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conelluwrites · 1 month

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the red means i love you

Reader/Doppelgänger Francis (main focus on the doppelgänger aspect) (reader goes by she/her and is described with vaginal terms)

posted on my AO3

word count: 2.6k

title from The Red Means I Love You by Madds Buckley

Contains: monster fucking (doppelgänger fucking), headcanon design for non-disguised doppels, barbed dick, breeding, and blood drinking

You let the wrong one in, but maybe it's not as bad as it seems when you invite him back to your apartment.

“Mmm…” The voice sounds uncanny, too similar to Francis with the slightest hint of a purr that the tired milkman would never express, “I’m rather thankful that you let me in earlier, you know?” His uniform is clean and tidy, well put together in a way that Francis would never be able to achieve due to his early morning risings. His hair is just barely out of place. Things that no one would notice-- things that make her wish that she had called Francis’ apartment to see if he was home.

“W-Wha-!” The doorman stumbles back in fear, causing her to bump her back into the chest of the doppelgänger who all too readily wraps his arms around her waist. One of his hands trails down her rigid arm and grabs the hand of hers that is trembling its way towards the phone. Even if he didn’t intervene, the D.D.D. would not arrive in time to prevent any damages, he was in the safety room. His fingertips are inhuman, too sharp but not yet undisguised, as they intertwine with her own to prevent her from dialing the number she memorized so easily.

“Shhh, shhh… There’s no reason for you to be afraid.” He coos, brushing his nose against the exposed flesh of her neck. “No need to scream, no need to squirm, no need to put up a fight…” His voice is velvety but now lacks the tiredness the real Francis carries. It’s not surprising that he’s giving up his disguise piece by piece, she assumes that it must take some level of effort to be so near-perfectly disguised and she knows at this point she’s utterly fucked. “I could take you away from this annoying position forever if you want. No pesky D.D.D. agents, no more anxiety from our kind, no more living in fear. Sounds pretty nice, hm?” His free hand goes to hold her chin, his sharp thumb slightly digging into her jawline.

“But I gotta protect my neighbors. My job-- sitting here and looking at everyone and their documents, it might suck at times but it keeps everyone safe.” She says, her voice trembling. Her throat is bone dry from fear, her chest aches from the uneven breathing leaving her slightly open lips.

“Oh, my dear, that’s such a noble sentiment.” The doppelgänger sighs dramatically before shaking his head. He spins her around in his grasp, the hand that was holding hers goes to her waist. His fingers trace along her jawline, making sure to keep a gentle, but firm, grip on her so she cannot try to escape. There’s a bright grin on his face, his teeth too white to be human. “But how many times have they let you down? Surely they have failed you before. People are fickle creatures; they don’t appreciate what they have until it’s gone. I promise to protect you, sweetheart, just let me stay with you tonight, hm?”

Her mind races, so many thoughts of her own death and the death of her neighbors. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?” The answer is obvious-- if the doppel were going to hurt her, he already would have. He’s stronger than her, stronger than any human and she’s still in his grasp. If he wanted to maim her, he would have already. “You doppelgängers just want to kill and eat us.”

“Ah, you misunderstand me, darling! I could never harm a hair on your lovely head.” The doppelgänger earnestly insists. His thumb brushes gently across her cheek, trying to so lovingly convince her. “All I want is to hear more stories about your day and listen to those sweet little fears of yours… And yes, perhaps indulge myself in some delicious blood as well.” He’s whispering intimately, as if they’re a pair of lovers. The grip on her waist tightens slightly but remains mostly gentle, it’s almost comforting despite the sharp nails against her shirt. “C’mon… please trust me.”

“But I-” her voice dies out the longer she allows herself to fall into the illusion of mutual trust.

“It’s okay, my love,” he murmurs understandingly, “don’t overthink things, hm?” He kisses her temple tenderly, a perfect imitation of love between humans. His eyes flicker towards the phone, allowing even himself to dream of a different world where he could whisk her away and keep her all to himself. “Let’s just go for now, let’s go somewhere private where no one can bother us.”

She relents easily, tearing her gaze from his face and allowing it to travel down the white uniform before making its way back up to his face. “My apartment is on the first floor. We… We can go there together. We don’t have to worry about others seeing us, everyone else is in for the night.”

Francis’ grin grows even more, his canines growing sharper than any humans can be naturally, “That sounds perfect.” He sounds appreciative, leading him gently to the door to exit the safety room. The walk to the apartment is short. As the apartment door closes, the intensity changes slightly; he is watching her carefully while also taking the new space. “Nice place. So cozy…”

“Thank you….” She murmurs. “I figured it’s safer for you to be here than anywhere else in the complex.”

Francis’ doppelgänger hums thoughtfully before nodding in agreement. After the brief exchange, he takes the opportunity to explore the small apartment, touching things lightly as if trying to understand their purpose and history though touch alone. Every movement exudes confidence in his decision-making process, evaluating the potential of each object. “You’re so brave, you know. C’mere.”

She walks over to him hesitantly and stands there. The doppelgänger is taller than her. Despite it all, since he’s imitating one of her neighbors that she’s rather fond of, she feels herself relaxing. He wraps an arm around her waist casually, pulling her close while leaning down until their hands nearly touch. He inhales deeply, enjoying the warmth that a human being brings. He drawings circles on his back with his free hand. He continues to lean down slowly -- closer and closer to her neck. Her breath hitches as his nose finally meets her neck. Her hands meet his waist and tighten slightly, crinkling his shirt. Adrenaline is racing through her body, making her tremble slightly but she refuses to pull away. The way the doppelgänger rubes and nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck is the sweetest thing she’s experienced recently.

The doppelgänger lets out a satisfied rumble, savoring the sensation of her trembling beneath his touch. If anyone saw them now, they’d assume it was two lovers locked in passion. His lips brush against the skin he finds lightly before he stops abruptly. “Promise me something -- promise that you won’t run away.”

“...” She considers his words carefully. Every primal instinct in her is begging her to run, to get away as fast as she can. But she hasn't and, to be honest to herself, she doesn’t want to. She’s rather content staying like this, being in his arms with his face buried in her neck. She know he could bite her, sink sharp teeth in her neck and finish her life in less than a second, but she finds herself trusting that he won’t. “ I promise.”

“Good girl.” He praises softly, finally giving into temptation and pressing his teeth gently against her neck. Not hard enough to yet draw blood, just merely teasing her. His arm tightens around her as the gravity of her promise fully settles between the pair. The danger she’s in never fully dissipates but mixes well with the affection he’s showing her. “You deserve a reward for trusting me.”

“Oh? Like what?” She asks, her grip on him loosening as her body adapts to the unfamiliar situation.

Francis’ doppelgänger chuckles, the vibrations tickling her neck. “Don’t fret, just something that will make us both happy.” With a groan, he allows his disguise to slip further and further, his teeth sharpening. They puncture her skin ever so slightly, blood trickles immediately out of the small wounds. With a satisfied hum, he pulls away and licks his lips, allowing blood to pool. “Just relax, enjoy this moment.” She struggles out a broken moan; it’s not necessarily painful but it reminds her of how weak and vulnerable she is in the moment, a feeling that is intoxicating. “Relax.” he murmurs against her skin soothingly. There was no aggression or hunger driving him, it was just to provide nutrients for him to continue his time with her. Slowly yet deliberately, he licks up the collected droplets while sucking lightly on the wound. He alternates between suckling and licking the wounds, moaning.

“Y’gonna leave a hickey on me.” She sighs out, her body relaxing even further.

“Only for me to look at later.” He promises, his breath hot on her dampened flesh. The rhythm slows down until it stops altogether and he pulls away. Slowly and carefully, he raises his gaze to meet hers. “Now tell me more about those annoying D.D.D. agents.”

“I don’t know much about them, to be honest. They don’t hang around after the cleaning procedure and they don’t talk to me aside from congratulating me on living another way.” She says, swiping a bit of her own blood from his lips with his thumb.

“You should know more than that.” He growls. “We could use your help some day.”

“We? You want me to help the doppelgängers?”

“Of course. Someone like you, someone so skilled at calling us out… You could be helpful in our cause.”

“I don’t believe that’s such a worthy cause…” She murmurs, resting her head against his chest. His heartbeat is inhuman, too slow to be human, but it’s relaxing. “Though…”

“Though? You would be safe -- you’d be part of our family. Perhaps one day I could introduce you to some of the ones I’m closest to.”

“Mm.” She weighs his words carefully. In a disturbing, unacceptable way, it’s almost sweet. “I suppose that, as long as I’m protected by you, I’d be honored to meet them. Does that make us mates?”

“Indeed.” Silence stretches between them for a moment. “In our world, we share souls upon consummation.” He stares into her eyes after the statement, gauging her reaction based on his customs.

“Ah, like marriages for humans then? Do you want to consummate our bond?”

The doppelgänger stiffens slightly at first before relaxing. “Yes. But we must proceed cautiously.”

“Why’s that, my love? Is your genitalia that different?” She asks, leaning up to nuzzle her nose against his for a moment before pulling away and going to stroke his cheek softly. The skin is rubbery and like ice against her fingers.

“Hm… No, not quite.” There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence, he allows her mind to wander with possibilities. “Our release is also quite different, I believe. Is that okay?”

She’s quiet for a moment, allowing herself time to fully comprehend the possibilities ahead of her. “Yes. I want to be your mate, so please… mate with me the way doppelgängers do.” Francis’ doppelgänger feels a surge of triumph. The transformation starts gradually as he allows himself to rip through his disguise. The clothes rip and tatter, falling to the ground around him as she lets him go, allowing him to fully transform. Glistening black scales peek through skin like moonlight reflecting off ocean waves, his fingers grow out to sharp daggers, his arms and legs elongate as his muscles tense. His teeth barely fit in his mouth, the sharp points poking slightly over his lips. His cock is impossibly thick and long, tiny barbs lining the sides as it oozes black pre-cum. He lifts her effortlessly, his hands on her ass as he carries her to her bedroom and places her gently on the bed.

“Lie back.” He commands quietly, watching every breath he takes with anticipation and hunger. She lays back, obediently as he hovers over her patiently. There’s no shame or hesitation in his gaze as his hand travels up her shirt to lift it over her head. She tugs off her pants, leaving her in her bra and panties. His gaze is full of pride. “You’re mine now, my soulmate.”

“You’re perfect.” She says softly, cupping his face and kissing his monstrous face lovingly. Her lips meet his rough lips and pointed teeth. She winces preemptively as his sharp claws make easy work of her panties, tugging on the fabric until it tears away and reveals her glistening sex. The thick, black sludge lubricates his cock, making it ease into her cunt slowly and easily despite its grand size. She feels the tiny barbs grow slightly, just enough to dig into her walls to prevent her from squirming away or resisting.

He hisses appreciatively at the compliment and the feeling of her heat enveloping her slowly. “You’re tight.” He grunts out raggedly, thrusting deep. The sensation matches beast-like intensity, every movement echoing throughout the small bedroom.

“Hah, you’re bigger than I expected. So fuckin’ thick.” She pants out, her cunt swallowing his cock with little resistance. “I was scared about the bars, but shit… your cock is so perfect for me.” The doppelgänger lets out an animalistic moan at her declaration, his thrusts becoming more aggressive and intense.

“That’s it! Take everything I got!” He exclaims hoarsely, nails digging into her hips. “Answer me, would you want children?” He gasps urgently. Despite the heaviness of the question he posed, he keeps pushing relentlessly -- seeking assured release.

“I-I-! Yes! I want to swell with your young.” She says lovingly, moaning.

He roars at his words, bowing low to catch her lips. The kiss is filled with dominance and ownership. “Perfect.” He growls into her mouth, shifting positions easily so she’s on top of him. “Ride me until we’re done.”

She straddles him easing, wincing as the shift in positioning digs his barbs deep into her cunt. “Fuck, baby…” She breathes out, her hands on his chest. Her hips raise up and down rapidly despite her legs trembling greatly.

“Let me see those pretty eyes looking into mine.” He orders hoarsely. He hisses as her cunt adjusts. The pain she felt was only temporary, but served its purpose well: reminding her whose body she was riding, a dangerous creature holding immense power over her. His own gaze burned with need and desperation, pleading silently for satisfaction.

She looks into his eyes obediently, so full of adoration for the monster. “I-I-...” Her breath hitches, she can’t finish her sentence. She’s too embarrassed to admit her love for him. Instead, she leans down to kiss him. Her soft lips meeting his rough, uneven ones.

“Say it. Tell me how much we mean to each other.” He demands huskily. His barbs grow slightly more, haling her movements for a single second. It’s a sign of his nearing climax that’s mirrored by her frantic movements once she adjusts to the growth.

“I love you, fuck, I love you!” She moans loudly. Her cunt begins to quiver and massage his cock. “Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me.” She whimpers as his barbs dig in even more as her tight walls convulse around him. Suddenly she can feel a torrent of his dark, murky cum release deep into her cunt. His cock swells greatly, making her gasp and cum around him. Her slick dribbles down his cock and coats him. Her body slowly relaxes as his barbs retract but he remains swollen. She lays limp against him, breathing heavily.

