting them happen and really feeling them... it's so very teenager of him but I think it's also just part of his personality to be so tapped into his emotions

revenge Wille is so fucking fun omg. when he walks up to the party with his gang??? when he confronts August? mwah. dramatic and I'm here for it

he sees Simon, he sees him like no one has ever seen him before and he acknowledges him, makes him feel like he's not all alone in this stupid school. god, I hope we see more of that in S3

this was so fun and now I'm all emo because I love my blorbos so fucking much :')

#answered #bigalockwood #young royals #simon eriksson #wilhelm #wilmon #I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR #young royals analysis #though not a very deep one lol. honestly just observations/ maybe steering into headcanon territory

64 notes · View notes

deepperplexity · 5 months

Text

Prompt 4. Sharing [C1]

Pairing: Turpin x Fem!Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Turpin's House

A/N: Time for my fav Rickman character to take the spotlight - I realise it might be a little frustrating to not have each long fic as a whole but I'm working with set prompts (like everyone else 😅) so we will be jumping a bit between the stories but I hope - since it's such a short time between parts - that you'll manage, darlings 🙈❤ Anyway, we are gonna have another slightly darker story going but I do promise we will have a HEA even if it'll be a bit of a roller coaster getting there. I'm such a sucker for Angst and Hurt in my fics that I just can't resist - especially when Turpin is so perfect for this 🙈🤭❤ I don't know how long this one will be though, might be 2 parts, might be 5, we'll have to see 😂 Anyway, I hope December is starting well for you and let's get to the story! 😍👏

IMPORTANT: My plans for this story go in the darker shades! I cannot make any promises as I write as I go for this event but I feel like Turpin's story needs some darkness, amidst the fluff and joy of Christmas I want to incorporate some harsher, darker themes as well - he's a dark and complex character after all so I'm just giving a possible heads up here at the very beginning. No promises, but many possibilities 🙈

Tags/TW’s: Emotional Hurt/Harm, Fear, Physical Grabbing/Hurt, Emotional Hurt/No Comfort (yet), Harsh Dialogue, Hating Christmas vs Loving Christmas, Pettiness, Longing, Fear Of Abandonment, Lacking Communication (not miscommunication)

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 1.6k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

You were tensing all over. Every muscle was as stiff as the logs in the hearth, crackling within the flames yet their warmth didn’t quite reach you. He glared at you. His cold grey eyes lacked the usual warmth he held for you. To be quite blunt, you hadn’t thought he’d be so opposed to the whole idea — but, there you were, in the middle of an argument you hadn’t imagined would ever occur.

You looked down, avoiding his harsh gaze. “I thought you’d be pleased,” you said quietly. “Pleased?” “Yes, Richard. I thought—” “You thought wrong. Christmas is a foolish holiday, worth nothing to me. The opposite, in fact.” You bit your lip, the coldness of his words too hurtful when you adored the holiday with all your heart and he'd never spoken in such a manner to you previously.

You glanced toward the tree you had only half decorated when he came home. Everything else in the house was done, the garlands and curtains, the mistletoe in the hallway arch and the new green candle sticks, the little Santa village atop the mantel you had sprinkled with flour to replicate snow, and the little decorations dotted on most flat surfaces — angels and reindeer, miniature trees and Christmas flowers. Some things you’d bought at the market but quite a bit of it you’d found in the attic — why did he have all those beautiful decorations if he wasn’t fond of the holiday?

“I’m sorry, Richard…” you whispered and he sighed deeply, it made you shiver unpleasantly. “It’s-, it’s my favourite holiday.” “You are my wife now, living under my roof, and there will be no holiday cheer or infernal carols. Take it all down,” he snarled coldly before leaving the room with rapid steps, his boot-clad feet stomping harshly. But it’s Christmas… You thought while hugging yourself, staving off the hurt of him speaking so harshly to you. Dismissing you, your feelings, all of it with not so much as a chance for you to ask why. “I won’t let you take away Christmas,” you whispered to the empty room.

***

You woke up in the guest room, having neglected to sleep in your bed — next to your husband. You hadn’t done what he asked yesterday, all the decorations remained where you had put them, and as you made your way down to the drawing room you were met by the half-done Christmas tree. He’s not taking Christmas from me. I won’t allow it. Never had you gone against his wishes before, not since you married the man during the early summer of that very year. He had truly not asked anything extraordinary of you, though. Not many wishes to go against, truth be told.

You finished decorating the tree, placing all the gifts you had hidden away in the attic previously under its branches weighed down by far too many decorations. Had he not been so cold toward you, so disrespectful of your love of Christmas, you wouldn’t have gone all out. Now, well, now you did. The tree was nearly tacky in its sparkling, glittery, golden galore.

“There, last one,” you said and stood back to look at your work. “He can be a grump everywhere else, but I’m celebrating Christmas. No matter if he likes it or not.” “You ought not do such a thing, me lady,” came the voice of the maid. It startled you. “It’s Christmas, Miss Lowel. I’m going to celebrate it.” “Yes, me lady, but do not say I didn’t warn you.” “Warning heard, and ignored.” “You are most brave, me lady.” “What’s he going to do? Throw his wife out on the street?” you laughed at your own words, he was some sort of a gentleman after all. Miss Lowel, however, only lowered her eyes and left the room. Would he?

***

Richard never came home that evening. You sat in the drawing room, surrounded by the cosy decorations while reading a book in the warmth of the fireplace, when the clock struck ten. “Where is he?” you murmured and snapped your book shut. “Is he working late again?” You sighed and got up, heading toward the bathroom to clean up before it was time to sleep.

As you brushed your hair you wondered if you should sleep in your shared bedroom or take the guest room again. You decided on the latter, not wanting to share a bed with someone angry — your grandmother always said it was bad to share a bed with anger. She meant one should always talk and solve things before going to bed, but, same difference. You didn’t quite want to admit to the strange sensation of worry and longing that had begun to unfurl within you, doubts about whether you’d made the right choice slithered in as the night enveloped the world. You fell asleep nonetheless, half shivering under the heavy cover lacking your husband’s warmth.

“You disobey me,” Richard snarled and you jolted awake. Sitting upright with the cover pooling around your waist, your nightshirt did little to ward off the sudden chill of the cold room. “Richard?” you asked, half disoriented by the sudden awakening. He glared at you from beside the bed, with barely any light in the room his eyes looked like pits. “You disobey me, in my own house ,” he snarled and grabbed your upper arm, jerking you close with a too-firm grip.

Your heart jumped into a gallop within your chest, your body stiffening while your hand reached out to try and remove his fingers squeezing your biceps too harshly. “I told you to take it down ,” he seethed. “Richard, stop, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered while pushing at his hand. He bent forward, your noses nearly touching, and your breath seemed lodged in your throat. His harsh features appeared set in stone, his mouth barely a line with his lips so tightly sealed and his jaw clenched. He had never looked at you like that, pure anger and something far more dreadful creeping underneath it — something that pulled at your heart fiercely.

“Take, it, down,” he said, nearly punching out each word. “N-no,” you whimpered, cinching your eyes shut. “I will not, it’s Christmas.” “It is my house,” he snarled and jerked at your arm, drawing a winching sound out of you. “It-, it’s mine too,” you whispered while tears began to roll down your cheeks. Fear, hurt and pain spurring the reaction you tried to quench. “You have nothing of yours,” he declared with frost in his thunderous roll of a voice. “ Nothing is yours.” “We share this marriage,” you said quietly, barely able to get the words out. “We share our life, and our home,” you continued and dared look up at him as he stood bent over you, each part of him seemingly held taunt. “Sharing,” he seethed, “is not what we do, wife . I own everything, including you.”

His hand released you with another jerk, forcing you to fall backwards while he straightened to his full, imposing height. Your heart ached and hammered, your cheeks wet with tears while your body quivered, your hands trembling. The way he spoke had fear streaking through your veins, your exchange with Miss Lowel still fresh in your mind — would he throw you out on the street over Christmas decorations? The hurt pushed hot anger through you, the fear like oil atop a fire.

