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autistichalsin · 15 days

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Some of my favorite, understated moments with heartbreaking implications for Halsin

1. Halsin threatening to turn into a mouse in the epilogue if the player brags about his achievements- he's so shy and humble that just being acknowledged for LITERALLY BUILDING A COMMUNE HIMSELF makes him want to hide. A mouse is a very symbolic choice here: not only easy to hide, but also easily overlooked and forgotten. The idea of his accomplishments being acknowledged is so terrifying for him that he wants to turn into an animal no one will notice, instead of his usual strong, large, noticeable bear.

2. "Sometimes, I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." This isn't the kind of thing that happens after one or two people act like jerks. This is years and years of cruel treatment, of his emotions being demeaned and mocked because of his size. Of people judging him before even meeting him- and forming an entirely wrong view of him. Halsin is a bighearted, tender, sentimental man, yet because he's big... Well, big people don't have feelings, surely. /s

3. "You and I may struggle to go unnoticed in such environs, Karlach[...] Folk of our stature can be a lure for drunkards seeking a brawl, I have found," combined with, "There is a particular discomfort to besting one you know to be weaker than yourself - even when needs must," from a different scene. People have sought him out and fought him because of his size (which had to have been terrifying, especially the first time), and he feels guilty when he takes out someone he knows is weaker, even if they STARTED it. How many times has the poor guy been traveling and then had to defend himself against someone 1/2 his size, making HIM look like the asshole to onlookers, and reinforcing that whole "people think I can't be hurt" thing?

4. "It was always destined to be so, if we prevailed. But the foreknowledge makes it no less bittersweet..." (About the players' paths diverging post brain battle), combined with "I see... After all my years of living, I know all too well that nothing lasts forever. Yet a parting can sting, nonetheless," if the player breaks up with him in the ending. This poor guy was having the time of his life adventuring with the group (and possibly falling in love there) yet never believed it would truly last (because of his abandonment issues). And then to have it confirmed.... he must have felt so awful in that moment, even if he was being dignified about it.

5. "You came for me... thank you. I feared Orin's accursed smile would be the very last sight I beheld," when Halsin is freed from Orin, combined with, "Orin's blades. I hoped my friends would save me..." If he is killed by Orin instead and Speak With the Dead is used on his corpse. The tone of his voice in the first line, especially added to that bit in the second... he never thought the player was coming to save him. He HOPED they would. Not "believed". Hoped. He thought he was going to die there- just like how he was in the Underdark for THREE YEARS and no one came to save him. And if it's confirmed... Yeah. That. (Sidenote: if you ask his corpse if he has any regrets, he says not telling Thaniel and Oliver goodbye, and not getting to see their land flourish. :( My heart. :( )

6. "I... have not had true confidantes for some time. The Shadow Curse robbed me of almost all my peers, and replaced them with the weight of responsibility. Perhaps that caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth." Halsin was so miserable and stressed being Archdruid that he romanticized his past as a sex slave, viewing it as a safer, even happier alternative. There were actually times when Halsin thought he might rather be a sex slave than continue to be Archdruid. In a sense, for the 100 years the Shadow Curse was around, Halsin was just as much a prisoner as Thaniel was in the Shadowfell, but Halsin's prison had invisible bars. The Shadow Curse took away his entire support system, and being Archdruid forced him to be the strong one, always, never allowed to be weak or scared, forced him to take control of situations when he hated it, forced him to spend his time sorting out people instead of being in nature. And he was MISERABLE. For 100 years.

7. "You understand me almost perfectly. Only my late mother may have bested you." (Said if you get one question wrong at the love dryad test). He misses his mama. :( Especially when you consider that if you steal Balthazar's "Mother Dearest" and taunt him about it, Halsin disapproves (and is the only one to do so), while returning her gets you approval (which only Halsin approves of). And then the line when you look into a mirror while controlling him, "more like my father, with each passing day..." He really misses them. :(

8. "I am loathe to see anyone behind bars. It reminds me of my time as a guest of the goblins." He is, secretly, still quite traumatized from his time in the goblin pens, but he brushes it off. Just like every OTHER time he is hurt.

9. "I am aware [of having a habit of getting captured]. Perhaps I put too much faith in my skills of negotiation, or want to see good where there is none. It would be easy to resort to nature's fury whenever something stood in my way, yet I cannot help but feel I would be sullying the Oak Father's gifts. Naive perhaps... but I still draw breath." Halsin is aware he gets hurt often because of his desire to see good in people until he has no other choice, but refuses to give up anyway (which is backed up by that letter Gut had on her where she reveals Halsin TRIED to help the goblins, saying he could cure them of their tadpoles, only to be thrown in the cage, with Gut threatening to have his stomach cut open and maggots placed inside it.) Further, even though he is an Archdruid, and one of the most devoted, and explicitly has Silvanus's favor (Halsin says that gaining his favor was the only way he was able to open the portal to the Shadowfell), he still constantly worries about using Silvanus's powers, to the point of wondering if an actual threat to his safety actually merits using his powers. Which... combined with some other stuff, reads like one hell of a problem with self-worth.

10. "At least you were not present. Grim as [the ruined battlefield] is now, it was worse on the day of the battle. A vivid wound upon my memory[...] I was lucky - I lived, when so many did not. It would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost" combined with, "I was [present when the Shadow Curse was unleashed]. Part of my spirit was shorn away from me here, and never left," and, if Last Light falls, "All gone... devoured by the shadows. Oak Father preserve us, it's just like a hundred years ago[...] We are [still standing]. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor... the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time." He has so much PTSD and survivor guilt from the Shadow Curse. :( No wonder it's all he can think about- to the point that some of the other companions even get annoyed at him for his obsession.

11. "I never quite realised how burdened I was, until I met you. The threat of the shadow curse, the politics of the grove... I was forgetting who I was, but you lifted the fog. Thank you." Not only does this tie in with the above, with his PTSD from the curse and his utter misery at being Archdruid, but this HEAVILY implies Halsin had depression. Like... that "fog" line hits HARD if you have or have had depression, because that's exactly what it feels like. And the "forgetting who I was" bit too. Not just losing his sense of self to the depression, but to the neverending responsibilities of being Archdruid. I keep repeating myself, but damn, this guy has really and truly spent an entire century being absolutely MISERABLE. :(

12. "Forgive me. I... lost the run of myself. Sometimes, if blood runs hot enough, it's difficult to tame the beast." With that little disgusted groan/sigh, the fury and disgust at himself visible on his face, and the way he rushes to get out the rest of it- he thinks he fucked up so badly that you're about to leave him, maybe forever. And then if you reject him after this? "Ah... I see. Well, of course. Back to camp then." He has the most heartbroken look on his face here, and the way he says "of course" like he just... knew this was coming the instant he accidentally wildshaped. He felt that the first time he let ANY of his imperfections show, the player would leave him. :(

13. "Death is nature's final slumber - it awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair - not while there are still folk in need of your help." (Said to a Dark Urge if they tell him they're not much of a hero and most people needing them end up dead) Not only is Halsin speaking from experience here, but it's very clear he is STILL doing exactly what he tells Durge not to do, to himself- punishing himself over those who were lost, struggling with devastating survivor guilt.

14. "The grove has cut itself off from the world, to jealously guard its own little pocket of nature. No one shall ever enter or leave again. And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps..." If the Grove is sealed and you ask him about it later, this is what he says. Interesting that he views being evicted from the place he was in charge of protecting to be a "telling summary." He was forced to take the leadership role there, and yet it was clear he wasn't wanted or respected by a great number of the Druids (exempting Nettie, Rath, and Apikusis). He got a truly thankless job that took damn near EVERYTHING from him emotionally/mentally, causing him to develop depression and causing him to backslide in his previous healing from his trauma from his time as a sex slave, he still gave EVERYTHING to the Grove, and in return...... almost none of his Druids appreciated or even liked him. (I could seriously write at least five metas about how obviously miserable Halsin was at the Grove, despite caring for it deeply).

15. "You could have done anything, gone with anyone... yet you chose me." Said at the epilogue to a solo romanced player who went to the commune with him. There's so many layers of heartbreak here. He is still surprised, six months later, that the player chose him. He even thinks the player will regret it, and will decide they want an adventurer's life after all after seeing everyone else. He doesn't think he is good enough- doesn't think he deserves the player, and yet at the same time he loves them so much that he is heartbroken over the possibility they might agree with him. He thinks that given a chance, there is little chance they would actually choose him again. (He is put at ease quickly when the player promises they picked him for a reason, but even the explanation he gives for why he was so worrie is heartbreaking- that he's so used to a tumultuous life that he thinks something must go wrong. He has been so traumatized so many times over the years that he just has almost no ability to think that true happiness is possible [or deserved] for him.) Something about that is just heartbreaking, even though his ending is one of the happiest of any of the companions.

Someone give this sweet bear man a hug, please :(

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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nomercymaster11 · 3 months

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Two-way dilemma (Chapter 2)

@SuuNemuii WC: 3,296 | Law x y/n, afab!reader, continuation of "It's complicated"

A/N: This chapter certainly exhausted my brain cells. I wrote it in between my office work, drawing inspiration from various pictures, accompanied by the music of Taylor Swift or Coldplay, and reflecting on some of my past experiences.

The Polar Tang hummed with the routine buzz of activity, and the confined space of the submarine felt both comforting and stifling. A day had passed since the confession, leaving your eyes heavy from the weight of your tears. The sting of rejection lingered, but as you rose from your bed, you took a deep breath, determined to face the day ahead with renewed strength.

Freshening up, you stood before the mirror, reminding yourself that time would heal the wounds. A slight slap to your cheeks was both a physical and mental wake-up call. With newfound resolve, you opened the door to your room, only to be greeted by the unexpected sight of Bepo standing in front of you.

"Bepo?!" Confusion etched your features as you questioned his presence.

"Good morning, <y/n>!" Bepo's infectious grin welcomed you, his demeanor bright and cheerful.

Closing the door behind you, you inquired, "Is there anything you need?"

"Ah, nothing. I'm just checking up on you." Bepo's smile remained warm and genuine.

Walking side by side, the two of you strolled through the submarine's corridors. As the minutes passed, a realization dawned on you – perhaps Penguin and Shachi had shared the bittersweet details of your confession with Bepo. Deep in thought, you mustered the courage to ask for a favor.

"Bepo, may I ask you a favor?" you hesitated, your eyes searching his.

"Yeah? What is it?" Bepo responded with curiosity.

"Could you help me get more duties here in the submarine?" The request hung in the air; your eyes hopeful but uncertain.

"Hmm? But... that's for the captain to decide," Bepo replied, his expression thoughtful.

"Oh, okay..." Your gaze lifted, lost in contemplation.

"Sorry I couldn't help you out... or maybe... you could ask the others if they need help," Bepo suggested, offering an alternative with a genuine desire to assist.

"OH! That's a good idea!" Relief washed over you, and a smile broke through the clouds of uncertainty.

Reaching the common area where the hallways split, you bid Bepo goodbye with a wave as he headed back to the control room. Determination filled you as you embarked on a quest to find other crew members. If additional duties could serve as a distraction, perhaps it would help mend the fragments of your aching heart.

"Let's do this!" you muttered to yourself, a mantra to guide you through the uncharted waters of healing and self-discovery.

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A week had passed since the fateful day. The subtle change in your behavior had not gone unnoticed by the crew. You threw yourself into your work, exerting energy across various tasks aboard the submarine. Cleaning, working, taking on any duty that came your way—anything to keep busy and avoid any potential encounter with the captain. Even your eating schedule changed, either aligning with others or sneaking off to your room to dine alone, distancing yourself from Law.

You seemed content in your efforts, but the crew began to notice the change. Concern etched on their faces, they gathered in the common area, Shachi and Penguin at the center of attention.

Ikkaku, one of the engineers, voiced the growing worry.

"Is there something we need to know regarding <y/n>?"

Penguin, feigning ignorance, gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"She seems like she's trying to always get herself busy these few days. Did the captain scold her or something?" Ikkaku questioned, the concern noticeable.

"I bet something's going on," Hakugan added, echoing the sentiments of the crew.

Concerned voices overlapped, and the crew crowded around Penguin and Shachi, eyes wide and expectant. Penguin tried to calm the situation.

"Hey! Calm your horses! Chill, guys!" Penguin raised his hands in an attempt to quell the commotion. He sighed, gesturing for the crew to come closer to hear him out. Just as he was about to share the details, Shachi spotted Law approaching, bent down and crossing his arms.

"Captain?!" Shachi exclaimed in surprise.

Law questioned, "Am I not allowed to hear what my crew has to share with everyone here?"

Penguin, seizing the moment, anchored his arm to Law's shoulder, leading him away from the crowd. Shachi motioned for the other crew members to disperse while Law was being distracted by Penguin.

"Cap, there's nothing to worry about. Relax," Penguin said, tapping Law's shoulder with a nervous laugh.

Law, squinting his eyes and frowning, asked, "So... you are talking behind my back now?"

"NO!... No..! That ain't true!" Penguin responded nervously.

However, before the situation could escalate further, a loud thud and a massive impact shook the submarine. The sudden loss of electricity plunged the hallways into darkness, and emergency red lights began to flash. Crew members lost their balance, grasping onto whatever they could find.

"Attention, everyone! We are being attacked by a sea serpent!" Bepo's voice echoed through the submarine's speakers, alerting everyone to the imminent danger. The crew's attention shifted from internal matters to the external threat, uniting them in the face of a common adversary.

With a swift activation of his devil fruit ability, Law, accompanied by Shachi and Penguin, teleported to the control room in an instant.

"Bepo! Status report!" Law's stern voice cut through the urgency in the room, embodying the seriousness of the captain in the face of danger.

The radar emitted a rapid beep, and a rushing, flashing red light revealed another sea serpent fast approaching the submarine. Law, quick to take charge, commanded the crew in the control room effortlessly, enabling the submarine to avoid a direct hit, though it was slightly scratched at the side.

Law's keen perception led him to notice something amiss.

"Where's <y/n>-ya?" he questioned, his eyes scanning the control room.

Penguin thought of her, realizing she should have been in the room.

"Captain! I'll look - " Penguin began, but Law swiftly interrupted, issuing a chain of commands:

"Penguin, take charge," Law's voice was stern and calm.

"Shachi, call on the others and have the submarine checked for repairs."

"Clione, prepare the torpedoes and await Penguin’s orders.”

"Bepo, prepare to resurface. Alert me once we're above the sea."

