#(being that i could just die and no one would care for long)

[kaisentine]

if there was one thing you could miss about kaiser it’s being able to run your fingers through his long messy hair. it’s the way the tips of your fingers occasionally bumped on his scalp, it’s the way your fingers might’ve gotten stuck on a knot that you’d have to use an actual brush on, it was the way he’d show up to training with little untied and half-finished braids that would eventually just . . . fall after every goal, maybe it was also the way kaiser said he hated it but didn’t punch you in the face.

“ness, can you braid that side?” you ask the man that’s on the opposite side of you. kaiser looks annoyed—sitting with his legs crossed while the both of you guys knelt at his sides to play with his long hair. “sure but we have practice soon,” he responds with a smile and kaiser groans at his very enthusiastic teammate.

that’s why when ness agreed to cut kaiser’s hair, you felt betrayed—devastated, even. “oh good graciousness, when did that happen?” you ask with a jaw that’s wide open as you stare at his new hairstyle, it’s hard to describe into words but it’s really . . . eye-catching, especially with the blue hair dye that mixes with his blond hair.

“wanted to get rid of it.”

you don’t play with his hair anymore, mostly because you basically have nothing to tug on anymore other than the two stupid rat tails he has to which you have twisted together at least once. your finger-combing agenda suddenly vanished and your fidget toy which was his hair was replaced by numerous hair-ties and bracelets.

not like he minded. he finally had his hair for himself without some person overtaking it with their hands and he didn’t have to bother himself with putting it up any longer.

nope, he was totally lying—he did mind. he minded that there were no more hands—your hands—getting tangled in his hair and the dull pain that came with it. he minded the way your fingers fiddled with those objects instead of his hair. he didn’t necessarily care about his hair, he cared about your hands in his hair.

he thinks you’re being real stubborn,

kaiser is fed up now. the man is crazy enough to grab your wrist in the middle of nowhere when you’re twisting a black hair-tie and bring it to his head (CRINGE EWWW). “what are you doing?” you’re as shocked as you were the day you saw his new hairstyle—by instinct, you try to remove the fingers that are caught up in his locks but his grip is deadly and unwilling to let go. “exactly what it looks like.” he’s saying it straight-faced without an inch of regret in his actions nor words. you roll your eyes at his insistence because all this time, you thought he hated when you threaded your fingers around his hair. “didn’t you say you didn’t like me doing it?” you question, fingers unwilling to move. “i’ll hate you even more if you don’t move.” he grumbles.

but he’ll fix that.

sticky note. lowkey me just mourning his hair . . . someone please tell me kaiser won’t break plsplsplslpls don’t do this to me i can’tican’tican’t omg no bring kaiser back kaiser comeback when pls don’t go back to germany pls make it up with ness plspslpslpslsplspsls don’t die plsplsplsplsplsplspls

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

“It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

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

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[rosiecosy]

the joker

(seventeen x reader)

thank you to the anon who requested this! i hope you enjoy!

"welcome back to another episode of going seventeen!"

the staff's voice boomed through the speakers as the members sat in their seats, waiting for today's game to be announced.

"i swear if it's carnival again, i'm leaving," jeonghan muttered, slumping in his seat.

everyone not-so-quietly agreed. but before the complaints could continue, the staff revealed the game.

mafia.

with a secret role.

silence.

"what kind of secret role?" jeonghan asked, already thinking of ways to cheat.

the staff handed out the role cards—one mafia, one doctor, one detective, the civilians, and one joker.

"what does the joker do?" dino asked.

the staff grinned. "the joker wins alone. they don’t care if the mafia or civilians win—as long as they survive."

the members turned to look at each other.

"oh," woozi said. "so you want us to die."

round one

they started discussing immediately.

"i think it’s hoshi," vernon said.

"what?!"

"you’re being too loud."

"i’m always loud!"

"exactly," vernon deadpanned.

hoshi sulked. "you guys suck."

meanwhile, she stayed silent. she wasn’t mafia. she wasn’t a civilian.

she was the joker.

which meant she had one goal—survive.

and what better way to survive than to act completely, painfully average?

so she did what any normal civilian would do—she accused mingyu.

"mingyu looks suspicious."

mingyu’s jaw dropped. "i literally just breathed."

"exactly," seungcheol said, nodding. "too calm."

mingyu groaned. "i hate this game."

and just like that, he got eliminated.

round two

the next morning, the game resumed. when they opened their eyes, they saw joshua sitting quietly with his arms crossed.

"wait…" dino furrowed his brows. "are you—"

joshua sighed. "yeah, i’m dead."

seungkwan gasped. "who killed joshua?!"

woozi rolled his eyes. "obviously, the mafia."

"wow, they really went for an easy target," jeonghan muttered, sipping his tea.

joshua turned to glare at him. "excuse me?"

she sat back, watching. she didn’t care who won—as long as she wasn’t eliminated.

so she did something risky.

"guys… what if there’s no mafia?" she said suddenly.

the room fell silent.

seungkwan gasped. "what are you saying?!"

"i mean, what if it’s all a trick? what if the staff just told us there was a mafia but secretly… there isn’t one?"

chaos. immediate chaos.

dino: "huh?!"

woozi: "shut up."

seungcheol: "oh my god."

jeonghan: "wait… that’s actually genius."

and just like that, they forgot about her.

round three

it was down to four people—her, seungcheol, jeonghan, and seungkwan.

one mafia. one civilian. one detective.

and her—the joker.

she needed one more person to go before the final round.

so she turned to jeonghan and whispered,

"it’s seungcheol."

jeonghan’s eyes narrowed.

he turned to seungkwan. "it’s seungcheol."

seungcheol: "what?!"

"he’s been too quiet."

"that’s just my personality?!"

seungkwan nodded. "true. he’s always the fake leader in mafia."

seungcheol got eliminated.

she smiled.

one step closer to victory.

final round

three left.

jeonghan. seungkwan. her.

one mafia. one civilian. one joker.

seungkwan squinted. "wait… who’s lying?"

jeonghan pointed at her. "it’s her."

she gasped. "you’re really gonna betray me like this?"

"you literally started this whole thing!"

seungkwan turned to her. "are you mafia?"

she gave him the most innocent look ever. "do i look like a liar?"

"…yes."

"…fair."

jeonghan sighed. "look. let’s be logical."

"oh my god," woozi mumbled from the ghost section.

jeonghan continued. "if i was mafia, would i have gotten rid of seungcheol?"

"yes," she said.

jeonghan blinked. "wait—"

too late.

seungkwan eliminated him.

the staff clapped. "congratulations! the civilians win—"

"actually."

the staff paused.

she grinned.

"i was the joker."

seungkwan froze. "wait… does that mean…"

"she won," woozi groaned.

jeonghan looked personally offended. "you backstabbed me."

she shrugged. "that’s the game."

seungkwan fell to the floor. "i can’t believe this."

the members screamed. mingyu threw a pillow at her. jeonghan stormed off.

but all she did was sit back, smile, and say,

"well… see you next episode."

[holycowboytiger]

Poly!141 x Hacker!Reader (Part 2)

GN!Reader

(It is heavily implied that the reader is autistic)

CW: Blackmail, implied murder, religious trauma, religious imagery, reader is slowly losing it- or they lost it a while back

(A/N: this is not the best chapter, I'm actually iffy about this one and the pacing, but i really wanted to show a little bit more behind the curtain, and some more about the reader- so !! tada!!)

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

fuckfuckfuckfuck,,, what the fuck do you do?! Peter has the laptop,, he will see.. fuck he'll se everything,, they'll be ruined, kiss their jobs goodbye- you need to do something-

Wait... Why do you care? This man had cursed your eyes, and his fuckass boyfriends had been harassing you at work for the better part of two weeks, who cares if Peter finds those videos- who cares if the taskforce's secret is revealed, and their careers are torn into shambles?

who gives to shits if all they live and stand for will be ripped away from them?

......It's you, you care, strangely enough you might be the only one who does, this office adores some drama, and 141 being revealed would cause such a stir people would be talking about it for years on end, but you knew what else would come of it.

At the same time- do you want to put yourself on the line? Do you want to be shady and blackmail your fellow techies to protect these men? You could just leave it... It has nothing to do with you, and to take time out of your own day to help these guys out? Are you really that charitable?

Who are you kidding... now is not the time to have a morality check, you know what's right,, and what is wrong, and - maybe you care a little bit, these men don't deserve to be revealed in such a way, and you can save them from the shame the contents of the laptop would bring.....

It would ruin the taskforce's lives, all four men would be disgracefully discharged, and their names would be dragged through the dirt for years to come, and as heartless as you were, you just couldn't let it happen, maybe you could be like an office vigilante?

Batman would be proud.....

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

Holy shit you're actually doing this aren't you? You're such a good person, maybe it will make up- and cleanse you of your previous sins, wash the blood off your hands of the people you laid to rest.. For good reason

those people deserved to die, you know this, as desperate and gut wrenching as their screams were, they deserved the punishment you laid upon them... Maybe this- this kind gesture will ease your mind, maybe this action will help you sleep easier

Fuck it... time to go keep 141's secret, hopefully without their knowledge.

The cogs turned in your head as you slowly worked out a plan, was it a morally correct plan? no, absolutely fucking not! but you've skinned someone alive so how bad could this be ?

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

Your eyes narrowed at Peter as he took the laptop from Soap, his own eyes lighting up as Soap slapped his shoulder and thanked him,, calling him a life saver- yeah right.. If only Soap knew that Peter had a habit of straying a bit too far from home, to girls that are a bit too young for him.

Would Soap care? Surely he would right? That's something he cant turn a blind eye to right? He was a good person, You're a good person.. right? Of course you are, you're helping him out... But is it really a good deed if you're doing it for selfish reasons?

To calm the sinful thoughts in your head? Are you a good person? surely...Surely not? You've killed people, tortured people because in your eyes they're bad...

What would the big man in the sky say? He would tell you to forgive,,, wouldn't he,, what you have done,,, the people you have hurt,, there is no prayer great or long enough that would grant you passage to the pearly gates...Maybe.. Or maybe you were sent down here to do the dirty work, to do the actions your forgiving God could not bare....

You're a good person.. you are a good person...right?

you don't have time for this.. get it together, you need to get that laptop..

Rising from you desk you approach Peter, slapping on the best smile you can without looking deranged you stand infront of him.. looking like a predator whose spotted easy prey

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

''Peter! Hey there...'

''Uhh,, hello?'' his eyes narrowed at you

''Hows your wife hm?'' you are great at social interaction! no really you're doing great, this is a normal structured conversation..

''She's... she's good! Do you need something?''

''Yes actually''

strike one, revealing that you're here for selfish reasons and don't give a fuck about how his wife is doing..shit

''Okay? What is it?''

''That laptop''

strike two, you're too forward

''What?''

''The laptop.''

''I-Im, not too sure I can give it to you- Johnny.. Soap asked me to take care of it''

HAH look at this loser, using Soaps name like they're friends, the guy probably doesn't give a fuck about him, he's only a tech drone, only here to take care of his technical troubles

''oh- yeah.. sure- but- but you have alot on your plate right? You're close to a promotion right? You wouldn't want to direct your attention somewhere else, especially when you're sooo close? Right?''

Ok ok- we're getting somewhere, stroke his ego-

''Yeah but- I'm sure its nothing big-''

''Peter. You seem- weary to give this laptop away.. I know you look up to the guy but- its just a device''

''You seem a bit too eager to get this laptop.''

Strike three, he's onto you, switch tactics, you need that fucking laptop.

''If you don't give me the laptop, your wife will find out who Cierra is.''

''wh-what?!''

''You heard me.''

''What,, what the fuck?!''

his eyes widened, you've got it, secured the bag,, by- strange means, but you're a strange person, it isn't ideal to let him know this early into the plan that you know of his adultery, but you don't have alot of ammo in your arsenal.

''The laptop.''

''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Yes you do. Black hair, green eyes, freckles? How strange, I thought your wife was blonde and blue eyed Peter. And.. Isn't, Cierra a bit young for you?''

''You- You're fucking insane, I would never-''

Denial- he thinks your bluffing. Show him you aren't

''You also frequent a motel on the west side of the city- what would your wife think when she finds out that you actually did get your Christmas bonus this year? but you spent it on that little side piece of your's..hm?''

''finefine! fuck...Just - just don't''

''I wont. Just do as i say and your secret is safe with me'' for now..

Ahhhhh the sweet taste of blackmail and victory in the morning, truly a breakfast to die for... except its not morning,, its early afternoon.

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

You return to your desk, trophy in hand, and you get to work quickly, afraid Soap might return too soon and see you working on his problem.