“You do not own me,” you said, fisting your hand while glaring up at him. “I do not own you either. Marriage isn’t ownership, it’s sharing.” He smirked at you, but there was something devilish about it. Something dangerous. “Sharing?” he said. “In the same manner you thought to take all the freedom to remind me of the most horrendous of holidays? Sharing, as in taking the liberty to completely alter my one sanctuary without so much as a word with me beforehand? Sharing seems to be all, about, you,” he seethed while his hands fisted and his shoulders stiffened.

As he turned harder, colder, your heart ached and your shoulders slumped. Your bottom lip trembled, your tears flowed with more intensity as his words sank in, stabbing at you from all directions with the declaration of how selfish you had been. You had assumed he’d be happy, had assumed you could celebrate in a manner you saw fit, you even assumed he loved the holiday like all else did. It was Christmas, who didn’t love the most jolly of holidays?

Have I-, have I hurt him? The thought made your chest ache, for as you looked closer now that your eyes were more adjusted to the little light coming from the hallway you saw less of the anger he radiated and more of the hurt he was endeavouring to hide underneath it. You had, indeed, caused him emotional harm. It was written in his eyes as the dark pits turned to grey clouds. I hurt him…

“Richard, I’m—” “I shall return after Christmas.” “What?” “You shall have all your holiday cheer, wife , but none of me,” he snarled but the anger now sounded far more like pain. “Merry Christmas,” he continued with a seething sneer that just barely allowed the hurt to be heard, and then he stormed out of the room while you tried to grasp the fact he was leaving you until Christmas would be over, and it was only the fourth of December.

“Richard! Wait!” you called out, stumbling out of bed, your foot snagging on the cover, sending you plummeting into the lush carpet below with a thud and a hiss as your forehead slammed into the hard wood below while his footsteps receded down the stairs beyond the hallway. “Richard,” you said while scrambling to get up, “wait!”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Uffh, such a cliffhanger there 👀 I'm trying to preserve my sanity so I'm not endeavouring to write 5k+ fics or the like each day - I hope you understand 🙈❤

I do think I'll be doing some short one-part fics too during this Rickmas but I'm taking it day by day so we'll see what happens - tomorrow I'll be continuing our Brandon story though! The prompt is perfect for it! 😍👏 Also, want to say an extra thank you to all who's shown they're here, reading my writing - it means so much and I'm really grateful ❤

Q: Do you tend to read more Christmas/winter stories during the holidays? (fanfiction or original works) A: I have never really followed the seasons in my reading beyond Rickmas - I'm a complete mood reader so it really doesn't matter what's going on around me, what I'm in the mood to read I'll read 😂

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87

@elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @leah1243 @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #turpin x reader #judge turpin #judge turpin fanfiction #christmas fic #rickmas #alan rickman #rickmaniac

66 notes · View notes

pansear-doodles · 10 months

Text

its time i talk about the person who left a dent on me

the worst part of my trauma when it comes to it being connected to people i was once close with is that my perspective of what makes of them reminders of them (i do this to anyone im close with- whether it is a symbol or a certain appearance or trait or event)

little bit of serious talk here folks, so i apologize for the unexpected. hope you have the filters.

for most of my internet life, it was almost only me. completely unfiltered. came to deviantart first. became popular at an early age because of what i was doing in the fnaf fandom- it was not good for my mental health.

my groomer has a sona that never changes by design. he's always depicted as an orange fox with black long hair, black beanie and striped jacket. he likes fps games, especially the resident evil series- having associated me with Mia from resident evil 7. he likes fnaf (we met through fnaf... while i was like 14 i think- while he was 9 years older than me). he draws well... i guess. in pokemon form, he would be a jolteon. i would be a pansear. he would be the fox. i would be the rabbit.

as a child i was very impressionate, overly emotional, and cringe (ofc). i would be best friends with my groomer after finding out we shared many common interests and kept talking to each other about it- and then later fess up i have romantic feelings for him.

this would have been the opportunity for him to back up and say no.

but he didn't say no.

we continued off and became a couple. not many people batted an eye on how questionable it was for a 15 year old to be in a relationship with a 24 year old. almost nobody, save for a few concerned friends (and one stranger on Transformice) who i ignored unfortunately, talked it up with me to leave him. i held our relationship as a sort of defense mechanism. i relied on him to make me feel happy. i did a lot of things with him, and including those of the unsavory before i became of age. (i ever regret doing them- but how would i have known- i wasn't the adult here. he was.)

oh and have i mentioned he said the (un)iconic "you're pretty mature for your age." to me

you know whats one of the funniest weirdest shit about our relationship events was? he would show me this club penguin vid where there is a troll making crude remarks and harass someone (presumably a kid). that brotherman bill cp video. he would recite and memorize the song while blindfolded. ironic how he turns out to be in the end.

the wake up call was when he retweeted nsfw of an underage fictional character. seeing that purged my stomach.

yes. it was nsfw of a fictitious minor that was the nail to the coffin. nothing else. i was so delusioned. so troubled. i couldnt see anything else problematic until that happened.

it was so hard for me to let go of him. thankfully i had friends who comforted me and stuck with me through the whole way through. i was on my bed crying.

we've been in close contact for 5 years. i was convincing myself to stay on a doomed relationship because i didnt know what to do- i was already broken and unwell. i was very co-dependent (and i think some of those negative traits still follow me to this day- learning how to get out of that though). my groomer has left a large gap of my mind when we broke off- i revolved so much stuff around him.... and i forgot a lot of memories because of the trauma- taking even the happy unrelated to him ones with it.

i cared too much. and as someone who draws fast- you can imagine how much ive done.

my old files are infested with his likeness. i know i can just delete them but theres so much. so many. it is utterly revolting to see it all and the memories that come with it.

but as time went on, im starting to care less and less about what has happened between us. i am still traumatized of course and a lot of the negative things followed me, but i am healing somewhat and thats what matters i think. most of the things ive associated with him- the connection is fading. i have separated fnaf from him. i no longer associate orange foxes with him. i am comfortable drawing characters in black beanies.

if there is anything i should be grateful for, is that im no longer with him and im happier with someone else. im thankful for the friends who have helped me cope out of that shitfest.

if you know who this person is, i advise you not to witchhunt and harrass him. i dont know what hes doing and honestly i dont give a fuck on how he's doing. he should get help honestly. it is me, myself the victim, who has the say on the matter- and my say is to leave out of his sight.

if you are a minor and someone older than you does these similar things to you, please let your parents and friends know immediately. please be safe.

if my groomer ever reads this, somehow, then to him i say: i am not afraid of you and i do not care about you anymore.

thank you for reading.

#groomers #tw grooming #cw grooming #please let me know what else to tag #thoughts

115 notes · View notes

aroacebkgo · 4 months

Text

PERCY JACKSON AGERE HEADCANONS (PART I)

Warnings: None!

Characters: Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, and Jason Grace.

A/N: This is supposed to be read as x reader, but you can picture it with other canon characters as well! If this does well, I’ll make more parts! I’ll also be including Heroes of Olympus and Trials of Apollo characters, as I am a book reader AND a show watcher. :3

Percy Jackson:

Percy Jackson is a caregiver, surprisingly enough. He’s rather impulsive and a bit immature, yeah, but he’s shown time and time again that he can be responsible and take charge when the situation calls for it.

He does well with slightly older kiddos, like 6-8, but it doesn’t really matter. He’ll love you and take care of you no matter what!

He loves taking his little to the park, on walks around camp, or to the beach! The rest of the campers are pretty accepting towards age regression (they’re all traumatized + they definitely have better things to worry about lol), so you don’t have to hide it when he takes you outside to play.

