#> behold. fic be upon ye!

[waloeders]

golden rays and pitch-black nights

"odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same."

ship: barnabas tharmr/kosmos, {future} sleipnir harbard/kosmos and {implied qpr?} barnabas tharmr/sleipnir harbard

word count: 3,420

warnings: ff16 spoilers, religious talk (of fictional religions), mentions of a dead mother, manipulations (thanks ultima), character death (kind of? he's fine, dw abt it), mentions of being very high up on a tower (the one shown above) and some general vague fighting described

notes: YELLS A LOT!!!!! this is set before my other fic and is a like, big important turning point for quite a few chars :3 so much fun to write!!! also the image is where this is set (on top the reverie, which is the tower). notable things are- ultima loves manipulation + being praised/treated like a god so thats a big tw. also ryder/kosmos uses he/they. i hope u enjoys :3

"what manner of betrayal is this?" ultima's dissonant voice called out, feet not quite touching the floor as it floated in place, "you have brought an atrocity to us, odin."

the Kings' eyes flicked over to where the man in question stood, then back to the ground before him, kneeling before his God.

"i would never betray you, my Lord." was his only response, unable to conjure a sufficient explanation to the being before Him - or to himself. why had he brought ryder?

it wasn't as if he truly required a hostage to escape the hideaway. shiva, though powerful, had her wings clipped by logos- mythos, he reminded himself - and mythos was far away in the corners of sanbreque, if the young man he had brought along was to be believed.

if he was being truthful with himself, barnabas couldn't explain what it was, why he had made this choice. there was simply...something. something about ryder that intrigued him, that led him to believe their word, to trust they spoke truthfully, that led him to take them with him back to the reverie.

a small distance behind him, he could sense sleipnirs' smallest motions, fidgeting in place, and, without looking, he knew that the egi was in the same position as him - that he kneeled before their Lord.

"answer me, odin." ultima tilted its' head, turning to him.

there was a frustration in its voice he'd never heard.

"he is a gift to you, our Lord." sleipnir spoke up, piercing the silence that his leige had left, and it struck the King that his egi had never spoken directly to ultima before - that he had merely stayed silent, docile and obedient, if he had even been in the room at all. despite being as much a part of odin as barnabas was, his Lord often skirted around the egi.

"a gift?" ryder blurted out but quickly threw a hand up to cover their mouth and forcibly avoided eye contact. they hadn't knelt alongside the King and his egi and instead stood off to the side, inching away from the three of them as much as he could while atop a tower thousands of metres tall.

it wouldn't have mattered if they ran or fell - sleipnir would catch them, barnabas mused.

"a contemptuous gift at that." it floated away from the duo, approaching the younger man, "and you? we had thought you long since dead - how unfortunate that we were proved wrong."

the King risked a glance.

his Lord towered over them- floating or not. despite the slight shaking in their hands, ryder glared up at ultima from behind strands of dark hair and thin-rimmed glasses. their hand drifted, hovering over the empty scabbard attached to the dark brown leather belt he adorned, and clenched tightly into a fist.

the familiar sight of his Lords' tattered capes fluttering in a non-existent breeze and a flicker of motion from its' head had the King staring at the ground once more.

"are, uh. are you sure you mean me? only, we haven't actually, you know, met before now." the young man stumbled out and he knew, without looking, they were doing some kind of hand motion (they always were), "not that- i mean, not that i know of, uh, mr ultima."

their voice trailed off.

"come now, kosmos. this pretence brings us little amusement. we are most curious how you yet live - and in a physical form at that."

"i... what?" ryder mumbled, "what are you on about? like, actually, what are you talking about?"

a shudder ran through barnabas, kosmos? he had heard the name before, in whispered, heretical stories, in the mouths of non-believers decades ago - but there was no truth to them, no substance.

and his Lord would speak of this being, would verify such heresy? would name this man, kosmos?

"we tire of this failed deception, kin. show yourself to us, so that we might converse freely." ultima demanded and for once, he didn't fight the urge to stare at their interaction.

"i-i don't know what you're on about. i'm not kosmos, i don't even know who- what that is!" they threw their arms up in exasperation.

it tilted its' head again.

"then allow us to shed this mortal shell of yours."

it lifted a hand up, summoning a spell with ease, and let a ball of swirling blue light engulf the man. he only had a chance to step back, covering his face with his own hand, before being consumed.

a word caught in the Kings' throat, held back by some invisible force, strangling on the idea as it drowned him.

as quickly as his Lord had summoned the spell, it dispelled, letting the aether collapse into dust motes as it lowered its' hand.

he found the breath he hadn't known he was holding falling out; ryder was fine - or they appeared unharmed, albeit, confused.

"what the fuck did you do to me?" he growled out, hand falling back into a fist at his side, the other flung out to emphasise their point, "i mean, seriously, what the fuck is your problem with me?"

"how unexpected." it stared, eyes unblinking as always, "you cling to this form, this life."

a flurry of its' familiar blue aether had ultima slipping into a rift and reappearing in front of its' statue, before odin.

"it is of no consequence. kill them." ultima commanded.

a moment of silence fell across the reverie, carried on the soft breeze that lived so high in the atmosphere.

barnabas stood, bowed to his Lord, then turned to face the young man, summoning zantetsuken to his hand with the same ease of slipping out of bed.

"wait-" their face furrowed, stepping back as they raised their hand ever so slightly, and heaved a breath, "i don't want to fight."

from the sidelines, sleipnir snorted - at some point, he had stood too - and he folded his hands behind his back, watching intently.

"oh, this will hardly be a fight." the egi smirked, his thick waloedian accent looping through the words.

"rude." ryder mumbled, then spoke up, "all this for a guy who hates you, i mean, really?"

the King took another step forward, eyes following keenly as they matched his motions, stepping back. and then, they paused. a feeling slipped over their face, too fast for him to identify, that steeled into anger.

"or, FINE! do what he says, be nothing more than some silly, lied-to, puppet on a string and never amount to anything but a fucking footnote in a history that won't remember you. who gives a fuck!" the young man yelled out, hands frantically thrown upwards. his own motions almost disrupting the glasses he wore and he pushed them back, voice returning to a mumble, "this place sucks anyway."

odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same.

zantetsuken shuddered out of existence, the aether blown away in an instant. he could feel, more than see, the way sleipnir shifted in his spot, unwilling to draw the attention - or perhaps ire - of their Lord and yet wishing to move closer, to act on his behalf, to move where he stopped, to act as an extension of himself - as he always did.

"this... is kosmos?" King Barnabas frowned, glancing up and down at the man before him. if this was kosmos, as the forbidden scriptures described, his Lords sworn-enemy, a being as powerful as Him... this man was a threat to his Lord?

a footnote in history.

"you are our sword, odin; yielded as we see fit. kill them, so we might begin primogenesis. mankind must be rid of his wretchedness, so we might usher in the new world." ultimas' voice drifted over his shoulder and he watched ryder roll their eyes at the words.

"you do not believe in our Lords' word?"

"i know he's a liar. humans have no place in the 'new world' - and you know it too. he told you, told clive!" they growled out, glaring at it, "i don't know shit about this kosmos thing, i'll admit, but the new world is a fucking lie. grow a spine and admit it to yourself!"

a laugh found itself in his chest, clawing its way out and he grinned wickedly.

"grow a spine?"

he watched their face drop, swallowed by the fear that took over and... a thin glimmering stream of golden light pulsed up their neck. it was faint, barely present, and he doubted that the others could see it from such distance.

"golden aeth-...?" the words caught in his throat and recognition settled into a growl, "kosmos."

ryder took another step back.

laughter crawled out of him once more, keeling him over and throwing his head back. he could feel sleipnirs' gaze on him, the burn of his steel blue eyes and how the concern twisted through their bond.

it was all so absurd.

his laughter finally settled into a giggle, and collapsed into the King heaving air.

he stood upright and raised a hand once more, palm flat up as he gestured to ryder, "THIS is kosmos?!"

"why do you hesitate?"

his egi tensed, hand slipping to rest on his swords' hilt, by habit or choice - neither could tell.

"why?" barnabas spat out, twisting to glare at ultima, "to even speak the name is heresy. yet here you stand, asking of me to end a being who should not exist; by your grand design, he should not exist!"

"i see." it began floating the smallest amount higher, looking down on the three humans, "you cannot rise above your station, odin. you have failed us."

"you lied." he hissed out.

a twisting pain shot through the King, atoms shuddering under the weight, and he fell to his knees, blue aether beginning to swirl around him as an ashen-grey dust crept up his hands, caught under his skin.

"ohhh, shit." ryder muttered, finally broken from their trance, and they watched as waloeds' lord commander lept forth, standing between his King and their lord, sword drawn.

"you would dare harm my liege?" he cried out, form shimmering in a spattering of swirling purple darkness as he semi-primed into a set of ornate, silver armour.

"you are less than an insect to me, egi." it raised a hand, throwing out a familiar, but smaller beam of light and aether that sleipnir dodged with ease.

in one swooping move, he launched gungnir in retaliation, leaping high into the air to avoid another shot of unaspected magic, and the battle began.

the young man glanced between the three of them and the exit, catching the way the egi faltered on one of his attacks', physical form flickering in and out of existence, yet quickly recovered to feint into another crushing blow.

ryder groaned, swearing under their breath, and hurried to the Kings' side.

"com'on, we gotta get outta here!" they crouched beside him, hands grasping at his deep blue tunic to try to pull him up. strands of the aether and crystal curse clung to the air, seeping into their clothes, onto their skin, into their lungs, "barnabas, get UP!"

"i have failed my Lord." he mumbled, staring down at hands coated in ash. the crystals' curse that he had avoided for nigh-on five decades now catching up as his Lord released some hold on him - as his lord allowed it to catch up to him.

"are you fucking serious right now- get up!" ryder groaned and reached up to force the King to look at him, their other hand still clenching his tunic, "you're odin- barnabas tharmr, king of waloed, conqueror of ash - you're the scariest, strongest guy on the fucking planet, come on!"

a yelp drew both their eyes upwards, to where ultima had seemingly had enough of the fight; its' hand clasped tightly around sleipnirs' neck, dangling him over the edge of the reverie, and, in one swift move, crushed his form into a smattering of aether-dust.

"pathetic."

the lord commanders' sword clattered to the ground, mere feet away from the pair.

ryder glanced at the King, who was staring into the abyss left behind where his egi had been, and swore. he threw himself forward, barely upright as he grabbed the hilt of sleipnirs' rapier, and hurried to the standing-ready position that gav had taught him.

ultima scoffed.

"kosmos. when last we fought, we were evenly matched. now? you are weak. you lack the will to prevail, as you always have."

"right. well." the young man shrugged, blurting out some nonsense noises, "what about that, huh?"

"such childish nonsens-"

"-says the fucker with his grippers out, get outta here!"

"ENOUGH!"

a burst of aether echoed from it as it spoke, the force shoving them to the ground and ripping the sword from their grasp.

ryders' vision blurred from the impact and he could taste faint copper-iron on their tongue; they watched helplessly as the rapier slipped over the tower-edge.

if it made a noise when it landed on the ground, no one atop the reverie heard.

"we expect such petty behaviours from mankind - but for you to indulge yourself so, kosmos, is unbecoming. you are as much a slave to fickle emotions as mankind is."

they moaned, reaching a hand up to find blood coating their forehead, and winced at the thought. slowly, ryder forced himself up onto his hands and knees, blue eyes slipping over to where barnabas had been.

the King still drowned in aether and ash, his atoms struggling to grasp one another under the strain, yet he had hardly moved - now sat on his heels, head thrown back to stare into the pitch-black night sky lingering above, lips moving in a silent prayer.