He roars hoarsely, pumping several times harder with his thickened cock. He remains still, breathing heavily with his arms tight around her as he lays on his side, holding her tight to his chest. It’ll take several minutes for his cock to decrease in size, but it’s unlikely that either of the two will be awake. “Our bond is sealed.” He rasps against her ear, nuzzling gently against sensitive skin.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses #tnmn milkman #tnmn #doppelganger #doppelganger francis mosses #banner by cafekitsune

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callsign-rogueone · 4 months

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what was I made for? - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader (continuation of keep her safe) The aftermath of War Games has you questioning your purpose, and what your signet truly is. wc: 4.4k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS (I have 50 pages left, but I just can’t do it. send help.) canon-level violence, injury, canon character death, self doubt, anxiety. oops, I made Dain tolerable again. angst, then happy, then more angst. I also skipped over a smut scene / just made a reference to it happening, so if anyone wants that as a separate post, lmk and I can make it happen 👀 thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on part 1! it means a lot to me 🫶

Riorson House is more your home than Basgiath ever has been, but it’s become foreign to you in the three years you’d spent at the college. It feels like you’re hallucinating as you wander the halls.

Maybe everything that’s happened in the last few days has been a hallucination -- it wouldn't be the first time Varrish or Carr had pushed you to delirium with the amount of pain you’d taken for others.

Maybe it’s a dream. That’s it. A really bad dream. Any moment now, you’re going to wake up in Garrick’s bed and get ready for morning formation, and you’ll forget the sight of Liam dying by breakfast, when you’re sitting across from him at the table like you always do. Violet’s screams of pain will stop playing in your ears, replaced by her laughter at one of Ridoc’s jokes.

But no matter how much you pinch at your skin, you aren’t waking up. This is reality.

“I hear you’re a mender, too,” someone says in a gentle voice, bringing you out of your daze. Violet’s brother, Brennan.

“Does it ever get easier?” You ask quietly. “Does it always hurt this much?”

“Mending becomes easier. Seeing that kind of stuff every day doesn’t,” he replies, and the exhausted look on his face tells you he’s being honest. “But it shouldn’t hurt. Tell me more about that.”

“The second person I mended was a scribe who’d fallen from a ladder in the library and broken her leg. I did everything right, the bone set properly, but my leg hurt for a week, right where she’d broken hers.”

Brennan is silent, letting you continue.

“They broke Garrick’s arm in RSC. I was able to fix it for him, and I took the pain, but they broke it again two hours later. I mended him and Xaden over and over until I collapsed. I didn’t wake for two days. They both still think it was just exhausting for me. They don’t know about the pain.”

The tears are coming openly now, dripping down your cheeks, and you bring a hand up to wipe them away with the sleeve of your flight jacket. “But it isn’t all bad. I couldn’t save Liam, but I was able to make him more comfortable in the end. I took his pain away, and let him go in peace.”

You don’t tell him what death feels like. No description you could give could adequately prepare anyone for the cold sensation that still lingers in your chest. It will likely remain there for the next few days.

“Hey,” he says softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, just try to get some rest.”

You nod quietly, looking back up at him. “Can someone please tell Garrick that I’m okay?” You ask in a small voice, folding your hands in your lap. You’d been heartbroken to realize that the rest of the squad had left for Basgiath before you woke, leaving you here alone.

You didn’t get to say goodbye to any of them, and you don’t know when you’ll see them again. Or if you’ll see them, you think, but you push the thought away quickly. They’ll survive. They have to.

Brennan cracks a smile - everyone in the rebel cause is aware of how deeply Garrick loves you. “Of course.”

———————————————————————

“Cadet Mairi died alongside his dragon, who was attacked by a drift of Gryphon riders. Cadet Avan attempted to mend them, and died trying,” Xaden says levelly, staring down the group of professors on the dais. “They both died honorable, but preventable deaths.”

Garrick knows Xaden is lying, knows you aren’t dead — or you hadn’t been when they left for Basgiath, at least, but his friend’s words have him on edge. Have you woken up yet?

Chradh speaks into his mind, sending a wave of hot rage through him. “Relax.”

“Relax?” He echoes, irate. “You’re telling me to relax right now, when-”

Chradh doesn’t bother to argue with him. “She is safe under the care of the silver one’s brother, where she will remain until the moment is right. It is better this way. She won’t be in pain anymore.”

Chradh doesn’t elaborate further. Fucking dragons and their constant need to speak in riddles.

The rest of the quadrant spends the night drinking and congratulating themselves on surviving, but Garrick doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol. The three of you were supposed to do this together. It wouldn’t be right to celebrate without you.

———————————————————————

“We’re gonna start from square one, with something that can’t hurt you,” Brennan says, placing two halves of a cracked plate on the table in front of you.

It’s simple enough to make the pieces rise into the air, using the same magic required to make a pen write for you. You concentrate, willing the halves to fuse together. They touch, and you think you’ve done it, your heart leaping, only to fall as they crash back down to the table again, splitting into even more pieces.

Brennan touches one of the shards, and they glue themselves back together perfectly; no cracks, no trace of the plate ever having been broken. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let me keep trying,” you begin, heart pounding. Brennan can’t think you’re a failure, not this early.

“You could sit here with this plate all day and it wouldn’t change,” he says gently, confirming what you know deep down. “I don’t think you’re a mender. I think you’re something else entirely.”

You sit with the information for a moment.

“Signets take the form of our base need as a person,” he says. “We need to find out what that is for you.”

You already know. “I wake up every day grateful that Xaden bargained for our lives, but I have done too much harm in my time at Basgiath. The crown has done too much harm to Tyrrendor. All I’ve ever wished for is to fix that, to undo the pain.”

“To undo the pain, or to help move forward and grow?” He asks gently.

You aren’t sure.

———————————————————————

You go through your morning stretches, as always, focusing on your breath to distract from the pain in your side.

“Your mate has returned.” Tab says, interrupting. “Thought you’d like to know.”

You bolt upright, running through the house toward the gates, bypassing Xaden to sprint straight toward Garrick.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. You still fit together like puzzle pieces, even after months apart.

“You’re alive,” you breathe. “Nobody would tell me anything, I was worried sick,”

“Of course I’m alive, angel. Had to come back to you.”

You trace the Lieutenant’s patch across his collarbone, memorizing the shape. It looks natural on him, like it’s always been there. It sounds good, too. Lieutenant Garrick Tavis.

“I need to tell you something,” you say quietly, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about-“

Footsteps approach. “Sorry to break up the reunion,” Felix says, “but Avan, we need you.”

There’s something in his tone that has your heart pounding. Which of your friends is it going to be this time?

“Tell me later,” Garrick says. “Go. Do what you were made to do.”

You know he means well, but his words tie your stomach in a knot. What you were made to do. Were you truly made to endure the suffering of others?

———————————————————————

Every muscle in your body feels like it’s on fire as you slump into a chair, sitting down for the first time that day. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get some sleep before you’re needed again.

“There you are. I didn’t see you in battle brief.” Garrick says, relieved.

“Haven’t been going,” you mumble. “They need me here. Bren’s teaching now, so s’ just me and one other mender.”

He realizes no healers had come with the riot from Basgiath. You likely haven’t left the infirmary since they’d arrived.

“Come to bed,” he coaxes softly. “You need sleep. You can't pour from an empty cup.”

Yes, you can. You have been for months.

He takes your hand, not giving you a choice. You lean into him as he leads you up the grand staircase to a room near Xaden’s. Your muscles protest every step, but you keep quiet.

You haven’t been in here for years, not since you’d left for Basgiath as candidates, but it’s exactly the same as you remember; dark drapery, bookshelves, a neat display of the knives that he hadn’t taken to school with him.

The sight has you in tears.

“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, pulling you closer, and you whimper in pain at the pressure against your ribs. He lets go immediately. “Angel, I’m sorry — are you hurt?”

You sob, the dam finally breaking and grief flooding out of you. You haven’t seen each other since that horrible day, you haven’t seen anyone from the squad you went with to Resson, haven’t had anyone to talk about it with, until now.

You shake your head, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t save Liam. I tried, I really did. All I could do was take his pain away.”

So Xaden had told Basgiath the truth, to some degree: you tried to fix Liam, and couldn’t. The boy’s death had hurt you badly enough that Xaden wouldn’t let you return to the school.

“There was nothing else you could do. Nobody could save him, not after Deigh…”

“I know that, but it wasn’t just him. Everyone I’ve ever… fixed, I’ve taken the pain from their body into mine, and I can’t get rid of it for days.”

Garrick’s heart breaks. So that’s what Chradh meant when he said you wouldn’t be in pain anymore if you left Basgiath. Those eight-hour days of mending infantry may as well have been torture for you.

Torture. RSC. You’d healed his wounds, Xaden’s, Bodhi’s, Violet’s, time and time again without complaint, and he knew it took a lot out of you, but not that it hurt. “Angel, why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known…”

“I wanted to,” you sniffle, “I wanted to tell you a year ago when it started happening. I thought it was normal, that I was just weak, until Brennan told me that this doesn’t happen to him. He just gets tired, like everyone else does when they use their signets too much.”

You try to steady your breathing, but the pain in your not-broken ribs is too overwhelming. “I’ve spent hours practicing and I can’t even fix a broken plate. I’m not a mender. I don’t know what I am. Nobody does, not even the professors. Brennan thinks it’s getting better, but I don’t have it in me to tell him that it isn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He wants to pull you into an embrace, wants to stroke your hair and tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t want to hurt you any more than he already has.

“S’ not your fault.” You sniff.

“But it’s not yours, either,” he reminds you gently. “You’re so strong, angel. You crossed the parapet, ran the gauntlet, you bonded a dragon, and you’ve endured everything else. Please don’t ever think for a second that you’re weak.”

He takes your hand in his, watching your face carefully, but you don’t wince at the touch. “We’ll talk to Brennan tomorrow, together. For now, I just want you to get some sleep, okay?”

You nod silently, having run out of tears.

“Attagirl.”

As you settle into bed next to him, freshly showered and wearing one of his warm sweaters, you swear the pain has dimmed.

———————————————————————

When Garrick takes you to see Brennan the next morning, he isn’t alone. Your professors are seated beside him, along with some of the Tyrrish elders.

Devera speaks first. “We owe you an apology, Cadet Avan. The faculty was unaware that Carr and Varrish were using your signet as a method of punishment, or that it pains you to use it.”

“And I owe you an apology,” you say quietly. “I should have come back after the War Games.”

“That was my decision,” Xaden says firmly, “and I stand by it. She was in no condition to return to the school, much less to graduate and be stationed at an outpost across the continent from her support system, while still feeling the coldness of Cadet Mairi’s death.”

How does he know that you could feel it? Had you told him in your delirium? Had Brennan told him? Had you even told Brennan?

“Your friends have effectively plead your case, and we agree that you have satisfied all the requirements for graduation from the Rider’s Quadrant.” Emeterrio says. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Garrick slips your flight jacket onto your shoulders, and you notice the Lieutenant insignia has already been sewn on, to match his. When did he…?

You accept the handshake Devera offers you, still a little dazed, but there’s one more order of business to address.

“May I rejoin my old squad?” You ask the table of professors quietly. “They are family to me. I would like to ride with them again, and aid them however I can.”

They exchange hesitant looks, and your heart sinks. Do they not think you’re good enough?

“I don’t see why not,” Brennan says firmly enough for everyone else to agree — he outranks the professors with the years he’s been part of the movement.

You exhale in relief.

Garrick cheers. “The dream team is back, baby!” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, knowing you’re still in pain, but wanting to hold you close.

You laugh, not minding the ache in your ribs.

Xaden is unimpressed. “When have we ever once called ourselves the dream team?”

“We haven’t, but I’m starting now. It’ll stick. I’ll have it embroidered on your flight jacket, Xay.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Xaden replies, setting off a brotherly argument behind you.

You look to the leadership once more, bowing your head in respect. “Thank you. For everything.”

Devera gives you a warm smile. “I am glad to see you have found your place here, Lieutenant. Remember that your empathy is a gift, even in times of war.”

Empathy.

“Am I dismissed?” You ask.

“Yes, Lieutenants, you are all dismissed,” Emeterrio answers dryly, looking over your shoulder at Garrick and Xaden. The latter has the former in a playful headlock, messing up his hair.

“Human boys,” Tab says, exasperated. You laugh in agreement, leaving them in the Assembly room to sort themselves out.

It’s easy enough to find who you’re looking for — he’s the only person sitting completely alone in the mess, a textbook open in front of him that he isn’t reading. He’s gazing into the distance, eyes unfocused, but he looks up when he realizes you’re standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about what I saw in Varrish’s office. I had no idea how much you all have endured. What we are taught in Navarre is only one side of the story, but you showed me the other.”

“I’m glad I could help change your mind.”

He reaches into the pocket of his flight jacket and extends a hand. Your protection rune sits in his palm, complete with a new leather cord. “A peace offering. I stole it back from Varrish, and Brennan mended it.”

You smile, taking it from him and slipping it back over your head. “You’re turning into quite the rule-breaker, Aetos. But thank you. It means a lot to me.”