He doesn’t mind what you call him. “Percy”, “Perce”, “Dad”, “Dada”, “Daddy”, etc. Whatever it is, he doesn’t mind! As long as you’re comfortable and happy.

He loves, loves, loves, loves, LOVES spoiling you. He isn’t very well off and he doesn’t have much money, but he’ll buy you toys and whatever else you need/want whenever he can! He prefers to spend money on you rather than himself.

He’s scary. Not towards you. But towards other people. The second anyone dares say anything to you about your age regression at all, he goes WILD. He does not take that stuff lightly. You’re coping with trauma. How dare someone try to ruin your coping mechanism for you?! How cruel can someone be?! It disgusts him. He’ll take care of it.

He’ll call you cute little ocean themed nicknames like “sharky”, “seashell”, “pearl”, or “fishy”.

He plays heroes with you a lot and he gets his friends in on it too. He’ll set up a little fake quest for you and he’ll take it SOOO seriously. And everyone knows you have to have three for a quest so he’ll get other littles he knows to play with you too! You usually play with Hazel and Will.

He doesn’t have very many rules. He doesn’t like restricting your freedom. You’re his baby, yes, but he does not like being harsh or strict on you in anyway possible. The only rules he really has are bedtimes and meal times, and those are to help you stay healthy.

All in all, he’s a really amazing, fun loving caregiver who’s willing to do anything and everything for you. He loves you so much and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Annabeth Chase:

Annabeth is a flip, with a caregiver lean. She is responsible, strict, intelligent, and calculated. But she is also incredibly traumatized and had an awful childhood with no reliable guardian. She wants to regain her childhood sometimes.

When she’s a caregiver, she does well with slightly older kiddos as well. She’s not very emotional at all, so she doesn’t really know how to handle temper tantrums, but she tries her best! She’s just really bad with emotions and comforting people because she doesn’t even know how to process her own. She does better if you’re a bit more independent. That doesn’t mean she won’t baby you, though.

When she’s regressed, her little ages are older as well. Usually around 6 or 7. She’s very quiet and independent, but she likes having someone take care of her. Usually she’ll just sit on your lap while she does a puzzle or draws little designs for different buildings.

If she draws you a picture of any architecture designs, you better put it on the fridge. Look at that little face. How could you possibly not? And tell her you’re so proud of her too. She loves it when you praise her.

Annabeth’s fatal flaw is pride, so she has a hard time admitting when she needs help, so you often have to pry it out of her whenever she’s regressed. Rarely will she ever come to you, letting you know and asking you for help.

When she’s a caregiver, she really enjoys cuddling and just being chill. She’ll do puzzles with you, do things like times tables and flash cards, etc. She likes teaching you. She wants her baby to be smart!

She loves watching documentaries and listening to you ramble about things you really like. She’ll sit there and listen patiently. It’s so cute to her.

She is strict. You have a bedtime of 9pm, you wake up at 8am, you eat breakfast at 8:30am, lunch at 12pm, and dinner at 6pm. You take a shower every other day, and you have to hold her hand whenever you go outside.

When she’s a caregiver, she likes being called “Annie”, “Mom”, or “Mama”. She thinks it’s so cute and she likes hearing those nicknames from your tiny little voice.

When she’s regressed, she still likes being called “Annie”, but also “Baby” or “Little owl”. Even “Princess”. Those pet names make her all happily and giggly and she loves it.

She’s very quick to defend you if anybody says anything about your age regression. She combats it with logic. If anybody makes a comment about it being weird, she’s seething on the inside, but on the outside, she looks at them with a calm yet cold look, and she’ll say something like, “How is it weird? They aren’t don’t anything inappropriate. How is a person coping with trauma and loss of childhood weird to you? Can you explain that to me?”

It’s her way of embarrassing the person. She purposely makes herself seem smarter and educated than the other person so that they look absolutely stupid lol.

She likes taking you to the library. She’ll read story books to you and tales about Greek heroes and heroines. It’s really cute, the way your eyes light up and you ask curious questions about whatever she’s reading.

Jason Grace:

He’s a caregiver, through and through. He loves taking care of you. He loves knowing that he can protect you and keep you safe. He loves making you happy more than anything. You’re his little baby. :( /pos (I really really like Jason if you guys couldn’t tell-)

He does well with kiddos of all ages! But he really likes baby or toddler regressors. He likes how dependent they are. It’s not in a weird way or anything, he just really, really likes being relied on. He likes being trusted. He likes completely taking care of someone. He loves babying you so much.

He likes going on little adventures with you! He’ll carry you and fly you around places. He likes making you happy. He’ll hold your hand and walk around Camp Jupiter with you.

He gives you paci kisses if you use pacifiers. Like he’ll kiss the front of your pacifier. It makes you giggle and he thinks it’s so cute.

He loves cuddles so much. He’ll just hold you for hours and hours, keeping his strong, protective arms tightly around you. His favorite position is where you’re laying on top of him, your head laying on his chest.

He calls you so many pet names. Mainly “Baby”, “Darling”, “Sweetheart”, and “Little one”. He babies you so, so much!

He likes being called “Dada” or “Daddy” because it makes him feel more protective and responsible for you, but he’ll be happy as long as you’re comfortable and happy!

He spoils you. So much. He’ll buy you whatever you ask. You want another pacifier? He just ordered five of them. You want more toys? Pick at least ten, little one, you’ve been so well behaved and you deserve it. He just loves you so much.

If anybody says anything to you about your regression, he gets so protective of you. He’ll be so quick to defend you. He’ll try to calmly explain to the person at first that it’s normal and completely okay, but if the person doesn’t listen or back off, he’ll give them some…unkind words while covering your little ears. He’s very defensive of his baby.

He likes playing outside with you and setting up little play dates with other littles. He’ll watch you play with your friends and it makes him so happy to see you interacting with and getting along with other people.

He has rules. He has a strict bedtime and strict mealtimes. And when you’re in public, you must hold his hand at all times so you don’t get lost.

He’s a very sweet yet strict caregiver. He loves you so much and he loves when you rely on him.

#agere #age regression #sfw agere #sfw interaction only #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #PJO #Annabeth Chase #Jason Grace #Heroes of Olympus

42 notes · View notes

chaosandbubbles · 11 months

Text

And In Dreams, We'll Meet Again

Leon Kennedy X Reader

A/N: I have never played resident evil or watched anything other than random Leon Kennedy compilation videos but now I'm in love with him. I'm writing this for @house-of-kolchek who requested something angsty. I am not fully up on the lore of this game, so bear with me. I fell so much in love with this man that I am now going to watch playthroughs to bring you better content! In the meantime, I am very educated on Jason Kolchek and write for him a lot if you want to check me out! Also, I never write grief. I am usualy the fluff queen so this is new for me!

WARNINGS AND TAGS: Major character death, grief, angst, drug use, alcohol use, depression

Word Count: 2.6k

Main Masterlist

“AND how does that make you feel?”

How does that make me feel?

How does it make me FEEL?

How the fuck do you THINK it makes me feel?!

That’s what you would want to say, but you didn’t. You shut your mouth tight, jaw clenched as tears threatened to spring from the corners of your eyes. You pulled up your hoodie—his hoodie—around you, drawing warmth from it as your therapist stared at you with soft, unjudging eyes. You weren’t going to answer her question because it was a stupid-ass question, and she knew it was a stupid-ass question.

“Y/n?” She prompted again, and you turned your icy glare on her, tears spilling down your cheeks as her blue eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Just like—like—

“It makes me feel fucking horrible!” You snapped at her, drawing away from her gaze, from her hand that looked like it yearned to place on you a comforting touch. You stared out the window, at the rain falling down the glass, at the horribly ugly gray sky that swirled just like your tumultuous emotions. “It’s been a month— a month—since I lost my fiancè! How the fuck am I supposed to fucking feel?!”

Your therapist was quiet, looking you over, before her eyes landed on the Raccoon City hoodie that you still adorned. The one that had never been washed. The one that you never took off.