"odin. we had thought the sin of free will had been understood by you, but it would seem we were mistaken. one cannot forsake their nature, human as you are." it finally landed in front of barnabas, replacing his view of the night, and a pale hand reached out to grasp his head tightly, forcing him to stare at the being.

"it is fortunate that mythos now beholds odin. this act of defiance cannot, willnot stand."

he stared up at his Lord, eyes searching for any sign of meaning, purpose, of anything that might provide a path to salvation.

it released its' grip on him, hand moving to cup one side of his face, and for a moment, ultimas' form shimmered before him, twisting and contorting into a familar face.

"you know what you must do, barnabas." her voice, soothing and patient as she always had been, had his stomach twisting into knots.

"mother..."

"do as our lord commands." her dark brown eyes flicked to ryder, still struggling to get off the floor, "kill kosmos."

the churnings of the crystals' curse paused, aether calmly falling to the ground around them- snowflakes of another nature.

his eyes remained fixed on her, unable to pull away, and a light tug on his cheek had the King blinking away the familiar, deep grooves of misery he lived in.

"do as our lord commands, barnabas, and we shall speak again, in the new world."

the new world?

"the scripture..." he mumbled, breath catching, "it is heresy. kosmos cannot be, mother."

"then end them."

barnabas' head turned to the young man, zantetsuken springing to the hand at his side, and he pushed himself to stand.

they were on the ground. ryder hadn't even looked up, eyes tightly clasped as he heaved air; thin lines of golden aether running through their veins once more - yet stronger than before, as if their injuries had emboldened the ambient magicks in the world.

odin's sword found its' mark with ease.

the image of his mother shattered in an instant, torn asunder by the inhuman shriek of ultima crying out, one of its' arm revealed to have been split in two.

the King of Waloed found himself pushed back by another blast of aether as it screamed, sword ripping into the ground in an attempt to drag him to a halt, and he ended up on one knee, hands clenching the hilt of his sword, as he stared at the being before him.

"YOU!" it howled, even as it drew aether into itself, reforming the lost limb of its' incorporeal body.

he could hear kosmos curse beside him but his eyes remained on the Lord - his Lord, who he had just betrayed. he had injured- betrayed his lord.

salvation from such an act could only be death.

"we have offered you naught but everything and you would reject us? you have no place in the new world, odin." the god-like being hissed out, raising its' newly rebuilt hand to summon the same light it had used against ryder, that started the whole affair, "as such, your mortal skin shall be shed. you shall be undone - just as all mankind shall be, as was always meant to be."

he closed his eyes before the light, surrendering to the darkness behind his eyelids, to where he knew odin lingered, and his mind fell into the eerie, empty space, welcomed by the silence found only where odin was.

yet, he was interrupted by an unfamiliar warmth, the faint sensation of warm, human touch, of hands grasping his waist, clutching onto him tightly as if he would blow away in a faint wind.

in the abyss, barnabas was met with gold.

atop the reverie, he blinked down at the man hugging his waist - kosmos. the glimpsed golden aether had found its place in their blood, pulsing through them, and from their back, they sprouted ghostly golden-opaque wings (not terribly unlike garudas', he noted), that surrounded them - a warm light that blocked the cold blue of ultimas' spell, splintering it into a thousand light-beams around them.

"kosmos...?" the King uttered, drawing their attention. their eyes stared blearily into his, possessed in the golden glow, streaks of molten aether flowing down as tears upon their cheeks.

it took him a moment to recognise the feeling upon their face; the way they looked through him as if he were a thousand miles away, an emptiness sat behind the golden glow consuming them, taking over them. he had seen Eikons take over their dominants before, seen them lose control and rage across the lands, the seas, reigning destruction unbeknown to man - it was the closest match he could find to the sight before him.

then, the energy around them collapsed, exploding outwards with an ear-shattering boom and a cascade of iridescent light burst away from them, waves upon waves collapsing, leaping over themselves through the night, further and further until it stretched past the horizon.

barnabas frowned, releasing the breath he held captive, as he watched the waves of light, eyes briefly slipping to where ultima stood, even its' cape frozen in place.

a small noise drew his attention back to kosmos, who continued to stare up at him, cheek stained with tears of golden aether. gently, he reached up to brush it away, but found the magick seeped into his hands, up his arm and through his entire body, soaking in warmth.

"...what is this?" he mumbled, seeming to awaken something in the man in his arms. they blinked away the gold in their eyes, the blue seeping back in and tilted their head at him, a small "oh." falling from their lips.

silence broken, the golden waves shattered into dust. far below the reverie, it seemed to be snowing.

"kosmos." ultima finally spoke and they tensed up, eyebrows furrowing.

in a confusing instant, kosmos shoved his head into the Kings' chest, as the familiar purple darkness of odin drew around them, surrounding and overtaking both of their vision in a swirling vortex.

when it finally settled, barnabas blinked in confusion.

they were no longer atop the reverie.

they were back. in the hideaway, sat on the dusty ground of the Fallen ruin. kosmos still wrapped around him, motionless, and he realised he had moved to hold them in turn, hand gripping the back of their black tunic tightly.

their golden-opaque wings had began to fade out of existence, leaving only the dazzled, familiar faces of cid and myt- logos staring at the pair.

"well. so much for rescuing a hostage, aye?" cid remarked.

thats all ty :3

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 4

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: You beat each other's asses. There'll be blood and injuries :)

Author's Notes: Quite a small chapter but hey! It's been less than a week (I think) from chapter 3, so hooray! I am afraid, though, this will be the last time Vergil will appear on his blue coat glory - next appearances will be during black coat era.

What I will say, is that our beloved demon in red will probably appear on chapter 7 ;)

And I love kicking Verge's demon ass

Chapter 4

You had changed. Vergil could see it in your face – you looked sturdier, with those eyes burning like fire and resolve still in your soul. That tired protector you once were, doing all you could to save those weaker than you, had now become a skilled fighter.

Your hands gripped the silver sword with grace and technique, your chin slightly high in the air. The arrogance he met in you many moons ago was still there, but you looked more experienced – not just a warrior anymore, but a hunter.

“You have something of the Abyss within you.” Vergil’s words were slow and calculated; that serious smirk never leaving his lips. “I will let you go without the humiliation of defeat once more if you give it to me willingly.”

Your expression didn’t show how confused you were with that statement of his – after all, you went to another realm, but you would be able to feel if it was the Abyss. The book, perhaps, could be that piece of ancient energy he was talking about and, suddenly, the feather weighted heavier in your pocket.

But of course. You now had access to the best source of knowledge on the Abyss, something that blue demon also searched for. With a convinced smile spreading across your lips, you couldn’t help but to raise your head in superiority: you had the upper hand in that department.

And, for all you cared, he could writhe with the pain of never being able to access it. In a matter of fact, you would make sure he would.

“Well, well, demon…” Your voice carried all the condescendence that made Vergil’s blood boil – even if his expression remained as unreadable as ice. The demon inside him, though, wanted to make sure you, a simple human, knew your place in the natural order of things. “Whatever it is that you want from me, you will have to take it. I will never give something to you, let alone willingly.”

“Hmpf. You could save yourself the shame of being subdued one more time.” Vergil scoffed, seemingly dismissing your comment. His eyes pierced through the darkness, meeting yours with a kind of savagery that didn’t match his icy demeanor.

“Last time, I was already injured and close to death.” This time, even if you continued smiling to maintain your upper hand, you already felt your blood running hot inside your veins. Soon, you would have to remind him why humans were far superior than his pitiful kind. “I wouldn’t be so sure of your victory in a fair fight with the same conditions.”

“We will never be on the same conditions.” He almost growled back at you, still maintaining his calculating look even if his voice showed the rage under still waters. “I would have to hold back so you could even have a chance.”

“Hmpf.” It was your turn to scoff, seemingly dismissing his point. Only your heart knew how much his words and hubris affected your pride – as much as yours affected his. “It sounds like you are scared of losing to a human.”

“Enough.”

Now your words had cut through his pride like the sharp blade of the Yamato – already glistening in the dark as Vergil quickly unsheathed his sword and plunged into a swift attack.

You responded at the same speed, gracefully holding your silver sword with both hands and blocking his attack. Meeting his eyes above the blade of your swords, Vergil’s silver gaze maintained yours before both of you repelled each other and jumped into the fight once more.

You didn’t protect your knowledge of the Abyss more than Vergil attacked you to take it for himself – your swords clashed so both of you could defend your pride.

Your years of hunting showed up in your fighting. You were smarter, quicker, with enough dexterity to make Vergil focus even more on the movement of your feet and the grip on your sword. Now you had a sort of streetwise experience to match your technique – making you more difficult to read and harder to beat.

Vergil, in the other hand, had grown more aggressive. Years ago, you observed how he stalked and attacked, sometimes even seeming to think too much before an attack. Now, he had given more room for his rage, showing it through his fighting style. Still technical, still skilled beyond everyone else you had fought in your life – but with a hate that threatened to make even the sturdiest of demons bleed.

You blocked one of Yamato’s piercing attacks, making you break your stance and stumble towards one of the mahogany bookshelves. As you hit your back on it, dust filled the air and some books fell on the floor, while you kept your eyes glued on the blue devil’s form as he sheathed his sword once more.

“There’s a lack of balance on your feet.” As always, he was full of himself, lowering his stance and holding the hilt of his sword, ready for a swift killer blow. “I should’ve never been able to break your stance with such an easy attack.”

With those words, Vergil released the Yamato, unleashing a thousand of cuts in the void to your direction in the blink of an eye. If your reflexes hadn’t been quick and you hadn’t rolled to the side, you would’ve ended up in pieces – just like the mahogany bookcase, now slowly falling apart amidst a rain of cut paper and dismembered books.

“You broke it with strength, not skill.” Your voice grabbed his attention, making Vergil quickly spin to his left. You, in the other hand, had already prepared yourself: raising from the floor, you took the opportunity to kick his torso with all your strength, making Vergil roll to the other side of the hall. “You lack attention on your enemy. First lesson: never lose sight of your opponent – as you gloat how good you are, they can kick you down in no time.”

That smile. Vergil wanted to take that smile out of your face with the slap of a hundred summoned swords as he got up from the floor. What you had just done to him wasn’t just a fair move on a fight – it was humiliation.

Once again, you rolled on the floor to escape his bright blue summoned swords, thrown at you at lightning speed. Up to that moment, you had only fought with swords and none of you thought of using anything else. Vergil’s rage, in the other hand, made him slowly give in to all he had available in a fight – and soon, he would forget you were human and wouldn’t hold back anymore.

Kneeling on the floor, it was time to take your guns out and have that demon taste some of the silver bullets you carried for hunting. You shot expertly, aiming with dexterity and firing quickly – but Vergil deflected all those bullets in a move you had never seen before: spinning Yamato in front of him, everything you shot was cut in half, hitting books, papers and shelves, but never him. Vergil remained in place, barely fazed by your fire power.

You had to bring him down with your sword then.

Plunging back into battle, you yielded your silver sword as Vergil readied for deflecting your attack. He tried a counterattack, but you blocked with expertise, almost too quick for a human. Indeed, the more he fought you, the more he realized you had excellent reflexes, timing and precision – if Vergil couldn’t feel you were entirely a human, he would doubt it.

But the blood that ran through your veins smelled exactly like his mother’s – vulnerable, sweet, completely human. When he was a child, Vergil quickly learned to distinguish between his mother’s and his father’s scent – and later, he learned it was all in their blood. Eva could be compared to flowers next to the scent of a demon; Sparda was like a strong bottle of whisky, a mix of smoke and burnt wood. The worse demons, though, reeked of rotting flesh and vinegar, something quite unbearable to his nose.