"Aye, aye CAPTAIN!" The crew responded in unison, saluting Law as he left the control room, katana in hand.

An abrupt silence enveloped the room as the crew exchanged surprised glances. Penguin and Shachi, sharing a knowing grin, found delight in the unexpected action of their captain.

"He went out just to find her!" Shachi exclaimed with a sense of delight. Penguin, equally excited, couldn't contain his emotions. The room seemed to lighten up for a moment, but reality struck with Penguin's clapping of hands.

"Everyone, refocus! The ship is in our hands!" Penguin exclaimed, bringing the crew back to the urgent task at hand.

With newfound determination, the crew immediately returned to their stations, the emergency red lights casting an eerie glow on their faces. The atmosphere was tense, yet their unity and commitment to the mission prevailed as they navigated the submarine through the dark depths of the ocean.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

In the engine room, amidst the humming machinery, you conducted your routine check-up when an unexpected thud reverberated through the submarine. Panic seized you as the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Disoriented, you lost your balance and collided with a nearby beam, the impact sending a sharp pain through your forehead.

Sitting down, you instinctively reached for your forehead, your hand coming away wet with blood. The emergency lights flickered to life, casting an eerie red glow in the confined space. The sight of your own blood on your hand made you feel lightheaded, and white dots began to dance across your field of vision.

Aware that you were on the verge of fainting, you took deep breaths in an attempt to steady your nerves. The metallic taste of fear lingered in your mouth as you struggled to remain conscious. Every move felt like a monumental effort, and as you tried to stand, fatigue threatened to overwhelm your system.

"My bad luck continues then..." you whispered to yourself, your voice weak and filled with resignation.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you began to crawl toward the metal door. The cold floor pressed against your palms as you moved inch by inch, each movement sending waves of dizziness through your weakened body. With determination in your heart and a throbbing pain in your head, you navigated the dimly lit engine room, the emergency lights casting long shadows that seemed to taunt your feeble attempts to reach safety.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

As Law hurried out of the control room, his thoughts were filled with concern. The Heart Pirates had undergone rigorous training to navigate situations like these, given that the Polar Tang frequently submerged into the dark depths of the sea, encountering various threats from sea monsters. The safety of his crew always took precedence, and with the submarine under attack, Law's immediate focus was on ensuring your well-being. Noticing your absence at the station when sea monsters struck, he suspected that something might have occurred on your way to the control room.

Law had complete trust in his crew, instilling discipline and ensuring that everyone knew their responsibilities. He was well aware of each crew member's routine within the submarine, and any deviation from the norm would catch his attention. However, he had observed you taking on additional work, attributing it to your way of coping with the rejection. Though he noticed, he chose to overlook it, feeling a tinge of guilt.

Remaining calm, Law swiftly checked every room, his mind calculating the potential dangers the crew might face. At a critical point, a thought struck him – a feeling that urged him to check the engine room. Law considered every worst-case scenario that could involve you and, without hesitation, descended straight to the room.

His steps were purposeful, his heart pounding with the gravity of the situation. The emergency lights flickered as he navigated the dimly lit corridors, each step bringing him closer to the engine room. Law's expression remained stoic, but underneath, a sense of urgency and concern for your safety fueled his determined stride.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

You managed to reach the door of the engine room, your body slumped against the cold floor, the last remnants of your energy draining away. Your vision blurred, and as your eyes began to shut, you uttered a weak plea for help, the words escaping your lips almost inaudibly. Desperation fueled your attempt to stay conscious.

"Help, please..."

With the little strength you had left, you reached out for the door. As your trembling hand made contact, the door swung open, hitting the side of the wall with a metallic thud.

"<y/n>-ya!!" Law's voice echoed through the room as he flung the metal door wide open. His eyes quickly scanned the area until they landed on you, slumped on the cold floor. He ran towards you, swiftly placing his katana on the side, his immediate focus on checking your condition. The trail of dry blood on your forehead drew his attention, and he spoke to you, his voice filled with concern. However, disoriented and weakened, you struggled to comprehend his words, unsure of who was addressing you.

Before Law could use his Devil Fruit ability to scan your injuries further, Bepo's voice echoed through the submarine's speakers, bringing news of the submarine nearing the surface. Law faced a dilemma – torn between tending to you and dealing with the sea serpent threat. Reluctantly, he carefully lifted your arms to wrap around his neck, sliding his left arm behind your back for support. With his right hand, he retrieved his katana, lifting both of your legs to facilitate the carry.

"Hold on tight," Law commanded, your head resting on his left shoulder. Adjusting his grip, he twisted his left wrist, palm facing the floor, activating his Devil Fruit power.

"ROOM," he uttered, and a light, thin blue bubble film enveloped both of you.

"SHAMBLES!"

In an instant, the surroundings warped and changed, and you were no longer in the engine room.

As the submarine emerged from the sea water, Law's "Room" ability teleported you both onto the deck. Gently placing you on the floor with your back against the metallic wall near the main entrance, Law ensured your safety. The sunlight filtered into your eyes, and the sea breeze brushed against your skin as you inhaled deeply. The realization dawned on you that Law had been the one to rescue you from the engine room.

Opening your eyes, you took in the scene around you. It had been a while since you were outside the confines of the submarine. The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by two large splashes, reminiscent of exploding bombs, as the sea serpents chasing the Polar Tang emerged on the sea surface.

Your gaze followed Law as he walked toward the sea serpents, Kikoku, his katana, in hand. Activating his "Room" ability, he carefully drew the katana from its scabbard. The sunlight cast a glow on his skin-tight black shirt, revealing the flexing muscles on his back as he executed swift, clean attacks on the sea serpents. Each swing of his katana was decisive and precise, the fight seemingly slowing down in your eyes as you focused solely on your formidable captain.

Your admiration for him was undeniable, but the memory of the rejection suddenly crept into your thoughts, causing a frown to mar your expression. Despite the internal turmoil, you couldn't help but be captivated by Law's skill and prowess in battle.

With a series of clean, calculated strikes, Law dismembered the two serpents. As the fight came to an end, the metallic door flung open, and Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo rushed out, their expressions a mix of relief and urgency.

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Using the metallic wall for support, you did your best to stand up. Though you managed to rest for a while, your breaths remained deep, and the effort showed on your face. The three Heart Pirates finally noticed you, their surprise evident.

"Why are you here?" Penguin asked, his concern evident.

"Did you also engage with the serpents?!" Shachi followed with worry etched on his face.

"No, she's with me," Law answered, redirecting their attention to him. The trio's eyes followed Law as he walked toward you.

"I found her in the engine room. I didn't have a choice but to bring her up here," Law explained.

Law extended his hand to you, and you glanced from his hand to his face.

"Can you walk?" Law asked, offering his hand to assist you.

You glanced at them and the trio behind Law grinned and stuck their thumbs up in unison, expressing their approval. Your thoughts raced with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. With no other choice, you accepted Law's help. Instead of reaching for his hand, you placed your hands on his right arm and gripped it. As Law guided you, the trio watched the scene unfold with delight.

Before heading back inside the submarine, Law looked back at the three.

"You two, clean those up," Law's stern voice commanded Shachi and Penguin. The two sighed, glancing at the remnants of the fight scene.

"Bepo, come with me," Law directed his attention to Bepo, signaling for him to accompany him.

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As you walked down the hallway, Law was busy instructing Bepo about fetching various medical supplies and medicines to bring to your room. Bepo, eager to fulfill the tasks assigned by his captain, nodded and quickly left to gather the items. Now alone, an awkward silence settled between you and Law.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Law finally broke the silence, shifting his head slightly to glance at you. You responded with a simple nod, looking down, your voice barely audible. Thoughts raced through your mind about how things ended up this way, how a week's effort to avoid him seemed to crumble in an instant. You sighed, resigning to the exhaustion that consumed you. At this point, your focus was solely on your well-being.

Upon reaching your room, a sudden growl from your stomach echoed through the hallway, and you felt a tinge of embarrassment. Law sighed; his concern evident. He opened the door and gestured for you to sit at the edge of your bed.

"I'll go grab some snacks," Law stated, leaving his katana on the side of the bed before stepping out.

As soon as he left, you took the opportunity to lie down on the plush mattress. The comfort it provided offered solace from the chaos of the day. Staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't shake off the frown on your face. Puzzled by Law's sudden change in treatment towards you, his evident concern left you wondering about the thoughts racing through his mind.

"I don't want to overthink this," you murmured to yourself. Adjusting your position on the bed, within a few seconds, the weariness overwhelmed you, and you fell into a deep and fast sleep.

Law knocked on your door, holding a tray of light snacks in hand. Not hearing a reply, he entered the room and found you peacefully sleeping. His gaze softened at the sight, and he carefully placed the tray on the table before sitting at the edge of your bed. Law lifted your left hand, placing two fingers on your wrist to check your pulse. Using the back of his left hand, he then gently pressed it against your forehead to gauge your temperature. A nod from him indicated that you seemed to be fine.

The door creaked as Bepo entered the room, carrying the medical supplies. Law hushed him.

"Sorry, Captain," Bepo apologized.

Law inquired about the status of the ship as he started cleaning and tending to the wound on your forehead with ease.

"The ship needs minor repairs, and the supplies are low," Bepo explained.

"Okay. Have the ship docked at the next island," Law's voice was surprisingly calm.

Bepo observed his captain performing first aid, his eyes shifting between the both of you as he awaited further instructions.

"I guess I have to go, Captain," Bepo said with a low voice. Law appeared deep in thought.

As Bepo opened the door, Penguin and Shachi tried to peek inside, stretching their necks.

"How is she?" Shachi inquired.

"She's asleep. Captain is tending to her... but," Bepo began.

"But... what?" Penguin pressed for more information.

"I think that is the first time I saw the captain like a completely different person," Bepo answered, leaving the two curious Heart Pirates outside the door with intrigued expressions.

They were deep in conversation about the recent events when, out of nowhere, Law suddenly swung the door open and addressed the trio with an annoyed expression, his brows furrowing.

"You guys sure got a lot of time talking about me, huh? How about I add more workload to the three of you?" Law's voice was stern, and the surprised expressions on Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo mirrored their sudden realization that their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed.

"It's Penguin's fault!," Shachi quickly pointed his finger at Penguin, deflecting blame.

"What? No, I'm not! It's Bepo!" Penguin retaliated, slapping Bepo's arm with the back of his hand.

The trio engaged in playful banter, trying to shift the blame onto each other. Law, unamused, shook his head at their antics.

As Law walked away from the playful banter of Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo, the door closed behind him, leaving them to settle their dispute among themselves. The hallway returned to a momentary silence, disrupted only by the fading echoes of their friendly quarrel. Inside your room, you continued to rest peacefully, unaware of the amusing chaos that unfolded in the corridor. The submarine sailed toward the next island, carrying the Heart Pirates and their shared adventures beneath the surface of the vast sea.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #law one piece #heart pirates #law x you #bepo one piece #law x reader #law x female reader #law x y/n #shachi one piece #penguin one piece #polar tang

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dark-and-kawaii · 4 months

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༺ 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 ༻

Soft Haarlep Prt. 3

Request For Haarlep Anon: A continuation for “Soft Haarlep” where Haarlep discovers they can’t stop watching or thinking about Tav/You. You’ve gone and tainted their mind, but why? Love is a foreign concept when it comes to Haarlep’s kind… or is it?

Pairings: Haarlep x Tav/You | Raphael x Tav/You

Hurt/Comfort | Soft | Bathing Together

- PRT 1. (Click Here) | PRT 2. (Click Here) - PRT. 4 (Click Here)

Ao3

Haarlep’s gaze was fixed upon you with an intensity that was both predatory and peculiarly tender. As a creature of the infernal realm, love was an elusive concept, foreign to their kind. Incubus, born of desire and darkness, their very essence woven with the threads of temptation and seduction. They are not known for the depth of their sentiments, for their purpose is to allure and to take, to drain vitality in the pursuit of their own sustenance. Yet, against all odds, Haarlep’s thoughts were consumed by you, the mortal who had unknowingly captured Haarlep’s attention. The mere sight of you, bearing the bruises inflicted by Raphael, stirred conflicting emotions within them...

Haarlep’s tail flickered restlessly as they lay on the bed, arms crossed, their eyes barely visible through the veil of their red arms. Haarlep couldn't tear their gaze away from your figure as you discarded the robe that had hid your body as you entered the bath. Their nature commanded them to approach, to ensnare, to feast upon your delectable body. To thrust their cock deep within you drawing out the life force as sustenance for days unending, it was a hunger that gnawed at their being with the tenacity of a primal instinct.

Yet another sentiment, foreign and unsettling, sparked within the darkness of Haarlep’s chest. It was a whisper of a feeling, a growing sense of urgency to protect, to cover you with their own corporeal shield from any further harm… To protect the body they so wished to keep for themselves. Those bruises that marked your neck, they were not just marks upon your flesh; they were thoughts that kindled a respect and a strange yearning within him to preserve, rather than to plunder… This was leaving Haarlep perplexed and yearning for something they believed to be beyond their grasp.

Why did you taint their mind? Why did your presence linger in their thoughts, refusing to be banished? Haarlep’s duty was to serve Raphael, to revel in the twisted dance of desire and wickedness.

As Haarlep watched you soak, your scars were a testament to the pain you had endured. The temptation to unleash their power, or perhaps even twisting a tale to bring Mephistopheles here to consume Raphael, to whisk you away wherever, was an alluring path. But how could they, a creature of lust, protect you from the very hands that bound them?

Another unfamiliar sensation clutched at them… Fear. For Haarlep knew that it would come at a grave price. Raphael was a selfish man, and he would make damn sure to take you with him if his life were to flash before his very eyes. Because if the Devil himself couldn’t have you, then no one shall…

Your voice was barely above a whisper, "Haarlep, are you not sore after everything?" concern lacing your voice, a testament to the depth of your empathy.

A bittersweet smile played upon Haarlep's lips, their tail flicked again with a blend of irritation and amusement. Their existence as an incubus, the boundaries between pain and pleasure blurred, merging into a twisted symphony. However, they understood that for you, Raphael’s mortal little mouse, the pain inflicted upon you was an entirely different ordeal.

"It is not the same for me, my little dove," Haarlep spoke softly, their voice tinged with laughter. "While my physical form may bear similar scars of our shared suffering, it is but twisted into pleasure, the very thing that feeds me.” Haarlep chuckles with disappointment, “even if it is not satisfactory.” Their smile twisted into a frown, Haarlep could only imagine how they’d feel if it were you beneath them instead of Raphael… Oh how they knew they’d be satisfied then.

