#(dresses lighter when swimming)

[azurebolt-fr]

paradisium is helping too!

[keeryhours]

nothing else matters - eddie munson

Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Older! Eddie Munson x female reader

Summary:

Eddie is bummed about turning 40 - you help him feel better.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints?, age gap

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N:

This is my entry for the @corrodedcoffinfest Birthday pop up! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for your help as usual, ily bestie

Prompts: Birthday, 40, 25, “Seriously? Age is just a number” and gift | Word Count: 2818 | Rating: E | POV: Reader | Relationships: Eddie x Reader

The delicious smell from the cake you were baking filled your apartment. It made your mouth water - you always had a sweet tooth, and you wished you could take a bite now. You put the oven mitts on your hands and opened the oven, carefully pulling the pan out and sitting it on top of the stove.

Things had to be perfect for Eddie’s birthday. It was a big one - 40. And he was kind of freaking out about it. He had never minded your age gap - 25 and 39 - but turning 40 was making him really self conscious about it. You wanted to show him age was just a number and turning 40 had no effect on how much you loved him.

The cake looked perfect, and you had the icing and sprinkles set out on the counter ready for when it cooled. You were determined to make this his best birthday ever, despite his existential crisis.

While the cake cooled, you decorated the rest of the apartment with streamers, confetti, and a Happy Birthday banner. By the time the decorations were perfect, the cake was cool enough to decorate. You covered it in white icing, adding sprinkles to the side. You used the bag filled with black icing to write Happy Birthday Eddie! on top.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

You heard the front door opening right on time, his keys jingling in his hand as he walked into the apartment. “Babe,” he said, a laugh in his voice, “what’s all this?”

You popped out of the kitchen, a big smile on your face. “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

Eddie smiled as he approached you, blue coveralls dirtied with smudges of oil from work. He reached you and placed a lingering kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby. How about I go take a quick shower and we’ll have some cake together?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, kissing him one more time. He reluctantly left you, heading into the bedroom down the hall.

While he was showering, you arranged the candles just right on top of the cake. You poured yourself a glass of wine, possibly downing it and pouring another before Eddie sauntered out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and an Iron Maiden tee. You were already wearing his favorite Metallica one, oversized on you and nearly covering the shorts you were wearing. You handed him a beer as he walked over to the cake.

He was smiling, but you could see something else swimming behind those brown eyes. You grabbed the lighter and lit the candles, then smiled up at your boyfriend. “Ready to make a wish?”

“I already have everything I could wish for,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you giggle.

“Stop being so cheesy and make a wish!” You said, giving his butt a slap. He laughed and moved towards the cake.

“Okay, okay.” He thought for a minute. “Okay, I’ve got one.”

“Haaaappy birthday to you,” you began to sing, Eddie letting out a playful groan. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, my dear Eddie…happy birthday to you!”

Eddie laughed, then leaned in and blew out his candles. Once they were all out you lifted them from the cake and cut each of you a slice to bring into the living room.

Eddie collapsed onto the couch with a huff. He looked tired, and you could tell he’d had a long day at work. You had suggested he try to get the day off to celebrate his birthday, but he insisted it was just another day and he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it. You didn’t know the definition of “not making a fuss” out of things.

You cuddled up next to him on the couch and he immediately put an arm around you, his plate sitting on his lap. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, finding a rerun of Day of the Dead, a favorite of you both.

As you ate your cake together, you noticed your normally high-spirited Eddie seemed…dejected. You knew he had been stressing about his birthday, but you hoped the little celebration might make him feel better.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked him, sitting your empty plate down on the coffee table in front of you. You reached up to hold his hand on your shoulder as he took his final bites before pushing his own plate onto the table.

“Ah, it’s nothing, baby girl,” he said, giving you a smile with no heart behind it. You weren’t buying it for a second.

“Ed, you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you? Your birthday?”

He sighed, a hand running through his wild curls, still damp from his shower. “It’s just…40 is a big deal. And sometimes I feel like a real creep for having a young little thing like you as my girlfriend.”

Your heart ached for him. “Eddie, baby, you know age is just a number. I don’t care how much older you are. We’re both adults, we can make our own decisions. I love you for you. I love you because you’re fun, and you make me laugh, we have similar interests, you’re handsome…I could go on.” You poke him in the side with a small smile that he returns.

Eddie held out his arm, showing the faded bat tattoo that’s been touched up a few times over the years. “You know I got this tattoo when I was 18, right? I was out getting drunk and high while you were still crawling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Eddie, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s okay that you’re older than me, believe me. I certainly don’t mind.” You trailed a hand up his thigh, and he raised his eyebrows at you. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

Eddie placed a large hand on your thigh and pulled you onto his lap, facing him. His hands rubbed up and down your bare thighs. “You’re too good for me. I don’t know how I landed such a hot little thing like you. You know they used to call me Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I was not popular.”

“Well, they were idiots,” you said, placing a kiss on his lips. “Because you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

Eddie pulled you back into a kiss, deeper this time as your lips work together. Butterflies went wild in your stomach like it was the first time, even though you’d been with Eddie for 2 years now. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you moaned into the kiss, pressing back against his tongue with your own.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbled against your lips, hands sliding around to grab your ass and squeeze. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You grinded down against his lap, feeling his hardness beneath his jeans. He gripped your hips and guided your movements, a low groan coming from his lips. “Want you so bad, Ed,” you whispered, leaning forward to place kisses on his neck.

“Fuck, I want you too, baby,” he groaned, his eyes half lidded as he looked at you. “Is this my birthday present?” He teased. “Because I’m okay with that.”

“One of them,” you said with a playful smirk. You kissed him again, hungrier this time, gently biting his bottom lip and making him moan. His fingertips dug tighter into your hips, his head tilting back as you moved back down to suck at the sensitive spot on his neck.

Eddie’s breathing grew heavier, soft moans spilling from his lips as you left a mark closer to his shoulder, where his coveralls would hide it. He didn’t need the guys at work teasing him about it.

He reached around to squeeze at your ass again, hands slipping underneath your shorts. “Need you right now, baby,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life.”

You moved off his lap with a smirk, Eddie watching you intently as you moved to your knees between his legs. He groaned, watching you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, lifting his hips for you to pull them down.

His cock sprung up against his stomach, already rock hard and leaking for you. You licked your lips at the sight, desperate to get him in your mouth. Eddie caressed the side of your face with his hand, looking down at you affectionately.

“Gonna take it in your mouth, baby?” He asked sweetly. “You’re so good at it. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

You smiled up at him. “I do?” You grabbed his cock, wrapping your hand around it and stroking slowly as you stuck your tongue out to lick a bead of precum from his tip.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed, watching every movement you made. “The best. So why don’t you go ahead and suck it, baby?”

Anything he wanted for his birthday. You wrapped your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. He groaned, cock twitching in your hand. “Fuck babe, take it deeper, please.”

You lowered your head, taking him deeper down your throat as you held eye contact with him. He pushed your hair out of your face and held it behind your head to see you better, to see the way your lips stretched around his thick girth, the way your eyes watered as you took him deeper and deeper. He fought the urge to thrust up into your mouth, forcing the remaining inches down your throat. He was trying his best to have some self control here, but it was hard when you looked that good.

When you took all of him, his head dropped back against the couch cushions for only a moment before he remembered he didn’t want to miss a second of this. As you lifted up he slowly began thrusting into your mouth, and you let him, let him use you for his own pleasure.

“Fuuuuck, that’s it. Lettin’ me use you like that? Such a good little slut for me.” His voice was strained, the pleasure almost too much for him. He didn’t want this to be over fast, he had to fuck you first, feel you wrapped around him and fill you with his cum. That’s what he wanted for his birthday.

But he could enjoy this for a little longer.

He fucked your face slowly, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still and did all the work. You looked up at him with wide watery eyes and it nearly undid him right then.

“Fuck, you’re doin’ so good baby. Letting me fuck your face. You’re just a good little cockwhore aren’t you? You like letting a real man use you. Guys your age wouldn’t do it for you, huh?”

You moaned around his cock, sending vibrations through him and making him moan louder. He thrusted his hips up into your mouth a few more times before he was pulling you off of him, gasping moans spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself and not cum right that second.

“Shit. Take those clothes off and get back on my lap baby,” he begged, fisting his own cock. You obeyed, sliding your shorts and panties down your legs and throwing your shirt off. You climbed onto his lap, lining yourself up with his help before sinking down onto him. You both moaned together at the feeling, and Eddie’s hands quickly moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you down as he thrusted up, cock buried in you to the hilt as you cried out from the sudden feeling.

“Oh my god, Eds,” you moaned, starting to bounce on him, your head tilted back as he helped you keep your rhythm, his thrusts meeting you with every downward motion of your hips.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, each time sinking into your tight, wet walls undoing him more and more. You leaned back, placing your hands on his knees as you bounced on his cock, giving him the perfect view of your bouncing tits. His eyes locked on them, drinking in how hot you looked. “God, you are perfect. Such a sexy little thing bouncing on my dick for me. You like that? Do you like taking my cock like that?”

“Fuck, yes,” you moaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. “Feels so good, Eddie. Jesus, you’re just so fucking big, so deep.”

“Why don’t you bend over the side of the couch for me?” Eddie asked, breathless. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You lifted off of his lap and moved to the arm of the couch, leaning over it as Eddie stood and moved behind you. You felt him dragging his cockhead through your folds, seeing just how soaking wet you were for him.

“Hands behind your back.”

You moved your arms behind you, and Eddie grabbed both wrists in his large hand just before he sunk inside you, filling you even deeper than before. He hissed as you moaned loudly, and began thrusting deep into you at a brutal pace.

“God, look at you,” he grunted out as he pounded you hard from behind. “So helpless. Desperate for cock and taking everything I give you. Little slut.” He slapped your ass hard with his free hand, making you jump and cry out, and leaving a bright red handprint he smoothed his hand over. “So fucking hot.”

“More, Eddie,” you whined. “Fuck me harder, want you to fill me up.”

“Aww, baby,” he cooed, “that’s all you had to say.” He sped up his hips, leaning over you as his pace became ruthless, much more intense than before. It was exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna cum for me?” He asked, reaching around to rub circles on your clit. “I think you are, baby. I can feel you tightening around me.”

You were close. Your eyes began rolling back in your head, the combined pleasure of his cock and his hand pushing you to the edge fast. “Eddie, Eddie-“

“Come on baby, cum for me. Cum around my dick, make a mess all over me, let me feel you,” he encouraged, cock pressing against that perfect spot with every thrust. “Go ahead and let go for me.”

Stars exploded behind your eyes at that moment, and you let out loud, whiney moans as he fucked you through your high. “Oh my god, Eddie, fuck yes, fuck yes, ohmygod-“

He thought you looked so fucking hot like this, falling apart on him, because of him. His own orgasm hit him unexpectedly and he bent over your body as he came inside, pumping his cum into your tight walls with every shallow thrust. “Fuck! Yes baby, take it all, take my fucking cum. God, I’m filling you up so fucking good, keep taking it just like that, fuck yes.”

When he was done he pulled out of you, calloused hands caressing the skin of your perfect ass, enjoying the view. “You’re so perfect,” he remarked, nearly to himself.

He pulled his jeans back up and collapsed down onto the couch, pulling your naked body down onto him as you giggled. He held you close, placing kisses all over your face and body.

“I love you so much,” he said. “This might have been the best birthday present ever.”

“Oh!” You said, jumping up and pulling your shirt and panties back on. “I almost forgot your actual present!”

Eddie laughed as you ran out of the room and into the bedroom. You poked your head around the corner, a mischievous smile on your face. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, a grin on his face at whatever you were up to.

You came around the corner holding a gorgeous black electric guitar, a bow around the neck. Eddie’s eyes widened as you brought it over and he took it from your hands.

“I know this will never replace your sweetheart, but…”

“Baby, this is incredible,” he said, taking it from you and removing the ribbon before strumming it. “I can’t believe you got me a fucking guitar. You’re my dream girl.”

You were beaming, pleased that he liked your gift. “You really like it? I wasn’t sure which one to pick out, but I thought you’d like this one…”

“It’s perfect, baby,” he assured you. “Now sit down so I can play you a song.”

He plugged the guitar into his amp, keeping it down not to annoy the neighbors. He tuned it, then began strumming the opening chords of Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. You smiled up at him as he sang for you, still in disbelief that this was your boyfriend, your dream man, your heart.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。—will i ever bring you peace? | gojo satoru

wc: 1.4k

summary: gojo can’t give you a quiet life. no matter what. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, hurt/comfort, jealous!gojo, more of gojo’s internal thoughts, mentions of an oc, gojo deserves all the luvin!!

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (the prev part), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (this one), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! reading the other parts, while not necessary, will add more to the experience (some references are made)! song i listened to while writing this was peace by taylor swift! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5a. this feeling inside of me— <- you are here -> +04. take my time (i'll spend it all on you)

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” 

The pond below you ripples as the koi fish swims away. 

You turn to face Gojo, hands hanging over the bridge railing, remnants of soft youth in his cheeks at 24. 

“I’d say it’s pretty quiet right now.” he answers, signature teasing lilt to his tone. He gestures around him, focusing your attention to how tranquil it is right now—sun beaming and the sound of nature in birds chirping and water trickling.

You roll your eyes; it’s always the distractions and non-answers with him. 

The silence between you is the product of years spent getting closer to reach this point; a silence of knowing that gives Gojo the space and time to reveal things on his own. 

“You already know my answer to that.” he says after a while, looking back down to the pond beneath you. 

And you do—with his small smile, almost resigned. There’s no point thinking about it. Just like when you’d asked him about love. It’s just not meant for him. 

“Would you?” he throws the question back at you, turning to you when he asks it. 

It’s a silly thing, to let hope like this bloom; you both know it’s well past that point now, too deep into chasing his vision for the future of jujutsu society—but it’s free to dream, right?

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

.

.

.

Gojo’s starting to hate that sinking feeling in his stomach lately—knots twisting before they burst into fits of pop! pop! popping!

It’s uncomfortable and annoying, seemingly getting worse the more he sits in these political meetings with you and ‘Kazuo’—or whoever this politican is, pulling your seat for you and making you laugh; the gentleman etiquette. He even lets you call him by his first name. 

There’s a slight tic to Gojo’s brow as he sits across you, leaning on the back of his chair with his arms crossed and leg propped up on the other. Obviously, you’re just being nice, nodding and smiling as you listen to Kazuo run through the document for this meeting beside you. 

But it still makes Gojo ache. 

He hasn’t been to many of these meetings, but he’s gathered enough to know what kind of guy this Kazuo is: well-dressed, good smile, good teeth–all things he has himself–but also, a gentleman, good-natured and hardworking, kind and gentle, and most of all at peace. Rumor has it that he’s looking to settle down soon, away from the politics to a nearby town just on the outskirts of the city—not too far but also not too close.

Seeing you smiling with him now just brings it back, that conversation you had years ago at 24 gnawing at him. 

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” you had asked, and when he threw it back to you—

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

It aches.

.

Gojo waits for you at the end of the meeting, watching as you and Kazuo continue to exchange pleasantries. He knows there isn’t anything to it, but there’s that knot in his stomach again, pop! pop! popping! and it worsens when he hears the secretaries gush about how you and Kazuo look so compatible, perfect—fit to get married. 

How disrespectful to your relationship, Gojo thinks. 

He huffs, quiet enough not to cause a scene but loud enough for you to hear him—to know that he isn’t in the mood for any of this. And in the perfect way you’ve synced yourself to him all these years, you smoothly transition into giving Kazuo your well wishes, accepting his handshake as your eyes meet with Gojo’s for him to do the same. 

When you both step out of the room, you make sure to hold his hand tightly, surely, in all the loving ways, but he grips back only lightly, leaving a small space–that infinity–between your palms on the way back home today. 

.

When Gojo thinks about it, it isn’t even because he’s lacking. He’s worked hard and continues to do so everyday, treating you well, loving you in the ways you deserve. 

But will it truly ever be enough? 

How can it be when you deserve more, so much more than this life you’ve been chained to since you were young?

Jujutsu society has been so rough to the both of you, that he thinks you, out of all people, deserve at the very least, some peace. Now that his vision is turning into a reality, maybe you can take a step back and afford a little more leniency. 

A good life, with a good partner, who will love you in peace. 

Someone like Kazuo.

Not him.

The thought is unusual; Gojo’s never really been one to feel insecure, but he thinks that, when you love someone this much, you’ll always want the best for them, even when you realize that the best might not be synonymous to being yours. 

Gojo can’t give you a quiet life. 

No matter what. 

Who he is is so intrinsically linked to this society and the direction it's taking that it’ll follow him wherever he goes.

He sinks deeper into his pillow. 

“You okay?” you come out of the bathroom, dressed in the matching pajama set you both got a few weeks ago—his, buried somewhere in the mishmash of your laundry clothes.

The thought sears itself into his mind, how your lives now are so intertwined.

He doesn’t answer. 

How can he ever let this go?

It aches. Again. 

The bed dips as you get into it, lifting up the comforter to snuggle into him. His back is facing you, unmoving, but your heart beats against the warmth pressed to your chest. 

You hope he feels it, how it’s for him. 

“Wanna let me in your head a little?” you wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your nose at the nape of his neck. You use the same body wash but Gojo has always retained a scent that is distinctly his own—a bit sweet like the strawberries he loves eating and something close to baby powder, as unassuming as it may be. 

His breath hitches before he starts fiddling with your fingers resting on his waist. He’s biting his lips, you know. 

“Do you still want a quiet life?” he mumbles, almost a whisper. You wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t so pressed up against him. 

You’re confused, a little shocked, but mostly confused because where did this come from?

Gojo holds his breath, waiting for your answer. He can’t turn to look at you when you do, afraid that what he’ll find—what you’ll want, won’t be something he can give you. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.” you answer, lips tickling his skin. He can’t release his breath; it’s the answer he’s been dreading. 

There’s silence, a stretch that feels too long but only spans a few seconds. His mind plays an endless loop; the single thought that that isn’t the life he can give you.

Should he break up with you?

How is he supposed to tell—

“I like this life now better though, with you.” you squeeze him tighter, kissing the side of his neck that you can reach. 

He stiffens in your hold, but you can feel the thrums of his heartbeat. It comes slowly, but he releases the breath he was holding before relaxing a bit, something you hope is from relief.  

“You sure?” he asks, trying to sound teasing, but you hear through it. Of course you do.

“You’ll be stuck with me forever, you know.” 

You can swear he sniffled. 

“Doesn't sound too bad to me.” 

He shifts, turning to face you, and when he sees you—

—it’s like falling in love with you again, he thinks. 

The ache is still there, but it’s different, replaced by something burning, almost bursting; the feelings he can’t contain—he wants to say it: I love you; thank you for loving me, but the words are lodged in his throat and his eyes are watering, collecting like pools of rain along his lash line before spilling. 

Gojo doesn’t cry often, but when he does, you try to kiss away every hurt, every pain, that comes with it. So there, by his eyes, are your lips, soft and tender, kissing away his tears as you cradle him to your chest, letting him hug you for however long he needs to be held like this. 

It’s relief, he wants to tell you, that you don’t have to worry; these are good tears—grateful that he gets to have you in this life because you like it better. 

But there’s no pressure, there never is with you—you’ve always been like that. You don’t question him right now, trusting that he’ll tell you all about it tomorrow like he always does. 

For now, all you want to do is hold him, quiet down all the noise in his head and keep him right by your heart, loving him close.

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the first part is lighter and just overall good vibes if you're up for that!