You, in the other hand, had no other scent aside the sweet notes of human blood. That same flowery fragrance of Eva, whether she wore perfumes or not. You didn’t need that for Vergil to know you were nearby – and for him to know there was nothing demonic or supernatural running through your veins.

Which only made him more furious inside when your silver sword managed to wound his right cheekbone.

You froze in your place as Vergil’s hand slowly raised to his face; the crimson blood staining the tips of his long fingers. You remained in silence as his head gradually turned to you, hand still raised, blood running down his hand. Vergil’s silver stare pierced yours with rage and shock – while you had a mix of fear and pride in your chest.

After all, you managed to draw his blood. Even if his eyes promised to unleash hell on you, your heart gloated with the pride of finally hurting your archenemy. He had no reason to talk you down anymore: it was more than obvious that you were on the same level as him and that made Vergil’s blood ready to explode.

“I hope you are ready to face the consequences of your actions, foolish human.”

His eyes glowed in the dark, his teeth now sharp with fangs. You knew he was a demon, but you had only seen him as a human – for the first time, he was about to show you his real form, how he looked when he was ready to kill. His nails sharpened and you tightened the grip on your sword. However he looked, however powerful he was… Now it was time to fight him in his true form.

At least, that was what both of you had expected before the floor trembled and the walls shook with a rumble that crossed the entire city. It was like you were brought back into reality – the Abyss would soon close, and you both had been so caught up in your fight, you had forgotten everything else.

Vergil’s eyes were back to silver, his nails and teeth suddenly human, as your eyes turned to the aisle that took you back to the outside. With another rumble, a shriek echoed through the city, piercing your ears.

You had never heard a sound like that before – and, as you stared back at Vergil, you saw in his eyes the same was true for him as well.

As you stepped on the old library’s roof, you and Vergil observed the city now under the bright light of the blue moonlight. You tried to find the source of such a shriek – and it didn’t take long to locate it: near the crack of the Abyss, in the distance, a ghostly figure crawled out. It resembled a woman, with black holes for eyes and a mouth glowing in red. Its legs were useless, but its body was massive, dragging itself out of the Abyss while commanding a swarm of humanoid demons – mere dolls to its own desire.

“It cannot be…” Vergil muttered under his breath, standing side by side with you for the first time. “That creature is a Hell Puppeteer…”

“They were extinct centuries ago. The Codex Daemonica says the last apparition of a Hell Puppeteer was in ancient times; that’s impossible.” And you couldn’t believe your eyes – even if the Puppeteer dragged itself right in front of you, controlling its many demons to its will, it wasn’t supposed to be there. You had only seen it in illustrations and descriptions.

Vergil slowly turned his head towards you, eyebrows furrowed. He too had only seen those kinds of demons in books, drawings of old describing how those vile and ancient creatures had been extinct even before his father decided to escape Hell for good. As you met his smart eyes, you raised one eyebrow.

“What? I’m a Devil Hunter now, I have to know the Codex by heart.” You stared back at the horror show right in front of you. “I find it baffling there’s nothing on the Abyss in the Codex, especially if its harboring that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. The entry on the Abyss is unsatisfying to say the least.” Vergil turned his attention back to the problem you had in hand. It was the first time he heard a human mention the Codex – when he was a child, Sparda made him and Dante study it thoroughly and he was proud to say he knew it by heart. Just like you, apparently. “Although, it also doesn’t have much on extinct species like the Puppeteer.”

“Well… It’s time to figure out how to kill that thing, then.” You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and reading yourself to run towards that creature in the distance. Vergil just stared back at you once more; you just sighed in response. “I don’t expect a demon like you to do the right thing, you guys have no honor. I was hired to save the people in the city and at least try to keep it in one piece and not allow it to go to hell like mine was. You can do whatever you want, I’m fighting that thing and I’m killing it. When I write it on the Codex Abyssae later, you can have a read and learn something then.”

Taking the emergency stairs, you started climbing down the building while Vergil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You had to be the most unbearable human he had ever met in his whole life.

Because the most unbearable being was his stupid little brother.

As your feet touched the streets, Vergil simply landed by your side with a swift jump from the building, ready to walk with you.

“Bold of you to assume I am going to allow someone like you to write a Codex Abyssae.” He scoffed as you started making your way towards the Puppeteer.

“Huh. I do carry something of the Abyss with me, remember?” You teased with a cocky laugh, making him stare back at you with eyes so sharp they could rival the Yamato. “Don’t go thinking you’re the only one interested in the Abyss. Whenever you think about entering it, I’ll be there to stop you and close it for good.”

“And you dare say humans have some kind of honor.” He rolled his eyes, keeping his own pace and forcing you to catch up – you seemed to be able to stand by his side without effort, though. “With such hasty judgment, I doubt your research will have a good result.”

“You assume too much too quickly. I wonder what kind of judgement you have.”

Vergil scoffed back but made no comment. You were both researching the Abyss for two opposite reasons – while he wanted to harness its power, you wanted to close it. You would only join forces for one time to defeat that Hell Puppeteer; after it was over, you would go back to being archenemies.

There was nothing that would stand between Vergil and his search for power. Not even the scent of flowers.

**

To be continued...

[rai-knightshade]

Last Line Tag Game

Alrighty! It's been a hot minute since i did one of these but luckily I've actually got a wip i can use for this! (You'd be surprised at how infrequently that's the case 😅.) Thanks for the tag, @erinsworld ! I hope you're, uh... Ready for a rarepair fic for a completely different fandom 😂

The last* Line--written for chapter 2 of "these hands had to let it go free and--(This Love came back to me)":

'This man is still all of those past versions of himself that you knew so well; but now, he's also all the past versions of himself that you never got to know. (And when he breathes your name, it sounds the same way it always did.) "Beca." "...Jesse."'

*-yeah so this is actually the last several lines cause. Well. You can see why a single word/pair of names doesn't exactly make for a compelling final line without, ya know, context. So. Context.

For a more in-depth discussion of what this fic is (vaguely) about, + some relevant art, check out this post i made announcing chapter 1! But the tl;Dr is that this is a Pitch Perfect fanfic exploring the nature of love, relationships, and what "inevitable" really means... Through the lense of a rarepair 😅. And not only that, it is to date the longest (single story) fic I've ever written (currently clocking in at 20,200 words total between both chapters--and im nowhere close to finishing chapter 2) as well as, quite possibly, the queerest fic I've written in terms of themes (the Brady verse was queer by the nature of it centering around a gay couple and their children, plus the handful of other queer relationships around them, but it's more of a family narrative than it is a truly queer one; in contrast the ideas on love explored in this fic are very queer, as are... Just about every character i mention, no matter what canon says about them). It's a doozy! I'm quite proud of it so far tho 😁.

Now, to tag... Alright, how about @impossiblepluto @zeldaelmo @demonicsoulmates @readingwriter92 @wanderingnightingale and @lizartgurl ! No pressure ofc, but I'd love to see what y'all are working on!

[cartierdreamx]

Fire and Desire (18+)

Hey loves! Hope you’re well <3 Just a little fic, I got the idea at 4am LOLLL, it’s my first time writing smut, and angst so I’m so so sorry if it’s bad 😭, but I do hope you guys enjoy, maybe I’ll write a part 2 if you guys enjoy these enough. The fic was also inspired by two songs, Fire and Desire - Drake and Wish You Were Sober - Conan Gray, two different genres of music but I love both songs soooo, which is also one of the reasons why I named the fic “Fire and Desire.” Sorry about the angst in advance hehe. 

If you would like to be apart of a taglist so you know if or when I drop PT2, comment down below too!!

Anyways sit back, relax (well maybe not after reading the angst LOL SORRY), and enjoy the fic!! <3 J 

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT (sex, fingering, eating out, dirty talk), ANGST!! 

This fic is STRICTLY 18+, as it involves adult themes, minors DNI, you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment which this fic falls under, so one last warning- this fic is 18+. Thank you!

~~ 

Her body was my altar where I laid my hands on her sacred space, my body is her holy grail where my oceans is her gift to behold.

If the stars ever aligned for anybody, they aligned for you, for you and Jenna that is. Two naïve women who sought love and lust but could never tell the difference. Jenna was your co-star in a yet to be released romance movie “The Language of Love,” and to your delight, you were each other’s love interest, beforehand, you hate to admit it, but you did have a slight crush on Jenna, I mean, who wouldn’t? You never sought after it though, it was just a silly celebrity crush. Or so you thought, Jenna took a liking to you quickly and the connection you guys developed spread like wildfire, it was like you knew her in another dimension. Of-course, you being you developed feelings, love, or lust? You could never tell the difference, but the stars were aligned for you remember? Jenna felt the same, the only thing is she felt lust, she had an intense desire for you, for your sanction, but most importantly, for your soul. And this intense desire for your soul is why you couldn’t tell if what you guys had was love or lust. Lust. It became lust quick, maybe it was wrong because you wanted more but you had to keep her, you had to have her, and she had to have you. So, you guys did, friends with benefits that is.

 ~~

“Fuck y/n… you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Jenna breathes, hot, upon your skin.

 She sat on top of your lap; you were seated on the couch, she had control, you were taller and bigger than her, but during sex she had power, a power so strong she made you feel small, she was a goddess, and you were just a worshiper.

 “Y-yes” you panted, you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed her in you. You escape the grasp of her hands that was holding your wrists down beside you and grab a hold of her cheeks pulling her into your taste, she tasted sweet with a hint of salt from the lone sweat that squeezed through gaps onto your tongue, your tongues fighting for power turned into delightful dancing, both organs swaying with each other.

 “Fuck, Jenna, I need you in me.” You pleaded.

“Not that easy, amor, be a good girl and beg, beg for me or I leave.”

 You scoff, looking her up and down, at the same time calling her bluff.

 “Well okay, if that’s what you want.” Jenna kisses your sweaty forehead and hops off your lap, as she starts to walk away you grab her wrist.

“No wait, Jen, please stay.” Staring to beg.

 She walks slowly towards you, enticing you with every step she takes closer. Knowing she wants more, you keep going.

 “Jenna Marie Ortega, I’ve never needed someone so bad, your heat is what I want upon my body, the taste of your tongue is my craving, you run through my mind like a marathon and if anyone could read my mind, they’d think I’m insane, please baby, I need you, I need you inside of me.” You begged.

You begged and she provided.

 “My good girl. Your wish is my command.”

 She sat on top of you once more and spread your legs wide, allowing yourself to welcome her in, you laid soft kisses on her neck as she traced her slender cold digits on your folds, making you whimper.

 “Patience is a virtue, baby.” She states.

 You keep placing soft baby kisses upon her skin, with tracks of your cherry flavoured ChapStick running from her collarbones to the edge of her jawline and your most favourite, her neck. And without warning, she dives in, propelling her ring and middle finger into you with exertion, making you buck your hips and

 “Fuck, Jen, you feel so good.” You praised.

 “Yeah? You like that don’t you, y/n?” She continues, using a come-hither motion, reaching your g-spot every time, with every stroke, your moans grew in decibels. Your ocean lubricates her fingers, making her ease into you even more, your insides pulsate with heat, grasping her as she continues, and for the cherry on top she placed her thumb on your throbbing clit, making you gasp.

 “Mhmh, Buena niña, that’s it, keep moaning, I know you’re close.”

She was right, you were close, your sinuses opened, your muscles tensed preparing for your orgasm.

 “Jenna, oh my God, please, I need to cum, keep going.” You begged.

“That’s my little slut.” She praised. “Say my name, y/n.”

“Jenna, please. Jenna, Fuck.”

“Nope, wrong name.”

“Mommy, fuck, please, let me cum.”

“When I get to 1, hold it in for me, baby. “

“Mommy.” You pleaded.

“5.” She quickens her pace; how could you hold it in till 1?