Just wipe the search history, take care of the virus, and DO NOT TOUCH THE FILE. You know what's in there and you are not curious enough to check if its been updated.

or are you?

NO YOU ARENT- BRO STOP???

anyway..

The wipe only took about five minutes, that's great! in and out, Soap wont suspect a thing! ...

You should reward yourself with a coffee! Even if you hate it, you haven't slept in days, keep yourself awake.

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

Sauntering into the office kitchen, you come across someone you weren't the happiest with coming face to face with, and by the scowl you received, he wasn't happy either-

He's the taskforce's pretty boy, Gaz- or Kyle? Garrick? Wasn't his callsign because someone spelt his name wrong? Hah, loser-

Ok stop that's mean....

Forcing your gaze to the floor you approached the counter, opening one of the cupboard to reach for a mug, you were going to offer Gaz one before you stopped yourself, this guy does NOT like you- make your coffee and get out.

Would it be weird if you just left now? Took the mug with you? ..

Yes that would be so weird, but you really don't feel like making coffee whilst a member of special forces watches you like you're defusing a bomb.

You reach for the coffee tin before feeling how ...empty it was.. oh for fucks sake- Sandra that bitch, she definitely finished it- Ugh, fucking- such an inconsiderate asshole..

Now you have to put the mug back like a weirdo and leave-

''None left hm?'' Pretty boy spoke up

''Uh.... no.'' you answered

''Shame that.''

you swore, you fucking swore you saw a smirk cross his lips- that prick- he knew- he knew it was empty, and just didn't tell you, letting you embarrass yourself infront of him,

''Yeah'' fucking shame he didn't die from that fall from a helicopter

you sigh and put the mug back. Guess you'll just have to fight off sleep with pure will power, which never worked.

Turning to leave, you avoided Gaz's heavy gaze and dragged yourself from the kitchen, ignoring the urge to bash his head onto the counter.

Maybe you should leak the videos...

No- no you should not, shake your head, hes an ass, but he does good work,,, and he takes it up the as-

ok enough.

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

You walked back to your desk and picked up Soap's laptop, preparing to take it back to Peter- only,, he wasn't at his desk.. Where the fuck did he go?

Is he on lunch??

No its only 2:30...

Your eyes scan the room until they land on your target, pointing at your workspace,, talking to.. Soap...oh fuck....

Peter looked flushed, as Soap glared at your desk, then his eyes landed on you, holding his laptop.. fuck...fuck... caught red handed, with your hand in the cookie jar... do you think this is the time that you unlock your secret invisibility powers? Or teleportation! anything to get you out of here

Maybe you should flee the country, change your name to something ridiculous- and oh fuck he's coming over, and he looked pissed, brace yourself! this is the day you're gonna get knocked out! in work! infront of a bunch of people, not your proudest moment but hell, it was for a good cause-

''You. With me.''

Don't fight it, just, let him take you away, maybe he'll be nice and shoot you out back, maybe he'll bury you too!

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

Following him felt like you were being led to the guillotine, walking through the empty halls until you find an area that you now realise is the barracks, this is not your territory, you are out of your element, lets just hope his teammates aren't here, lets hope he doesn't jump you with his boyfriends, as much as they would enjoy it-

Soap stops suddenly, and you almost walk right into his back, he whips around with an unreadable expression, he looked you up in down, before his eyes zeroed onto his laptop, still firmly in your grasp

''Can ye explain to me why I gave Peter my laptop to fix, and why it is now in yer hands hm?''

shit.

[justaparsec94]

Sleep

Author's Note: For @thecoffeelorian . Written for the prompt: Falling asleep in each others arms. This turned out a bit more angsty than I was originally intending but I hope you like it! I always find it a challenge to find the right amount of fluff for Cross.

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,617

****************

Crosshair shot up in bed, throat constricting painfully as he tried to bring a full breath of air into his lungs. His chest heaved as he looked wildly around the darkened room, pulse racing beneath his skin. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, to realize that he wasn’t in that tiny grey cell on Tantiss anymore. He wasn’t strapped to some examination table in a lab. He was fine, he was safe. He was on Pabu. He was home. 

He groaned softly, his entire body still on high alert from his nightmare as he kicked his legs over the side of the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees before letting his head fall into his hands. The cool metal of his cybernetic hand was both a relief against his fevered skin and a horrible reminder of everything he’d been through. Crosshair remained still for a long moment as he waited for his heart rate to return to a reasonable level, for his thoughts to stop racing on the same panicked loop. He shivered slightly as the cool breeze from the open window whispered across his skin that had been dampened by a cold sweat. 

It was the same nightmare he had had hundreds of times before. But no matter how often the same visions flashed across his mind, he always woke up the same way. Panicked, angry, scared. Kamino, Tantiss, Hunter, Wrecker, Omega, Desix, Echo, Mayday, Tech. Over and over the scenes played in his sleep, each time he watched everything crumble and burn, watched everyone he cared about die by his hands. It always felt so real. 

Crosshair finally straightened once his shoulders were no longer heaving with effort to breathe and his ears were no longer ringing. He turned slowly to look over his shoulder at the bed, trying not to make any sound or shift the mattress as he did so. Everything inside of him instantly softened at the sight of you. You were still sleeping peacefully, thankfully undistributed by his own nighttime troubles. He let out a gentle sigh, grateful that you were oblivious to him at that moment, though it wouldn’t have been the first time one of his nightmares had woken you up. 

He watched you for a long moment, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. You looked so peaceful when you slept, content. Most days, he still couldn’t quite believe that you were there, with him. After everything that had happened, sleeping in your shared bed, looking like there was nowhere else in the galaxy that you would rather be. 

The room was silent except for the soft sound of the waves coming in through the open window and your even, gentle breaths. He watched your chest rise and fall for another moment, wanting to be certain he hadn’t disturbed you. He sighed again, knowing that if he tried to go back to sleep he would just spend the rest of the night tossing and turning. He didn’t need the guilt of waking you added on top of everything else. So he stood, slowly so as to not move the bed. He paused though once he’d reached his full height, turning back around to look at you once more. Before he could stop himself he stooped over the bed, hand reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair that had blown into your face from the breeze coming in through the open window. He tucked the stay piece behind your ear, taking a moment to marvel at the softness of your skin. You let out a soft sigh as he pulled his hand away, nuzzling further into your pillow. He felt as if his heart was being carved from his chest at the sight, you meant everything to him. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. He’d do everything in his power to protect you, even if that meant protecting you from himself. With another sight he straightened, slipping silently out of the room and down the stairs.  

The small house was completely still and quiet as he made his way towards the kitchen. Omega and his brothers were likely all fast asleep, as they should be, at this time of night. As always, his eyes were drawn to the pictures lining the walls as he made his way through the house. An enthusiastic Omega and Wrecker, and a skeptical but pliable Hunter had taken it upon themselves to decorate their small home. Their place had very quickly filled up with anything and everything Omega and his brothers seemed to like, the walls filled with their finds. Before, what he would have considered clutter would have bothered him, but now he found he actually liked it. Not that he would admit that to anyone though. But after spending all of their lives with nothing it was still strange but nice to have something that was completely theirs. And now that you were here it felt more like a home than ever before. 

At first, back when things between the two of you had still been strained, you had stayed in Phee’s home anytime you came to the island. But that had slowly changed over time until one day he’d found himself cleaning out a drawer in his room for you. Since the fall of The Republic you’d been working with Rex, then Echo, helping them in any way you could with the clone rebellion. You hadn’t said anything and he wasn’t about to point it out but he had noticed that your journeys off Pabu had grown fewer and farther between lately. If he had things his way you’d never leave again, you were his, and he wanted you with him always. But he also wasn’t about to come between you and doing what you felt you needed to, what was right. No matter how much he might want to keep you with him every moment of every day. 

Crosshair stalked quietly across the kitchen before he stopped in front of the sink, grabbing a glass off the counter and filling it with water. His throat felt incredibly dry, as though he’d been crying out in his sleep. He knew he likely hadn't been if you were still asleep, but he had done so in the past. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he was over everything that had happened, he couldn’t seem to shake the nightmares. 

He gazed out the open window as he sipped slowly on his water, the gentle breeze sending a slight shiver down his spine. It was a warm summer night, but the sweat on his skin left him with a chill. The island was as silent as the house, peaceful, calm, safe. Now if only he could make himself believe he wasn’t in any danger, not anymore. 

Crosshair tensed at the sudden sound of soft footsteps overhead, he'd recognize your light tread anywhere. Guilt washed through him as he listened to you make your way down the stairs, obviously, he'd woken you up after all. He didn’t even so much as turn from his spot, simply continued to watch the waves crash against the shore down below as your footsteps drew nearer. It wasn’t until you crossed the threshold of the kitchen that he spoke, but his eyes remained focused on the quiet world outside the window. 

“Go back to bed,” He hissed, his tone more hostile than he intended but he couldn’t seem to stop the shame that was suddenly crawling up his throat. There was still a part of him that hated to be seen in these moments when he felt so weak. The other part felt so guilty for pulling you into this, how could he possibly make you happy when all he seemed to do was mess things up?

Despite his words, your footsteps didn’t even falter, and before he could even think of anything else to try and say your arms wrapped around his waist, your body pressing tightly up against his back. That part of him, that angry, writhing part, wanted to push away from you. To turn and demand you leave him but he knew you wouldn’t listen even if he did. Instead, he was helpless, melting into your embrace as he felt your cheek rest in the space between his shoulder blades. 

You were quiet for a moment before speaking softly, “You should know by now that it’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

The anger that it seemed he had spent all of his life trying to control suddenly rose up in him again, inexplicably. He wanted to snap, to point out that you had left him once before but the words got stuck in his throat. He knew that wouldn’t be fair to you. He had been the one who had made it impossible for you to stay, after all. And even after everything that had happened, after everything that he’d done, you had still come back to him. You didn’t deserve his anger. 

He let out a deep sigh, hands moving away from the counter to rest over the top of yours. As always, his anger and frustration seemed to melt away as you held onto him tightly. After a long, silent moment he turned in your arms, lifting his hands to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in close so that your head rested on his chest. You squeezed his waist tighter in response, melting further into him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

The two of you held each other silently, the turmoil inside of him settling with each passing moment. It was moments like those, where the two of you were wrapped so tightly together it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended, that he wished would never end. There was a time, not that long ago, when he would have balked at being held like this, at being so vulnerable, even with you. But now no matter how much his mind might war with him sometimes, he couldn’t get enough of you. You’d crawled into his heart, wedged yourself right up beneath his rib cage, and yet he still wanted more. You were his. 

Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” He snapped before he could even stop himself. A knee-jerk reaction brought on by a lifetime of avoiding his feelings. He pulled back slightly, enough that he could look at your face but still within arms reach. Your hands moved from his waist to his arms, grasping his forearms firmly, as though you were ready to stop him should he decide to bolt. There wasn’t any judgment in your expression as you looked up at him though, just the same kindness and understanding as always. It made him sigh, guilt turning his stomach once more, for trying to shut you out when you deserved, more than anyone, to be let in. 

“It was just the same things as always,” He finally said, after another long, silent moment. He turned his head slightly, unable to fully meet your gaze after such an admission.

“Cross…” You said softly, tugging his arm gently until he felt as if he had no choice but to meet your gaze once more. You took a step closer to him as your eyes met, tipping your head back as your bodies brushed against each other. 

“There is nothing that you could tell me that would make me think of you any differently, or care for you any less,” You continued gently as you lifted a hand to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. His skin burned beneath your touch, his heart racing as your fingers bunched in the fabric of his sleep shirt, “I love you. Nothing will ever change that. But it kills me to see you suffering. I want to help you, in any way I can. But I can't do that if you don’t let me in.” 

“I’m supposed to be the one that looks after you,” he hissed, his grip on your waist tightening as shame bubbled in his throat once more. He was a soldier, his entire purpose had been to serve and protect. His entire life he’d been defective but still effective, but now with a missing hand and fragile mind what good was he? How could he possibly be enough for you? 

“It’s not a one-way hyperspace lane Cross, we help each other,” You answered gently, “If you’re not ready to share then that’s ok, but I hope you know you can tell me these things. Anytime. I’m here for you. Sharing doesn’t make you weak or defective, and neither does having feelings in the first place,” you continued as if reading his very thoughts. You’d always been able to see him better than anyone else ever could.

He sighed, taking a step closer to you without thought as if you were the sun his planet orbited around. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, the back of his neck prickled with a cold sweat, the words grated against his throat as he spoke, “It all the things I’ve ruined, the terrible things I’ve done, all of the people I’ve hurt. All those moments when I should have been there but wasn’t. It just won’t stop.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze, turning his head slightly away from you as the shame rolled in his stomach once more. He’d been built to withstand wars, it didn’t make sense to him why he was crumbling now, after everything. 