You sank deeper into the bath, “I see.” Is all you said before allowing the water to consume half your face.

Removing themselves from Raphael’s bed, Haarlep moved closer towards where you lay in the bath. They were all too aware of the dangers that lurked in the wake of pleasure- if they were to be caught again meddling with Raphael’s little mouse, caught in a forbidden affair, your body would be at risk once more… You were Raphael's, a treasure not to be tampered with by the likes of an incubus servant. Yet, the very thought of another's claim on you sparked a silent, seething defiance in Haarlep's chest.

But, if Haarlep simply sunk in behind you to bathe you… The thought coaxed a sly smile upon their lips. Haarlep could mask their true intentions, if they were to slip behind you, under the pretense of bathing your body, they could cloak their longing in duty. Their hands could roam freely under the guise of grooming, preparing you for Raphael, the master of the house as any obedient incubus should.

The steam from the bath cloaked Haarlep’s approach, a veil of mist parting to reveal you, the object of their forbidden musings. Perhaps they could sate this gnawing hunger without crossing the line that would see both-… you punished…

A dangerous game, yet Haarlep was no stranger to danger. As they lowered themselves into the bath behind you, the water embraced them, a willing accomplice to their ruse. The sound of your breath hitching sends a delighted shiver down Haarlep’s spine, “Haarlep… Y-you can-”

“Shhh, little dove. I am only but bathing you.” Their hand strokes your hair, “You do wish to look your best for my brat don’t you?” With a gentle touch that defied their infernal essence, Haarlep’s hands sought you out, amidst the flowing water, their presence both evident and elusive.

Haarlep moved with caution, every gesture appearing as mere servitude, while secretly relishing the forbidden thrill of contact. Tracing paths along your arms with a feigned professionalism that masked their true intent. The heat of your body seeped into them, a warmth they felt not only on their skin but deep within the recesses of their being.

The sensation of your back against their chest was a symphony of temptation, each note played upon the strings of their self-control. Their fingers, laced with the power of an incubus' touch, danced a delicate line between what was required of them and what they yearned for…

You felt Haarlep's tail graze around your leg, the slight scrape of their claws trailing a path down your arms... Their breath, a warm caress on your neck. A lump formed in your throat, every sensation Haarlep stirred forced an internal moan. Awareness of their true nature did little to quell your emotions; revealing your feelings seemed futile. Yet, in this moment, an inner voice urged you to turn within the circle of Haarlep's arms, to press your lips to theirs. To confess your willingness to risk everything, to embrace whatever consequences with Raphael might come, for the sake of a single kiss.

You weren’t sure when these newfound emotions began to stir within you, perhaps it was due to Haarlep always being in the same room as you. Or maybe it was the comfort their body gave off the night they laid with you before Raphael…

As you layin the tub in the embrace of an incubus, every sense was heightened. The texture of their skin brushed against your skin with an intimacy that spoke of a shared secrecy, a connection unspoken yet palpable. You could feel Haarlep’s “devoted servitude” facade fade as they moved with a predatory grace that was all at once alarming and alluring.

The room seemed to contract, with the walls inching closer, as if to push you further into Haarlep's space. The air was thick with tension, a silent orchestra that played to the rhythm of your beating hearts. Their gaze held yours as you turned your head to catch a glimpse of them. A mix of danger and desire reflecting in their eyes, a mirror to your own conflicted emotions.

The silence was a living thing, broken only by the occasional sound of your breathing and the water that stirred. You were acutely aware of Haarlep's strength, the power in their formidable frame, yet there was a gentleness in their touch that belied their fearsome appearance.

Swallowed by the moment, you considered the consequences of your next action. Raphael's shadow loomed in your thoughts, a reminder of the promised future that you were bound to— an arrangement that felt increasingly like a steel cage as Haarlep's proximity tempted you to rebel against it.

The thought of a kiss, one fleeting moment of rebellion, was both terrifying and tantalizing. It promised the sweet taste of forbidden fruit, the ecstasy of indulging in what was meant to remain untouched. In your mind's eye, you played out the scenario…

But in that suspended moment, with Haarlep's enigmatic aura enveloping you, the world outside the cocoon of your shared space ceased to exist. There was just the two of you, the question of 'what if' hanging unspoken between you, a siren call to what could be the most exhilarating or devastating choice of your life.

You turned in Haarlep’s arms, now poised between their thighs, your one hand resting on their shoulder while another urge guided your free one to touch their cheek. Your gaze fixed on their lips, noting the absence of a once present cut, and without a conscious thought, your thumb brushed across Haarlep’s lower lip.

As your thumb traced the smoothness of Haarlep's healed lip, their response was subtle. A barely perceptible parting of their lips, an invitation that sent a shiver of eagerness down your spine. You hesitated, aware that the step you were inching towards could not be taken back. The gravity of the moment weighed upon you; the understanding that this choice could alter your path irrevocably. Yet, the pull towards Haarlep was like a current too strong to resist.

Their hand found its way to your back, a light but anchoring touch, as if they too were caught in the same torrent of emotion. Their other hand rose, fingers tentatively brushing a strand of hair from your face, a gesture so tender it contrasted with the wild, untamed nature you knew them to possess.

In that silence, with your thumb still lingering on Haarlep's lip, you knew the decision had already been made, not by your mind, but by the yearning in your heart. You wanted nothing more than to close the gap and seal the confession of your soul with one simple kiss…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #haarlep #haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #bg3 raphael #tav #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #Haarlep the incubus #bg3 haarlep

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cypressvs · 11 months

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STAR CROSSED LOVERS

pairing: dan heng/gn!reader, gepard landau/gn!reader, jing yuan/gn!reader (separate)

cw: spoilers about character lores

wc: 0.8k | join the taglist

DAN HENG stares blankly at the console in front of him. Protected by the four walls of the train's archives, he allows himself the luxury of pressing his lips into a torn frown. Seconds pass by with each tick and yet he remains unmoving, as still as the illusions of the past that he can never seem to outrun. The faint scent of roses—foreign in his room and tearing apart the more rustic aesthetic crafted by towering bookshelves and asymmetrical ceilings—remove him from his trance. Tenderly, with all the care he could muster in his war-stained hands, he brushed his thumb over a petal. For a moment, he imagines that the red on his skin was not from grotesque memories but from the love-worn warmth of the roses and its sender's rouge print on its accompanying letter. He breathes and the scent fills his lungs. You fill his lungs and his heart quenches with a thirst that can never be quelled. Finally, he moves away from the screen, treading towards the faux sky on the other end of his room. He spies a lone star and similarly alone in his space, he whispers forlornly with a vulnerability he can only afford to show now.

"I'm going to have to leave you eventually." Lashes fan against pale cheeks before settling into a mournful close. "For your sake, I pray that you don't get too attached to me."

GEPARD’s armor clicks and clangs with each step he took forward. He smiles at familiar faces, nods at other patrol guards’ salutes, and stops to help grandmothers cross the rail tracks. He shakes his head at their words of thanks, saying that it was his duty as the Captain of the Silvermane Guards. At that, he receives an adoring shake of heads before they all eventually part ways. Courageous, he might be, but he’s stubbornly self-sacrificial to the point of no return. The tram’s ringing bells snap him out of his thoughts and he moves to resume his patrol. However, before he can take another step forward, he sees a once-friendly shadow. One he’d meet with an adoring smile, one he’d come home to with a needy hug, one he’d loved in his youth’s years and continue to love now in his matured present—a suffering reserved to an unwavering affection that perseveres throughout the years. His sudden pause catches your attention and you flash him a reserved smile; the kind you’d offer awkwardly to a figment of a past you wish you could run away from. Suddenly, he’s thrown back to that fateful night three years ago. The salty streak that plagues his tongue, the gloved hand clenching his chest, the guilt that flushed his cheeks as memory of missed anniversaries and birthdays resurface once more. He remembers your pleading sob—the desperation that made your hands claw desperately into his arms.

"I love you.” He mumbles, nearly unheard among the hiccups and gasps shared by the two of you. “I love you,” he repeats, “but you deserve so much more than I could ever offer you."

JING YUAN likes to think that years of experience has made him capable of rendering all adversaries that may come his way into a fond memory to look back on hundreds of years later down the line of his abnormal lifespan. However, some days, the taste of the tea he drinks leaves him sentimental, memories of tears and glee alike filling his mind with a bittersweet respite from its business. Nostalgia is a double-edged sword, he thinks to himself as he sips on his porcelain cup. The familiar teahouse morphs into an empty field. The wooden sword on his hand is lighter than the one he wields now and the expression on his face is one more similar to that of a naive child trying to rush into adulthood. If only he could tell himself to take it easy, to let the years work him gently, then perhaps his misery would at least be halved. His master nods to acknowledge his efforts but the sceneries change once more and his weapon is now of metal and there is nothing but undying death in his master’s visage. Lightning strikes and blood is spilled and he is once more back to his reality, relishing in the gentle sounds of the wind chimes and the peace that washes over him as he hears you laugh behind the counter. Feeling a gaze on your back, you turn around only to see no one. Just an empty cup and an indescribable weight on your heart.

“How strange…” He hums as he walks back to the Seat of Divine Foresight with his arms resting on his lower back. “To think that I would find myself eager to sacrifice something of my own happiness in order to make sure you're safe…”

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #dan heng x you #gepard x you #jing yuan x you #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr angst #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail #hsr gepard #hsr jing yuan #hsr dan heng

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yaksha-lover · 6 months

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I'm not sure if you're still taking requests but if you are, do you think you could write a short drabble about Malleus missing Yuu after they've gone home to the point of feeling haunted? Like the feeling is so immense and overwhelming to him that he feels unwell and everything reminds him of them. Just a lot of angst and stuff lol. I hope this ask was clear enough and thank you for taking the time to read it, I really love your writing!

Malleus dreams of you, most nights.

Sometimes of old memories, sometimes of futures that will never come to pass. It’s bittersweet, if not lovely, to distract himself with an illusion.

Sometimes he dreams the two of you aren’t who you are in this world; that maybe in another life you’re born into the same universe and he isn’t destined to be a king. That the two of you live a normal life together, just like anyone else.

He can’t fool himself for long. Something is always off; the specks of colour in your eyes not quite right or your smile vague. It only adds another layer of agony, forcing him to curse his own fallible memory when he realizes he is beginning to forget what you look like.

When he passes by the bench on campus where he’d told you a joke he’d stolen from Lilia and he realizes he can no longer recall the charming sound of your laughter, making his heart flutter almost painfully.

Even the gargoyles around Ramshackle dorm cannot entice him to walk that path again. It’s too much to see your former home, to let himself forget for a moment and knock on your door before remembering you will never be there to open it again.

Time, Lilia tells him. You will be okay. In time.

Even his guardian seems unconvinced by his own words, doing his best to comfort Malleus. He appreciates the sentiment, but the words are empty to him.

It seems inevitable that there’s something that will never quite be the same again in his world. No one else is you, after all. How can one recreate the exuberant feeling of swimming in the ocean with a mere puddle? The warmth and light of the sun with a campfire? Anything, no, anyone else simply pales in comparison, a cheap imitation which only serves to irritate him.

The others are worried about him, he can tell. Lilia comments when Malleus only picks at his plate during dinner time, trying to joke that he will loose his strength without sustenance. Silver gives his own words of concern, asking Malleus how he is doing. Sebek offers to make him any dish to return his appetite, vowing to do whatever it takes to keep him happy and healthy. For a moment, Malleus thinks of asking if Sebek will bring you home to him.

Sometimes he wonders if he made you up in his head. You were like an angel to him, a being so perfect that he could look at you and spend hours wondering how you were even real. Could it be his lonely imagination conjured some illusion to satiate him? To stop him from falling further and further into the depths of his own mind?

The only ones who seem to share in his grief are Grim and your two Heartslabyul friends. He’d never been the friendliest with them before, beyond basic curtesy, but he sometimes finds himself seeking them out now. It’s a bit comforting for Malleus to see that he is not the only one in the world who remembers you, nor the only one shaken by your absence.

Grim, perhaps, shares in his experience the most. The beast is uncharacteristically solemn, these days. He is the one who answers the door at Ramshackle when Malleus knocks. He supposes they give each other false hope, in that way. Malleus knocks, hoping that you’ll open the door. Grim opens it, hoping it’s you knocking.

He wants to be angry with you. For befriending him, for making him love you, for leaving him behind. But how can he? Falling in love was neither his choice nor your own. As for leaving him…it seems you did not feel the same, and that is not something he can fault you for.

You were his everything, but it seems he was just not worth leaving your own everything behind.

#thank you for the request! i enjoyed it a lot #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleyuu #twst #twisted wonderland #k.concepts

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rippersz · 9 months

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𝖰𝗎𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺

───※ ·❆· ※───

(An OC/Named Reader x Larissa Weems one-shot) (Bittersweet/angsty. Possible part 2 depending on feedback.)

Summary: Odette sends a letter and it ends up in the wrong hands.

───※ ·❆· ※───

‘January 11th, 2023

Odette,

I am terribly sorry to inform you that the letter you sent to a woman named Mirabelle did not end up in her hands. I believe the mail carriers fell short along the way and got it mixed up within my pile of documents; thus my wayward response to you. Considering the nature of your words (I must admit I read them - my actions were caused by split curiosity and confusion), I suggest you re-envelope and reseal your letter before sending it again. I have slipped it in with this one. And if you choose to listen to me, then we shall both hope your sentiments arrive to Mirabelle in a timely fashion with no surprise stops along the way. Until then, someone must tell her that she is a very lucky woman.

And that I am very sorry she broke your heart.

Happy New Year Odette. Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 18th, 2023

Larissa,

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness. I am far sorrier than you are. Obviously if I knew that was going to happen, I would not have let it. Okay that doesn’t make much sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean. I think. Hopefully? Anyway, thank you very much for sending the letter back. I gave myself some time to think it over and did as you suggested. New envelope, new seal, new everything. Except the perfume on the letter was different. Are you wearing Jean Paul Gaultier? It’s very nice. Mirabelle may appreciate the mix of scents (I’m wearing Marc Jacobs - Daisy), so at least she’ll get something out of it. The words, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily. That’s a big flaw, I think. Oh well. I guess rambling’s a flaw too. And here I am. Forgive me?