You’re about to leave, but something compels you to impart a piece of advice. “I know how it feels when people don’t want to trust you because of your family history. It’ll take a while for some of them to warm up to you, but you can make it go a lot faster if you keep yourself out of trouble.”

———————————————————————

Your first flight back with your squad is supposed to be easy, a surveying flight with a small riot, just to check their perimeters, but you can’t seem to quell your anxiety as you take off.

“We will be fine, gentle one. We’re in strong company,” Tab reassures. He stays close to Chradh, knowing Garrick’s proximity will calm you. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Good. I’ve missed this.”

“You have always enjoyed being up this high,” he agrees. “Shall we review some of our basic maneuvers?”

“Sure.” Maybe that will settle your nerves.

“Hold on.” Tab dips, practicing all the angles — banking right, left, up, down.

“Something is wrong,” you blurt, and Tab straightens his path immediately, falling back into the formation. Every nerve in your body pulses with a sensation you’ve never felt before, standing on end. “Something really bad is going to happen.”

You’re right.

“Wyvern,” Tab warns just as they come into your line of sight. They charge straight at the front of the riot, where Sgaeyl leads the pack.

You’re outmatched, nearly two dozen of them and only ten of you. You’re going to die here. At least you’ll be with your best friends.

“That kind of thinking isn’t helpful!” Tab scolds, tightening the formation.

One gets too close for comfort, spewing blue flame, and Chradh banks hard - too hard. You gasp in horror as Garrick is thrown from his seat down to the ground below.

“Dive!” You yell, and Tab follows without hesitation, making a near-vertical drop.

You’ve never been so grateful for the running landing they’d taught you last year. It had been excruciating to execute on top of the pain of unbroken bones, but it’s just manageable now after a few days off from the infirmary.

Clutching Failsafe for dear life, your only defense, you sprint toward Garrick’s limp body, ripping off your goggles.

His heart still beats, but multiple bones look broken, his breathing labored. Touching him is almost unbearable, which tells you he won’t last much longer if you don’t do something.

Deep breaths, like Brennan had taught you, to accept their pain as it entered your body, holding it before batting it away like a fly.

You still haven’t figured out how to make that work.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you start to berate yourself; Why can’t you do this? Compose yourself. Garrick is going to die if you can’t pull it together. Garrick is going to die, just like Liam did, because you aren’t strong enough to fix a fucking plate.

Anger overcomes you for the first time since you’d watched your parents die six years ago. You scream, a sound like nothing you’ve ever heard before splitting the air. The pain dissipates almost instantly. For the first time in two years, your body isn’t aching, and you sob in relief.

Garrick bolts upright, gasping for breath as spring blooms across the snowy plain, trees with bare branches suddenly teeming with green leaves.

Tab roars in pride and the rest of the riot joins in, the cliffs shaking from the volume of their celebration.

“Lifebringer!” He thunders into your mind.

Your head snaps upward, and you realize that the ground is littered with motionless wyvern.

Garrick pulls you to your feet, brushing the tears from your cheeks. “Come on, angel,” he says, grinning, “we have a war to win.”

You’re still dazed as Tab brings you back to Riorson house, Garrick helping you dismount and leading you inside.

“We have a weapon,” Xaden says, actually smiling as he faces the assembly. “Something, someone, that can destroy wyvern in their tracks.”

Garrick keeps you glued to his side as Xaden tells the elders what happened, but it’s all in one ear, out the other.

You’re dismissed after a few minutes, heading back out to the mess, where your friends gather around one of the large tables in the library.

“Tab called me lifebringer,” you say, confused. “What is that?”

“I thought it was just folklore,” Violet says from a few rows down, scanning the shelves, and everyone turns to her, listening. “Lifebringers are said to influence healing and growth. In some cultures, they’ve been credited with ending famines by rejuvenating harvests, and saving the innocent from the grasp of Malek and his Death.”

“Wicked,” Ridoc appraises quietly.

“Aha.” Violet produces a thin volume, cracking it open to the right page. The illustration there looks uncannily like you.

“Only the purest of heart can be lifebringers, those who hold no malice toward their fellow man. The weapons they carry are sharp, but unused,” she reads aloud. “Garrick gave you Failsafe as just that — a failsafe. You never drew blood with it. You never hurt anyone except in challenges, when it was kill or be killed, and even then you held back.”

Bodhi speaks next. “With most signets, the stronger the wielder’s emotion, the more powerful the ability becomes. You feel empathy for the wounded, so you can fix them and ease their pain, but when you thought Garrick was going to die, that was another level of distress, and I guess it was enough to overcome the dark magic.”

Garrick squeezes your shoulder in reassurance that he’s still very much alive beside you.

Violet closes the book, setting it down.

“I’m not in pain anymore,” you whisper, still dazed. You’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, having spent the last three years holding both your own and that of all your friends.

“You needed an outlet,” Xaden says. “Pain makes it harder to channel, and you were in pain 24/7, which is why the professors thought your signet was underdeveloped. Getting angry, and getting that energy out of your body allowed you to use the full extent of your power.”

“If I had known this earlier, do you think I could have…” you don’t finish the sentence. Everyone in this room knows how hard you’d tried to save Liam.

“Maybe,” Violet says quietly, “but that is not a path you want to go down. Trust me.”

———————————————————————

“Do you want to explain why the hallway was full of sunflowers when I went to bed last night?” Xaden asks slyly, dropping into a seat in front of you with a plate of eggs and bacon.

You burn with embarrassment.

Bodhi grins. “You see, cousin, when a man and a woman love each other very much, - ow, fuck!” He exclaims, rubbing the back of his head where Garrick had whacked him.

“At least they didn’t set the vale on fire,” another of your squadmates says, looking at Xaden and Violet pointedly. “You still owe me for putting that out, by the way.”

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots. “So all that dry lightning last year was you two…”

“Okay, changing the subject!” Brennan says loudly, not liking the way this conversation is headed. “We need to figure out how to use your signet without endangering Tavis’s life again.”

“Well, it sounds like they already found another way,” Ridoc says, grinning, but he squeaks out an apology as Garrick begins to rise from his chair.

You tug your boyfriend back into his seat by the sleeve, looking past him at Brennan. “I think I need to work a few days in the infirmary between flights,” you propose. “If I build up enough pain, I could probably-“

“NO,” the whole squad says at once, Tab included.

“Your healing is only to be used when absolutely necessary,” Xaden orders, and even though you’re on equal footing now, both newly-minted Lieutenants, you agree quietly without protest.

“See, that’s your problem,” Sloane says, and all eyes turn to her. “You defer to literally everyone. You’re an officer now. Act like it.”

“Pardon?” You ask, looking at her in disbelief.

“That’s exactly what she’s talking about,” Imogen cuts in. “Pardon? You can’t even discipline a first-year cadet. Do you really think any veteran rider will ever listen to what you have to say?”

“Enough,” you say firmly, your nails digging into the wood.

None of your friends intervene, not even Brennan. This has to be another nightmare. There’s no way they'd hang you out to dry like this. Right?

Sloane isn’t finished. “It’s a miracle you made it out of Basgiath alive. You’re too soft. If you won’t kill anyone, what are you going to do when it’s between your life or someone else’s? Their life or his?”

The mention of Garrick is your last straw. “That is enough from both of you, Cadets,” you reprimand. Thorny vines burst from the seams of the table, whipping out toward them, and they stagger back to avoid being cut.

You startle, your heart pounding against your ribs as you realize what you’ve done.

Sloane is the first to apologize. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean any of it. I just thought that provoking you might…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, looking down at the still-twitching vines covering the tabletop.

“We definitely took it too far,” Imogen adds, sounding genuinely remorseful. “That was a really fucked up thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”

Bodhi waves a hand, and the vines slither back into the table, as if they were never there.

Your eyes widen at the blood on his cheeks — he’d been caught in the crossfire. You touch his face with a shaky hand, only brushing your fingertips across the skin, and the scratches disappear instantly, leaving no trace of the harm you’d done.

Somehow that makes you feel worse.

“Well,” Garrick says in his section-leader voice, “that was certainly informative, but none of you are to ever disrespect her like that again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” both girls answer quietly, heads lowered in shame.

Your breathing has steadied enough to speak. “I understand why you did that, but I’m not going to tell you that it was okay, because it wasn’t.”

With that, you take your plate and leave. Nobody follows you.

———————————————————————

The balcony door slides open, soft footsteps approaching.

“I want to be alone, Gare,” you say quietly.

“Not Garrick,” Xaden replies, settling down next to you on the stone floor, “and you may want to be alone right now, but you probably shouldn’t be.”

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Xay. You know that,” you whisper. You don’t move your gaze from the potted plant in front of you, as if you’re worried it will lash out at you — or him — if you turn away.

“I know, angel. I know.” He exhales deeply, a gentle cloud forming with the warmth of his breath.

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks again, just the sound of the cold wind over the valley and the distant footsteps of cadets running on the trail below. “Working through this is not going to be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You’ve come to hate that notion, everyone’s insistence that the pain you’ve been through has primed you for more pain, different pain. Why can’t it ever end?

#garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing reader insert #garrick tavis #fourth wing #reader insert #imagine

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icyharrington · 2 years

Note

Writing prompt 142 with Eddie?

142. “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

oooo finally an opportunity to write some pissed off eddie content teeheeeeee okok lets do it !!! PS I AM STILL TAKING PROMPT REQUESTS !! the og post is on my page so go check it out and send me one if you’re interested! :3 also sorry if this sucks im not used to writing multiple different fics/blurbs/whatevers in 1 day dfjgkdjfg

contains: jealous!eddie, mean eddie, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, general rough/mean dynamic (he still luvs you tho don’t worry uwu)

You’ve never seen Eddie this angry before, and your body is caught in limbo between utter terror and arousal.

So you’d fucked around with Steve Harrington- you and Eddie were on a break! And a well-deserved one, at that, considering that he’d been devoting all of his time to his fantasy campaigns rather than his real life, human girlfriend.

Eddie stands before you in his bedroom, his wide brown eyes unusually cold as they size you up. His arms are folded protectively in front of his graphic t-shirt, a prominent frown on his lips. “So what you’re telling me, (y/n)- and correct me if I’m wrong here- is that you let Steve Harrington’s dick inside you? Is that what I’m hearing right now?”

He sounds so sarcastic, yet so deadly serious; it sends an uncomfortably cool chill up your spine, and you’re unsure of what’s about to happen.

You look him dead in the eyes despite the anxiety it causes you, unwilling to back down. “Yes, Eddie, I did. I fucked Steve Harrington. So fucking what? We were on a goddamn break! It’s not like you ever wanted to fuck me while we were together.”

“That is such bullshit, (y/n),” Eddie seethes, taking a lingering step towards you. You stand frozen in place, your limbs unwilling to move from where they’re planted. “Every time you’re in the mood to fuck, it’s when I’m busy with Hellfire!”

“You’re always busy with Hellfire!” you scream at him, one-upping him by taking your own hopefully-menacing step in his direction.

“What about that night in my van when you turned me down? Or when you told me to stop being gross when I was feeling up your ass, hm?” He cocks his head threateningly, sauntering until he’s face-to-face with you.

“I just said that because I was in a bad mood, Eddie,” you murmur, feeling a little guilty about the exchange in retrospect. Usually you loved when Eddie would touch you, even by surprise- he’d just happened to catch you on a bad day. “I don’t think you’re gross.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I think you do. I think you find me downright disgusting. That’s why you ran off to go spread your legs for Steve Harrington- to find out what it’s like to fuck a real man. Right, (y/n)?” His eyes are welled with tears, though he’s good at keeping them at bay, with his face contorted into a scowl. “Making a fucking fool of me, huh? Dating the freak and fucking the jock. I bet you did it before our break, you fucking slut.”

He’s shaking, and you want to hug him, though you’re scared what will happen if you do. You mentally kick yourself for even allowing the secret to slip in the first place, but you never would’ve forgiven yourself if you hadn’t told the truth.

Now, though, you wonder if it would’ve been worth it to lie, just to prevent Eddie from believing all the other untrue parts his mind had invented. “Eddie, I would have never done that to you!”

He drags his eyes up and down your body, taking in the short skirt you’re wearing, paired with a pair of platform boots and a cropped sweater. When he speaks, he doesn’t reference anything you just said, evidently too wound up in his emotions to process much else. “Yeah, prancing around at school looking like that, huh? You dressed like that for Steve, didn’t you? Wanted him to take you in the bathroom and fuck you stupid?”

You whimper; you aren’t certain if he’s intentionally trying to make you horny right now, but for some unfathomable reason… you so are. “No, Eddie. I promise you, I don’t want Steve. It was a stupid mistake, Eddie, I swear! I was upset about us being on a break, and I just…I don’t know! I fucked up!”

“Yeah, you’re right, (y/n). It was a stupid mistake.” He takes in a breath, seeming to ponder on what his next action will be, before he shoves you back onto his bed. “Real fucking stupid. That’s my pussy you’re throwing around like a tramp, get it?”

He flips up your skirt, grasping your pussy between your legs and rubbing you harshly through the thin lace fabric of your panties. “Oh, I’m sure Steve Harrington could never get your pussy as pathetically wet as I can.”