“Do you ever feel like maybe—just maybe—you’re not allowing yourself to move on?”

Your entire body burned at the question with anger. Or, maybe agony. Probably both.

“Fuck you!” You screeched as you got up from the couch, pulling your drawstring bag onto your shoulders and flipping her the bird as you made your way to the door. “It’s only been a fucking month since my fiancè fucking died! And you have the fucking nerve to say that I should be moving on?!” You scoffed at her, but you knew that she could see the tears that were streaming down your face, just as thick and heavy as the rain had suddenly turned outside.

“I don’t fucking need this,” you decided, your mind likely running as you thought of all of the other ways that you could get over this grief. “I don’t even want to fucking be here!”

“This therapy is mandated by your job!” Your therapist yelled as you ran out the door, making sure to slam it shut behind you.

“Yeah?!” You called back, glaring heavily at the terrified receptionist. “Ask me how much I fucking care!”

You would probably never set foot in that office again.

⛈️

THE next time you went to therapy, you walked in sullenly, looking ashamed and a bit embarrassed about your actions two months prior. You couldn’t even really say what you’d been doing the past two months, living life in a fog, grief overwhelming. You’d know you needed to go back to therapy when you started having lapses in your memory, and, here you were, unable to specifically recall a single thing that you’d done since…since…

“Why don’t we talk about what happened? That night?”

Your eyes shifted slowly to your therapist and you shook your head.

“No,” you responded sullenly, pulling at the strings of his hoodie. What used to be his hoodie… “No. I don’t want to do that.”

“Tell me what happened, Y/n.”

“I–it—!” You didn’t know why it was so hard to recall, or why it was so hard to put into words. “He fucking died, okay?! My fiancè died. What more is there to even say?”

“Do you want to talk about how your fiancè died?”

“No.”

Your therapist leaned forward then, arms in her lap, bland, semi-blonde hair hanging over a shoulder. She looked almost like the girl you both once knew, the girl you helped save— “You know, if you never talk about it, you’ll never get to the root of the real problem. You’ll never be able to feel better.”

You choked back a sob, hands clutching the ends of his hoodie when you said:

“Maybe I don’t want to feel better.”

⛈️

This session your therapist decided to try something different. Instead of bringing up that day, you’d spent the entirety of the session talking about everything else about…him. How you met, when you started dating, when he’d asked you to marry him.

“That day was happy,” you recalled, a gleam and a tear in your eye as you remembered how beautiful you looked in your bright yellow dress, how Leon had been so happy. Happier than he’d ever remembered feeling before. “He was so, so excited. I remember that. Him feeling so excited. I remember everything about that day.”

“Were you both excited?”

“Yes, I—I think we were both excited. And happy. So fucking happy.”

Your therapist smiled back at you and leaned back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with your answers. She was writing something in her notebook, her hair shorter than it had been before, you thought. And blonder.

“And thinking about that day, it makes you happy?”

Your veins turned ice cold as suddenly, all you could think about was the fact that the love of your life was dead.

“No,” you admitted, feeling the sobs begin to wrack your body. “No it makes me feel—I feel—”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel numb,” you interjected, and suddenly, your hands began shaking in what you thought was about to be a panic attack. Your breaths were coming in fast, shallow pants and you felt the overwhelming urge to scream. “I feel like—like I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing.”

The therapist tapped her pen against her notepad as she stared at you.

“Interesting.”

⛈️

“Let’s talk about the day that your fiancè died.”

“I already told you, I don’t want to do that,” you pushed back, leaning your back as far into the couch as you could without actually feeling it behind you. You stared at your therapist for a minute—having to look away from his eyes, so blue—and absentmindedly played with the ends of your hoodie. “I can’t remember much about it, anyways.”

“Still?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, watching as your therapist pursed his lips and shook his head. “Still.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember that my fiancè died,” you bit back, uncomfortable feelings of grief and sadness instead of your comfortable numbness swirling around inside of you. “I remember that Leon is so far away from me, in a place I can never reach him. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t want to hear anything,” your therapist insisted, and for some reason, you thought his voice sounded just a little bit deeper. Something was weird today. Something felt off. “And besides, I’m not the one who needs to know anything. You are.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” You questioned harshly, taken aback by how flippant and assertive he sounded at the same time.

“What do you think it means?” Your therapist responded cheekily and you scoffed, sick of these stupid games. Sick of these pointless therapy sessions that you probably wouldn’t even remember. You didn’t remember anything since—

“Whatever,” you hissed, staring out the window. It was foggy today. Just like your mind. You winced as something prickled at the back of it, something trying to convey some sort of message, or—or a warning, maybe. “Something’s…weird today.”

“Well, what did you do this morning?” Your therapist responded. You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him all about your morning, but the words got caught in your throat and you found yourself unable to respond. You tried as hard as you could to remember something, anything that you could have possibly done that day, but—nothing. Your mind was as cloudy as the weather outside.

“I—I can’t remember,” you admitted and your therapist hummed in agreement. Like he knew something that you didn’t. Something struck you as odd again, something felt…awful. You leaned in closer to him, eyes squinted as you examined his hair. Blonde, as usual. Eyes—scarily blue. Blue enough to remind you of—of—

“Something’s wrong,” you said again, clutching your chest. “Something feels really, really wrong.” Your therapist looked at you and scoffed.

“Well, your fiancè is dead, so, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

“No,” you argued, insistent that something had changed between your appointments. “Something is wrong with you. You’re…different than before.” And yes, that was it. Your therapist seemed…different. Something changed with him.

But what was it?! Had he cut his hair? Or lost weight? Or—no, something else. It was more drastically different than anything like that. What was it?

“Different?” Your therapist asked. “Different how?”

“You’re…you seem different than before,” was all you could manage to say, because your brain, for the life of you, could not figure out what had changed. All that was thought was that something fundamental was shifting here, and you didn’t seem to put your finger on it yet. “You seem like a different person.”

“Hmm,” your therapist responded, shaking his head, as if he were analyzing something. “Interesting, indeed.”

⛈️

“Tell me again.”

“I already told you,” you groaned, picking yourself up off of the couch and pacing around the room. “A thousand times. We met in the spring. At a festival. He was there as some bonafide security. He thought I was cute. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

“Great,” your therapist responded, a smile on his face. “Now tell me about the day your fiancè died.”

“I don’t remember!” You screamed back, sick and tired of this stupid, stupid game that your therapist seemed to be playing with you. You could somehow recall every single instance you’d had with Leon from…before…but you couldn’t remember—you couldn’t quite recall—

“Where were you that day?”

“On a mission!” You screeched back, fingernails digging so hard into your palms that it looked like they could draw blood. “I followed him there, I told him it was because I didn’t want him to go alone. I knew how to shoot, I could fight—”

“Tell me about the day your fiancè died.”

“I DON’T REMEMBER!”

“And why do you think you don’t remember?!” Your therapist was equally as aggressive now, standing up and matching your anxious, agonizing energy. “Why do you think that you can recall every specific detail about your lives together except for that day? The day that your fiancè died!”

“I don’t know!” You were sobbing now, sinking to your knees and clutching the fabric of your blood-stained jeans. Your—what? “I don’t know, I don’t know, I DON’T KNOW!”

“Yes, you do,” your therapist responded, and suddenly, his voice sounded familiar. Too familiar. “You do know.”

Appalled, you lifted your head and rose to your feet and when you saw the man who stood before you, you gasped.

No. What? How?!

“Leon?” Your voice was timid, afraid, and you were shaking as you looked back at your therapist, your therapist who wasn’t that at all but Leon Kennedy. Your fiancè. Your fiancè who— “But you—you’re not—you’re dead, you died—you?”

“No,” Leon responded sadly, looking down at your form. Blood, seeping through your shirt. Dripping onto your pants. Blood, blood everywhere— “No, I’m not.”

