#{ you intended this as a drabble so if you don't want this as a thread that is a-okay!!! But N really wanted to N FGDHKBHGFJLHFD }

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: afab!reader Character: Trafalgar Law Kink: #11 Bondage/Shibari Prompt: #13 "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." & 8. "Stay still." Gift Giver: @jiholeen & @laws-princess

You two had such similar asks I smushed them together and made a longer than normal drabble for it.

Summary: It's your first time being bound, and Law intends to do so properly.

Content Notes: bondage, rope, rotor toy used, vaginal fingering, forced orgasms, pet names, biting.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You stood naked in the room, shivering, though not from the cold. The blindfold over your eyes was by your own request, but it wasn’t doing you the good you hoped it would. You could feel his presence as he moved around you. The feel of the rope – coarse but not stiff – slipping over your skin as he brushed it along all the curves and tender places you had.

“How does it feel?” He questions quietly. Evenly. So terribly calmly.

You’d admitted to Law some weeks ago that you wanted to be tied up. You didn’t really know much about it, and he wanted to be able to do it safely, so all he’d asked for in return was some time to research it. Now you were in his bedroom, dealing with step one – which rope did you like better?

“It’s… it’s a little rough, but soft too. I like it.” You admit, voice shakier than you wanted it to be.

“We’ll start with this one then.” He states, and you feel his fingers trail across your shoulders lightly. You feel your muscles twitch at the teasing touch, and you try to hold in the soft moan that threatens to escape you. “It’ll be hard to say which is best until we use them all, but this was the most recommended as well.”

There’s a bit of silence as you can hear the sounds of the rope against the floor. You’re trying to keep yourself calm, but the anticipation almost carries more weight than the light touch earlier.

“We’ll start with a basic harness, and work from there.” Law explains. He’s in front of you now, and you feel the shift of his shirt as he reaches around you, looping the rope around your neck. “We’re going to keep it loose here.” You can feel two fingers against your throat as he makes the first knot. It’s snug, but not tight.

Holding the two sides of rope together he pulls it mostly taut down the front of your chest, stopping and making another knot. You feel a shiver run through you as he works, and you almost want to take the blindfold off.

If you look at those golden eyes right now, however, you might just crumple to the floor before he can finish the harness.

He leans forward, tugging you close with the rope. You can feel his lips against your ear and you squirm.

“Hold still, snowdrop.” He says firmly. “Let me move you when I need to.”

You nod a little. “Y-yes.”

“Yes?” He prompts, lips pressing against your neck softly.

“Yes, sir.” You correct. You can feel the heat rushing up to your face and ears.

“Good. Open your stance, I need room to bring this through.” He instructs. You can feel your embarrassment growing as you shuffle your feet apart, standing with them more at shoulder width than together. “There we go.”

You feel the rope against your leg for a moment as he steps around you, keeping the ropes together and tying another knot. You feel the knot rest against the small of your back lightly as he separates the ropes and loops them around your waist, threading them through the front of the rope harness. He tugs, pulling it snug and you feel a knot you hadn’t noticed before push against your slit.

“Ah – um… L-Law?” You stammer the question, gasping as a tug of the rope pushes it past your labia and against your clit. You buck at the sensation, your legs nearly buckling, and you feel a sharp tug of your hair as you’re held against Law’s chest.

“Stay. Still.” He commands. There’s a smile in his tone despite the rough actions and you’re aware that he knows full well what he did to you. Your breath falls heavy from your mouth, but you nod as he takes a step back.

He continues to loop the rope through the rest of the harness, bringing it up and looping it through the back of the loop of rope around your neck. The pattern, and opposing tensions created because of it, kept everything in place neatly.

His hands are over your shoulders, sliding down your arms and slowly guiding your arms behind your back. Soft kisses against your shoulders as he laces his fingers in yours for a moment has you struggling to stay still. Needy sounds escape you as his kisses move up your neck, nibbling the curve of your ear.

“I’ve got you, little snowdrop.” He purrs, his voice falling into your ear like sweet honey as he begins to tie your hands behind your back. “Tell me if anything goes numb. Even if you’re almost going to orgasm, you have to say something, understand?”

“Yes sir.” Your fingers kept brushing against his hands while he worked, and sometimes you’d feel his fingers trace lines in the palms of your hands when he could.

Once he was done he took a moment to check the knots. He asked you if anything was uncomfortable, and slipped his fingers under the ropes in places he was concerned might be too tight. Once he was sure that you were comfortable enough, you expected him to tease you relentlessly, but it seemed he had something else in mind for your first time in ropes.

It was cold and hard and no more than the size of his thumb, as he pushed it past the ropes and wedged it against your clit. You knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. The rotor purred to life against your clit and as you gasped, Law leaning down to kiss you.

His fingers teased your nipples, tugging, pinching, and rolling them between his fingers as he deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth. He starts to kneel, guiding you to move with him, keeping you steady and stealing kisses from you as you move.

He braces you against his knee, pushing the rotor against your clit more forcefully as he turns up the intensity. You squirm under the ropes, gasping pleasure into the kiss as he holds you in place on his thigh.

“I’m going to take the blindfold off, okay?” He questions and you nod your head.

Your eyes are wet and dazed. He’s not kissing you, but your mouth’s open in want, pleasure rolling off your tongue.

“You are really turned on,” Law muses. “I can’t wait to hear all the sounds you’ll make for me.”

Law’s earlier soft kisses are replaced by heavy bruising kisses against your skin. He leaves marks everywhere he can, leaving red bite marks in tender places causing you to buck and moan and cry into the air. His hands keep you where he wants you, moving you with a tug on the harness, or holding you still with an iron grip in your hair.

“L-Law I’m gonna c-cum, please!” You beg, body shivering against him as your legs twitch and your toes start to curl.

He pulls you close, keeping the rotor pinned against your clit as he reaches around and slips a finger past the rope, pushing his middle finger into your pussy. “Cum for me,” he demands, his voice rushed and strained.

You buck enough to bring your feet off the floor, squirming uselessly against the ropes as you scream your first orgasm into his chest. Pleasure rips through your body and it’s not just the orgasm that feels good, but the struggle itself.

Sunk against his chest you’re almost crying as you draw in shuddering breaths, the intense pleasure abating a little. Law’s finger twists and a second one pushes inside you, filling the room with wet sounds as the rotor revs up to what you hope is its highest setting.

The stretch from two fingers, the insistence of the rotor, the pleasure still tingling through you and the sheer fact that you cannot get away are working against you. If against is even the right word, you’re not sure, but the pleasure is building up again and it feels too soon.

“Law – Law, please… please… I’m gonna… Hnnnnngh – cum again, please!” You beg.

“Cum again.” He huffs, holding you tight. “Scream little snowdrop.”

His name falls from your lips in broken pieces of pleasure, crashing against his shoulder as your shuddering body fought uselessly against the ropes. His fingers thread through yours, holding you tight as you tense and spasm from the orgasm, your cries of pleasure falling into heavy gasps as you work to catch your breath.

Wet fingers grip your ass as he pulls his fingers out from inside you. You squeak from the sensation and hear Law chuckle a little as he tilts your chin up.

“L-Law, the rotor.” Your eyes are hazy and tired and you’re struggling to stay focused on him, especially with the continuing buzz between your legs.

“It doesn’t go any higher.” He answers, and you shake your head.

“It’s – that’s not the issue!” You gasp, struggling as he grips your ass with both hands and starts pressing you into his thigh. “L-Law – please!”

“Mm, am I making you cum again? Is that what you’re begging for?” He grins as his fingers squeeze your ass again.

“N-no, I – yes, but with… with y-you inside me.” Your voice falters at the end. Those golden eyes seem to look right into your soul and it’s embarrassing.

“I was inside you earlier.” He points out, leaning down and kissing your cheek before he whispers in your ear. “You’ll have to ask clearly.”

“Your… your cock, please. Please Law I want it.” You beg, squirming as the relentless rotor continues to tease you.

You feel him shift your legs, straddling you over his hips and not just his thigh. You can feel pressure as his erection pushes against you, causing you and Law to hiss softly at the vibrating pleasure.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice husky and needy as he moves the rope aside, letting the rotor fall to the floor. “I’ll take care of you.”

Check out the event - requests are accepted until 7/31/2023 EST

[wayfaringellie]

a little songv drabble in case y'all were getting hungry again... (i'd love comments in exchange for the goods and services :3)

From time to time I like to imagine a little convo between V and Song Mi during a quiet moment that goes something like this. When it's most peaceful. They could be eating dinner, sitting around a fire. Watching a movie together at night. It begins with So Mi fixing her gaze on V and of course V senses it, feels it along with the rapid beating of her heart.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" "Like what?" "Like... like, I dunno. Somethin' cheesy like I put the stars in the sky or somethin'."

So Mi laughed a bit then murmured, "I don't know how else to look at you." V exhaled through her nose and stared at her but didn't reply. "Whether you want to accept it or not, you've got a big heart, V. Don't let anything or anyone take that from you."

"Think you've got me mixed up with someone else."

"No, seriously. You do. Who else would have done what you did for me?"

So Mi couldn't be sure but V's eyes appeared to glisten during their conversation and it seemed to take more effort for the merc's composure to remained rooted in place. The cool mask of stoicism would slip, revealing the softest of smiles left to replace it along with blue-gray eyes that watered slightly but tears refused to breach. The netrunner couldn't help but feel a sense of giddiness, of pride, when she saw it—that softer side of V, the one that could bleed and be vulnerable. The one who sent her to the stars so she could be free.

Poke long enough, you could drill a hole... So Mi thought.

A blanket of calm had fallen over them. A delicate, near-inaudible whisper of, "... I missed you, y'know," then V's throat bobbed as she swallowed the thick lump there that never quite went away. The one made of grief and apprehension.

With anyone else V would have stumbled over those words or just avoided saying them altogether. She was never any good with that sorta thing: being open and emotional. Actions always spoke louder, after all; and sometimes they screamed or they pleaded. What came next was an affirming combination of both words and action but from So Mi this time. As the older woman shifted closer, V turned her body towards So Mi almost out of instinct (physicality was something that did come easy for her) and welcomed the arms that wrapped securely around her shoulders.

Hands came up to gently hold onto one of those arms and it was when their cheeks pressed together that V heaved a soft sigh. When it became apparent that So Mi intended to hold her for a while, the merc was as good as mush in her embrace and she cutely rubbed her cheek against her companion's. "Missed ya too, V. I really did." From their contact, V could feel the smile that tugged at the corners of So Mi's mouth and she decided 'ah, fuck it. what do I have to lose?' before pressing her lips against the periphery of that lovely smile.