“Cross,” You said gently as your hand lifted to his face, cradling his jaw and applying just enough pressure until he couldn’t resist meeting your gaze again, “What you’re feeling is normal, it doesn’t make you weak. You’ve been through something so terrible, and yes, you made some mistakes, we all have, but you can't change the past. All we have control over is what we do next, how we move forward.” 

He turned his head away once more, the guilt and anger, at himself, at everything, bubbling in his veins like toxic black sludge, "You should just leave me,” He hissed, body tensing as his heart raced, “Go back to bed.”   

The hand that was still resting on his chest bunched further in the fabric of his shirt, drawing his attention back to you, “I’m not leaving you like this, I love you Crosshair. You’re stuck with me,” You said gently. 

He let out a loud breath of air, one he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as his eyes scanned your face. As always there was nothing but openness in your face, you meant every word you had said to him. 

When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything you continued, “I know you think you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life, but you don’t. And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”  

He bristled for a moment, on instinct, the desire to push you away, to demand you just leave him alone was almost overwhelming but only for a moment. It faded nearly as fast as it had come. He was so used to everyone leaving him alone when he told them off, but you’d always stayed. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to go. He wanted you to stay, always. 

There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, emotions he didn’t even begin to know what to do with bubbling in his throat. What came out instead was his typical snark, “You’re a pest.”  

The brilliant smile you flashed him was worth every pain he’d ever experienced in his short life, “Yes, but I’m a lovable pest,” you replied as you pulled him back in closer to you. 

“Hmm,” he grunted softly, unable to stop the smirk that was growing on his face before he wrapped one arm around your shoulders. He lifted the other hand to your jaw, tipping your face up to his own before he closed the distance between the two of you. 

He felt you smile against his lips for a moment before you deepened the kiss, raising up on your tip toes to be closer to him. He moaned softly, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your jaw as he nipped gently at your lower lip. Much too soon for his liking, you pulled away from him, a gentle smile on your face as you looked up at him. He simply frowned, eyes narrowing at the sudden distance between the two of you. He was once again overwhelmed with the feeling of never being able to get enough of you. 

“Come back to bed, my love,” You said softly, hands trailing down his arms until your fingers interlocked with his. You gave him a gentle tug and he followed without hesitation, all of his previous worries forgotten for the moment. At that moment, there was only you. And he was powerless against you, he always had been, and truthfully he didn’t mind. He would do anything to make you happy. Even if that meant having to confront his own fears. He could do it, with you, for you. 

You were both silent as you made your way back up to your bedroom, trying to not wake anyone else. Once the bedroom door closed behind him you turned back towards him, his hand still clasped in your own. You smiled softly at him as you backed up towards the bed, pulling him along with you. You sat once your knees hit the back of the bed, looking up at him expectantly. He didn’t waste another moment, moving swiftly he wrapped his arms around you, smirking at the giggle that escaped you as he rolled the two of you over onto the bed until you were a tangle of limbs. He tightened his hold on you as you snuggled into him, your head pillowed on his chest, right over his racing heart. This time though, it was racing for a completely different reason, not one of fear. 

Neither of you said anything for a long moment, the only sound was your combined breaths and the waves of the ocean floating in through the open window. It was peaceful, and being here with you was really the only place he ever wanted to be. He just wished so desperately that his thoughts would stop tormenting him in his sleep and ruining the peace he’d found with you. 

As if sensing his sudden uptick in anxiety you spoke, head still resting on his chest while your free hand traced gentle patterns across his abdomen, “What’s one thing you can hear?”

Crosshair knew what you were doing. He recognized the tactic instantly, but usually, you used it on the nights when his dreams were so bad it woke you both up. When his system was completely in fight-or-flight mode. But even though he was relatively calm now, he still felt his heart rate slow as he focused on your words. His nightmare from earlier began to fade away into the furthest corners of his mind.   

“The ocean,” He answered quietly as he let his hand trail down the line of your body: arm, rib cage, waist, hip, thigh, knee. Back and forth, focusing entirely on the feeling of being with you. The softness of your skin was grounding, confirmation that he was here, that he was safe. 

“Something you can smell?” You continued your voice a gentle whisper that he felt rather than heard.  

“Your hair,” Clean, something warm, like sunshine, and fresh like the spray of the ocean.  

You chuckled softly, as your hand stilled on his abdomen, fisting once more in the fabric of his shirt, "Something you can feel?” 

“You.” 

His answers were usually always the same. Because when you were around you were all he could think of. Even when you weren’t physically with him he could still feel you, in his very soul, as though you’d become a part of him. In his darkest moments, you were always there. It was as if something clicked in that moment, maybe with you by his side, he could make it through. Maybe the future didn’t have to be as dark as his past. 

His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy as he listened to the sound of your breathing, as he focused on the lines of your body pressed into his own. He let his head tilt down to rest against you, his nose pressed into your hair, breathing in the familiar and calming scent of you. 

“I’ve got you Crosshair,” You said softly, “We can get through this together.”

For the first time in a long time, he felt a very small spark of hope. Maybe he could learn to let you in, to let you help him in those moments when he felt weak instead of running. As he drifted off to sleep he wrapped his arms tighter around you, unwilling to ever let you go. He felt your own arms tighten in response as your breathing began to even out. The last coherent thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was that you were right, you were in this together. 

This time the nightmares didn’t find him in his sleep. And when he woke up in the morning you were still wrapped in each other’s arms. Exactly where you had always belonged. 

[meirimerens]

do you happen to have any headcanons about pascal curious and nervous subject? or any other sims 2 character for that matter :p

you get answered with anon from like yesterday #oops i had stuff on my plate teehee but Yes.

the nervous subject:

as far as nervous' #deal is i like to go with the Sims 2 For PSP lore that he willingly (or "willingly" - in quotes to express the murkiness of willingness when you're broke as shit) went in with the Beakers because he needed coin. in my head, like many kids who age out of the foster care system, he found himself age 18 not really having anywhere to go (no contact with the family during his stay in foster care), not really having had the best environment to learn any skill, he tells himself well fml 🤷‍♂️ might as well.

related to his 10 active point i think he's strong as shit. does not look like it (macdonalds_napkin_flying_out_of_window.txt). also very endurant - not necessarily fast, but his ass would smoke everyone in a long-distance run because he can just keep going. this is Not A Great Thing in his current #predicament because that just means he recuperates pretty fast from the experiments and so they just keep happening with little downtime.

bruises easily. and a lot because his prioperception is kind of fried so he's got always a blue spot somewhere.

i've #made #him in my ts4 game with a crooked nose and nose scar (which i draw, the crookedness of the nose translates a bit less since i'm always drawing his ass three-quartered) and those i think he got in foster care. even if he exists with 0 nice point i think that's an Experiment thing, he is not truly a Dipshit, but he's very early become quite rowdy. got into a tussle. got his nose broken. "you should see the other guy". this is also very funny to me because one of my OC has that same broken nose+scar deal

on the topic of My OC Has This in my mind's eye he's got tha Y-shaped autopsy scar. hector I Would Like To Award You the Highest Honor I Can Bestow [scars like the weird lesbians of my mind] did not really die, still has it. he understands that's probably a Scary thing for people to see + his ass doesn nawwwt want to deal with the question so when his best fwiend and his two Unsuspecting brothers try to get him to join for a relaxing heatwave afternoon in the strangetown pool he's like "i don't want to take my shirt off [THINKS FAST] because i'm insecure about being bony" and they're like "that's fine man no pressure 👍" [clueless]

le pascal curieux:

on one hand the phrase "gayscal bicurious" i had in the tags of my art once makes me hysterical and i genuinely leep fucking repeating it out loud to myself so often. devilish echolalic sound. on the other it is genuinely funny to me to imagine him realizing years later "why the fuck do i have beef with this guy over his gf i don't even like women 😐😐😐😐🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️". he keeps the beef though makes him feel alive #hatermindset #scorpio

after nervous told him "i have some... weird... living arrangement... and my roommates don't like to hear me play music out loud" pascal started putting songs he thinks nervous would like on an mp3 player. nervous gives it back to him every once in a while and update him on his taste so pascal can add more songs next time they see each other.

now not to get too deep into the politics of the sims franchise's mpreg. a pregnancy narrative hates to see me coming. but in my head... while he's a loving father and is protective and kind and genuinely obsessed with his kid once they're born & tutti quanti towards his little scrunkly... i think he lived the pregnancy pretty Lukewarmly. he knew that it Could happen, but well. the household description does mention "[getting] more than they were "expecting."". i think until halfway there he was like 😬 and then the Weird Scientist Brain kicked in and he was like "this is an Experience". pascal curious I Would Like To Award You the Highest Honor I Can Bestow. Post-Partum Depression (jesting. unless?)

not new of a headcanon because i've drawn it so it's probably obvious I think he's the shortest of the brothers and a Reliable Resident of Stockytown #shawty

bringing together Buddy Erwin Lore and "In his free time, he practices home psychoanalysis" i know the inhabitants of strangerville hate to see him hang out by erwin's Listening Station and psychoanalyzing every word that comes out of the mouth of the people he's bugged #nosy

erwin detour because i have this to say:

he drives a two-toned (orange and white) 1980 chevy k30 crew cab. a beat-up thing that he loves so muchhhh. looks like this (but imagine Oinge and not tan/camel)

speaking of cars i have something for Lazlo:

drives a 1986-1988 buick riviera. a purble one. exactly. i see it for him for the little screen inside #vintage #slay

stoner. with peace and love and zero derogatory tone. he feels it makes him think. it does. tbh i see the three dabbling. you're telling me vidcund has this beautiful greenhouse and they don't grow cannabis in there? you know that post that's like. my homie was making edibles and discovered passion for baking now he's a baker. this did not happen to lazlo he knew how to cook and bake completely independantly. but it helps. they let nervous smoke with them and they see him blink normally for the first time.

Ophelia Nigmos my shayla....

she has a Motorola RAZR V3 for phone. it is DECKED to the heavens with stickers and stick-on gems and phone charms

2004 is prime and i mean primeeee pop-punk/emo era (hence why she looks #likethat tbh) and she's deeeep in that. like Simple Plan's "I'm Just A Kid" came out 2002 and i knowwww she's having that shit on LOOP on her mp3 player. due to the fact that She's Just A Kid And Her Life Is A Nightmare

the bloggerrrr i know she is blogging. idk what strangetown could have as a mirror to the 2000s-2010s french "Skyblog" [les vrais connaissent tmtc] but girl... is.... BLOGGING!!!! either a Livejournal or a Blogger.

i just realized how long this poast was #oops but Basically Yes.

[nanamimizz]

𝐓𝚬𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝚶𝐍.

this is a commissioned work. reader’s appearance is described. thank you @isseimattsun for commissioning me !

tags: 18+ minors dni. friends to lovers / virginity loss / confessions / fuck or die trope / omegaverse / alpha jing yuan / omega reader / afab reader / gendered language / mating press / size difference / manhandling / creampie - let me know if i missed something !

synopsis: you and the general were friends. it’s all you ever thought you would be but when they revelation of your truer nature the general finds himself at the back door to the greatest temptation of all.

Life upon the Xianzhou Loufu is riddled with many other things depending on who it is you ask the answers vary.

History, tragedy, mystery, betrayal - each tied to each brush stroke that records the events of the Xianzhou’s long life. One of the many hands that holds that brush is the Divination Commission, at the Seat of Foresight. The brush of history currently paints a worrying picture, following the events of the Stellaron Crisis where each and everyone in the Commission running around - even the esteemed Master Diviner Fu Xuan has been ran into the ground with the weight of paperwork and preparation. You shudder to recall the first few days after the crisis, the entire office reeked of juneberry, sickly sweet with omega agitation and anxiety.

If one grimaces at the idea of Master Fu Xuan run ragged it pales in comparison to the reality you live in. You are a simple person with a simple role - just a runner of correspondence for Master Fu Xuan to a list of important individuals. Your role has made you jump from ship to ship, many times you have stood in the presence of the speedster General Fei Xiao and you remember how you scrubbed at your clothes to get rid of the smell of alpha musk. Your nose wrinkles as you recall more and more times the scents of your peers and superiors made you curl in disgust; how many times you’ve scrubbed your hands raw when keeping your uniform clean. It had always bothered you, even back when you were a child how the scents of others imprinted onto everything.