“4.” She slows down her thumb, making sure to get every angle of your clit, you have to hold it in, you can’t cum before 1.

“3.” She sticks her tongue down your throat, taking her soft organ in.

“2.”

This is it.

“You got this baby, nearly there, say my name, my actual one. 1.”

 Your orgasm crashes into you like a semi-truck, making your legs shake that she bounces up and down.

 “FUCKKK, Jenna, fuck.” You praised and panted at the same time.

 She giggles, and kisses your forehead, slowing down her pace, helping you ride out the high. Once your muscles relax and she hears you gasp for air, she takes her fingers out of you and runs your slick along your jaw and over your mouth, before she places it into her own, licking every bit of you off, but she missed a spot, your mouth. She giggles even more and goes in for a kiss.

 “You were so good, baby.” You praised her more.

“Always for you.”

 She sits next to you and caresses your hand, waiting for both of you to catch your breath so aftercare can take place. But you had other plans. You couldn’t let her have all the fun tonight. So, without warning, you tower over her and grab her neck, each finger found its place around her body part.

 “My turn.” You snicker, she licks her lips and bites it making a soft tut sound, knowing she’ll be in for a ride. Your tongue glides in her mouth, allowing her to take you in, that doesn’t last long as you glide your tongue down her neck, licking her every flavour, slowly making your way down to her abdomen where you spread her legs wide open so your tongue can meet with her clit. You lay your tongue flat on her tongue, making her gasp with delight.

 “Yes, y/n, you feel so good.” She praises you, making your heart beat faster.

 You flick your tongue up, making her jerk with excitement. “Fuck, yes, keep going.” She urges, now her turn to beg, allowing your hunger for her to grow stronger. You feel a warm slick coat your chin.

 “Hmph, you’re wet already? How pathetic.” You tease.

 You continue to suck on her clit, taking her in with fire and desire, with every suck, her moans deepen, her speech stutters, rendering her speechless with every move you make.

 “Shit, baby, I’m close.” She exclaims.

“Already?” You speak with pride.

“Your performance last round had me riled up, but anyways, keep going, don’t stop.”

 You leave her pulsating and wet clit, her being so wet, her juices spread to your tongue. You make your way to her entrance; she welcomes you in by pushing your head closer to her pussy entrance.

 You tease her more, “patience is a virtue.”

 “Baby, please, I’m so close.” She exclaims, while grabbing your hair, the sting hurts so good. You stick your tongue in, going in and out while devouring her juices and folds, sucking with every might you have. She likes it, loves it. Her pulling gets harder and harder, as you go down on her harder and harder.

 “Fuck, yes, right there.”

 And with one final insert, you hook your tongue up, hitting her g-spot.

 “OH MY GOD Y/N, YES, FUCK.”

 You kiss her pussy, helping her ride out the orgasm, as she did you.

 As you both sit up, both of you guys start laughing,

 “hahaha, fuck what a night.”

“I agree, I’m so glad you came over.”

“Always, for you.” You stood up throwing on your sweats, the same ones, Jenna eagerly tore off when the night started, you head towards the kitchen and grab two waters and a few snacks.

 “Here, love, drink and eat up.”

“Thank you, amor.” She reaches out for you, taking you in so your head rests upon her chest, hearing her heart beat with might.

 Your heart matches hers, well to be fair, she has yours, but did you have hers?

 “Jen?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re so beautiful, you know that.”

She smiles, “I made you cum that good? Haha, you’re beautiful too.” She says back, kissing your forehead.

 “Well, I should probably go, early day tomorrow.” She says to you, while sitting up.

“Wait Jen, why don’t you stay the night?”

“That’s nice of you, love, but you know I can’t”.

“You know,” you start, about to take a very big leap and confess your love to her. “If we were to make us official, we wouldn’t have to hide and sneak around.”

 With an apologetic gaze, she furrows her eyebrows and looks down at her feet.

 “What?” She questions.

“Us, official, no one occupies my heart but you.”

“Y/n… You’re a great friend, and I love you so so so much, but we can’t, I’m sorry.”

 She scrambles for her bag and starts heading towards the door, she turns the handle and as you hear the click, she turns back at you.

 “We’re just sex y/n.”

 ~~

It’s been a week since your unrequited love mishap and not even an ‘I’m sorry from her’, work has been awkward, you’re an actress and so is Jenna, so hiding the way you both truly feel was an ease, feeling the sorrow was another thing, the only contact you and her made was during scenes, however, it didn’t help that you’re each other’s love interests. But lucky for you, it’s Friday, meaning you could wallow in self-pity for the entire weekend, you know you should try to get over her but when the stars aligned for you, how could you get over her?

 That night, after drowning your sorrows in pistachio ice cream a bunch load of gummy candy, chips, and takeout, accompanied by a Twilight marathon. Just before you call it a night, you hear 3 loud knocks, who could be at your door at nearly 2am in the morning? With caution, because you weren’t expecting anyone, when your sight aligns with the peep hole, your heart and stomach drops. Jenna. Confusion takes over you, what was Jenna doing at your apartment at 2am? She didn’t text you either, you see a mixture of rain and sweat on her forehead with loose pieces of hair sticking to her, making you giggle. You open the door.

 “Jenna? What’re you doing here.”

 “Hi, hi.” She says shivering, her arms hugging herself, to keep herself warm, her leather jacket wasn’t doing the job.

 “Oh, yes, sorry, come in, I’ll get you a blanket.”

 She takes a step in and takes off her wet shoes and stumbles her way towards your couch. You on the other hand make your way towards the guest bedroom and grab a spare blanket from the dresser, too occupied to see her stumbling. You make your way towards her and wrap her in the blanket.

 “Jen, are you okay? What’re you doing here?”

 “Hmmm,” she smiles and leans towards your shoulder, “I miss you y/n, baby.” She slurs.

 You scrunch your eyebrows as your realisation sets in, “Jen, are you drunk?”

 “Mhmhm, what a detective you are.”

 “Love, are you okay? How’d you get here?” You raise your concern.

 “Yesssss, duhhhhhh, and UUUUUBERRRRRRR, c’mon baby. I was at the local bar, and the bartender was my therapist, and as each second lingered, the thought of-.” You see her cheeks inflate, that’s not good. You know that sign all too well.

 “Oh! Jen here, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

 “No, I’m fine.” She assures.

 “Okay, fine, but here drink some water and eat something.”

 “You’re too good to me y/n. I don’t deserve you, anyway, the thought of you grew strongerrrrrrrrr.”

 Your heart races, does she know what she’s telling me? You try to brush it off, but your heart grew stronger and the blood in your cheeks rises, making you heat up and your cheeks blush. When you thought she couldn’t make you blush even more, she grabs your face, bringing you an inch away from hers, you can feel her breath and hear her breathing.

 “Y/n, I’m sorry for what I said, I-I was just scared, I love you.”

 With those three words, you were sure your heart stopped.

 “Jen…”

 “Shh don’t speak, just kiss me.”

 “No, baby, I can’t, you’re drunk.”

 “Boooooo, I miss your lips, but like you said, my heart is yours, and yours only, the love I have only speaks your name and the stars aligned for us that day, no soul could compare to yours, the one that fulfills mine.”

 You were silent. So silent, you swear your quickening heart beat filled the room.

 “Y/n, say something, please.”

 “Jen,” you pause, “you don’t mean that, we’re just sex, remember?” You see the light in her eyes sadden, you feel sorry for reminding her, but to be fair, she broke your heart first. “Come here.” You embrace her and provide her with comfort, her scent was heaven, like a vanilla soft serve or freshly baked cookies. She kisses your neck, with her soft plump lips, that alone had you weak in the knees, that alone nearly made you fold, that alone brought your sorrows back knowing she’s drunk and doesn’t mean what she’s saying, it’s just her guilt talking. You keep repeating. You feel her head relax, which means she fell asleep, you giggle, lifting her up and you make your way towards your bedroom, placing her down gently, taking off her jacket and placing your hoodie on her, which was always too big for her. You place a water bottle on the side table and some snacks, in case she got hungry or thirsty, which is a guarantee when drunk. You take a deep breath and take her beauty in, no words could exult her beauty, as you turn away you hear her mumble,

 “Y/n, stay.”

 As much as you want to, you know you can’t, you couldn’t, she wouldn’t remember tonight and she can’t wake up confused in your bed with you right next to her, God, what would she think then?

 “Goodnight, amor, sleep tight.”

 And with that, you leave your room with a heavy heart, you take another deep breath and with that, you pass out on your couch.

 When you woke, you take a second to remember the events of last night, lucky for you, Jenna wasn’t awake yet, so you decide to make some breakfast for the two of you, preparing yourself for any awkwardness that will ensue. You whip up waffles, eggs with spinach, bacon, and some chicken tenders to go with the waffles and a cantaloupe smoothie.

 When Jenna woke, she had a raging headache, no shit, she drank so much last night it could knock a few people out but despite her small stature, she was no light weight. However, there was one feeling that ached her, that was worse than the headache, despair, regret, sorrow, every connotation, she felt it, the smell of sweet cinnamon and savoury bacon calmed her down, knowing it was in your nature to do this for her, it felt like home, maybe this is home, but she shakes the feeling away as embarrassment seeps in. Fuck. What did I do, what am I doing here.

 As you set the food out onto the table she walks out of the room and glances at you with a soft smile.

 “Morning,” she says softly.

 “Morning, Jen, uh, here have some food, and there’s Panadol in the cabinet for your headache, I know you have one.” Taking a soft hit at her.

 She couldn’t help but giggle, she knows you know her too well, and she knows you too well as well, she knows you were watching Twilight despite it not being on when she stumbled into your living room.

 “Uh, look, y/n.”

 That’s not good, last time she said that she was rejecting your love, but either way you brace yourself for what’s about to happen.

 “Thank you for all this, I really do appreciate it, but.”

 “I know.” You cut her off. By now, you don’t know what takes a hold of you, but you don’t stop speaking.

 “We’re just sex, well we were just sex, I don’t know what we are anymore Jen, you haven’t spoken to me this entire week.”

 “Only because you’ve been avoiding me y/n.” She stabs back.

 “And whose fault is that?” Instant regret sets in. You see her eyes water. Fuck.

 “I don’t even know why I came here; it was a mistake.” She exclaims in monotone voice.

 “Well,” you keep going, omg, y/n shut up, before you make this worse. “Let me remind you, you come to me, unannounced, drunk, and a mess, the first time we’ve properly talked in a week, and you pour your heart out, telling me how much you love me and how your love is only meant for me.” You try your hardest to keep the tears in, but Jenna? Tears were rolling down her face.

She sniffles, “yeah, okay, you know what? I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have said those things, I don’t even know why I did, I DIDN’T MEAN IT.” She raises her voice, making your heartstrings snap.

 “What?” You quiver.

 “Yeah, that’s right, I never meant a single thing, my love isn’t yours, I. AM. NOT. YOURS. I never loved you, I was just drunk, nothing I said was the truth, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 Silence.

 “So, now you’re quiet? Pathetic.” She spits. She grabs her jacket and starts heading towards the door, “the stars never aligned for us. It was all in your head, I never loved you, in any way. I just used you, used you for sex, mediocre sex, might I add.”

 “You don’t mean that.” The tears building up, you don’t know how long you can hold it in.

 “Yes, yes, I do. Nothing I said was real, no I love you was. Everything I said was a lie, everything I said last night was an even bigger lie, I just wanted sex and plus I was drunk, did you really think I shared the same feelings?”

 You gulp.

 “You’re pathetic and I’m just a good actress, and apparently an even better one when drunk.” And with that she slams your door shut.

 Your body is filled with so many emotions you can’t even begin to name one, anger, hatred, lust, love, sorrow, despair, regret. But there was one thought clear in your head, even when your heart is collapsing on itself.