There was a pause and then the smile was gone. V had a sheepish apology primed and ready but she was gifted a fuller, more direct kiss instead as So Mi turned her head. The hand on V's cheek guided her into it, her upper lip being held captive between the soft set of another's and a feeling of warmth and tenderness immediately bloomed in her chest. Her senses were flooded with everything So Mi: from how she smelled (hmm... a fusion of floral and what V could only deduce as a scent wonderfully unique to So Mi) to the sweet sapidity of her lips.

V cupped her face to deepen the kiss, their mouths now slanting in a more leisurely manner, the pads of her thumbs brushing along the EMP threading on So Mi's cheeks. The arms around V pulled them closer together and when they broke apart for air, their noses brushed and breaths mingled but only briefly before the two of them were going back in for more. It was like they were making up for every kiss they held back before. For every missed opportunity of one. So Mi had wanted to kiss V after their daring escape from the stadium but didn't, V had wanted to kiss So Mi on that shuttle but hadn't... But it was the fine and intricate workings of fate (or even a stroke of luck) that always brought people together sometimes. Maybe, just maybe, the beast of Night City could chew you up and spit you out but this could make you stronger in the process, make you better than you used to be.

There was hope yet.

[uravityxo]

𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙎 ; important !!!

heyhey friends !! just dropping by to say a few things, a little update for all of you about my plans with this blog and some other ideas/blogs i wanna do !! so here is a lil list of my plans,, please read if you have the time just so you're aware !! i'll hide below cut as there's quite a bit to share !!

✩ ⸺ i am going to prioritise replies that i'm feeling the most at the time. this does not mean i won't reply to yours. i will get around to it at some point. but i've recently realised i found it easier to get back into writing and to write what im feeling over "what needs replies first" !! don't worry !! i will get to it- however if you think i missed a reply or something.. please message me and let me know !!

✩ ⸺ thread tracker has just been set up, however i'm still getting the hang of it and adding everything/figuring it out !! however i fully intend to try keep this constantly updated !! i'll slowly start getting to it though, so if there's a thread you want me to add to it- let me know and i'll add it on sooner rather than later !!

✩ ⸺ inbox and asks !! i have so many sitting in there and i promise i will get to them, but another thing im focusing on is current threads and getting the replies and starters i owe out first !! and then i'll eventually get around to my inbox !! im sorry for such a long delay with inbox stuff... i really do apologise for it taking a long time.

✩ ⸺ denki kaminari blog is actually going to be revived (for real this time), i have many plans for him and i'm super excited to finally get to writing him again. however it will either be low activity or inactive until i get replies on this blog under control !! if you want to follow the blog, let me know and i'll send it your way/follow you from there !!

✩ ⸺ multimuse and oc blog is also under the works, at first i was considering having a multimuse oc blog AND a multimuse canon blog however i feel that'd be TOO much to handle. so i'm going to combine the two blogs together. this will most likely always be low activity for whenever i'm feeling a certain muse !! ochako and denki are my main muses! which is why they're going to have their own blogs !!

✩ ⸺ headcanons and stuff , im considering starting to write headcanons and drabbles (is that what they're called?) !! just for when im not vibing with any replies and still want to let out some creativity !! so expect to see those more <33

thank you for giving this a lil read my friends !! i will reblog later for people who aren't online rn !! but yea... i thought i'd share all this stuff for people just so you all know whats going on 🩷🪱

[findyourrp]

Ciao🍋

I'm 25+, F, 10+ years experience. PLEASE! don't like this if you're under 21 AND don't reach out if you don't intend to follow through. I'm looking for something long-term.

I've been dying to write three characters :

Nanami from Jujutsu Kaisen against a F OC.

Shoko from Jujutsu Kaisen against a M OC.

Erwin Smith from Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin against a F OC.

I want to explore these characters to their full extent, so I ask that you only like this post if you're comfortable with both the fluff side of relationships AND mature themes (such as: nsfw in moderation, drinking, smoking, violence because the series are very violent, addiction, death, traumatic events, depression, illness, maybe miscarriages and pregnancies).

I usually mirror my partner's preferences but the length of my replies varies significantly depending on the thread and I refuse to stress myself out about it (I've written both 200 and 1000+ word replies just today). I loathe when people write long replies for the sake of it - just because a reply is lengthy doesn't mean it has quality or substance. I love exploring characters in a very realistic way and writing them in different ways: paras, tech threads (calls, texts), letters, diary entries, drabbles, threads where no dialogue happens, etc.

My rules: No bigotry, respect boundaries (I don't talk about my personal life often and prefer to stick to talking about our characters/plots), don't drag me into drama, always share your ideas openly (even if your hesitant or self-conscious - I'm too, and I always make sure to put in the effort so I fully expect the same from my writing partners). Also, please be ok filling out ship memes because they are my bread and butter.

Thank you for reading, give this post a like if you'd be interested and I'll find you. 💛

.

[nytehavyn-circle]

RP Rules

IF YOU ARE A PERSONAL BLOG, DO NOT REPLOG ANY OF MY POSTS PERTAINING TO RP - DO NOT REBLOG MY CHARACTER BIOS, DO NOT REBLOG MY RP THREADS, DO NOT REBLOG MY HEADCANONS. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. If you are an RP blog and you enjoy my threads but are not a part of them, you may like them, but please do not reblog them.

Mun is 40+ He/him. Bi/pan. Poly. I will not RP with anyone under 18, 21+ is preferred. Minors, DNI. This blog has many mature themes, such as blood, gore, horror elements, and plenty of smut.

No hate. No racism, no LGBTQ+ hate of any kind, this includes transphobia, nothing of the sort.

I enjoy speaking to my followers and mutuals OOC. It helps with character chemistry and dynamics, and it helps make a friend! But I am a pretty intense OOC, and I WILL bother you all the time, probably. It's just how I am, no offense intended or anything as such. But, if something like this bothers you, or you're the type that doesn't like to, or won't, chat with your RP partners OOC, it's probably better if we don't interact. <3

I have been RPing in various forms since I was 13, starting from TTRPGs, to online through the era of AOL and AIM, to message board and the like, until I hit Tumblr around 2010. All in all, I have I've 30 years of RP experience in general and about 14 years on Tumblr.

I do not use a queue. Sometimes I take my time RPing, and sometimes I can reply back very quickly. Whichever is comfortable for me at a time. If I haven’t replied to our thread in over a week, go ahead and give me a nudge, but don’t push or I’ll lose muse for the thread.

I sometimes reply to some threads quicker than others, it all depends on the finickiness of my muse. Sometimes I have muse for some threads over others, and sometimes I get stuck. This does not mean I dislike you or hate you, or do not want to RP with you. And if I need to drop our thread or put it on hold, I'll come talk to you. I do not want you to be anxiety-ridden with worry over why I haven't replied to our thread.

You do not have to match my length! Just give me something to work with, something to move the thread along. I don’t expect you to carry the thread by yourself. And I’m going to assume you don’t expect it of me. I do not mind one-liners or conversation threads (if they help move the thread along, or we're just having fun). If I haven’t given you enough to push the thread forward, please tell me so that I may fix it.

I know most of the RPC here on Tumblr frowns upon it, but If you follow me, you do not have to reblog memes, pictures, artwork, or whatever, from the source. Feel free to use me as a ‘resource’ all you want. All I ask is that, hopefully, you will send in a meme prompt. If not, that's okay, too.

Shipping: I am a ship whore. Sometimes there needs to be build-up, and sometimes we can jump right in and go back and later fill in the past on the timeline. Chemistry is wonderful! But sometimes that chemistry is almost instant, or you and your RP partner just know the muses will work in a ship. So, come to me and we’ll talk about it!

Another thing to add: I do not have a DNI FC list. I do not have issues RPing with dead FCs, (I use one for one of my muses - John Candy). If you do not like RPing with dead FCs, do not interact with those specific muses. I also have no problem RPing with cartoon/animated FCs. One of my muses (Terran) FCs is hand drawn (by a friend long ago). 

I love smut. I love writing smut. So, smut will happen. While this is not a smut blog, some of my muses have a strong sex drive, so smut will happen frequently. I will not write any NSFW subjects with anyone under 21. Most of my muses are hetero, while only a handful bi/pan (and they are picky), so I will do M/F, F/F, and very picky about M/M. Smut will not be under a Read More.

There are certain subjects I won’t RP - Rape being the most important, sexual abuse is another. They might be referenced in a muse’s past, talked about by a muse, or even written about in a drabble. As such, they will be tagged accordingly. However, I will not RP these subjects out. Spousal abuse/domestic violence might be RPed out, but only with extensive talking about it first. However, rape and sexual abuse will never be RPed out. If there’s anything you’d like me to tag, please tell me. I will tag the trigger with tw trigger here, or tw: trigger here.

As pointed out above, this is an adult blog, and many things will be RPed out here. Blood, gore, violence, etc. Once again, if you need something tagged, please tell me.

No Godmoding. I control my muse(s), you control yours. Little things such as having them go through a door when it’s opened for them, getting out of a car - small things are fine. Anything large is off-limits without talking to me about it first.

No anon hate. Anon hate will be immediately reported and blocked, and anon asks will be turned off for a while.  Right now, Anon is on. Any hate, and it will be turned off.

Please make sure I can understand your writing/reply. I don’t want to have to struggle to read your reply. I’m mildly dyslexic myself, so mistakes are completely acceptable.  If English is not your first language, I am far more lenient about spelling/grammar mistakes.

I normally do third-person style RPs.  Only certain muses will be written in the first person.

Please tell me if we decide to push our thread in the direction of angst. when it comes to angst. Angst can be difficult for me to write due to RL issues.

Come to me first, to talk with me at length, before any baby/child/pregnancy-type RP threads or plots.  Tolaas and Terran (Living Vampires in my mythology in general) are sterile and cannot father children. So having SUDDENLY BABY/CHILD/I’M PREGNANT tossed into a thread just cannot happen with my two main muses, so it unnerves me and makes me uncomfortable.  Please talk with me first.

I also do not do A/B/O threads, even with my werewolf/shapeshifter muse.

Also, to add:.

This blog will be used as a semi-personal, meaning I will post/reblog things that aren’t always RP-related.

I have several mental illnesses - several social/generalized anxiety and bipolar depression with psychosis, both of which I am in therapy and on meds for - which sometimes prevent me from RPing for long periods of time. But I will still try to maintain a presence, even a small one, if I’m not RPing for a while.

Some of my muses will be willing to pop their heads out, other times they won’t.

You are free to unfollow me for ANY REASON.  You do not have to continue following me under some sort of obligation, or anything as such. All I ask is you HOPEFULLY come to me and talk about the problem, and maybe we can work it out.