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[mimble-sparklepudding]

OC Armour and Clothing Questions.

Does your OC have an outfit that is particularly associated with them by others? Why is this? Simply because they are often seen wearing it? Perhaps because it's their usual outfit for adventuring or exploring? Or maybe because it's the outfit they wore for a famous event?

What is the most expensive outfit your OC has ever worn? A finely crafted suit of armour? An extravagant ballgown? Their wedding dress or suit? Did they borrow or rent it? Or did they purchase (or even steal) it themselves?

What kind of clothing does your OC wear in cold weather or frozen climates? Do they already have such items in their wardrobe? Or do they need to purchase or otherwise obtain them when the need arises?

Has your OC ever been asked (or commanded) to wear a particular item or set of clothes and refused? Why was this? What were the consequences?

Does your OC favour bright, or even clashing, colours? Or do they prefer a more subdued wardrobe? Are they perhaps even keen to keep things strictly monochrome as far as possible?

When it comes to combat or other physical activities, does your OC favour heavy armour? Or do they prefer something lighter which facilitates greater mobility at the expense of protection? Or do they have another priority entirely, such as clothing which assists them in channelling aether or magical abilities?

What sort of clothing did your OC wear during their childhood? How did it reflect their social class and culture of origin?

Is your OC particularly sensitive to the texture or feeling of certain fabrics or items of clothing? Do they struggle with scratchy wool or coarse linens? Do they hate overly tight clothing or items with too many buckles or laces?

What does your OC tend to wear in bed? Is this different to what they might wear to sleep when (for example) camping in the wilderness? Would they wear something different if they were sharing their home (or even their bed) with a guest?

Which outfit has garnered your OC the most compliments? How did they feel about receiving such effusive praise? Did they enjoy it?

What is an outfit or style of clothing that your OC admires on others, but would never attempt to wear themselves?

What might your OC wear to someone else's wedding - or a similar cultural event where one is expected to put in a great deal of effort, but without drawing attention away from the bride/groom?

How revealing are your OCs usual outfits? Do they tend to be more or less modest than those meeting them might expect? Is this a calculated decision?

What is an old, worn or shabby item of clothing with which your OC is unwilling to part? Is this due to sentimental reasons? Or simply that they are particularly miserly when it comes to shopping for new clothes?

How does your OC feel about hats and headgear in general? Are such items something that they might only wear for special occasions? Or do they like to have a hat or crown on at all times in order to advertise their wealth or status?

What underwear does your OC generally wear? Do they have special (or even lucky) underwear for special or more intimate occasions? Or do they have purely utilitarian options in this regard?

Does your OC maintain their own clothing and armour? Are they capable at darning, patching and mending? Or do they prefer to delegate such things to others?

Has your OC ever seen a particularly striking outfit, or even a suit of armour, and been wildly envious of it's owner? Would they secretly (or not so secretly) like the chance to wear something similar? Or do they feel they lack the figure or the social status to pull it off?

What might your OC wear at the beach, or for swimming in a lake or pool? Do they have specific clothing for such occasions? Or would they have to improvise with existing items? Or would they actually stay modestly covered up on the side?

Has your OC ever been invited (or just decided) to wear something from a completely different culture? How comfortable did they feel about this? How did other people react? Did they enjoy it?

Does your OC have a large collection of shoes and footwear? Or do they have just one pair of servicable boots? Do they have different footwear for different occasions? Do they have a favourite pair?

How aware is your OC of the impression their outfits give to others? Is this entirely calculated on their part? Or are they completely oblivious to the responses of others?

Is your OC critical - or even snide - about the fashion choices of other people? Do they look down on those who wear outfits which are too revealing? Or too buttoned-up? Or too colourful? Or simply rather cheap-looking?

Does your OC enjoy dressing up for special seasonal occasions in specific outfits? Do they do this in the spirit of fun? For the children in their care? Or simply for attention?

Does your OC like wearing gloves? Or do they find they interfere with their ability to use weapons or operate machinery? Do they reserve them for special occasions?

How many pockets and other options for storing items do your OCs outfits usually have? Do they like to have their money or other items close at hand? Or are they happier with more snappily cut outfits and a seperate bag for items?

What might your OC wear at a social occasion when they needed to (whether they liked it or not) make the most dramatic impression possible? Would they need help picking out something appropriate?

What might your OC wear on a date? Or at least on an occasion where they wanted to make themselves look as attractive as possible? Would they easily make the right choice? Or would they benefit from some tactful advice from others?

Does your OC wash and launder their own clothes? Or do they have staff or companions who will do this for them? Are they fastidious about cleaning their clothes and armour? Or are they willing to wait until things get really bad before they worry?

What sort of clothes did your OC wear at the start of their narrative journey? Where had they obtained them? How quickly did they replace them?

Does your OC enjoy wearing outfits that glitter with gemstones or sequins? Do they like to shine in ostentatious or flamboyant outfits that attract endless attention?

Does your OC have a specific outfit for official or even state occasions? Or would they have to cobble something together or borrow something appropriate from others? What would a "dignified" outfit look like to them?

What might your OC wear in a hot climate or during particularly hot weather? Are they used to dressing for these conditions or would they rapidly need to reassess their outfit?

What is something that your OC would never willingly wear? How did they come to this decision? Do they judge other people for dressing in that way?

How good is your OC at disguising themselves with different clothing? Can they put on an expensive frock or suit and effortlessly affect the mannerisms of the pampered elite? Are they able to put on a rough smock or tattered rags and instantly adopt the stance of a downtrodden peasant or beggar? Or would they stand out like a proverbial sore thumb?

What is the outfit that they keep coming back to for practical reasons? What makes it so servicable? How do they maintain it?

What might your OC wear if they wished to appear intimidating or even frightening to others? Would this be something that advertised their wealth or political authority? Or a more direct indication of just how dangerous they can be?

How ornate does your OC like their everyday wardrobe to be? Are they willing to pay more for detailed embroidery or embossed leather? Will they spend time crafting armour that looks particularly impressive, even if it brings no actual advantage in combat?

Does your OC have an outfit (or multiple outfits) for when they are crafting or engaged in manual labour? Do they still prefer these sorts of clothes to be stylish or at least well-fitted? Or are such concerns the last thing on their mind?

Does your OC have a particular colour scheme which they favour when it comes to their clothes? Do they prefer natural shades, such as browns and greens? Or sombre tones, such as grey and black? Or would they sooner dazzle in metallics, or stand out from the crowd in bold, bright colours such as hot pink or bright yellow?

Does your OC have a dream outfit they would love to own? What would be the occasion when they would wish to wear it? Or would they just like to have it in their possession to take out and look at occasionally?

Is there a colour that your OC will never wear - or at least would rather not wear if they can avoid it? Why is this? Do they simply dislike it on them - perhaps it does not suit their complexion - or are there religious or cultural reasons why they avoid it?

How would your OC respond to finding they have turned up to a social event wearing exactly the same outfit as another person? Would they be mortified? Amused? Would they demand the other person leave?

Is there an outfit or item of clothing that your OC likes to wear, despite the best efforts and complaints of those around them? What do others object to about this item? Is it worn? Unfashionable? Or simply inappropriate?

Does your OC appreciate patterns on their clothing? Or even designs such as flowers or animals? Or would they prefer something a little plainer?

What is something that your OCs partner, lover or friends are scheming to get them to wear one day? What is their motivation? Are they likely to succeed?

What might your OC wear for a relaxed day at home? Do they have comfortable or casual clothes for cosy evenings out of the public eye?

Is your OC particularly attracted to a specific style of dress in others? What is it about these clothes (or lack thereof) that they find particularly stimulating? Would they ever wear something similar themselves?

What might your OC wear to a funeral or memorial event? Would they have something suitable to hand? Or would they need to buy or borrow something for the occasion?

Can you give an example of an outfit your OC once saw that made their jaw drop? What was so startling about that ensemble? Was it exceptionally modern? Rather risqué? Or simply culturally unlike anything they had ever seen before?

[decentwritings]

Chapter 2

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <- -> next part

Something about that night with Mabel flipped a switch in you.

You quit avoiding the diner your uncle owned. You stopped by the next morning—tired and a bit cranky, but you still showed up. Your appearance was obviously a surprise, and Jodie and Rudy both sat down with you after you ordered, picking at your food like they hadn't seen you in weeks. You didn't mind, considering this meal was going to be free.

And it was. Although you did argue with them about it. You tried leaving a tip, but they somehow found a way to slip it back into your pocket. You found it later when you were getting dressed after a swim.

It was a small gesture, but it made you think. Maybe you didn't need to run from this place after all. Maybe you could actually belong here—if you wanted to.

You take a sip of your coffee, staring out the diner window as the morning crowd filters in. The world around you feels the same, but something inside you has shifted. You can't quite put your finger on it yet, but it's there.

Then, you see her, and you're reminded why you've been avoiding this place. Other than the usual reasons.

You see her through the window, and all those memories rush back like an undertow pulling you under. Erin. The one person you couldn't seem to shake, no matter how much distance or time you tried to put between you.

This diner was hers long before it was yours. On that first date, she played along, pretending like everything was new, like she didn't already know the place better than anyone. You didn't figure it out until months later, after you'd already fallen hard.

Erin never wanted to leave. Her roots ran deep in this town, tethering her here like an anchor you couldn't compete with. Her father, once the mayor, had moved on to city council in the next town over, but Erin? She stayed even after everything fell apart between you two.

The split was mutual but happened after an argument about what the future between you two looked like. You said a different state, and an argument commenced. No one won. In fact, you both lost. Each other.

The months that followed, you stayed in bed much to your parents and sister's dismay. They did everything to console you but you just didn't want to leave your room. You showered and washed your clothes but other than that you barely existed outside those four walls. The weight of losing Erin, the life you thought you'd have with her, kept you anchored in that space. Nothing felt right without her—like the future you had pictured together shattered the moment you mentioned leaving.

But that was years ago. And now here you are, sitting in the diner, staring out the window, watching her laugh with someone else. She seems lighter, and more carefree than when you last saw her. It's a painful reminder that while you were stuck, drowning in your grief, she was moving on. You had too, but, seeing her, makes you remember the tight hold she had on your heart.

A hold so strong, that losing her made you nonexistent. Hell, it made you drop out of college. You joined the army, for god's sake. You're positive your mom and sister hate her because she was the one who got the ball rolling, got you to talk to your grandfather then joined the army.

Your fingers tighten around your coffee cup as you watch her step out of her car, laughing with someone you don't recognize.

Suddenly, being here doesn't feel like progress—it feels like a mistake.

You decide it's time to go. You know she plans to enter the diner and you don't want to deal with the awkwardness an encounter between you two will entail. So you stand and place a twenty on the table. You know that will find its way back to you but you aren't too worried about it now.

You're too late though. Because as you walk to the door, she's entering and there's no way of acting like you two didn't see each other. What captures your attention after her eyes is the shiny badge on her belt.

You freeze for a split second, eyes locking with hers. The last thing you ever wanted was to run into Erin like this, and the sight of that badge gleaming under the diner lights sends a jolt through you. Detective. A part of you isn't surprised—Erin was always determined, always had her sights set on making a difference. But seeing it now, knowing how far she's come, it stings.

You feel even more awkward, too. Because your ex-girlfriend is a cop, and you're practically a criminal who hasn't gotten caught yet.

Her expression shifts when she recognizes you—first surprise, then something you can't quite place. You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation, but there's no easy way out now.

"Hey," she says, her voice softer than you remember, but that underlying confidence is still there.

"Hey," you reply, your voice strained. You can't help but glance down at the badge again, a bitter taste forming in your mouth. Of course, she moved on, and of course she succeeded. Meanwhile, you left this town, joined the army, and are still trying to figure out where you fit.

Oh, and you're moving drugs to pay your father's debt off.

"I heard you were back," Erin says, smiling at her friends who excuse themselves to leave you two alone. You glance at them, wishing they hadn't given you time alone. "Thought it was just a rumor."

"Oh, in this town, rumors tend to be true," you find yourself responding, chuckling nervously. You clear your throat when you hear her awkward chuckle. "Umm, I should go–"

"We should catch up," she interrupts you, smiling softly.

You purse your lips and nod, unsure of what to say back. You don't want to say no, but you don't want to say yes either. You don't want her to know where you are in life. Having accomplished so much yet still stuck in the same cycle that pushed you away in the first place. The last thing you need is for Erin to dig into your life now, to see the cracks beneath the surface that you've worked so hard to hide.

"Yeah, maybe," you force out, not entirely convincing, but enough to avoid the awkwardness dragging on.

Her smile falters for a second, but she nods. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," you echo, already stepping back toward the door. "You too."

As you leave the diner, the tension in your chest starts to loosen, but the weight of seeing Erin again lingers. You shove your hands in your pockets and walk quickly, feeling the distance between you and the life you once had stretch even further.

She's a detective now. You? You're just trying to survive. And as much as you wish you could pretend otherwise, you know that seeing her again isn't going to help with that. Maybe you were right to keep avoiding this place after all.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you groan, the last thing you need now is to deal with anyone. You just want to be alone.

And when you check your phone, you wish you hadn't. Nick is the guy they left in charge of you to make sure you get the drugs moved. He's also in charge of making sure you clean out the money you receive.

You hesitate before opening the message, already knowing it's not going to be anything you want to deal with. A knot forms in your stomach as you tap on the message, and sure enough, Nick's message glares back at you.

Get ready for a swim tonight. Be at the docks at 9. Bring your swimsuit.

You lock your phone, clenching your jaw. Of course, he wasn't asking questions about your life to find out your interests and hobbies. He was asking to see what else you can help with. Thankfully, you didn't mention your memory. You let it slip in high school, and everyone wanted to be your friend.

Nick is at the bottom of the food chain, the one who deals with the simple things. You can't imagine who you'll deal with if they discover your skills go beyond just moving drugs. The thought sends a chill down your spine. Nick is bad enough—always hanging around, keeping tabs on you—but you've heard stories about the people higher up. Ruthless, dangerous, the kind of people who would see your memory as an asset, not just a quirk.

You heard what happened to the guy in charge of Nick. Killed at some bakery by some old guy? Apparently, the old man went crazy and just shot some guy named Pete Weeks and his brother.

The memory of that story lingers in the back of your mind, unsettling you. Pete Weeks had been a name whispered in dark corners, a man you never wanted to cross paths with. But then he and his brother got gunned down in broad daylight by some old man in a bakery, sending shockwaves through the underworld. It made everyone in this business, even someone like Nick, a little more paranoid, a little more dangerous.

You can't help but wonder what happens when people like that get killed. Who steps in to fill the void? What kind of chaos follows? The fact that someone like Pete could be taken out so easily only reminds you of how fragile your situation really is. One wrong move, one slip of information, and you could be next.

The thought tightens your chest as you walk aimlessly down the street, trying to block out the noise in your head. The docks tonight. Another deal. Another chance for things to spiral out of control. You're in deep, and the more you think about it, the more you realize that getting out might be impossible.

You also heard how the higher-ups have plans to retaliate. Apparently, Weeks left behind a wife and a kid. Whoever is close to that old man who killed Weeks should be out of town or sleeping with an eye open. It's a plan they've had for a while now. You know of it, not of the plan, though.

Your plan now is to pick up your nephew from school. You'll take whatever time you can with him.

Your nephew is the one bright spot in all of this—the only thing that makes you feel like you're still a part of something good. The thought of picking him up from school gives you a small sense of purpose, a reason to keep going even when everything else feels like it's slipping out of control. At least when you're with him, the weight of everything you're caught up in doesn't feel so suffocating.

As you walk, your mind shifts gears, thinking about the innocent moments you'll share with him. You'll ask him about his day, help him with his homework, maybe take him to the park or get ice cream. The normalcy of it, the simplicity, is the only thing grounding you.

You check your watch. School lets out soon, so you head toward his school, determined to block out the mess of the docks, the retaliation plan, and everything else for just a few hours. It's the least you can do—for him, and for yourself.

When you arrive at the school grounds, you notice teachers with small children just outside the building. You frown, catching sight of your nephew's teacher.

You rush over and relief washes over you when you see your nephew sitting on the grass a few feet away, giggling with some of his friends. The toy car you gave him on his lap. He told you he planned to show it to his classmates, to show off he said.

"Ms. Ferris, hey," you greet the teacher, feeling your heart rate go down when you hear your nephew giggle. "What's going on? Is this a new recess time or something?"

Ms. Ferris smiles apologetically. "I wish," she exhales a breath, shaking her head. "Devin is okay. All the students are okay, but..."

She glances around, searching for listening ears. Your frown deepens; what could she be wanting to share that is so secretive?

"There was a threat sent to a teacher, and we had to take precautions."

Your stomach tightens at her words, the weight of everything you've been trying to push aside rushing back in. A threat? Your eyes instinctively flick to your nephew, still laughing with his friends, blissfully unaware of the danger looming over them.

"A threat?" you echo, your voice low. "What kind of threat?"

Ms. Ferris hesitates, glancing around again before leaning in slightly. "We don't know all the details yet. The school received a message targeting one of the staff. The police are already involved, but it's still unclear who's behind it or how serious it is. We just wanted to make sure the kids are safe while they investigate."

Your mind immediately jumps to Erin—she's a detective now, a part of you wants to loop her in and tell her everything you have been up to. And with everything happening lately, it wouldn't be far-fetched to think this could be connected to whatever's going on with Weeks' people. But you shake the thought away. This is your nephew's school. Whatever's happening here should have nothing to do with your mess, right?

God, you hope so.

"Does anyone know who sent the message?" you ask, trying to sound calm but feeling the edges of your nerves fray.

Ms. Ferris shakes her head. "Not yet. The principal's been in meetings with the police all morning, and they've asked us to keep the kids outside until they're sure everything is clear."

Your eyes drift back to your nephew, a sense of protectiveness kicking in. You've been through enough to know that threats like this, especially if they remain vague, are never good.

"I'm sure his mom won't mind if I take him out early," you say, mostly to have him close by. You aren't waiting to pick him up in a few hours.

Ms. Ferris smiles with an understanding nod. "Devin!" She calls out, and the boy turns, his eyes beaming when he sees you. She doesn't have to say anything else; he's on his feet and rushing over to you in seconds.

"Sup, munchkin," you kneel down to take him in your arms. He's always been small, but you hoped he'd grow by the time he was in school. Considering your sister's size and his father's height, he probably wouldn't get some height until fifth grade.

Your dad said shortness lasts for a while in your family.

"Hey!" Devin grins, holding up the toy car you gave him. "Look what I showed everyone!"

You smile, ruffling his hair. "I bet they were jealous, huh?" He nods enthusiastically, completely unaware of the tension surrounding you. You stand up, taking his hand. "We're heading out early today, bud."

Devin looks up at you, curious. "Why?" He glances at his teacher and waves at her innocently. Sort of like a distracted kid does when he sees something interesting.

"Just because," you say, trying to sound casual. You're not about to scare him with talk about threats and danger. "Thought we could get ice cream before everyone else gets out."

His face lights up at the mention of ice cream. "Really?"

"Really," you say, squeezing his hand a little tighter as you guide him away from the school.

As you begin the walk back to where you left your car parked, you can't shake the uneasy feeling settling in your gut. The docks tonight, the threat at the school, everything feels too close, too intertwined. But for now, you push it all down, focusing on Devin's excited chatter about the toy car and the ice cream you're about to get.

You can't let him know that in the back of your mind, you're already planning your next move.

\\\

The time to meet comes sooner than you expected. You actually hoped the end of the world came sooner than the time. But you're never that lucky.