Thank you again. Happy New Year. Odette’

‘January 23rd, 2023

Dear Odette,

Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault, as you know. And if I knew the letter did not concern me at all, I would not have read it. But, I’m sort of glad that I did. It was perhaps one of the best letters I’ve ever read in my entire life. Are you a writer, by any chance? If not, you should consider becoming one. The rambling could add a nice personal touch - it’s not as big a flaw as you think it is. It certainly introduced me to your keen sense of smell. Speaking of which, Daisy is wonderful. I may have a roll-on tube of that somewhere. Otherwise, you’re correct. La Belle was released in 2019, it has become my new personal favorite. Are you a perfume collector? Or perhaps a bloodhound? I jest, I jest. Though I do appreciate the follow-up. If Mirabelle doesn’t appreciate your love, I may have to send her a letter myself. That being said, please let me know what she says? If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.

Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 29th, 2023

To Larissa,

You are far too kind. I write in my free time, yes, but I’m not sure I’m good enough to become a writer. However, your support still means a lot - even from all the way in California. Quite a long way, right? Crazy how paths cross. Anyway, I’m not a perfume collector, no. But my friend, Cassie, wears the same kind. I know for certain that she’d say you have good taste. And I’d agree. That bloodhound comment was funny. I know you can’t hear my giggling, but trust me when I say I am. I wish I could be as witty, but I don’t know what to say. My humor is typically made up of making fun of people. Do you have a guilty pleasure I can harp on? An embarrassing secret? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. And as soon as I get something back, I’ll let you know. Don’t start writing just yet.

Best, Odette’

‘February 5th, 2023,

Odette,

Telling you my secrets already? My, I believe we’ve skipped a few steps. What happened to a favorite color? A favorite memory? An age or profession, perhaps? If you couldn’t tell by now, I am still jesting. One of my guiltiest pleasures, though you may find it juvenile and silly, is the fact that I am a huge chocolate fiend. Many of my coworkers are aware that the best drink to buy me is a hot chocolate - hold the whipped cream. I am watching my figure after all. And because I pity your lack of matched wit, I’ll tell you that my biggest secret is the fact that I quite enjoy Taylor Swift’s music. Don’t ask me about my favorite song, I don’t think I could choose just one. Oh is that- is that the sound of your giggling? Maybe I can hear it from here, Ms. California. Now it’s your turn to hear mine. In the meantime, enlighten me on what you write about. I’m thinking poetry and free-form, with a focus on romance. I do a bit of writing myself from time to time, but it’s always in a diary. Never further. Perhaps you can do both of us justice and contemplate publishing? I’ll be the first to run to the shelves.

I hope you are well, Larissa W.’

‘February 13th, 2023

Dear chocolate fiend,

White. My first trip to New York City after Mirabelle. I arrived in the afternoon, went to see a movie, grabbed dinner and headache pills on the way back to my hotel room, and couldn’t sleep for the entire night. So I went out at 3 AM to see Times Square. It was only a block away and let me tell you, Larissa, it was beautiful. It was unlike anything. I felt safe for the first time in a while - beneath all of those lights. I was invincible. Not even loneliness could touch me. 27 and counting. Secretary. And potential writer. Someone I met recently has been trying to push me further into my hobby- to really adopt the lifestyle. You wouldn’t know them, though. Them? They/them? Please correct me if I’m wrong, Larissa. These letters wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable if I was calling you something you weren’t. As for me, I go by she/her. Mirabelle did as well. Does? Did? I’m not sure - I haven’t heard anything back yet. But that may be for the best. Horrid segue here (shame on little writer Odette), but Taylor Swift? Wow, I must be giggling quite loudly. HA HA HA HA HA!! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!! I swear that one day I’ll get a laugh out of you as well. In the meantime, as you say, I’ll happily inform you that you’re a psychic of some sort. Yes, I write poetry and free-form romance. Novels have never been my thing though. But if I did write any, I’d have to say psychological horror is a favorite. I may give it a crack if you’d edit for me? Unless you’re terribly busy, Ms. Vermont. Then please don’t worry your pretty little head.

I hope you’re ‘weller’ than I am, Odette

(P.S. Happy Valentines Day)’

‘February 19th, 2023

Dear sweet poet,

Do forgive the late response. Work has been keeping me busy; but if you’re serious about editing, I’m sure I can set some time apart for you. That memory of yours does sound quite glorious - nearly heavenly. Such freedom is a dream for many people, myself somewhat included, so I admit I’m the tiniest bit jealous. However, I could always visit the city in the summer. Times Square is already calling my name… maybe I’ll even see a certain 27 year old stranger there. Maybe we could even grab hot chocolate. But I suppose you’d rather enjoy your independence. That being said, you are quite correct - they/them is one of my preferred pronouns. Much like yourself and the mysterious Mirabelle, she/her is another. And I’m glad we both agree that these letters are quite a treat. I have not had a pen-pal in quite a long time. My old roommate and I used to talk after we graduated, but times change. Much like they did for you and Mirabelle. I believe I may have loved my roommate in that way, too… but it’s as I said. Then again, she was always more of a psychic than me. I just got lucky. As for the answers to my questions, I’m quite sure none of those were secrets. Unless, of course, your favorite color is known only by myself. In which case, I’d consider myself lucky again. But either way, come to the table please Odette. Tell me yours - but only if you wish to.

Weller is not a word, Best, Larissa W.’

‘February 23rd, 2023

Dear Larissa,

Weller is a word if I want it to be. That is my secret. No, but in all seriousness, you’re correct. Fair is fair. So I’ll grant you this: I’m a redhead. Ugh I know! I know! It’s terrible. Horrible. I’m sorry. If you find that you can’t stand me anymore, I understand. A writer, secretary, AND a redhead? What’s next? An FBI agent? I can’t disclose that information. Speaking of which, you have yet to answer your own questions. All is fair in love and pen-paling, am I right or am I right Larissa? It’s okay. You can admit it. I’m right. Just like I’m right in saying that your roommate made a big mistake if she’s not with you now. Speaking from experience, love like that is not something one finds often. I’d say I’m glad you experienced it, for it has its good moments, but I know that the ache can be bad. Quite bad. Not to worry, though! If you figure you want to send her a letter, you may get a pen-pal out of it. Kind of neat, huh?

I’m sorry she broke your heart, too. What a foolish woman. Tsk tsk.

Best, Odette’

‘February 28th, 2023

To the resident redhead,

How could you betray me like this? A redhead? On the other side of these pages? I feel scorned. Scorned and touched. Very much like a writer to offer comfort for an offhand comment. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know. And just for your information, Ms. I’m-Always-Right: Silver. Getting my teachers certification and celebrating with a few friends before life pulled us in different directions. It was a wonderful night. I haven’t laughed so much since - and that was quite a while ago. 32 next year. Principal. I do hope that was enough to sate your burning curiosity; I’m sure you can be at ease now. And since I do so enjoy meeting you halfway, I’ll tell you that I’m very fair-haired. Very. Perhaps one day you’ll see. Until then, don’t let the curiosity kill you little cat.

Best, Larissa W.’

‘March 5th, 2023’

‘March 12th, 2023’

‘March 16th, 2023’

‘April 14th, 2023’

‘May 21st, 2023’

‘June 9th, 2023’

...

And the months went on.

And on.

And every few days, another letter came. Another letter went. Another letter was written. Another letter was sealed. Another letter was received. Another letter was cherished. Kept. Forever a lovely memory. Larissa and Odette went and went and went- on and on and on- exchanging and smiling as each paragraph grew in length. From this to that and whatever else they could find to think about; they formed a banter and connection like no other. Poking fun, making jokes, referencing previous letters, gossiping until their hearts were content. Purring within their chests, eagerly awaiting another letter. It kept their days moving. It kept their souls dancing. From miles away, they cheered each time they saw the thin familiar scrawl of Larissa’s writing and the loopy tilted words of Odette’s penmanship. At one point, they even tried copying each other’s style. It was hilarious. It had both of them laughing at the same time - and later doing it purely to mock. Such things, little but large, were frequent and lovely. One time, Odette mailed a perfume scent strip of her new favorite; and Larissa, never one to be outdone, sent a roll-on tube of La Belle. Odette got so ticked off she made her promise that they stick to letters and paper only. Larissa, usually a stubborn soul, agreed. That was their dynamic. Their push and pull. Their agree to disagree. Never did they fight; rarely did they not see eye to eye; and constantly did they playfully argue. It was small things- small insignificant little things- but they moved the conversation along. And it made them smile. It made them laugh. And during the hardest parts, the parts in which life pinched at their skin and dragged at their souls, it made them cry. It made them weep. It made them open up. It led to Odette confessing that Mirabelle had left her and it led to Larissa confessing that Morticia had left her as well. Two women, two ships in the night, both of which got away. And not gently, not two slow drifts into the night, but a harsh yank. Morticia left school with a man on her arm and Mirabelle returned to California one day from a business trip in France with a ring on her finger. The two of them agreed that it was funny how life likes to slap lovers in the face. That it was funny how life likes to get in the way. And enjoys ending good things and ruining them. Taking them away too quickly. With no warning at all. Without a single goodbye.

The last letter Odette sent was on October 28th, 2024.

Larissa hadn’t responded to her previous one. Or the one before that. And eventually, after much contemplation, she gave up. It wasn’t healthy- worrying so much. Odette figured that perhaps, finally, her worst fear came true and that Larissa realized their little arrangement was more odd than she thought. That she knew virtually nothing about Odette, not even her last name. And that she didn’t find her amusing anymore and didn’t want to associate with her anymore and didn’t want to even say hello. Or goodbye. Or anything in between.

It broke her heart a little bit.

Okay it broke her heart a lot a bit.

The radio silence left Odette living on autopilot for weeks. Months. Nearly half a year. She’d get up, check her mailbox, and go to work - only to come home, check her mailbox, and go to bed - just to do the same thing over and over and over again. Day and night. Night and day. It was worse than Mirabelle. It was worse than anything. No amount of teenage angst or familial grief could get over the deep void left within her soul once those letters stopped coming. Once the friend she found by accident, the kindred spirit she stumbled upon, the woman she lov-…. well. Once that one person decided never to write again.

Though like most difficult things that left her raw, Odette’s heart began scabbing over. She cleared her desk, packed away the special pens she used, put the paper neatly into a box, and tucked the leftover Larissa letters away right along with those sweet memories. Then she put them into the back of a closet she rarely rifled through… and tried to forget it was all there. The La Belle, which she rarely touched, was hidden in her pajama drawer at the very back- wrapped up in old T-shirts she no longer wore. And every other thing that existed around her, that reminded her of Larissa, was pushed out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight… out of mind.

The company was celebrating her 5 year anniversary. They wanted to fly her out to Vermont. Jericho, Vermont. To have a little vacation there. To enjoy life. To fucking torture her.

She almost didn’t go. She almost canceled entirely. She almost quit her goddamn job because that was the same job she had when she first met Lar-…..

But she went anyway. Vermont was large enough. She’d be fine.

And she was, much to her surprise. She was entirely fine. It was a beautiful change of season; the air was crisp, the trees were changing color- morphing back into sunny greens. The world enjoyed its rain as April introduced May to Jericho and as the year of 2025 blossomed into being. Odette spent her days reading, taking walks, basking in the beauty of the log cabin the company rented for her. It was truly lovely. Truly a dream come true. And she didn’t even think- didn’t even wonder- about the other ship that got away from her. That barely even brushed past her, or lingered, before parting the water and skating away into the night all those months ago.

It was blissful. It reminded her of New York. Of that freedom- that independence- that song within her soul, dredged up from the depths.

But there was one thing.

One tiny little thing.

One little reminder that never left her. That she didn’t let go of.

“Hot chocolate, no whip, for Odette?”

A small smile grew on her lips as she slid out of the booth and made her way up to the counter. The young man met her eyes, returned the smile, and gestured to the warm cup on the counter with a nod of his head.

“Thank you lots.” And with that, she retreated to her booth.

Hot chocolate.

She wasn’t going to give up hot chocolate, let alone any chocolate at all, just because a distant soul enjoyed it. The whipped cream was something she wanted, but… old habits did always die hard, didn’t they? Oh most definitely. And as Odette reclined against the comfortable seat, eyes tracking the screen of her work laptop, hot chocolate firmly placed on the coaster to her right, she lived up to that sentiment with no room to spare. Leaving work at home was hard. She dove into it some time ago; dedicating more time, thinking, and hours into the well-oiled machine of her job just to distract her from everything outside of it. When she was there, responding, taking calls, managing dates and meetings and this, that, and the other, the world fell silent. Into a distant buzzy din. Into a land of muffled sounds and unimportant chatter - like her head was dunked under water as soon as she opened her emails. To a certain extent, it was calming. Repetitive and not at all that difficult after she figured out a proper routine; the worst part was dealing with those who couldn’t write properly. And in the professional world, that was rare. Well- if a person wanted to keep their job of course. And she definitely wanted to keep hers. It was fulfilling. Enriching. She made some friends, she shook some hands, she reassured her bosses. They knew she was reliable. Friendly. Odette never faltered. And they counted on that. Counted on her. Gave her the time of day. Responded when they could. Cherished her like a human. Like a friend. Unlike-

“Larissa? Hot chocolate, no whip?”

Odette blinked.

The muffled bubble popped. The world flooded back. She looked up from her screen.

Was she going mad? Crazy? Bonkers, finally? After all that time? Had she misheard? Maybe the young man said Patricia. Or Melissa. Or-

“Larissa! Hey, long time no see!”

Larissa.

Odette turned around in her seat so fast, she nearly broke her neck. She shuffled to the end of the booth, peered around the side, eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the table… only to feel her excitement die as soon as it existed.

Of course. Foolish her. She didn’t know what Larissa looked like. She never got a proper description. Never got a photograph. Or a phone number. Or anything at all. Just a P.O. Box and a state. Just… nothing.

“Hello Jerry, it has been a while, hasn’t it? How are you?”

No, she- well she did get something. She got little things. Details. Odette’s brow furrowed as her eyes, hazel and starry and glazed over with apprehension and fear and admiration and horror, ran up and down the woman’s body. She was tall. Larissa never mentioned tall. She was curvy. Larissa never mentioned curvy.

‘I am watching my figure after all.’

…She was stylish. Larissa never mentioned style and fashion.

“Oh I’m good, I’m good. What about you? How’s the semester going?”

“I’m well, thank you. It’s… well it’s definitely going, Jerry.” They shared a laugh.

She was English. Larissa never mentioned being English. She wore gloves. Larissa never mentioned gloves. She-

Wait. Semester?

‘Getting my teachers certification…’ ‘Principal.’

Odette felt her heart drop.

But-

“I’m sure it is! I- oh shoot. More customers. Sorry, Larissa. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course Jerry. You know where to find me. Until next time.”