I don’t always plot. Most times I find it difficult.  I prefer to jump right in.  However, you can come to me and we can try to come up with a specific scenario as long as the ‘plot’ doesn’t end up like something that feels out-and-out scripted.  I prefer to let our muses do what they do, rather than try to point by point what they have to do.

And remember, this is for fun, it’s a hobby. This is not a job. I am not obligated to RP with anyone, they are not obligated to RP with me.

[definitelynotshouting]

I voted!

‘always been you’ and scarian? (i’m weirdly nervous about asking lmfao)

LETS GOOOOO SCAR SWEEP SCAR SWEEP!!!

for my own sanity im keeping these short but here is your drabble my friend!!!

Scar's eyes have been burrowing into his back far too long for Grian's comfort.

"Alright," Grian snaps, turning on his heel with an abruptness that has Scar physically backpedaling, "whatever it is you're thinking, go ahead and spit it out."

It slips out harsher than intended– but it's been a... day. A long, stressful day, with Scar being difficult at every turn– and maybe that's not charitable, but that's where Grian's at right now.

The echo of a familiar heartbeat drums in his ears, parallel to another game, another life; it rebounds in Grian's palms, the unconscious curl of his fists. He'd give anything not to stand here. He'd give it all to go back to the start.

Any other day, Scar might stammer, play it off– offer something nonsensical that would pry a high-pitched, incredulous laugh from Grian's throat. But today Scar's eyes flit across his face, drinking it in; guarded, wary, that warm liquid core held back by the walls Grian built between them himself.

"I was just thinking," Scar says after a beat, his voice a soft hush blending in with the rustling leaves. Birch, of course– the mangrove of Velvet Keep was acquired elsewhere.

When Scar doesn't elaborate, Grian prods again, thin-veiled impatience threading through his tone. "About–?"

Another weighted pause, as if Scar is testing each word on his tongue before letting it drop to the ground between them. "That it's you." He pauses, still sweeping over Grian's face. "I don't know why I didn't see it. It's always been you."

And now it's Grian's turn to pause, that double-thump heartbeat climbing into his throat, because Scar's expression is opening, a delicate bloom of vulnerability that sears him from the inside out. He should know better; hope like that is punished in worlds like these.

"I genuinely don't know what you're talking about," Grian replies, because at least one of them has to be careful here.

Scar's face shutters; it's a bitter victory, the way his eyes flatten, jaw tight enough that even Grian's teeth creak. A burst of copper seeps from the inside of both their cheeks as Grian turns away.

"Yeah," Scar says at last, so quiet it borders on inaudible. "I guess you wouldn't."

IF YOU WANT A DRABBLE THEN GO VOTE FOR SCAR HERE!!!!

[sunset-a-story]

⛳ and ⏸️ for the plot ask game, if you please.

Thanks for the ask! :)

⛳️Talk through a plothole that you’re struggling with. 

So 25 babies were generated that were all supposed to have the knack of Probability Manipulation. A backup knack was coded into each of them because they've never been able to generate Probability Manips so chances were high that would fail, in which case the backup knack would take over.

Three of the babies ended up with a knack that was NOT the intended backup knack and no one can figure out why. I have the knack pair for Alex and Anise set. All good.

Scott? pjtinfswhasfksndfjh I am struggling. The knack he didn't end up having will ~be important~ later to address a spoiler that really needs addressing except I haven't figured out how it will interact with this spoiler. I'd love to just figure it out later but his backup knack is explicitly named in the first arc so I don't want to just throw a placeholder knack in here and then retcon it when I get my shit together.

I'm beating myself at chess right now but not in the way that I enjoy.

⏸Describe the plot of a WIP you abandoned or put on the backburner and what about it wasn’t working. 

Okay. I'm exposing my level of obsession here, but I'm going to answer honestly.

I don't have a WIP that I've abandoned that I can remember. We've been working on Sunset exclusively for something like 16 years now.

It was mostly a lot of brainstorming, outlining, working things out, note-carding, putting random drabbles or strings of scenes down, reworking or ditching them for a while, and flip-flopping with whether it was a graphic novel, set of novels, or a serial. I really put my head down and started writing it 6 years ago. We've got about 880 pages of beta-ready stuff (arc 1 & 2) and probably another 300 pages in draft 1 as I'm slogging through this complicated arc 3.

But I haven't written anything else in any of that time. It was Sunset or nothing. This beast of too many threads slowly crashing into each other is our obsession. It's the subject of nearly all my partner's art. It's got its teeth in us and it's not letting go until it's finished. Someone I love once called it our life's work and while that sounds pretty dramatic I also don't think he was wrong.

So, yeah. That probably says some positive things and some negative things about me/us and our sanity but that's my honest answer.

Thanks again!

(creator of the ask game: @kjscottwrites)

[the-haunted-office]

I'll be concluding the #the end is never the end unless it ends on a sour note plot! I want to put Stanley Johnson back into play as a muse and the plot went on for longer than I intended. x_x

Only thing is, I don't know if I feel up to writing any drabbles or anything for the conclusion, so I'll sum it up here:

Basically Stanley J's Narrator, Arthur Wright, arrives at the Haunted Office, captures Stanley's consciousness (soul), and transfers it to his newly cloned body. However, Arthur made some mistakes in the process and now Stanley has further complications to his person.

Stanley has been cloned a number of times by Arthur, and had his consciousness transferred to his new body each time - without knowing it. Each time this was done, Arthur created the clone from the previous cloned body, and so the quality of the clone has degraded over time. There's been memory loss, Stanley lost his ability to speak before, and this time around I'm thinking he will either lose his ability to see or suffer some kind of chronic pain.

Understandably because this represents several disabilities, I will do my best to represent them fairly and sensitively. If you notice anything in my representation of these disabilities that needs correction, please do call it to my attention so that I may correct myself going forward!

First thing I need to do is figure out how Stanley will be able to communicate going forward, if I decide that he will become blind. He will still be able to hear - the challenges are that he will be unable to speak and see. I'll be looking up some information online to see what I can gather before I officially bring Stanley back out to play.

Until then, that's how the end of the plot unfolded. Because Stanley wanted to pass on into the afterlife, understand that there will be some very understandable frustration on his part in being forced to be revived against his will. But I have plans for his character development and I think I like the dynamic this adds to him!

One last thing is, if we still have open threads with this plot going, we absolutely can keep them going. However things play out between our muses will be like their own little pocket universe of events, even though the ultimate conclusion will still be the same, if that makes sense.

[auguriium]

@niveusveritas

The limited vastness of what Touya has set to call home for now, of the mysterious thing that is the mirage Island that shelters him and Reshiram, and also N along Zekrom who desires nothing but to make up for the time the two dragons have spent apart - as if their bond born from fight did not matter when there was something stronger that bound together with a connection so similar to love, in a way someone could understand perhaps. One that transcends familiar, filial or anything; one could not live without the other, fights and disagreements would happen beyond the lifetime Touya himself has and can expire when his journey settles into whatever the future lends them in a world shrouded in uncertainty and the loom of danger at the hands of Team plasma and it’s now vice grip on the world’s entire force. It was a small place, in a way. But big too - offering to unexplored caves with friendly pokemon that, at least and because of the twin dragon’s influence, see Touya as just one more of them and either let their big curiosity lead to approach the ex champion, to the skittish ones that kept their distance or were completely indifferent about him. And Touya appreciated it so much, many places could have hostile pokemon, territorial ones that at the mere sight of humans or pokemon that did not belong there send them in a rampage that anyone would rather avoid. Under the shelter of the low light of crystals that feed off Zekrom’s magnetic electricity that naturally their large and stoic body exudes, Touya gazes upon them like a miniature display of stars - how curious that their color could change depending which dragon resided within these caves; as when it had been only him and the tired Reshiram, the color of the crystals were of a dull but alive crimson remanent of beautiful fires the white feathered dragon was able once to spit. Now them no more than a gentle ember and smoke - truly tired and wounded, and whatever the Team plasma did to them enough to drain the ancient dragon’s greatness to a halt and long need to rest, yet Reshiram’s stubborn to revert back into their orb to speed up the process; as he’s tried to tell them, but Reshiram never gives a reason why, and Touya being the kindhearted fool he is, settles with that. Sulking, of course - but nothing he can truly push them to when the dragon did not want and instead just lay in the large makeshift bed of leaves and soft grass and shed feathers managed to be built by Touya, tied with Serperior’s vines and some of now Zekrom’s aid with their raw strength to move bounders and other heavy materials around so the space for reshiram is a proper one for healing... If only suspiciously also with space for the other dragon too, but it was for the best even with the stink eyes Reshiram shots back at Touya whenever he is no help shooing Zekrom. A memory rises upon the bed of crystals like stars, and Touya befalls in a small memory. True, he may not have his phone anymore but considering the starting of snow melting means one thing, spring is nearing, and so is... Valentine’s day. But— It’d be impossible and stupidly risky to ask so suddenly the twin dragons if he can go to a region and bring snacks. Oh the anger that it’d stir on Latios is enough to send a cold shiver through his spine and.... maybe. It was better for the best that such thing to be avoided. Yet, the idea and ache inside his heart is there. N probably has seen it in his travels happen, so this time he may have a grasp of the day itself or just it’s little and silly ritual of chocolate giving... Touya can help but sulk pathetically where he lies at the entrance of the cave, not too far from the gentle crackling of the makeshift fireplace keeping him from freezing entirely, Reshiram’s shed plumes always stashed and used as warm blankets along some of Zekrom’s stronger scales that have been a great source of crating tools, sturdy tables and other things. The former Champion even allows himself one moment to whine softly about the predicament - but... Maybe he could still just give him something else.

Something of meaning and for N to remember him by... Ah, so long the other is unaware of his predicament and not ask before he blurts anything out his betraying tongue, Touya just lets himself drag a long sigh out. one that wins Reshiram’s hum that oddly feels like an amused chuckle that Touya absolutely takes offense with. But doesn’t give the dragon the satisfaction about it despise the even stringer sulk that paints his visage, or his arms cross as if it somehow will shield his heart from being heard so plainly by the dragon who he shares such a deep emotional bond, feeling each other’s hearts and pains. “ I just wonder... If he would like anything I try to make, as there’s no way I can get chocolate for him. “ He says, quiet and for reshiram to hear knowing N’s been on his long walks as of usual. Having now also the task to plant and pick new berries and other edible food for Touya to cook later with — which is his favorite part for all the sparkly eyes of anticipation that orchestrates behind him when the whiff of beautiful scent waffs from his cauldron while making soups and stews for everyone. —  But reshiram lacks answer beyond the usual words that echo in his mind “ be true to yourself. You already know what to do. “ which... absolutely does not help. Sure, it's the honest way to, but then the next part is to kick his buzzing feelings off so he can actually get off the cool comfort of the cave’s floor and Reshiram’s shed feather his hands hold onto. What a predicament the Former Hero and champion is right now. Is valentines even a thing anymore with team Plasma’s governance? Not that he’d even comply if they somehow banned it for the sake of it. That’d just pick on the stubborn challenging spirit within Touya and go for it anyways.