You tuck your switchblade into your pocket, feeling its weight as a small comfort against the unknown of the night ahead. Your backpack only holds an extra pair of shorts and a shirt plus a towel but it feels heavier than ever. The docks have always felt ominous, but tonight, there's a heavier air of tension. You told yourself a thousand times you wouldn't let this life pull you under, yet here you are, standing on the edge of another dangerous deal, wondering if this will be the one where everything unravels.

The sound of water sloshing against the pier fills your ears as you approach. You keep your head down, scanning the shadows for any sign of Nick or the others. The knife in your pocket is more a safety blanket than anything—the saying "bring a knife to a gunfight" echoes in your head. The jokes about it don't ease your nerves about bringing it.

But you know Nick won't let you go any further with a gun on you.

You think of Devin for a second, his laugh earlier, the way he showed off that toy car like it was the greatest thing in the world. It grounds you and reminds you why you're still fighting to survive, even though every day feels like a deeper dive into something you never wanted to be part of.

When you finally spot Nick, leaning against one of the storage crates, you steel yourself for whatever's next. This time, you don't have the luxury of avoiding the fallout.

Behind him are two familiar faces. Isaac and Oliver nod in greeting, always the silent ones. They only join when the dealing involves more than just some guy in a van. Usually, it's one or the other, but never both. This must mean this is bigger than anything else.

Swim? Did Nick literally mean swim and not just as a cover in case cops were tracing them?

As you get closer, Nick pushes off the crate, his smirk spreading like he's enjoying watching you piece it together. "There she is," he says. "Our own Michael Phelps."

Isaac cracks a smile while Oliver remains stoic as always. Oliver's the more serious one between the two. He's military and he knows you are too. He gave you his word that he won't tell anyone about your background. He has a higher rank, but besides that, you believe him.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, glancing from Nick to the water. "What's the deal here?"

Nick crosses his arms, sizing you up. "Got some cargo that needs retrieving. Underwater." He flicks his gaze toward the others. "Isaac and Oliver will help out, but you're taking the lead. You're the one who said you could handle anything."

Your stomach drops. Swimming in the dark, pulling who knows what from the bottom of the harbor? It's not what you signed up for. But backing out now isn't an option. You hope this is worth more, to make a bigger dent in your dad's debt.

"Fine," you sigh, your voice steadier than you feel. "Let's get this over with."

"Hang on," Nick lifts his hand, stopping you from moving. "The idiots who lost our shipment aren't here yet." He flicks a gaze to Isaac.

Isaac only sighs before he pulls his phone out, turning to make a call. When he does, in the distance, you hear a ringtone.

You all turn to look in the direction it's coming from. You cross your arms, and despite your stance, you're ready for a fight if need be.

Your pulse quickens as you recognize the three figures stepping into the light. Charlie and the guy next to him? That's not too surprising. But Costa? A man with a family? The kind of man who should know better than to drag his loved ones into this kind of mess?

You can't shake the feeling of betrayal, the sickening realization that people like Costa, people with everything to lose, are still willing to risk it all. It hits too close to home, too much like your father—making choices that endanger those they care about.

"Great," Nick mutters, a mix of frustration and mockery in his voice. "About time you guys showed up."

You hold back, studying Costa's face. His expression is hardened like he's already made peace with whatever he's gotten himself into. But that doesn't sit right with you. Does he know what he's risking? Does he care?

"We got our swimmer and the idiots," Nick says, then gestures for the guys to lead the way.

Isaac steps forward and lifts his hand to stop the three of them from moving. Nick clicks his teeth, having forgotten about checking them for weapons.

Isaac motions for the three men to spread out, and you watch as he methodically pats them down. You can see the tension in their faces, especially Costa's as if they're all waiting for something to go wrong. Charlie, always a little too cocky for his own good, stands with his arms crossed, looking irritated rather than concerned.

Charlie's glare only sharpens, his jaw tightening as he looks at you like he's waiting for you to say something, to give him a reason to snap. But you've seen that look before—on people trying too hard to act tough when they're actually scared. You don't flinch, keeping your expression unreadable. The last thing you need is to give him any leverage.

You stand back, your mind racing. There's still time to walk away, to figure out a way out of this before it spirals any further. But you know the truth—there's no easy exit.

"Clean," Isaac mutters, stepping back after checking the last guy.

"Good," Nick says, his smirk returning. "Now, let's get down to business."

He gestures toward the docks, and you all start walking, the tension thick in the air. The water looks pitch black, and the idea of diving in makes your skin crawl.

You follow behind them, the man beside Charlie taking the lead with a quiet grumble. As you walk, the weight of Costa's involvement gnaws at you. He's got a family, a life outside of this mess, and now he's wading into dangerous waters. Mabel told you some stories about him—how he was always there for his kid, how he seemed like one of the good guys. Seeing him here, caught up in the same bad decisions your father made, hits harder than you expected.

You glance at him, his face set in grim determination, but his eyes betray him. Maybe he's desperate, like you, doing what he thinks he has to for his family. Or maybe, like so many others, he didn't realize how deep he was until it was too late.

As you reach the edge of the dock, Nick points to a boat tied to the pier. "All aboard," he says with that same smirk as if this is all a game to him. The boat rocks gently, but the darkness surrounding it feels anything but calm.

Your stomach tightens, and you hesitate for just a moment before stepping forward. There's no turning back now—not for you, not for Costa, not for any of them. You're all in this, for better or worse.

You all board and you wait as Charlie's brother, Tom, prepares to set sail. You drop your backpack and shed your shirt and shorts off. You hear Nick groan, probably expecting a swimsuit instead of a wetsuit. You don't know why, you told him you swim in wetsuits since it's what the Ranger gave you for training and some missions. It's more practical for what you need to do tonight, especially if you're going into the cold, dark water.

Once Tom finishes securing the boat, he gives a quick nod to Nick before starting the engine. The low rumble sends vibrations through the hull, and you grip the side of the boat as it begins to pull away from the dock. The city lights fade, swallowed by the vast blackness surrounding you.

Nick turns to you, no words are exchanged and you understand.

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the earlier conversation. What if this goes south? What if someone gets hurt? The thought of Devin, his innocent smile, only deepens the pit in your stomach.

The boat rocks gently as you venture further out, the sounds of the docks fading into the background. The water stretches endlessly, dark and foreboding, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being pulled into something much larger than you anticipated.

Nick finally breaks the silence. "We're heading to the drop-off point. Stay sharp. We don't know what we might find down there."

You nod, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand, even as the anxiety builds within you. If everything goes according to plan, this could be a turning point. You just have to make it through the night unscathed.

You feel someone step beside you. You keep your eyes on the water, ignoring the light shining in the distance. The lighthouse signals home, but you can’t help but feel like it’s mocking you. Instead, you listen to the engine's roar as the boat continues to cut through the waves. You focus on the darkness, thrumming with an energy that heightens your senses. The smell of salt and gasoline mixes in the air, creating a cocktail of tension that clings to your skin.

"Just say your piece, Charles," you say, glancing at him.

His jaw tightens at the name you referred to as. You're in no mood to hear from someone in the same position as you how this is a bad place to be.

"Just..." he shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest. "Stay away from Mabel," he warns, his voice low but tense.

You raise your brow, understanding Mabel more about what she said last night. People like Charlie think they know what's best, but they don't see the bigger picture. "And what makes you think I'm the one dragging her into this?" you shoot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. You would never drag her into this. "Mabel's a grown woman, anyway. She can make her own choices."

"I don't care how grown she is," Charlie snaps, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She doesn't deserve to get caught up in your mess. You're playing with fire, and she'll get burned."

At his words, the match in you ignites, and you see why Mabel isn't with him anymore. You shake your head, anger mixing with a sense of frustration. You don't want to start a fight–not now, at least. "Get out of my face before I do something we'll both regret," you warn, keeping your voice low and steady. You don't need this right now, not when you're already walking a tightrope. But the fire in your chest is hard to tamp down.

Charlie stares at you, his jaw clenched, but he doesn't move. "I'm serious. Stay away from her," he says again like you didn't hear him the first time. His protective streak, while understandable, only makes things worse. He thinks he's doing the right thing, but he has no idea what's really going on.

"You think I'm the one pulling her into danger?" you say, keeping your cool as best you can. "Charlie, this isn't just about me. This world? It's a lot bigger than you think. And Mabel... she's not some damsel in distress. She can handle herself."

"I'm not risking her getting hurt again," he snaps, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes. The way he said again makes you pause, but before you can ask what he means, Nick barks from the front of the boat.

"We're almost there! Everybody shut up and get ready."

As the boat approaches the designated area, Tom slows down, scanning the surface of the water. The moonlight barely penetrates the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the waves. You can feel the tension in the air, and it thickens with every passing moment. The tension between you and Charlie lingers in the air, but the focus shifts to the task ahead. You push everything else down, focusing on the job.

Nick shifts, leaning against the side of the boat, his voice casual as he talks to Tom. "Let's make this quick. We don't need any unwanted attention." He glances at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Hope you're ready to earn your keep."

You bite your tongue, suppressing the urge to snap back. Instead, you focus on Costa and Charlie, who are now exchanging worried glances. They may act tough, but you see the flicker of doubt in their eyes. If they're nervous, it only amplifies your own anxiety. The boat slows, the faint outline of the harbor's drop-off point visible in the distance. You pull on your wetsuit fully, the cold bite of the night air hitting your skin as you get ready to dive.

As Tom steers the boat toward the designated spot, you can't help but wonder what lies beneath the surface. What are you really getting yourself into tonight? The water looks so dark, so foreboding, and the thought of swimming in those depths sends chills down your spine.

Tom leaves the wheel and moves to grab something. He moves to stand in front of you, a rope with a hook at the end of it. He holds it out to you and you raise a brow.

"It's at the bottom, which isn't that deep, fortunately for you," he says with a shrug, waving the hook to you. You snatch it from his hand with a huff, your frustration simmering just below the surface. The weight of the hook feels heavier than it should, like a reminder of the mess you've waded into.

"You'll know when you find it," Tom adds, his voice casual, but there's something off in his tone. You can tell he knows more than he's letting on, but that's how these things go. No one ever says the whole truth. Not out here.

"Get in, get out. Don't make this harder than it has to be," Nick says, his smirk as sharp as ever. He hands you a flashlight, and by how thick it is, you're sure it's water-resistant. "We'll keep an eye out for any trouble topside."

Your gaze flicks back to Charlie one last time before stepping toward the edge of the boat. He's still watching, arms crossed, but there's something else in his eyes now—something that wasn't there before. Fear. Maybe not for himself, but for Mabel. And maybe even for you.

"Good luck," Charlie mutters, but his voice lacks the usual bite.

You know he means it but you don't bother to acknowledge it. You only huff with a nod then flick your gaze to Costa. He offers you a single nod, and you can only exhale a breath.

You face the water, your eye catching the lighthouse for one brief second before finally, you inhale a deep breath and you jump in. The water feels colder than it usually is, and you think it's because of the reason for this swim. You fight against the cold and the resistance and push through, ignoring the sting of the saltwater in your eyes. You reach for the flashlight and hit it a few times to turn it on. It switches on, and you move to shine it at the bottom of the ocean.

The beam from the flashlight cuts through the murky darkness, revealing the silty seabed below. The water is thick with particles, swirling lazily around as you make your descent. Your breath comes in steady, controlled bursts as you fight against the cold that's slowly seeping into your bones. Every second you're down here, the weight of the situation presses harder on your chest, but you push through, focusing on the task.

The light scans the area as you swim further down, revealing patches of seaweed and the occasional scattering of rocks. For a moment, there's nothing, just the empty, quiet vastness of the ocean floor. But then, something catches your eye—a shadowy outline partially obscured by sand and debris. It's the crate. Larger than you expected and slightly tilted as if it had been there for some time.

You swim closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reach out to brush away the sand covering its surface. The crate is old, rusted in some parts, and sealed tightly with thick metal bands. You can feel the weight of what's inside, heavier than you anticipated. This isn't just a routine drop. Whatever's in there, it's dangerous.

You've never dealt with this large amount of drugs before. A simple duffel bag or even an Amazon box size. But this size, you're positive it isn't just drugs. There's something more to it, something that makes your skin crawl. The crate is too large and too heavy for just a standard shipment. Your mind races, wondering what else you might have just dredged up from the bottom of the ocean. Weapons? Something more sinister?

You shake the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. The longer you stay down here, the more exposed you are. You finish securing the hook to the crate, tightening the line to make sure it'll hold. As you tug the rope, signaling to the others, the crate begins to shift, the water around it swirling with silt and debris. You watch it slowly rise from the seabed, tension winding tighter in your chest.

Everything in you screams to get back to the surface, but something makes you pause—one last look at the crate as it's pulled up. The weight of your decision presses down on you.

You swim upward, kicking hard against the resistance of the water, your body growing colder with each second. As you breach the surface, gasping for air, you see the crew on the boat pulling the crate onto the deck. The boat rocks under its weight, and Nick's smirk fades into something more serious as he watches it land with a dull thud.

You haul yourself back on board, dripping and breathless. The air feels thick with tension as you wring out your wetsuit, glancing at Nick. "What's in there?" you ask, but deep down, you already know you won't get an answer.

Nick gives you a long, calculating look before shrugging. "You did your part. That's all you need to worry about," he pats your shoulder, and you watch him wipe his hand on his pants.

Costa joins you and hands you your towel, smiling softly. You thank him quietly and wipe your face with it, eyeing Nick, Oliver, and Isaac all take a crowbar to pry the box open.

But you can't shake the feeling that whatever's inside that crate is going to drag you down deeper into this mess than you ever thought possible.

And when they finally open it, they step back, and before you, military-graded weapons are revealed, glinting under the faint moonlight. Rifles, grenades, and ammunition were all packed tightly and carefully in the rusted crate. Your heart drops into your stomach. This isn't just a simple drug run—this is something far worse, something that could get all of you killed.

Nick whistles low, clearly impressed. "Well, this just got interesting," he mutters, exchanging glances with Oliver and Isaac. They're all in on it, and the way they look at the weapons tells you this was part of the plan all along.

Your eyes narrow, gripping your towel tightly as your mind races. Weapons like these? They're not for small-time dealers or petty criminals. Whoever these belong to is playing a much bigger game, and now you're caught in the middle of it.

"Alright," you speak up, earning their attention. "You got your shit, let's head back."

Nick chuckles and shakes his head. He whistles and makes a circular motion. Tom eyes him before he walks off to do what the gesture means.

Tom heads back to the helm, starting up the engine as the boat lurches to life. The low rumble reverberates through the deck, but the tension in the air is thicker than before. Nick, Oliver, and Isaac exchange glances, clearly amused by your attempt to take control.

Nick walks over, his smirk widening. "In a rush, huh? You're not scared, are you?" His voice drips with mockery as if daring you to push back.

Your self-control amazes you. The amount of times you have held back on punching this guy square in the face surprises you. You've daydreamed about it. But never actually did it. Yet, at least.

You take a step forward, standing your ground. "I'm not scared. Just practical. We linger out here, and someone's bound to notice." Your voice is steady, but inside, your pulse pounds in your ears. You're in way over your head, but you refuse to let them see that.

Nick nods slowly, that smirk never leaving his face. "Smart. I like that." He turns toward the others, raising his voice. "You're on the docket for whoever gets the first sale."

You freeze at his words while he walks away as if he didn't just drop a bomb on you. His words hit you like a punch to the gut. First sale? You weren't expecting this, not at all. You thought you were just a cog in the machine—someone on the outside, moving pieces for others but not directly involved. Now Nick's made it clear: you're not just part of this operation, you're being pushed deeper into it.

The boat begins to move, cutting through the dark waters once again. You catch Costa's eye, and for a brief moment, he gives you a slight nod, silently acknowledging that you did the right thing by pushing to leave.

You glance back at the crate, now sealed once more, but the image of the weapons inside is burned into your mind. There's no telling where this will lead, but one thing is clear—you're in it now, whether you like it or not.

Just when you thought you could change your ways, your dad's past pulls you back into your old ways. The lighthouse mocks you again, its beam slicing through the darkness like a cruel reminder of the path you're trying to escape.

The lighthouse's beam disappears completely now, swallowed by the night, but its presence lingers in your thoughts. You remember the stories your dad used to tell you about lighthouses being symbols of hope and guidance. Right now, it feels like anything but.

[m0chisenpai]

some sunny day

˚｡⋆platonic! emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which you find a way to survive the heat of Rome without the 21st century comforts

Gods above it is HOT. You sit in the gardens along the more shaded parts of the private gardens. Cushioned by the long chaise while your handmaidens fan you slowly with leaves. You wear lighter robes, though if it were up to you, you’d be completely nude. There is no central air in Rome.

Suddenly the 21st century doesn’t seem to suck.

There’s no ice cream. No swimming pools. So you make do with camping outside in the shade, the breeze that comes every few minutes provides very little relief.

It was too much of a hassle to get into the baths, you didn’t need to bathe you already did in the morning. And the waters were lukewarm offering no relief. The moment you got in you begged to be clean as quickly so that you could get out the humid baths. You felt ill by the time you were dressed as you ladies suggested the fresh air.

When your eyes settled on the beautiful fountain during your walks, you felt a plan formulate. It could be likened to a children’s pool, shallow and with a statue in the middle and engravings along the sides. But the waters you were certain, were cold.

You informed your maidens you would spend your early afternoon in the gardens. They quickly set you up with something close to a chaise. It’s low to the ground and cushioned with soft pillows. Now all you needed was to get in the water, but you are instantly told no.

You tried slowly sneaking over but your maidens herd you like a sheep back to your cushions beneath the shade.

You tilt your head back, and catch the gaze of your personal handmaiden, Livia. She was old enough probably to be an aunt, and when she isn’t in the presence of your brothers she speaks more freely. And she was the one who was highly aware of your schemes, as was the beautiful General Acacius who stands beside her.

The two roadblocks to your little scheme.

“Marcus,” you coo rolling over to lay on your stomach and look up at the older general. He stiffens at that tone, it’s the same tone you use on your brothers, the same tone that leads to mischief. And he feels your eyes on him, when you call him again. But he keeps his gaze outward, not falling prey to your mischief. 

“Yes, my lady?”

You push yourself to sit up, curling your legs beneath. “My brothers, they will be spending this day with the Senate,” and by now you have Marcus’ full attention as you reach down to unstrap your sandals. You then begin to work on the bands on your arms and your earrings. 

“My lady?” You place the last piece on the cushions Beside your golden laurels.

“And if I am correct, they will be there for quite some time. You were tasked to be by my side the entire day yes?” When you look up at him you are free of your jewels and gold and stand barefoot in the grasses. 

“Yes my lady.”

You grin bunching up your robes in both your hands, “very well. Then that gives us more than enough time.”

You break off into a sprint toward the stone fountains. And Marcus along with your handmaidens can only watch until they see your target and they quickly bolt after you, helplessly calling. “My lady no! If you wish to bathe we can return to your chambers!“

“Oh none of the formalities! The gods bless us with cool waters here, who are we to ignore such a refreshing gift my dear ladies” you sing as you lift your robes more as to not let the bottoms wet. You quickly wade into the waters just barely avoiding their reaching hands. And a pleasant shiver racks your body. This was what you needed, you sigh reaching one hand down to dip your hand into the water. 

Livia leans as far as she can with an arm held out to you, “my lady please come you’ll catch a cold!” 

“In this heat? Hardly!” You playfully flick the water at her and the general drags a tired hand down his face, “The water feels sooooo nice. I think you all would find it quite soothing,” as you trail off you wade deeper into the fountain. Livia can only huff and reach down to shuck off her own sandals not missing Marcus’ shock.