Hazel eyes watched the stranger wave. Then turn around.

Oh.

Dear lord…

She didn’t recognize her- not really- but the fair hair, which only registered then… and the silver jewelry. And the… the…

Odette watched as the woman walked past. She watched and she felt her heart in her ears- pounding, clawing, dancing- as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. So deeply. So deeply it made her lungs ache. So deeply it made her soul tear in two.

La Belle.

Odette had never packed up her things so quickly. She never slammed her laptop closed so fast, never slid it into her bag so messily, never threw the bag over her shoulder or shoved her wallet into her pocket or grabbed the hot chocolate with such vigor ever before. Not once in her life. And rarely did she act so impulsively- not after Larissa. But seeing her then, somehow knowing deep within her soul that it was her… it broke- snapped- the thin resolve of Odette’s sanity and sent her flying out of the Weathervane like a bat out of Hell. She was burning up inside. Electric. Her eyes held fire and ice and so much warmth, so much desperation, that she nearly toppled over herself in her hurry.

The woman- Larissa- was a fast walker. Her long legs took her far as she distractedly typed on her phone with one hand and held the cup of hot chocolate in the other. Odette, being short and clumsy, was red and out of breath by the time she got close enough to call out her name. And call, she did. Call, cry, silently plead, she did.

“LARISSA!”

It was loud. Like a roar. Like a harrowing yell. Like something that held months and months and months of pain and sorrow and grief behind it. It instantly made her throat hurt, running it raw in only a second, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. Not when her voice got Larissa to stop in her tracks and turn around, eyes searching and confused.

Of course, as to be expected, she had no clue who she was. Not even an inkling. Larissa got no description either - not even a photo. All she knew was that Odette had red hair. And that a woman with red hair was storming toward her, all fucks thrown to the wind, sneakers smacking the pavement hard as she stomped down the sidewalk. Larissa looked utterly puzzled, slightly mortified, entirely put off by the sight of such a determined stranger. Like she wasn’t sure if she had done something wrong and if she had, she wasn’t sure how to fix it. But Odette would tell her. Odette would make it known.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

A rather harsh introduction, but necessary nonetheless. She didn’t even really mean to say it, but the surprised widening of Larissa’s eyes had a twisted spark of satisfaction spiraling up within her soul.

And her outburst, naturally, meant many things. Not just ‘What the fuck?’ but ‘What the fuck? Why did you disappear? What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I say something? Did something happen to you? Do you feel sorry? Do you miss me? Do you wish you responded? Do you hope to never hear from me again? Did you always know this would happen? Did you ever even bother to think that you should tell me you’re that beautiful? What the fuck, why are your eyes so blue? And why are they piercing? Staring at me? Heavenly and deep and never-ending? Like.. oceans… and why are your lips so soft looking and plump and red? Where did that scar come from? Do you hate it? Do you know that I like it even though I’m only seeing it now for the first time ever? Did you always wear your hair like that? How long does it take you to get it like that? How does it feel to take it out after a long day? Did you know your makeup is flawless? And that your jawline is magnificent? And that you’re so tall… and you look so strong… inside and out… and why the fuck did you not mention you were British? English? What does it matter? Just what the fuck? Why the fuck? How the fuck? What the fuckity fuck?!’

But overall, it only meant ‘What the fuck? Why didn’t you say goodbye?’

“I beg your pardon?”

Unfortunately, Larissa could never read minds. Or hearts. So the vague pangs of longing, like old rusted blood, only ached harder as the taller woman blinked and frowned.

A blush painted Odette’s cheeks. Right. Somehow, along the way of admiring, she’d forgotten. Larissa had no idea who she was.

“Um.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Suddenly, things were very awkward. Terribly awkward. So horribly bloody awkward. It was a wonder if Larissa could feel the odd lull in conversation, the sudden dousing of Odette’s flames, but it didn’t really matter. If she wanted to, Odette was sure that if she chose to walk away, if she chose to take one last look before turning around and never coming back, then Larissa would never know. Then she’d just be another story. Another odd memory to tell her children one day, if she ever wished to have them. In her letters, the taller woman admitted that she didn’t think she ever would. But Odette always had a feeling that she’d be an amazing mother. Looking at her then, taking in the perfect posture and the crisp seams of her clothing, the feeling became fact. Larissa would be the best mom.

Funny that… there was a time, long ago, where Odette fantasized about making sandwiches for picnics and uprooting her entire life. Just to see the proud smile on her pen-pal’s face as her child grew and grew and grew and flourished. And maybe even ended up calling her ‘mom’ one day too.

But as Larissa wrote once upon a time, things changed. Time went on. And that was how it was.

So she could turn around. She could very well wrench herself from her spot and drag herself back the way she came. She could apologize, tell her she was mistaken, and that she was sorry - and then she could walk off into the sunset and pretend nothing ever happened. She could burn the letters. She could burn the very memory of her. She could forget the name ‘Larissa’ entirely and all would be left to rest. And that would be that. Que sera, sera.

But Odette was never the type to give up easily. Mirabelle, wherever she was, could attest.

So instead of abandoning ship, she powered through.

“It’s Odette,” came her firm tone. She straightened her back and tilted her head to look up properly, trying to stand tall in the face of heartache.

But heartache didn’t recognize her.

“Have we… met before?” Larissa blinked, turning to present her full attention.

Odette flushed red. Angry. Sad. Liberated.

“Have- have we met before?” She repeated, scoffed, outraged by her old friend’s obliviousness. “Just how many Odettes do you know?!” Her hands ran to her hips, firmly rooting themselves there as she began tapping her foot and glowering.

Such a display had Larissa scanning her from head to toe, desperately scrambling for understanding and recognition. The loose T-shirt, the black leggings, the sneakers, the hazel eyes, the pretty features, the freckles, the plump cheeks and curved body, the bag on her shoulder, the hair on her head. Red. Fiery. Standing out against the blue of the sky like a stain on white fabric. Messy curls and natural red red red.

Red… red…

Odette watched as Larissa froze. Her lips fell open, her eyes widened, she could practically see the way her heart stopped in her chest.

She remembered.

“…Odette?”

The shorter woman nodded, slowly feeling the anger and excitement drain from her body. It was fun being anonymous for just a moment. It was fun being the only one that remembered - having the chance to feel properly scorned and betrayed. But that didn’t last very long. The come down was harsh. Quick. A fall from immense grace. Especially when she saw the tears. They welled up in Larissa’s eyes, glossy and wet, making those sapphires shine. So swift they were. So rapid. As if sparked by Odette’s very existence.

Though maybe Larissa wasn’t the one that was tearing up. Maybe it was just her. Maybe the haze of the world, growing slightly blurry, was caused by the water that threatened to fall over her own lashes.

“Yeah.” It was all she could think to say.

For even with all of her passion, even with her love of words and her many discarded story drafts (all coincidentally started in the year 2023), even with whatever eloquence she was naturally born with, Odette couldn’t come up with a single meaningful thing to say. There was much, of course. But none of it fit. None of it made sense. Everything that lingered on her tongue, finally unlodging itself from the stickiness of her throat, was too heavy. Too heavy for the moment. Too heavy for the sidewalk. Too heavy for the side of the street. Too heavy for Jericho. Out in the open. Vermont. Miles away from home. Too close too close too close. Too much all at once. Maybe running after her was a bad idea. Maybe taking the vacation was even worse. Maybe sending that letter to Mirabelle in the first place was the poignant moment in which she should have changed her mind and threw it away when she considered it.

But she hadn’t.

And so there she was, staring up at Larissa, suddenly helpless. That ship that passed her in the night all those months ago had come back around; except that time she had stumbled upon it herself. And she wasn’t entirely sure if she was grateful- or terrified. Maybe the ship hated her. Maybe the ship would crash into her and ruin her and maybe the ship would begin shooting cannons. Maybe the ship would continue right past her. Maybe the ship would-

-hug her?

Odette blinked, very much unsure of what was happening as soon as she felt the comforting weight of long arms pushing themselves under her biceps and interlocking behind her back. La Belle and the soft clean smell of faded shampoo filled her senses. Her nose. Her lungs. Her eyes. Her heart. And soul. Part of her was so confused it wanted to grasp Larissa’s shoulders and shove her off. And the other part of her, the part of her that had dreams about receiving another letter from the one that broke her heart, wanted to give in.

‘That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily.’

Odette’s arms pressed against Larissa’s waist. Their holds were odd, skewed by the cups of hot chocolate they held and the other items in their grasps. But nonetheless, it was… it was unlike anything. Each breath died on Odette’s tongue. She felt the atoms in her brain disappear. Like they never existed at all.

“I’m sorry.” It was said so softly, she was near certain it wasn’t uttered at all. But then Larissa was pulling back, hands shaking as she brought them to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was grief in her eyes. A sadness that not even the most haunted of poets could explore, nor understand, nor emulate. It gleamed. It cut Odette in half. It had her taking steps back, suddenly unsure. Suddenly disoriented.

“What-… what happened?” She was breathless, bewildered at the sight of regret swimming in Larissa’s eyes.

The taller woman opened her mouth… then hesitated. Her gaze burned through her old friend- then twitched away and ran over the world around them. The sidewalk, the street, the shops, the Weathervane, the town itself. They were out in the open. And their… reunion… was too good for that. Too painful for that. Odette watched as Larissa’s lower lip quivered; as the thoughts ran through her mind at the speed of light. And before she even spoke, she knew what she was going to say.

“Please, come with me,” her voice was soft. Silken. Heavy with guilt. Pouring with unspoken words.

It was Odette’s turn to hesitate. Years… nearly. However much time. She didn’t really know. She stopped keeping track once she realized she was losing sleep over it. Hours upon hours of sleep. It affected her work - it affected her body. It slit the throat of her life and dragged it through dirt. ‘It’ being the silence. ‘It’ being the goodbye that never came. ‘It’ being Larissa, Larissa, Larissa.

The same Larissa who held an apology wound up in her lungs. The same Larissa who looked down at her as if she couldn’t quite believe she was real, standing before her, breathing and living. The same Larissa whose shaking hands held a cellphone and a cup of hot chocolate that was swiftly running cold. The same Larissa with the same shining eyes that glistened with tears and crackling memories and affection, warmth, that seemed so out of place. Years without the comfort of that dove-like soul… years without the… the love? Love? Is that what they had? Perhaps it was too little too late to wonder. Perhaps Odette was just dipping into wishful thinking. Giving into the dreams she repeated over the years. With every word, every breath, every letter - she found herself begging. Pleading. ‘Please. Please please please invite me to Vermont. See me. Know me. These pages are killing me.’ All of it secretly scrawled between her slanting lines. Running in circles behind her hazel eyes. Displayed for Larissa, even though Larissa did not exist before her at the time.

Not like she did in that moment. In Jericho. In tears.

“Let me explain, Odette. I meant- I… just- give me a chance.” Larissa blinked her tears away and straightened her shoulders, tone growing desperate, body growing tense.

Never before did she sound like that in their letters. But never before did she leave Odette for so long. Interesting circumstances… Funny how life ended things so quickly. Funny how life brought out the truth in a person when they felt themselves tugged at a loss. Pushed to their knees. Though she said she had an explanation… and her old friend had never been a liar.

“Okay,” Odette breathed, clearing her throat. “Okay.”

“Really?”

‘Yes of course, really,’ Odette thought, looking at her with a mix of surprise and anger and devotion. ‘What are you, mad? I’d never just walk away. I’d never just give up. I can’t help myself. I never could. You know this. You know me.’

───※ ·❆· ※───

I quite enjoyed writing this. Might take a break from writing 'Heat' and 'To People Watch One Person' for a bit- same with requests. For the foreseeable future, whatever comes to mind will be written. I've started watching GOT again... and a certain Ser of Tarth has strummed the strings of my heart {as always} so maybe expect something with her? Dunno. Either way, thank you for staying with me. You mean the moon and stars, believe me. - Ripley x

───※ ·❆· ※───

#fanfiction #larissa weems #wlw fanfic #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x you #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #rippersz #gwendoline christie #angsty fic #bittersweet fic

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mx-piggy · 9 months

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EDIT: I posted an essay to my website based on this post. I'd really appreciate if you gave it a read!

I finally had an intelligent thought about Heartstopper and I wanted to write it down and share it.

I think Heartstopper season 2 was even better than season 1- for me, at least- because of how it felt like a more expansive look at the queer experience, and how it made me feel a little less like I’m falling behind as an almost-eighteen-year-old who has no romantic experience whatsoever.

With most of the main characters coupling up with one another, Heartstopper could easily be a show that says little more than ‘love is love’, which- while a sentiment i agree with- often fails to include people whose queerness has nothing to do with who they love, or does not involve sexual and/or romantic feelings. So, having Isaac’s storyline involve him coming to terms with being aroace as well as grappling with the isolation he feels in a friend group full of couples offers a different aspect of queerness. I’m someone whose never had my first kiss nor have I ever been in a relationship- and at the moment I have little desire to change that right now beyond the pressure of feeling as though I’m running out of time- so to see a character who feels such a similar sense of alienation feels really cathartic.

I also really appreciated Mr Farouk and Mr Ajayi’s relationship, and I felt especially comforted by Mr Farouk’s character. I’ve been aware of my queerness since I was around the age of 10, but I relate to Mr Farouk’s quiet mourning of the queer teen experiences he never had. I think it’s really important for this show for and about queer teens to say ‘it’s okay if you don’t get what Nick and Charlie or Tara and Darcy or Tao and Elle get at their age. You’ve got time.’ I’m only 17 (18 this month) so I’m not exactly like Mr Farouk, but there’s something a little saddening watching a show about teens younger than you who have something part of you wants.

Perhaps this is very much a ‘me problem’, but Heartstopper is something very bittersweet for me, because it makes me mourn for the teen experiences- queer or otherwise- I’ll never have. I don’t hang out with my friends more than a few times a year, I don’t have a queer friend group who can relate to my struggles and I’ve never had my first kiss or had anyone have feelings for me. At times, its made me feel like I did the whole queer teen thing wrong, because I knew I was queer the whole time. But, having a character whose storyline involves realising that romance isn’t essential, and a character who realises it isn’t too late to live his life as a queer man makes Heartstopper a much easier and much more cathartic watch for me. I can finally watch it and say ‘I’m not doing it all wrong, and I’ve got plenty of time.’

#heartstopper #heartstopper season 2 #heartstopper spoilers #isaac henderson #mr farouk #queer #lgbt #lgbtq #asexual #aromantic

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itsgrimeytime · 4 months

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Magnolia in May (Part Twenty Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: none.