[ Niveusveritas || Touya thinks too much about chocolate he can't obtain sdFDJÑSFDKF ]

Beneath the hazy skies that shroud the mirage islands it's almost impossible to count the stars or admire the moon as he once had while traveling with Zekrom. But, oddly, he finds the lack of shimmering light speckled across the cast unknown to be more captivating than a typical picturesque night. But if he were being honest, he, admittedly, had never paid much attention to the sky when he had been soaring through it with the dragon of ideals largely because his mind had been elsewhere. Wondering where Touya was. If he was safe. If he was doing well. Those were questions he had the answers to now, even if those answers weren't as reassuring as he would have liked for them to be. Both Touya and Reshiram were safe, that much - at least - he was overjoyed to know. But he couldn't even begin to claim that they were doing well. Yet, he was happy to be reunited with them once more. Being with Touya makes him feel, ah, it's difficult to describe but the emotion itself doesn't seem to come from a place of logic or reasoning, but he imagines being with Touya makes him feel the same way being with Reshiram makes Zekrom feel. Or rather, he knows it does, given the fact that the dragon's feelings mix so freely and vividly with his own. Which is why, despite the distance currently placed between them, he can still feel a wave of excitement and comfort that washes over Zekrom as they enjoy the downtime night allows them to pester Reshiram without too many consequences.

The sensation makes his lips curl into a smile as his shoes crunch softly over the dewy grass, and the cacophony of an array of Pokemon fills his ears. Despite their initial fear, the creatures that call these islands their home have largely grown used to his and his oversized and overexcited friend's presence. He can often hear them chattering amongst themselves, and while most are still too leery to draw close, they don't flee from him either as they once had. They speak of things that are easy for him to grasp. About their days, about the foods they're interested in, about the island itself and the weather. Their conversations are a far cry from the countless he had overheard while traveling from city to city in search of Touya. Those were more difficult for him to relate to. Especially with Team Plasma's rise to power. But it makes him wonder, too, how much time he's been on this island, completely severed from the outside world. He doesn't and can't know how things are going, though he doesn't imagine well based on the various chirps he's caught wind of from the migrating Pokemon. But, for right now, all he wants to do is remain here with Touya and ensure Reshiram has a peaceful recovery.

But, despite the time that's passed, it's little more than a blink for him to calculate the exact date and minute of the current hour. Formulas are, after all, something he's always had a talent for. Numbers come naturally to him. He scarcely needs to think before putting together a complex equation. It's what his mind often finds occupying it when he goes off on one of these late night walks. But that comes with it's own set of spiraling thoughts as well because, oh, it's nearly Valentine's Day. His knowledge of the holiday isn't as concrete as it should be simply because it's something he only found out about while exploring the various regions. Pokemon had little need for a day to express their devotion to their families, as it was something they did every chance they had. He supposed humans are the same, though he's not entirely certain. His lips curve in visible thought, and his brows wrinkle as he mulls over it a bit more. Wasn't it tradition to give gifts on that day? So, shouldn't he give Touya a gift? After all, his relationship with the trainer is similar to Zekrom's relationship with Reshiram and he's near certain Zekrom would give Reshiram a gift if they learned of the holiday.

What; however, could be possibly give to Touya when they were currently stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere? Subconsciously, he lifts his hands to ruffle his hair, his eyes catching sight of a small Taillow napping on the branch of a nearby tree. Without thinking, he excitedly approaches the sleeping bird. "Excuse me!" The sound of his voice is enough to send the poor creature tumbling out from his nest with a loud squeak as it glares at him for disturbing its rest before flying off with a huff that N absolutely hears loud and clear with a slight flinch. Right, so maybe asking wild Pokemon in the middle of the night for gift ideas wasn't the past plan he's ever had. But if he wants to get Touya something he has to act soon. "Zekrom..." he mutters to himself before promptly turning back around and heading back towards the cave that's become their home away from home. Surely the dragon will have an idea, and he knows Reshiram isn't likely to disclose his question to Touya when doing so will only result in less sleep for them. Though, his haste doesn't earn him any favors, and, once he gets absorbed in something, he often loses track of everything around him so how late it is doesn't occur to him until after he's rushing back to the cave and excitedly shouted, "Zekrom, I need assistance assessing what the best gift to give Touya is!" until he's standing in the mouth of the cave with a very sleepy dragon peering over their fluffy counterpart staring at him, and he doesn't even notice he's disturbed the sleeping duo because, well, he's too busy looking Touya dead in the eyes to actually process their presence despite how intensely he can feel Zekrom's innocent amusement bubbling up within him as he turns his head to laugh sheepishly. "I mean...the assistance in assessing...a new formula I recently deduced to calculated how the Pokemon of this island react in various situations." He stumbles over the words as he speaks, choosing not to address the fact that he might very well have woken up the entire island in his newfound excitement to plan the perfect 'surprise' gift for the trainer right in front of him. Ah, surprises were indeed difficult.

[angry-geese]

Sukuna x reader

Warnings: slight OSHA incompliance. A bit suggestive, overall sfw. Mentions of blood and injury. Just some monster boyfriend Sukuna licking your wounds. Reader is gender neutral

Synopsis: "he's a ten but he licks your wounds" but with Sukuna ksgdkdhk

Word count: just over 700 :)

A/n: this was a drabble I started a few days ago that I never really intended to post but all this talk about Sukuna today gave me the motivation to finish it kshdkfhk

Also this was not really proofread so apologies for any errors <3

"Let me see your wound."

The fire has died down, leaving only embers. Despite this, the room is quite warm. In a bit, you should get up, and throw some more logs on the fire, but lethargy prevents you from doing such. Instead, you stay seated on your spot on the floor, picking at the loose threads of the mat. At one point in time, you were polishing your blade; but the weapon has fallen abandoned by your side.

"I'm fine," you say, "really."

"I could smell your blood from down the hall," he says. “Let me see your wound.”

It's an order, not a question. Sukuna motions for you to sit beside him on the bed. And although you’re not a small person in either stature, or build, you’re nearly dwarfed by the King of Curses.

“Yes, well, it turns out the locals don't take too kindly to visitors,” you say, clutching your injured arm.

You feel his breath across the bare skin of your neck. Blood has seeped through your thin, white shirt. When his hands move to the knot at the front of your shirt, undoing it, you do little to resist. The fabric falls off your shoulders, before getting caught on your elbows. On instinct, your arms cross in front of your chest. Across your shoulder, no longer than the length of your hand, is a cut. It's not deep enough to require stitches, but it’ll leave a scar. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but some blood still seeps from it. The awkward position of the cut has left it difficult for you to treat yourself, but asking for help from someone else is out of the question. So you had simply returned to your room, to wallow in your own pity.

“I should have sent Uruame.” He says. “There was no need for you to get injured."

What's gotten into him lately? First, the night down by the river, now this?

Either Ryoumen Sukuna is getting sentimental, or you're looking too hard into this.

The latter seems more likely. But the King of Curses has had a more human streak as of late. Not out in the nearby villages, where he kills and plunders to his heart's content, but within the stone walls of his shrine. Nights by the fire were shared. Plenty of alcohol flowed.

Sukuna was human. At one point in time. Perhaps a shred of humanity still exists within him. It may be shriveled, and dying, but it’s there.

"I'll live." You say.

And really, you will. It's only a flesh wound. The scar it'll cause will barely be worth telling a story about. You've received worse injuries for less, and come out on top every time.

Some day your luck is going to run out. Until then, you’re content to live as you please, free from any human society that exists. You, much like the King of Curses, are content to live to your own devices.

The feeling of a hot tongue against your skin is nearly enough to make you scream. Your eyes go wide. Goosebumps rise along your arms. Instead of swatting him away, which you very much want to do, you allow Sukuna to lap at the blood that drips steadily from your wound. Whether his saliva actually holds some strange healing property, or it’s simply a trick of your mind, you’ll never know, but the ache in your shoulder subsides slightly.

“That was reckless.” He scolds.

Something burns at your face. Perhaps it’s shame. Maybe embarrassment. You never get the chance to answer him. When he kisses you, a faint metallic taste lingers on his lips. In that moment you feel something strange within his touch. Something human. It's almost as if he’s afraid.

Impossible, you remind yourself. He doesn't feel fear.

“Lay with me,” he says softly, “just for a bit.”

He's asking this time, not commanding. Sukuna doesn't need to sleep—not in the way humans do. This bed was merely here for decoration, and a soft surface to fuck on—until you came along, and claimed it for yourself. Yet you allow yourself to give in, laying back on the soft mattress as he curls around you.

[velidewrites]

I feel like Ada Limón is my go-to Elucien poet, so as a writing prompt I’m giving you one of the poems that reminds me of them. No pressure, I just love your writing 🧡

Sooner | Elucien One Shot

No one asked for this, but I wrote painful Elucien anyway.

Word Count: 5.4k

Note: Thank you so much for sending me this prompt, @houseofhurricane - this poem was beautiful and 100% made me cry. I intended to write a drabble but had to turn it into a one shot instead. I will definitely look into this author for more Elucien inspiration<3

Side Note: Skip this side note if you don't want to see spoilers but if you're too worried about my elucien babies in this particular fic, just ask yourselves - how could I not give them a happy ending?

Warnings: Mentions & graphic depictions of blood & gore; mentions of death, implied character death, mentions of violence; overall, very sad. (Please let me know if you think I should add more).

The bond was gone.

Her body stopped being hers, and she became a hollow shell instead. As if someone had put a burning stake right through her, irreparably decaying everything within—her heart, her lungs, her gut, everything—down to the golden thread wrapped around her soul.

She could not take another breath. Her lungs were gone, burned out, leaving her chest filled with nothing but ash, scraping her throat as she gasped for a breath that would never come. She fell to her knees, choking, suffocating—

Then, the vision ended, ripping Elain from her sleep.

She shot out of bed, but her legs gave out without her taking a single step.

Was this what death felt like?

Panic rose through her as she frantically searched within the deepest corners of herself for that golden thread, tugging and tugging until finally, a response came. The bond was there, but...