“Our imperators insisted we remain where her majesty is, and if she is in the waters then so shall we!” One by one each of your maidens ease in and try circling you like a lost sheep out of the water. Little do they know this was all part of your plan.

You could see the exhaustion of those who were tasked with caring for you, the very least you could was offer them the same relief for having to follow at your heels every single day. And slowly they forget their task and sit on the edges or splash one another in the waters with your boisterous laughter leading to their own. 

It feels like you are in one of those giant old paintings at the museum. As you sit beside Livia she begins to braid your hair into a crown. 

“Just for today my lady and then it is off to the baths with you.”

“Yes mother,” you playfully reply and from the corner of your eye you see her shake her head with the smallest of smiles.

As soon as they release the Senate, Caracalla shoots out of his seat toward the private gardens. It has become your secret sanctuary for the three of you and he knows it better than his twin. Geta follows behind at a more leisurely pace, though his excitement is more silent to see you.

Their days are spent planning festivities and the upcoming campaign. All of it brings nothing but a dull ache to his mind and makes his nights tiresome. Fittings for ceremonial robes, the fights, the aquatic games, it all piles up and leaves him weary. But you are the sweet soothing balm to the headaches of these meetings. 

So he will sit through long meetings, will speak of politics and negotiations and plundering if it brings him closer to the days of celebrations and festivals that allow them both to soak up your presence. 

 Geta and Caracalla don’t know whether to scold or coo at the sight of you lying in the grass atop linen sheets. Your head is lying atop the folded legs of Livia while the others seem to be setting food up with drink for the three of you. 

At the sight of the two emperors they all stop to bow before both rulers. 

Marcus looks nearly as exhausted as you are, and just as soaked from the way his hair is pushed back out of this face. “Dear sister! You have gotten into great mischief once again without me.”

“Calla!” You squeal back holding your hands out to the younger twins who is quick to dive into your outstretched arms. You squeeze him close and he returns the sentiment. Geta flicks a hand back and his guards tuck themselves far enough to give you the space, but close enough to see any impending threats.

“Did you get into the fountain?” Geta’s lip turns up as he takes note of how the fabric clings to you. And when you shrug he can only tut and cross his arms like a mother.  

“It was hot! And the both of you were taking much too long.”

“Then why not return to the baths, I am sure your ladies are more than capable of assisting the empress?” The women shrink beneath his stare but you quickly break the ice that begins to form between you all.

“Oh ignore him, he is the lesser of us two when it comes to the enjoyments of things.” You giggle with Caracalla and Geta can only roll his eyes and sit in front of you both atop the chaise. Caracalla looks peaceful, he has been more often these days since you entered their lives. Your idle chatter and small giggles warm his own heart. 

You were truly the missing piece they needed. So nurturing and loving. Looking past the younger twins ailment and his moments of confusion and rage. Geta felt he could lay his crown and title as emperor and eldest down with you.

You are odd and uncaring and have no problem being unladylike. You walk around the grounds barefoot often, your make up oftrn applied quite dramatic, your hair wild and free when it is not braided. You prefer the sweet breads and fruits at every meal and you are adored by your maidens.

As Geta rests his head on his fist, he takes a quick sip of wine.

He would do anything to shield you against the vipers of Rome. he knew politicians, he knew of rulers. How quick they were to move the pieces to turn the tides for their own favor, and he’d be damned if any try to use you as a ploy for their throne.

Caracalla’s concubine has taken a similar position as your handmaidens. He looks picturesque as the young woman strokes the younger twin fiery locks. Slowly he is lulled into a sleep and your idle chatter goes silent. You lay on your side, watching his eyes fall shut and Dondus cuddled against the sleeping twin.

You wish you had your phone now to get a picture, so for now you’ll drink in this moment. When you tilt your head you catch Geta’s gaze. His eyebrows are still pinched, and you can tell he is doing anything but relaxing.

So you stand, stretch your arms over head and hold a hand in front of him, “Geta come.”

“No.”

“Getaaaaa.”

“Never, come and eat.”

“At least just your feet! Then I will share a meal with you,” and with a childish groan he stands lifting his laurels to sit on the cushions and his own servants unstraps his sandals. He hates to admit the water does feel good when you pull him in. 

You slowly walk to stare up at the statue. And while Geta wants to fuss at your robes being soaked, he can’t bring himself to bring your mind back down.

“Do you think we will find one another in another life?”

Geta was no pious man, but he believed the gods to be real and true. The glory of his empire, the riches and comfort he and his twin share, and now your return. How could one not believe the existence of their beloved deities? “If the gods brought us back together in this one then surely we shall be reunited in the next.”

“Who knew you could be so charming,” you smirk and Geta rolls his eyes kicking a wave of water at you.

“Oh! Do not start- Marcus!”

“Marcus ignore her! This is to be a fair fight!”

[pitchsidestories]

The Bitch is back II Lucy Bronze x Reader

a/n: based off this request.

"I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, oh, the bitch is back Stone-cold sober, as a matter of fact I can bitch, I can bitch 'cause I'm better than you It's the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh."

~ Elton John, The Bitch Is Back

barcelona women masterlist I word count: 1591

You always knew that your professional tennis career would be filled with ups and downs, with periods of injuries and streaks of unbeatability.

You knew you worked hard, harder than most other competitors. So it didn’t feel fair when your lowest low came; your knockout in the Olympic Games 2020 before you had a chance to take a medal home with you. Your memory of this game was very blurry.

All you really remember of this day were the tears and your girlfriends strong arms around you. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying so much when you plainly stated; “Lucy… I failed.“

“You didn’t fail, you lost. Those are two very different things.“, she had answered while trying to wipe away some of your tears with her thumbs.

You tried to push out her hug, annoyed; “Oh, and that makes it so much better?“ But Lucy had never let go, “Yes, it does.“ “Why?“ “You will get it when you get over the pain.“

Then you remembered finally losing your tenseness and sinking deeper into her hug. New hot tears were welling in your eyes; “But it hurts so much right now… Maybe I should end it here, let the younger tennis players take over.“

“And then?“, Lucy had asked.

“I don’t know. Giving up seems like the easiest way to stop the pain…“

She had determinedly shaken her head, “You’re not done yet.“ “I need to think about it…“, was all you said because it was the last thing you wanted to talk about, you wanted to get out of the conversation as soon as possible.

You just needed her to hold you. And Lucy could feel that; “Take your time before you make that decision.“ “Alright.“

With a serious face the male tv journalist was turning to the expert who was watching the game with him: “Do you think it was the last time we saw her at the Olympics? She said she’ll think about it in her post-match interview?”

“Yes, I think that’s it for her. She’s at the peak of her career. It’s only reasonable to stop playing now.”

“Don’t worry for everyone who’s watching now we’ll keep you updated on that but for now we’re heading to swimming where the next medals want to be won.”, he continued, the smile returning to his face.

Those men thought you were done but you knew better, their sureness about you giving up only fuelled your passion to keep going and try again next time.

The gold medal was in reach, closer than ever and knowing this motivated you the upcoming years.

Something you and your girlfriend had in common was the mindset of always wanting to win.

2024 The Olympics in Paris

“Will you be watching my tennis match later, Luce?”, you asked the defender.

Of course Lucy knew how important this half final was to you, so she reassured you with her reply: “ Sure. I might be a bit late. I’m coming straight from training. But I’ll watch.”

“Thank you.”

Knowing the football player will be watching made the pressure on your chest felt a little lighter.

Shaking her head softly, Lucy said: “It*s nothing.”

“Who knows, we both might end in the Olympics final of two different sports.”, you winked through the video call with your girlfriend.

A warm laugh escaped from the defender’s lips: “Who knows. Everything’s possible at this point.”

“See you afterwards.”, you told her after looking at the time.

A huge grin was appearing on the Barcelona player’s face as she answered:“ See you.”

While you were warming up for your match, your girlfriend was just ending her training session with her team. She took a quick shower and started to get dressed. With a glance towards the clock in their dressing room, Leah reminded her; “Luce, you got to hurry up to see your girl play the match of her career!“ “Yeah, I know.“, Lucy replied calmly, slipping into her shoes. Millie watched her in disbelief; “Then what are you waiting for?“ “Yeah, I’m basically running.“, she laughed and grabbed her bag. Before she could leave the dressing room, Jordan kept up with her; “Wait, we’re coming with you to support your girlfriend.“ “Alright, but we have to hurry now.“ Lauren James nodded obediently; “Let’s go!“

Your match was just starting when the football players reached their seats. After the first serves, Leah bent over to Lucy; “She will win it this time, Lucy.“ “You don’t know that yet.“, she shook her head, never taking her eyes off you.

Lucy watched most of your match in silence. She was too tense, hoping and wishing that this game will end in your favour and that all the hard work will finally pay off.

Again, it was Leah who spoke as soon as the last ball hit your opponents side of the court, sealing your win. “I told you so!“, she yelled at Lucy, genuinely happy. Clapping and cheering erupted from the football players.

The excitement that Lucy felt deep in her chest for you, didn’t reach her face yet, so she just stood up to leave her seat; “Excuse me, girls.“

When you saw her standing there, right between your dressing room and the court, you couldn’t stop yourself from running into her arms; “Lucy!“ “You made it!“, she finally smiled. Now that she had realized what just happened, her face could barely contain her pride and happiness.

“Yes, and you were right, I’m not done yet.”, you whispered excitedly into her ear.

Beaming the defender stroke one wild string of your hair back: “I know you! I knew there was more to come for you.”

“I’d never have been here on the way to the final if you, my coach and family did not believe in me.”, you confessed, heart still pounding loudly in your ear.

Determined Lucy shook her head: “No. This is your win.”

You knew you were required to answer some questions, so you quickly kissed your girlfriend goodbye for now before heading to your media duties: “Sorry, I got to go and give a few interviews.”

The football player knew this all too well because she was an professional athlete aswell, that’s why she released you from your hug even though Lucy would have preferred to hold you a little longer: “I’ll meet you afterwards.”

Confidently you faced the press: “Well you did not see the last of me and you all were so convinced I’d never come back but here I’m.”

“I guess we were wrong about that.”, one journalist shouted back.

A bit less cocky you announced: “So I’m ready to answer you guys’ question.”

“How does it feel?”, a female reporter asked.

Your eyes looked dreamy while you replied: “It feels amazing. I always dreamed of being in the Olympics final and I still can’t believe that this dream is coming true.”

“You’ve been waiting for this for four years now. Your opponent was the favourite in these Olympics. Does it make this win even better?”

You waited a moment to gather your thoughts before you told the journalist: “It kind of does, especially because she’s currently the number one in the world and I really admire her talent. So yes, it makes this win taste even better. And the fact that my loved ones were here to watch this means the world to me.”  

“We saw a few of the lioness’s watch. Including your girlfriend. She must be very proud.”, one of them remarked, with a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Yes, I think Lucy is quite proud. Actually, she’s very impatiently waiting behind the cameras for me to be done so we can celebrate my win together.”

For a moment you could see your girlfriend grinning about the comment you made in front of the press, Lucy was not known for her patience.

The journalist opposite you couldn’t contain a smile; “In that case, we won’t keep you any longer. Congratulations on that win again and best of luck to the lionesses for their game tomorrow as well.“ “Oh, don’t worry. Lucy will do anything to win the upcoming games with her teammates. Good night to you all. See you after the final. Hopefully smiling again.“

With a confident smile, you left your place in front of the press and were immediately greeted by Lucys hug. She carefully kissed the top of your head with as grin; “Hey.“

“Hey.“, you smiled back.

Clearly amused, she raised her eyebrows; “Advertising for our game after your own win?“

“Of course. And I’ll be there cheering for you girls in the stands too.“, you laughed. “That’s real sportsmanship.“ You nodded; “As it should be! Girls support girls.“ “What about girlfriends supporting girlfriends?“, Lucy asked with a smirk on her lips.

For a second you grimaced, “I guess they know that you’re my girlfriend now… Hope you don’t mind that.“ You could feel your cheeks flush, but Lucy calmly shook her head; “I don’t. We never made it a secret anyway. And now I can do that.“ Before you knew what she was talking about, she pulled you closer and passionately pressed her lips on yours.

You laughed into the kiss; “You could not wait for this, huh?“ “No.“ “Lucky for you, me neither.“ Lucy took that as a signal to take your hand and nod in the direction of the exit; “Want to leave? And celebrate your win?“ “Yes, please.“, you replied as you let her drag you along. “Let’s go then.“

[stonecoldholly]

Worldwalker: Chapter 3

Summary - After witnessing a ritual at a pagan festival in her hometown, Sam suddenly finds herself in a world where magic exists and dangers far worse than everyday crime lurk around every corner. Accepting her unfortunate situation is one challenge; trusting these otherworldly beings to help her is another. As she uncovers the truth, she often finds that it leads to more trouble than it’s worth. Sam must navigate this new world, find her way back home, and restart her life.

Warnings - hella angst, slight suicidal ideation if you look hard, other than that we're good...so far.

Word Count - 8,128

A/N - Welcome to Chapter 3! We're slowly getting somewhere. If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know; thank you so much to the ones who reached out, liked, reposted, and/or read this story. I have had such an intense need to write a story like this and couldn't hold it back any longer. Thank you for taking time to read it.

Part 4

AO3 Link

“Time will take our place, we return it back to one. The calm before the cold, the long and lonely road. Look for the light that leads me home.” Failure – Breaking Benjamin

Day Court, Prythian

Taking a bath in the equivalent of a swimming pool was legendary.

Her muscles were so sore that floating in the tub filled with copious amounts of salts and oils felt like lying on a cloud. The warm water soothed the aches and pains from every inch of her body and despite not having much sleep in the past 60 hours, she felt rejuvenated enough to make it through the rest of the evening. She spent well over an hour drifting in the water, blocking out her more self-deprecating thoughts and focusing more on the present as much as possible.

She tried not to think of those hounds of smoke that had chased her and Lucien, instead feeling the soft skin of her arms from the oils in the water. Tried not to think of the sheer terror that slammed into her when she held Lucien at gunpoint, preferring to inhale the relaxing lavender steam. Shoved down those memories of sitting in the tree wondering if that would be the final time she went to sleep; no, she rather liked swirling the bubbles around the tub.

After scrubbing herself clean of muck, she wrapped one of the fluffy towels around her body, trudging to the closet in the bedroom to find clean clothes to wear. She was still amazed by Lucien. He trusted her and in return, she trusted him. Her being here, alive, sealed her loyalty to him for however long she lived for. Even if she did end up going home, he would live on with her, being told in stories of how a fae stranger saved the life of a human woman before ever being able to say a word to her. She shook her head at the passing thought of publishing a book about her adventure; there were better things left unsaid. Stories better left untold and only remembered.

As she looked into the closet crammed full of beautiful fabrics, she realized she was out of her element. Fashion in her world and this one were exact opposites. She usually preferred to wear her jeans, t-shirts, her boots, and her leather jacket. Here, it seemed it would be dresses, skirts, or trousers that were flowy instead, all in beautiful lighter colors. She surveyed the variety of dresses, doubting they would do her justice, but she was thankful, regardless, that she didn’t have to don the muddied clothes again.

Sam pulled a sage-colored dress out from the closet, threw it on the bed, and tried to find some kind of undergarments to pull on. She opened multiple drawers trying to find something to pass as a bra, frowning when she only found a piece of cloth.

“Oh, you are shittin’ me right now,” Sam said, turning the cloth over and under, trying to figure out how she would be able to secure it around her, half tempted to just put her original bra on. “How in the fuck-”

A knock sounded at her door and she whipped around to face it, clutching her towel to her body tight. She slowly crept to the door, opening it about two inches and peering around it to find a female fae waiting there with a patient smile. Sam recognized her from earlier, one of the females who led her and Lucien through the halls. Sam breathed a sigh of relief before opening the door to let her in, quickly closing it behind her.

“Aella.” The female said, pointing to herself before Sam could say anything.

Clearly, word got out about the language barrier.

“Sam.” She introduced herself before grabbing the cloth, holding it up for Aella to see with a confused expression. “Uh…?”

She smiled reassuringly, nodding to the towel Sam was strangling, motioning for her to drop it. Sam, blushing furiously, slowly and awkwardly let the towel drop to the floor, resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms. Aella, for her part, remained completely unbothered and patient, motioning for Sam to turn around. Sam felt her embarrassment grow as she stood as naked as the day she was born in front of a stranger. Suddenly, throwing herself out the window didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

Sam followed her instruction, allowing Aella to wrap her arms and the cloth around her. Sam took a breath and Aella decided at that precise moment to pull, with all her might, the cloth taut against Sam’s chest. Sam stumbled backward and Aella allowed her to regain her footing before pushing her forward only to yank her back again.

“Holy shit, Aella! I need to breathe!” Sam sputtered as Aella wrapped and tucked the cloth tightly to secure it to her person. Aella appeared in front of her, pulling the cloth out, up, and down to give her some breathing room and to allow the cloth to support her as a corset or bra would. Sam looked at Aella in wonder, trying to find where she was hiding all that strength.

Aella, bless her heart, found some underwear for her to slip on and then helped her into the green dress she had picked out. As Aella started brushing her hair and adding oils to it, Sam just stared at herself in the mirror, almost physically recoiling from her reflection.

She looked like she had been through Hell and back. There were purple smudges under her eyes from exhaustion and suppressing tears. Her skin looked dull as if most of its vibrancy had been sucked out and left in those damp woods. She had peppered cuts along her face and neck, a few littering her hands and knuckles from the pricker bushes and low-hanging branches. If Aella wasn’t putting oils in her hair to help bring some kind of life back to it, she knew it would be hanging in loose, limp curls. Aella was able to dry her hair with a snap of her fingers and Sam had never felt more envious in her life. How easy life would be to have the gift of magic.

After helping Sam into a pair of shoes that reminded her of ballerina slippers, Aella gathered her dirty clothes from the bathroom when a knock sounded on the door. Aella placed a palm on Sam’s cheek as if reassuring her that everything would be okay before opening the bedroom door. Sam was grateful for that small moment of reassurance, the action healing a bit of her heart.

Lucien stepped in as Sam rose from the vanity seat, after securing her gun to her thigh with her holster, to make her way towards him. Lucien smiled at her, bowing slightly at the waist and held out his arm for her to take. Sam let a small smile grace her face, having never had a male offer his arm to her, but she took it nonetheless and allowed Lucien to lead her down the hall.

He looked down at her, motioning with his left hand a little awkwardly and Sam knew then that he was right-handed. “I look better?” Sam looked at Lucien, raising an eyebrow but the same smile appeared again. “Pleased to know that I looked like trash earlier.” She joked to herself, Lucien giving her an inquisitive expression, which she waved off, instead giving his arm a small squeeze. “Thank you. I feel better.” Sam pointed to herself, rubbed her arm, and finished with a thumbs-up.

Lucien led her into a huge dining room with cream-colored walls and intricate gold trim wrapped around the edge of the ceiling and the floor. The largest dinner table she had ever seen sat in the middle of the room covered in plates of grilled and roasted meats, vegetables, fruits, and breads; a centerpiece of blue hydrangeas and white roses overflowing a golden vase, the very same floral arrangements scattered throughout the room. The entire room screamed elegance, royalty, and wealth, leaving no question as to how much power Helion had.

Helion met them at the edge of the table, taking her hand from Lucien’s arm and kissing the back of it in greeting. He motioned to a seat beside him to his left, gently steering her over to the chair as Lucien went to the right. Sam felt like she was dreaming as Helion pulled her seat out for her, pushing her closer to the table as she sat down.