You don’t say anything, moaning out at the rough motions of his callused hand against your soaked underwear; if he continued doing this for another minute or so, you’d probably cum without needing him to do anything else. He smacks your cheek lightly in response to your silence, narrowing his dark eyes at you. “Could he?”

“N-no, Eddie,” you whisper, letting out a strangled whine when he moves your panties to the side and presses two fingers into you abruptly. “I told you, it was a mistake. I want you, Eddie.”

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?” he demands, taking your jaw in one hand and jerking it so that you’re facing him. “Hm?”

You shake your head rapidly, a helpless look on your face as you silently beg for his forgiveness (which you know is already granted, though you don’t expect him to tell you that quite yet). “No, Eddie. Never.”

“Fuckin’ thought so,” he says as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, adding a third in order to stretch you wider. “You’re lucky I love you enough to teach you a lesson instead of kicking your ass to the curb.”

He’s not serious- at least about the kicking-you-to-the-curb bit, though the way he’s speaking to you is making your skin prickle over with warmth. There’s just something about your soft, sweet Eddie being mean that turns you on beyond belief.

Looking up at him with wide doe eyes, you hold back a knowing smirk. “You’re right, Eddie. I am lucky.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #mine #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic

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varpusvaras · 19 days

Text

Prequel/sequel to the Modern AU post I made yesterday: Bail, any given morning: Here I go again, going to work...with the ugly horrible stairs

Breha: Dear, can you give constructive criticism of the stairs for once? I thought you went to art school

Bail: Yes, when I was 12. I don't remember much of what they taught me there, but of one thing I am certain: those stairs are not art

Breha: Alright. Whatever you say, honey. But I am banning you from talking about the stairs until you can give me something new

Six hours later

Bail, on the phone: Love, I have found another point of view on the stairs. We have a dinner date at eight. Wear something nice

Breha: .....I didn't know we needed to take the stairs for a date

Bail: No, we're taking the man who is trying to make the stairs less horrible for a date. I promise you, it's going to be so nice!

At eight that night

Breha, looking at the very beautiful man her husband has brought into the restaurant with them: So, you're trying to make the stairs look better?

Fox, forgetting all of his social anxieties in an instant: Yes. Now I am legally being prevented from actually making them proper stairs, because they represent the "alternative progressive movement of the 1930's that worked as a precursor to Modern and Expressionist movements of the field while still encapsulating the trends of the late 1800s", which is, in my honest opinion, just a nice way of saying that the stairs look like a spiraling fire exit with some rather dated embellishments that are just empty copies of earlier styles with no deeper understanding of what actually made any of it work, and merely mimic previous artworks without any coherency, with the sole goal of looking extravagant

Breha, kicking Bail under the table because he looks too smug: Do you want wine and dessert as well?

That night, in bed

Bail: By the way, he also threw a man while holding a clipboard

Breha: I'm booking us a visit to the jeweler tomorrow. We cannot not marry him

#Breha: finally! a man who complains with examples!#Bail does not mind that because he also loves a man who complains with examples #sw #tcw #commander fox #bail organa #breha organa #bail/breha/fox #Modern AU

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depressedbagpipe · 1 year

Text

Ka-Chaow (Charles Leclerc x female!reader)

Chapter one

Words: 3310 Warnings: mentions of alcohol and being drunk (guys, please, don't drink alcohol), some anxiety thrown in there, a couple of bad words, google-translated italian A/N: it's lights out and away we go! welcome to my crazy world in which i got into f1 right when the season was ending and now i can't wait to see every race. also, cause I'm still kinda new and I'm not Italian, any mistakes that i make in regards of *everything*, feel free to correct me, and be nice about it ;) A/N (II): italics are thoughts and phone calls and the email, bold and italics are messages, just bold is the location ;)

Series Masterlist Next chapter

Chapter one

London, November 18th, 2022

The weight of my bag was the only thing preventing me from sprinting to my desk. Several manuscripts I had yet to finish, together with my laptop, and all my personal items, hung from my shoulder as I made my way into Mr. Williamson’s wing. I cringed at the sound of my heels over the polished floors, making various heads turn my way as I sprinted by as fast as I could.

Eventually, I got to my desk, conveniently placed just outside Mr. Williamson’s office. The slight clutter was hastily thrown away with a flick of my wrist, making space for my bag, and turning my computer on at sprint time. A quick glance at the office before me told me Mr. Williamson hadn’t arrived yet. Thankfully.

Checking my wristwatch, I sighed in relief at the time.

9:32 am. New record.

Now relaxed, I took a seat in my uncomfortable chair and started typing away on the keyboard, going over all the emails and meetings I had to schedule for the day.

Half an hour later, Mr. Williamson showed up.

‘Good morning,’ he said in his usual hoarse morning voice.

‘Good morning, Mr. Williamson, would you like your usual coffee order?’ I asked in rehearsed practice.

‘Yes, please,’ he responded, struggling to open his office's glass door.

‘You gotta push,’ I noted while I grabbed my coat and my wallet, trying not to laugh.

‘Right,’ he grumbled, finally opening the door and leaving it open.

He stumbled a bit over the expensive rug, looking around before taking a seat on his bigger and far more luxurious desk. His briefcase fell over when he placed it on it, dangling over the edge, and only once he was fully seated, I left my post.

That’s how every morning went for the past year. I would arrive in time –usually–, be ready at my desk until Mr. Williamson came in late –usually–, make sure he got to his seat in one piece, and go down to the ground floor where the company’s private Starbucks had its own space.

One Americano, and one iced vanilla latte to go, please. Once again, those words were deeply burned in my memory.

‘How is he doing this morning?’ Jeremy, the morning barista, asked as he took the order.

I shrugged, swiping the company card over the payment terminal. ‘Still pissed off drunk.’

‘So, the usual?’ he chuckled, motioning me to the end of the bar while Amanda, his workmate, made the drinks.

We both leaned over the counter separating us, talking in hushed voices, so the other customers wouldn’t listen to our conversation.

‘Honestly, I don’t know how much he can go on like this. I’m starting to feel bad for the guy.’

‘Girl, he cheated on his wife, and she rightfully left him. If he deals with his own mistakes by getting wasted every night, it’s up to him,’ Jeremy sent me a pointed look.

I bit my lip. ‘I know, but you should see him. It stopped being funny eight months ago. Do you know how many meetings I had to reschedule because he wouldn’t even pick up his phone? And I don’t mean his personal phone, I mean the company phone in his office. All he has to do is press a single button and talk,’ I winced at the memory.

‘Here you go, have a nice day!’ Amanda gave me the drinks, and I smiled gratefully at her.

‘Well, as soon as he keeps ordering Americanos, I’m not complaining. I’ve doubled my hours here solely based on his caffeine ingest. And you know how much I need the money, so he better keep those orders coming,’ Jeremy winked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. ‘If he ends up in rehab, I’ll blame you.’

He shrugged. ‘Fine by me. He’s an asshole.’

I laughed with a small shake of my head. ‘Bye, Jeremy! See you in a couple of hours!’

Getting back into the elevator, I made a mental note of everything that had to be done that morning. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings, until either Mr. Williamson got fed up and left, or I dropped in exhaustion for a quick nap.

The walk back to my desk felt longer than usual, the hefty workload of the week finally catching up to me as it normally did every Friday. I left my own coffee on my desk and quickly gave my boss his Americano, to which he merely responded with a grunt. He had his sunglasses on and was massaging his temples as if his life depended on it.

Making a face at his state, I bent down and took off my heels, knowing the constant clicking would be painful in his hungover head, and went back to my desk, making sure the door to his office was closed. Grabbing the phone, I was quick to cancel the first meeting he had in ten minutes.

With a sigh, I grabbed one of the manuscripts and resumed my reading, reading every page twice and making sure no typo was missed.

It was both a blessing and a curse, working at Ink’n’Paper. We were one of the world’s leading publishing houses on all sorts of literature, and consequently, the huge workload that we bore was overwhelming. Ink’n’Paper had been my first and only real job in the publishing industry, starting as an inexperienced intern and working my way up until I became the assistant of a household name in Historical Non-Fiction. It hadn’t exactly been my first option, non-fiction, but the pay was good, and I was desperate to prove myself. Next thing I knew, it had been three years since I’d started, and I was pretty much the only one making sure the whole department didn’t burn down due to my boss’ sudden neglect.

It was a few hours later, still sometime before the end of my workday, that I –or rather, Mr. Williamson– received the email. I had been managing all his accounts ever since the very first day he stumbled into the office completely drunk, Vodka bottle in hand, and screamed how much of a cunt everybody was on that floor, and then passed out on his rug, not before puking all over himself. After the embarrassment and degrading task of cleaning, not only him, but his rug too, I had taken over his entire life, managing even his dental care appointments for him, knowing he wouldn’t even be showing up to half of them.

I was surprised at the sender, for the name was oddly familiar. Maurizio Arrivabene.

Frowning, I quietly opened the message.

‘Buonasera, Stephen. I know it’s been a while, but as you’ll understand, these past few years have been a rollercoaster here. I was actually thinking about your past offer, and I know I’m a year too late, but I would love to look into it more. I’ll be in London next week after the season’s over, maybe you’d like to have some coffee (or tea, whichever you prefer), and talk about the book? I know here at Ferrari we need some push, whatever results we get this weekend. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Take care, Stephen. Sincerely, Maurizio.’

I widened my eyes at the email. Maurizio Arrivabene. Ferrari’s old team principal. I quickly gathered my planner and a pen and pushed open Mr. Williamson’s office door. Thankfully for me, he now seemed much better.

‘Sorry, Mr. Williamson?’ I took a few tentative steps toward him.

‘Yes?’ he lowered his spectacles, halting his typing on his keyboard.

‘You’ve received an email from one Maurizio Arrivabene,’ I pronounced his name in a heavy accent, the same way my dad would whenever he talked about his homeland. ‘Something about a book offer, maybe?’

His face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, Maurizio!’ he stood up from his seat. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in a while! How is he?’ he asked me. He still reeked of cheap alcohol.

‘I don’t know, sir, but he wants to meet with you next week.’

He clapped. ‘Fantastic, schedule a meeting with him.’

I coughed. ‘Well, the thing is, he sent an email to you, directly. I believe he’d like something more casual,’ I said, yet I opened my planner to check his schedule.

‘Well, then, I shall phone him immediately!’ he grabbed the phone on his desk, and rapidly frowned. ‘What’s his number again?’

I pursed my lips. ‘He didn’t write any, sir. I think you shall write to him directly.’

‘Of course! Let me just…’ he sat back down and typed something on his computer. ‘What was my email again?’

I groaned soundlessly, quietly making my way to him and fastly typing his correct credentials. Standing closer to him, I noticed the many wrinkles in his suit and the many hair strands that fell on the wrong side of his side part. Shaking my head, I pointed at the email.

‘There it is.’

‘Okay, when am I free for tea?’ he responded after a few seconds, his eyes reading over the words.

‘Well, you did cancel three meetings with the entire Editorial Department so… I rescheduled them for next week, but you should be free Friday afternoon after work,’ I checked all the time slots available, scribbling down the possible dates.

‘Why couldn’t we meet on a weekend? We don’t work on weekends,’ he said.

I paused. ‘You don’t work on weekends. I do. And I’m guessing this is a possible job offer, therefore counting it as part of the workweek at least allows you a free meal covered as company’s expenses,’ I recited off my head. Too many times I have said that.

Mr. Williamson widened his eyes. ‘That’s brilliant! You’re right, let’s schedule for next Thursday.’

‘Friday.’

‘Friday. Wow, who taught you that?’

‘You did, sir.’

‘Well, I’m a genius, then.’

‘If only you were sober enough to realize that,’ I muttered as I finished writing on my planner. Louder, I replied. ‘Remember to save the day and respond to the man. Don’t keep him waiting.’

I walked back to the door. Mr. Williamson nodded his head. ‘Will do!’

With another sigh, I sat back on my chair, cracking my fingers before typing in the response to Maurizio Arrivabene on behalf of Mr. Williamson, and making sure to set reminders in his calendar for every day of the week until his tea date.

The pay is good, at least.

—

‘You should have seen him. I mean, he’s like a toddler!’ I complained from my spot on the couch.

‘I don’t know how you keep working like that, you’re basically a babysitter at this point,’ my mother said from the other side of the phone.

I hummed in agreement, looking up at my feet. They dangled from the other end of the couch, as I took up the entire space by laying down. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I told Rosanna from Human Resources to notify me whenever there was a new vacancy, but it’s been months.’

‘Honey, I can’t tell you what to do, but do you think head editor is the right job for you?’ she asked.

I stopped. ‘I think so. I mean, I’m good at it.’

‘Yes, but do you like it?’

I paused again.

That question had been roaming in my mind for months. At first, the job had been nice. Reading manuscripts for a living, correcting the mistakes, meeting with the authors, and getting to know them first-hand… Again, maybe historical non-fiction wasn’t what I originally envisioned my future like, but the pay was good enough to get me my own apartment and to live independently. At the rate the economy was going, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

But then Mr. Williamson had suddenly neglected his own job when his life started spiraling down, and I had been the unfortunate soul to try and collect the pieces of his broken person. I was suddenly managing, not only my life, but his, and needless to say, he wasn’t an easy person to handle. Despite the many conversations to get him to sober up, every morning was a complete wild card, not knowing whether he would even show up, and if he did, would he be conscious enough to work.