Something was wrong.

The thread was weak, as if hanging on a single, thin strand, barely shimmering with the love that formed the bridge between their souls. It became grey and withering, like the plants in her garden back in Velaris, letting life slowly drain from them whenever the winters would get too hard, too difficult to withstand. But this was the Day Court. This was their home, yet this…this felt like the farthest from home she’d ever been, which meant—

Lucien.

No.

No no no no no no

“Lucien!” she shrieked, a new force surging into her veins, forcing Elain on her feet. She burst the door open and took off, running through the night-veiled hallways of the Day Palace, letting that weak shade of a strand guide her.

Where are you where are you where are you

Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she could have sworn it echoed off the pillars, the stones. Blood rushed in her ears, but Elain did not stop. She would not stop before she heard his heart thud back in response.

Her vision was a haze, the walls, floors, columns, everything within her sight blurred by her panic, panic and tears, and the unyielding terror that thundered along her veins, her bones. She did not realise she bumped into someone until she swayed back, until she heard someone’s soft grumble as they stood back on their feet.

“Lady Elain, are you—”

“Where is he,” she seethed, her voice unrecognisable as a mix of fear and pure, animal fury laced her tone. 

“I don’t understand—”

“Elain!” a voice, rich and deep like a thunder between the clouds, called from the end of the corridor. She snapped her head towards the sound to find Helion, emerging from one of the rooms. “Come. Quickly,” he hurried, and Elain shuddered as she realised the fear in his tone matched her own. She followed him into the chamber, feeling her vision becoming more clear as panic began replacing the feral urge to find, to kill whatever was posing a threat to her mate.

Elain shoved through the doorframe into the room, a small ball of sunlight—Helion’s work, undoubtedly—floating near the ceiling, filling it with light despite night coating the sky behind the towering pillars. Her gaze followed to the the bed, and—

Her heart stopped beating. 

She did not recognise the male laying atop the sheets, the flickering bond her only signal that it was, in fact, her mate. Horror began rising through her, but not as she realised his clothes—the white shirt he was stripped to, the shredded pants—were soaked in blood, or the drying mud scraping his body. No, all Elain’s eyes could behold was the deep, wide slice running along his sternum, pooling with dark, thick crimson, slowly dripping from his chest onto the bed. She swayed at the sight of the split, raw flesh, the bloody wound that twisted his usually beautiful face into pained unconsciousness, feeling all her thoughts left her head but one.

Mate.

She lunged for him, at his side in an instant, her throat dry as she reached for him, cupping his face, cradling his head. Someone—Helion, probably—was saying something behind her, but all of his words were lost in the emptiness of Elain’s chest, drowning, never to be found again. Just like her, succumbing into hollowness along with her mate’s life.

Strong hands wrapped around her arms, but Elain clung to Lucien’s body, bringing her hand to his lips, cold, so unlike what they were usually like: curved up in a sly grin, always ready to kiss her, to consume her in their fullness, their warmth. Those were not Lucien’s lips—ashy, greyish, lifeless. Lifeless.

Elain choked on a breath she didn’t remember to take. “Is he…” 

She couldn’t finish the rest. He couldn’t have been. It was weak and it was dull, but the bond was there. He couldn’t have been.

“Please,” Elain begged, as if her voice would make those eyes flutter, those lips fill with warmth again so she could never stop kissing them. “Please.”

Helion’s face was tight as he stood next to her. “The healer is on his way. The best in the Day Court, Prythian, even.”

She looked up at him, feeling her eyes begin to burn, her blood simmering with anger. Whatever they were doing was not enough, not nearly enough to save her mate—

“Bring more. Whoever can come, bring them now,” she snarled.

The High Lord opened his mouth, when Lucien’s mother hurried into the room, eyes gleaming with fresh tears, though her face betrayed nothing but pure determination. “Rhysand is sending their Court Healer,” she informed.

“Madja,” Elain said. Madja was good. She would help. She would fix whatever—

Whatever what?

“What happened to him?” she asked, feeling her voice breaking with each syllable. “What happened to my mate?”

Helion’s lips formed a tight line, their corners twisted with worry. “Our forces were attacked on the border of Montesere,” he said, anger beginning to rise in his tone. “We were not prepared.”

“Impossible,” Elain breathed. “Montesere is our ally.”

The High Lady of Day bit her lip, her gaze sliding to Lucien’s wound. Elain only now realised it shimmered with soft, bright light, recognising it as Day’s magic. Whatever spell Helion had casted was temporarily keeping Lucien alive.

“We suspect it was Koschei, once again joining forces with Beron,” he spat, his voice nothing but pure venom.

She gaped, the words stunning the raging animal out of her.

“They’ll kill him for this,” Elain whispered. It was a betrayal Prythian’s courts would not forgive again.

“Good,” Lucien’s mother added, her face tight.

Helion nodded. “I will personally see to it,” he said, his tone laced with ominous promise.

Elain turned her head back to Lucien, still kneeling at his side. “Not if I kill him first,” she only said, and she could have sworn Lucien’s mother shuddered at her tone.

Voices began emerging from outside of the room, and Helion quickly strode out. “Healer,” he informed, and disappeared behind the door.

He returned seconds later with a middle-aged looking male—High Fae, Elain guessed—holding a large briefcase. “My Ladies,” he greeted, and hurried to Lucien’s bedside. His mother’s hand landed on her arm, gently prompting her to step away, and Elain hesitantly obeyed to make space for the healer.

“Gatros is the best healer I’ve ever had the displeasure to work with,” Helion said, and the male smiled.

“I admit, the circumstances of our meetings are not always so pleasant,” Gatros said, crystal and glass bottles rattling inside his case.

Elain chose not to comment. She appreciated Hellion’s efforts to put his mate—and Elain—at ease, but this was not the time for jokes, not as Lucien was there, growing weaker with each second. She could feel it down the bond, the light dimming with his every shaky breath.

The healer clicked his tongue as his hand slid over the air above Lucien’s wound, shining with soft, white light. 

“Faebane?” Helion asked.

Gatros shook his head. “The substance is similar in base, but it’s…stronger, somehow. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Elain went still as death.

Please, please, please—

A soft, chill breeze whooshed into the room, and seconds after, Rhysand materialised in its centre, his arm around an elder female. Madja.

“We need to work quickly,” she only said, and made her way to approach the bed. Elain was grateful for that—for her speed, for her efficiency. Madja and Gatros—already acquainted, it seemed, as they skipped over customary greetings—began discussing his preliminary findings as the female began inspecting Lucien’s wound.

Elain’s sight did not leave the healers for one second as she felt Rhysand’s eyes on her. “Feyre’s pregnancy is too advanced for her to winnow,” he only said, though Elain did not care. “She is home with Nyx. She’s asking if there is anything you need.”

Elain turned her head to him, meeting his violet gaze. “I need my mate back.”

Rhys nodded, his eyes grim with understanding.

Madja turned to the group, her face betraying no emotion. “My apologies, High Lords, but we must clear everyone out of this room. We need as much space as possible.”

“No,” Elain breathed, panic rising through her again. “I’m staying with him.”

“Elain—”

“Please, he—”

“Elain,” Helion’s said, his tone forcing her to meet his dark eyes. “Lucien is in good hands. We will be standing just outside. He’s going to be okay.”

He did not sound too sure of that. 

Elain thought she might be sick.

Someone’s hand gently laid on her back, and her head began spinning. As she was hurried out of the room, filled with the stench of blood and metal, the last thing she noted were the somber looks the healers exchanged as they got back to work.

***

If she had known what love had truly felt like, would she still have denied him for so long?

Her mind wandered to the first time they met. 

She laid on the floor, pools of dark, cold water letting her know that the Cauldron had claimed her at last, the wet stones on her bare skin sending shivers down her spine. She was reborn, and all she knew now was fear.

And then, warmth.

A cloak? No, a jacket, wrapping around her tightly, a shield from the horrors outside of its fabric. She was given a shield from the darkness, and the fear began descending from her, slowly replaced with curiosity.

There were screams beyond the warmth, though she could barely register them, too consumed by what was happening within her own self.

A gentle tug. She’d almost gasped at the feeling, foreign yet more familiar than anything she’d ever experienced. Like a thread grabbing hold of something deep inside of her, shyly letting her know it was there. She’d welcomed it, and it wrapped itself around her chest tightly, like a weary traveller finding his way home after years of being lost in a strange land.

Another tug, prompting her to look up. This time, she felt no surprise, strangely at ease to obey it instead. Her gaze slid up, first noting arms—strong arms—around her, holding her shield. Then, a neck, the throat beneath it tight with something she didn’t understand. Fear? For her?

Then, a face.

Strong jaw, full lips, high, sharp cheekbones. A scar, horrid yet fascinating, and she thought if there was one place where a thing of such cruel beauty would belong, it was that face.

Finally, the eyes. One of russet, another one of gold. Different, yet shining with the same emotion, the same emotion as hers.

The thread tugged on her again, but this time, she could see its end. It was there, somewhere deep beneath those eyes, wherever their soul hid, and she knew they felt it, too. The eyes met hers, and the thread lit up with golden light, like the first rays of the rising sun beaming through the night sky, tossing the darkness away.

Mate.

Mate? she said to no one in particular. What does this mean?

You are mine, and I am yours, a response came.

Her eyes remained on the pools of russet and gold, gleaming with shock, making it known that they heard the response too. And as she stared into them, those eyes became a man, a man with a scarred face and a broken voice as he whispered, “You’re my mate.”

She’d wasted herself in prisons after that. The House of Wind, a physical confinement of her own volition. Her new, Fae form, trapping her in a body she never wanted. Her strange mind, showing her sights she never understood. Her traitorous heart, given away to a man she never asked for, making her feel…things she had never expected to feel.

Hunger. Pure, animal desire. The need to claim as her own, to protect until the end of time.

All for a man—a male, she’d supposed—she did not know, yet one she would dream about every night.

It had scared her. It had truly, utterly terrified her. She had already felt—in her old life, and whatever this life had waiting for her, it would not compare. She’d preferred to stay in her prisons, trapping herself in memories of a life that had been torn away from her.

She’d been well aware he’d been staying in those walls, too. And as long as he remained, her every waking moment would serve as a reminder that those memories could never be relieved again. Her every waking moment would mean she could replace her old life with something new if she only dared. The possibility was exciting, but dangerous. Too dangerous when compared to the safety of her prisons. Just one more night, she would promise herself. Just one more night, and I will let myself break free.

But as the night passed, and more followed, she would give in to the prisons of her body, mind and soul, drowning in memories just as she’d drowned in that Cauldron, allowing her only comfort to be the sound of his heart, beating through the stone.