It all came rushing back quickly, hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“No,” you gasped, clutching at your chest. “Oh, oh no—”

“Tell me what happened,” Leon pushed and you were shaking your head, you were visibly upset, he could tell. You didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want you to tell him.

“Oh, no—” A sudden rush of intense grief, of horribly immense pain all over his body. No, no he didn’t want to remember—

“We were infected,” you recalled, suddenly calm, and your hands wouldn’t leave your chest. Your beautiful, beautiful hands. “We—we made Ashley get cured first, and then you insisted that I go, and—”

“No,” Leon suddenly insisted, and the therapy room was gone. You were back—back in that place, back in that chair—and you thought that there might be tears in his eyes.

“And you passed out. And when you woke up, Leon, I was—”

“No!” Leon was shaking, hyperventilating, as he clutched the table in front of him, looking very much like he was going to throw up at any minute. You looked back at him with sad, empathetic eyes—those bright, amazingly beautiful eyes that he loves so fucking much. Oh, fuck, those eyes—

“Leon, I have to,” you pressed, your voice broken with tears. “When you came to Leon, I was—it didn’t work on me,” you reminded him, and now he was clutching his head, trying not to hear, trying not to see it anymore. “I was too far gone, there was nothing that you could do—”

“NO!” And suddenly, he could see it all again. Ashley, sobbing over your dead body. Apologizing, telling him it didn’t work, your heart couldn’t take it—it stopped. He tried CPR. He tried everything but you—the love of his life, you—

You were dead.

“Leon, it’s time to wake up,” you told him, and your bright eyes were gone. Glassy, grey, dead—

“Wake up, Leon. Wake up, wake up, wake up—”

⛈️

“Leon? Leon, wake up—”

The man shot up with a gasp, sweat beading down his forehead and sticking his hair to his face. He turned to the side of his bed—it smelled like shit in his room, understandably so, he hadn’t left it in days—and he spotted Chris sitting there, eyes slightly worried.

“Fuck, man,” Chris gulped, watching him warily. “You were doing it again. The dreams.”

“And you had to fucking wake me up?!” Leon hollered at him, chucking an empty glass across the room, unflinching as it shattered across his carpet. “That’s the only time! That’s the only time!”

“That’s the only time—what?”

“That’s the only time I can fucking see her!”

Leon’s body wanted to wrack with sobs but he shoved it down, clutching his hair in his hands as he rocked back and forth, trying to calm his body enough to go back to sleep. Just go back to sleep. When he was awake, it was hell—all he could see was your dead eyes, staring up at the ceiling, your clothes stained with blood, and all he could feel was the horrible, terrible fucking pain that accompanied the knowledge that you were fucking dead.

“It’s not real, Leon,” Chris said softly and Leon let out a tiny sob, his heart clenching. He knew it wasn’t fucking real. Of course it wasn’t fucking real. “Imagining her as the one that’s alive, using drugs to hallucinate her living without you, instead—it isn't healthy—”

“Ask me if I fucking care.”

“And do you honestly think that these…scenarios, these daydreams that you make up in your head—Leon, do you think that those are going to fucking bring her back?”

Leon was quiet. He knew it wasn’t going to bring you back. Nothing could bring you back now. Nothing at all.

He heard Chris shifting beside him.

“We went through her apartment today,” he informed Leon and the man tried not to hear, tried not to care. “We found this. We thought you’d want it.”

His eyes moved without his consent and his heart broke when he saw it. Your favorite article of clothing. His hoodie. His stupid, old, Racoon City Police Department hoodie.

“Burn it,” Leon insisted, “or throw it away. I don’t fucking care.”

“Leon,” Chris pushed. “This was yours—”

“No!” Leon yelled, and it was coming back, the pain, the awful pain. “No. It’s not mine. It only used to be mine. It’s all only used to be’s, now. Throw. It. Away.”

And then he swallowed another pain pill and closed his miserable, blue eyes. You were waiting for him there, after all.

forever taglist: @house-of-kolchek @lorebite @yeslieutenant @kassiekolchek22 @buttermykolchek @kawaiiwitch224 @ageofbajabule

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x you #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

111 notes · View notes

glazesunflower · 2 years

Text

A Glimpse Of Us

Characters: Ayaka, Hu Tao, Shinobu, Eula, Lumine, Ganyu, Beidou, Shenhe, Thoma and Yae Miko.

Warning: A ton of angst for no reason. Implied reader broke up with character and they found someone else, but they can't forget about you </3

Notes: Inspired on the song "A Glimpse Of Us" by Joji.

Ayaka sees you in their eyes sometimes, often, always. She says she’s moved on from you, she tells herself she has, and if anyone were to ask her about you, her smile wouldn’t quiver like it used to. I’m alright, she’d say, and she really is. She’s found someone new, and they’re kind to her. She lets them brush their hands over her skin, press kisses to her lips and hold her colder hands close to them. And in every action of them, she sees you. It’s short-lived, barely a fleeting emotion, but it echoes loud inside her chest, shattering her perfectly-crafted illusion of herself. She sees you in their eyes when they smile, the corners wrinkling, almost like a memory, and she’s reminded of your warmth. She tries to feel it, she tries to find the butterflies when they caress her cheek, eyes soaked with affection, but she only finds the cold emptiness where your touch used to be. And she’s terrified she’ll miss you forever.

Hu Tao dreams about you, almost every night. Dreams of the way you would hold her face so close to hers, your long eyelashes tickling her skin. When she wakes up, someone that isn’t you beside her, she feels the throbbing emptiness inside. She’s a good liar, a great one even. I love you, she tells them, eyes sparkling. I love you too, they say, a bright smile drawn on their features, and a memory flashes through her eyes. You, the breeze in your hair, the summer sun drawing shapes on your skin. Hu Tao!, your voice calling her name, and her eyes glisten with tears. How silly of her to still be so full of you, even after you’re gone.

Shinobu has long since forgotten you. She has, really. Her day to day hasn’t changed that much after you left. She’s found someone new, and she’s learned to recognize the warmth of their skin, the edges of their body, the ring in their voice. Let’s go for a walk, they’d say, and Shinobu is frozen in place. Sometimes, she sees you in their eyes. The all too familiar comfort of your smile, the way you reached your hands out for her to hold, it all comes back to her like a torrent. It washes over her, the anger and the betrayal she feels at your memories. But most of all, how pathetic she is for remembering you like that. Free, glowing, warm. She hates you for leaving her, but she hates it even more knowing she’d hold you close to her if you ever came back, and this time she wouldn’t let you go.

Eula has someone perfect in her life. She never thought she’d get to say that, but they really are. Perfect. They’ve learned to read between her lines, their hands are soft and comforting on her colder ones, always quick to brush her hair behind her ear, to rub her back on the darker days, to spin her around in joy on the bright ones. Even so, she can’t bring herself to love them. Not when she still sees you in their eyes, gentle on hers. She sees you in the curve of their smile, in the way they call her name, in the way their body feels holding Eula from behind. She lets herself give in to quiet desire, lets herself close her eyes and imagine it’s you holding her, and her heart shatters just a bit more, knowing she will never have you this close again.

Lumine feels lonely, even when there’s someone else holding her, someone new. They’re a nice person, they make her laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners, and it’s genuine. She likes them. She likes the way they fumble over the words. How they struggle to hold chopsticks together. How they play with Lumine’s fingers when they’re in bed. Is everything okay, Lumine? Sometimes, Lumine stares at them longer than intended. She won’t say it out loud, won’t ever tell them, but she sees you in their eyes. She sees the way you struggled to find the words when you confessed to her. How you were so nervous when she invited you over dinner. How you wrapped your arms around her waist every night, your face tucked in the crook of her neck, her blonde hair tickling your nose. I love you so much, your voice was sleepy, your fingers playing with hers under the sheets, and Lumine knows she’ll never feel as complete as she felt that day. Not anymore. Not after you.