Wish you were sober.

~~

@pimpcesskm

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[athina-blaine]

Bloodweave Fic Recs (01/05/24)

Check out my other fic recs here and here!

Congrats to Bloodweave nation for 1k fics on AO3, ya'll are truly hopped up on whatever's going on with those hungry weirdos and that's just beautiful

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When You Wish Upon a Star by Greenegem (G, 800+ w || Tooth-Rotting Fluff) Just a man in love wishing upon the brightest star of his universe.

Five Stars by Viela (T, 700+ w || Modern AU) “A more suspicious man might think you’re dating me for my Uber rating.”

cursed by aevallare (T, 1k+ w || Soulmates, Scars) When Gale Dekarios was born, there were whispers that he was cursed.

To Behold, To Be Held by illithiddies (T, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence) Astarion shuts his eyes as his vision suddenly becomes doubled by Gale’s, the image overlaid and blurred into his own until the two are almost indecipherable. But shutting his eyes only clarifies the vision he receives from Gale: Himself, shirtless and bloodied, standing before a kneeling and defeated Cazador.

Self-Preservation and Other Cheap Façades by bloodweaving (shipwreckblue) (T, 3k+ w || Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting) During a bout of illness, Gale discovers that while Astarion may not have strong caretaking instincts, he does have experience.

To Hide it All Away by Greenegem (T, 5k+ w || Pre-Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm) Gale had been a series of puzzles Astarion couldn’t seem to solve from the start and he hated him for it. The first was a blight hidden behind a mouthwatering scent. The second, a hunger that sought to rival even his own. But it was the last one that most intrigued him. The perplexing choice of ornamentation on an otherwise clean slate.

In Due Time by illithiddies (M, 7k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign Setting: Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage, Angst With a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn) Within the heart of Waterdeep, the legend of the Undermountain and its many dangers looms larger than life. Adventurers come for miles to partake in the garish ritual of lowering themselves into the dungeon below to see what riches they can find. What monsters they can best. It’s hardly an unfamiliar setting for Astarion. The overabundance of cocksure heroes makes it a prime location to find marks to lure back to Cazador. He watches the newest adventuring party disappear into the well. Out of the inn. Out of Waterdeep. A vampire spawn would hardly be missed among that crowd, no?

taste, and be consumed by TheEarlGreyAlpha (E, 2k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Somnophilia) It was true that Gale had warned him, said his blood tasted awful. But caution had no meaning to Astarion, the immortal cat killed by its own curiosity again and again and again. What was one more life, in the name of discovery?

Home for the Holidays by troutsoup (E, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Inappropriate Use of Mage Hand Spell and Hold Person Spell, Soft Dom Gale) After his first time accompanying Gale to a reunion of the enormous and overwhelming Dekarios family, Astarion is rewarded. Sort of.

Perfect Bound by positivejam (E, 4k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Frottage, Wizard Hubris But Sexy) “Trapped? Oh, but that can’t be it," Astarion says, mouth dropping open as if he’s just noticed the binds. “I seem to recall you saying you had everything quite in hand.”

divine favor by Sinister_Queer (E, 5k+ w || Vampire Ascendant Astarion, God of Ambition Gale, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships) A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Astarion as he was before. A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Gale Dekarios. (or: The Vampire Ascendant summons the God of Ambition for a favor.)

You Into Me by ZiGraves (E, 7k+ w || Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole Powers, Masturbation) Gale can shape pockets of safety amongst his spells of destruction, yes. But he needs to know where his allies are to be able to protect them, and Astarion makes it his business not to be seen. A solution must be found.

En Prise by positivejam (E, 32k+ w WIP || Blood Drinking, Oral Fixation, D/s) It’s not often Astarion sees his own hunger reflected in another’s eyes. And so yearning for a look in the mirror, he can't help but stare. With two discerning appetites, a deal to keep each other fed is the one thing that ties him to the vexing little mage. But then the proverbial collar slips all too easily around Gale's throat, the lead feels right in Astarion's unchained hands, and both men think they've bested the other in a game neither should be playing. In any case. As the greats say in lanceboard: there is no shame in losing to a stronger foe.

[vitentia]

SAY YES TO HEAVEN .lıllıl.

pairings ━━ rockstar!ellie williams x artist!girlfriend!reader (no physical descriptions used but female pronouns are used)

warnings ━━ little bit of teasing but sfw, teeth rotting fluff

synopsis ━━ you and Ellie came from entirely different worlds. she was all about the limelight, you preferred pen names, she lived for the burns and cramps on her fingers after a long show, while you preferred the satisfaction of finishing a strenuous piece of work. but when Ellie wakes up to find you taking a page from her book, everything makes sense again.

authors note ━━ i needed more fun ellie fics without the smut so I decided to write it myself in case anyone feels the same lol.

Wow.

Ellie’s friends often joke about her beings whipped but, fuck, she’d never felt it until now. Watching your eyes dart back and forth between her position and your canvas was truly a sight to behold. To be honest, she didn’t quite know what was going on when her eyes fluttered open with a blue tinted light casted over the room.

She’d assumed herself dead and was quite comfortable with the heaven she was casted upon, not that she though she’d be in heaven in the first but, hey.

At first, she took a sharp inhale and sat up abruptly, looking around like a madman before your frantic hands waved her down.

“No, no, no, no! Don’t move!” You stood up from your seat across from the couch she was napping on and pushed her on her back.

“Damn, woman! Let me wake up first.” She joked, squinting her eyes as you pushed and prodded at her face to position it just right.

Once you were happy with the pose, you skipped back over to your spot and began dipping your brush into the watercolor paint.

She smiled to herself, “Are you drawing me while I sleep, Mr. Goldberg?”

You gave her a pointed look and continued your simple strokes. “It was golden hour and you looked so calm, sue me.”

“Does this mean I can go back to sleep?”

“No.”

Ellie clicked her teeth but remained still, her eyes tracing over your…everything for the entirety of the time she was laying there. Silence remained a safety blanket over the both of you and, for once, her ears stopped ringing.

“I thought you were in a art slump, what happened?”

You sighed with a shy smile. “You happened.”

“Aww babe-“ she cooed, sitting up on her elbows until you fully moved out from behind the canvas.

“Don’t!-“

“Sorry!” Ellie apologized, immediately going back to her position. Once she was comfortable she gave you a smile. “Better?”

Giving her the “I see you” gesture, you slid back on your chair and switched brushes. “I thought about what you said.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Wh…what did I say?”

“The…the fight we had last week, it had me thinking.” Ellie sucked in a breath, ready to interrupt. “Don’t speak until I’m done, Ellie Williams.” She shut her mouth. “You’re right, I am too…obsessive with my art. Honestly, I think I was so defensive because it’s true. I don’t take risks with my art, I don’t branch out, and when I don’t feel like it’s good I just self implode and hate it and myself. But you’re…not.”

“Well-“

“You’re so confident about everything you do. When you fail or mess up you just…laugh? It blows me away every time. You blow me away, Ellie.” You sighed and put down your brush. “When I came out of the shower and saw you asleep on the couch with the light hitting your face just right, you looked so serene I decided to take a page out of your book. Hence the watercolor.”

When you didn’t speak again, Ellie assumed she could speak now. “Does that mean I can move now?”

You chuckled lightly and stood up, holding your hand out for hers. She took it happily and immediately walked over to the canvas.

“Hang on, I’m not-“ Cut off by Ellie’s gasp, you assumed the worst and cringed, fiddling with your hands.

“Is that what I look like?!” Ellie exclaimed. From her hunched over position, she looked up at you with a childlike wonder in her eyes. “Hell, no wonder your so in love with me. Look at me!”

You gave her a playful glare as she stood to her full height and put her hands on her hips, proudly looking at her work. Ellie smiled widely at you and yanked you into her arms, fully encapsulating you in her entire being as she squeezed away all doubts and fears you still held.

“God, I’m so proud of you. I know it’s not easy for you to let loose but the fact that you did this just for me is unbelievable.” You cuddled into her hug, trying hiding your embarrassment from her eyes until she abruptly pulled away and gripped your cheeks with one hand and staring deeply into your eyes. “I will marry you, you know that?”

You tried to smile but were prevented from that when she pulled you into a kiss, and then another one, and another one, and another one, and-

“Okay, okay, okay! I get it.” You laughed, pulling away from a breath.

Still holding your cheeks, Ellie pulled away with a geeky smile. “We should have kids.”

You gave her a confused look.

“Forget the logistics of it. I just want another you. Forever and ever.” She waved away your confused and turned into laughter, pulling you into another hug.

“Now who’s obsessed, Mrs. Goldberg?”

[newtabfics]

To Tame A King. Rauru x Fem!Reader NSFT Fic

Summary: In which Y/N, queen of Hyrule, goes to retrieve her beloved king from his hunt in The Grove of Spirits as a storm looms over the plateau. Here guards have reported strange noises during the king's private hunts. What really happens when the queen goes in?

Triggers: It's snoo-snoo. Snoo-snoo happens when she goes in, guys. Badoinking. the horizontal tango. The frick-frack. Taking a trip to pound town. Fucking a baby into her--Okay I'm done😂

Word count: <1500

Thank you to every one of you that has joined me on this little journey. It really has kept me going and to know that people actually like my writing is bonkers to me. So, thank you, for everything.

Enjoy, you filthy animals <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Her eyes glanced to the outside world, catching the oncoming storm. With a sigh, she stood and began to make her way through the palace. She didn't bother to check the throne room for him, only peeking her head in the study to see little Zelda and Mineru.

"There's a storm coming in. I'm going to go get him," She said simply, making Mineru frown as the young Hylian blinked. "Please make sure she stays safe?"

"I will. Are you sure though?" Mineru asked worriedly.

"I'm sure. Oh, don't worry, Zelda. Rauru…well…" She looked to Mineru. "How would you put it?"

Mineru smiled, looking at Zelda. "He's much more Zonai than I am. As a result, he does have more animal instincts than I do. He needs to go out and let them wild for a while so he can recenter his mind. The Grove of Spirits is perfect for that. Most people won't think to be near it, especially with how intense the storms can get out there."

"Fascinating. Could I–"

"No," Mineru said as Y/N said, "Absolutely not."

Y/N smiled sweetly. "It's not that he would harm you on purpose, but it's risky if he's too deep in his state."

"Which is why it's best for Y/N to go. She's skilled in managing it, but also, their bond allows for him to find her scent and follow it back to sanity," Mineru clarified.

"I see. In that case, please be careful. The storms are still rather intense, even in my era."

She smiled at that. "I will be. You know I've got the power," she joked before nodding. "I'll be back by morning."

No one ever knew how the Queen of Hyrule did it. How she managed to tame such a wild king. It was luck, she said. He would say it was fate.

She made her way to the grove, nodding to the guards and constructs along the way. The guards at the gateway straightened upon seeing her. "Your Highness," They greeted.

"At ease. Has he been in here then?" she asked, staring into the trees.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the one on her left said. "We've been hearing strange howls from within. Should we–"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, it's alright. It's all part of the process," she assured them. Hylians barely understood the Zonai people, regarding them all as gods. She was once among them, she admitted to herself. Though she had learned they were beasts in mortal form quickly.

"The storm is coming in soon. You two should go ahead and take shelter in the guardhouse."

"Your Highness?" the one on her right asked, earning a sweet smile from the queen before she went into the woods. "Should we really leave her alone?" He asked his comrade worriedly.

"Have faith in our queen," He chuckled, leading him to the guard house. "She wouldn't have said it if she didn't have full confidence in her own safety."

Y/N smiled at their fading voices as she made her way into the woods. Once she was deep enough, she sat on a fallen tree and simply waited. She let the breeze of the humid air grace over her as she breathed in deeply the trees and rain that began to pitter down.