On the bright side, thanks to his many absences, I had learned how to manage the editorial department pretty much completely on my own. I knew the names of every single worker, even the janitors and the night guards working late shifts. I had written, rewritten, corrected, presented, contacted, hired, fired, and despite knowing I was perfect for said role, my heart still longed for something different. The reason why I even had studied Creative Writing all along.

‘But only writing doesn’t pay the bills’, Mr. Williamson had said one morning, a month into my newly appointed role as his assistant. And ever since then, I had almost forgotten about my own dream of becoming a novelist.

‘What do you think I should do, then?’ I asked her.

‘Honey, you’re old enough to make your own decisions,’ she laughed.

‘Mom, I need your advice! I know I’m old enough but right now I’m at a crossroads!’ I complained, lifting my arm and covering my eyes with it.

‘You know what I think about writing for a living,’ she mused.

I groaned. ‘Yeah, I know it’s not your cup of tea, but I promise, I’m good. Great, even.’

‘I wouldn’t know, you never let me read anything.’

‘Well, yeah, it’s embarrassing.’

‘You need to get over that eventually, honey.’

‘It’s easier said than done,’ I sighed. ‘Besides, everything I have written so far was just reports and boring commercial synopsis for historical books, unless you really wanna read that…’

‘Honey, whatever you choose to do, just make sure it makes you happy. And that at least you’re getting money out of it.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I think I need to sleep this one over.’

‘It’s probably for the best. Let me know, whatever you do,’ my mother said. ‘I gotta go now, book club starts in fifteen minutes and I still gotta walk by Linda’s house to return her copy. Will you be fine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Wait, your dad wants to talk.’

‘Great.’

‘Hey, chicken pie!’ I chuckled at my dad’s voice.

‘Hi, dad,’ I smiled.

His tone was excited. ‘You’re seeing the practice?’

I nodded before answering, my eyes glancing at the TV, where the first day of race weekend was airing from the Yas Marina circuit. ‘Of course, I am. Not paying much attention, though.’

‘Well, nothing interesting so far. You wanna FaceTime tomorrow for quali?’

‘Yes, please,’ I groaned in delight. ‘I wish I could be there to watch it with you, though.’

I could hear his smile through the phone. ‘It’s alright, chicken pie, I know you’re busy lately. Everything alright with your boss?’

I could hear my mom yelling at him in the background of the call.

I bit my lip. ‘Ask mom, she got all the details. Shouldn’t you be leaving for book club too?’

It was his turn to groan. ‘Don’t remind me.’

I laughed. ‘What was it?’

‘To Kill a Mockingbird. No bird in it.’

I audibly laughed at him. ‘Please, don’t say that out loud, you’ll be banished from the club.’

‘Oh, what a pity would that be,’ he said in his most mischievous voice possible. ‘Wish me luck, Principessa.’

‘Ciao, Papà!’ I laughed, finally ending the call in a fit of giggles.

Shaking my head, I leaned my head back on the pillow and continued watching the practice, remembering the puzzling email addressed to Mr. Williamson.

Multiple explanations littered my head as to how on earth Mr. Williamson knew someone as Maurizio Arrivabene, both from such different spheres, but then again, Stephen Williamson had always been a renowned author and an even bigger editor. It was possible that both men had coincided at some point in history, but I tried not to dwell much on it. I had a week until I found out what the fuzz was about.

Groaning again once the free practice was over, I finally stood up from my couch and walked towards the small kitchen, opening the fridge in hopes to find something available to eat. Some leftovers caught my eye, and with a shrug, I took them out, threw them in the microwave, and sat down back on the couch once the food was warm enough to eat.

Browsing through HBO for something to see, I settled on my annual rewatch of Parks and Recreation, anything to get my mind off the horrible week I just had.

My phone pinging broke me out of my daze. Wiping my hand clean on my dirty pajamas, I quickly read over my friend Angela’s message.

‘You shouldn’t check Alec’s Instagram story, but I also think you should.’

With a frown I opened the app, seeing the familiar purple-ish circle around my ex-boyfriend’s face. The video was enough to bring a few tears to my eyes. His arm was around some other girl, and her crimson-painted lips left stains all over his cheek. His smile was wide, and he looked quite happy, wherever he was.

I rapidly closed the app off, throwing my phone to the other end of the couch, now in desperate need of a glass of wine just to forget what I had just seen.

Breaking up with Alec had been hard, but seeing him off with someone else was even harder. Not only two months ago we were talking about living together, and now it felt like I was seeing a stranger through my screen. My job had been slowly taking over every aspect of my personal life too, and while I couldn’t blame Alec for feeling neglected all of a sudden, especially after three years together, it still hurt. I still missed him every night, morning, and any other time in between. He had been my best friend for so long, and one of my main pillars ever since I stumbled out of college, completely lost, and in frantic need of guidance in the adult world. We were both still kids that had become adults together, and I was having a harder time than I wanted to admit to trying to forget about him.

Taking a big breath, I closed my eyes, touching the soft couch in an attempt to ground myself.

Big breath in, big breath out.

After a few minutes, I felt myself calm enough, resuming my dinner and my binge-watching, now more than ever desperate for sleep after the intense day. Technically I had every weekend off, but I still had many manuscripts and emails to send the next day, thankfully from the comfort of my own home.

It was only in bed that I allowed myself to relax, turning off my phone, and grabbing my crochet set. It was a habit I had picked up lately, something so far out of my field of expertise, yet so relaxing once I got the hang of things. Working on my silly bucket hat every night before sleep was pretty much the highlight of my existence. And I was so invested in it, that only after I was finally done with it I realized I had been sitting for three hours in the same position, my eyelids dropping and my back hurting. Getting the needles out of the way, I finally laid in bed, and it only took a few minutes to fall soundlessly asleep.

—

A week later I found myself in the same position, crocheting a summer top in my bed, late in the evening after yet another exhausting week, when I received Mr. Williamson’s message.

‘Book a flight to Italy. We’re going to Maranello.’

Next chapter

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female!reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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ghosttownwherenoonegoes · 11 months

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A few people - @badgirlforeddiemunson @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @ilovecupcakesandtea - have asked me things about my hair; routines, products, hints and tips. And I figured it'd be easier to make a generic post with everything included and people can pick and poke at what they want.

I'm not a vain person, but I will freely admit that my hair is my pride and joy. It is my baby. I have told my mother that my hair is the only grandchild she's ever gonna get from me, and now when she helps me with it, she calls it "babysitting my grandkid".🤣

I have quite fine hair but I have a lot of it, so it's quite thick. Holding it in one fist is a bit difficult and it knots very easily. This post includes routines, products, hints, tips, and things I think are relevant. My hair is my baby and a lot of my leftover energy between my job and my degree goes into my hair. I've dreamed of having hair just like this since I was a child - maybe seven or eight - and now as a twenty five year old, I am living the dream.

I hope those of you who are curious about my rather extensive hair care find what you need in here! I am open to questions about it, as well.💖

TW; in the 'basics' section, there is one mention of actual physical assaults related to non-consensual hair-cutting which happened in my home town about a decade ago. Not to me, but I worry about it every day as a lasting point of anxiety. If you want to skip this, it is the LAST BULLET POINT OF THE FIRST SECTION RIGHT BELOW THE CUT.

Okay, so... where to start...

The basics/equipment I use

I sleep on silk pillowcases and I secure my braids with silk scrunchies. It helps to prevent knots and tangles (it's not perfect, but my hair is much more manageable thanks to silk).

I use a wooden comb and a boar bristle brush which moves natural oils from my scalp down to the ends of my hair. I would never be using a plastic brush or 'normal' elastic ties in my hair. The thought makes me shudder.

I wash my hair once a week unless it gets rained on. In which case, I will wash it more than once a week, but neither me nor my hair will be happy about it.

I pat-dry my hair with a plain white cotton t-shirt and I let it air-dry, which takes about twelve hours to become damp-but-dry-enough-to-safely-brush. (Hair wash day is a whole ordeal, I need a day! More on this to come.) T-shirts are gentler and less damaging than towels; wet hair should be treated like glass because it's very fragile.

I never go outside of the house or go to sleep without first brushing and then braiding my hair. I never go outside with it down. This is because, honestly, I'm terrified someone will come up behind me on the street and assault me by cutting all my hair off (I have severe anxiety but also, this actually happened to a few girls in my town as a series of three assaults when I was a child and I've never forgotten about it) but also, doing this helps to prevent knots and tangles, which minimises damage to your hair.

I eat a lot of meat and dairy but I also take a generic multivitamin every day. Protein and fat are super good for you in general but also, what your body doesn't use, goes to your hair!!! Happy body = happy hair.💖

I am very precious about my hair, very few people are allowed to touch it. If I let you touch it, you are trusted. It's pretty much an "I love you". My mum helps me with my hair every day. I'm very grateful to her for it, and I make sure she knows how much I appreciate it.

My hair only needs a half-inch trim every eight months or so; dad measures it out with a ruler, mum watches him to make sure he's doing it right, he shows me what he's cut off after the first snip and I'll approve it and then he's allowed to continue. I cry a lot when it has to be trimmed, I hate it, and I grieve that half-inch until it grows back in about three weeks.

My different hair-care routines (these are extensive)

Hair wash day!

Number of stages: 4

Duration of all four stages: 13 - 14 hours🥰 (I have to schedule an entire day to do it and it can be tricky because my job doesn't always align with my preferred wash day, which is a Sunday, so sometimes I have to go 10 days without washing it and that can make me very irritable. It's the little things, you know? It has to be an all day thing because my hair takes twelve hours to become damp-dry enough to brush without damaging it. I never use heat on my hair; pat-dry with a t-shirt and then air-dry only. And then I have the brushing routine on top of it, which takes an hour if I do it myself, and ten minutes if mum does it for me, which she often does).

Brushing routine:

I brush my hair before I wash it. This is the first stage of hair wash day, and I do this routine after work. It takes me an hour to do it alone or ten - twenty minutes if mum does it.

I section my hair in two, over each shoulder, and then section it again so that my hair has been quartered. I always brush from the back first (I tuck the front section underneath the back section, which has been pulled forward to the front). Whichever side isn't being brushed, I secure into a side-ponytail with a silk scrunchie to hold it there while I work on the other half of my hair.

Starting from the bottom, I finger-comb first and manually untangle any big knots or tangles. If this part goes wrong, I will cry about it. It's instant panic attack if I can't get a knot undone with minimal effort.

Once that quarter-section is finger combed thoroughly, I then use my wooden comb to go through the section again and I alternate as needed back to finger-combing if I find a section I missed the first time.

Once that quarter-section is done, I put it behind me and start on the other section, same process as above. Doing one half of my hair usually takes me a half hour.

Once one half of my hair is brushed, I use a boar-bristle brush, going from the top of my hair down to the tips; this moves the natural oils through the hair. The oil normally comes down to just below my ear, and obviously the further away I am from wash day, the more oil there is, and so from the nape of the neck down to the very ends of my hair, I apply Mielle's rosemary and mint scalp and hair strengthening oil (£8.99 for a 59ml bottle; half a pipette is sufficient for one half of my hair, so it's expensive but does last a while).

Once the hair is finger-combed, combed, brushed, I then pull that section back as well and braid it in a simple three-strand braid and loosely tie it with a silk scrunchie. The first few patterns are tight to hold the braid, but after that, I loosen it off so it's a loose braid and loosely tied. In the morning, I'll redo my braids as needed before I go to work without brushing them - I don't have that time in a morning to do my whole routine before work. To secure it, I tie the silk scrunchie around one more time so it's tighter and will hold longer (bedtime braid: tie it around three times / morning braid before work: tie it around four times).

Repeat this whole thing again for the other half of my hair, and then I can go to bed. A normal night, this takes an hour, a bad night as in really knotty hair or I'm tired, two hours. Unless mum helps me with it. I can and will cry if I find a knot I can't immediately undo and it's not unusual for me to be swaying at the bathroom sink because I will not go to bed unless my hair is fully brushed, oiled, braided.

If it's wash day, I don't braid my hair or apply more oil, I just finger-comb, comb and then brush it and then get in the shower...

Washing routine: Okay. This is the most in-depth and complicated part of my entire thing I do for my hair, and I have to get it right or I will have an anxiety attack thinking I've just fucked all my hair up and I have to cut it off (I catastrophise a lot, especially with my hair). This is the second stage of hair wash day.

So, hair is brushed, shower time!

I have the water lukewarm - too hot will burn your hair and damage it, but too cold and you won't be able to get the oils out properly.

I get my hair wet so it's plastered to my back, and then I use L'Oreal's Dream lengths shampoo; I apply it to my scalp and to the surface of hair up to the nape of my neck, giving myself a gentle scalp massage (treat wet hair like GLASS!!!!). I rinse it all out once it's all in there, and then I use the same brand of conditoner, which is applied from the nape of my neck down to the very tips. Leaving that conditioner in, I then shampoo the scalp up to the nape of my neck a second time (it's like a greasy pan - the first lot of washing up liquid lifts the oil, the second lot of washing up liquid actually cleans the pan - same concept applies here to hair, especially because I only wash it once a week). And rinse that off too.