This new life, it had scared her. It had not been her own, thrown at her without warning, just like he had been. It had all been about chasing the memories of the old life while reliving ones that had started the new. This was not a new life, she’d decided. This was death, death amongst the living.

So she’d kept wasting away.

“What do you need, Elain?” a voice asked softly.

She thought of those eyes, one russet and one gold, gleaming at her from her shield, offering nothing but warmth. She thought of the golden light, flickering inside of her.

“Sunshine.”

But she would never get sunshine in her many prisons. This was the Night Court, a place where people would walk around veiled in night, shadows and stars. She would never get sunshine here.

In death, there was only darkness.

Soon, her visions had become insufferable, and she had not known what to make of them as they slowly creased the lines between her waking life and dreams. She’d vaguely remembered the healer—Madja, they’d told her—looking deep into her mind and soul, her efforts fruitless nonetheless. And then, they’d brought him. Him, she had remembered. He had come to talk to her, to help her. She’d braced herself for the invasion into her mind, but he’d looked into her heart instead, where the golden thread had been resting safely, and tugged.

Emotions began flooding over her, and they had been…life. She’d felt his concern, she’d felt his awe, she’d felt his need to protect and care for her just like she’d needed to do the same for him. She had felt him, too, all of him, and he was nothing but pure, luminescent sunlight.

But Elain had experienced life before the Cauldron, and had been condemned to the darkness ever since. The light had chosen to abandon her, she’d been sure of that, and if she’d tried to seek it out again, she’d find nothing. And she could not handle that again.

“Why do hate me so much?” he asked when they were left alone, and she thought she might die all over again at the agony in his voice.

She wouldn’t let herself cry. Dead people held no tears. So she only whispered, “I don’t hate you. I hate the way you make me feel.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, those eyes piercing her with pain she could barely withstand. “How do I make you feel, Elain?”

Silver lined her dead eyes at last at the sound of her name on his lips. “Like this life is worth living.”

She’d began avoiding him, then, too petrified to let go of what she’d used to be to replace it with what she’d been given. She’d wished she could be like the flowers she would grow in her garden, coming alive when the sunlight caressed them. But she had died in that Cauldron. It had been too late for her to come alive once again. 

Another Solstice.

She’d done her best to ignore him, to close off her heart and soul so that he could not feel her sadness the way she’d felt his.

He’d found her that night anyway, begging to let him make her happy. He would give her anything, he’d said.

“Please, Lucien,” she rasped. “Let me waste away.”

His grip tightened on hers. “Never.”

She’d sought out the shadowsinger after that, desperate for anything to drown out those feelings. Because accepting them…accepting them would mean leaving her old life behind.

She wanted to be numb.

He hadn’t come back after that. Not for a very long time, and Elain had begun growing restless. Their bond would flicker at times, letting her know he was there, on the other side of the golden thread that bridged their souls. Sometimes, she would feel his fear. Sadness. Longing. 

Where was he? What was he doing? Was he safe? Was he still thinking about her?

He probably wasn’t. Good. He deserved better than her. She would not drag him into death, into darkness with her, when it was so clear he was nothing but pure sunlight.

And yet, she couldn’t help but ask Feyre about him.

“Why do you need to know?” her sister asked warily.

“Please. I just need to know. So I can stop…” Thinking. Worrying. Craving. “Wondering.”

Feyre angled her head slightly. “Elain, he’s…” she sighed. “He’s still in the human lands. Living with Jurian…and Vassa.”

Fury, quiet and yet boiling her insides at the same time, rose through her. Was he in love with the Firebird queen? Did Elain mean anything to him anymore?

“Elain,” Feyre’d said, as if sensing the way her scent had become laced with anger. “You chose not to make a decision.”

She swallowed hard. Yes, she had. And Lucien was all the better for it.

“Just…” she hesitated. “When you see him, can you just let me know if he’s safe? If he’s happy?” she choked on that last word.

Happy.

What would happiness feel like in this new life? Would if feel different, rich and more vivid somehow, like the flowers, the food she experienced through her new senses? Would it feel like darkness too, or would it bring sunshine to her at last?

But that was a question for the living. And Elain no longer walked amongst them.

That night, she had dreamed of him. Or perhaps he had dreamed of her, and somehow, the golden thread between them had finally found a way to bridge them in dreams, too. They walked together through a field of sunflowers, and it had felt more real than any waking moment she’d experienced after the Cauldron. Their bond was shining with a golden light, and the sunflowers perked up in answer. His hand grabbed hold of hers, strong and gentle, just like she’d imagined whenever her mind dared to wander to the unthinkable. He pulled her to him, their bodies so close she thought they might become one, and said, Come find me, Elain. Come find me at last.

How could she have said no to the eyes that offered nothing but warmth?

When Feyre had offered her the opportunity to see him, Elain had not hesitated. They’d gone to the human lands, for the first time since Elain had died. She’d been asked to help Vassa find a way to break her curse, to use her abilities to turn a firebird back into the queen she was meant to be.

Lucien was there.

They hadn’t seen each other in so, so long. Her heart ached at the sight of him, at the way his eyes scanned her face, those specks of light only flickering when they met hers. She would speak to him, she decided. She owed him this much.

And so, after their meeting, they found each other in one of the dark corridors of the manor. She could do nothing but look at him, savour the warmth until it was time to give into death’s cold, dark claws again. A second passed. Then another. And then, time became insignificant.

She would never forget the understanding that had dawned on his features as he finally, truly looked.

“Why do you insist on destroying yourself, Elain?” he only asked.

She shook her head, her eyes not leaving his for one second. “I already have been destroyed. There is nothing for me in this life.”

His jaw trembled, the sight making her eyes burn as tears began dropping down her cheeks. He brought his hand to her face, a calloused thumb gently swiping the hot, silver liquid away. “What about me?” he asked quietly.

She choked on a sob, unable to hold it in any longer, and his palm found her at last, cupping her cheek softly. Warmth.“What if you get destroyed, too?”

His other hand found her, too, and she marvelled at how perfectly her face fit into his strong hands. “Elain, Elain, Elain—” he kept repeating, fingers swiping away tears that would not stop coming.

She shook her head once more, but he wouldn’t let her break away from his tender grasp. “I can’t, Lucien. I can’t drag you into this death with me.”

“Elain, please—”

“No,” she denied him once more. “Be happy, Lucien.”

His hands trembled, as if the softness of her skin had been the only thing keeping them steady.

Lucien’s voice broke as he asked the same question she’d been asking him silently ever since she died. “How am I to be happy without you?”

She didn’t know the answer. So she turned away from him and walked away.

She had wasted and wasted away after that, with a smile plastered on her face that she’d grown to be sick of. She’d only wanted to smile with him, for him, a smile that offered warmth and light, one that made the golden thread between their souls shine brighter than the sun. But the smile she’d confined herself to…it made that bond nothing but a mere string of what could have been.

Another Solstice. He hadn’t come. She hadn’t expected him to, but her heart had sank nonetheless, so deep and hollow she thought it might have left her body at last. So when the people of the Night, Shadows and Stars, people that were supposed to be her family had begun exchanging good wishes and beautiful gifts, Elain had gone to bed. To sleep. To continue to waste away.

And then…the dream had come. 

Lucien was dead.

He laid beside her, so terrifyingly cold, all the warmth from his eyes, his heart, his soul…gone.

She was sobbing beside him, her mind filled with nothing but thoughts of how his light no longer shone upon her, how her heart called to his and received no answer. Clinging to his lifeless body, she screamed and sobbed and trembled until she truly and utterly withered.

And, for the first time in both her lives, Elain understood what it really meant to die.

Because after emerging from the Cauldron, she had lost sight of her soul, only stumbling upon darkness whenever she’d tried to look for it. But with Lucien, so still and peaceful at her side she thought he could have been dreaming, she realised she finally found it. That her soul was wrapped safely around his.

She would not let it go.

She shot out of bed, running down the many—too many—stairs of the River House, until she found them by the fire, still celebrating as if the world hadn’t just flipped on itself. “Take me to him,” she said to no one in particular, and soon, there had been arms around her, moving her through the rips in the world until the manor stood before her again.

She marched inside of it, abandoning all manners of propriety as she ran towards wherever he was, using the golden thread connecting their souls as her only compass. Growing warmer, brighter, with each step, gleaming with gold until—

She found him. Strong, muscular back, dressed in deep green—immaculate as always—was turned to her as he faced the fireplace, and her entire body shuddered as she basked in his presence at last. “Lucien,” she breathed.

He turned to face her, his gaze betraying his shock at the sight of her in her nightgown, golden-brown hair all out of place and her eyes, filled with tears and desperation. In five quick strides, she finally reached him, throwing her hands around his neck as her mouth clashed into his.

It only took him a second to get over his shock as strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her up as his lips responded to hers with the force of a thousand suns.

This, Elain decided, was life. Their kiss was pure, golden sunlight, shining between their souls as their hearts sang in unison. She would never let go. She would live. With him. Forever.

So much time, she thought, her thoughts tracing back to reality, to the door behind which Lucien was now fighting for his life. So much time lost to darkness, to death, to prisons created from her own volition. She thought they would have more of it. She wouldn’t have wasted and wasted and wasted away if she’d only known—

Breathing stopped in her chest.

She sank to her knees, paying no mind to the way the stones she’d hit rattled her bones, hands crossed on her chest as she felt the bond tug on her weakly. A gentle goodbye. She clawed at her own skin, trying to get to where it hid within her soul, trying to save whatever was left of it, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter as precious time slipped through her fingers.

Her body bent forward, cradling itself in excruciating pain until her forehead touched the cold stone of the ground beneath her.

I should have loved you sooner, she sobbed as that golden thread gave its last flicker. I should have loved you sooner.

***

Elain was beyond screaming.

She’d entered the room on wobbling legs, now on her knees by the bed where Lucien rested as she realised her nightmare from years ago was becoming her reality.

She held his face, tears streaming down her face as she whispered the words over and over again. I should have loved you sooner.

I’m sorry, she wept, clawing at his bloodstained shirt as if it was her last clutch to the world. Please, stay with me.

Please.

Lucien had once given her life. Had offered his soul, laid it bare for her with nothing but honesty and devotion. Had offered his light, promising warmth and sunshine she’d been craving after it had been ripped from her so abruptly. Had offered his love, had protected and cared for her when she’d been too lost to do it herself. He had offered himself, all of him, and wanted nothing in return but for Elain to live.

She would live. But only with Lucien at her side.

Please, my love, she begged. There is so much life left for us to live. Together.

She shook with a silent sob, and brought her lips to his, offering everything back.