She was a sight to behold, as Rauru often told her. Queen Y/N looked at ease among the trees, finding herself breathing in the cooling air and letting the breeze brush aside her hair as the rain dampened her white dress.

Once, Y/N had joked to him that she looked like a virgin sacrifice sent to appease the gods. Rauru had looked to her that time with a feral grin and said, "You certainly weren't by the time I was done with you."

She scolded him for the crude jokes, but it felt correct all the same.

Here she was like a maiden being sent to the beast. Only she was always a willing sacrifice to tame him.

"I know you're there," she sang almost tauntingly into the trees.

She could sense the eyes on her. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze as he watched from the trees, taking in her scent behind her. She knew she was downwind.

"You know, I am nearing my own cycle. It'd be a shame if someone were to plunge his heir into my womb." This earned a snarling growl as she stood, adjusting her dress. "Though, only those worthy enough could do that."

With that taunt, she bolted through the trees. Her heart hammered excitedly as she heard him moving quickly behind her, catching up fast. She knew escape was never an option, especially when he was like this.

It was why she giggled when he suddenly pinned her to the ground. She didn't mind the dirt scratching against the side of her face as her husband rutted against her rear before shoving up her dress. He kept her in place, holding her down with his foot as he readjusted his face behind her.

A long lick up her folds made her moan lowly, biting her lip as the tongue worked her up even more than she already was. The rain began to come down hard as if attempting to cool their heated skin as he began to eat her out.

Y/N let out soft moans and mewls, only adjusting so her chest wasn't uncomfortably twisted under him as he kept her in place. A snarl ripped from him upon her movement but she paid it no mind. He could snarl threats all he wanted, she was his and she was uncomfortable.

She almost taunted him for his snarl when he moved away from her, making her whine before she felt the tip slide against her. There was only a brief pause before it slammed into her desperately.

"Yes!" She moaned loudly, arching up as he adjusted, his hands on her hips as he began to thrust rapidly.

Y/N couldn't help the yelp of a moan when he pumped into her. She adjusted her legs, spreading herself over his thighs and biting her lip as his cock buried into her. His knot was so swollen from his neediness as it pressed against her puffy lips.

She moved so her back was against his chest, looking down to watch his balls stretch up to slap her clit as the Zonai continued to pump into her. Her hand reached back and tangled into his hair and she tugged as she moaned her pleasure, letting him ravish her body as he quickly yanked down the front of her dress.

The whole thing was bunched around her waistline as he cupped her breasts now, gripping and tugging at them like an animal trying to pluck fruit from a tree. She remarked once on how aggressive he was with them, to which he promised to massage them to make her milk pour out for him to taste.

She remembered how he latched on when their child wasn't already attached to her breast. How he drank deeply and made her moan loudly, as though she were feeding him instead! Though it didn't change how good his mouth made her feel.

"Rauru," She moaned, letting her head fall against his shoulder. She whimpered and reached down with her freehand, rubbing at her clit as the dirt beneath her knees soaked with both rain and her juices as he pumped rapidly into her.

It was as she clenched down on him, teetering near the edge, that Rauru's head began to clear. He smirked and reached up, gripping her throat now as he kissed at the shell of her ear. "My queen," He moaned before slamming hard into her.

Y/N let out a cry of pleasure as he pushed her over the edge, her juices slicking him almost entirely as he gripped her shoulder and shoved her down.

With a snarl, Rauru began to rut into her, looking down to watch her soaking his cock still and taking almost every inch.

Finally, he slammed into her, shoving his swollen knot in. He moaned as she took him easily, rolling his hips as his seed began to spill into her.

Y/N whined and moaned lewdly before she rocked back, impaling herself against him and milking him for every drop. A smile graced her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him.

"C'mon, my king. I know you can do more than just that."

Rauru grunted and hummed before gripping at her hair, tugging it roughly. "You sure you want that? Might have to make a second child in you then."

"You might," She hummed happily, rocking her hips before jolting when a rather loud crack of thunder echoed around them. "We should dip into that nearby cave once your knot reduces."

[rosefinch07]

Humbly asking if you have any Jason/Jaime hcs because they've been rotting my brain semi-frequently and I'd love to hear them 🙏

YES I HAVE BEEN HOLDING ONTO THEM EVER SINCE I STARTED MY JASON/JAIME FIC THIS'LL BE LONG SO ITS UNDER THE CUT

-they cook together, mostly dinner and breakfast and they are so used to it that they anticipate what the other needs and just hands it over, and of course they can never go wrong with some domestic dancing in the kitchen

- jason and Jaime read together sometimes, and trade books

- they DEFINITELY are little shits to eachother and give eachother heart attacks

- jaime is a light sleeper by nature and jason is a deep sleeper by nature (light sleeper by bat training)

- jaime runs cold and jason runs hot so cuddling thermal equilibrium my beloved

Since i am in the pre blue beetle college au kick

- jaime as a civilian and adjusting into a civilian gothamite is more terrifying than blue beetle since he takes after his nana during college

- jaime makes jason feel normal, or as normal as a gothamite can be

- they study together and when Jaime or Jason are too mentally tired to continue they cuddle to recharge

- i have a height chart ive been using so behold my height headcanons

Jaime is very chin restable and jay is a tank in comparison

- i very much focus on martha wayne's pearl collection when it comes to batkids bc i am THAT martha guy so i feel like jason would try to give jaime a peice from her collection like a small bracelet or earrings and jaime would go "do not put me in HEIRLOOMS" and then another bat upon accepting jaime would do it and jaime just sags bc oh okay this is a wayne thing to induct people into the family alr

- they're both such romantics and it drives everyone else up the wall bc they've been like this since before they were dating bc they're both pro kissing the homies goodnight and it's NORMAL to them so them dating kinda clicks into place with not a whole lot of fanfare

- before jaime finds out abt jason being red hood jaime just thinks that it must be a coincedence that whenever he texts jason an update abt him being caught up in a rogue scheme or a hostage situation red hood always arrives to the scene first and it is hilarious

Honestly i could go on and on but then we would be here for decades!

Thank you for your ask!!

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Built For You

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: Explicit Word Count: 829 Tags: Anal Fingering, Prostate Massage, Pillow Princess Dream, Hob likes to tease, but also Service Top Hob Gadling Notes: Thank you @pintobordeaux for the title! Written for the Smurch day 4 prompt 'fingers'. Wrote it in a day, but I wanted to polish it up a bit before throwing it out to the world.