Then, I apply conditioner for a second time from the nape of my neck to the very tips of my hair, wiping off any excess on the top of my hair (just below the scalp so I don't clog my pores). I leave it in there while I wash my body, which takes a few minutes, and then I wash it off again. I let it all come out, and then I change the shower temperature so it's now COLD, to effectively close the pores in my hair.

My hair is washed! I pat it dry with a cotton t-shirt, then from the nape of my neck down to the halfway mark of my hair, I apply a leave-in conditioner, then from that halfway mark through to the ends of my hair, I use one pipette of the oil to cover everything, and then my hair air-dries for twelve hours until it's damp-dry enough to safely brush, as above!

Using oils and leave-in conditioner:

I use the oil every day from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair, and every few days I apply leave-in conditioner from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair. The top section of my hair (scalp to the nape) will be fine, it has the natural oils from the scalp, which is evenly distributed by using the boar-bristle brush.

Brushing routine: After twelve hours, I brush through my hair as in the first stage of wash day, so this is now stage three of wash day for me, and braiding it is stage four!

And finally, a picture of my baby!!! This was taken about two weeks ago and I believe it was the day after wash day!😍💖

I love it (her) so, so much. I bitch and complain often about the knots, but nothing fills me with instant grief and abject horror quite like thinking about having to cut off more than a half inch. That, in itself, is already cause for tears. My hair is my pride and joy, my favourite body part, and something I cherish as a very real, long-lasting childhood dream. I hope you find what you need in this post; I know it's not applicable to everyone because we all have different hair types and budgets, but hopefully something is useful.💖

I'm pretty sure this is everything but I might reblog with additions if needed, and I'm open to questions as well! My hair was jaw length in late 2019 when I started to grow it out, so it's grown quite quickly and I'm very in love with it.🥰

#haircare tips #haircare #hair growth

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thesillestluxeandcastiel · 7 months

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Don't!

Cordell Walker x Suicidal!Child!Reader

Author summary: Reader suffers from self harm and Cordell is blind enough to ignore the warning signs untill they fully try to commit.

Tw: Cursing, Heavy agnst, Heavy Fluff, Self harm mention, and Suicide mention.

S/C = Selected Clothes

W/J = Wanted Job

So, here we are folks! As much as I'd like to send all of you to therapy myself, I cannot. As someone who struggles with the same things, if you can, PLEASE get help. Either that, or call the suicide and self harm prevention hotline. (988) thank you for listening to my rant as someone who goes through the same things, and has lost quite a few people from these things.

Also, the x reader (romantic) will be out shortly. Probably the same storyline, just adjusted.

Thank you for reading my rant lovelies. Looks like I've kept you long enough, so let's get movin on, shall we?

_________________________________________

You groaned softly as you woke up. Smelling Grandma and Grandpas 'famous' bacon. You smiled, and got up. Quickly realizing the blade you had used yesterday was still left on your counter. 'Shit, shit what if dad saw? What if August saw? Stella?!' You thought, rushing over to lock it in one of your drawers. You sighed, hoping it was none of the above.

See, you were the middle child. August was the youngest, and Stella was the oldest. Obviously, you were different. Y/n Walker. 'What a wonderful name,' You thought sarcastically as you got up to look into the mirror. Last night you had only worn a S/C and some underwear, so you lifted up the sleeves of your S/Cto see the damage.

'Holy shit. That...that might be permanent.' You thought as you stared at self-inflicted scars with wide eyes. Then, suddenly Stella bursted into your room. "Hey, dad sent me in here to wake you- oh your already up!" She smiled at you. You quickly pulled down your sleeves, smiling back at her. "Yes Ms Blue, I am. Nowww I would like to get dressed, if you don't mind." You retorted, smiling and leaning your head towards the door. She groaned, and walked out the door with a smile.

'Now, what the fuck do I wear to hide all this shit?' You thought, staring at yourself in the mirror again.

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

You had chosen a simple sweater and jeans. Also a belt. Only problem was it was a very hot day in Texas, so you were sweating bullets. Especially because you were doing chores with your dad.

Cordell quickly noticed something was wrong with your outfit. It was what, 90 degrees? Why are you wearing a sweater??

"Yknow, it might be easier if you just took the sweater off, N/n." He stated, focusing on carving the new post just right.

You bit your lip and mentally panicked because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

"Uh- well, it's my favorite sweater so... I'll just wear it for now!" You knew that wouldn't keep your father away for too long, especially sense it's... Him. But he brushed it off for now, making conversations here and there as he worked. You let out a quiet sigh of relief.

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You sat down at the dinner table. Luckily, no one was here currently so you could just relax for once. You sighed, and put your head into your hands, rubbing your temples. 'Today has been one hell of a day,' you thought, chuckling slightly. Then, you felt a figure slide into the chair in front of you. You looked up to see a very serious Liam staring back at you.

"N/n." He started, staring at your arms. Then, the anxiety rushed to your head, fearful of what he could've found.

"Do you mind explaining," he started, and then whipped out your journal and slammed it onto the table. "This? And don't play dumb with me, I read it. All of it." He explained, staring at you with worried eyes.

"U-uncle liam, i-" you started, tearing up. Quickly, you forced the tears back down. After mom, you promised yourself you wouldn't cry.

"I, uhm, have been struggling, a lot recently. As you probably read." You stated, motioning at the journal. He nodded.

"I understand that, but talk to one of us. Me, Your grandpa, hell, does your dad even know?" He asked, staring at you with concerned, but angry/disappointed eyes. Suddenly, Cordell walked in.

"Do I know what?" He asked, looking between you and Liam.

You looked at Liam with 'please, I'll tell him on my own time. Just don't do this!' Eyes, holding a breath. Liam sighed.

"Oh, uhm nothing much. Just discussing career paths with N/n over here. Yknow, it's crazy, they told me they want to work at a w/j!" He responded smiling quickly to cover the act, and you sighed a heavy sigh of relief. He probably got that from your journal. You smiled and looked at your father, nodding.

Cordell shrugged. He knew something was up, but it couldn't be Serious enough that his brother would lie to him about his own kid, right? He smiled, and went to sit next to you.

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It was, what? 3:30 am and here you are. Having a panic attack over cutting yourself. Again. 'Screw it, I'm ending this. Tonight.' You thought, sneaking out of your room quickly and quietly, trying not to make a lot of noise to wake anyone. Successfully, you had made it out the door.

See, Y/n walker didn't take special classes for nothing. You pulled a little trick, and managed to grab the keys for the mercadi on the way out. You grabbed them carefully, turning on the car and speeding off. Did you even have a license yet? 'No, but who the hell cares!' You thought speeding off. Little did you know, August had seen the whole thing.

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"Dad, DAD! wake up!" Stella shook her dad awake, he groaned and turned over to look at her.

He coughed and sat up, blankets still around him. "Yes, Yes Stella what's up? Why must you wake a tired ranger at, 4:00 in the morning?" He asked, yawning.

"Y/n is gone! August told me he saw them drive off with the mercadi! Dad, they don't even have a license!" She practically yelled at him.

"THEYRE WHAT?!" he yelled, springing out of bed quickly. He ran and put his ranger equipment on quickly, before returning back in front of Stella.

"Stella, listen." He crouched down in front of her. "They'll be okay, we'll find them I promise alright? Now, you go grab August and get him in the car." Stella nodded quickly, running out of the room to go grab August. Truth be told, he was worried. Enough of his family had died already. 'No no, no dark thoughts right now, N/n is more important. ' he thought, and nervously stepped out of the room, practically running downstairs and outside into the car.

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There you were, just peacefully sitting on the not so safe side of the railing. You took a deep breath in of fresh air, staring down at the busy street below you. 'I could just jump now, what am I waiting for?' You thought, and slowly wiggled your way off the edge. Starting to fall, untill a hand grabbed you back. You looked confused, turning around you saw August.

"August?! Wha- what are you doing here?" You asked nervously. Staring at your brothers worried face.

"Oh I don't know, I'm here because I'm not gonna let my sibling KILL THEMSELVES?! DAD! STELLA! HELP!" He yelled.

'Shit, shit, shit. This is not good, holy fuck.' You thought, letting go of his hand. "August, just let me go. I don't have to be a burden anymore." You said, staring at him with upset eyes as you teared up.

"Wha- NO! DAD- STELLA, PLEASE!" he yelled again, grabbing your hand tighter and trying to pull you up untill eventually your dad and Stella bursted through the door. Staring at you dangling off the edge. Cordell looked at you with shock, his mouth making a small O shape. Stella immediately started to tear up, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Uh, a little HELP, please?" August yelled at them, untill they snapped out of their trance. Quickly, you tried to wiggle your way out of August's grasp, but it was no use, as Cordell had a hold of your hand now, along with Stella. Quickly, you were pulled over the railing. You broke down, watching them all stare at you like some kind of lab experiment. Then, Cordell hugged you, as tight as he could.

You gasped, staring into his chest. Then, August joined the hug, along with Stella.

Shortly after they let go, and Cordell crossed his arms, staring down at you. "I think I can speak for all of us when I say, don't do this again, N/n. We love you. What would this family be like without you? You can always talk to any of us, you know that, right?" He asked, almost crying himself.

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I just didn't wanna be a burden.." You sobbed out. He sighed, and smiled at you.

"Well, let's take you somewhere where you aren't a burden then. Let's go home, okay?" He asked, smiling down at you. You smiled back, and nodded, still crying.

And eventually, maybe you would get better. Maybe, just maybe, you could actually get better.

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Originally written from wattpad, so if you recognize this from that you know who I am now!

1627 words! My best so far 😈

Bonus: Cordell watched you intently as you emptied your drawers for anything sharp as he held out his hand. You groaned and handed them to him. He frowned softly. "Yknow we all love you, right?" We're all here. Even if your grandpa seems like.. A meanie sometimes, even he'd listen about this. Okay?" He asked. You nodded, tearing up again. He smiled softly. "Alright, alright." He hugged you tightly, and for once, you hugged him back.

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ashanimus · 1 year

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For those adults left behind...

The closer we get to For the Future, the more I find myself thinking about the adults left behind in the Boiling Isles. We obviously have no idea what's going on with the right now, or how much damage control poor King has been able to swing with the Collector. But I still find myself wondering how the CATs and the parents of the kids have been coping.

One of the major selling points I've mentioned when recommending this show to older audiences has gone along the lines of: The Owl House has a really strong, multi-generational cast where the middle-aged adults are doing most of the heavy lifting when it comes to the actual business of political rebellion, as well as trying--and naturally failing--to shield their kids from its effects.

It still floors me that our adult heroes general intent going into S2 finale was to proceed with a damn near suicidal plot--and also to remove their kids from the thick of the fighting as gently as they could. Everything is on fire at this point. The plan they have is Rough. Everyone knows this. The anxiety and grim reality of it all was the major point of contention for Oh Titan Where Art Though with Eda and Luz--but that doesn't really prevent the fact that Eda gently encourages Luz to go to rescue Amity from the latter's parents in Clouds on the Horizon.

Re: Luz didn't really have a planned, direct part in what would have been the adult's sabotage of the draining spell. I definitely got the impression of a lot of relief from Eda here.

And it works. Between this moment and when Luz and King are dropped off, Darius also has an opportunity to shift Hunter. It's unclear at this point how much contact the Darius and Hunter had post Hollow Mind (there are a lot of headcannons out there that suggest they've at least spoken a little over their scrolls, which make sense, given his interest in Hunter's well being?), but he's gone out of his way to contact a known fugitive and send him off with Eda's kids, AWAY from ground zero.

Eda and Darius' motivations here seem like they're rooted in harm reduction. Anything to get the kids away from the worst of it. But, knowing them, and the sort of lives they've been shown to lead, they're probably expecting something messy to happen regardless--although at least this way they know they did their best.

But how is that sitting with them now? Willow and Gus' parents (who probably had way less of an idea of what as happening at any given moment? I'd be amazed if Willow and Gus hadn't had to sneak off with Hunter to go with Luz but of course that's just speculation on my part). The last Eda and Darius knew, they sent their kids off to Blight Manor, and after everything exploded they have NO way to know what happened. Only that they're not able to answer their phones. They have no way to put together the possibility that the kids miraculously made it to the Human Realm. Last they knew, the kids where nowhere near the Head of the Titan.

Do they still have hope, after all this time, that the kids made it? Have any of them given up? Have they had any opportunities in the wake of whatever the Collector is doing to the BI? It's possible King's survival has been made clear to everyone, but there's no real way to know until we get a new promo or trailer or the thing airs.

As I've gotten older, it's naturally shifted how I relate to shows like this. However, Owl House is one of the few I can name with adult characters whose struggles are emotionally very grounded in reality, which makes the fear and horror of surviving a fantasy apocalypse so much heavier...since these are the sort of fears and horrors parents and caregivers experience all the time. Where are my kids? Are they okay? Have I failed them, even when I did my best?

#the owl house #toh #ash's owl house meta #this one is closer to ramblings but #sticking in my brain #eda clawthorne #darius deamonne #toh spoilers #ari don't look!