No one had a scrap of discretion because you could take a whiff and find what another was thinking - you utterly detested it. When you came of age and you had access to suppressants you were quick to ask for the strongest ones. Something that blocks out your scent completely. Something that gives you the privacy you so want in this world where everyone wears their heart on their scent glands. You didn’t care for anything else - not with how since you presented boys would make fun of you until your scent soured and girls would dig at you with questions for being the only omega in the class until your scent bristled. You hated that, the constant invasion of others just because of what your secondary sex was.

Yes, you utterly loathed it enough so that you take a hundred something milligrams of omega suppressants on the dot twice a month and don’t read any of the warnings on the neat little orange bottle you depend on.

Unexpected heat cycles. High Fevers. High risk of cardiac arrest.

As you make your way to the gates leading to the seat of General Jing Yuan, you bring a hand up to loosen your collar - suddenly finding it to be hotter than usual. The tablet in your hand creaks under your grip as you feel some heat in your chest at the thought of the general. It’s always been like this you think, your chest warming when you go to your desk and see you will be delivering paperwork directly to Jing Yuan even for two centuries. You make your way to the final doors and are met with the same giant, holographic chess board. In the soft white light of the room, his own hair glimmers like silver and there - in a split second you can see the tiredness on his face before he hears of your entering and like the lightning he wields it’s gone in a flash.

The same, infallible look of control settled on his handsome face as he turned to look at you. Golden gaze softening in some sort of warmth when he greets you, more affectionate then people would assume - in a life like the general’s it makes sense why people would wonder. You are no stranger to the achievements of the High Cloud Quintet, the fabled heroes are known far and wide in the Luofu but what is not known is the hole it left in Jing Yuan’s heart, none but you. It was a while ago, maybe after the first hundred years of being his messenger between himself and Master Fu Xuan that you caught a scent that did not usually appear in the notes of osmanthus. It was chance, maybe fate that you bore witness to the acid scent of grief but you have made it a bit of your goal to treat the General with more warmth that is expected of you as a mere correspondent.

It began with small things - questions of his day, of the chess game in the room. You even managed to get to play a game with him even at the cost of being reprimanded for taking so long to return or the overwhelming quick and humiliating loss you had at the hands of the erudite general. It had begun a bit of a tradition for the two of you, often sneaking in a quick game when you can and even when you couldn’t. He says your name, voice deep and soft: you bring your eyes to him and smile as you always do, not exactly grinning but one that reaches a little further than the polite ones you share over the water cooler in the office.

“It’s been too long my dear friend. I’ve been looking forward to our next match.” Hos smile turns feline as you snort and shake your head, amusement painting your face.

“General please, you saw me naught but two days ago. And you can forget the match - I’ve grown tired of the constant humiliation of you besting me.”

Jing Yuan laughs, deep from his chest - a deep baritone that warms your stomach, eyes crinkling affectionately. A droplet of sweat drips down your neck as you swallow, you can feel one of your black curls cling to your neck from the heat that grows more sweltering every minute.

“Now, now. You’ve improved in the short time we’ve played together.” The eye visible to you is wide and sparkling with something you can’t decipher.

“You’re lasting longer each time. It makes the game much more enjoyable.” He purrs the words, eyes lidded and if you weren’t so focused on the boiling heat that grows more and for fiercely in your blood you would pick up on the twitching of his nose and lips as if he wants to taste the air itself. Golden eyes with the keen glint of a lion in the grass picks up on the flush to your cheeks and the shimmer of sweat on the curves of your collarbones.

“Is that so?” You ask, not really paying attention to the man before you - hands going to grasp your hair and tie it high too cool off. A scent feels Jing Yuan’s nose and if he had a tail it would swish behind him in keen interest. Citrus and honey with ginger - sweet and wonderfully spiced fills the room.

Something you have never smelled of. Your scent has always been mild disinfectant. Never offensive to the palate but it was present, odd. Clean and stark like a doctor’s office. It was clear that you were on some sort of suppressant due to your lack of natural scent.

“Yes, quite, so please - join me for a game. You have the time, no?” He asks and you blink a few times before giving your answer. A brief, absent nod of your head and when Jing Yuan goes to place one large, warm hand rough from wielding the glaive on the silver of skin your uniform exposes on your shoulder ; you break out into shivers despite the heat swimming in your head. Maybe sitting on the floor will cool you off? And maybe the game will take your mind off how hot the room is. The hand on your shoulder remains with his thumb carefully rubbing at the skin - a gesture meant to convey the level of casual friendship between the two of you but instead it makes you feel like you were shocked.

Your nerves fizz and frazzle, and the heat that’s been plaguing you suddenly turns into mind-numbing coldness. The ends of your vision swims, and you hear a pitched ringing along with a muffled voice. Your hands feel empty, like there is no flesh or bone or blood filling them. The sensation spreads down to your legs and your shoulder and your neck. Like a puppet without strings, when you go to take the first step to play the game with Jing Yuan - your general, your friend had offered, you collapsed.

The world had turned black.

…

When you awake, the sky is orange - it’s around sunset and your vision though clearly is still foggy at the edges. You are not in your home, you muddled your way to that conclusion from how spacious the room you are in is, with regal decorations that you most certainly do not own. Your thoughts are slow and breathing is an intensive labor, you need to think to take in each gulp of air in your dry throat. Turning your head is a slow manner and you are greeted with an arrangement of potted plants in front of a training courtyard.

Your vision is blurred at its edges and your hearing is clogged - like your ears needing to be popped after hopping off a sky-craft joy ride. There are voices, from the room next door, muffled and unclear but you can pick up the stress in their tones. Just as you try to focus, scrunching your brows and shaking your head as if to clear the brain fog you feel it.

A burning sharp pain followed by a gaping ache just below your stomach. You whine so very high and so very loud as the ache is all you can think about now that you have been pulled from the embrace of fitful sleep. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts - a needy voice in your head rings. Your back arches as another drop of sweat drips down the curve of your spine. The parts of your brain that haven’t been melted out of your ears buzz in confusion. What type of sickness have you gotten that’s making you act like this? Another wave of pain fills you as you squirm, turning to press your head into the cool pillow. You groan into the pillowcase and try to focus on anything other than the pain you feel resounding your weary body. Seeking any sort of distraction to unknowingly take a whiff of the pillowcase your face is pressed into and pick up on one certain scent.

The only one you’ve ever enjoyed since you presented.

Osmanthus.

You whine into the pillow and haplessly press your thighs together as you think about the matching golden eyes of the man who smells just like those golden leaves. Silver white hair and a mole that catches your attention like the stars in the false sky of the Xianzhou ship night cycle. A pristinely, handsome alpha with broad shoulders and a sculpted body that smells earthy and sweet. The words in your mind fizzle out and your eyes flutter close with thought of him. Jing Yuan, a voice in your head whines, its unfamiliar tone a bell in your mind. It repeats again and again and it isn’t until you feel a large hand, one calloused and so incredibly warm that it makes your skin break into goosebumps wraps around the wrist of the hand that’s been gripping the fabric under you so desperately.

Your name is spoken into the now darker room, uttered from plush lips that belong to the man you were just thinking about.

Pinned under golden irises you freeze, gazing up at him with your lips parted as your chest heaves. The state you are in, it enhances everything you felt when you first saw him today. Your general, your friend, your Jing Yuan is here - right before you. Pleased chirps escape your mouth as something inside you purrs and the ache between your legs softens now that you aren’t alone being teased with the faint scent of an alpha. In your elation you don’t notice the flush to his ears and face, how Jing Yuan’s eyes go between your face and your chest. His thumb rubs at the skin of your wrist and his tongue flashes briefly to wet his lips before he speaks.

Your name leaves his lips again before he asks you - “Do you know where you are?”

As you shake your head side to side a strand of hair sticks to your lips. With the opposite hand Jing Yuan carefully removes it from your lips and something in his chest tightens at the feeling of your hair around his calloused finger.

“You are in my home. You had collapsed when you had visited me. I contacted Divine Master Fu Xuan and had a doctor check you over as you rested.” The deep scent of osmanthus sours to you and you whine in displeasure. To soothe you, Jing Yuan lifts his hand rest against your cheek and something in his stomach churns the way you curve your face into the hold of his palm. He’s never seen you like this - rose flushed and wanting and so utterly dependent. In the time he has known you, all you have ever striven for, to be seen as aloof and unattached. Never swayed by anything and to follow your tasks but he’s seen small cracks of your true self in the years he’s known you - the way your eyes brighten when you deliver him correspondence or how you soften your tone to speak to him for who he is not the role he inherited from his successor. The scent of sweetened citrus is coying at his nose as he takes in the flush that burns down to your exposed chest - you were stripped out of your uniform when looked over as they were soaked with sweat.

Locks of your hair are clinging to your dewy skin and Jing Yuan does his best to avert his gaze. You mumble something, breathe hot and thin - “What’s wrong with me?” Jing Yuan tenses in your hold and his head drops down as he cannot look at you when he delivers the painful truth to you.

“It’s a heat - rather, your first heat. Due to your constant use of suppressants you have developed an unexpected tolerance to them. As of right now, they will no longer have an effect on you.”

Your silence is deafening and Jing Yuan dares not to look at your face as he continues.

“You must pass through this heat. If not your fever will rise dangerously and your life will be at risk.” All he gets from you is a quiet and stifled sob, one that makes the alpha in him yelp at the sound of a distressed omega in his presence. Jing Yuan is quick to draw you close and keep you covered with the blanket, pressing your face into his neck so you may experience the comfort of an alpha’s scent to ease you through your distress. It works as you take each tearful mouthful of his rich scent and taste the osmanthus on your tongue.

“I’ve never shared a heat with anyone, I’ve never shared anything like this with anyone - there is no one I can ask for that. How can I see this through?” You mumble with a watery voice, croaking with defeat as you nudge your nose against the general’s scent gland, unknowing to how the man shifts beneath you. You can feel some of the oil of his scent gland rub off on your nose as you begin to settle ; eyes going half lidded and your body temperature grows higher and higher. A warm hand settles on your tan back, fingers playing with the ends of your hair to soothe as your own scent grows sweeter in his embrace. Your words echo in Jing Yuan’s head as a semblance of shame takes root in his mind. His hand that had sat at your waist to support your current position twitches as his sharp mind comes to the most obvious conclusion - even if it was the one that brought him the most shame.

“Share it with me.” His rich voice murmurs into your ear, voice soft with a sort of tenderness he only reserves for you. He offers to play games and share meals with you in the same voice. And it makes your needy body swoon with relief - that an alpha wants you, and wants to take care of you. The side of you, that was always kept under lock and key, is deeply coveted by the man you call a friend you never had once thought was possible. It doesn’t surprise any Aeon when you utter your consent, to let him see you, touch you and have you in the ways you always skirted around when told about them in your youth. What is surprising is when you mumble out these next three words.

“I love you.”

A hand cups your face, just like before and the ache between your legs is back stronger than ever. A gold eye gleams like lightning as it bores through you down to your bone mourn.

“When this is done in the upcoming days - will you still love me, as you do now in this moment?” The answer is easy and resoundingly simple. A truth you shed like the peel of an orange.

“I always have, my Jing Yuan.”

The room becomes hot after your confession. Hotter than a fever rising to pitch, hotter than electricity, hotter than your heat. It’s sweltering even in the soft kisses Jing Yuan presses onto your lips. Even in the methodical way he touches your back and your waist, feeling you up until you move an arm back to get rid of the blanket that’s been protecting your dignity. The touch of his calluses on your tan back makes you moan in between kisses and the alpha before you is overrun but orange-sweet omega want.

It’s what makes him push you down, gripping your shoulders and applying the barest hint of his strength to your form until your glistening back is flush with the bedding before you. Your knees go over his thighs, pinned beneath him and spread like a butterfly - all for him to see. It’s what you want ; you realize as the heat in your body running like a fever hits it’s peak. The clarity through the rush makes you realize your friend, your general, your Jing Yuan is here. His hands, warm and large have sneaked under the wires of your bra and you are half thankful and half not that you don’t have your glasses on so you can live peacefully without the image of him - flushed with a predatory look in his melted gold eye haunting you every time your own eyes closed. Jing Yuan lets his hands cup at the softness of your chest, thumbing and pinching and molding your pliable plushness to fit in his hands.