Summary: Hob questions Dream on some particulars of his waking world anatomy

On AO3

~~~***~~~

"Been wondering," Hob said, as he found what he was seeking. "Why is it you've got this?"

He crooked his fingers in demonstration on the word, and Dream arched against the bed, gasping.

"Why—what—?" He was charmingly breathless, confounded by the question, splayed bare against the sheets with his knees up and open wide, and Hob smiled coyly down at him from between his legs.

"This," he repeated, stroking against that spot inside of Dream again, two slick fingers rubbing deep in slow little circles; Dream keened, body tensing up deliciously. Never let it be said Hob's centuries of experience hadn't made him quite adept at this particular art. "You create this form for the waking world, right? Why give yourself a prostate?"

"Is it not—aah—obvious?" Dream gasped, squirming into Hob's practiced touch, clenching around him.

"Mmm, maybe. Best tell me yourself, though, just to be sure." Hob shifted his fingers, made beckoning motions with each, one after the other in an alternating rhythm, bracing his thumb firmly against Dream's perineum.

Dream threw his head back against the pillows, panting, nails digging into the bedclothes beneath him, toes flexing and curling against Hob's hip. "I cannot—ah—you—expect—Hob!" It was practically a wail; Dream's petal-pink cock was stiff and leaking, pearly little drops stringing down to his abdomen, as pretty as the rest of him.

"Sorry, sorry; should've realized. Hard to talk with my fingers in your arse, yes?" Hob grinned, ducked down to plant a kiss to the inside of Dream's knee, wet and open-mouthed, hand working tirelessly.

"Yes," Dream moaned, glassy-eyed, hips flexing in counterpoint to Hob's strokes, and Hob let him have a long moment more before he stilled his fingers, withdrew them just the slightest bit.

"Sorry," he repeated, over Dream's whine of protest. "Rude of me not to let you answer. Go ahead; I'm listening."

Dream's chest was heaving, yet another very human trait he displayed in these moments, and his eyes were wholly black, stars winking in their depths. "Because," he managed at last, a venomous edge in his voice, but his body was still grasping at Hob's unmoving fingers, greedy for more. "It pleases me, to craft this form so. You bestow the most exquisite pleasure upon me, with it. What purpose would it serve, to deny myself such indulgence?"

"None at all," Hob agreed, stretching his fingers just a little; Dream twitched, let go of the bedclothes and reached up instead for Hob's shoulder, gripping tightly, anchoring himself.

"But it is not for my pleasure, alone," he said, eyelashes fluttering as Hob twisted slowly inside him. "The delight that you take in—nnnh—in having me thus. Is a joy to behold. And I would have you. Continue."

"'Course—sorry to keep you waiting, dove." Hob shifted closer, quite suddenly uninterested in further teasing; Dream talked of receiving pleasure, and Hob wanted to see it. He slid back in deep, caressing in the exact right spot, biting his lip at the way Dream's whole body tensed again, straining for his touch. "You're a vision like this, you know that?" he murmured, and it was nothing but the truth.

Dream made an incoherently-pleased noise and Hob kept working him, rubbing tight little circles with expert precision until Dream was trembling, desperate, keyed up and whimpering Hob's name over and over, leaking steadily onto his own belly. Hob himself was plenty hard, plenty ready, but he wasn't quite finished with his fingers just yet. He stilled, pulled out, relishing the way Dream shuddered and whined. "Gimme a sec," he apologized, shifting position, shaking out the cramping in his hand. He loomed up over Dream, bracing one hand beside his torso, the other ghosting over Dream's drooling prick on the way back down.

Dream gasped at the fleeting touch, squirming, needy. "Hob—" His voice cracked over the final consonant, broken with want.

"Hang on," Hob murmured, tracing tenderly over his open hole. "Gonna make you come on my fingers, then I'm going to fuck you. Alright?"

"Yes," Dream sobbed, and Hob wasn't about to keep him waiting. He pushed three fingers inside, careful but inexorable until the tip of his middle finger brushed Dream's prostate again. After all, if Dream crafted it specifically for the sake of receiving pleasure, from Hob, the least he could do was oblige. He caressed firmly, earning a shuddering moan, then set to stroking rapidly back and forth across it as fast as he could.

Dream's head lashed back and he cried out, body gone rigid, his grip spasming on Hob's bicep. Hob's strokes got broader and broader, thrusting properly now, curved for maximum contact and Dream was completely gone on it. He made a magnificent sight, arched throat spilling beautiful sounds, pale skin gleaming in the lamplight, thighs quaking with the rising tide of orgasm.

Hob drank him in, the singular beauty of the Dreamlord in the throes of pleasure, and gave him absolutely no quarter.

==== Drafted: 3/4/23 Posted: 4/5/23

[author-morgan]

i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)

Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again) Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.

“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.

“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.

His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.

THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.

He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.

“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.

“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother��that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.

“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.

TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.

You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”

Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.

One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”

RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.

But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.

You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.

Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.

Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.

He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”

To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.

“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.

You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.

HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.

The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.

But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.

You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.

Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.

It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”

You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.

“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?” 

He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.  

Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.

[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!

[self-indulgentwriter]

“What is going on, Crowley?” “What’s going on?” The excitement simply never ended. He grabbed him by the shoulders, a grin shining like a diamond on his face. “What’s not going on? Look at it! The vastness of the ocean! The deep secrets! The smell of life coursing through it! Angel, this is why we’re here! This planet, it’s-” Crowley’s attention was stolen by something in the background- something that was moving. Quicker than he had grabbed him, he let go and ran to the other side, clutched the railing and squealed. “Whales! We have whales!” Plenty of passengers heard him and ran towards the railing to admire them as well, calling upon the others to join them. Many young, excited, screams followed them. Aziraphale calmly followed the mass of people and stopped, his mouth opening in awe. The bank of behemoths was moving in unison, like a living wave made of dark froth, expelling strong geysers of water at regular intervals. The attention from the humans made the beasts curious, and they approached and circled the boat, almost like predators. “What beauties you are,” he heard the demon say when he came back to his side, entirely subjugated and following their movements. “No wonder She praises you as Her pride and joy.” Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, they truly are a sight to behold, are they not?” The water coming out of the closest whale sprayed all over the deck like a mist, provoking gleeful squeals from the children, laughter from the adults and a bright grin from Crowley.

Read the whole fic Jane Doe

by Kotias

@go-minisode-minibang

[thesparklingwriter]

rocks from the heavens

“You have a strange sense of humour.”

tags: pet names, Zhongli is very pure, soft Zhongli, fem!reader, Zhongli and reader are in a relationship, Zhongli hits people who upset yn with rocks

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

please do not repost or edit my work without credit. reblogs are greatly appreciated!

@meitham here's the explanation cause i'm super unmotivated and running out of ideas for the fic, i wrote this in 10 minutes so it's either ass or amazing

You’re cursed. You just know it.

Every time you leave the house, someone gets hit in the face with a rock. Every time. And yes, it’s funny, but you’d like to know who’s terrorising everyone you meet.

It’s useful in battle—when you get even slightly frustrated with an enemy, lo and behold. A rock, falling from the heavens like a gift from the archons—and after a while, you developed suspicions that a real archon was behind this.

It’s the most amusing when there’s someone trying to hit on you. The slightest flash of irritation, and boom. A rock. Once, it was a geode, and upon hitting your enemy's head, it split into two. You’d laughed at that—wholeheartedly, but the menace pursuing you hadn’t found it very funny at all.

“You have a strange sense of humour,” You marvel to Zhongli one day, as you walk through Liyue purposelessly.  Since being married, the rocks had calmed down a little, but every now and then—even if you weren’t inherently being bothered by someone, they’d get hit.

“How so?” Zhongli asks, taking your hand in his with that unbothered smile.

“You keep hitting people with rocks when they irritate me,” you chuckle. “And then you watch the chaos unfold with a smug grin.”

Zhongli’s laugh is hearty, so much so that you almost stop in your tracks. Laughs like this are rare. “It is amusing, I must say. But I’m only responsible for the ones that happen when I’m around you.” 

“You’re admitting to hitting people with rocks on my behalf?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It makes you laugh, and it makes them leave you alone. They don’t get seriously injured.  It’s the most satisfactory outcome.” He glances at you. “But if it offends you, I’ll stop.”

“No, it’s funny. Don't stop.” You smile, resting your head on his shoulder for a second. “But… If you only do it when I’m around, who’s doing it when I’m on my own?”

“I couldn’t tell you for certain, but it’s likely my subconscious. It seems the only way to remedy this problem is to stay by your side as much as possible.”

[cherrypikkins]

I love all of the short character interactions you've been writing for Kitt and the rest of the FE3H cast! I'd particularly love to see a continuation of Felix's encounter and how it affects his view of Kitt. Like if Felix started calling Dimitri "boar" after seeing how violent he was during the Western Rebellion, what does Felix start calling Kitt after they transformed into a Demonic Beast and attacked him? "Beast"? "Monster"? " Does he start treating them differently?

FE3H OC Short Fics - Kitt Burgess (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

glad you're enjoying the short fics! hope this newest bit is to your liking! :3

(cw: blood, injury, mentions of death and body horror)

Felix (Part II)

Felix lowered his sword as the monstrous carapace crumbled to ash. The moment Kitt was human again, he seized them by the collar. They were weak on their feet, and in no state to resist.

Kitt had yet to stop laughing, even as blood ran from their lip.

"I'm not here for your entertainment, you maniacal Beast," Felix snarled. "Stop laughing."

His blood flared with residual adrenaline, as did his temper.

Kitt's laugh waned to a smirk. "Swordsman."

"Don't call me that!"

"Yes, I suppose would be childish to continue with the name-calling," Kitt shrugged, wearing a lop-sided grin. "Either way, I hope you now understand why I hate going all-out during training. My strength isn't meant for the faint of heart."

They daintily pried away Felix's grip, causing him to bristle.

"As if a freak like you has any business mingling with the rest of us," Felix retorted, fingers tense upon his blade. "You're a danger to everyone here, myself included. Although…" He paused, relenting ever so slightly. "…I suppose you must realize that already."

He squeezed a palm against the back of his neck, wearing an uneasy frown. "…So what made you decide to show me your true colors, after hiding it for so long?"

"Easy. Your strength, and your skill," Kitt stated. "Others might find me overwhelming. But I had a feeling that you of all people could handle it."

He let out a scoff. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm," they trilled with approval. "You surpassed every single one of my expectations! And I have to say, you were truly a sight to behold in battle."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" snapped Felix. His lip formed the faintest of sneers. "How absurd. You sound as if you're actually grateful to be defeated by me."

Kitt mused quietly. "I guess I am. Because now I know I can rely on you to stop me if things get out of hand."

He scowled, irritated yet strangely concerned. "Is that so? Then I trust you won't complain if I strike you down without mercy, the moment your transformation puts others at risk."

"I won't. Because that's exactly what I expect you to do, Felix," Kitt said frankly, amber eyes intense. "I'd rather be cut down than hurt a friend by accident, you included. I just can't do it myself. …You understand, don't you?"

Felix knew exactly what Kitt was asking of him, and their request left him unnerved. He suddenly felt an alien weight on his sword arm that wasn't there before, as though he might actually falter should that day ever come.

[isimpfortoomanypeople]

The photo of you- Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Eddie loves you more than anything in the world, he keeps a photo of you in his wallet everywhere he goes. It’s because of his love for you he decided to keep your relationship a secret, sharing small glances across the halls and date nights at one of your houses, whatever he can to stop the torment he was receiving to be thrown upon you. Till one day he photo gets discovered and Jason decides to humiliate Eddie for it.

Warnings: just Jason being an asshole and that’s about it

A/N: I’ve written an angsty Eddie fic so I decided to be nice to everyone and release the happier fic first. I haven’t abandoned my other works in progress it’s just that stranger things oneshots have been flooding my brain. I may have portrayed D&D wrong but I just joined last term (semester) at my uni (college) so I’m still a newbie so sorry if I get somethings wrong. Im Also from the U.K. sorry if it sounds overly British in some parts. Apologies for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy

Eddie sighed massaging the stress out of his temples. Tonight was and dare he say it, the worst campaign of hellfire he has ever had the displeasure to DM!

He had to call the campaign off half and hour into the game. Sinclair had a stupid balls and laundry basket game, Erica was sick so she couldn’t be his sub, Mike was spending time with El as he was visiting her for the week. The campaign crumbled the second it started especially without some of its most promising players, so he had to call it quits. Which of course was met by complaints and grumbles from the remaining players as they got out of their seats to leave. Honestly some people think that dungeon master is easily the most laid back role in the campaign but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You have to spend hours perfecting the next instalment so it continues on from where the game ended last time, making character sheets, remembering what has happened to each character and so on and so forth.

Being an dungeon master was no easy feat but Eddie does love it, he loves seeing the engrossed faces of all the players as they’re lead into battle to defeat orcs or dragons, he loves how electric the atmosphere gets when someone has to roll to get a critical hit it’s as if all time stops together and you’re truly there, it blurs the lines between reality and fiction for 2 hours, it’s truly a sight to behold. But most importantly Eddie for 2 hours is able to not be Eddie the freak Munson but rather someone who people regard with respect and admiration, yes he has learnt to grow thick skin just to survive day to day and has learnt to let all the insults and sneers not to get to him. But even the most toughest people deserve that small window of respite.

“Jesus H Christ!” He jumped as he felt a pair of arms circle around his waist pressing their body into his.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his messy curls. You felt him melt into your touch, rubbing small circles into your forearms letting out that sigh he’s been holding in all night.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned not use to seeing him so stressed out especially after hellfire, resting your chin on his shoulder. Inhaling his signature sent of cigarettes which you’ve grown to find comforting, it was the smell of him, it was the smell of home.