A part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Since she woke up in the tree, this entire part of the journey had gone so smoothly, so easily, and Sam had a nagging thought that there was something big coming. The trust they were putting in her hands, and hers in theirs, almost seemed foolish and Sam’s stomach soured. It has only been mere hours since the forest and yet she was being treated as though she was an honored guest.

She couldn’t stop her thoughts, her anxiety, from spiking as Helion served her food, putting roasted chicken, green beans, and some fresh fruit on her plate. Lucien sat across from her, serving himself and sipping from his cup slowly. She was nervous and it seemed that Lucien was too. She kept catching his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Once again, she was floored by how easy it all was with him.

Dinner was a quiet affair with a few small hand motions to different dishes. However, she didn’t mind it, savoring the flavors of the food on her plate. The food back home tasted nothing like this; dull and flavorless in comparison. She had a passion for cooking as it was a love language of hers and she started making mental notes of what recipes she needed to make here just so she could have it in its true glory.

Helion looked up about a second before the doors to the dining room opened. Sam didn’t need to look to know that whoever walked into the room was beyond powerful. Pure, raw power filled the space, pouring into the room like darkness swallowing up the light. Sam sat up straighter, her body almost doing it on its own accord, the pulse of power nearly demanding it. Her wide eyes snapped to Lucien who immediately stood from his chair to walk around the table to her, standing beside her seat as if he were her guard. Her nerves skyrocketed as four figures filled the doorway, two of which had fucking wings. Wings!

Sam sucked in a breath, her entire body going rigid and cold as she stared at the impeccably dressed fae male standing at the front with an equally stunning fae woman at his side. The two winged males standing just behind them were dressed in black-scaled leather armor and strapped to the nines with more weapons than Sam could count. The force of their power rolled off of them in waves so intense it made even the flower arrangements lean away.

Sam’s leg started to bounce under the table, her body not knowing how to get rid of the nervous energy besides throwing herself off the balcony. Her eyes lingered on the two males with wings; lethal, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome, to cross them would be a fatal mistake.

The one with the red glowing jewels was a mountain of muscle, towering over everyone in the group. His long hair tied back out of his face and his expression was controlled, assessing the room for any threats. For as built as he was, he moved with enough grace that told her he was far more skilled than he was letting on. The way his eyes scanned the room, in a grid formation, told Sam that he had military training. She knew that look, having seen Josh do the same thing, having been trained in the US Army. His golden amber eyes landed on her, taking in her appearance, and falling to how the fabric bunched on her right thigh.

The one with the blue glowing jewels was mesmerizing to look at. His entire presence enchanted her; from his short hair sweeping across his forehead, the elegant planes of his face, and the powerful build of his body, she was hypnotized. Whereas the one with the red jewels was brute force; this male was lethal strategy, quietly observing and completely unreadable. As she watched him, black mist ebbed and flowed from his body, wrapping around his shoulders and curling around his ears. His hazel eyes locked with hers, his massive wings shifting behind him, and the world ceased to exist for a moment. She felt like he could read her like a book as if he already knew everything about her before she even said ‘hello’. She felt incredibly small in their presence and she realized just how insignificant she was in comparison.

She felt a hand on her shoulder causing her to look up at Lucien, who hadn’t moved from his place beside her. His hands moved slowly, reminding her that she was okay and that they could be trusted. She scrunched up her face but nodded, her leg still bouncing uncontrollably under the table, turning back to look at the newcomers.

Helion met the fae male who stood at the front of the group. To say that he was gorgeous was the understatement of the century. There were no words to describe how captivating he was, dressed in a finely tailored black suit, his entire being radiated power and respect. She could taste it in the air. The female by his side, who seemed the friendliest but no less deadly, held herself with the same confidence as her partner and with the beauty beyond words. They were night incarnate, pure power contained in immortal bodies.

The leader of the new group greeted Helion, exchanging a few words and pleasantries before they were led over to Sam. She inhaled while standing up, stepping around her chair to greet them properly. She wasn’t going to greet anyone sitting down, as it was rude, and if they were willing to help her, she had to prove that she was worth it. She turned to look at Lucien for encouragement, which he gave with a soft nod of his head, stepping forward with her.

The action caused the handsome male’s eyebrows to rise but he didn’t say anything, only looking at Sam with a smile. She couldn’t help but lean in towards him when she realized his eyes were a striking violet, causing the two winged warriors to subtly shift closer to their leader.

“Wow, your eyes are stunning.” Sam breathed as she looked at them, taking in the flecks of deep blue swimming in the violet irises. The night sky seemed to swirl in them, stars twinkling in and out, and without realizing it, had taken another step forward towards him. She blinked when her eyes lost focus and shook her head, blushing furiously. She wouldn’t have Lucien translate that.

The male had a feline grin stretching across his face, his perfectly white teeth flashing, and she shivered at the sight. He said something to Lucien who turned to her, ready to translate for her once she was ready.

“He…” Sam’s eyes followed the best they could, her embarrassment filling her cheeks, not only from staring but because they had to resort to this broken form of communication. “He….help. He’s here to help. Okay. Um…” She looked at the male with violet eyes and then turned back to Lucien, drawing a question mark in the air and tilting her head to the side. “How?”

While Lucien translated, the male pulled a small silver bean from his pocket, handing it to Lucien and speaking a few words to him. Lucien had a hesitant look on his face as he listened, looking at the silver bean resting in his hand. He glanced at the male speaking and then at her but nodded, his hands already moving to communicate with her.

“I have to eat that?” Sam nodded to the bean, eyebrows furrowing. “What will it do?” Sam looked at Lucien, who signaled to his lips and then to everyone standing around her. “So, you mean to tell me, that I eat this,” She took the bean from Lucien’s outstretched hand and held it up between her thumb and pointer finger. “And then I’ll be able to talk to ya’ll?” She couldn’t help but cock her hip and raise her eyebrow in utter disbelief at Lucien, who only looked at her with confusion. The male with violet eyes still had a grin on his face that was bordering on unnerving and even the larger-winged male seemed to find some humor in the situation. “I swear to God, Lucien, if this kills me, I’m hauntin’ your ass.”

She turned to grab her glass from the dining table, looking at the bean in her hand. It was bigger than an actual bean, closer to the side of a mini candy bar. She turned it over in her hand, biting her bottom lip in apprehension. She looked up at the male with the beautiful eyes again, fear written in her own. His face softened for a moment but he nodded slowly, as if to coax her to take it or to reassure her. She looked at the male with the blue jewels who was watching her with such intensity that she thought he would take her out if she didn’t ingest the silver bean.

She made up her mind after that. If this was her only chance to be understood, she would have to risk it. With far more eyes on her than she was comfortable with she popped the bean into her mouth, tapping her forehead, sternum, and shoulders in a half-assed cross before washing it down with her drink.

The effects were immediate, a sharp pain ripping through her head, causing her to stumble back into the dining table and Lucien lurching forward to catch her. Raised, unintelligible voices rang out from around her as her glass dropped to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. It reminded her of the ritual, the same pain flashing through her when she caught herself on the edge of the table. The pounding of her head was intense; she could do nothing but hold her head and squeeze her eyes shut. A sharp yelp of pain escaped her lips, the feeling of an agonizing migraine searing forward and burning through her skull. Breathing through the pain was proving to be a challenge.

“Holy shit, goddamn this fuc-ah!” Sam mumbled under her breath, pressing her thumbs up into her eye sockets hard in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. A sigh of relief escaped her when the pounding began to ebb, taking a few excruciating moments before she was able to slowly open her eyes and blink away the black spots in her vision. “Was that an aneurysm? Did I die? Am I dead?”

“I assure you that you are still very much alive,” The deep voice was like velvet-wrapped night and her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Hello, Sam, my name is Rhysand.”

Sam’s jaw dropped as her mind tried to comprehend the sudden change. Her head whipped to Lucien who gave her a small, hesitant smile. “Can you understand me?” She whispered to him, almost disbelieving. Magic! How incredible!

Lucien let out a quiet laugh, sounding just as surprised as she was. “Yes, I can.”

Sam let out a half sob, half laugh at the confirmation, smiling in pure relief. She put her hand on her chest, breathing in deeply to try and regain control over her emotions before she began sobbing hysterically in front of everyone. She was close enough as it was. She felt an unbelievable amount of weight lift from her shoulders at the ability to speak and understand them. She felt like she was in a dream.

Her eyes caught what looked like a living shadow slithering on the ground towards her and as she went rigid, it instantly recoiled. She followed it back to the male with the blue jewels who was staring at her, his face set in a cool mask; it took everything in her to tear her eyes away when Helion started speaking.

“Let’s move this into the sitting room,” Helion suggested, walking towards the door. “I believe we will be more comfortable there than in here.”

Lucien waited for Sam to regain her bearings, smoothing out her dress and taking the arm he offered her again. Sam could feel eyes on the back of her neck as they followed Helion down the hall and it made her uneasy. As they made their way down the hall, Sam watched shadows slide down the walls beside them, dodging the daylight, shooting forward in front of them before returning to the winged male at her back.

Helion opened the door to a sitting room, this room, was unlike the rest of the palace she had seen. The walls were lined with deep mahogany shelves, overflowing with countless books. Hardwood floors with a large patterned rug in reds and grays, with a small, low coffee table sitting in the middle. Large cream-cushioned chairs, each paired with footrests, with throw pillows and blankets scattered around the room and a long table running along the back wall for studying. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up the entirety of one wall, the cream-colored drapes pulled halfway allowing for a soft glow of natural light to fill the room.

This was a room Sam would take sanctuary in.

Rhysand motioned for Sam to sit in one of the large cream chairs, sitting in one of the chairs himself, waiting until the female sat down in a chair of her own. The two winged males stood behind their chairs, overseeing the entire room, and overtaking Sam’s vision.

“Before we start, allow me to introduce my Court.” Rhysand motioned to the long-haired winged male first. “Cassian, Commander General of the Night Court Armies.”

Sam sat up straighter at the title and folded her hands in her lap, recognizing the title as the immense sacrifice it was. The horrors he must have seen and survived to achieve such a title. Cassian nodded to her in greeting, his expression carefully controlled as Rhysand introduced him.

Rhysand continued, “Azriel, Shadowsinger, and Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Sam’s eyes turned to take in Azriel, her heart racing. He had a blank mask on his face but it was his eyes that burned with intensity, calculated and relentless. The shadows seemed sentient as if they could act upon their own accord. Sam watched as they emerged from his toned body, curling around his shoulders before absorbing back into his golden-brown skin. She was unsure if she should be scared or curious so she settled for a healthy medium between the two. ‘What is a shadowsinger?’

“A Shadowsinger is someone who can control and manipulate shadows.” Rhysand supplied and Sam’s head snapped to him. “I apologize, your thoughts are loud and unblocked, I will explain in a moment. This is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court, my mate and my wife.”

For someone who physically appeared so young, Feyre’s eyes held the weight of the world, having seen something that took a part of her soul with it. While her beauty was not one to be so easily dismissed, she gave off such an air of confidence that she likely only needed to blink and her enemy would be dead. She was slender but strong, her muscles and curves balancing out her body as her petite stature claimed the large chair. ‘Mates? Like, soulmate?’

“Along those lines, yes, but deeper,” Rhysand replied to her out loud. “I am Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.”

She looked at everyone in the room saying their names in her head silently. She was way in over her head.

“Lucien, Emissary of the Night Court, born to the Autumn Court, and heir to the Day Court.” Rhysand motioned to my red-haired translator. “Helion, High Lord of the Day Court.”

“So, High Lord basically means ‘King’?”

Cassian let out what sounded like a choked laugh and Rhysand looked like he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “In a sense, yes, we rule over our respective Courts. Feyre and I rule the Night Court. Helion rules over the Day Court.”

She knew she was among powerful people, the taste of metal had not left her mouth since arriving in this new place, and she knew it must have something to do with...magic; she was not prepared for the extent of that magic. Each one of them held themselves with pride, power, and control. She could feel it rippling through the room, the air was almost stifling.

“I have so many questions.” Sam swallowed, looking nervously around at everyone. “I’m not sure where to start.” Rhysand patiently waited for her to continue, his hands folded in his lap and a leg comfortably resting on the other. He was the epitome of relaxed and in control. “Where am I?”

“You are in Prythian, the Day Court specifically.” Rhysand supplied, watching her with interested violet eyes.

“….Prythian? Where’s that at?”

Rhysand tilted his head to the side. “Prythian is the world on which you are on, the planet, along with the name of this continent. The continent is separated into Courts, seven to be exact.”

Sam just stared at him.

Helion shuffled through a few books, flipping through pages, and making his way towards Sam. “You are currently here,” He pointed to an area on the map labeled ‘Day Court’. “Night is here,” At the very top, with what appeared to be a mountainous terrain, lay the Night Court. “There are also Dawn, Winter, Autumn, Summer, and Spring.” He pointed to each one in turn watching her expression carefully. “Lucien found you here, in Autumn.”

There was a faint buzzing in her ears gradually growing louder and she could feel the blood leaving her face, her skin turning pale and cold. “I...I…” She couldn’t form any words, the edges of the room had started to turn black, her vision tunneling onto Rhysand.

“Sam? Stay with us, you’re okay.” Lucien crouched beside her, taking her hand to anchor her to reality. “You’re fine.”

Sam felt the lump in her throat, “I’m...I’m not even on Earth?” Sam whispered as she watched the shadows twirling around her feet and ankles. “I’m not even on the same fucking planet anymore.”

“You’re okay, breathe, Sam.”

Rhysand uncrossed his legs and leaned forward slowly, his face a calm mask but his eyes burned with curiosity. “We are going to begin with the basics, okay? Who are you?”

She was minutes away from a panic attack, she could feel it rising up within her, but she had to get through this initial interview of sorts. This would make or break her ability to get help. They needed as much information as she could supply and she needed them. So, once again, she fought through her emotions. “My name is Samantha Grace Damato, I am 30 years old.”

“And you are from another world...Earth?”

“Yes,” Sam’s face went a little pale. Out of all the alien-related movies and stories, she never thought she would be in one, let alone be the alien. “Savannah, Georgia...in the country of the United States of America, on the planet of Earth.” Her voice was so small, so quiet as she replied, her eyes unfocused but still trained on the shadows playing with a loose thread on her dress. “Please tell me ya’ll’ve heard of America?”

The silence that met her in return screamed the answer.

Her worst fears came true, the reality she had tried so hard to deny even when faced with the facts. She wasn’t even on the same planet anymore. She was so far from home that no one here had even heard of her country. The room started to spin and she closed her eyes tightly, trying not to come undone.

“And this Earth does not have fae there? No magic?”

“As far as I know only humans and animals exist there,” Sam replied looking down at her hands. “We have magic but...not-not like this. It’s different.” She paused attempting to word it correctly amid her shock. “...it’s like...manifesting our intentions, we can do certain rituals or practice a certain way where we can stack odds in our favor but...if we believe it will happen, then it will. But, not many people that I know practice witchcraft.”

“Have you ever tried to practice this magic?”

“Not really but kind of. I’ve learned tarot and astrology but never actually participated in spell work with herbs and candles before.” She was beginning to regret not furthering her knowledge, perhaps if she did she would have found a way home. “I believe my mother did when she was alive but I honestly do not remember details.”

“Your parents. Are they still living?”

“No. My mom passed when I was 13 and I never met my father. I was a ward of the state.” Sam said with a harsh tone, resentment dripping off every word. With Rhysand’s questioning glance, she clarified. “When a minor has no living relatives left, the child gets moved to foster houses or orphanages until they are of legal age, which is 18.”

“What else can you tell me about your world?”

“Well, Earth is the third planet in our solar system out of the eight but I will defend Pluto being a planet, so nine. Unless you were talking about Earth as a whole, well...that’s going to take a lot longer to explain than just a few hours.”

Rhysand almost looked like he was holding back excitement. “We will discuss your ‘solar system’ at length at another time.”

Sam tried not to shift nervously under their gazes. “ O-okay.”

Feyre was the next to speak, her voice was soothing but direct. “On the eve of you waking up in Autumn’s forest, what happened?”

“I-I went to a pagan festival downtown...there was this ritual that I watched…” Sam’s attention got caught in the flashes of memory that flew through her mind and stumbled her words. She tried to shake them away to focus on answering the question but the images kept coming. Sam let out a frustrated sigh pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. I swear I’m more professional than this.”

“We understand, you have been through a great ordeal,” Helion replied, sitting back in his chair with his legs crossed. “Take your time.”

Rhysand and Feyre shared a long look that Sam didn’t see. Feyre gave a sorrowful look in Sam’s direction but nodded to her husband who cleared his throat to get Sam’s attention. “We have a way to make this easier for you.” Sam looked up at him, eyes filled with devastation and longing. Feyre tried to hide the look of pity and sadness, but Sam caught it. “I have a gift that allows me to see and hear another’s mind.”

Sam stiffened.

“I am able to access your memories, hear your thoughts, and speak to you in your mind,” Rhysand explained it to her gently, treating her as if she was made of glass. In a way, her mind seemed like it was. “I will only look at the memories that led up to you appearing in our world and I will only do so with your express permission. It will not hurt you nor will I. Your mind is untrained and unprotected, and I was able to hear your thoughts earlier as if you spoke them out loud. I do not make it a habit of trespassing upon someone's mind without prior knowledge.”

Sam was at a loss. Allow someone to look into her mind? The violations and boundaries that it crossed almost made her lose her dinner. Allow these strangers to see her home? Her world? What if they wanted to take it? Destroy her world or hurt her to get there?

On the other hand, it would be the easiest way for him to understand something that even she couldn’t understand, let alone explain. Sam missed Melissa and Josh, missed her life, her job, the city, and the thought of not being able to return to it...

A quieter male voice broke her from her thoughts, “You are safe.” She looked up to find Azriel looking at her, the blank expression on his face faltered for a moment. “You are safe.” He repeated the sincerity in his words made Sam’s mind up for her. Cassian nodded once in agreement with him.

“You may access my mind,” Sam told Rhysand quietly, catching his eyes. “You may see my memories.”

“This may be uncomfortable. I will be as quick as I can.”

It started out with a soft caress of what felt like sharp talons sliding down the edge of her mind and it forced her spine straight. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Rhysand, tears beginning to gather in the corners at the realization that she couldn’t move. Her body wasn’t her own anymore and it was one of the most uncomfortable, terrifying, and vulnerable feelings she’s ever had. Rhysand gave her a reassuring nod before she felt him move past the thin barrier between her conscious mind and her subconscious.

Memories flew by like a picture book, so fast that she wasn’t sure which memories they were at first. Her eyes went unfocused, glazing over as Rhysand continued to go back, gathering as much information as he could from the night before they went to the ritual to her running down the alleyway. She wondered if he could feel the terror in her that night, as she watched herself run through the streets. She could recall the fear, the urgency to find a place to hide only to come up empty-handed. She could remember how defeated she felt as she ran towards the wall. The horrible feeling of falling. A tear fell from her unblinking, unseeing eyes as the memory continued.

She saw her wonder-struck face as she looked around the forest, her dark thoughts lying in her tree bed, pulling a gun on Lucien just this morning, running from those smoke hounds. He could hear every thought she had ever had, and see every moment of her life; it felt like he was stripping her naked as long as he was in her mind. Her emotions were suffocating her, painfully stealing the air from her lungs. Was she breathing?