“How lovely - much better than any imagination.” He murmurs to you, all alpha pride and desire. It’s enough to make you whine and squirm, your stomach sweating and flushing at what he implied. That he thought of you before, that he has wanted you for so long. Your hands come to the back, he stops to watch you. Unhooking the back of the soaked through clothing that protects your modesty is ripped off of you by your own hands. As your own lithe fingers go down to tug at your underwear, shuddering when you catch sight of how the thin fabric has become translucent in your wanting you whine out to him -

“Stop playing and fuck me. Please.” You whine paired with a wobbling lip as you spread your legs out for him, settling your heels on the bedding so he can see the webs of slick that drip out and down your inner thighs. Like threads of melted sugar the alpha within in the general salivates at the thought of suck sweetness being claimed and then being only for him. It’s why he agrees, nodding with a chuckle to deep you almost thought you made it up in your head and you gasp when two hands push and push at your legs until your knees are at your chest.

“One thousand apologies, I never would have imagined you’d be so needy.” When you are better you will curse him, you think far in the back of the mind where you are still sane enough to flush red at the position you are in. While you are whinny and petulant and utterly needy his voice remains as polished as cultivated jade and cool as steel. More words leave his lips, praise glazed in hot sugar like hawthorn berries as you feel the fat head of something press against the seam of your cunt. Trying to get a look, you go to angle your head down only for a strong hand to wrap around your chin to keep you from moving. No pressure, just his hand there - and your eyes see the pink on his skin, some sweat on his cheek and a dilated pupil, full like the moon.

“Don’t look, don’t look away from me. Not ever.” His voice is ragged with desperation, illustrious jade cracking as his cock is pressed flush against the opening of your cunt. You nod, pressing your forehead to his - white hair soft against your skin as the way his cock goes in and stretches you out is not. It’s pleasurable, the way it’s heavy and hot and thick inside of you but - your body knows what it needs, and what it needs is Jing Yuan to fuck the heat away, to make it all better. His cock keeps going, sliding in and in as you gasp with your jaw dropped over it, drooling. You feel a thumb of the hands that’s keeping your head upright rub at your cheek then at your lip and then his thumb is placed right at your tongue. A smile takes his face but it is not cool or kind - a ravenous hunger awaits in his canines as he looks down at you.

“I will always be here to see you like this, understand? Only me. Never go out to others for this ever.” He murmurs to you as his moves his hips back dragging his length through you only to push it forward again. As you nod at his words you realize what that is -he’s fucking you.

And it’s all you ever want.

It’s going to be hard, to go back to not having this every second of every day. It feels so good, like your body is melting from the inside out with every clap of his hips against your ass. Too much, you had warbled to him in a pathetic and wet voice. Your eyes are glazed over and your head is tilting to show off your neck - subconsciously. But you know you don’t care about rationally, even when you know better. Taught from an early age that an omega should never show the part of their neck where the softest bit of your skin is located. Not unless they were showing it to an alpha that want to be with forever, and when the head of Jing Yuan’s cock fills you and kisses a soft nerve on your inner wall that makes your body seize from pleasure - yes you think, you want forever with Jing Yuan. You want to smell of osmanthus and you want to play Star Chess for as long as he wants and you want to feel like this with him forever.

“Bond with me - please, please.” You utter through sheer desperation , letting your ankles cross at the small of his waist to keep him as close as possible. He comes down, a smile with the sweetened smugness of his lips as his chest pressed down on yours. His weight is comforting and his hips don’t stop fucking you even like this. You gasp and he teases you - “Are you sure? You want to be mine and only mine?”

You answer with a nod, with a whine and even with your hips canting up to fuck yourself back on his cock mindlessly.

“Such a good girl.” He tells you, voice soft with affection at how you can’t even utter what it is you want.

All of it is too much for him - even a general as finely crafted as him crumbles under the weight of his want. His hands go to your ass and they each take as much as they can to lift your lower half off the bedding and to keep you in the air so he can fuck you just like that. Like a toy for him to use while his nose presses against your scent gland, tonguing at the nerve just to make you shiver and cry. With a laugh his mouth at it next and it makes your eyes roll back as you feel something prod at your lower half. A flare of girth and length that teases at the lips of your cunt at right when you feel the pin prick of strong teeth dig into your skin you feel it slip in.

His knot.

Your cunt welcomes it just like it did with the rest of his cock, stretching you out so well it aches as you finally teeter off the edge. You cream around the bulb of it and you squirm when you feel your and his cum drip out the seams of your cunt. It’s wet and messy but as your hips still rock back and forth on it you only for his weight to pin you down on the bed. A kiss is pressed to your cheek, then to your eyes and your forehead. The hand that kept your head upright is now massaging at your sore thigh. You mumble something - a cross of thank yous and his name and Jing Yuan shushing you kindly.

“There, there, rest for now my sweet - we have all the time you need.” He murmurs voice endowed with adoration and patience. You nod and your body losses its tenseness at his command and it’s buzzing how good obeying him feels. Craning your head you kiss him one last time, filled with him and his bite mark on your neck.

“I love you, I’ve always loved you.” You murmur, clear from an sickness of the heart and with resounding clarity. It makes him laugh, how puppy like you are now with how he has you. He kisses you back.

“As I you, my love.”

[ikyoudreamofme]

memories-chris sturniolo

C/W:death, loss of a loved one, possible hints to suicide.

A/N: I apologise in advanced, I nearly cried writing this, listen to the song while reading it puts you in your feels. I’m sorry this I’ll make it up to you at some point. I’m proud of this one though

________________________________________

When you die the brain replays seven minutes of your life.

past

You and chris stumble into the house laughing hysterically, your hand grasping into his bicep to help you climb up the stairs before toppling over onto the floor. Chris laughs louder clutching his ribs as he heaves in a dry breath. You had no memory of what was so funny just that it was creating a memorable moment between the two of you.

~🎞️~

A knock on your door pulls you out of your doom scrolling forcing you out of the warmth and comfort of your bed the cold air hits you painting goosebumps across your arms. Chris stood at the door with a big smile across his face when you open it, a big bouquet of flowers, your favourite, in his hands. You smile stepping out in the bitter cold wrapping your arms around him tightly being careful of the beautiful orchids in his hands.

~🎞️~

You hold the keys in your hand standing in front of the door, chris beside you “you gonna open it?” He hums placing a hand on your shoulder. You nod bringing your hand up unlocking the door with a click pushing it open. The fresh smell of the house, your house, fills your senses. Chris walks in behind you, his hands find your waist as he dips his head to your ear whispering “welcome home baby.”

~🎞️~

It was the annual summer fair that took place in a random field in the middle of July. You,Nick,Chris and Matt had all arrived, splitting up to go on separate rides or play a festival game. You were walking away from a carnival game a big smile wipped across your face as you carry a teddy bear Chris had won you walking hand in hand with chris towards the ferrets wheel. You sat down placing the bear, which you had named billy, on your lap waiting for chris to sit beside you. Everyone had got on the ride and you slowly made it to the top. The bright sky sprayed purples,pinks and oranges blending in with the clouds, the sun resting on the horizon, it was beautiful. You watch the clouds move across the sky in awe your hazel eyes glowing in the sunlight chris couldn’t look away he thought you were gorgeous, the women he would marry, the women who would carry his children you were the women he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and he knew it. He brings his hand up to your jaw pulling your stare away from the canvas in front of you, he had a soft look on his face, a look of love. Chris took a long inhale before speaking “ I love you y/n so much” Chris spits out quickly but slow enough for you to hear. Your eyes widen eyebrows raising ever so slightly smiling at him before leaning in to press your lips together. The kiss was slow and passionate, you pull away whispering “I love you too.” Resting your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you.

~🎞️~

Chris was a well known YouTuber with 7 million subscribers on his channel with his brothers, he kept most of his life private including his relationship with you, he knew how his fans could get and how parasocial some of them can be. You and Chris had been together for a year and 6 months and chris could easily say it’s been the best 18 months he’s had in a while and he feels comfortable sharing your relationship or parts of it. You wake up from a nap picking up your phone seeing numerous notifications from instagram and tiktok. Opening them you see a photo of chris laying on your chest, your hands in his hair it was a photo you took not too long ago. He had tagged you captioning it with a simple heart. Every refresh of the comments there was at least a hundred more of fans going crazy congratulating chris and loving that he’s happy it made you smile, you leave a comment, the same heart he had captioned the photo with.

~🎞️~

It was movie night, every week you and Chris would make popcorn and get loads of sweets and sit and watch a film in his room. You lay under the covers in one of Chris’ hoodies your head in his chest arms wrapped around his waist. Chris’s arms wrapped around you protectively, his hands trailing shapes across your thighs. This was your favourite moment of the week a time when you can relax in the arms of the boy you loved, the boy that made you feel so safe and so loved you were happy because of him.