My soul, she thought as her lips parted his. No longer lost in the darkness as it found its home with yours. Connected through our bond, the golden thread of eternal promise and unrivalled passion.

Her fingers stroked his hair, the blood splattered in it almost invisible under the canvas of long, red strands. My light, she continued, reflecting your own since the day I accepted you as my mate. As my love, my family, my sun. I offer you warmth and light for when the darkness consumes you. For when your own light shines so bright mine has no choice but to glimmer in answer.

My love, she sent the thought to him, deepening her kiss, as if she was trying for the words to reach his very soul and reignite it back to life. So strong and unyielding it overwhelms all of my senses. My love for you, Lucien, knows no boundaries. It is vast and vibrant, and it is yours. It makes my heart beam in your presence, flutter at your every smile, clench whenever if feels your love, offered in return. My love for you is the essence of my very being, my drive for every passion, my reason for every decision. And your love for me…your love for me is a privilege. I wake up every day, thankful for whoever had decided I was deserving of it.

Tears began dripping down her cheeks, landing on his skin, soaking into it as she told him, I offer you myself, Lucien, just like I did all those years ago when I said yes during our mating ceremony. I offer you myself again because I will choose you every time, in every life. She finally parted from him, sending her final message down her soul, hoping it would find its way back to his. You are mine and I am yours. Forever.

Ever since the moment she had met him, Elain could hear Lucien’s heart. And so, as their kiss ended, she rested her forehead on his and waited.

Silence.

And then, light.

It began at his chest, the lips of his wound reaching toward each other. It sank into his chest, and became a ball of light, trailing upwards as his body healed, and Elain did not dare to breathe as she watched the small, golden sun of his own travel through his heart, his throat, his face, until his entire body was gleaming with sunlight.

She almost jumped at the sudden, quiet thud of his heart.

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

Another thud, this time, louder.

And then his chest rose, and Elain began crying all over again as she lifted herself up, surveying his beautiful, scarred face.

His eyes fluttered open, and landed on hers in an instant. Half-sobbing, half-laughing, Elain pulled herself up on the bed, taking a seat next to Lucien, Gatros already at his side, hands flashing with light.

Lucien sat, a groan escaping him, and Elain’s heart flipped at the sound of his voice. “Come on, my love,” she breathed, her voice hoarse, her lips salty with tears. “Lean on me.”

“Elain,” he rasped, and she cried, bringing his face to hers, careful not to cause him any pain.

“It’s me, Lucien. You’re okay.”

Those eyes, those sunlit eyes looked into hers, and she came alive once again. The corners of his mouth curved upward, somehow making the room even brighter. “That was one hell of a speech, my love.”

She laughed, pressing her lips to his, trembling as she felt his warmth on her skin again. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.” 

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @headcanonheadcase @houseofhurricane @goddess-aelin @hlizr50 @ladyelain @how-to--disappear @nestasbitch @zoya-nikolai @foxwithagoldeye @nspwriteups @rabbitlover1027 @rbhatesmangos

[ryuichifoxe]

I don't drabble often but my internet keeps cutting out, so have some SteelStep??? ----

It's not as if there was ever a time where Emery wasn't angry at the world. Even before the Heartbreak Incident, the barbs he covered himself in to keep others at a distance were always at the ready. No hesitation to lash out if someone crossed an invisible line in the sand.

But you'd be lying if you said it was the same.

While you didn't always get along, Emery let a lot of his anger go the more time he spent with the Rangers. Ortega specifically, as much as their budding relationship hurt to watch from the sidelines.

He let loose, smiled more.

Where he was never sure how to take your gruff suspicion and often bristled in the beginning, Emery learned to let it roll off his back. Disarm you with a grin far too much like Ricardo's and a “I'll get right on that, big guy.”

Now...

Now there's glass embedded in the thorns and he wields those shards of windowpane as if they were knives.

There's more venom in the words he spits in your face when you prod at the open wounds he pretends to have stitched. But you both see the fraying threads threatening to come undone.

Sometimes he apologizes. Sometimes you do.

It's in those moments where you catch a glimpse of the man you watched struggle to grow into his own all those years ago, reflected in the broken fragments he holds impossibly tight to his chest.

Marshal Steel suspects Emery of being Heartbreak. There's an inevitability written in the future and he accepts it.

Then Emery smiles, tired but genuine. You're not actually sure he intended to let it slip and that upends your world in one, swift motion.

"Oh shut up, Wei."

Steel has a responsibility to the city.

You're not Steel here, not right now.

And all you want is to pry open Emery's hands and remove the glass so that he stops cutting himself. You want to protect him from his enemies and from himself.

[findyourrp]

Ciao🍋

I'm 25+, F, 10+ years experience. PLEASE! don't like this if you're under 21 AND don't reach out if you don't intend to follow through. I'm looking for something long-term.

I've been dying to write:

Kento Nanami x F!OC

Shoko Ieiri x M!OC

Hiromi Higuruma x F!OC

Satoru Gojo x F!OC (I'd like to write Satoru)

Reiner Braun x F!OC (I'd like to write Reiner)

Erwin Smith x F!OC

Eren Yeager x F!OC (I only write Eren)

Zeke Yeager x F!OC

Levi Ackerman x F!OC (I'd like to write Levi)

Porco Galliard x Pieck Finger

Porco Galliard x F!OC

Jean Kirstein x Hitch Dreyse

I want to explore these characters to their full extent, so I ask that you only like this post if you're comfortable with both the fluff side of relationships AND mature themes (such as: nsfw in moderation, drinking, smoking, violence because the series are very violent, addiction, death, traumatic events, depression, illness, maybe miscarriages and pregnancies).

I usually mirror my partner's preferences but the length of my replies varies significantly depending on the thread and I refuse to stress myself out about it (I've written both 200 and 1000+ word replies just today). I loathe when people write long replies for the sake of it - just because a reply is lengthy doesn't mean it has quality or substance. I love exploring characters in a very realistic way and writing them in different ways: paras, tech threads (calls, texts), letters, diary entries, drabbles, threads where no dialogue happens, etc.

My rules: No bigotry, respect boundaries, don't drag me into drama, always share your ideas openly (even if your hesitant or self-conscious - I'm too, and I always make sure to put in the effort so I fully expect the same from my writing partners). Also, please be ok filling out ship memes because they are my bread and butter.

Thank you for reading, give this post a like if you'd be interested and I'll find you. Alternatively, you can find me at elleseekswritingpartners💛

.

[silverleaf-muses]

The book of rules!

Hey, everyone. Mun here, before getting into the actual post, I wanted to say something. I actually have a confession to make.

You see, I'm actually not a new mun. I'm actually...

THE MASTERMIND! {Dun-dun-Duuuuun}

But for realsies, I'm actually the same mun from @gothic-muses. What a twist! Since it's a new account and everything, I wanted to start a new. And so, this is the first thing I'm working on.

Now then, onto the don'ts and do's of this!

DON'T:

□Don't interact if your into minors as a sexual thing or believe that P*dophilia belongs in the LGBT+ community. As a minor myself, I really don't wish to talk to you and since the muses I created are also minors, I really don't want to have you interacting with them.

□Don't interact if you intend to bully or mock my style of writing. I am a beginner when it comes to writing and hearing harsh comments in a manner like that would ruin what left of a self esteem I have. If you want to give advice on the other hand, Dm me.

□Don't make fun of any feature of the muses, whether that is appearance or backstory. It's a very childish thing to do and I would never do that to your ocs. We don't have cringe culture here!

□Don't follow if your triggered by themes of abuse, bullying and mental health. This is more kinder than the other rules since I don't want anyone to hear part of a characters backstory and have some negative reaction to it. If I do happen to trigger any emotional stress, please let me know!

□Don't interact if you're a spam bot! I know Tumblr is trying to get rid of these, but I'd rather not see any notifications saying something lewd.

□If we do Rp, please I wish to keep gore at a minimum (unless it's in the form of art in which case I'll tag as such and I hope you do too.)

□Also, this is a SFW Rp blog. We may have friendly dinner dates and trips to the park as romance, but I'd rather not see any bed stuff. I will however allow flirting and kisses, but anything to sensual will not be allowed.

□Don't repost any of my art without any credit. On tumblr here, you can find me here and @gothic-nerd and on instagram you can find me at @/lil-miss-alchemy (my rp account) and @/gothic-aspie (my main.)

Do:

□Do say what's on your mind. If you want the plot to go in a specific direction, or if I've said something wrong, just let me know and I'll fix up my response right away!

□Do feel free to talk to me. Whether it's help on understanding some of the language like drabble and recommendations for threads or ideas. Heck, even if you want to say hi and share some memes, I really don't mind.

□Do ask as well! If you wanted to draw any of my muses, please ask before doing so. Or at least tag me.

□Ask! Ask! Ask! I really want to get involved more in the Rp community and, while I'm not the best, I'd love to see people interacting with the muses and I.

□Have fun! If you've gotten bored or just not up to carry on a specific thread, I'll tie up loose ends for you. (I honestly hate open ends as well.)

I hope this has cleared some things up!

[dvarapala]

Tessa my dear, I'm always happy to see you and Ud or Khione or Lou Ellen or Flori pop up on my dash. You radiate such light and kindness to everyone you interact with and it's such a wonderful presence especially when real life can seem so dreary or unpleasant. You're supportive of everyone you write with, never have an unkind thing to say about anyone, that that is truly an amazing quality to have. I hope you are able to rest your tooth and the pain goes away relatively soon so you can ring in the new year pain free!

tell me one (1) last thing before 2021 ends // @cursedbcrn

aaaah thank you so much for this, ace, ilysm! <3 your kind words mean a lot to me! i was originally gonna hold onto it but i figured i might as well respond to it now! ;D consider this me uno reverse carding you lmao because i'm gonna take this opportunity to talk and gush about you and your portrayal of hope, too!

really, i have king to thank for introducing you to me, i think (king, if you're reading this by any chance, tyvm and ilu too!) but once we were introduced to each other, i just found it really easy to talk to you. you care so, so much for every character you write - whether it's hope, with or without her humanity or jed or raf - and it shows.

one of your wanted plots for jed is basically the reason why floribeth exists at all and i never forgot that. (and, also, sidenote: thank you so so much for indulging me with all the florijed / jedibeth stuff ;P i love them so very much!)

and then there's hope. you just write her in a way that is so beautiful: you write her positive qualities, and her negative qualities with equal fervor and you don't shy away from who she is as a person: a tribrid, yes, but capable of as much good as bad. and it's all so compelling! (pun not intended! :P) i very much enjoy reading the nh threads you've got going on, as well as your metas!

and you, yourself, are just an absolute delight. from being :/ at the tv industry with me to :D at the same ships we ship, from drabbles to questions to plotting and everything else: you're just so lovely and i think you're just so cool and i genuinely hope we can talk and write more in 2022 on either or all of my muses! :D

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 18

If you're new: this is my procrastination fic. It is what I drabble around with when I'm being my worst self, and ignoring all my other WIPs and responsibilities! Enjoy!