“2 members dropped out of tonights campaign, and one of their subs was sick. So I had to deal with the shit of having to cut the campaign short which made the others pissed off at me, if they think that being a DM is easy they’re more than welcome to take over hellfire” he spat out with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

You both knew he didn’t mean that, he adored hellfire and all of the members. You sometimes joked to Eddie that he loved Hellfire more than you, which always ended up with you squealing as he peppered your face in kisses till you couldn’t breathe, him proclaiming how much he loved you more than anything in the world.

But you knew he was stressed, you could feel the knots in his shoulders turning to steel as frustration took a hold of every nerve in his body. So you didn’t try to crack your usual jokes as his mind was already burning in a fiery rage.

You placed another kiss to his temple

“How about you come to mine later? My parents are out of town for the week, I can get a six pack and we can watch that film I rented from family video?” You suggested, laughing as you heard his breath hitch in excitement

“You mean nightmare on elm street?” you mumbled in agreement, he sounded like Christmas has came early to him.

“What did i ever do to deserve a girl like you sweetheart” he smiled, turning you to face him, placing a tender kiss on your lips.

It felt good to give him that distraction that he needed, that his sour mood sweeten in a matter of moments. But that’s Eddie for you, he’s like a puppy, he gets excited and distracted by the smallest of things. It makes your heart swell seeing his big toothy grin emerge from the deep frown his face held just moments prior.

“Let’s go Eds” you smiled lacing your fingers through his

——————————————————————————

Yours and Eddie’s relationship was kept a secret, only reserved to giving small waves across the room to each other, when you were both certain no one else was looking. You would kill to be able to kiss your boyfriend like every couple in Hawkins, though kiss wasn’t the right word, sometimes it felt like they were trying to swallow each other’s faces. To be able to go on a date that wasn’t reserved to the four walls of each other’s rooms. You loved Eddie with all your heart, that you make yourself sick with the fluffy nauseating way he never exits your mind, you feel like you’re a freshman all over again .

It was rather Eddie’s idea to keep your relationship a secret, not that he doesn’t love you. He loves you to the point of insanity, that his band has questioned why they’ve recently started to learn ‘I was made for loving you’ by kiss to add to their hideout set list. Eddie couldn’t love anyone other than you, the boy has favoured you over his guitar, if that isn’t the biggest declaration of love from Eddie he doesn’t know what is. He did this all to protect you.

Eddie can handle the insults that is hurled at him without any regards to how vulgar they are, he can handle the way the jocks try their hardest everyday to make his life a living hell.

But something Eddie couldn’t handle was if the insults and occasional punches was targeted towards you. It would crush Eddie in all the ways those insults were supposed to crush him, he wouldn’t allow that to happen to the girl he loved. Even if you were limited to small glances across the cafeteria so be it as long as you were safe.

——————————————————————————

You sat next to Nancy and the rest of the people who formed the school newspaper. Nancy and you became inseparable since you joined the newspaper, she admired your hardworking attitude and that you stuck up for her when no one else supported her idea to write an article on the fires of starcourt mall. The others believed the idea too dreary and bleak especially as Hawkins has a habit to move on as if it didn’t happen last month, you argued that we needed to remember those who we lost so their names will never be forgotten. And ever since then you became close friends.

Nancy was one of the reasons you and Eddie started dating, unbeknownst to her but if she did know she wouldn’t let you forget that it was because of her, so maybe it was best that you Eddie kept it a secret?

She gave you the task to make a small article on hellfire for the schools newspaper, ‘don’t worry about it, it’s going to be a small article as I doubt many people will be too interested in the club’, it did very little to calm your nerves but you were thankful that she gave you a report despite only joining two weeks prior.

For your report all you needed to do was note down about the club and what they did, it sounds simple enough? It would of been an easy write up but you got so distracted by the campaign that it completely erased the reason why you were sitting in the hellfire room in the first place.

Your nerves took hold of you making your stomach contort into knots. Fuck! Your first report and you didn’t write a single thing down! Yep you’re definitely getting kicked out of the newspaper!

“Are you okay?”

You looked up from your notepad, your eyes met by a pair of chocolate brown ones slightly closed in confusion.

“I’m fine, why?” you squeaked your voice failing to hide the rising anxiety that coursed through your body, as your words came out so fast making the pitch become higher with each syllable.

You cringed after realising how your own throat cracked your facade, you darted your eyes towards the floor already feeling the shameful crimson blush creeping it’s way across your cheeks.

“It’s just that everyone else left 10 minutes ago and you’ve been staring into a blank notepad that you’ve been shaking frantically” the brunette stated, his voice heavy in confusion as he packed away the remaining figurines of tonight’s campaign.

“Oh” was all you could muster to say, the temperature of the room increased rapidly, your tongue felt like it doubled in size making your speech incredibly difficult to understand

“You didn’t write any of it down did you?”

You swallowed thickly, weakly shaking your head. Praying to whatever was above to allow the earth to swallow you whole.

Great now he thinks that you’re unfit to be a reporter because aren’t reporters supposed to be good at their job?!

You couldn’t stop your mind from racing, the contents of your stomach slowly rising, you felt like you were on a hellish carousel with no sign of the ride stopping anytime soon.

“It’s only because I was too engrossed in the game, i forgot that I was supposed to write about it”

The room went silent after a few seconds went by, Eddie finally processed what you just said in your anxiety fuelled outburst. The deafening silence was met by a loud thud of Eddie’s book dropping upon the floor.

Did he just hear you right? Y/N Y/L/N seriously just told him that she thought hellfire was entertaining? No surely that can’t be true? Right?

Eddie was so dumbfounded about what has just exited your mouth. All sentences he tried to form broke upon exit, leaving his mouth agape and his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, you found hellfire entertaining?”

You nodded, still trying to find the words to speak. You’ve never really observed Eddie till this moment in time, how his eyes were rich in its chocolate tone, that his sharp jaw captured his face beautifully or how his hair look soft and luscious-

No no no! You weren’t supposed to find the “freak of Hawkins” attractive, this was far from the plan. Why did you agree to do this article?

“I didn’t write anything down, I wanted to ask some questions and hopefully I can actually write this article” you suggested to Eddie, the subtext of your suggestion was heavily applying that he suggested you should meet up again and hopefully one on one.

Eddie picked up the book from the floor and looked you in the eyes to see if he hasn’t read the situation wrong. But the way you blushed when he looked at you made him realise that the impossible was true, someone in this wretched town actually liked him.

“Well sweetheart how about you ask me these questions next Thursday, say 6?” He bit his lips and looked at you, his confidence fuelling him to make the first move, as the girl he secretly admired from a distance may finally want him back

Eddie carries your photo in his wallet, it’s his most prized possession. He carries it on him at all times not daring to part with it. He took it the night he finally had the guts to ask you to be his, still not believing his luck that the hottest girl in Hawkins is now officially his girlfriend.

It captured you wearing his famous hellfire shirt that he allowed you to sleep in, you were holding a big smile on your face, your hair messily tied up, with one of his rings looped through a necklace around your neck.

While you couldn’t bare to part from the silver around your neck, it feels like he’s always close to you in moments when you can’t be. It’s a way of you saying that your his and you always will be. You have the chain tucked underneath your shirt allowing the cold metal to rest upon your heart.

Eddie was sat at hellfire’s usual table, shovelling pretzels into his mouth rolling his eyes at the sickening posters that decorated the cafeteria, each one advertised the upcoming prom night. All these brightly coloured posters covered the walls, it infuriated him. How dare these couples be allowed to show their love freely while he can’t hold his girl’s hand in fear of her being hurt.

“So are you going to ask Y/N to prom?”

Eddie choked on the pretzels he was just about to swallow. He looked at Dustin wide eyed as if the 15 year old has just lost his mind

“Dude! We’re on about Y/N here, there’s no way” Gareth laughed, dismissing all possibilities that Eddie could get someone so well respected with in the school to go out with him.

“Yeah, she’s friends with Nancy and not once has she mentioned him” Mike added further proving how ridiculous Dustin sounded

“Why would you even think that?” Eddie nervously laughed filling his face with more food, hopefully if his mouth is full he won’t be able to answer Dustin’s pestering and would be able to keep the relationship a secret

“Because when you was stressed the fuck out during the last campaign, you dropped your wallet packing up and I saw her photo inside and she was wearing his hellfire shirt”

If Eddie could strangle Dustin he would, he buried his hands into his face covering up his embarrassment

The table echoing in a series of “whats!” By all the members, all in a serious state of shock that Eddie has been secretly dating you out of all people

“Yes, I’m dating her. But it’s a secret so I swear to god if any of you say anything I’m kicking your asses out of hellfire without mercy”

“Why don’t you ask her to prom?” Dustin question still not letting this go

“The freak is asking who to prom?”

Great! Eddie thought just what he fucking needs right now is Jason to over hear this conversation

“Non of your business Carver” Eddie said his voice laced with sarcasm rolling his eyes at the jock

“Who is this unlucky girl” he smirked, leaning into Eddie in hopes to intimidate him.

Jason cupped his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice, to broadcast what he had to say to the whole room

“Hey everyone, the freak wants to invite a special girl to prom, so go on Eddie ask her?” He mocked as the whole cafeteria erupted in laughter towards Eddie’s humiliation. All eyes glued upon him, willing him to ask this girl out for their sick twisted amusement

Fuck it! Standing from your seat you started to walk towards Eddie’s direction

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Nancy hissed trying to get you to sit back down and avoid the same humiliation Eddie is facing. Yes she can’t stand Jason and his shitty attitude but she understands he’s Hawkins royalty and someone not to be messed with. She didn’t want you to be on the receiving end of Jason’s sick and twisted entertainment

Ignoring your best friend’s cries you still continued your walk towards the hellfire table. You felt nearly everyone eyes upon you, but let them stare. You are done, done with watching your boyfriend being treated like the jocks punching bag, how Hawkins treats him like a laughing stock with no regards to the person that he actually is.

“Aww cat got your tongue? Well that’s okay you don’t need to ask her as any self respecting girl in Hawkins would laugh in your face” he sneered, grabbing Eddie by his collar to face him “you’re nothing but a-“

“Hey asshole” you called towards the blonde who dropped Eddie the moment he heard your voice. This can’t be? Right? No way would Y/N call him an asshole and try to defend the freak?

“The answer from the mystery girl is yes, yes she will go to the prom with him” you snarled giving the jock the worst death stare you could muster

The whole room went silent, no one knows what was more shocking you standing up to Jason? or you saying yes to Eddie to prom?

Jason looked at you in utter shock, his jaw nearly on the floor. You swear that you could see the cogs turning in his brain trying to conjure up a response to what you just said

“Sweetheart what are you doing?” Eddie whispered at you, his voice slightly cracking in fear for what is to happen to you. Could you lie and say this is some form of prank just to save your reputation?

You placed your lips upon his, kissing him with so much force hoping that you could make him believe that this is how much you love him. Sure receiving insults and jokes made at your expense maybe hard to deal with but not being able to be close to the person that you loved was worse, it was worth the sacrifice

“Just so everyone is clear, me and Eddie are dating and I love him so if anyone has anything to say about it well I simply don’t care, so try your worst ” you announced sitting next to Eddie.

The whole room looked at you with wide eyes, still in shock trying to process what they’ve just witnessed

Placing another kiss to Eddie’s lips to help to close his gaping mouth . He blinked back in disbelief

“Did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you?”

“All the time Eds”

“I love you sweetheart”

“I love you too eddie”

A/N: I hope this was good, I’m super self critical lol

[littleladymab]

Fic Authors Self-Rec!

Ahhhh thank you @fourteenfifteen for the tag! (You can find Hen's post over here!)

Rules: When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love

Also I'm totally going to CHEAT, because I absolutely LOVE my two big series that are NOT popular at all LMAO

the scars that we're made of series! This is my "Star Wars Rebels S5" fic. This is my "did you hate the ahsoka show for yes girl giving us nothing??" this is my "do you also want to know what happens after rebels but don't want it to be EXCLUSIVELY thranto?" THIS IS MY FAVORITE SERIES I'VE WRITTEN like the whole thing top to bottom bangers imo It's not yet finished, I still have to write my Eli prequel but honestly, if you love Rebels, read this! Here's the tumblr post for main fic, far from the world that i made.

inside every open eye series! This is a fantasy Magnus Archives fic, in which Sasha steps in to take over the role of the Archivist after Jon goes missing during a ritual for the Beholding. I love a lot of the visuals from this, and I loved writing for Sasha -- plus there's a lot of fun side-stories. This one is complete! Here's tumblr post for the main fic, tiny cracks of light.

my place to land. What is UP SIGNET/ECHO NATION, ALL FIVE OF YOU! I wrote a novel for my rare pair because i am actually three bodyguard AUs in a trench coat captaining the good ship I made up. Twilight Mirage is still my favorite fatt season, because it is exactly my aesthetic and also, Signet is there. This is still one of my favorite fics, even though I can think of many things that i would change upon a rewrite. I got a lot of amazing gift art from friends when I was updating it, too, and I treasure everyone who came to read it!! It is currently still the longest fic in the fatt tag, but not for long it does look like there is someone rapidly catching up with 74k on a 6/14 chapter fic. It was fun while it lasted! Unfortunately, twitter moments went kaput so I will have to figure out some other way to put all the wonderful fanart everyone made for me!

'til my lungs burn bright. Affectionately called my "regency magic spies AU" for Ace Attorney, specifically this is for AA4/Klapollo!! This is a sequel to a fic I haven't finished yet! (Someone encourage me to finish the main fic! it's what i'm supposed to be working on this month!!) I love this setting SO much and I loved making all the little references to in-game moments. Here's the tumblr link to the fic ;) I had a hard time picking between this and my sleeping beauty klapollo au.... Also shout-outs to Joanie for doing the WONDERFUL art for it!!! (I should actually go put it in-line with the fic text too oops)

Theseus' Ship. The Anders Defender has LOGGED THE FUCK ON. That's it that's the post. No okay, it's an Anders character study and i think it absolutely slaps. Here's the tumblr link to the fic!

Bonus very short fic that I still enjoy, which you can also read even if you're not in the fandom, but Five Steps To Ensure Your Soulmate Becomes a Ghost from Rusty Quill Gaming.

Honestly I love everything I write because I am an audience of me first. The current version of my masterpost has links out to a lot of my fics from different fandoms -- like some of my other friends at the table content and my jgm labyrinth au and my lockwood fic! That's my best piece of advice: love what you write, and write for yourself first! And then the two little freaks in your group chat second 💞 I wouldn't have been able to do most of these fics without the besties, so thank you to everyone who has read my novel-length fics.

Tags: Scrambling to think of any of my fic writing friends let's goooo @luukeskywalker, @mariusperkins, @lesbianahsokatano, @redtailedhawk90, @bardicspiration, @krisseycrystal , @strangeharpy and there's so many of you i love you all, please go flaunt your writing and talk about your five favorite fics!! and tag me!!