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obsessive-bear-walking · 11 months

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Trigger warning for discussion of OCD themes, which can trigger people who suffer from OCD.

This post was made so that it could be reblogged and possibly prompt people to do more research. However, it is not required to reblog this post. Not reblogging this post is morally neutral, no one will be harmed and nothing bad will happen if you choose not to reblog it!

I'm only able to cover a very small amount of information, please do your research and take my words with a grain of salt and do further reading if youre interested, I am not an all-knowing being.

So I know most of y'all you think OCD is just about being really clean and that's not your fault but it's super important that y'all understand that

1. Contamination isn't always about germs.

2. That even when it is about germs what that really looks like.

3. OCD can also present as serious morality or religious issues, harm issues, there is an actual subset of ocd called Hit and Run ocd which is a fear of hitting someone with your car people have actually quit driving because of this, skin picking compulsions, etc. There is so much more than wanting to be clean and tidy all the time. (This does not mean that people with "Just Right" ocd or ocd people have tics and compulsions related to cleaning do not exist. They do exist and they are deserving of compassion and consideration when discussing OCD education and acceptance.)

On top of just germs, people with ocd can fear being contaminated by bigotry(Oh look, it's me!), personalities, radioactivity, soap, newspaper, colors, thoughts, words. Anything really.

Even when it is just being "clean" it can be a lot more complicated than that.

"One unusual belief sufferers have is that very small amounts of contaminants can cover very large areas. For example, they may believe that a drop of blood or urine can somehow be spread to coat entire rooms, or even everything they own." - International OCD Foundation

People with OCD having contamination issues is a stereotype but if we know anything about other stereotypes (Such as the stereotype that gay men are high femme) plenty of people fit the stereotype yet are still valid. I personally didn't develop contamination issues with fecal matter until recently despite being able to trace my ocd symptoms back more than a decade.

Morality and religious OCD are extremely common. Here are some examples of both from OCDLA (souce, source) Which is why a lot of content on Tumblr is harmful to OCD people.

Also, reassurance is actually bad for folks with OCD. Which is extremely difficult but very important to know. I sometimes struggle to not reassure people with OCD, it feels cold and callus to say "I won't reassure you." And it would be to anyone else, but seeking reassurance is a compulsion. This is because of how OCD works. To ask for reassurance is often a compulsion for OCD people, it can and often does become addicting while not being helpful.

Which brings me to my next topic:

Compulsions and tics can be just about anything. They can involve counting, tapping, movements, arranging, checking. There is even "just right" OCD where something have to be repeated several times until it is "correct".

The most effective treatment for OCD is medication and ERP (Exposure and Response prevention) which seeks to stop the cycle at the Obsessive Thought and reduce anxiety and therefore stop compulsions. Which essentually trains you to not have as much of a physical reation to your intrusive thoughts. Which is also why statements like "being disturbed by your intrusive thoughts makes you a good person" are actually harmful and inaccurate.

"Unfortunately, with OCD, your brain tells you that you are in danger a lot, even in situations where you “know” that there is a very small likelihood that something bad might happen. This is one of the cruelest parts of this disorder.

Now consider that your compulsive behaviors are your attempts to keep yourself safe when that alarm goes off. What does that mean you are telling your brain when you engage in these behaviors? You are reinforcing the brain’s idea that you must be in danger. Birthday candles are the same as a blazing fire.

In other words, your compulsive behavior fuels that part of your brain that gives out these many unwarranted alarm signals. The bottom line is that in order to reduce your anxiety and your obsessions, you have to make a decision to stop the compulsive behaviors." - International OCD foundation.

Pure-O OCD also exists, which has more mental than physical conpulsions.

Important final note: Thought crimes are not real. Enforcing that they are actively harms people with OCD and no, you can't just say "unless they cause you distress!" because you can still be a decent person while reacting less and less to your intrusive thoughts as that is literally the goal of most pcd treatments. Thoughts are morally neutral.

#nuerodivergent #nuerodiversity #ocd #sparos ocd #mental health #please be mindful when making assumptions about ocd #please do not ascribe moralty to how you respond to intrusive thoughts #please do not ascribe morality to intrusive thoughts

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moochi-daisies · 8 months

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18+, Minors DNI

- series contains drinking, smoking, cursing and tension~

Find the rest here!

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2012.01.

I'm comfortable making mistakes.

Well-

I guess comfortable isn't the right word. I'm used to making mistakes, I'll put it that way. There's not much use regretting mistakes, sometimes they even turn into happy accidents, right?

I never wanted to consider meeting him a mistake. But here we are- so let's go back.

It's late Fall of 2012 and I'm 20 years old. And I'm in a bit of a "fuck all" era of life. My mom had moved us out of state to live with her alcoholic, albeit sweet boyfriend of the moment and I had no idea what I was doing with myself. There was no direction I was headed in in particular, life was happening and I was simply drifting along with it. Trying my best to stay afloat, trying my best not to panic or drown.

Things were...not the best at home. A polite way of insinuating that traumatized parents were traumatizing their children. That isn't really the point though, I'll spare the details.

I worked part time at a big shot make up company, I went to college classes (sometimes) and I partied. I had been terrified of partying my entire life until my senior year of high school when I decided to swallow my anxiety and learned a loophole around my social fears: drinking.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was young, ok?

I had been aimlessly scrolling through Tumblr one night, mindlessly doing make up in an effort to recognize my face in the mirror when I came across a flier for a show a few states away. It was being held in some bar, the person who posted it being advertised as the main DJ. Looking closer at the picture on the flier, he was cute. Dark hair and pouty lips. A serious gaze and a smirk that flipped my stomach over.

I messaged him on a whim;

Hey you, I wanna come to your show but won't have a place to stay. Gotta room open?

I snorted to myself, surprised by my own audacity. But what the hell right? You only live once as the saying goes.

I put my phone down. Looking back at my reflection, my mood quickly grew somber. Big brown eyes, pouty bottom lip, straight eyelashes on one eye, curly on the other. Each part of my face felt separated. Like they belonged to multiple people. Like they didn't belong all together on just one face.

The girls at work were customer service friendly. Meaning, they knew I bought my makeup from a convenience store and wore hand me downs to fit the dress code. Meaning, they were never cruel to me but I wasn't invited for drinks after our shift was over. I was allowed to be there but didn't "fit in".

I was used to not fitting in. If you passed by me, you'd probably assume otherwise. Not because there was anything special about me, quite the opposite- I looked just like a regular girl. It was not being able to act regular that got me into trouble. Growing up I let many bully me into normalcy, thinking if I could figure out the rules they were setting that I would be able to appease them.

I never figured out the rules.

My phone buzzed, shaking me out of my inner ramblings.

Haha, hey yourself. Yeah, sure. My roommates are down. I'm Yoongi btw, hope the show is worth it.

I stared at the message for what felt like 5 minutes, my mouth falling open. Then I closed my phone, sitting completely still, frozen in disbelief. A laugh bubbled up and out of me before I opened up the message again. I left my phone open and stood up, shaking out my legs. A buzzing excitement starting to build in my bones.

Okay, I thought to myself, now I just need to figure out how to get there.

The money from my job went to my mom. In an effort to prevent me from partying and to help her not feel completely reliant on her boyfriend for money. I didn't have a car, and there was no way she was going to let me travel out of state to go stay with a guy I randomly messaged on the Internet.

I had a small amount in my savings meant for school. Logically, it would make more sense to spend it on what I wanted to do instead of wasting it on something I wasn't even committed to, right? I wasn't even sure what I was going to school for and had switched majors at least three times within the past two years. This was a convincing enough argument for me to make up my mind.

The show was a week away, and I figured the cheapest route would be by bus considering the short notice. I searched for the tickets, slightly gawking at the 13 hour ride length before exhaling and clicking the purchase button.

I decided only to tell my younger sister, who gave me a wary look and made me promise to check in with her. I decided not to tell my mom, to avoid any unnecessary fighting or being told "no".

I spent the following week in a daze, excitement building with each passing day. Each time I checked in with Yoongi to give him an update, a swelling in my chest made it difficult to breathe.

Was I really going to bus 13 hours to see a random dude DJ on a whim?

Yes, yes I was.

Was this absolutely insane and for the experience more than anything?

Yes, yes it was.

Life experiences felt like collectibles to me at this time. If it wound up being a bad experience, what a story I would have to tell to friends later on. If it was a good experience, what a memory I would have to cherish.

Looking back now, I don't know how to categorize the experience. There's a lump in the back of my throat that I choke on whenever I let it come back.

If I could go back in time to November 2012, if I could stop myself from going and ever meeting Yoongi-

I couldn't.

Some things in life can be avoided while others feel inevitable.

We would have crashed into each other no matter what ended up bringing us together.

#bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts yoongi #bts angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #btsfanfiction #bts fanfiction #suga angst #suga fanfiction #bts suga #bts slowburn #bts x reader

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koolkat9 · 8 months

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Ok. No joke. Never heard or seen A N Y England x Germany ship ever in my life up until now. The way my jaw dropped when I saw your page. (Not in a Bad way tho🤤) BUT PLEASE ELABORATE CUZ I NEED TO KNOW. SO WHY ENGLAND X GERMANY?

We're definitely one of the smaller ships here, but we at least have 200+ fics which is more than some of my other ships have. But anyway...

So I guess I'll start with what first got ME into GerEng. I've shared it before, but I love telling this story! So the year is I think 2018? Yeah 2018. Dreamtalia has just been fully released and the creator and her friend are doing a lp of it. Now this is the first hetagame I got into, and although I've seen the whole story at this point as the whole game had been shared on the creator's channel though part of it was like barebones, only sketched screenshots if even, but I loved the game and this creator and her adlibs were always entertaining. Keep the entertaining adlibs in mind.

So I'm watching the lp and there is a part of the game where your party of characters split up. Ludwig and Arthur, who at this point have been butting heads are paired together and shenanigans ensue. Now, canonically to the game, if I recall correctly, they bond a bit, a foundation for a friendship that is shown a bit in the beta of the sequel. But, the creator and her friend started adlibbing because at one point Ludwig offers his hand to Arthur when they're overcoming some obstacle and them holding h became a running subplot all completely adlibbed. At this point I was a hard Ger//Ita shipper and usually the game would have Ger//Ita undertones, but I started to get invested in the GerEng plot line and I was coming back to the lp every time they post to find out what happened next for the "handholding buddies."

Gosh this is already long and I'm not fully done my story and I still need to talk about my fav parts of the ship...shit...Okay 2019 an alternate small scale sequel releases for Dreamtalia based on the the bad end of the game and the GerEng subplot. This is where I really got into the ship and led me to searching for fics and fanart. Because after Dreamtalia I didn't think of GerEng again. Didn't think I would. But then this sequel came out and it got be hooked. And then I started writing for them and soon replaced Ger//Ita as my OTP.

Okay putting the second half of my favourite things about GerEng under the cut because this is already long.

Okay, first things first. I just find it so appealing that these two stubborn lonely men find each other. They're similar which does cause them to butt heads sometimes, but it also means they understand each other. They've been through similar things, have similar poor coping mechanisms, but through their relationship and trying to prevent the other from isolating and wallowing in guilt, they've started to stop themselves from doing it too.

And it's a mutual thing. Arthur is there for Ludwig following the World Wars as Lud is faced with his anxiety, PTSD, guilt and he's facing this all alone because either his loved ones have been forcibly ripped from him or he pushed them away. Taking a page out of another GerEng creator's book who I'll talk about in the next paragraph, Arthur comes along is like "Here. Music. Also human interaction."

Then once Ludwig gets in a better place, Arthur starts to spiral, faced with his crumbling empire and losing his status as a world super power. He feels he has no purpose now and being an empire made him feel untouchable, without it, he feels vulnerable. But Ludwig is there, basically uses Arthur's own advice against him with some of Lud's own experience.

Now of course there was so much more that went into both of their healing journeys beyond just each other, but their relationship both when it was platonic and romantic was an important stepping stone. And it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

Going back to their similarities, it's not all hurt/comfort, doom and gloom. They love to bake. I think they share some similar music interest since their was a period of music exchange between the two countries following ww2. Teethhoarder, an amazing artist and fic writer knows a bit more about this and covers it in their fic Are Friends Electric and also give a good run down on their ask blog. Their stubbornness actually can be beneficial because Ludwig doesn't take Arthur's shit and pushes back. And their bluntness has it's perks too because both of them, especially Ludwig need things told to them straight. And they're both not big into PDA, completely content with just simple handholding.

Then there is the history. Christmas Truce 1914 where German and British troops declared a truce in honour of Christmas and celebrated the holiday together. I as well as many other shippers see this as a jump start to their relationship, the time where they got to know each other as Arthur and Ludwig instead of the British Empire and the German Empire. Then there is the whole music exchange. There is also another historical period that I think contributes to their relationship, but I don't like touching that era when Lud is involved...