X

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

=

Loki was lounging in the plush armchair in his living room, legs thrown over the armrests as he leafed through a chemistry book. In his lap, the tufted ball of fluff that was Einherjar lay on his back, showing the dark-haired Prince his belly for the occasional scratch. The kitten chirruped, protesting the lack of attention. Loki lifted the book to look down at his lap with a smirk.

"When I said you could come over, it wasn't for you to monopolize my time, you tiny brat."

The cat made a noise of protest before flipping just enough to butt his head against Loki's hand. He acquiesced, rubbing the kitten under the chin before the beast hopped off and stood before the bedroom door, tapping his soft paw against the door.

"She needs to rest–"

He stopped himself when the cat just started to scratch at the door with a vengeance. Loki rolled his eyes, swinging his legs onto the floor and abandoning the book onto the coffee table before stopping by the bedroom.

He had barely twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open before the kitten had slipped inside with his tail straight up and alert. With a grin, he followed the feline with his eyes as the kitten made its way up the tall bedposts and the twisted black bedlinens. Among a thick cocoon of sheets, Delilah lay rolled up into a ball, breathing evenly in peaceful slumber. His lover had fallen a little under the weather, and while every other being tended to avoid her like the plague, Loki knew he was at no risk of contracting any disease. After much protest, he had slung her over his shoulder and deposited her in his bed. Three days later, and she had pretty much remained unmoved.

Einherjar burrowed his furry body under the crook of her arm, settling against her warmth and purring so loudly Loki could hear it plainly from the doorway. "Ein, baby. Give me five minutes," she rasped weakly, barely able to pet the kitten.

"He just wants to curl up with you. No need to wake."

His voice made Delilah rouse. She blinked sleepily at the man with an odd look on her face. "When did you get here?"

"Well, I do happen to live here," he replied, clearly amused.

She stared around the room with a frown. "This isn't my room."

He suppressed a snort. "Well spotted, love."

"I'm icky."

"That is patently untrue." A few steps had him climbing up on the bed with a smile, pressing a kiss to her temple, despite her vehement protests. "You are burning again, sweetheart."

"My eyes are achy."

"Perhaps," he started, flexing his fingers before placing his palm onto her forehead. Delilah watched in fascination as his skin slowly turned blue, from the tips of his fingers and disappeared into the sleeves of his jumper. "Alright?" She nodded quietly, leaning into the soothing cool of his skin before her fingers began to trace his markings.

"Frosty, the snowman–" Lilah started singing, but Einherjar mewled as if he was protesting on the frost giant's behalf. "I'm kidding, Ein. He knows that. Don't you, gorgeous?"

"Are you always this flirty when you're ill or do I simply bring it out in you?" Delilah smirked impishly, and Loki rolled his eyes. "Never mind, you flirt." Another kiss peppered her forehead. "Let me bring you some broth," he murmured, slipping off the bed and reluctantly parting with her.

Delilah surprised him by wolf-whistling after him after giggling. "Do you have any fries for that shake?"

His darkened gaze cut over his shoulder. "Don't tempt me, pixie. I'll give you much more than a shake."

"Tease!"

He ignored the claim, pouring the broth he had carefully tended to all day, into a colorful mug for her to sip. The warmth scalded his blue fingers, but he made no complaint as he dutifully carried it back into the bedroom and waited for Lilah to sit up. She mumbled a complaint as her sore body stretched and burrowed into his side. She jumped when her outer thighs came into contact with his cold corporation.

"Why am I not wearing pajama pants?"

Loki chuckled. "Terribly sorry. I have a strict no pajama bottoms rule in effect. No exceptions."

She closed her hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth. She raised an eyebrow at him. "The lace underwear?"

"That was purely for my benefit, I admit." He nudged her gently on the side. "Illness is not an excuse to forego a bath."

"I've been sleeping," she retorted, deadpan.

"And I've yet to disturb your rest. You're welcome," he sassed back with a half grin, making a bundle of her and dragging her warm body into his lap, careful not to spill her broth. Delilah shuddered against the chill of his skin but settled against his chest, regardless. Her interest piqued as she sipped on the warm, savory liquid as Loki was now humming some unknown tune under his breath. He pointedly ignored her curious expression as his voice reverberated through his ribcage and hers, still humming. The forest cat completed their odd nesting doll positions by curling up in his mistress' lap, purring loudly.

"You're happy." The phrase wasn't so much an accusation as it was an intrigued declaration.

Loki tutted, forcing a frown on his face. "Slander."

"No, you are. Why are you so giddy?"

His fingers worried at a loose thread at the hem of her shirt and he made a mental note to have it replaced. He shrugged. "You never seem to need help and… it's nothing."

"Loki…"

"You fell asleep before I could even assure you that you'd be fine…"

"Oh, my heart," she gushed, staring up at him with an expression of pure adoration that seemed very out of place directed at him. "I trust you with my life, Lo."

"I know that. I just didn't know you were comfortable with me."

Lilah sighed, still smiling. She leaned away just long enough to place the mug on the bedside table. "I know that it's hard for you to believe, but I don't mind you around even when I'm sick and vulnerable and icky. In fact, I kind of prefer it."

"You prefer m-me around?" Despite the question, he was lighting up from within with giddy expectation.

"Everything is better with you around."

"I feel the same." His cheeks turned lavender over his Jotunn form. "I've waited a thousand years for you."

"God of Mischief and Lies? God of Soft Feelings and Ardent Domesticity!"

He smirked. "Easy. If rumors get out no one will ever respect me again."

"Or they'll respect you even more. Because how in the world can you turn from a sweet creature fishing for hugs and kisses to a lethal animal with deadly precision? How does that not inspire awe?" Loki's cheeks burned further, eyes dead set onto his hands on her lap, curled in Einherjar's fur.

"That sounds awful."

"It sounds like everything I want to come home to," she whispered before pressing her lips to his. "Or maybe that's the fever talking," Lilah joked, trying to break the tension and make him chuckle.

"Lilah?"

"Yeah?"

His back tensed and he drew a breath to steel his resolve. "Would you– would you want to come home to me?

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't I already?"

"And there you go, answering a question with a question again," he huffed, shifting uncomfortably beneath her. "I'm asking you to wed me."

Delilah giggled pecking the frown out of his lips. "I know."

"So, it's a "no", I assume?"

An eyebrow raised expectantly. "Why would you say that?"

Loki cut his eyes at her with an unsure expression. "Because you… I…don't…. know…"

"Silvertongue, indeed, I see," she teased. Loki supposed there was no way he could blush any harder. His heart was thudding in his ears and threatening to burst through his chest cavity, sad and defeated, but also thoroughly and entirely enamored of this ethereal creature. "You'd really be stuck with me for however long I live?"

His mouth tenderly trailed down her jaw. "I could ask you the same."

"Stop making dumb decisions and you'll happily arrive at my funeral looking like a snack," she joked, only to have him pinch her side with a frown.

"You're not dying before me," he groused. "Do you think I would ever offer you marriage without guaranteeing you'd outlive me?" Delilah rolled her eyes, but offered no complaint, choosing instead to cuddle him, all the while sandwiching Einherjar. The kitten purred contentedly and burrowed further between them. She could tell there was still more on his mind and she waited patiently for his bravery to agree with him. "I'm aware that I'm not the safest option. I'm also aware that I am not the most suitable mate– Thor is–"

"I don't want Thor. I love him, but he's kind of a narcissistic brat with a hero complex."

"In fairness, he is a hero."

She cupped her hands around his face, watching how his skin pinked at the warmed contact and his features fell into his Asgardian form. "So are you–the person I actually want. Who is already entirely mine and I intend to keep, forever." Her finger ran the length of the creases that formed whenever he smiled. "If you want to put a ring on it, be my guest. I wasn't planning on letting you go, either way."

"And how did you know I'd be amenable to this plan to hoard me away?" He caught her left index finger between his teeth and gnawed gently.

She grinned. "In the last four days, I've been feverish, throwing up and looking like a trash monster and you've been anxiously hovering for the entirety of it. You've basically hoarded yourself into my life." The kitten, who had scaled the front of her shirt, fishing for attention, mewled in what sounded like annoyance. "Our life. Terribly sorry, Ein." They shared a glance and Delilah rolled her eyes dramatically. "You sure you want all this?"

"Most definitely. Say "yes", darling." She gave a giggle and peppered his face in a trail of warm kisses.

"Yes, darling."

"Smart ass," he muttered, though his face lit up in a disbelieving smirk.

"Learned from the very best, love of mine." Delilah caught the corner of his mouth and Loki bit back a growl before recapturing her lips. "Husband of mine."

This time the growl was not subdued. His kisses were effervescent but short-lived. With a wide smile, he leaned over opposite her, digging into the drawer of his own bedside table. When he righted, he was fisting something tightly in his left hand, a slight tremble barely noticeable in his limbs.

"What are you–?" Delilah could not finish the questions before Loki opened his hand. Laying in the center of his palm was a delicate silver band woven in threads like vines. Details of tiny flowers and leaves threaded through the fibers.

The Asgardian looked rather sheepish as he waited for a reaction –any reaction– from his lover. "On Asgard we trade weapons, but I've read that rings are the traditional exchange of the realm here. Though I do have a beautiful Uru dagger that I've been meaning to give you. Is it weird that I want to give you a weapon? I just worry–"

"You're rambling." Her tone was playful and loving. "You're rambling when you should be making me yours," she added as she offered her left hand to him, "but god, I love it when you do."

Despite the flush, Loki eagerly slipped the ring from his palm onto her finger, enjoying the crackle of electricity that formed once the band magically adjusted on it. There was a tug in his soul calling him to her, one that he was sure she felt, too, if the curious tilt of her head was any indication. It was an intimate, yet effortless, connection–souls finding their match and twisting together. The new sensation was comfortable and soothed his anxious, frayed nerves. She was his balm.

Delilah looked down at her hand in his. She turned it over, palm up, casually running her thumb over the band in an attempt to perceive the intricate designs with her digits, but coming up surprisingly empty. Beside her, Loki gave a shudder, gasping lightly, and her mind flashed with a million images of herself, many in an array of compromising positions. She had never had a god in her head before, but she decided she was going to like this.