~🎞️~

It was your first halloween with chris, one of your close friends was throwing a halloween party and you planned to have a couples costume with chris. After many disagreements you both agreed on Steve and Nancy from stranger things, you threw your hair in a ponytail and put your costume on walking up to Chris. After a mini photoshoot you left for the party excitement rushing through your veins, parties were your scene you loved them and Chris knew it very well.

~~~

present day

Chris was dressed in a black suit your favourite flowers in his blazer pocket, pink ones, his hair was a mess like he had ran his fingers through it over and over. The surrounding of his eyes were dark and dead his pupils dilated and bloodshot from the thousands of tears that had left them since that day. The day he never wanted to come especially so soon. He walked out of the room his heart beating louder with every step he took closer to the stage in front of the crowd of people who sat teary eyed in front of him, some were already sobbing. He looked over at the coffin on the right of him the teddy he had won you sat on top of it with flowers placed around him.

Chris took a deep breath before reading off of the paper layed in front of him. “I never thought I would have to do this so young and so soon but y/n was such a big part in my life in all of our lives she always made me smile and laugh, she brought happiness to anyone who needed it, she found a way to make everyone’s day better… especially mine she made my life perfect like it came out of a romance book.” Chris choked on his words taking a second to hold back his cries “Whenever I was tired of stressed she would be there to help me through any struggles I faced. Her laugh was funnier then what made her laugh in the first place and her smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Everything about her was so beautiful, so perfect. She was a great friend to anyone especially my brothers Matt and Nick who loved when she was around nearly as much as I did. she made everyone feel welcomed and happy. She was the daughter,friend and girlfriend everyone needs in their life and I’m so happy she was in mine. I love you so much y/n our memories will be forever I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you when you needed it. Goodbye sweetheart.” Chris finishes, he was now crying hysterically tears pouring out of his eyes as he walks off the stage, the audience crying with him. Matt and Nick walk up to him crying too embracing chris in a much needed hug.

[runawaybridee]

minors DNI!! wrote this after I saw this, I aged down all might a bit (in his early forties), reader had a crush on him as a teenager but they didn't meet until adulthood, reader is an arm biter lol, reader is gender neutral but slightly implied afab, virgin allmight!! handjob, kind of sub all night, oral (m!receiving), big dick all might ofc, maybe pt. 2??

request r open!

being almost twenty years younger than your pro-hero boyfriend was already an issue. but finding out he's a virgin? oh, that.. that's what got you.

it's not like that's a bad thing! it's just.. he's forty-three, and a super sexy pro-hero! any woman would want to fuck him. you sure do.

you'd never tell him this, but you totally had a crush on him when you were a teenager. any girl who saw his debut did, those muscles had people in a chokehold. you included.

toshinori doesn't mind when you bite his arms, he knows it's affectionate. but everytime you so much as kiss him.. he's painfully hard. he covers it with a pillow or blanket or excuses himself to the restroom to rub one out.

it's pathetic, really. he's forty-three years old, not some hormonal teenage boy. but you just make him feel things he's never felt before.

when he's home from work, he greets you with a soft forehead kiss. you smile up at him, "how was your day, love?" you ask quietly. "good, darling, quite an easy day."

you hum softly, sitting up. "lay with me?" you ask softly.

toshinori can't help but give in, sitting right next to you on the couch and tugging you into his lap.

even outside of his large form, he's tall, albeit skinny.. but still very fit.

he feels your teeth against his bicep and huffs. groaning, he feels himself harden. but this time, your knees squeeze his thighs. he looks up at you, since he's lying back and you're on top of him, it's clear who's in charge.

jesus, he could cum in his pants right now. he thinks he's about to as the fat of your thigh rubs against his cock.

he inhales sharply, "what're you doing, darling?" he asks softly. your lips press against his jaw, peppering kisses all over. "taking care of my boyfriend."

"c'mon, toshi, let me take care of you.." you murmur against his neck, "fuck.. o-okay," he nods eagerly. you laugh softly, "never been touched, hm?" he groans, shaking his head. "n-never."

you pull back slightly, licking your lips. your eyes trail over his body, his raging boner. you're practically drooling already. "hand or mouth?" you ask softly.

"both, fuck," his hips buck up against nothing. he feels you tug on his pants and lifts his hips to help you out. you bite your lip, slipping your hand into his boxers.

his cock is huge, it's long, probably seven or eight inches. a sound escapes his lips, like a whimper.

you slowly begin to stroke him, your forehead pressed against his. "feels good?" toshinori nods quickly, "s-so good."

he tilts his chin up to press his lips against yours, moaning into your mouth. he's never felt better. he'd rather do this all day than save lives, honestly.

you pull back and slowly lower yourself to the floor, helping him sit up.

he runs his fingers through your hair as you take him in your mouth, his toes curl and he pulls your hair. "fuck, sorry, baby." he whines.

you hum around his dick, looking up at him. your eyes are the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. he could die looking into your eyes and be happy.

you could shoot him and he'd thank you, as long as you'd suck his cock like this again.

it's only been a few minutes, and he's already close. "b-babe, i'm gonna.. fuck--" he whimpers. he feels you suck even harder, as if determined to have him cum.

this is even better than he imagined, one million percent better.

he holds your head in place as he cums down your throat, too caught up in his own pleasure to care about obliterating your throat. he'll make up for it later..

after a few moments, you pull off of him, panting a bit. he pulls you up into his lap, feeling your wet underwear against his thigh. his eyes darken as he stares at you, his fingers slowly moving into your pants.

virgin toshi is real

masterlist , taglist

taglist: @momoewn

[kingpreciouswrld]

Spare Me (College!AU) Ch.2

Summary: Old flames die hard, yours is especially stubborn. However, when your rides to and from the practice fall through, you take up a sweet offer. Meanwhile you meet the rest of the coaching team on the second day of practice but not without some clashes.

A/N: Again, don't know what this is-- never written a multi-chapter fic before so I really don't know what I'm doing. Uhm...read if you want? It seems long but that's just cause there's a lot of one-liners...anyway, enjoy? Feedback is encouraged (cause...help...plz)

Your dorm room was definitely your little home away from home. It was currently a mess due to taco trash and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

After you and Sam ate your winning tacos, you decided to do some…research…on your coach. It wasn’t weird or anything, you just wanted to know more about her, see if she was as interesting as you thought she was. No, it wasn’t weird, you just needed to know more about this woman…you just–

“Is that–”

You slammed your laptop shut, “Nothing!” you cleared your throat and tried again, “It was noth–”

“You’re looking her up?!”

“NO! No no no no, I was just looking at the school’s athletic page–”

You two started a tug-of-war with your laptop, “You were looking at google pics Y/N/N! Just let me seeeee!”

“SAM! Stop! You’re going to break my laptop!”

“Then stop fighting me and let me see what you found!”

Letting the dirty blonde win the tugging, you groaned in frustration. Sam just smirked at you and patted your head as she sat down next to you on your bed, “Don’t worry, your creepy little secret is safe with me.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, laying on your back with a grunt.

“You know, it's kinda normal to cyber-stalk your crushes.”

“I do NOT have a crush on coach Calderu, she’s just…”

“Just, what?”

You grumbled before throwing a pillow over your face and screaming into it. It was so embarrassing that Sam caught you red-handed. You didn’t know what pulled you in to the other woman, she was just so…beautiful…and you couldn’t get her out of your head! Her short hair, her big doe eyes that could turn into a wicked glare, her bright smile that could turn into a knee-buckling snarl when she got snappy.

Coach Calderu was an enigma and you desperately wanted any information to help you piece together the kind of woman she was.

“What about this?” Sam shifted the laptop back onto your lap.

Slightly perking up, you moved to sit back up, “What is it?” you asked as you scrolled the page.

“It’s where she works, you know, when she’s not a college coach.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock, but what even is this place?”

“Some weird little shop, looks like it might even sell those cards you like to hog. It’s not that far from campus, we could always take a look?”

“But what if she’s actually there?” You really didn’t need to embarrass yourself in front of her. The season just started and you wouldn’t be able to take it if something happened that would make it even harder to face the older woman.

Sam rolled her eyes and got up, grabbing her jacket in the process.

“So what? We’ll just be looking for your weird cards anyway, it doesn’t need to be awkward. Just be cool about it, yeah? Come on.”

The dirty blonde grabbed your jacket and threw it at you. Your eyes widened as you felt your nerves come alive, “N-Now?!”

“I’m not going to be waiting Y/N/N!” She said as she left, leaving your dorm door open.

“Goddamnit….Sam! Wait up!”

– – – – – – – – – –

The sun was just a few hours away from setting. Although you despised Sam for being so impulsive, you knew you wouldn’t have followed through with seeing your coach outside of practices.

The walk to the shop didn’t seem too long and although it was a bit chilly, it was a nice walk.

“I can hear your mommy issues screaming from here.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed.

Sam held her hands up in surrender, “I’m not judging, I just think this would actually be good for you.”

“What? Why would you say that? She’s our coach, Sam. I highly doubt anything would happen.”

“That’s not what I meant…It’s just, after Agatha, I think you need a good distraction and if making up scenarios in your head about older women will help you, I’ll feed into your delusions!”

“Y/N!”

“Speaking of the devil…”

You didn’t know who started, but both you and Sam started to quicken your pace. You could hear heavy footsteps approaching you from behind before they fell into stride next to you.

“Please, Y/N, just hear me out–”

“Can’t you fuck off? She doesn’t want–”

“It’s alright Sam,” you sighed before linking your arm with the dirty blonde. 

Your action made Agatha stop in her tracks. You could’ve guessed that Agatha assumed you moved onto Sam but you two were just good friends, you considered her a sister even. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t feed into Agatha’s insecurities.

“You coming or not, Harkness?” you asked, not looking behind you.

You could hear hurried footsteps approach you again before you heard them match your stride again.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s this shop we wanna check out before they close for the night, Y/N needs a new card deck.”

“They’re tarot cards Sammy,” you could practically hear Sam’s eyes roll in her head, “I didn’t know you still practice Y/N…”

“You lost the chance to know.”

As you three turned around the corner, the shop came into view.

Madame Calderu’s Psychic Readings.

Despite your nerves, you were pretty excited to get a new deck. You haven’t touched any of yours since your breakup with Agatha. Maybe Sam was right, having someone else to think of could be good for you.

When the shop came closer, both Sam and Agatha raced to see who could open the door for you and to your luck, Sam won. Rolling your eyes at their antics, the door opened, making the bell above it ring out into the small shop.

Agatha fell to the back of the group and let out a low whistle as she looked around, “Well isn’t this a swanky lil place…” she murmured.

As Agatha was caught up with the crystal ball on the main display, you were focused on the tarot cards on the wall.

“Well isn’t this a lovely surprise!”

You all whipped your heads towards the front counter to find coach Calderu in all her glory.

“Coach! What...are you doing here?” Agatha asked in surprise.

The older woman smirked, “Welcome to the curious.”

Coach Calderu walked around the counter to stand in front of you three.

“And what brings you three to my humble abode?”

Your eyes widened and you discreetly slapped Sam on her back, “Y-You live here too?”

“Well don’t seem excited by it, by all means! Is it that bad?”

“N-No! That’s not what I– I mean–”

The older woman chuckled and patted your shoulder, “I’m just pulling your leg hun, but yes! I do live here. Don’t touch that.”

Agatha, once again, snapped her hand back to her side with wide eyes, “Sorry coach, I didn’t mean–”

Coach Calderu waved her off, “No harm, no foul, just be careful, hm?”

As you turned to continue looking through the selection of tarot cards, you could smell her perfume before she draped her arm around your back, “Ohh do we have a little cartomancer in our midsts?”

You blushed and chuckled nervously, “I’m just an amateur really, I haven’t done a reading since high school…plus I’d only do personal readings or do a few readings for Sam.”

Your coach hummed, looking at the decks on the wall, before she picked one and handed it to you, “Well then I think this is what you’d like.”

The Cozy Witch Tarot Deck

It was cute and although tarot could be intimidating, the card deck looked anything but. You smiled and looked towards the older woman, “Thank you, it’s really cute. I like the aesthetic of the pictures.”

“Of course hun, only the best for my girls,” she winked.

You looked down at the deck in hand, pretending to read the packaging to hide the redness in your cheeks. In response, your coach just chuckled lowly and squeezed your arm as she moved to talk to Sam.

Oh you were definitely going to take up tarot reading again.

“Are you girls ready for practice tomorrow?”

“Oh, actually, I’ll be a little late.”

You whipped your head towards Sam with a confused look on your face. What did she mean? She was your ride to and from practice tomorrow and you sure as hell weren’t going to lug your bowling balls down 4 blocks to get to the bowling alley.

“I have family in town visiting and my grandma wants to take me to breakfast before practice. Where they’re staying is a bit out of the way so I might be late but I’ll do my best to be there on time.”

“Wait, but Sam, what about–”

“Same here actually.”

It was your turn to face Agatha with wide eyes. Well there goes your second option. Yes, asking Agatha for a ride would’ve been a stretch but you really didn’t want to walk around with your bowling balls in public.

“I also have plans for breakfast with an old friend of mine, but they’ll take me to practice from the diner. I’ll let them know that it’s important to get me to practice on time.”

“And what about you Y/N? Any plans for breakfast?” Coach asked with a raised brow.

“Uh– no, but I should say that I’ll try my best to get to practice on time…”

“Oh? And why would you need to try?”

“Because someone–” you glared at Sam who smiled innocently, “was supposed to be my ride to practice.”

The older woman looked at you two with amusement.

“Well if you need a ride hun, you just need to ask,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Oh! I– I wouldn’t want to impose–”

Coach Calderu waved her hand, “Nonsense, I’ll be more than happy to give you a ride. You’re living on campus, right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, still not believing you were about to spend even more time with the woman.

“Give me the name of your hall and I’ll be there bright and early.”

– – – – – – – – – –

When you finished shopping around, you ended up arguing with Agatha about who would be paying.

You honestly didn’t know what was wrong with the younger woman. Maybe she wanted to get back together and was trying to weasel her way back into your life somehow or maybe she wanted your forgiveness? You really couldn’t tell what she wanted from you.

Agatha ended up paying for your things. You got a few candles, the tarot deck that your coach had picked out, and a big dream catcher. Since Agatha paid for you, you made her carry your things too, not that she complained though, she seemed happy to help much to your annoyance.

Coach Calderu sent the three of you on your way with a wink and a wave goodbye and then the three of you started to make your way back to campus.