Ganyu feels herself slipping slowly. It’s been years, but she still finds you everywhere. She won’t voice this, of course. Especially not now that she’s found someone new, someone that accepts her as she is, and she quietly gives herself in to the feeling of being cherished like she hasn’t in a long time. If you saw her, walking with them hand in hand down the Harbor, the beautiful smile drawn on her lips, you wouldn’t know. If you asked her, her lilac eyes big and honest on yours, you wouldn’t know. I’m fine, she would say. I’ve moved on. And she tried. She really tried to fall for their touch, gentle on the curve of her lips, the back of her hand and all her edges. To fall for their voice, the gentleness when they call her name, soaked with affection, and Ganyu would beg, and beg, and beg her heart to fall for them. But in their eyes, she still finds you. And she can’t help to think of the way it was when you were still with her. Your gentle arms circling her waist, your sweet voice calling her name, pressing kisses to her hair with an affection far too deep for her to understand at the time. And her chest feels tight at the memory, at the thought of you. At the selfish part of her that says, Maybe one day you’ll feel lonely. That says, Maybe one day you’ll miss her too. That says, And maybe, one day, you’ll come back to love her like you used to.

Beidou drinks until everyone around her tastes like you. It’s not the same person every night. She lets them hold her, wrap their arms around her chest like you used to. Lose their fingers in her hair and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. It’s all the same to her, too familiar and foreign at the same time. Too shallow. But she lets them anyway, lets their empty praises fill the empty space in her chest that you left. Their temporary promises of love build sand castles in her raging ocean, and Beidou lets herself quietly drown with them. She thinks of you, she’s not too prideful to allow herself to wallow in your memory. And she thinks, Have you met someone new? She thinks, Was I just another part of your story? She thinks, A story that I’ll never be a part of again? How hollow of her, to say that she’s moved on from you, when all she ever does is pass the time in other people’s arms, lilac eyes closed, pretending that it’s your gentle hands on her, your smell tingling her nose, your lips pressed to her temple. Hoping to find a glimpse of you in these strangers.

Shenhe doesn’t feel anything when they hold her hand. She doesn’t feel a thing when they press their lips to her skin, gentle hands full of affection, the curve of their smile brightening the room, their eyes meant for Shenhe only. But when she looks at them, she feels numb inside. Empty, like a carcass without a purpose. She doesn’t remember a time where she didn’t feel like this. But she remembers you. You, and your silly dance after you got out of the shower. You, and the way you refused to wear socks to bed. You, and how it felt having your fingers in her silky hair, eyes fluttering closed to your touch. In their eyes, she sees you, and she can almost remember how she felt. Like being under the sun. Bright and warm, your hands brushing all her edges and her empty spaces, your kind voice thawing her frozen heart. She’s content with them, but with you? She was on top of the world.

Thoma holds their hands with ease, grabs them by the waist when they’re alone, kisses the spot right under their ear. Like it’s that easy. Like it always has been. He tells everyone they’re perfect together. He lets them draw shapes on his warm skin, turn his rain into rainbows. And everything is fine. But when he closes his eyes? He sees you. It’s pathetic, really. How easy it is for him to give in to you, even now. To pretend it’s you, his hands around their waist. You, his lips on their neck. You, you, you. In the curve of their smile, in the spark behind their eyes, in the endless words of love they whisper under the covers, each and all meant for him only. But when he opens his eyes, the spell is broken. Staring at the ceiling wide awake, night after night, he realizes how terrible of a person he really is. Pretending to love someone when all his heart craves is you.

Yae Miko moves on from you fast. Everybody is quick to praise her. You look so good, they say. You look so much happier, they say. You probably don’t think about them anymore. And they’re right. Miko lets their words wash away any thought of you, and she successfully manages to drown out the memories. She busies herself with work in the morning, and with strangers at night. Calling them strangers wouldn’t be fair, but then again, Miko doesn’t care enough. She basks in their affection, doesn’t bother remembering their names. Their hands all over her, fingers around her waist, her mouth covered in a taste that isn’t you. And she tries to memorize this feeling. This emptiness, dragging her heart down to her feet, every time she thinks of you. She wants to remember how you were when you left, her jagged heart bleeding, lilac eyes blurry and how you didn’t turn your back.

But sometimes, her brain plays a trick on her. And sometimes, when the sun is rising from the east and she’s too exhausted to fight it, she gives in to quiet desire, lets herself remind you as you were, not when you left but when you loved her. Your fingers brushing the shape of her temple, her cheekbone, the shape of her nose. She closes her eyes to the memory, and she sees you. Arms wrapped around her middle, giggling in bed like a kid with their first crush. Your lazy kisses pressed to the edge of her lips every morning. Miko, I bought this for you! You’d say. Miko, you look beautiful, you’d tell her. Miko, I love you, you’d confess. And Miko’s heart shatters like the very first day. It would be easier if you were out of sight for good. But she can’t escape you. Not when you live in her bones, in her shadows, in the shape of her smile and all her favorite places.

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3!

You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!

416 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 5 months

Note

Hi! I was just wondering do you take requests? If so could you ever write something sweet and h/c with Verna? Literally anything at all with her being kind and comforting. I don't see many blogs writing her so I'd be really grateful. If not, then what's your opinion on her character overall? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!!

One thing we didn’t get to dive into is how romantic Verna is. You can see that in the way she recites poems, the way she sends people to sleep, how she speaks to them moments before their passing. I feel that is how she would be with someone she loves. She would be the one to cook breakfast in bed, just so she could snuggle with you longer. Or she would set up a romantic dinner with candles and music, just so she can end the night by dancing with you. Or something as simple as cleaning, she would want to be near you at all times, help out where she can.

Sometimes Verna’s comforting techniques can be a bit skewed. For example, if anyone uses their power over you or threatens you in any way. She will strike a deal with them, just like she did with the Ushers. She will mention this to you with a “they’ll never hurt you again”. Their luck will begin to turn and eventually they will cease to exist. If she is feeling particularly passionate about it, there might be some luck in the deal for you. Whether that be riches, houses, cars, power. Whatever Verna believes you need in that moment, she’ll get for you.

Alternatively, she is also the world’s best listener. She will happily hear your side of the story, soaking it all in. She will ask if you want to vent, or want some advice or if you want her to problem solve. Depending on the answer, she will act accordingly. When it’s just to listen, she will comfort you afterwards with a stress free bath, cuddles with a movie or she’ll brush your hair for you. She’ll tell you how proud she is when you express your emotions.

If you are wanting advice, Verna will draw upon her many years in humanity to find the perfect response. Sometimes the advice does not translate well but her heart was in the right place. Her advice can even be goofy, just something for you to smile or giggle at, because for her that is the simplest joy.

If you wanted her to problem solve that doesn’t involve her creating deals and orchestrating their deaths. She will offer suggestions that could help and like her advice they can be very hit or miss. It’s the thought she puts into it that counts. Often times you ask for help just to hear her speak, her voice is just so beautiful when passionate. And of course Verna knows this so she will go around the block with her response just so that you get the most of it.

Death is something that many people fear, which rightly so, if your death is anything like the Usher family. However, death can also be kind and gentle which is seen through Verna’s actions. If it ever comes to it, Verna will send you with sweet dreams. She will morph the atmosphere to be one of love and respect, something that you would find peace in. Once it was done, she would wait with you, just long enough for you to transition over.