[[A/N: y'all we got some jealousyyyyy. A little bit of that steam in this one that comes with regency era. Guys, I can't believe I wrote this. I'm like fangirling over my own shit. Just... be ready. Thanks for reading !!! ]]

The ball that Rick was throwing was essentially in your honor -a courting announcement. You weren't particularly sure why he wanted something as big as a ball, but you supposed with the riches he had, it would be an obvious choice.

You hadn't tried to talk him out of it, per se, but you had questioned his intentions.

"Why something so substantial? So big? Isn't it more formal for such a thing to occur between the family?"

"I shall be relentlessly proud to court you, the whole town should know so."

You blushed rather crimson at such a choice of words and failed to question any else.

And you blushed even further crimson when he relayed such sentiments to your Father upon a similar sort of questioning.

The outsiders, however, had no such idea that the ball had a purpose. Some, in fact, believed it was to set up Mr. Grimes and provide him with a higher lady than what the rumors had circulated. Your family wasn't exactly the richest, nor were you the poorest, but to be pursued by Mr. Grimes was something that had a societal line that you did not meet.

So, an appropriate amount of rumors had spiraled from that just as well.

As the rumor mill twirled, the guest list grew longer and the company became more sophisticated. Where women of great fortune went, men of great fortune went.

And you were certain such people would believe to be much over you, perhaps even push you out of the way to get to Mr. Grimes. You were certain such things would happen, and you would retain your grace throughout. At least, hopefully.

It was only a few minutes in, when you lost Mr. Grimes -pulled away by a damsel, or perhaps a father eager to meet such a man. Despite his promises of otherwise, you knew such things would happen and decided to glide around the ballroom.

You were among the first few guests to arrive, including your family, and had watched as the ballroom filled with wide eyes.

Women in the fanciest stitch work you'd ever seen, and men in just the same. Hair perfected, and jewels hanging from their necks, you felt quite out of place. Despite you wearing your best dress, you were still levels below such company.

You supposed you might've looked a little lost, and that's why he approached you.

"Madam," he spoke with a sort of accent you did not recognize, "-are you looking for someone?"

You turned to such a noise and met eyes with a man -one with the stitchery you could hardly believe existed. His hair, blonde, was perfectly retained, and a shiny broach laid square on his left lapel. His aura made you feel quite awkward.

"Yes, in fact," you responded, a little tightly -sort of bittersweet smile, not a true one, "-I'm looking for my sisters, or, rather, my Father."

"Is he in attendance?" He asked, curiously gazing over you, and you felt quite stiff, "-Why would he leave you alone in such a mess? A stunning damsel surrounded by less-than-suitable suitors. It's a recipe for disaster."

"Thank you, sir," you echoed, a little hollow, "-but I argue I can much fend for myself in such situations... with an undesirable suitor."

He seemed to pause, looking at you, "Yes, certainly. You seem to fend for yourself well."

You were silenced, unsure of what to say. The tone he'd reached was quite troubling, and some part of you wished your Father was near. Perhaps, you could wish him there-

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, hand outstretched as if he'd expected such an answer to be yes.

You rather didn't like such assumptions.

"I..." you began, a little lost as to where or what to say -you had a minimal amount of room to breathe here, "-I'm sorry but I cannot. I'm being courted and such a dance would be rather disrespectful to him."

"Has such a man have no respect for you?" He asked, and you merely stood stiller, "-Leaving you to the dogs is quite frowned upon, in fact, do you know where he is now? Has he abandoned you in the most critical sort of event-"

"I certainly have not," spoke a more familiar voice, one that had you calmed within the second. Your arm latched onto his without a second of doubt, and Mr. Grimes surely felt the way your fingers squeezed.

"Mr. Grimes," the man seemed to speak of shock, "-I apologize for such misfortunes, I truly-"

"I will ask you to leave, politely," Mr. Grimes interrupted, "-but if you choose to stay, I will ask much less politely."

"You mean leave the whole event?" He asked, rather quickly -nervously, you noted, "-I believe such a thing is rather severe, is it not?"

"Not at all," Mr. Grimes echoed, something cold in his tone, "-if you've been ineloquently pursuing my lady. Or perhaps on the grounds of you making her uncomfortable, I believe still that such a punishment is not very severe."

"I don't wish to disrespect you-"

"You already have," Mr. Grimes spoke, directly, brash, "-by disrespecting my lady, you have done the same to me. So, I request you leave."

"Very well," the man cleared his throat and stepped toward the exit without so much as another word.

"I am very grateful for such a rescue," you spoke, softly -rubbing your thumb gently onto his sleeve, "-I wasn't sure he would be shaken off easily."

"This is exactly why I wished for such a party," he sighed, dislodging your hand and turning toward you, "-when they know you are courting me, they will leave you be."

"Mr. Grimes," you started, "-as sweet as such an idea sounds, I do not need you to protect me. I'm very well capable, I've dealt with such people all my life."

"I do not wish you to," he hummed, soft and quiet, "-ever again. And I'm certain once it's announced, you will be unbothered. Even if I have to be by your side every outing-"

"Mr. Grimes, I'm capable of being alone-"

"Are you?" He asked, and you found yourself rather speechless, "-What if such a man as the previous comes to approach you? How would you get out of that situation?"

"I'm not-" you echoed, a little lost at such a tone, "-I'm not sure, but I would. Because I have before, I'm not something so weak as to not get a man away from me. Do you believe that I am?"

"No, no," he sighed, something in him faltering, "-you are not weak. I... I suppose I am."

You righted, suddenly seeing a much different Mr. Grimes, "Do you wish to speak outside the ballroom?"

"Not-"

"I believe we should," You leveled with him, "-to explain some things."

"Alright," he echoed, "-but only for a moment."

The two of you stepped out into the hallway, quietly so, avoiding any wandering eyes. It was a matter of honor at such a point, two people should not be sneaking off in such circumstances. Especially without a courting announcement.

The hallway was eerily empty, all staff gathered for the ball -you'd never quite been alone with him like this. Something in your spine stiffened.

"Is this about Lori?" You asked, cutting to the chase, sure, but it was important, "-About the affair?"

"I suppose so," he echoed, a little lost, "-in the grand scheme of things."

"I love you," you started, carefully, he seemed to be hanging onto every word, "-if you don't believe and trust that, I'm not certain we can make it."

"I know," he spoke, grabbing your hands, "-I know you do. I believe with all my heart that you love me."

"But do you trust it?"

"I... I should," he said, openly.

"Mr. Grimes-"

"Please," he interrupted, quietly, "-when we're alone like this call me Rick. I request it."

"Rick," you responded, your mouth cradling such a word -something far too special leaving your lips, "-I'm truly sorry she betrayed your trust, and you know that. But, I am different. A different woman! You must understand my heart is true to you only."

"Y/N-" and something in you startled for a moment but you continued.

"Never have I loved as I do with you," you hummed, something pricking at your eyes, "-I know you have loved before, a great love I'm sure. But I... I love you like nothing- no one else in my life."

"Y/N," it was slower this time, something caught in his throat.

"I love you," you echoed out, hoping he could hear you, "-and perhaps you've said those words before, but I have not. And they mean much more than a simple... simple feeling."

"Y/N," and he spoke it a little breathlessly like he couldn't believe you stood in front of him.

"You must believe th-"

Before you could finish a word, Mr. Grimes had leaned forward and connected his lips to yours. It was a slow sort of endeavor, a gentle press, but filled with emotion. Your hands raised to cradle his face, brushing across the little stubble he had there, as you sighed into his lips.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you had no idea what to do, but he was guiding you. It was the mere first step from what you knew, just the press of lips but it felt so much more then. Like he was pushing everything he felt into his lips, his hands, his fingers holding gently onto your arms.

Your knees were bound to go wobbly soon.

You pulled away first, something in your head stirring, pulling his face back from yours, you watched as his blue eyes blinked open -a sort of twinkle there you'd never seen before.

"I love you," he spoke breathlessly, and he pressed into you once more -catching your gasp between the seal of his lips.

Still, it remained a gentle press of lips, but he was pushing into it. His hands cradling your face now, he merely pushed into you more -you weren't sure you could get any closer.

He was the one to pull back this time, eyes shining and lips a rosy sort of red, and you were sure your face ran a little crimson. Okay, very crimson.

You weren't sure what to say, as he gather you up in his hands -pressing into your cheeks with his fingers, your eyes couldn't help but dip to his lips once more.

"We must head in now," he spoke, breathlessly, "-I'm not quite sure how much I can hold back... And... And you deserve such things properly."

"Properly, yes," you swallowed.

Mr. Grimes looked at you, and something in him snapped as he leaned forward again.

"One more couldn't hurt, could it?"

You were rather speechless, "Just one more."

He was a breath away from your lips now, you could feel his words whispered across them, "Just one more."

You weren't quite sure you believed him.

#rick grimes #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

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ficsnroses · 2 years

Text

— 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝑩𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑻𝒐.

—𝑳𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

prompt: lalo hasn’t come home well into the night, leaving you worried. when he does arrive, you find it tough to let each other go.

warnings: lots of fluff, angst. brief sm(u)t mention. 3.3k words.

notes: sigh. gotta love two idiots in love. anyway, hope you enjoy! gif credit: (x)

a/n: if you’d like to see more Lalo fics, feedback much appreciated to lemme know. there is very minimal dialogue in this piece, I hope I was able to execute their thought processes adequately. enjoy! (also, I apologize if the Spanish is incorrect, google translate was used).

title creds: everything i write uses a hozier lyric at this point lmao.

You don’t become acquainted with the cartel by choice.

No one sane enough would.

You’d heard the sentiment often. The devil is in the details.

You knew of the Salamanca name.

The first time you’d met him, his eyes sparkled with life and he’d grinned broadly. You’d ignored the shiver down your spine that whispered ever so delicately how this wasn’t a man smiling at you, but a predator baring teeth at its prey.

You’d ignored it, nonetheless. And then it never came again.

Lalo Salamanca became for you a what the sun is to the moon.

He cannot run from what he is—what he was born into. Cannot dispose of the very blood that electrifies through each lively course of his veins.

But you?

You’d drowned willingly.

And perhaps, there is some rotten thing inside you, too. For holding the devil’s hand so tenderly. Funny that— the tightness of that grip made you think that your hand would never be only yours ever again.

Something inside you whispered that you will burn. And there will be no relief.

Not for a long time.

The pangs of longing, of regret that cut through your chest are sharp; nearly acidic.

2:53am.

He always calls, always reaches out to let you know he’ll be home soon.

The bubble of uneasiness that had been smouldering inside your chest all day had finally seemed to boil over. By the time you’d paced the corridor of your shared home a little over a million times, an onslaught of gentle tears had finally begun to escape and you were in desperate need of a steadying breath. Your heart had begun to beat just a few beats too fast.

You knew the Salamanca name, and everything it entailed.

It could all come crumbling down in a mere second.

Just one, measly second. After which all you’d be left with was little flickers of him in your home. The lingering sound of that rich laughter that rolls up from his chest, the songs he’d hum for you buried in the walls. The smell of him on your pillow, and they very shell of you cold, because it would no longer be warmed by his.

It’s a funny thing, damnation. How some are destined for it, how some fall into its arms willingly.

A knot forms in your chest. Your eyes squeeze shut and you breathe in deeply, trying to push each bitter thought out your head. Lock yourself away from it. Push back the way his words are an anthem in your heart.

They pierce through you. To the very marrow and back.

‘I won’t go anywhere, cariño. No sin ti.’

Most people fear damnation.

You tug on a memory. A memory of Chihuahua night sky, a dark room, and hands cupping cheeks. The heat of them on his skin—a blessing and a curse all in one because you can hardly live without that touch now. Callous hands gentle on your back as he kisses and claims, the bittersweet, almost nostalgic tang of cognac on his tongue. The warmth of soft, caring lips against your forehead followed by a tentative, faint murmur into your hair.

It’s a funny thing, damnation.

And perhaps, you are damned. And maybe, nothing is much of a sacrifice when part of you wanted to stay from the start. With him.

Some people call him a sin. An angel of death, a wicked fool. Effortlessly foul, a curse that easily lights up the room.

Not you. Never you. You have reached the deepest parts of him, the suppleness buried underneath a frighteningly sharp exterior. Those closest to him know all too well. Lalo Salamanca is warm.

Cold eyes, warm hands. And a warmer heart, if you could get to it.

He will burn castles for the ones closest to his heart. You do not believe in fate. You do not believe in destiny, either. But then he’d came.

Destructive, big, bold, beautiful, and you’re forced to reconsider everything.

He is a mountain of a man and he is yours. And you don’t remember when every part of you had become his.

You tried not to keep track of time.

It made it easier.

You pace the corridor a little more, the gnaw inside painful and raw, ripping through your chest. Blinking twice, your expression slackens as a pair of fresh, noiseless tears roll down your cheeks. You feel heavy and worn in the worst way possible— the kind that makes one slow and vulnerable. Worry splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath, so much so, that you had barely registered the click of the front door when it opens slow with a creak.

Its not long before you breathe a soul deep, gut wrenching sigh of relief. Your eyes close as your chest fills, and you waste no time in hastening his way. The distance between you two is cut in just a few rushed steps, tears welling in your eyes anew.

And suddenly, everything feels as if a ripple in the very movement of time itself.

He sees the look of distress on your face, the way you breathe a pained breath that rattles in your lungs.

A pair of arms curl around you like irons. The powerful ripple of his chest and arm muscles melt against your body and you sigh, burying your face into his frame with a weary exhale. The warmth of his skin sinks into you and seems to revive you to the bone, and you cling to him softly with your cheek pressed tightly to his chest, close enough to hear the subtle beat of his heart.

And you keep it there.

Quietly listening as your drowsy limbs and fatigued mind register the feat. He is home. Right where he belongs.

It’s a funny thing. How you knew what those hands were capable of.

They’d killed before, and you knew how dangerous they were— how dangerous he was. But Lalo touches you with care; tense and careful as he wraps you in his arms, expression contouring with every small weep you’d let out.

He could tell you were executing your greatest attempts to halt your distress—to quiet your ever so small weeps, so quiet that he could hardly hear them. But sense them, he did.

And they withered something inside him.

Lalo’s voice is calm, baritone vibrating against you as he quietly whispers into your silky tresses, leaving a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “Hey, Princesa.”