Sam nudged you with her shoulder, “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Why would I want to thank you? You’re ditching me AND you lied! All of your family lives within thirty minutes of campus!” 

“But now you have time with coach, so, you’re welcome.”

You punched Sam in the shoulder.

“What?”

Oh shit. You forgot Agatha was with you guys.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about Harkness,” Sam mocked. “Well would you look at the time, I want to get to the cafeteria before they run out of cheesy bread. See ya!”

And now you were alone.

With Agatha.

Sometimes you hated Sam with every fiber of your being.

“Come on superstar, I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

You let out a sigh and reluctantly walked the rest of the way with Agatha.

The sun had set just as you and Agatha got to your dorm. The younger woman was still carrying your things as you unlocked your door.

You walked in and sighed as you took off your jacket before turning towards the open door. To your amusement, Agatha was still out in the hall. She was looking around your room but kept herself from crossing the threshold.

“You can just set those down on my desk.”

Agatha nodded before she came into the room, setting the bags down on your little desk.

“So…I– well, Y/N, I just wanted to say–”

“I didn’t say we were talking.”

“It’s been a few years, I’ve changed! Just– hear me out, please?”

You rolled your eyes before you hopped up on your bed. You gestured towards Agatha for her to continue.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “I just– well…I just want you to understand that what I did wasn’t because you weren’t enough for me, or that I don’t love you–”

“You said ‘don’t’...Ag–”

“I love you, Y/N, I still love you with all that I am and–”

“I think you should go.”

“Y/N–please, I– we need to talk this ou–”

You shook your head and let your head fall forward, your hair covering your face, “No”

“Wha–”

You whipped your head up, your eyes glossed over with fresh tears, “We don't ‘need’ to talk about anything! You threw everything out of the window when you decided to sell yourself out for some stupid-ass scholarship! Why are you even here? The head of the athletic department said he only scouted Sam and I from that Pepsi Tournament! Why choose this school? Why fight for an anchor spot when you don’t even care where you’re put in the lineup? Just– why?”

Agatha seemed shocked. She couldn’t form any words, her own eyes glossing over as she watched your tears fall silently.

“I think you should go.”

Agatha just looked at you with pleading eyes, “Y/N, please–”

“You heard her Harkness, beat it.” Sam came back from the cafeteria just in time.

You couldn’t face Agatha or Sam. You guessed that you looked a mess. It’s been a while since you cried over the younger woman. She couldn’t even answer your questions. She just stood there looking like she was the one who was hurting. She didn’t have the right to feel sorry.

The door clicked shut before you took a sharp inhale. Meanwhile, Sam looked at you with soft and understanding eyes.

“Do you want cheesy bread?”

– – – – – – – – – – – 

Last night’s sleep was rough. The talk with Agatha, if you could even call what happened a talk, still played in your head. You were obviously overthinking everything and second guessing yourself. Maybe you should’ve heard her out the first time, maybe you two would have stayed together. You didn’t know anymore.

You went around the dorm as you got yourself ready for practice. Sam was already gone when you got up and so you took a shower, got dressed, and pulled your bowling gear together. After grabbing your headphones, you headed out. The weather was nice enough that you decided to wait outside for your coach.

Putting your music on shuffle, you set the volume to the highest setting, drowning out your own thoughts. You bobbed your head along the music, your fingers subtly playing piano keys as you mouthed the lyrics.

A tap to your shoulder made you let out a startled yelp. Throwing your headphones off of your head, you turned to look at whoever dared to interrupt your little moment.

“I’m sorry to startle you, but I’ve been calling your name for a good few minutes.”

Your cheeks immediately reddened as you found coach Calderu standing behind you with an amused smile. You immediately scrambled to look at your phone. Apparently, you missed her texts and one call. 

You winced and looked back up at her, “I’m so sorry coach, I didn’t realize how much time has passed since I came downstairs.”

The older woman just chuckled, “It’s alright, I did enjoy the little show you put on,” she teased with a wink.

You didn’t know if your cheeks could turn any redder and you put your hoodie up despite it being a sunny day out. Coach Calderu watched on in amusement as you quickly placed your bowling bag into her trunk before you moved to sit in her passenger seat.

The sunglasses that were atop the woman’s head was placed over her eyes as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“Are you alright hun? You aren’t too cold or anything?”

“I’m good, coach, thank you. And thank you for the ride, I really do appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said as she patted your knee.

You turned to look out the window, your eyes practically bugging out at such a small gesture.

You felt like a very hormonal teenage boy that hasn’t even touched his first pair of boobs yet. Why did she have such an effect on you? She was literally just a woman. A woman who happened to be the most beautiful person you’ve seen in the universe. A beautiful woman who happened to be your bowling coach. A beautiful woman who was still touching your knee.

After coach Calderu let her touch linger long enough, she returned her hand to the steering wheel. “You said you liked listening to music right? What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Hm? Oh, I– a little bit of everything.”

“That’s what people say and then they completely disown two or three genres.”

“I– okay well you’re not wrong…I’ll say my top music styles would be pop, songs from the 70s, and then songs that I call ‘static oldies’ just because in some of the recordings, you can hear the scratches of the original recording.”

“Not what I expected of a 23 year-old, you do seem like an old soul.”

You just nodded in response. You had a quip on the tip of your tongue but decided to hold back due to the fact that it was a pretty dark quip and you definitely didn’t want to give your coach the wrong vibe about you.

– – – – – – – – – –

The rest of the ride was just filled with small talk; learning about the small things about each other and such. Coach Calderu asked you about your ambitions, your likes and dislikes, what made you embrace bowling, etc. It was refreshing if you were being honest and despite the crude rumors about the older woman, you couldn’t see why she easily made enemies. 

Once she parked, she let out a sigh before turning to you with a smile, “I accept debit payments. The title will say ‘Lilia’s Lyft’ but that’s just my side hustle,” she teased.

“How about just a five-star rating?” you giggled.

“As long as I get a five-star rating for both trips, then we’ll be set hun,” the older woman winked at you before she exited the car.

She unlocked the trunk and you grabbed your bowling gear before setting it on the ground so you could roll it.

“Calderu!”

You heard your coach heave a big sigh before she turned on her heel to face the voice, “Vidal, how…nice…of you to finally join us for practices.”

You weren’t paying attention to the other woman, you were paying attention to the younger woman following on Vidal’s heel.

It was Agatha, and as soon as she made eye-contact with you, you could see the panic and guilt begin to appear in her eyes.

It wouldn’t take a genius to pin together why Agatha and you guessed, the assistant coach Vidal, were together. You guessed VIdal was the one Agatha was texting during your senior year in high school and that’s how Agatha got into this school.

“Ah, and who did you bring with you? Another one of your pets? She’s a bit young for you, Calderu.”

“This,” Coach Calderu hissed, “Is Y/N, one of our team anchors for the season,” she glared at the younger woman.

Coach Vidal just raised a brow with an amused smirk before giving you a once over, “Ah, the famous Y/N L/N then…I gotta say, you give other girls a run for their money.”

You sent the assistant coach a tight lipped smile, “It’s nice to meet you Coach Vidal,” you turned towards your other coach, “I’ll head inside, I think Sam is here already.”

After turning on your heel, you trekked inside the alley, scanning the lanes to find the familiar dirty blonde.

“Y/N/N–”

The familiar husky voice made you walk away immediately.  Deciding to head to the kitchen area to grab an energy drink, you found your dirty blonde savior.

Sam was in line to get a drink and you left your bowling bag by the front desk before joining her, your arm hooking into hers.

“Witch at five o’clock, I’ll tell you what happened after practice,” you whispered to her.

Sam, the ever so helpful friend, just brought you in closer and held your hand in reassurance. It was only eight in the morning and you were already spiraling out.

The two of you got your drinks and walked over to the designated lanes for practice.

The coaches were standing and talking quietly amongst themselves while the girls were sitting at the settee area putting their shoes on. As you put on your own, you couldn’t help but glance at Coach VIdal every so often. Why would Agatha meet up with her? Were her words last night false?

On one of the glances, you saw that Vidal was already looking at you. You quickly broke eye contact and went back to tying your shoes.

It was going to be an interesting practice day.

[fascinationstreetmp3]

What if...what if past dm didn't happen. How do you see it playing out? And actually give your two cents about danlou too plz. Cause sometimes I think he is the devil ( angel) to Daniel's minion. Idk if that makes sense?

admittedly it sometimes is difficult for me to shut off my "past dm definitely happened" thinking because im just so certain there are too many hints that it did LOL but...

for armand, there's this boy he wrote off in 1973, who he maybe genuinely couldn't find anything "fascinating" or extraordinary about, who he has perhaps been underestimating this whole time in 2022— i could see him realising that now daniel is truly sharp-minded and ruthless, with none of the attempts to knock him off balance really working, and he's figured out so much in such a short space of time and ultimately gotten the truth (and a little revenge) he was after in the end. there's something very intriguing in that, despite the anger he feels that daniel took everything from him.

maybe turning him could feel like a punishment to armand (even though i think daniel did want to be a vampire by that point, armand might not realise that. and it could also be a form of punishment for louis, taking away daniel's humanity in a perversion of letting him live for louis in 1973), but maybe it's also subconsciously a way of keeping around someone who has figured him out and seen him so quickly, even if that is something he runs from.

for daniel, i think everything that went down in dubai sort of "woke him up." when we first see him, he looks bored, tired, and lonely. he barely talks to his family, only enough for them to know he's sick, and he's teaching internet classes now. the pandemic has kept him away from the world but it also feels like the passion has seeped out of him long before that. at this point he's expecting to die someday soon and leave his daughters some cash. being invited for a second interview with louis doesn't immediately break him out of that mindset; it's invigorated him some by the end of the first season, but once there's an even bigger mystery to crack after armand reveals himself, that's when he really starts enjoying himself.

by the end of season 2, daniel is so far in it he doesn't want it to stop, chasing a high. and for that reason, even if the turning was "spiteful" on armand's part, i think daniel would've wanted to be turned either way. just like daniel in the books, he can't go back to an ordinary life and function normally or sit around waiting to die after being so involved in this world. armand gives it to him in some form— but daniel wants more, he wants answers and a story from armand, he wants to crack the truth about him and figure out "where the bullshit starts." so he chases after him when armand leaves, and it turns into an inverse of their original chase in the books:

the highlighted lines could actually actually work in reverse in this scenario too— daniel wants to know what makes armand so fascinating, wants to know what and who he really is. even down to daniel himself not being able to move about by day now when armand can. and as the chase goes on, they learn more about one another, becoming drawn to each other despite the animosity between them.

as for the second part of your question, do you mean danlou kind of acting as the show's version of devil's minion? or their relationship being more similar to what armand and daniel's is in the books? i see danlou as something unique, and especially if there was any kind of past dm, i don't know that louis would be directly involved— in the sense that i believe he wouldn't be happy to fuck with this kid's life even further than he already did, with the "think of me as god or an angel" speech he gave trying to set daniel free from everything he'd seen and heard from armand. even if louis doesn't really care as much about humanity in general as he sometimes claims, daniel is a symbol of something to louis, proof he can still do good.

whereas with armand, no matter what love was there, dm is ultimately about keeping daniel embroiled in that life. armand shares his blood and lets daniel get addicted to it, and it slowly breaks daniel apart until he's losing his mind.

like you said, louis is more the "angel" where armand's the "devil." in a past dm scenario i actually think it's possible the words louis speaks to daniel in 1973 could be something that helps daniel towards the end of his relationship with armand in the 80s ("if things ever get bad again," "these words will hold you up and carry you; they are your lifeline") and could be what led to him finally breaking free of armand and maybe asking to be "let go" if he really won't ever turn him.

but to me whether past dm happened or not, danlou is about daniel being the first person in a long time to listen to louis both in 1973 and 2022, louis changing and saving daniel's life in a way no one else ever did, and daniel coming back 50 years later and eventually returning the favour. they're both fathers to daughters, they've both repressed themselves in various ways, they've both had their memories messed with by armand.

they're the vampire and the interviewer who kick off the whole story being told, and i think the show portrays that very well, keeping them (and hopefully their relationship) relevant going forward and expanding on their relationship with each other in a way the books never did, and not really borrowing any dynamic from dm or anyone else. armand of course hangs over them both, the same way louis hangs over dm, the same way daniel factors into loumand in 1973 and 2022, and they're all important to each other for different reasons.

[thetireddoktor]

Shamura's Origin's

Below the cut is Shamura's beginnings, what they had before their crown and some events that lead after the crown

The Beginning, the Weavers

Shamura was once part of an ancient and revered village of weavers known as the Fate Weavers, a society dedicated to maintaining the Webs of Fate—a sacred relic passed down through generations. Through their craftsmanship, the Fate Weavers wove constellations and stars into delicate strands of webbing, reading them much like tarot cards to divine the paths of mortals and gods alike.

Shamura was the child of Naru, one of the most esteemed Fate Weavers, whose wisdom and mastery made them a guiding figure in the village. From a young age, Shamura was taught the delicate art of weaving fate, learning to trace the threads with patient hands and a keen mind. As Naru’s child, their path seemed clear: tend to the web, preserve the relic, continue the legacy.

The Old God

All was well—until their relic was noticed by an old god. A being who wanted the web for themselves.

The old god threatened Naru and Shamura, demanding that she and her people serve under them, worship them, and use the Webs of Fate in their name.

Naru? She wasn’t having it.

(Note: This is before Shamura chose to go by they/them.)

"Oh, you listen to me, you overgrown dust collector. You do not get to come into my domain, speak of my child like he’s yours to take, and expect me to nod along like some meek little thing. I don’t care if you’re older than time itself, I don’t care what power you think you hold—I will personally unravel you, thread by thread, if you so much as look at him again."

"Now, be a dear and get the hell out of my village before I decide you’d look better woven into my web."

She had chosen poorly.

The old god left

The Loss

The weavers thought they were safe, they thought they were free for the time being. But they were wrong, the Old God returned with a vengeance. Their cultists tore Shamura's home, life, and family apart.