1k Follower Celebration

#Verna headcannon #Verna x reader #Verna imagine #tfothou imagine #tfothou headcannon #tfothou x reader

26 notes · View notes

honeyhotteoks · 5 months

Note

hey chai!! tysm for the 4 updates I loved it so much,, I hope everything is going well for you because I'm sure your writing is helping a lot of us <33 anyways I'm curious about your thoughts about everyone scents including woosanhwa I don't know if you've stated it and I just missed it but yea I hope you have a great day as always and remember to drink water!! <33

oh thank you so much!!! all of their scents are subtly included, but some are more obvious than others for sure. here's a little break down of all our main characters and their scent notes, but as a note.... scents change a bit depending on who's breathing it in and scents change with emotions or biological shifts. i include some thoughts about that below too! --

reader: chamomile tea, willow sap, & honey; when reader is in heat or aroused, the honey scent is much stronger, and when she's feeling really upbeat, joyful, there's hints of clean lemon zest. the willow is subtle, but a little sharp in it's medicinal almost wintergreen scent, it's one of those smells that you either love or you hate, but mingi and yunho both love.* when she's afraid, her scent turns bitter like over-steeped tea. if reader were to be pregnant, her scent would turn a little milkier, like tea with sweet cream and honey. yunho: rain / wet earth, cedar, & clarysage; when yunho is trying to comfort reader or draw her in with his scent, it's much more of a true petrichor / wet earth scent. when he's aroused or in a rut the cedar is stronger and more masculine, but underneath both of those tones is a bit of a sweeter/herbal tone with the sage. to reader, his scent really pulls like a comforting childhood memory that makes her feel safe and secure. mingi: dark chocolate, cinnamon & pink peppercorn; when mingi is angry, aroused, or in a heightened emotional state the cinnamon really shines for him, but when he's in a calmer or comforting state it's more chocolate and cocoa. the pink peppercorn is something that is only really caught when you're close, something undefinable that enhances the sweetness and the spice, but is undeniably mingi. seonghwa: freshly brewed coffee, jasmine, & pear; seonghwa to me lives in a beautiful space between masculine and feminine energy and his alpha scent is reflective of that. warm and strong coffee is ever present, but jasmine really comes forwards with those he's comfortable with or aroused by. pear is sweeter and more decadent and comes to the front when he's with san especially. san: jasmine, sandalwood, & oakmoss; san and seonghwa's scents are intentionally complimentary, but san's scent undertones are more masculine and 'alpha' like compared to his jasmine top note. he's floral and fresh, bright and energizing, but a scent that deepens in masculine complexity the closer you are to him. when he's comfortable and relaxed, the warmth and natural notes of oakmoss are more present. wooyoung: linen, salt, & green apple; wooyoung's scent is fresh and bright, evoking something clean and summery. when he's in heat, the apple scent turns a bit caramelized and sweet, but normally his scent is more even and calming with the linen and salt being forward in tone. to reader, his scent also calls to mind a memory more than distinct scents, and she and others often associate his unique blend with the last days of summer sun in august.

*note on reader's scent: admittedly, my inspiration for reader's scent was directly taken from one of my favorite books, a discovery of witches by deborah harkness. the full quote is below because i think it's so lovely and this line often gets stuck in my head:

"You smell of willow sap. And chamomile that has been crushed underfoot. There's honeysuckle and fallen oak leaves, too, along with witch hazel blooming and the first narcissus of spring. And ancient things - horehound, frankincense, lady's mantle. Scents I thought I'd forgotten."

#answered anon #tnt ask #no one asked for ALL this detail but this is what my fic outlines look like so #welcome LMAO #also you'll notice none of her alphas have an orange or overtly citrus scent #that's very intentionally because minseok smells like orange peel #and our girl does NOT like his alpha scent #even before he did what he did it's just not an appealing scent to her in the same way

44 notes · View notes

hanchette · 2 years

Text

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 & 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 : ( twisted wonderland characters )

a/n : i woke up and chose angst ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

consist of : angst, gender neutral reader, established relationship — unhealthy traits

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, putting yourself down seems to be a habit that you have ever since riddle has met you. it oftentimes ends with him just frowning or scolding you lightly. but riddle never expected it to go downhill, a trigger in the middle of your relationship where you would often find yourself detaching from reality more frequently now. a vessel getting filled up excruciatingly slow then just speeding up all of a sudden. riddle sat on the bed while you laugh at yourself, tucking yourself in after a small talk that ending with your sentence with a “well, it doesn't matter anyway.” and riddle unconsciously let his lips on loose, “no, it matters.” it was a simple sentence, three words consisting and yet the two of you find yourselves in silence. riddle continues, “you matter, y/n. you do.” his eyes that gazes to his lap trails towards you as he felt your stare on his back beckoning his attention on you, “your opinions, words, actions, it matters.” his eyes soften when his make contacts with yours. glistening a bit before cupping your cheek. “always.”

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋, he does not understand but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know. jack always listen to your words, following the dots only to stop at nothing, he had seen you look yourself in the mirror with eyes that is either close to tears or just a blank gaze. and jack feels sadness creeps in him. he walks towards your absentminded figure that faces your mirror, “y/n,” a call snaps you out of your trance only to feel warmth, jack hugs you from behind, his head nuzzling to the crook of your neck. “stop it.” he breathes, “stop comparing yourself to others,” and your lips quiver at his plea, “please.” perhaps it was something that you never expected, the tone of his is staggering akin to a man who had lose everything—but he did, he almost did. jack could feel you slowly losing yourself, slowly taking a thousand steps away from him. “please.” a sense of urgency and shattering tone, his limbs tighten around you but it still feels gentle, not enough to harm you. for a man like him who seems to fear nothing, does have one. and that is to lose you.

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋 𝐕𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑, fear of failure, jamil can see it. in all his life, the man had always learn to repressed his everything and it broke him so bad. he could say the same thing to you, you're doing your very best to keep all things at bay, always tugging at 'perfection' in every step you made. but nothing is permanent. and eventually you found yourself falling—all expectations falter and broke, all gazes no longer positive and all judgement thrown towards you. it's overwhelming. you are in your state of burnout. “hey.” jamil kneels before you, a whisper of your name escapes his lips, looking up at your torn expression that peers at him. “are you okay?” his question was met with silence, “y/n, are you okay?” he repeats, hands clasping your own. jamil is a patient man—especially if it includes you, he observes you with a light expression, awaiting for you to let out your emotion. his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand. and when you finally break down only will he lift himself up to embrace you and whisper words of comfort in your ears all the while listening to your story. “it's alright.... you're alright, I'm always here.”

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐀, feels his heart twist and turn inside his chest, to see his child of man eager to please others and depending on no one with no regards to themselves pains him in many ways. to see you shatter in the corner of the darkness mumbling to yourself that you're fine, when you thought he wouldn't hear the small sniffles that escapes your lips in the middle of the blooming night. malleus listened to your muffled cries, his senses ringing at the sound of your suffering. he frowns before shifting, feeling you stiffen in your spot before he faces your back, his face leaning to the back of your head. “my love,” he softly called, “why do you keep repeatedly hurting yourself?” his hand reached out to lace your fingers together, “had i not told you, i will always be here for you to lean on? don't shoulder everything yourself...” malleus squeezes your interlocked hands, “let me share your pain as well.” he lifts himself up, pressing a sweet and light kiss on your cheek, “so let it all out.”

#🛍️:scenarios #hugging myself lol #gender neutral #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #jack howl x reader #jamil viper x reader #malleus draconia x reader #gender neutral mc #gender neutral reader

587 notes · View notes

gavinsdeviant · 7 months

Text

Feel the Light

cw/tw- talks of past harm done to character, talks of torture, emotional distress, trauma response, a traumatic flashback, hurt/comfort, Quinn, insults and harsh language

word count- 1,645

pairing- Sam & Darlin

fandom- Redacted Audio

fic inspired by the song feel the light by Jennifer Lopez

@davidshawswife @daveysangelsposts @angelcactus @morgansplace @annahhopee @romeo-the-homeo @zozosrandomthings @miyowmiyow

hope you enjoy!

“Quinn doesn’t get to keep hidin’ from you, not now. Not anymore.” Darlin’ gives a small smile, squeezing his cold palm in theirs. He brings their hands to his mouth and kisses a line down their wrist.