You smile mildly for the first time today to those words, still listening to the sound of his beating heart. Pressing closer to him, you breathe softly at the sensation of his nose brushing against the gentle curve of your neck as he rests his head there, moulding into you so easily, so familiarly. Your skin tingles where his fingertips stroke, and you arch into his touch with a tight swallow.

Lalo’s eyes slip shut, and you both simply savour the moment.

No words are needed, no tender confessions or difficult details. Your fingers sink into his thick salt and pepper hair and you shift yourself closer.

It’s an amusing thing, damnation.

Reflecting on the paths we take.

Maybe he didn’t deserve this. But he wanted it, anyway.

So he nuzzles into you further, smells your hair a little deeper. Remembers the way there is a subtle chill in the AM air, but your embrace is warm nonetheless. So warm, that for one, irrational second he wishes to never let you go at all.

He longs to stay suspended in this moment, cocooned by your warmth and the quiet lull of the night.

A part of you almost feels upset when he pulls away slightly, but it is replaced with something tender not too long thereafter, when you feel Lalo’s larger hands cup your face delicately.

Lalo Salamanca has always been a man of minimal sentiment shown. Stoic, frighteningly efficient in emotionless conduct. Understanding what was going on inside that clever head of his would always prove to be a challenge. And he liked it that way.

Salamancas protect their interests.

Only with you would that startling exterior thaw slightly. Only ever you. But even then, it surely still did prove difficult for Lalo to allow the indulgence willingly.

There was something in those eyes that made you ache for him. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, despite your greatest attempts to smother it.

His expression remains patient, stoical when his eyes look into yours, and in them, he sees raw, honest pain brewing. He observes you thoughtfully, eyes glossing into you as if he is carefully trying to calculating why you would be so startled, to the point of waterworks for a sinner like him.

As if his own mind could simply not comprehend the weight of what you feel for him. Despite the fact that he feels the exact same measure for you, if not more. He simply cannot understand how someone like you could fear so endlessly for someone like him.

A long pause.

Then, your fractured whisper. “I…”

He doesn’t answer. Only his slow, steady breaths do and his patient eyes scanning your features. Your beautiful, soft features he has come to adore far more than he’d care to admit to the world.

He doesn’t answer. Not until his warm fingers brush against your skin, the pad of his thumb lovingly skimmed under your eye, wiping a rogue tear.

And when he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, you seem to crumble right beneath his touch.

And suddenly, you realize. That you can be homesick for people, too.

“I…I got so…” you note quietly, trailing off, and Lalo notices the sad break in your voice. There is a part of him that almost tells himself he is better off not knowing.

But.

“I just got a little scared, when I didn’t hear from you.”

Your voice is a mere breath that seals the space between you, and suddenly, a million little things burn at the back of his throat. This man— this wicked, soft, immoral, fascinating man wants to say so much and yet—

What could he possibly say?

What string of carefully calculated words could possibly do this— you, justice?

It’s a funny thing, damnation.

He hadn’t feared it his entire life. It was all part of the grand scheme of things. A mere landmark in the cycle.

He knew he didn’t deserve this. But he wanted it. He wanted it so badly, anyway.

He could never do it justice. Not if he tried with everything he’d had. And it was a tough predicament to admit— that he could spend the rest of his life doing nothing but good, nothing but saints work and still be unworthy of you.

Perhaps it is a curse.

A beautiful, unjust, painstaking curse.

Perhaps you are both destined for it. Lalo had realized a bitter truth long ago.

He loves you.

Lalo Salamanca loves you.

Love, love, love. A foolish sentiment. A sickness. A weakness. A blessing.

He fears it will become all he knows or cares about because it is the very best of him. The part of himself that he likes the best. It had been that way for a while now. The mounting, growing dream of a future with you by his side. The desire to build a life with you, to melt into you so deep that he forgets the taste of his very own name.

Casting your eyes down, you’d endeavoured to swallow the lump in your throat, trying to force casualness into your tone. It was then, that his work tethered hand softly lifts yours, his fingers lacing comfortably warm around it, and he lays a heartfelt, gentle kiss to the back of it.

You tried not to focus on the heat of his lips, or the scratch of his facial hair when it brushed against your skin. And especially not the way you’d watched his eyes slip shut when he’d done it. Even, if only briefly. As if the feeling of your supple skin against his lips was the only one he’d ever wanted.

And then, he rests your still entwined hand over the earnest flesh of his beating heart, eyes never falling off you. The weight of Lalo’s hand on top of yours is nearly electrifying; and through the weight of his stare into your very own, you feel the gesture more of a statement than a mere action. His eyes burn with certainty and a thousand nameless things.

A pleasant shiver races down your spine at his nearness, at his touch, and you revive when his eyes slowly trace over your features.

His hand lightly squeezes yours, and you seem to melt for him in the very moment. The way his eyes read into you, the way his unyielding embrace around you feels like more of a home than any other one you’ve known.

This, his hand over yours on his beating heart was his way of saying it. I’m here. I made it home.

It all comes rushing back. The very words you hold nearest to your heart.

‘I won’t go anywhere, cariño. No sin ti.’

Something used to scratch from under your skin. Something indescribable, something you hadn’t been able to pinpoint despite your greatest attempts to identify it. From the start of it all, Lalo had always been kind to you. Charming, effortlessly pleasant. You relished his often biting sense of humour, too, even.

Still, you’d been dreadfully aware of the penance that comes with him. The blood on his fingertips, the hold of the cartel that will refuse to let one of their best men go. His very own family name, a damnation of its own.

But there had always been something inside you that refused to part from him. The gravitational pull he had on you had become harder and harder to dethatch yourself from day by day— because some part of you didn’t want to let him go.

And it wasn’t until today. In the cold linger of the day’s chill, through the uncertain feat of his whereabouts. Today’s events had spoke to you once and for all.

You are unwilling to be parted from him. A simple truth, one you had happily dedicated yourself to the moment you’d seen him walk through the door. A part of you had whispered delicately in your ear all day, buried, raw thoughts scratched their way to the surface through each uneasy breath.

A part that selfishly wonders.

What kind of existence would it be without him?

If the soft pad of his thumb never brushed lovingly against the apple of your cheek again? If you’d never felt the way his lips curve into a smile, between the juncture of your neck when he’d embrace you? If you’d never feel the tingle of your name being whispered by that low, silky voice?

If he’d never made love to you again?

His smooth voice tears through your thoughts. Lalo’s thumb coaxes over the soft skin of your inner wrist, and you realize that neither you or Lalo had been able to take your eyes off each other the entire time. You’d both been sinking into one another, so deep, finding it tough to look away.

As if you both feared the other would disappear. As if you both feared that if you looked away for too long, this dream in front of you, that you both often feared you might have just simply conjured up, might just disappear.

“Join me in the shower?” he voices quietly, composed and calm.

Damnation.

Perhaps, a curse. A carefully measured calculation by the very universe you were made in.

It’ll all go the same. A routine, a tune you’ve played a thousand little times. He’ll try to crack a joke or two to distract you, shift your focus elsewhere, anywhere away from this heartbreak.

Because perhaps, he needs it too. It feels far too much as if he is trying to swallow down his own heart.

Sometimes, he’ll catch you looking at him. With those eyes of yours— those beautiful, loving, thoughtful eyes of yours that whisper to the very marrow of him. I’ll follow you anywhere.

And sometimes— too often, even, it terrifies him how easy that assertion of yours is to believe.

His life had always been just that. His. His to gamble, his to decay. But perhaps now, it belongs to someone else, too.

Someone good, someone great. Someone magical.

Your lips gently curve upwards into a small smile, and you bring the gentle arch of your hand to press to his skin, cupping his cheek. He savours that sight, locks it away in the deepest pits of him where he will keep it forever. You, with your easy smiles and kind eyes.

His personal sun.

You have easily hid your once prominent sorrow. Masked it away. “I’ll grab us some towels.”

It feels worryingly nice to know he is the source of that subtle joy that grows on your pink stained lips. And worse, to remember that he was the cause of tears that brewed in its place before it.

To remember that maybe, this is all he will ever be to you. A harmony of sorrow and joy. The source of pain but also the antidote.

And he wonders.

Is this punishment, then?

The penance he is damned to pay?

Your fingers are slow, careful, oh so gentle— when you soothe them along his temple lovingly, sweeping a stray hair away. It’s brief, none more than a flickering brush of softness and warmth alongside his rugged skin. And it was then that Lalo realized just how tightly his tense arms had been enveloped around you. The smell of your perfume lingers in his senses, something sweet, something so uniquely you. The way the rise and fall of your small breaths against him had felt so routine, as if they had always been destined to accompany his. Everything about this moment—the smell of your dewy skin pecked with flowers, the gentleness of your movement. It all gets committed to his memory.

Some part of him whispers from deep within.

Let her go, you fool. Let her find her peace. Let her be happy. She deserves someone good. Someone clean.

And he realizes another bitter truth. He can’t.

It is damnation.

To see the dread in your eyes each time he comes home like this. To watch you relive your very own, terrible nightmare. Again and again and again. Lalo knows he will never be free. Not from the cartel, not from his family name. And he does not want to be, either.

The same way in which you hold an unwillingness to be parted from him.

They say the devil is in the details.

A curse, even. To begin to love so fiercely. To have and to hold, but not without knowing that he is a thorn that bruises the very paradise that is you. To know that he is slowly becoming a completely smitten fool for you. To know that each time you part, he watches you walk away and every step feels painful, leaves him feeling bruised and raw even though it shouldn’t.

You are the weakness the devil himself did not have planned.

There is a lull of silence, your bodies still entwined together. It’s a unique type of heartbreak—one you can’t do anything about. The type that bubbles, silently simmering underneath the surface— quiet, nonetheless, always there.

Perhaps you were both destined for a path of destruction from the start.

And it is true.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve you. But he wants you, anyway. Only you.

You will hold him tighter tonight. And he’ll hold you, too. And you’ll promise yourself a million little times, and him too, that you will never leave his side.

His heart is yours to protect now.

Maybe he,

is the kind of damnation you don’t mind.

woohoo!! you made it! gotta love some soft! lalo content. i’m sure he has a human side buried under all that monstrosity (or...not). please let me know if you enjoyed, and maybe I’ll write another :)

#lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca imagine #lalo salamanca fanfiction #Tony Dalton #lalo salamanca #better call saul #better call saul imagines #better call saul x reader

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noxtivagus · 1 year

Text

hmmm i wna write

#🌙.rambles #T_T how many times do i speak of wants and how many times do i even reach out to them? hdkfajsdfl that said tho i find it interesting how #yk personally for me in doubt there i can find certainty. in silence we can find answers that speak more than words could at times #and we can realize the meaning of life when faced with death #idk all those r pretty obvious in a way bit i like pondering on them a lil deeper n. it's beautiful to me. perhaps rather bittersweet #it's 5 am n i shld be asleep this is likely to be a mess n i'm not gna make any sense hdfkajsdlkfsdj oh my god wtf am i saying #it's in my head the sentiment the sort of color of this thought but i can't write it!! this sucks #i'm a mess rn these r just random musings from a stressed sleep-deprived girl ok #read a belial fic from one of my favorite writers on this site n hdfjalkdfjd OKAY THAT PUT ME INTO EVEN MORE OF A MESS #n so i've been thinking of a lot more stuff too n oh dear my cramps r killing me i am rambling so much at this hour but #made me think about how yk i rlly love characters like that. those that r rather tragic. there's smth so bittersweet abt them #i like a lot of kinds of characters but those too me r really special in a way!!#one time of sad characters i like r those. yk those kind ones #the ones who help n listen n give to others but when it comes to accepting love n something soft for their own self.. Nah #that sort of.. pain is smth that touches me a lot probably bcs i'm similar. i find myself v drawn by it #wishing these characters were real in a way too so i cld. help them in a way. not rlly in a way that i'm responsible for it or its my duty #but. something that makes me so happy is seeing ppl i love. improve n get better. happier. they deserve it so much n #it makes me really happy to even just. contribute even just a little to it. even if i'm not. idk the sun of the sky. not the 1st or fav wtv #even if i'll just be the shadow or the ghost or forgotten n left behind i'm happy enough. w that #i'm crying i shld've wrote this in my notes instead there r sm words in my head that i can't say here #oh fuck #is this one reason why that one song made me so emotional #recently i have been.. denying myself haven't i? hiding. burying my own wants. can't reach out.#i don't fucking understand it's not like i never particularly lacked when it comes to.. yeah? growing up i #no wait it's.. not as simple as that there's a lot of factors i know affect me here. it's a bit overwhelming n.. it hurts.#i can't write anymore here goddamn it i'll write to myself sm words fuck but i'll write them to myself i've alr said more than i should hav #maybe being so used to fiction affected me negatively in a way bcs it seems i can't wholly n completely accept the.. no wait thats enough;;#it hurts but.. i will i absolutely will keep all this to myself. even if it suffocates me inside. i can't. i can't do or. have that #this is a painful realization smth i mentioned earlier's how i wrote the uh. 'reader' YK YH in that story two years ago lmfao 'starlit sky'#& my wol.. my wol is like that. my main oc too. who's basically my self-insert. no way. no fucking way i hate this

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haniwrites · 10 months

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♡ fuck it i love you

pairings : kei tsukishima/reader

genre : angst ; tw - mentions of blood, a lil gore

spoilers : none !

summary : slowly questioning the relationship you built with tsukishima on lies.

note : uhm uhm hi ?