Father? Dead. Brothers and sisters? Gone. Their mother? …She foresaw this fate, so she did the only thing she could.

She set fire to the Web of Fate and sent Shamura away—to protect them. When Shamura returned, everything was gone. Ash, rubble, death. Their mother’s charred corpse, still entangled in the remains of the web, because she had chosen to die with it.

Then, they found the crown.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the price of their suffering. But with the weight of their loss, the rage of war in their heart, they could see it. They could wield it.

They were named the Bishop of Peace.

Peace. Funny. They didn’t feel at peace. They felt hollow. Angry. Empty. And like any true teenager drowning in unchecked emotions, they let it fester. At first, building their cult was good, structured, steady. But over time, their mind warped under the weight of that festering anger, hate, and despair.

They began to whisper to their followers:

“Peace is fleeting. Hold onto it while you can… because one day, something will come to take it all from you. By the time they had their own temple, they resumed their fate weaving, just as their mother had taught them—only this time, they alone controlled the web.

As years passed, they bided their time, wove fates, and kept peace, just long enough to be useful. Once they had amassed a sizeable following (turns out, people love worshiping the concept of peace... who knew?), they began poisoning the well. They whispered darker thoughts into their followers' minds. They elevated the most ruthless among them into disciples—Focalor, Vephar, Hauras.

And while their growing army followed blindly, Shamura set their disciples to hunt.

Find the old god. The one who ruined everything.

Once they were found?

No one would stop their warpath.

Below, a sermon they would preach to their followers:

Shamura stood before the gathered faithful, draped in the heavy silence of their temple. Their gaze swept over the men and women alike who knelt before them reverently, their devotion unwavering. Fools. They inhaled deeply, exhaled slow. The weight of loss clung to them, as constant as the breath in their lungs. As constant as the memory of ash. When they spoke, their voice was calm… too calm. Beneath it, something seethed.

"Peace…" They let the word settle in the air, curling like thread between fingers. "Peace is precious, is it not? It is the warmth of the sun on weary shoulders. The feeling of home at your back. The certainty that when you wake, the world will still be yours." They tilted their head slightly, red eyes flickering in the torchlight. They let the thought hang in the air, let the people kneeling before them imagine that world, warm, safe, eternal. Let them hold onto it.

And then they shattered it.

"But peace is also fleeting."

Inhaling deeply, Shamura's many arms curled inward, fingers brushing together, tracing the shape of something no longer there. Something that had never been real, slowly they paced back and forth… One side to the other as they find their words. "I was born into peace. My mother taught me to weave it with my hands, to stitch it into the Webs of Fate, to follow the careful patterns laid by those who came before. My people believed in peace, in the balance of destiny, in the quiet hum of threads stretching across the stars. We believed it was something we could protect."

A slow, bitter smile curled at their lips. "But belief does not make something true." Their voice darkened, their fingers tightening. "One day, peace was taken."

The words were blunt. Cold. Final. Undeniable.

"I watched my home burn. I smelled the smoke rising from our sacred threads, felt the heat licking at my skin as the old god's hounds ripped through everything we had built." A pause. A breath. Their voice did not waver. "My father fell I watched from safety as he was torn apart. My brothers and sisters, gone, their threads cut before their time. And my mother…" They let the silence stretch. Let the weight of it settle over the temple like a veil of mourning "My mother did not run. She did not beg, she did not kneel, she did not let that wretched god lay claim to what was ours."

A flicker of something burned behind their gaze, something too bright, too sharp, too deep to ever be put out. "Instead, she set fire to it herself." They lifted a hand, a single finger tracing the air as if following the path of a flame. "The Webs of Fate, the work of generations, the threads that held the weight of gods and mortals alike—she burned them. She turned them to ash so that no unworthy hands could ever grasp them. She chose to die with them, rather than let him take what was never his to hold." Their jaw clenched, mandibles twitching as they swallowed back the pain. Or perhaps, the rage. "When I returned, there was nothing left. Only ruins. Only the bones of those I loved. Only my mother’s body, charred and crumbling beneath the weight of what she had given up."

Silence. Deep, aching silence.

"And in the ashes," they whispered, voice barely above breath, "I found a single thread unburnt." Their many arms flexed, fingers curling as if feeling it between them once more. "A thread that held a Crown. I should have felt peace. I should have felt purpose. I should have taken it as a sign that fate still had a place for me, that there was something left to be saved." They exhaled, slow, steady, a hand rising to gently touch the crown upon their head, its eye gazing endlessly into nothing. "But I did not." Slowly, their hand lowered, their gaze staring past their followers, at something unseen, even to them. "I felt hollow. I felt angry. I felt empty." They straightened, their many arms folding behind their back, their many eyes back on their devoted. Their voice, when it came next, was steady... too steady. "And so I tell you this: Do not mistake peace for something permanent." They let the words settle, their gaze sweeping across their followers. "It will not last. It will never last. Peace is a thread too easily severed, too easily burned. You may hold it in your hands, cherish it, weave it into your life, but one day, something will come to take it from you." Their voice did not rise, did not break. "And when that day comes," they murmured, "you will have only two choices: Let it slip through your fingers… or set fire to it yourself." A long silence. And then, a final whisper, spoken like a truth already woven into fate: "I have made my choice."

[sir-fenris]

AAAAAAAAA 🥹 I've lived for the day that I would be getting commentaries too. I can die happy. Thank you <33

Sorry for taking so long to answer. I read it before going to sleep and I giggled so much my cheeks hurt, but I was too tired to answer cohesively. And today I was busy pretty much the whole time :'(

But I was able to write this down while preparing and eating my dinner :D

(My responses organization is kinda messy, don't mind it please XD)

It is real and it is happening, I'm glad Cyrus's yearning was clear and that it seemed a strong start :) I went back and forth with SO MANY begginings, I think I wrote and deleted more than 10 completely different starting paragraphs XD.

I might put the rp on the masterpost soon! I wanted to ask you if I could, first. And find a way to organize it in a way I feel is nice to read.

And well... about the gloves, who knows? :) is it because he can use his magic with any skin contact? What I can say is that all handlers do have gloves with technology, but usually, they're are fingerless gloves. Wilson's hands and arms are fully covered.

(I already changed your emoji <3)

Yes, protection barriers makes him nauseous when he goes in, because it's designed exatcly to keep his magic contained in the tent in case he uses it unauthorized, so it gives him a bad feeling. Once Wilson gives him authorization, the barriers are set down. When the authorization is revoked, they come back up. That's one of the many reasons why Wilson has to communicate when he's about to turn the nullification back of the collar.

A lot of safety measures 😃

Well... I wouldn't say he's allowed to actually refuse food. Wilson just sometimes is "merciful" and allows him to take his breakfast after his comedown is done, because usually Cyrus feels sick before getting to work. (If Cyrus... makes a mess, yk, Wilson will have to report and take care of the situation, and that's too troublesome)

And I'm not one for underestimating trope either, but I guess in LW whump it's interesting because adds to the familiar dehumanization and because the LW is actually very powerful and that gets proven.

"ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask"

My comfort is also whumpy, because I don't wanna spoil Cyrus too much yet, he's still on the whump arc... but I hope you find the hurt/comfort good enough XD.

":( he knelt fast then. man..."

He dropped down on his knees :') Wilson doesn't let him kneel down slowly.

And Wilson whispered the "behave". Rhe others around don't need to hear the weapon being reminded to behave, just know that it will.

About the other gifted. I'll show the sketches of the gloves soon, but you'll see that it does need a metal manipulator, or else it has to be cut off and re-made on his hand every time. It's 100% closed. So that's why they use other gifted to do it.

(Usually metalokinetics are used around for stuff like that, menial tasks. They only go to battlefield if they are strong enough to destroy enemy's weapons and machines.)

"yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification"

That was the hardest part :') I wanted anyone who didn't knew any context to be able to understand the first chapter (though that's really really hard without a beta/proof reader) and the people who did have context to enjoy it anyway, even though it's pretty much a retelling of the drabble a lot of you already read. I was afraid of giving too little information and making it hard to understand, and of giving too much information and making it too dense.

60% of the chaotic editing was because of this. And 50% of the typos is because I kept changing sentences and missing to change a word or to (like making a sentence about one of his hands, then decide it should be both hands, but forget to put one of the words in plural)

Speaking of that, I need to do a typo checking on the chapter asap... already caught 2 yesterday.

"ugh he's so well trained"

His handler is proud to hear that.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

Own, that's adorable. He'll have grass in recovery, lots of it, don't worry.

(The bar is very low when touching grass is almost an ultimate reward...)

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Wilson" and "beloved" in the same sentence is........ something I was not expecting ever. Huh.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

😊 when the nullification is on, it stays blue. When he's being shocked, it flashes yellow, and when his magic is free, it turns red. :D safety measures, too.

About the withering description, thank you! I really think it might be too abstract or dense to some people, especially those who don't have any context, but there's really not much I could do. From Cyrus's view, he's not seeing what the magic is actually doing, and this needed to be included on the first chapter.

But I'll try to slide in some description from Wilson's view of his powers in a canon chapter to make it clearer, perhaps make a separate post showing his vision vs what's actually happening, if I can.

And yeah! On the drabble I was really thinking about that song. But on canon, it became more like a curious fact, because I made it so it's from another language. It doesn't have a set lyrics, though the translation would be something akin to the hurt incantation. No one knows what Cyrus's murmuring means, not even him, it's gibberish to them all.

Yeaaah! I'm happy you saw that "Sweet Creature" follows the same line that "Magic Euphoria" drabble. It's pretty much that drabble, but from his perspective, plus a bit more at the beginning and end. This chapter is the truly canon, since when I did the drabble I didn't have the characters in mind, but Cyrus really does say "yes, sir" because his conditioning runs deep. He doesn't say "okay" ever.

(But Wilson is also an unreliable narrator, so you can consider the drabble him remembering Cyrus's words to be more disobedient than it actually was, since he spoke quietly)

(Poor baby, being shocked not even knowing why, loosing his warmth, being remembered as disrespectful even when he wasn't...)

Metallokinetic whumpee is not well :(

"oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?"

I like the way you're going :)

(Both Cyrus and Wilson have gloves, but Cyrud's is restrictive)

About the den (his cabin) and mattress.... eh, don't get too happy. Remember, unreliable narrator. And this ask is very important.

(Oh, you reminded me that I wanted to put the images of his cabin and capsule on the chapter, thanks, I'll do that later)

"oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar"

All of the above. Plus the glasses too. Safety measures :)

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

First, thank you <3

Second, it's not defined, it could have been a lot of different things. But my favorite option is that he started singing without realizing it.

"someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :("

He can only earn blanket privileges when he's at the central base. In caimpaings there are no blanket privileges.

If he's very very good, tho, he might earn one night with a blanket.

!!! sneaky :0

🥰 He would look down ashamed at your words. He really didn't mean to be... he just wanted to relieve some of the painful uneasiness.

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

YEAAA, that's the emotions I wanted to show. Especially since Cyrus is blinded so often. He rarely knows when Wilson is looking, to what he pays attention, what is his expression. It's kinda like the Panopticon Prison. You never know when you're being watched, so you stay on edge the whole time.

Wilson is a smart handler :)

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

He's not allowed to move in the ways Wilson doesn't approve. What moves does Wilson approve? Only Wilson knows.

Cyrus discovers when he's shocked for doing the ones on the "no" list.

And the gloves, ah the gloves. Who knows?

Wilson knows, he's the one that changed their designs too.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

Yeah, I really like doing that :D

Cyrus doesn't want to go through an hour of Wilson getting his anger out in his hair, leaving him with a sore scalp and holding back tears. His hair is full of broken strands because of it already.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

I let out a really genuine laugh 🤣

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

Of Wilson? Always.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

Oh well, thank you <3

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

His comedown has really fun hallucinations :)

Auditory, visual, gustatory, tactile, proprioceptive and interoceptive ones. Not all together or at the same comedown, it varies.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there.

:)

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

I loved how this was like. stractured with the euphoria and comedown and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

Really, thank you for this <333 I'm really pleasently surprise to see people saying stuff like "doing the fenris thing" for the commentaries. It really makes me happy, like... YEAH? Please do! With me and with others. It's so cool to read these. Even tired, even busy, I just wanted to keep coming here to read yours and others comments.

So thank you <3 really enjoyed reading this, and I really like the way you think :)

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Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

-

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Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

-

[theceaselessidiot]

Eloise Bridgerton being an absolute mood:

and Cressida's reaction of 'this girl is so weird, but I'm into it??? Wait am I into this??'':

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

fauci saying “vulnerable people will fall by the wayside” and that some will die but that’s ok because we’re not going to see the “tsunami of cases” we’ve seen before is so dehumanising. so babies with no immune system, elderly people, disabled people, and people without adequate access to healthcare can all die of covid. but it’s ok guys because actually they’re just falling to the wayside and everyone else will go back to normal and be fine (sarcasm).

my death or the deaths of my family or friends wouldn’t be us “falling by the wayside”, it would be us being failed by our government, healthcare systems, and communities who have refused to take coronavirus seriously despite mounting anecdotal and scientific evidence of the harm this virus does. fact that people can accept the deaths of vulnerable groups just because they want to eat in a restaurant or don’t want to wear a mask is horrifying

[soap-is-an-artist]

Hooray... it's 7 in the morning and I stayed up all night listening to the imperium... I feel so happy and satisfied with my life choices...

I am feeling very much not cowabunga, dude

[SEVERE rambling in tags]