Rhysand withdrew from her mind as gently as he could, sitting back to share a few pointed looks with his companions. Sam’s entire body slumped when he let go of her and she collapsed back against the cushions of her chair.

Helion stood to bring a glass of water to Sam, who took it gratefully from his hands. “Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow, allow her some rest.”

Feyre took Rhysand’s hand, nodding. “Of course.”

“Do you have a sleep tonic that she can take?” Lucien asked Helion, watching Sam as a haunted look settled on her face.

“I will have one sent to her room.”

“We will call it a day here, Sam,” Feyre said politely, offering her a small yet sad smile.

“Thank you, Sam,” Rhysand said suddenly making her look up at him. He looked uncomfortable and a small voice in the back of her head told her that it was unlike him to look like that. “For letting me into your mind, for talking to us, and I am sorry for what you have gone through.”

She looked down at her folded hands, running the pad of her thumb along her palm. “Thank you.” She replied, keeping her eyes cast down. She was so tired and mentally exhausted that it felt like her body would go down on its own accord.

“We will help you find a way back home.”

She could only nod, still running her thumb along her hand. She still had a few cuts scattered over the skin of her hands and face. She closed her eyes to take a deep breath, imagining that she was in her little overpriced apartment, curled up on her beat-up couch, and covered with her favorite warm blanket. For a moment, she could have believed it with the silence in the room but when she opened her eyes, she was still there. In the Day Court. Sitting in front of Rhysand. Still here and not there.

“Let’s get you back to your room,” Feyre said as she stood gracefully and Cassian mirrored her movements walking towards her. Lucien stood with Sam, walking out of the room with her but giving her some space.

Sam allowed herself to be guided back down the halls feeling numb. She had tried so hard not to recall the series of events that led her here but seeing them as they happened...it was overwhelming. The mind tends to reshape traumatic events, rewriting what happened and swapping facts for fiction. To protect itself, the mind places more extreme moments and feelings behind a wall for safekeeping, leaving the rest to be dissected.

But when Rhysand pulled the memories forward, the mind lost its control over its own protection, forcing Sam to witness it all over again as it was. There was no escaping it, the truth of her situation, the reality that she found herself in. She had tried to lie to herself, half way convincing her mind that it was dreaming but it was all over now. She could run from it no longer.

“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon,” Feyre said to her as she opened the door to the bedroom she recognized as the one she was staying in. “There’s a tonic on the nightstand, it’ll help you sleep.”

“Thank you.” Sam replied, her voice so small and broken, and she hated it.

“Get some rest.” Lucien whispered to her as she entered the room, alone.

Little balls of light hovered in the air around the ceiling corners, casting a soft glow over the bedroom. Cassian gave her a small smile and a nod as he closed the door behind them, leaving Sam standing alone in the bedroom in a deafening silence. She turned slowly to face the bed but remained where she stood, soaking up the quiet of the room in hopes it would drown out the war raging in her heart and mind.

It took mere moments for Sam to hit her knees. Her emotions finally surged forward and poured out of her like an endless, broken dam. A heartbroken, frustrated scream ripped out of her mouth as the tears ran down her cheeks. She folded over herself, face buried in the plush carpet of a strange bedroom in a world that she did not belong to. Her entire life had been upended; what was she supposed to do? Accept it? Fight it? How?

She screamed as loud as she could as the sobs wracked her body, “What am I supposed TO DO?!”

She fell onto her side into a fetal position, holding her arms close to her body in an effort to self-soothe. The longer she lay on this carpet, the longer she stayed in this room, this world, the more the reality of her impossible situation sank in. How was her human mind supposed to come to terms with this?

She knew that she wasn’t doing anything to improve her situation by screaming and crying but she would let herself feel this. She would give herself this time to break down in order to work through it. She had put it off for long enough.

She continued to cry into that carpet for a while, her weeping turning into soft whimpers as she exhausted herself. She stared at the baseboard of the wall for hours, watching the shadows dance while her mind raced with thoughts so fast that it was quiet.

Yes, she would give herself this.

___________________________________________________________

The room was silent as Feyre, Cassian, and Lucien led Sam to her room, Azriel’s shadows following after them. They merged seamlessly with the dissipating light of the setting sun, skittering down the hallway behind his High Lady and brother. While in a different Court, shadows would accompany each member of the Night Court, along with the human woman. It was a safety precaution that they would not be caught off guard.

“We may need your assistance with research,” Rhys said to Helion as a glass of fine whiskey appeared in his hand. “I’m not sure how many books are left in the wake of Amarantha’s destruction but any assistance would be useful.”

“My libraries are at your disposal along with however many librarians and researchers you may require. Akar is the best researcher we have in the Lux Diei Atheneum; he will be your point of contact.” Helion offered with a wave of his hand, settling himself in the chair that Sam had vacated. “Of course, you are more than welcome to stay a while.” His eyes stayed a little too long on Azriel, who gave no indication that he noticed, much to Helion’s displeasure.

“As tempting as that offer is,” Rhys started an amused smirk on his face. “I’m afraid it will have to be another time.”

“Pity. I would have thrown a feast in your honor.”

“Indeed but I believe we both know that you never need a reason for a party, Helion.”

“True you are, Rhysand, true you are.” Helion chuckled quietly, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me, what do you think of our little human?”

“I believe there is more to her than even she knows,” Rhys replied swirling his whiskey around the glass gently. “She didn’t come here on purpose, her thoughts said as much, but finding out why she is here is the next step. I think she would fair better in the -”

“You do not need to explain what is already understood,” Helion interrupted while holding up a hand, a knowing smile stretching across his lips. “From the arrival of your messenger, I knew you would take her back to the Night Court. I believe Lucien intends to accompany you.”

Azriel’s face remained blank when Rhys turned to him. “He’s rather taken by her, isn’t he?” Rhys asked Helion, his tone nonchalant.

Helion shook his head, “I do not believe they are romantic feelings as Lucien already has a mate. But, given that Lucien was the one who found her, I believe he has taken her on as his ward.”

“Unlike him, no?”

Helion looked at Rhys, assessing the question for any underlying meaning. “No. His previous court may have had a heart of stone but his burns with the fire of a thousand suns. Do not mistake his kindness for weakness.”

Rhys held back a smirk for getting a small rise out of his fellow High Lord. “I would not dare.”

Helion held his gaze for a moment longer before holding Azriel’s, who didn’t so much as flinch at the action. Finally, he nodded as Feyre and Cassian entered the room, Lucien following a few steps behind.

“Then we will leave tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Sounds agreeable. I do wish for updates to our little human’s well-being.”

“Don’t trust us, Helion?” Cassian said with a large grin his wings rustling behind him.

“Out of all the courts, the Night Court is the one I trust most, but if you say anything to Thesan, I will deny it until the end,” Helion responded with a light chuckle. “No, I simply wish to be kept ‘in the loop’ so to speak. I believe she will play a pivotal role here in Prythian.”

Feyre held his stare for a moment. “What do you know, Helion?”

Helion shook his head, sipping his whiskey. “Nothing that is anything more than my own wanderings. You are no stranger to the ongoing tensions coming from the Spring Court.”

“Last we heard, he was prowling his lands as a beast more-so a man.” Cassian scoffed as he came to a stop beside Azriel, looking at him with a questioning glance. “Have you heard anything different?”

Azriel hummed as a shadow slithered down his neck. “Not enough to conclude. Tensions are quite high between Night and Spring for obvious reasons.” Azriel tried to hide his smirk as Feyre sat up straighter, holding Rhys’ hand who had the decency to look a tad remorseful. “I can contact my spies that are stationed in the area if need be.”

“There’s no need as of now. We will continue to await his response to our proposition of alliance.” Rhys stated as he looked at his mate with a smile. “He was considered a friend at one point.”

“And of course, Autumn,” Helion interjected. “Not only are we sure that Eris is preparing to usurp Beron, but while in the Autumn Court’s forest, Lucien said they had to escape his smokehounds.”

“I saw that in Sam’s memories, yes.”

“Best believe that Eris is aware of the breach of his boundaries, even if he is unaware of how it happened. Those hounds report back to him, much like your Spymaster’s shadows.”

Feyre turned to Lucien, “Do you think Eris will inquire?”

Lucien sighed heavily but nodded all the same. “Yes, he likely will. Eris will involve himself since it happened in his court. By law, this should be his or Beron’s issue to deal with.” Cassian and Azriel tensed at his wording, Rhys holding back a physical recoil. “As a born member of Autumn, I assumed responsibility for Sam the moment I touched her.”

“Does Autumn still have claim over her if you’ve brought her to Day?” Feyre asked worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The last thing Prythian needed was a war between courts and the last thing she wanted was Sam held hostage in Autumn with the ruthless Vanserra family.

“It shouldn’t as I defected to Night and hold no allegiance to Autumn, blood or not,” Lucien replied, thinking over the laws. “If anything, the Day Court assumed responsibility when we walked through the palace doors and sheltered her. By all accounts, Day Court is now responsible for her.”

“Does you being both Day and Autumn hold any sway over the situation?” Rhys asked delicately, looking between Helion and Lucien carefully.

“No, as I am not publicly recognized as the heir of the Day Court throne. We would like to keep it that way for now.” Lucien responded. “It would cause more headache but if it came to that, Day Court would remain in control over the situation given that I severed ties with Autumn.”

Helion ran his finger over his lips, deep in thought. “And with the agreement that she goes to Night, you will assume the responsibility,” He motioned to Rhysand and Feyre. “To prevent a possible contest on all fronts, we must have paperwork drawn up that is legally binding between Day and Night, ensuring that it was done with the best interests of Sam at heart, her safety and life feared for, and her future in Prythian safe and assured as long as she remains.”

“We will draw up a contract tonight and it will be signed and notarized by tomorrow afternoon before Sam’s feet leave Day Court’s soil. We will grant her citizenship of the Night Court for however long she remains here so her rights as a Prythian citizen can not be infringed upon.” Azriel took that as Rhys’ queue to dissolve into his shadows and disappear to gather the proper paperwork. “In the meantime, I believe we will retire to our rooms.”

Helion smirked, always at odds between the fine line of High Lords and friends that he glided on. “By all means.”

Lucien remained behind with Helion who continued to sit at his desk, deep in thought. “You’re holding back something.”

Helion made a small noise of agreement. “I am but until I can be certain, I will not speak upon it.” He sipped from his glass of whiskey and set it gently on the top of the desk. “I do not doubt that they will train her in strength, fighting, and magic, I ask that you, personally, keep me updated on her progress.”

“She doesn’t have magic, there’s no magic in her world like it is here.”

“Are you certain?” Helion asked holding his gaze.

The responding silence was answer enough.

____________________________________________________________

Tag List: @smol-grandpa, @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[eirakairos]

Telomeres

Pairing: Rafayel x MC

Summary: You are in an arranged marriage with the god of the sea.

A/N: Finally after so long lol the thoughts are all over the place since it was dragged a bit.

Inspired from the song Telomeres by Sleep Token

Words: 4.7k

Tags: arranged marriage, angst but with happy ending, presumed character death, MC being a dummy, pregnancy, a little violence, Rafayel being a literal god, implied nsfw, drowning, losing memories is a theme

“You know, if we meet each other again in the future and we are all grown up, let’s marry each other,”

“Huh?!”

“Hahaha! Sorry, I was only joking,”

“... I promise then,”

“Huh?! Wait-”

“I promise I’ll marry you when we see each other again,”

You opened your eyes after drifting away from a dream. Was that a dream? It felt like a distant memory. You saw the sunrise on the horizon, and seagulls passed by the window. Today is the day.

Your wedding day. Or being taken hostage, willingly and legally.

Across the room, you gazed upon your dress, it is a white dress with glittering designs of seashells and pearls. The wedding would be wonderful, from the venue to the food and even to the groom.

A couple of knocks were heard at your door.

“Your Highness, it is time to wake up. It is time for you to get ready,” your servant said before entering. You sighed and looked again at the window, thinking about your groom.

“It is time for the grand day,” a Lemurian elder said as Rafayel looked at his reflection. If this were successful, it would be a big progress in their plan. “For Lemuria and our people,” he whispered. He proceeded to elevate himself to the shore, where the wedding would occur.

Despite it being a grand day, for a wedding, it looks like a simple, intimate wedding, as requested by the bride. The only thing that matters to Rafayel is the venue, it should be a wedding at the seashore. In Lemuria, it would be legitimate.

He put aside his thoughts as the nobles from the human side approached him. He was guided to the other end of the shore. The more people gathered and as the planned time began, he became nervous.

And there you are.

His beloved bride.

You walked like a silvery white fish slowly swimming towards him, precious like a pearl shined by the sun.

You were only a pawn in the grand scheme. He knows you are innocent in all of this. He felt the time stop, felt that he had seen this before. He had been at the far end of the aisle before. He blinked, and he saw his bride. It was still you, but in Lemurian clothes, almost like a goddess. You look at him, and his sight becomes clearer, you’re back in the white dress. Rafayel gazed at you, despite being a human princess, you look ethereal, like his goddess. He felt conflicted, like in the inner depths of his heart, he can’t deny you. He can’t hate you, but love…

“I’m sorry… I can’t give you the love you probably were looking for,” he said. You are sitting beside him in the gardens, outlooking the wide sea. “I know,” you said as you looked at the horizon. “But at least it's not some old nobleman,” you followed. Rafayel smirked, astonished that you were looking at the lighter side of this situation. “No really, I thank you for getting me out of this place,” He was off guard by your remarks at times, in the months of meeting you. You are not pompous nor stuck like the royals he encountered. “I was only taken in this castle… They said my heart is special, for some reason,” you scoffed. “Aren’t you scared of that? Of being taken advantage of?” Rafayel asked. The question was not his character to ask. “No… I’m used to it. I have accepted it as my duty,” you answered. Rafayel only hummed, there is something about you that made him curious. But besides that you are right. He wants your heart, for Lemuria.

“What about you?”

“Huh?” he said.

“Tell me about your beloved,” you said.

“Ah…” he said. He doesn’t want to ruin this marriage because of her. “My memories are blurred about her, but I feel I was waiting for someone,” he brought up a small bracelet. It was a bracelet with a purple seashell as its pendant. “This is all I have about her,” You hummed, he is taking care of it like his life depended on it. Oh, if only he had loved you like how he loves her.

The royal family appointed you to be married to him, to unite the two kingdoms of land and sea. The two kingdoms are hoping it will stabilize the tension. It was a long time plan between the kingdoms and it was rejoiced as Rafayel finally agreed with the marriage. You arrive at his side and take his arm to face the officiant.

As the officiant does his speech, you look at Rafayel. It all leads to this moment, what you’ve been dreaming of, to marry him. But not in the flow you’d expect. The Lemurian elders and the royals, are all looking at you. But Rafayel? He is looking straight ahead and holding onto the seashell pendant.

Everything was a blur in this grand wedding.

Rafayel sighed as he glanced at you and held onto the seashell he cherished before looking away. ‘My heart, I’m sorry… I have to do this as my duty for Lemuria. I tried to find you, tried to find answers… My heart is so confused right now. She isn’t hard to love, she reminds me of you so much…’ The officiant ordered for him to face you. Rafayel gazed at you. ‘I’m sorry you caught up in this mess… Before that time, I will do my best to love you,’ he thought as he cupped your face and kissed you. Rafayel felt the spark, it was a very familiar but odd feeling, he felt like everything was right, like he was destined to be with you despite the odds given by the fates. He felt his heart leap, maybe being wed to you isn’t a bad thing. As he parted from you, you are in a daze. 

Rafayel, the god of the sea, is now your husband. You, the human princess, are his beloved bride.

You were feeling exhausted in the reception. It is both celebrated on the surface and in Lemuria. The surface celebration didn’t take long, as the royal family was just glad that this marriage was done and was more excited in the negotiations with the god of the sea regarding the fish supply. The Lemurian side is totally different, with lots of dancing and music, so a bounty of foods around, mostly different kinds of seafood. You enjoyed it more than the surface, in general, you enjoyed staying in Lemuria than in the surface, even if you were adamant about the other way around before, a long time ago.

You randomly stared at the blue fires encased in the torches around Lemuria. “Are you alright?” Rafayel asked. You look pretty tired, despite being relieved that the wedding is over. “I apologize, I’m a bit spent for today,” you said. He closed his eyes and hummed. “Very well, let me accompany you,” he said. “But- I’m fine, Rafayel, I can go to our chambers on my own,” Rafayel looked at you, not fazed as he moved and carried you, princess style. “Rafayel!” you stammered. “Need I remind you that you are my wife now?” he whispered as he strides away from the throne, letting the people celebrate. “Also, I’m glad to be out of that place,” he sighed. “Time for bed, my wife,” Upon hearing that, you blushed. You two are married and going to your chambers, with him, in one bed. You looked at Rafayel, he seemed amused and seemed to read your mind. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything. I promised you that, remember?” he smirked. You pouted, well it's true.

He kicked the door to the bedroom. Striding towards the large bed, he gently places you on it.

“But what if I do want it?” you asked. He froze and gazed at you.

“No, you don’t,” he said with a serious tone.

“Well, yeah, you are not ready,” you teased. You saw him with his lips pursed, then suddenly pounced on you. You giggled as he tickled you. You two gazed at each other. Rafayel thought you were not hard to love; he felt his heart flutter when you smiled at him. You thought this… “New” Rafayel isn’t hard to love; he is still Rafayel despite this arrangement of his being not an ordeal.

“Are you sure about this? Rafayel won’t remember you!” Talia said. “He already failed once.”

“And it cost him greatly. I… I made a deal with the deep sea. Rafayel also accepted its favor,” you said. Talia remained silent but was surprised. “I know Lemuria and the sea dislike me being with their chosen god of the sea,” You hold the seashell as the medium of the spell. You gave this to him as the vow of offering yourself as his bride.

“I already know my fate, I’d rather die by his hands than be rotten in the castle walls. I’d rather be dead than see my love suffer for any longer. The prophecy must be fulfilled, so that Lemuria can be saved and won’t turn into an ocean of sand,” you said. “For so long… He deserves the sea and land, that I’m willing,” you followed.

“My dear,” Talia said. “Lemurians live to love. I feel… Erase his memories or not, cast him away… The heart will remember,”

Rafayel moves closer to you, meeting your lips with his. He wants this. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, but it feels right. You encircle your arms around his neck; you miss him so much. As he parted from you, he was flushed and panting. “Are you sure? If we continue, I might not hold back,” he smiles. It is full of love; this is the Rafayel you remember.

You two are spent in pure pleasure and bliss, like newlyweds. The marriage will be conducted tomorrow, but you lure Rafayel to a night of passion. You open your eyes and see your love sleeping soundly. He is so beautiful, you feel the pang of pain, that this dream has to end. The plan should follow as is or else there would be consequences. You knew Rafayel sacrificed so much to be with you, but you couldn’t longer bear to see him in misery. You sang the spell while holding the seashell, as tears fell.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I love you so much, Rafayel, my cherished groom,” you said and kissed him to seal the spell. He started to glow, and blue and red fishes appeared around him, representing his memories. The fishes swam to the seashell. As the spell was finished, you quickly dressed yourself and left the palace, leaving the seashell with him.

“Goodbye, my beloved groom…”

Rafayel watches you sleep deeply, feeling proud that he tired you out so much. He never felt this elated, this bliss of marriage.

He felt odd that his vow, an orange fish mark on his chest that glows to its promise, didn’t deter him from this arranged marriage. He thought he would feel immense pain for betraying his beloved. But looking at you, he felt everything was right in place.

But it all ends now.