"dream a little dream of me, make me into something sweet."

you wanted to keep a brave face because you were scared to fall apart so easily in his absence. he was gone but not really, not physically, just mentally. you could feel an invisible barrier grow slowly between you and tsukki. you held yourself together by replaying the bittersweet memories of him always being close to you and reminding you everyday how you were his forever to keep. that time felt so far gone but you revelled in those broken pieces of his previous self which reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. they were not perfect at all. tsukki was always closed off, quiet and maintained his civility in all matters. it was difficult for you to poke and prod around his heart and mind to understand him. your efforts were futile and he was scared to trust you.

you were patient though, unwavering and forthcoming in declaring your fondness for his antics. it was his quietness and determined nature which drew you towards him, like a moth to a flame. their relationship was built upon wistful gazes, those fleeting touches and occasional exchanges of speech. you observed every little thing about him, how the words spilled from the concave spaces between his strawberry soft lips. you had felt the urge to touch them and run your fingers across his warm skin. this game of push and pull went on for days until the day tsukki hurt his hand. you saw the beads of blood drip between his fingers, marring his pale skin, the contrast so bright and flowing across his arm. you had ran towards him, looking at him with worry etched across your face. he refused your help but eventually gave in, grimacing at your stubborn nature but loosening up as he saw you chuckle at his state. you took his palm, feeling the calloused skin against your soft ones. it bought you comfort and peace because this was the closest you will ever get to him. you wanted to burn every part of it inside your mind. his fingers were slender with lithe grace, aiding him in playing volleyball. they always called him thin and bony but you saw it differently. he was agile like a deer with nimble limbs that added to his confident posture. you were enamoured by how pretty this boy was.

so you were not surprised by the all too familiar sweet despondency you felt when you had the epiphany that he perhaps does not feel the same emotions you feel. that, in simple words, he was losing interest. you pondered upon the fast fading liveliness of your relationship with tsukishima, eliciting a grunt from you as you again sat alone for dinner. the rose-coloured romanticism which painted your bond with him was breaking apart, tying you to the shackles of reality. not everything was as flawless as you deemed it to be. your ever emerging need for reassurance and his aloofness towards human sentiments were constantly at war, leaving you two at each other's throats. the distance floated like an entity between you and him, unspoken but almost tangible.

yet it did not stop you from reminiscing the fond but melancholic memories of you and him. you wondered how he kept you pulled in, his magnetic field getting stronger as time passed by. even now, after that fateful revelation, you refused to let the truth swallow you, clinging onto the superficial affection which he sent your way. it was startling to see how his bitter words were contrasting to the softness of his lips. the same lips which kissed you and touched you in places of your ardent reverie. it was slipping through your fingers and you were desperately trying to hold it and keep it close to you. the same man which built your confidence, your belief in your thoughts and coaxing you to love yourself a little more was the one aiming for your heart, breaking down whatever was left and taking back what he had given to you. you couldn't lie anymore because it left an angry bruise on your psyche, infuriating you even more.

but deep down you were just sad. it was a shame how you kept delaying the truth that was handed out to you like a beautifully crafted meal on a glass plate that looked better than it tasted. your broken heart was equivalent to melted ice cream on an awfully hot and uncomfortable day. you had to take the final step instead of twisting and turning the same thoughts inside your head. his sweetness drew you in but his rages burnt your heart harder. you cannot leave, it seemed impossible to break the connection between you and tsukki. he was barely there and you had no way of getting through his heart.

the final blow happened when you caught tsukki eye fucking your bestfriend. how could you not see this coming? the missed dinner dates, coming home late, the distance, everything. you stared at yourself in the mirror so hard you could see your face distort and twist and turn. you felt like you were being dragged across uneven land, the rocks and stones stabbing at your back. you picked at your nails, the skin around them seeing little beads of blood pool around your cuticles. you still loved him didn't you? a monologue playing in your head as you dissected the situation. which side should you pick? if you weren't already so fucked up, this was just an added bonus. another episode, a relapse and you couldn't make another person stay in your life.

tsukki was your entire world. if you could, you would have burnt everyone down to get to him. you felt like you owed him your unconditional love and ask for nothing in return. your identity was lost, you did not speak, you quietly forgave him. this was a masquerade where both of you put on a facade. it seemed better to just let your love burn. it should've been colourful, soft cinders but instead you played a game under this grisly confetti of ashes.

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oceanlipgloss · 3 months

Text

POTTERY

BARBATOS.

+ warnings: angst.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

She touched him like he were not one of the oldest entities in creation, but a being more fragile than she, or a piece of pottery.

It was somewhat...well, amusing. He thought it was, at least, for did she really think he would give under the pressing fingers of time when he was powerful enough to ward off her darkest fears?

Anyone else would have wondered that, but he knew better. The answer to that absurd question, anyway, was always the same: never. Of his power she was very much aware, even more than some of the others were.

And the truth as they both knew it is, he's unlike delicate ceramics, and he's most definitely not one of them in the making, either—all yielding clay, raw and tender; on the contrary, his blood flowed with magic, atonement and a surreal number of years.

It's true, he had soft skin that dented under the slightest pressure, hair that shimmered in the sun like anyone else's, and was created of flesh and blood. It's true, his body was faintly warm to the touch.

As human as he appeared to be, though, that was just illusion, trickery—because there was nothing human about the untold centuries in his eyes, nothing human about how he had existed for such a long time, nothing human about the way he continued to live as though there will never be an end to his life.

How daunting she believed it to be, such an endless existence! She thought that perhaps he too found it tiresome sometimes, which was why she was so gentle with him, so nice.

And in his opinion, it was normal—as casual as breathing, in fact—how he devoted himself to the heir; surely that had to be the reason he found being taken care of now, after so long, to be strange.

Having a pretty little creature like her tend to him also made the predicament more quaint. She was human, yet cared about demons as such...how impossibly humane.

That's not to say he didn't appreciate the sentiment, however, because he very much did. He liked feeling her gentle palm on his tail. He liked the way her sweet fingertips traced the glowing veins. And he found it humorous, how doing that left her hand wet and made her jokingly complain.

He appreciated that she never made things awkward; between the two of them, there was hidden attraction on his side, platonic love on hers. Of course, he allowed his heart to...ache...every now and then, but it was easier for them to stay that way. Better.

How to put this? It was like dark chocolate—rich, bitter, sweet. He liked the bittersweet flavour of it. There was something pleasant about a one-sided romance. He thought that his love was something that belonged to him and no one else; he would have liked to share it with her, but now he didn't have to.

Oh, and yes, his heart may have softened and his affection expanded as they spent moments of innocence together, but it was still very solid. Conviction and dedication were his closest friends. Atonement and loyalty sailed his blood.

So...even if she did reflect his emotions and feel the same kind of love for him, he could not have—would not have—possibly chosen her.

Maybe in another era, in another time, in another life.

+note: I finally, finally managed to find it in me to finish this. And wow, this is my first Barbatos fic in months. The last time I wrote for him was all the way back in summer.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#shall we date barbatos #barbatos x mc #swd barbatos #om! barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me swd #shall we date obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me #shall we date? obey me!#om! shall we date #om! swd #obmswd #obey me fanfic #obey me nightbringer barbatos #obey me nightbringer #om! nightbringer #omnb #the story factory

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

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Hello, not sure if this ok but I'll give it a shot.

Wednesday prompt? Follow up?

So, that prompt of Alec loosing his memories and the poison/drug fear one mention how there are things Alec wanted or longer for but never allowed himself to reach or even dream about them, just stopping himself because it just couldn't be done, at least that's how I got it.

Would you mind expand on something like that, perhaps a conversation between Magnus and Alec where he finally let's himself think about what he would have chosen for himself given the chance, what he would still like to try that was just a passing thought before being thrown and locked away?

oh this is more than okay! i'm very much on board with followups (i get a lot of prompts for them) and i'll let you know if I can't fill something, so you're more than welcome to send in a prompt even if you're not sure. if i can't fill it, i'll just offer for you to send in a different one :)

this actually ended up being a little longer and more bittersweet/wistful than I meant but Magnus makes it all better!!! so I hope you enjoy it <3

lumine

I wanted to study the stars.” Alexander admits after Magnus has taken him away from the Institute to their loft and the rooftop garden where Magnus can wrap them both in magic and tuck Alexander away.

“Oh?” Magnus tries to wait him out, wondering just what else a young Alexander dreamed of.

“They were so brilliant, so bright. I thought they were angels at first, Raziel and his kind watching over us.” Alexander’s voice fades to a wistful sigh, “my father thought it was idiotic. That it was a waste of my time and intelligence to be so dreamy. When I tried to learn astronomy, he insisted there were better things to do and so I’ve only ever learned the basics. What every hunter knows for navigation.”

Magnus grits his teeth because of course Alexander doesn’t have a single wish or memory or hope that’s not tarnished and diminished by his reprehensible kin. Magnus kisses Alexander’s brow with pursed lips, hiding away how much he wants to break the world to heal Alexander’s wounded heart.

“I’ll take you anywhere, beloved.” Magnus murmurs, “I’ll show you the night sky stretched far across the plains of the quietest deserts. I’ll show you the view of a mountain where it feels like you can reach out and touch the constellations. We’ll sit above the clouds and watch as the galaxy herself stretches out above us.”

Magnus knows every constellation and more stars than the mundanes have recorded. It is no hardship to introduce Alexander to every delight possible.

Alexander hums, but he seems lost in his thoughts and while it’s clear he appreciates the sentiment, he’s settled into an old melancholy.

“I wanted a cat.” He finally whispers like this is his deepest, “something small to protect that would love me. I thought, if I took good care of it, surely it would love me. Would comfort me in return, would let me hold it and hide my tears in its fur.” There’s a deep pain and Magnus remembers something he’s forgotten, put out of his mind as unimportant. A trivial task beneath him that he had never thought to question.

“There was one that used to hangout by the Institute, small, scraggly. It looked like it had tried to attack a demon with its face and lost.” Alexander laughs wetly, “when I tried to keep it. My parents had the Institute warded against pests they called it, distractions, a weakness. Because I had better things to do than play at being a child, I was training to be a weapon. A soldier for the clave and a way to restore their honor. As if the weight of a traitor can be redeemed on the back of a child.”

Magnus backtracks, because this is not going how he had hoped and it’s clear he’s pressing too soon. Alexander needs rest, not to think about these things when he’s still so raw from the poison and Alec can’t set that boundary himself. Not when he’s so tender and his wounds so exposed.

“Sayang.” Magnus soothes and he pulls Alexander into his lap, cuddles close and presses their foreheads together. “I will listen. I will hear it all, but rest, first?” When Alexander only shudders, Magnus dares to add a spark of magic to his lips and pulls back, whispering, “for me, my love? I cannot bear to see you in such pain when I cannot soothe it.”

And Alexander looks up, awe and pain battling as they always do when he’s surprised by the magnitude of Magnus’ love and protectiveness. Then he leans forward, accepting the kiss of slumber, licking the magic into his own mouth until his breathing settles and he relaxes, no longer tense and in pain.

The magic will keep his dreams at bay and Magnus doesn’t carry him to their room. Instead, he creates a rocking canopy bed and lifts Alexander to it, before lying next to him. It sways in the magical breeze he's created, and he throws out magic, turning the sky above them dark and full of stars. To guide Alexander in his rest and comfort him should he wake.

—

Magnus waits until the afternoon, when Alexander has slept a magically induced twelve hours and is groggily finishing his meal.

Alexander is slower today, not from pain or an injury but from the exhaustion of his very soul and being. There is little enjoyment while he eats, a listlessness that persists even though he does grace Magnus with a wane smile when Magnus summons his favorites.

It’s appalling and Magnus wants to reach out and crack away the pain, tear it off of his boy and destroy it so the memories no longer haunt him, but it won’t help. It’s not what Alexander wants or needs.

And Magnus, he has his own guilt to admit, and he reaches out, palm open and waiting on the table but he says, “wait.” When Alexander automatically reaches out to take it. “I have an apology to make to you, my heart.” Magnus murmurs and his entire chest hurts from the worry and guilt he feels, “I was the warlock who your parents hired to keep animals away from the Institute. At the time, I thought the task beneath me, was more indignant that curious of their reasoning.”

Alexander is blinking at him and then his expression turns wry, a subdued but still sincere laugh blesses Magnus’ ears as he shakes his head.

“Magnus, I figured that out ages ago. I’ve never blamed you; it would have been the height of stupidity to even consider putting the blame on you. It was my parents’ choice and their money and their orders. You accepted a job, the consequences of the outcomes aren’t yours to bear, okay?”

Magnus nods, relief soothing the pricks of shame that he’s felt ever since he realized he contributed to Alexander’s pain, intentional or not.

“I—” Magnus hesitates, and Alexander takes his palm, tightly tangling their fingers together before he brings it up and brushes a kiss to Magnus’ knuckles. Magnus’ eyelashes flutter and he sighs, “I don’t want to overstep, darling.”

He opens his eyes to see a teasing, pointed look and Magnus rolls his eyes. “Alright, I rarely care, however in this case. I wish to treat you how you deserve, give you the time you need. Would you like to go somewhere with me? And if you hate it, we’ll leave and not talk about it until you want to?”

Alexander nods, always so quick to hand over his trust and heart to Magnus.

Magnus portals them as soon as they’re ready and he keeps his hands over Alexander’s eyes, already having set it up. They get to the room and Alexander’s breath hitches as his ears pick up the sounds inside.

Magnus takes away his hands, brushing Alexander’s face and neck and then holding his shoulders, a steady presence against his boy’s back.

“Say the word, and we’ll leave.” Magnus promises, quiet and sincere and soft as he only ever is for his heart, “but we can stay, and you can decide.”

Alexander lets out a broken, hoarse sob and turns, burying his head in Magnus’ chest as Magnus pets his back and plans just how to terrorize Robert Lightwood.

Surely no one would notice if he lost a limb or two.

As for Maryse, despite her turning of a leaf, Magnus finds that it will be a magical eclipse, the likes of which haven’t been seen in over two hundred years before he lets her step foot in their home again. They’ll go to her, but until Magnus is sure it’s completely safe, that the bad memories won’t be brought up, she’ll not invade the sanctuary Magnus has created for his beloved.

“I want—” Alexander finally manages to say, “Magnus, can I really?”

“Of course.” Magnus promises, instead of teasing because now isn’t the time.

Alexander pulls away but keeps one hand locked with Magnus’ own and then he looks over the room with a gentle, heartbreaking awe.

Around them, the shelter is filled with quiet snores and soft meows and the jingle of bells being batted. Alexander seems overwhelmed as he slowly sits, spreading out his long legs and leaning back when Magnus sits behind him, bracing Alexander, surrounding him.

“They’re so small.” Alexander whispers in awe when the first and bravest of cats approaches. It’s orange and white, half an ear missing and a freckle on its nose and Alexander coos like he’s never seen something so precious or darling.

Magnus tightens his grip as he watches Alexander reach out, fingers trembling in a way that he’s never seen, even when Alexander had to stitch himself together with magical thread because Magnus’ hands were too busy and full of magic, holding avalanche off of them.

Alexander seems more shocked by the contact when his fingers finally brush the cat’s face than the feline. It startles a bit, head tilting and then it steps closer, chin tilting up and catching on Alexander’s fingertips in a clear demand.

It is with wonder that Alexander slowly acquiesces to the demands and as other cats’ approach, all of them are interested and curious in the soft, gentle presence that Alexander is projecting to them.

Magnus thinks that perhaps, he’ll only need to destroy half of the world.

And figure out how to create a magical litter box.

#writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au #my fics #lumine writes #my fanfics #my ficlets

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