Do you remember,

“I’ll be fine. They ain’t gonna know what’s hitting ‘em,” he adds, flashing them a toothy grin. They laugh, even as nerves bounce around in their stomach. They reach up to press a kiss to his cheek.

When we feel under,

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin.”

—

Fifteen minutes later the shifter and their Alpha are seated overlooking a drab, empty room. The air is cold, quiet.

Darlin’ scrunches their nose at the smell of stale coffee.

“Where is he?” David asks again. He’d been hounded Detective Clark as soon as they had sat down, hackles raised at the room that still appeared vacant. Their stomach churns.

The fluorescent lights hum, buzzing as they drum fingers along the cold rim of the table they were sat at.

Henry beckons them to look. The door slides open and a familiar silhouette steps out seconds later. *Sam.*

Hurry up, hurry up,

There’s no more waiting,

He shuffles over to take his seat, flannel sleeves pulled up to the elbows. They smile to themselves as their chest warms. ”Samual Collins. He’s your partner, correct?”

He glances back to the glass, saluting them, something akin to mischief alight in his eyes.

We’re still worth saving,

The scrape of a large chain rattles the door before they can find a way to reply and then, with a slow creak the door swings open. With dusty hair and a charming smile, the man in the door almost appeared normal.

Sam’s smile drops.

I left my pack for him,

I gave my heart to him, my fears to him,

I put myself second for him,

Everything for him.

All they had done had been to have him behind bars and now, they couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Coward, their mind hissed.

Feel the light,

Shining in the dark of night,

Their heart pounds in their ears as their cruel vampire ex regards the man who had let down his walls for them— had let them love him for who he was, even when it wasn’t pretty. “I keep these walls high so those feelings don’t get the better of me but… you climbed over them. And you’re in here. I love you, Darlin’. Deeply.”

“Is my little mouse here?” Quinn demands, leaving in as if in whisper. A vein throbs in Sam’s temple.

They knew he’d ask— knew he’d try and draw them out, to no avail.

“No matter,” he snarls, smile too wide,” I don’t need them here for the things I’m going to tell you.” He lets out a huff, fangs flashing. “My pretty little pet didn’t share the details, did they?”

Sam bites back a growl.

“You really don’t know half the shit there is to know about your darlin. Oh, now you’ve got me excited.” A pause.

“Ever notice their limp?”

With a sharp scrape, their chair goes flying back as they press closer to the glass. “He doesn’t get to do that,” they hiss, turning to the detective. He shakes his head. “We need this information out of him. We’ve got him talking… now he just has to keep talking.”

Slowly, they turn back to the creature, one they’d called “lover” so many years ago, its eyes faint with delight. “Oh, the things I’ve done. Seen the scar on their ankle?” He seems almost nostalgic, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought.

Remember what we forgot,

I know its a long shot,

“I broke them, bit by precious bit, and I liked it,” he mused. They swallow hard. “Broke that ankle five, maybe six times, until my name became a prayer.”

“You,” Sam bites out,” don’t get to pretend you’re still apart of them, that you know anythin’ about them.”

“You new bloods are all the same. Young and naive. Don’t know what you’re saying.”

In a flash, Sam has him pressed to the wall, breaths coming hard.

Quinn only huffs out another laugh. “I would’ve made an example out of them. For all the empowered and non-empowered humans dead at my hand, they’d be a living example. Say, ever heard of the blood eagle?”

There’s a silence, long enough for darlin to hear their pulse in their ears before he continues.

“The Brazen Bull then? Eaten by rats, perhaps? They will always be a pathetic fucking mutt, in my eyes. Meant to be taught a lesson—“

Without a word, the shifter slowly rises from their seat and pushes the door open, grimacing at the ache that creeps up their ankle. Sam had never asked and hadn’t wanted to push anything they weren’t willing to give, but oh how they had wished he did.

They were humiliated.

Here I go, here I go,

Their eyes burned with tears, ones that they furiously wiped away. He didn’t deserve their tears, not when he fed on their pain like a sadism demon took to brutality.

A few minutes pass, the cold wall pressed to their back as they breathe in, and out. Their heart still beat like a thousand drums in their chest and they couldn’t seem to make it slow. They glance at the door just as it opens, David’s muscled frame waiting.

Feel better now, feel better now,

He hesitates, face taut.

And then, with long strides towards them, wraps them up in his arms, head to his chest. They shudder.

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “You don’t have to go back in there, if you don’t want to. That fucker doesn’t get to take that choice from you too.”

They nod.

“Do you want Sam?” Again they nod, eyes burning.

“I’ll go get him.”

“He should be in there,” they try weakly. “Trying to save that girl.”

“I don’t care. There are other ways.”

Without a further word their friend pushes up from where he’d practically sunk down on his knees in front of them, and swings open the door. It shuts with a resounding click behind him as they slump back against the wall.

Here I go, here I go,

Feel better now, feel better now,

Their shoulders shake, chest heaving as they bite back tears. They were just messing things up— if it weren’t for them, none of this would have happened.

You’re his thrall… always will be.

And then, Sam is there, gently cradling their face in his hands and whispering soft words.

“Hey, hey— you needed me, and I’m here.”

They see the panic in his eyes, the hurt as if reflected mirror-like in front of them.

No.

They lay a gentle hand on his chest, pushing back. He doesn’t touch, only opens his palms instead.

“These hands will always be for you, darlin. Always. Never to hurt or bruise. To hold, whenever you might need it. We’re safe.”

”Oh pet, my name tastes so good on your lips… as you scream it. How’s your leg, hmm? Holding, and healing, I hope.”

They roll their ankle, over and over again, tapping along the ridge where the scar had healed.

Still here, still here.

Still here still here still here still here still—

“Darlin.”

”Nice and crooked. Shifter bones are harder to shift and clay, but this… Now you can never run away. Why would you? Such a masochistic wolf you are. And so the wolf traded their life for another. The fox and the wolf.” He smiles. “What a tragic tale. Sly fox, stupid wolf.”

“I had this horse on the farm I grew up on, way back, in Mont Blanc.” They blink, lights unbearably bright. “Athena, we called her. And me, bein’ the small stubborn boy that I was, decided that I could damn well ride her if I pleased.”

There’s a pause, the shifter tapping a finger along the bone of their left ankle as they look up at him, present now.

“I fell off a horse that day, and my mama was not impressed.” They smile, reaching a hand out to take his palm.

“I’m sorry, its just—“

“No apologizin’.” They shrug but gesture for him to continue.

“Well, Athena got up to a whole lotta trouble in my day. She loved goin’ out and never wanted to come back,” he smiles, somber. “Couldn’t really blame her.”

They take his hand in theirs, squeezing as if to say I’m here.

“We can go back,” they say suddenly, the quiet too big. He looks concerned by pulls them gently to their feet anyway, a stream of tears drying on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, voice raw. “You shouldn’t have had to live through that.”

They smile, a genuine smile, one they hadn’t felt in weeks.

From behind them Detective Clark clears his throat. The shifter and vampire both turn to him looking distraught, hands behind his back.

“Quinn lashed out. He managed to shatter the glass to the back room and has been placed again under a magical suppression. We don’t believe it’s safe for Mr. Collins to return back in there.”

He walks closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You did well. Thank you both for coming, we appreciate the patience in this difficult case in finding Mr. Fox.”

An hour later, Darlin and Sam are standing on the sidewalk, breathing in the cold evening air, feeling lighter than they had ever been.

Sam throws his head up to the stars, eyes bright.

“As long as those stars burn,” he points. “And as long as I live, I will always be here for you— morning, noon and night. Whenever you need me, darlin. I love you.”

Here we go, here we go

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Feel better now, feel better now

#check the trigger warnings please #my interpretation of how the Quinn situation went #started writing it before the video released #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted quinn #redacted darlin #redacted david #redacted sam

26 notes · View notes