Also canon...though not necessaryily with overt romantic undertones like early Ger//Ita or Su//Fin or Fr//Uk or nowadays Ger//Fra, they have their sweet moments in canon like them having tea together. Or sharing rations. Or the Christmas Truce. Or how that one episode where they're all sharing their horror movies and one of the fun fact pop ups say Germany and England work on horror movies together or something. Then there is that one time Arthur is helping Ludwig with his work persumeably. Or the time Art was fretting about Ludwig working in his games. Oh here's that strip:

Also just this is just funny to me, Lud not knowing how to compliment his bf:

Anyway...I think that covers everything...I mean I have so many headcanons, but these are the main things. You ask "why GerEng" you get a whole fucking essay...

#hetalia #hws #hws germany #hws england #gereng #engger #geruk #I should have added citations for shits and giggles #but it's late and i wanted to type this out before i went to bed #even though it won't post until tomorrow

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myfavouritelunatic · 1 year

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The Blacksmith

I’m struggling to find the words for the response to this story... writing has been my passion my whole life, and up until recently, I thought I would never write anything like this. Ever. And now that I’m posting my SIXTEENTH CHAPTER... I’m just in a state of complete disbelief. And the fact that you guys are actually enjoying it and sharing it on your blogs... I wish I could tell my past self about this, then maybe she wouldn’t have doubted herself for so long. Thank you does not adequately express the immense gratitude I have felt along this journey so far, but THANK YOU for being here, reading along, and reacting in your own sweet way, whether quietly or loudly, to my writing. I started writing this for me and now it’s for some of you too.

Sorry for the saccharine ramble, but I am just simply overwhelmed, and so very happy. For the first time in forever. ❤️❤️❤️

And now... let’s get back to our story, shall we?

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Graphic violence. 18+

Links to Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, and Fifteen!

Chapter Sixteen

Sauron. The name reverberated in your skull as its meaning sunk in. You didn't understand, you didn't believe it. How could Halbrand be anything other than what you knew him to be? How could he conceal this identity so cleverly and so well as to fool not only you, but Miriel, Elendil, Elrond, Celebrimbor, and most heartbreakingly, Galadriel? This seemed too great a leap to make, for the darkness within him to be not only his true form, but almost the embodiment, the personification of darkness itself. Dear sweet Halbrand with the hazel eyes, a blacksmith, a king. The Dark Lord. He wasn't leading you to Sauron. He was Sauron.

Then suddenly it all made sense. The dreams. Your nightmares. Your visions of ruling over black lands and skies. Of fire, of torment, of power. They were premonitions. Visions of the future, of what would come to pass. You had guessed that might have been the case after the eruption of the mountain near Tirharad, but now you had confirmation. And he was walking away from you.

"Where are you going?" "We must leave Eregion. Now." he spoke coldly. "Halbrand!" you called out to him, following his fast steps. Halbrand. You didn't even know if you should call him that anymore. It was the name of your love, your soul mate, your kindred spirit. You loved the way it sounded, especially with your voice, and more so when you screamed it from his bed. Sauron. You were in love with Sauron. Your mind was beginning to become lost in confusion over what to think and what to feel. Everything was becoming tangled and mixed up. No wonder your dark side was winning, you were under the thrall of evil.

You caught up to him then, but he did not stop. Making for your chamber first, he commanded you to pack what you might need for the journey ahead. Then you followed him to what would have been his chamber if you had stayed, and he filled up a bag for himself. You noticed him fold up a particular black cloak, and recognised it instantly as the one from your visions. The anxiety rose within you, adrenaline pumping. As the two of you made for the stables, stealing two black steeds, you knew you need not ask where you were headed. For you had already seen it.

The ride back to the land now shrouded in shadow would likely be much longer than six days, considering neither of you were on the verge of death this time. Yet still Sauron rode fast, your horse struggling to keep up. You kept calling out to him every so often, trying to get him to stop, to talk, but he would not have it. You could have ridden away from him at anytime, he was not preventing you from doing so. However the time for abandonment had long since passed. You were in too deep now, his claws within you, eroding your spirit, until nothing remained but your love for him. He was your life now. For better or for worse.

As the first nightfall on your journey approached, Sauron slowed his steed to a halt at the edge of a forest. He was bathed in the last light of the day, the burnt colours in the sky very fitting to be consuming him now. Your horse slowly trotted up to where he was, and you waited. Tying up the reins nearby, he wandered underneath the branches of a tree whose leaves were thick enough to provide shelter from above. "Come, my love." he finally called out to you, and you did as he asked, securing your horse next to his, before slowly moving closer to where he stood.

"Why did we leave so suddenly? What of Galadriel? And your work with Celebrimbor?" You had so many questions, and those three were just the beginning. "Sit with me." he spoke, and attempted to clasp your hand. To your surprise, you flinched and moved yourself out of his reach. Your body wasn't ready for him. You weren't ready for him. Sauron sat down anyway, sitting up straight against the tree trunk, his long legs stretched out before you. Staring at him from above, you waited intently for him to finally speak. "My work with Celebrimbor was completed. I had taught him everything he needed to know to forge the rings." "Taught?" Sauron laughed, amused. "Celebrimbor is a great smith... but I am greater." "And what of Galadriel? What did you do to her!?" Your raised voice accentuating your second question, the fear for her wellbeing coming out. Surely he could not have killed her? You knew his power was great but no... surely not. Sauron closed his eyes, and dropped his head, a look of sorrow upon his face. He sighed. "Galadriel is alive."

You almost screamed with joy upon hearing this, as you did not wish for her to die, despite whatever urges to the contrary you experienced only hours ago. Your love still had his eyes closed, but he sensed your feelings, as he did not continue until he knew your emotions had subsided, letting you have a moment of bliss, of relief. "She deduced my identity before I could reveal it to her. And despite my best efforts to sway her, keep her by my side... she rejected me. Us. I let her think me the evil I am." In his voice was contained nothing but heartache. You knew then his mournful visage was not because she was still alive. It was because he lost her.

Remembering your own heartache over Galadriel, it was then you decided to take your place on the ground beside him. "My last meeting with her... also did not go well." "How so?" he inquired. "I rose my voice at her... pushed her against a wall. She had already figured out that you were not heir to the Southlands throne. And I refused to even consider she might be right. I should have known better." Your words snapped yourself out of whatever sympathetic reverie you were having, and you moved yourself away from Sauron, crawling until you were leaning up against a another tree that stood a few metres away.

"You needn't be frightened of me." he spoke calmly. "Frightened isn't exactly what I'm feeling right now." you corrected him, the anger in you rising. "How dare you lie to me! How could you not tell me who you really were? All this time! I gave myself to you, body and soul. I love you for pity's sake! Why!?" The tears had begun to fall whilst you screamed across at him. "You were never in any mortal danger, were you?" Your shock echoed in your tone as more things were beginning to become clear. Sauron snickered, admitting nothing, but you knew. "I... but I saw the wound... the blood... your fever... your unconscious state. You deceived us? Deceived me?" "It was the only way to guarantee entrance to the realm of the elven smiths. The only way without seeming... suspicious."

"Once I am healed... you said. I knew there was something I was not seeing! Don't you know how scared I was for you?! That not only once, but twice, I had to process the thought of you leaving this world, of you leaving me... how could you make me feel this way? I was grieving you!" You bellowed your words bitterly at him, not caring for the consequences. Sauron did not flinch, letting each of your words strike him willingly. "Two people died because of me! A-and you convinced me it was the right choice! That I was serving my king. I had no right to take their lives."

You almost couldn't believe the words you were saying. You thought for certain that the darkness in you had all but extinguished the light. But now that the veil between the lies and the truth had been pulled back, you suddenly realised what kind of hold he had on you. And that now that you knew who he really was, you could feel the light returning. Sauron's eyes darkened as he watched you begin to slip away from him.

"I should have stayed with my father... then they would still be alive. If he knew what I had become-" "He knows nothing but oblivion." interjected the dark lord. Your eyes went wide. "What... what do you mean?" Asking him a question you already knew the answer to. Sauron smiled at you briefly, before looking upon you with concern. "I couldn't have him in this world... not when he caused you such pain." "You killed him?" "For you, my love. Just as you have since done for me."

You felt yourself grow lightheaded at his words, your eyes fading to a blackness, then when it cleared, you were back in Númenor, back in the home of your father. Looking down, you noticed you were wearing the same dress from the night you said goodbye to him. Gazing out the window, you saw dawn beginning to bring the world back to light. Movement in the room caught your eye, and you glanced over at where your father lay, turning in his sleep, once again in that chair. This time his ale had spilt down his very worn and already stained beige tunic. The image of a man who had suffered much, and many who had suffered him.

The door opened behind you and through it walked Halbrand. Sauron, wearing a cloak so black that no light shone upon it. He slowly crept into the room, looking straight at you. Somehow, he saw you, even though you weren't truly there. Your eyes followed his as he wandered around where you stood, moving closer to your father. He turned his back to you then, and you noticed the dagger in his right hand. It was the very same dagger you had taken from Halbrand's chamber in the palace. The one you had used to kill.

Sauron gripped your father by the throat with his left hand, lifting him into the air with ease, like a pig ready for slaughter. This promptly startled him awake, and he would have bellowed in terror if his windpipe wasn't so constricted. You stood there and watched as he wriggled and writhed, his hands struggling to pry himself free from his captor, his eyes containing a fear in them like you had never seen. Your father couldn't breathe, and despite you not minding at first that he was hurting, you were beginning to find it difficult to witness. Not wishing him any further anguish, you quickly moved towards Sauron in an effort to get him to stop.

You had scarcely made two steps when his malevolent tone entered the air, his voice warped and unsettling, its sound now very familiar to you. "You cannot change what has already come to pass, my love." His head turned to you, the black slits of his eyes piercing your soul. A small smile appeared on his face. A face that despite belonging to darkness, was a face you couldn't help but still love. A hauntingly beautiful visage you couldn't see life without. Regardless of what was right.

You stood motionless once more, barely feet away from the two beings, and the scene that played out before you was nothing short of horrific. Sauron's smile evolved into an evil grin, and as he turned back to your father, your name passed his lips. "This is for her." Your father's right hand was still hopelessly trying to break loose the dark lord's grip, and in seconds, without any effort, Sauron had removed it from his wrist. The now limp extremity landed on the ground with a thud, and blood poured from your father's severed limb.

The expression on his face instantly changed from terror to complete and utter agony. In the next moment, the dagger fulfilled its purpose by easily penetrating the gut of your father, spilling more blood onto the floor. Sauron twisted it cruelly inside his flesh, causing your father to make what noise he could, whimpering like a dog. Your love then removed the blade, thrusting it again into his body. And again. And again. Finally, when he was satisfied that life was about to leave him, Sauron pulled your wounded father flush against himself, by the collar of his now reddened shirt. He dragged the dagger fast across your father's throat, mirroring the final blow you struck Nisarien when you ended her existence. Blood spurted from his neck, and you looked on in horror as the light vanished from his eyes. Sauron tossed his corpse to the floor, then he slowly turned to face you. The only colour on him was the crimson splashed upon his face. Blood had landed on his lips, and he licked them clean as he stared deeply into your eyes once more.

He smirked, "My queen."

It was then that you returned to the world, Sauron releasing the hold upon your mind. It took a few seconds for you to gather yourself, yet you couldn’t stop your voice from trembling when you finally spoke. "W-why... why did you show me that?!" "To remind you that I love you, as you love me. That I will do anything for you, as I know you would me, as you have already proven." "No, no, you manipulated me... you influenced me to take those lives... I'm certain you did." Sauron smiled at you again, but it wasn't of a dark nature, it was quite the opposite. "I have shown you things, truths that are fast approaching. But that was only to plant the seed. Only you could make those choices." "What do you mean, 'shown me things'...? You have shown me the death of my father by your hand! What else could you have possib-" His smile widened, pride etched upon his face, as he watched you piece it together.

The dreams. Your nightmares. The visions. All were planted by Sauron himself.

"It... it... it was y-you! The whole time it was you! Every dark image conjured by your design! Including..." you felt sick before you could say it. "Including... my mother?!" "No, as it turns out. That was all her. My only purpose was to bring you back to me. Back to your destiny at my side." "My destiny?!" You paused then considering the term. It wasn't the first instance of a mention of your apparent fate to be bound to him, but hearing it now let it sink into your head differently than before. "My... destiny..." The word began to lose its meaning as it replayed in your mind. Was it really your destiny to be a dark queen? To love Sauron? To slaughter, enslave, and torture? To rule? You had once known your destiny to be queen of the Southlands, by Halbrand's side. But was it also this, and only this all along?

Halbrand. Oh Halbrand, where did you go?

"I'm right here, my love." You shrieked, not expecting a response to your question. He could hear your thoughts too. Of course he could. Looking over at him, again you started to cry, and your head started to ache. For you were gazing upon Halbrand, the love of your life, but Sauron, the dark lord, was gazing back at you.

In that moment, you quickly got to your feet, and ran into the forest, as fast as your legs would allow, your sobbing drowning out the sound of Sauron's voice calling your name in the distance behind you.

Tagging: @starlady66 @denzit @chimeracuddles @restless-tides @hikarielizabethbloom @anemarie @coraleethroughthelookingglass @mordorgp

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand/sauron x reader #halbrand #sauron #charlie vickers #the rings of power #trop #lord of the rings #lotr

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