He looked at the seashell trinket on his bedside table to contemplate before looking at your slumbering self. “I… I’m sorry,” he whispered. He felt pain, everything telling him not to as he summoned his dagger. He raised it and he looked at you. He trembled and stayed still before dropping the dagger. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I… I can’t do it.” He cried softly and he kneeled on the floor. He sees your face, sleeping peacefully.

His whole being suddenly trembled. He heard the deep, grumbling noise in his head. His head hurt, and he felt he was losing himself. He is starting to feel nauseous.

‘How dare you?! You defied the prophecy again! Lemuria will be ruined because of such fleeting love with a human!’

‘I will not let the prophecy be thwarted because of your incompetence!’

“Stop… Stop! You will not control me!” Rafayel screamed, making you wake up. “Rafayel? What is going on?” you murmured, unaware of what was happening.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened as he grabbed the dagger. He stood up and his hand trembled again, Rafayel inside trying to snap himself out of it.

“Argh!” you gasped in intense pain. Your eyes widened in seeing Rafayel, your lawfully wedded husband, stabbed your chest. Rafayel’s darkened eyes blinked and he shook his head quickly. He stumbled as his arm hit the bedside table. The seashell trinket fell and smashed on the floor. You feel dizzy as you see blood pouring out from your chest. You saw Rafayel struggling, the seashell lets out a wisp of blue and red fish going back to him.

Glimpses of memories pour into Rafayel as the lights on his eyes return. He finally sees the blurred girl he’s been trying so hard to hold onto and remember, seeing it was you all along. He has so many questions but it halted when he sees you bloodied on the bed. You feel your consciousness seeping away and accept your fate, the last thing you saw was Rafayel in shock.

Before he can react, the ground starts to rumble as blood seeps to the Lemurian floor, and the fires of the torches around Lemuria turn red, the sign that the god of the sea has accepted its duty and completed the prophecy. The Lemurian soldiers and elders rushed to the chambers, stopping Rafayel from getting to you as your body was taken away.

“Stop! Where are you taking her?!” he cried and struggled, wanting to get to his beloved, his wife, the woman he had loved from the beginning. An elder went to him with a solemn face. “Lord Rafayel, my apologies, she had passed.” Rafayel froze and looked at you, you looked drained and pale as if your essence was already gone. “N-No, no, no… No!” he struggled again, wanting to run to you. “I want to see my wife!” he said. “Your Quintessence, we have to bring her to the surface, her body will deteriorate fast here as she is not Lemurian,” Rafayel stopped and he knew this, he saw your chest remained still and not breathing, and it's all because of him. He didn’t care, he went to look at you, your eyes are closed as you permanently rest. Pearls fell on the floor as he cried, as they took your body away to be sent to the surface.

A private funeral was still held in Lemuria, it was not announced yet, but it seemed obvious to everyone. Rafayel never went out since, despite the room being cleaned already, endless pearls surrounding the inside remained. He stared at the shattered seashell beside him as he started to realize piece by piece. He learned that you knew the grand plan after all. He discovered that you pulled such strings to make him forget about you, yet as Talia said, the heart always remembers. He realized that you two would be married but you chose to sacrifice it to continue the plan. No wonder his mark didn’t react negatively whenever he thought of loving his bride and letting his beloved go, as it is the same person all along. He didn’t even have the moment to say goodbye or hold you. As the prophecy is fulfilled, he is no longer allowed to the surface, he is now in the depths of the sea as he was born into.

What angered him is that, not long after, the people of Lemuria celebrated the return of their god of the sea as they looked forward to the prosperous blessing of the deep sea. It felt like a betrayal to him, like they just waited for you to be gone, it felt like everything was too fast. A heavy pit of hatred in his heart was formed, how dare they take away his bride, his wife, his beloved that he waited for centuries! 

He screamed, all of the mourning, loss, and remorse he felt, as blue scales appeared on his skin, his legs slowly formed into a tail and his ears became fins.

The ground shook as the Lemurians were surprised, the elders ran along with the soldiers to check on their god.

As the doors opened, their eyes widened as Rafayel was gone, but a different person… Entity of ethereal power. The multicolored eyes are now as blue as the sea, the once calm face is replaced with a serious, angered riddled expression. Gone with their beloved Rafayel, and now rises as the tyrant god of the sea.

“How dare he refuse me?!” The king said, visibly angry. It’s been a few months since storms surged nonstop at the sea, making it difficult for fishermen and marine vessels to catch fish. “Your Highness, Lemuria is under lockdown since as well, as I read the reports from their palace,” the messenger said, representing Lemuria. “It seems the god of the sea is still mourning the loss of his late wife,” The king scoffed. “He still didn’t do his end of the bargain of this marriage! The princess is not of royal blood but the audacity of her to betray the kingdom, over some sea god!”

There was little silence. “Then, I will deny your request. I will never let any human set foot in my domain,” the messenger said, surprising the king. The messenger’s eyes are blue, and he has mists of blue aura around him.

“Rafayel,” the king hissed. “You must do the end of your bargain from the marriage! Dissipate the storms!”

“How could I do the end of my bargain when I lost the only reason I held onto that marriage?” Rafayel said as the messenger crossed his arms as he willed to. “No need to fret, the human race isn’t the only one who suffers,” he stated. “You need to be struck down, a tyrant in his own kingdom!” The king yelled.

“The audacity to call me a tyrant, when everyone betrayed me,” Rafayel said menacingly. “Even your wife? What if she is alive? Are you going to punish her?” the king said. “No, she did not betray me. Her fate was sealed but not like this,” he said, solemnly. Memories rushed back to him, the beautiful moments of being with you. Your love for him went beyond, your willingness to give your heart for his sake. The king scoffed. “All of this just because of that pawn?” he laughed. Rafayel, or rather the messenger, raised his hand. Water seeps into the palace as a storm is above the castle. “What- Rafayel, stop this instant!” The king said as the water was starting to flood fast.

“My wrath will not stop. The only thing it will stop is if my wife is miraculously alive,” he said. Water slowly rises, and the people in the castle panicked in the floods and the howling winds and tried to stop it and save the king.

“Stop! She is alive! She is!” the king screamed. Rafayel was surprised and made the messenger stop walking. But no, no more lies as his heart was played many times.

You groaned as you woke up and had to lift your heavy belly to sit up to start the day. It is a few months after an elderly couple found you unconscious by the shore. You almost died that day and you try to recall what happened, but all is very fuzzy. You only remembered someone crying your name, someone smiling at you tenderly, you felt and knew he loved you so much. So much that…

“Hey, stop kicking,” you chuckled at your belly, breaking your thoughts. “We can’t get fish, sorry,” you whispered. You wanted to know who is your partner, you tried your best to remember him or even find him. But no one knows as you live in a village where the elderly couple found you. You were also wearing this wedding ring on your finger, a gold ring with a blue gem in the middle. You didn’t feel strange about it, as if it felt right that you were married.

You are craving so much seafood, but the market is out of fish as the fishermen are having a hard time getting to the sea, which is also expensive. No human is allowed to travel by sea as the god of the sea’s anger is immense. The sky is often gray and the tempests are strong. You heard stories about the sea god, and rumors went around as you roamed the market. You heard of him as benevolent in the past, but he became cruel because of the loss of his wife. Some say that he killed his wife as a sacrifice for the sea, which caused him to be this mad.

A woman’s pregnancy craving won’t stop anyone, not even the god of the sea himself. You had cravings for a week and it is starting to feel painful. In the early dawn, you managed to walk to the shore and sneak into an abandoned boat. You look above the darkened sky, the sky seems clear enough and there are calm winds. “Am I really going to do this?” you asked yourself but you are desperate. Your plan A is to catch a fish, plan B is to demand the god of the sea to give you one. You chuckled as if you were special enough for him to give you an audience.

You started to row the boat towards a good distance so that you could get back on shore quickly. It is difficult as the winds get stronger. The sea is indeed tricky, it was calm on the shore but the opposite once on the water. The waves rock the boat harshly as you try to get the net. The sea has become uncontrollable as if they detected a trespasser. You tried to hold onto the boat but the waves were rocking it nonstop.

“Ahh!!!”

Your body went into shock as you were thrown overboard. Cold water envelopes you, you try to move to get above but feel heavy. You see the boat getting farther and farther. You try not to panic to have enough air but don’t know whom to seek help. You curled up, not having any options, apologizing to your baby bump. You don’t believe in such but if ever he is real, you hope he can do a miracle. You uttered a familiar name, as if that name is very special to you like it holds your entire heart.

“Rafayel…”

Rafayel’s eyes widened as he stood up from his throne. He hears many prayers and wishes amongst his people and on the surface that knows him. But this soft voice…

“Help… My child…”

His eyes blinked, unsure that the familiar voice he was hearing was indeed real. Despite the anger in his heart to everyone, this one… He felt the warmth he was craving for. He steps down from his throne and swims like a flying dart, outside his palace and into the vast sea. Swimming to the approximate location, he saw a figure falling to the depths, with a capsized boat above. He quickly swam when he realized that the figure was expecting and was familiar. He went to her… To you, his supposed dead wife. His eyes widened as he recognized you, his hands trembled when he embraced you. He placed his lips onto yours, so you could breathe underwater. You coughed hard, trying to expel water from your lungs but were still unconscious. His head is running with so many thoughts, but he shakes his head, your safety is a priority. He holds you close as a protective aura envelopes you before going down to the depths of the sea.

“Is she well?” you heard a familiar voice. You felt comfort and warmth all over your body.

“Yes,” you heard another female voice. You couldn’t pinpoint her but she sounded familiar. “The mother and the baby are healthy,” you listened to the other voice sigh in relief. “Rafayel… I can’t believe that she…” she trailed off.

“I know, Talia,” he said. His voice is beautiful, yet there is a hint of nervousness and shock. “She’s pregnant… Her belly is already big,” he said, astonished. “I wonder who’s the…”

“Rafayel, you still question her devotion after all this time?!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know- It’s very-” he said. You are surprised that this is the tyrant god the people on the surface were talking about all this time. You heard Talia sigh and hear a wisping sound, you felt a cool sensation on your belly as she said a string of incantations in an unknown language.

“There, see? Two little fishes. If it's a pure human, it would be a seedling,” Talia said. “She is carrying twins, Rafayel, and yes, they are yours,”

“What?”

‘What?!’ You wanted to say it but you only muttered a groan. Rafayel and Talia looked at you as you opened your eyes. You saw the god of the sea, as beautiful as his voice, the purple hair with his wonderful eyes. Memories surged in you as he looked at you tenderly. You married this ethereal being.

“Rafayel?” you spoke. “Hey,” he said, both happy yet a little awkward. “I- I didn’t know you’re- I tried looking for you-” he said, completely overwhelmed. You can see his tears becoming pearls as they fall off. You moved closer and cupped his face. Rafayel embraced you tight as if you’d disappear from him again. You hear the sound of pearls hitting the floor.

All of the blurred memories become clearer now. “I mean, I was surprised that I was pregnant all of a sudden, but it felt that whoever I did it to, I did cherish that person,” you spoke and rubbed his back. “I don’t forget things easily… The heart always remembers,”

“I tried looking for you… I can’t go to land anymore as I accepted the duty,” he spoke. “I didn’t know you’re…”

“Ah, I had fuzzy memories but… I was almost until an old couple found me. My chest was bloodied, a piece of my heart was gone… Well, that was what I heard, not sure if it's true, because well… I survived,” you said. “Then, I felt weird changes in my body and learned I was pregnant… I had dreams of being and marrying someone and I have this ring,” You showed the gold ring, and Rafayel wore a similar ring on his ring finger, too. “So somehow that made me think I was married,” you smiled.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I hurt you, I-” It broke your heart. You can hear him being miserable, blaming himself for what happened. “Rafayel, I know what you had to do,” you smiled. “It’s okay, I’m not angry or anything… I’m just grateful you saved me,”

“I’m just glad I found you fast enough. If I lost you… You three…” he said. It sinks to you that you are carrying twins. “Well, the god of the sea didn’t disappoint in saving his follower,” you chuckled and he smiled. You two remained embraced until Rafayel was comfortable and calmed enough, he was listening to your heartbeats along with your voice. “I want to ask, why were you at the sea? The waves are rough and the storms are relentless,” he said.

“Well, who’s fault is it that there are storms in the first place?” You said and crossed your arms, pouting. Rafayel was surprised and looked down in guilt but he was just a man who lost his wife. “I just want seafood so bad! There’s not much to buy because a certain someone forbidding everyone to go to the sea,” Rafayel blinked in surprise and suddenly chuckled. The lengths you’ll go to for cravings. It is bad enough for Lemurians, what more for a human. “Hey!” you pouted.

“Ah sorry, sorry,” he said, smiling and kissed you. He felt complete that he could finally kiss you again. You blushed in response. “Okay, I’ll tell the kitchen to cook you some. You’ll be having seafood for days, a feast, just for my wife,” he placed his hand on your belly. You feel a slight rumble above as if the storms are cleared and the sea is calm again. “You two caused your mother trouble,” he said softly. He is ready to face the deep sea, Lemuria, and everyone to have you and his babies in his arms. “But then again, thank you because I found her,”

[bleue-flora]

Was gonna do everyone, but I'm feeling lazy so here's what I got so far for the playdate au character details:

Name - Make Believe Name(s) - Age - Favorite Color - Physical Appearance - Other

Phil - Philza, Dadza - 16 - dark green - greenish blue eyes, gingerish blond hair - when he decides to go outside and play with the kids he tends to wear a silly looking striped hat (mostly though he tends to stay inside and text his girlfriend, Kristen)

Wilbur - WilburSoot (or also Ghostbur, Revivebur) - 13 - Blue - pretty fit and tan (because he’s on the school’s swim team), tall and lanky, brown hair and eyes - almost always wears his colonial style hat and when it’s cold enough his favorite yellow sweater

Sam - Awesamdude, Sam, Sam-nook, The Warden - 12 - green - naturally light brown hair he dyed green, brown eyes - has glasses, wears yellow tee-shirt and green cargo pants that he fills the pockets of with all kinds of handy tools and things, including rocks that he loves to collect, has a fake ruby necklace he loves to wear as well as his crown

Clay - Dream - 11 - lime green - green eyes, dirty blond hair - as he’s autistic he wears comfy clothes only like gym shorts and soft tee-shirts for example and hoodies when it’s cold enough (he will not be caught dead in jeans), used a paper plate with a smile on it to jump scare Tommy once and now it’s his Dream aesthetic

Luke - Punz - 11 - blue - bright blond hair and blue eyes - has a gold necklace he never takes off, his ears are pierced with some gold studs,, his favorite outfit is his ripped black jean shorts and white tee-shirt

Alex - Quackity - 10 - Red - dark brown eyes and black hair, kinda more short stubby - him and his family are mexican, tends to wear classic dark blue and black and doesn’t mind getting dressed up for the occasion, always wears a beanie though, carries a pack of candy cigarettes he pretends to light with a lighter he found, tends to carry a deck of cards and his dad’s old pocket knife, knows a little more than a kid should, has a little scar over his lip from falling face first that Techno turned into a whole lore point

Alexander - Technoblade - 9 - red - blue eyes and dirty blond hair though he tried to dye it an edge red to be cool and it turned out pink instead - he loves to wear his red cape and crown all the time, someone once called him a pig because of his pink hair and after that he added pig ears and nose to his Technoblade look, he also often is seen riding his stick horse steed named Carl, he has glasses that George often steals

Mark - Ranboo - 8 - purple - brown hair, green eyes and super tall and lanky - entire wardrobe is black with lots or variations of black and white, often see with sunglasses and face mask on to be mysterious and of course his crown

Nick - Sapnap - 7 - Orange - brown eyes and unkempt hair that’s just long enough to be annoying that he keeps out of his eyes with his white ninja headband - favorite outfit is black athletic shorts or pants with a flame themed shirt, when it’s cold he’ll wear the same shirts just with a long sleeve black shirt underneath, often carriers around a katana and pretends to be a stealthy ninja

Karl - Karl Jacobs - 7 - purple - light brown hair and blue eyes - when it’s cold he loves to wear his iconic hoodie, he wears lots of fun colors and patterns like the stereotypical stylish gay guy, he has a old stopwatch he likes to carry around

Thomas - Tommy, Tommyinnit - 6 - red - blond hair, blue eyes, tall (for his age) and lanky - likes to wear khaki and that two toned classic tee-shirt, often see with red bandana around his next like some western outlaw and appropriate red devil horns

Toby - Tubbo - 6 - green - bright blond hair and blue eyes - Niki gave him bumble bee barrettes he wears to keep his bangs out of his eyes, he’s very attached to his stuffed pig, can be found wearing cuffed jean shorts or sometimes overalls

George - Gogi - 5 - light blue -  brown eyes and messy hair - always carries around his mushroom patterned blanky, likes wearing his favorite iconic blue shirt and jeans

Current families developed in age order:

Dream, Techno, Sapnap, George

Phil, Wilbur (and surely Fundy needs to be the youngest)

Purpled, Quackity, Slimecicle

Punz, Vikk and Lazar (4 year old twins)

(Ya know based off appearances alone maybe Tubbo and Tommy should be twins?…)

 Others TBD...

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over

Chapter 4: C.R.O.W.

Summary:

Crow / C.R.O.W. A derogatory term derived from the First World War, which refers to a new recruit or inexperienced soldier or Combat Recruit of War. The title is given to the newest members of a regiment.

TF141/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, sugestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, they hate you at first sorry

previous: chapter three "Foxtrot Oscar"

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The days before the mission were uneventful, they went back to the old silent treatment, which made you think that your request for professionalism was as productive as talking to a concrete wall. Three concrete walls to be precise.

You spent the nights studying the scarce intel about the island you’d received in a manila folder, and you made your own contingency plans in case you were effectively left to take care of yourself.

The five of you were up for this mission, the Bravo team as you were told once you sailed. There were a few jokes thrown around to the fact that Price was dressed as a fisherman as he was staying behind in the rented boat to keep it ready in case you had to escape if things went wrong. You were all geared up to make a swim to the shore, and the equipment they used felt heavy on your body. It's been a while since you used this kind of heavy military gear, usually opting for a lighter one and keeping only the strictly necessary in your bag, back in KorTac. But it seemed like in the 141 they wanted to go all in, heavy vest, utility belt, and an even heavier bag containing other useful things was being carried by Ghost. How they didn't sink into the bottom of the ocean carrying all those things was beyond you.

An annoyed but soft, or so you thought, sigh left your mouth as you were now inside the complex in the middle of the island, leaving a trail of dead hostiles behind you both.

"What's wrong?" Gaz whispered to you as both of you were going down a hall, empty so far.

"Nothing important" You whispered back, walking some steps in front of him, opening yet another door and firing twice, the shots were muffled by your gun's silencer. "Clear"

"Corporal, talk to me" He whispered again, guarding the door as you went through the papers in the office you just cleared to see any hints of the stolen materials. Nothing useful.

"It's just...I hate missions that involve swimming first, especially in the ocean. You have to walk around dripping for the whole thing, your skin is sticky with salt water, your clothes weigh more, and your hair is disgusting until you get a shower" You answered trying to peel the wet fabric from around your neck, grimacing at the feeling. Gaz let out a sudden chuckle, clearly not expecting that answer and probably waiting for another kind of complaint.

"Yeah, it's annoying..." He admitted, before you came out of the office in front of him again, finally close to the wider door at the end of the hall, which led to a deposit, you looked back at Gaz, and he gestured for you to go first. Of course.

You pushed the door with your body, the weapon still prepared to fire, and you felt your sergeant’s presence behind you. Only shipping containers could be seen, as well as two trucks to transport them, some other tools were scattered, as well as blueprints and oil spills on the floor.

"Ghost, this is Gaz. Everything clear around here, we found shipping containers, and we'll go through them. How's your front?" Gaz said pressing his comm, and after some cracking down the line you could heard some gunshots.

"Yeah, you're good there because everyone came to greet us" Soap said down the comm, before the line buzzed again and a deeper voice came out.

"We're taking care of them" Ghost said, not sounding phased by the situation.

When you glanced back at Gaz, you noticed a red pointer, aiming from his head. You quickly ran to him, to which his eyes widened surprised but before he could react or say anything you harshly lunged against him, successfully tackling him behind one of the shipping containers, both of you falling hard against the floor as he grunted at both the fall and your weight on top him, your face clashing against his vest and you could feel the steel chest plate under and his gun in between your bodies. Behind you, you heard the delayed bullet impacting against the wall, followed by another one, that was lower, clearly trying to hit you as you moved to take cover.

"Fuck...thank you" He looked at the bullet on the wall. You quickly pulled away from him, rising from the floor and you peeped around the corner to get a peak of who shoot, but you couldn't see anything. Hidden sniper, great.

"It's nothing" You said looking back at him, before peeping again, as you hide your head behind the container another bullet hits the metal, missing you. "I can't see the bastard."

"I'll go through the left, go through the right so we can corner them" He said in a commanding tone, and you nodded.

He made a run through the fire range, until he was hidden behind another container, not before another shot barely missed him, clashing against the wall.

You made another run, and two other shots missed you, but you saw him, just one guard. Once you were out of the sight, you pressed your comm and whispered through it.

"One male. M14 rifle. Twenty round magazine, must have fourteen left."

"Let's try to get him while he reloads." The comm buzzed back, he was hidden, but he poked out and fired back, making the man hide before he shot three bullets this time, missing again. Eleven left.

You run again, now hiding behind a truck, moving closer in light steps but your movement earned shots that followed your path, one gazing your arm and making you hiss as you hid again. Seven more to go.

Gaz pushed a small trolley from behind his hideout, making the tools fall from it and the clanking sounds echoed through the deposit, followed by three shots that thundered even louder. Both of you are still moving closer, with calculated steps, lurking. Just four.

You poked from behind the truck, and so did Gaz, both of you shooting, not really to hit but to scare, to put him on edge, make him nervous, make him slip. And he did. He shot back like a madman, until the distinctive sound of a trigger pulling on an empty chamber was heard, you came out from behind the truck but Gaz, who was closer, was already making a run for him, and then one single shot put an end to the encounter.

"Good work, corporal" He said as you approached, both of you breathing hard through your noses. "Let's find those robots."

After carefully inspecting each closed container, careful enough to check first if they weren't rigged with traps, you finally found one filled with closed wooden boxes with the US logo, you mutter a lazy "Found them" to Gaz, and he goes to meet you, before pressing his comm "Captain we found them, we are in the deposit" and you kept looking around, to check if there was anything else worth mentioning, while you heard a Price answer "Copy. A job well done, muppets. I'll tell Laswell and move closer; it's going to be a while before they come take their stuff back so get comfortable. The coast is clear?"

You quietly told Gaz that you were going to check the perimeter and he nodded as he was mostly listening to Price, and you opened a door in the deposit that led outside, the fresh sea hair sending a shiver down your spine when you felt it against your moist skin, you heard Soap said "Everything good from here, cap. We tucked everyone and they're sleeping tightly. Gaz, we're coming to you".

You heard some noise coming from a shed close to the door, something moving inside.

Lifting your gun again, you heard Gaz answering "Copy that" as you approached the door, opening it with a kick, before looking inside, no movement to be seen. You entered slowly, your weapon before your body, your senses in alert.

Abruptly, a strong grip was holding your wrist, trying to take the gun out of your grip. You positioned yourself between the aggressor and your weapon, using your body to avoid him getting a hold of it, but in the middle of the struggle it fell across the room. The figure then tried to wrap his arms around your neck, but your elbow connected hard with his side, and you threw your head back, brutally connecting with his nose and making him back out.

"Sage, what's your position?" Gaz said through the comms, as you tried to make a run for your weapon, dropping on your knees through the floor, and you heard a pained "Мой нос...сука" behind you, before a hand grabbed your ankle, dragging you back to him, your hand barely missing your weapon and all you could grab was barbed wire, before you were pulled. "Corporal, position. Now." Ghost said through the comms, already sounding livid. You turned around on the floor, laying on your back, the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tight, fuelled by hate. As blood droplets from his broken nose fell in your face while you felt yourself getting red at the lack of oxygen, your free hand reached up, burying your thumb mercilessly inside his eye. Thank God I'm wearing gloves.

"Lass? Where are you?" Soap tried. The man screamed, loud enough for the three men inside the big deposit to hear something in the distance. As he jerked back from you, his hand covering his eye, you got up.

Moving by inertia and the adrenaline going through your veins, you grabbed the barbed wire, some of the spikes puncturing your gloves and perforating your skin, but you didn't care as you wrapped it around his neck, squeezing it with all your might. His body fell on top of you as he chocked and struggled, which made you squeeze tighter. Your grip was becoming sloppy as his blood covered your hands. After some faint noises, he stopped moving, and you let him go, panting heavily. His limp body slipped from your body to the floor.

The first to enter was Ghost, fuming, probably thinking you were trying that something he warned you not to, but instead he was greeted by a gruesome sight, blood quickly pooling on the floor. You just looked up at him, strands falling from your bun, your eyes like a deer caught in headlights. You were looking like a mess, breathing heavily, sitting on the floor with his blood still on your hands and face.

Then Gaz arrived, making a disgusted gesture with his face, and next to him Soap, who just whistled, walking towards you, not bothering to avoid stepping on the blood. Your body relaxing slightly when you noticed they were not a threat.  

"You good, Carrie White?" He said extending a hand to you, helping you back on your feet.

"Peachy" You said sarcastically, grabbing the hand to stand up. "Did you read Carrie?"

"I watched the movie" He said shrugging, a soft breath left through your nose, amused at his reply.

Ghost stared at the man who attacked you, laying lifeless on the floor, his factions barely distinguishable with the broken nose, the blood coming from it and from his eye, and the pool of blood from the slice on his throat running down on the floor. Then he looked back at you, the eye contact was slightly unsettling.

"Your hands?" Ghost said, making you look down at the body, almost to remind yourself about the barbed wire, before looking away from it with a hint of disgust.

"They're fine, the gloves are thick. The spikes went through them but didn't feel that bad" You took off the dirty gloves with difficulty, your hands had small cuts, as if you gripped a thorny rose. Your gloves, however, were broken.

"Go to the infirmary when we're back" It wasn't advice, it was an order.

Back at base, once you filled all your paperwork and visited the nurses so you could chat with someone who didn't see you as a burden and get your cuts checked, you went back to your usual afternoon routine. A quick meal on the mess-hall before going to the gym.

Punch after punch, your senses focused only on the music coming out from your headphones and on the bag in front of you, blind to the world around you.

You should know I...

And then the usual thoughts came back, how you had a house, you were comfortable. You felt like you were on top of the world.

I need someone to hold me close, deeper than I've ever known.

And now you had an ankle monitor, forced to walk around the base over and over like a chained dog until someone decided you were useful enough to take you out for a walk.

Whose love feels like a rodeo, knows just how to take control. When I'm vulnerable, he's straight-talking to my soul.

Your punches become more frequent and harsher. The cuts on your hand stinging. The dry blood on your face, his hands around your neck, the oxygen being cut. His blood growing cold.

Conversation overload, got m---

And suddenly, your music stopped.

When you let the bag catch a break to turn around to your phone, you saw Gaz, bent over enough and his finger on the screen over the pause button. He was wearing gym clothes as well, probably having the same idea as you of having a quick lunch and taking advantage of the emptiness of the gym while everyone ate.

"By the way you're hitting that I can't tell if you love or hate Dua Lipa" He said with a slightly teasing tone, which made you chuckle.

You didn't realize how sweaty and agitated you were becoming by the exercise, so the laugh came out a bit breathier than expected.

"Needed to blow some steam" You answered taking a deep breath to recover your breath, before reaching for your water bottle. "Wasn't expecting company."

"Well, it was me distracting you or the bag" He said walking over to you, gesturing with his head up, and you saw that the bag was on the edge of getting unhooked and falling. You took a sip from water as you followed his movements.

With an enviable ease he lifted the bag, putting it back in place.

"Oh, thanks...sorry, I didn't realize."

"Ah, it's okay, old equipment" He said sounding actually amicable, and he stood behind the bag, grabbing it from the sides. "I can hold it for you, if you want."

"Are you sure, sergeant?" Confusion in your tone, as you looked back at him.

"I am sure" He said still sounding friendly, and you narrowed her eyes looking back at him, and started to punch again the bag, this time a bit softer. "And no need to call me sergeant here, I was the one to check your hard drives. I might not know a lot about you, but you sure know a lot about us, so no need to play dumb."

Ah, there it is. But still, it wasn't in a hostile tone like the first weeks, and plus he was still holding the bag. A small smirk appeared in the corner of your mouth as you kept hitting the bag.

"I didn't think you'd feel comfortable with me calling you Kyle out of nowhere" You said in a slight teasing tone.

"No more than I'm comfortable with having you here" Ouch.

"But Gaz could be a start" Better.

next chapter: chapter five "R&R"

if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3

[sammys-magical-au]

Star Wars headcanons that just ✨make sense✨ PART 3!

IT’S HERE Y’ALL!!! I’m doing another one because I have an ~obsession~ 🙃

It takes Rex a really long time to make the transition from calling Anakin by only “Sir” or “General” to his actual name. He’s a creature of habit and Cody finds it adorable.

Cody on the other hand easily made the switch to calling Obi-Wan and the other Jedi by their names.

Obi-Wan has two left feet. Not many people actually know this. Obi-Wan hates this about himself and is really embarrassed about it but Lionel finds it endearing

Rex has ✨freckles✨ and they’re absolutely precious

Fives and Echo would both do anything to hear an embarrassing story about Anakin or Rex. Lionel has plenty of examples for the former and is a little too eager to share them

I think about Padmé and swimming so fucking much it’s actually my Roman Empire. She has a swimmer’s build, not skinny at all, she’s all muscle under those flowy dresses and is very strong for her size. Anakin thinks this is incredibly hot.

Ken-Té gives T’a’ffi little kisses between his montrals. Once the Forbidden Triad adopted Toza, ‘Té started doing the same to her 🥹

Lionel started off as the tallest of the OG Chaos Trio, and ended up the shortest. They are not happy about this at all.

Ahsoka and Rex are FUCKING 👏 BESTIES 👏 and no one can convince me otherwise. They absolutely confide in each other about their respective crushes - something they won’t talk about with ANYONE else (for good reason ofc, but you get my point, their level of trust is that high)

Cody can make pretty much any outfit work, the man is ✨GORGEOUS✨ in everything and he knows it

Lionel and Obi-Wan have five Tookas

Ahsoka not only got taller after Barriss left her but she also got a hell of a lot stronger too. The transition from seeing ‘Soka as a relatively skinny girl about the same height as her to a 6’4” New Order Jedi built like a brick shithouse gave Barriss whiplash but in the best way possible, she LOVED IT

I headcanon that Togrutas in general are just built tall and muscular, T’a’ffi would absolutely be considered a Bear🏳️‍🌈 if he was human

It was actually Obi who wanted to have kids first, meanwhile Nelli was the hesitant one - they’d spent most of their childhood looking after their little siblings so they were understandably looking for a break from that responsibility

Cody and Padmé both had Lionel and Obi-Wan figured out before even they themselves realized that the pining was mutual. Padmé would seek out Cody during any events Obi-Wan was invited to and gossip about it with him when Obi wasn’t looking

Obi-Wan is a giggly mess when he’s drunk and it’s fucking adorable

After joining Anakin’s Order and becoming a Knight, Ahsoka took on a young Mirialan named Ralaince as a Padawan because they reminded her of Barriss 🥺

Once the war ended, Cody and Rex travelled the galaxy together for a bit, just experiencing the beauty of each planet they visited without worrying about the next battle that would destroy all of it. It was very cathartic and healing for both of them

Anakin chose to wear dark colored robes because he has mild sensory issues and lighter colors kind of hurt his eyes in direct sunlight. Also burgundy is his favourite color 😊

When she became Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Padmé founded a program to help properly educate the children of the Lower Levels of Coruscant and to mitigate the extreme poverty of the Coruscant Underworld. Lionel cried of joy when they learned of this.

Lionel occasionally gets phantom shocks as a side effect Palpatine’s Force Lightning attack. They also startle more easily than they used to, experience near-constant tremors, are much more sensitive to touch, and occasionally seem to have mildly psychic premonitions, despite still testing negative for Force-sensitivity

Barriss sometimes uses Ahsoka’s lekku as pillows

Lionel insisted on doing a photoshoot when Benjamina and Jinn both got their lightsabers

Obi-Wan has always loved the name Ben/Benjamin - thus, when they had their first child, Lionel modified the name to Benjamina so they could use it for their baby girl

Rex and Ahsoka do the Star Wars universe’s equivalent of Tik Tok dances. They’re both really good at them

I went on a tiny bit of a rant not too long ago (read: like 20 minutes ago) about Echo having vitiligo and I stand by that, I like it, it’s going in the headcanon folder

I’ve talked about Anakin being autistic but that headcanon fits for Cody to me as well. Also Obi-Wan

Anakin also has ADHD

I know in canon the little marks on Mirialan’s faces are called “tattoos” but I like to think of them as freckles because the idea of diamond shaped freckles is kind of adorable to me 🥹

Anakin and Padmé do the fruit-floating thing they did in AOTC every time they have breakfast alone together

Ken-Té is Anakin’s favourite person to do lightsaber training with and continues to practice with him even after he left the Order

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd: the heart charkra

the numbers we are focusing on today are based on the green bubbled numbers in the web then the sum of the two equal your emotional number - ex: as you see above and in previous charts, my energetic number is 22 and my physical number 21. so to get the emotional number i have to sum the two: 22 + 21 → 43. recall that numbers must be summed a second time if they total 43 (i.e. 4 + 3 → 7) and above.

but what does this number mean?

the chakra set we are examining is the heart chakra (anahata); it signifies our love, feelings, sincerity, compassion, altruism, patriotism, duty, ability to feel, awareness, acceptance, and spiritual values. bodily it governs our heart, circulatory system, breasts, respiratory system, lungs, and ribs.

so let's talk about some examples:

7 - the chariot

physically 7s are hardy people. this arcana is ruled by cancer so naturally these people have tough ribs, like a crab shell, and it is likely that they have bigger and/or denser breast tissue due to cancer being ruled by moon. however, they might have very delicate lungs and a fragile circulatory system. these people aren't made for running because of this - it is just too hard on their bodies. try to aim for a lighter aerobic exercise like water aerobics, wall sits, swimming, tennis, etc.

energetically 7s are often very altruistic - they rally when getting things done for the greater good. they tend to be very selfless - they know what it is to be in charge and have people looking up to them and trusting them to do what is best for them. they don't do anything lightly; they like to have a plan and reason - but when they are out of balance, they can be very impulsive or too hesitant. mainly they have a strong sense of duty - they are one hundred percent the people who will serve their country because it is "their duty to protect their country". they are very patriotic in that regard. they value forward movement and intention - they feel it is important to continually progress for the betterment of the future.

7s emotionally are very guarded. they don't easily share their feelings. they have a lot of love to give, but they can easily frighten people with their defensiveness and emotional remoteness. cancer's, and thus charioteer's, have a hard exterior but a soft interior. they are guarded and defensive for a reason - they are protecting themselves. these people tend to have large emotional wounds that originate in childhood - from that moment on, they dress for war when dealing with emotional situations and situations where they can potentially get hurt emotionally. they are very aware of others emotions which is why they tend to make their intentions incredibly clear.

21 - the world

21s physically have great breasts - it is like the card itself; they enjoy being braless. it is something about this card though - it sort of reminds me of cancer awareness ribbons. maybe it is a cause they support - heart, breast, or lung cancer research - or maybe someone close to them struggled with the disease. this is a card of celebration after a long fight/journey, so maybe they themselves have experienced some form of chest cancer. in time all wounds heal given the card. something else i noticed with this placement is that these people really consider chest surgery - i wouldn't be surprised to find this arcana on this charka for people who had breast augmentation or removed a set of ribs.

energetically 21s want to see the world flourish and improve. they are often very involved in the realm of politics and search for candidates that are willing to get things done in their country. they want people in charge who are mature and responsible. they want someone like themselves in other words. other then that, they empower others and generally want to see others rise up - they are the best cheerleaders a person could ask for. frankly, this is a great leader in general because they want what is best for the people who look up to them.

emotionally 21s experience a very wide range of emotions. emotionally they are extremely vulnerable and don't fear what the world sees from them emotionally. they have been through a lot and fear nothing when it comes to expression and sharing. in fact, they enjoy letting others know how they feel because it sets them free in a way. they are very emotionally mature and tend to take into account how others react to their reactions and how they can best articulate to others how they feel.

22 - the fool

22s physically remind me of either good or poor circulatory flow. uranus is the ruler of this arcana and has the tendency to mix things up. these people could have a rare blood disorder, a lack of an rh factor, need to take medication for rh factor when pregnant, etc. you can never predict what is going to happen where this person's blood is involved. they also have a tendency to get stitches in their side or feel like there is a sharp pain when breathing. and not to be extreme but i have seen these people break a rib (especially, the floating one) and/or have a sudden heart issue, like a cardiac arrest.

energetically 22s are willing to try anything once. altruism is something they do once, but if they see that they are being used for their generosity, they are quick to cut ties. they are easily blind to being used at first, but as soon as they see it, they will leave and aren't afraid to go ghost. they aren't the most patriotic person - often they will dream about leaving their home country. these are not the type of people to be relied on in terms of duty; they can either be extremely flighty or they will do what is expected of them before it is asked.

love is blind - emotionally 22s are the type of people who take a chance when it comes to romances. they have a tendency to let people back into their lives because they believe that change is possible and that it is never too late to start again. they listen to their heart more than their intuition at times; which can be a dangerous game because they often associate the two together then they wonder why they can't trust their intuition.

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic." button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next. if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

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[ghoulangerlee]

the cumulus is in a rut and cirrus is in heat fic :)

contains: cunnilingus, fingering, ladies in love, the concepts of heats and ruts without it being overly there, a very brief mention of cirrus's breeding kink but it's only a mention, and wings :)

WOMEN!

==

Cumulus feels...heat, uncomfortable, a pressure building in her lower stomach—all encompassing.

Dutifully, she checks her calendar, the small hard cover planner she keeps with her, flipping through well worn pages until she finds the right date and well.

Well. She's at the beginning of it, her rut. Five days. The first two make her skin feel uncomfortably tight, like she's being stretched thin over her own bones. The third one is when she starts to really feel it. When she needs a partner to help her satiate the hunger.

The fourth and fifth day, well, she doesn't want to think about those right now, already feeling on a sort of hair trigger since she'd rolled out of bed this morning.

She goes on about her day, mostly, feeling a bit listless as she does—she catches a sympathetic look from Dew, allowing him close enough once to scent her, a low purr rumbling in his chest.

"It'll be okay, Cu," Dew murmurs, and he's never been terrible at comfort despite what he thinks, his arms settling loosely around her shoulders in a hug.

Cumulus allows herself to lean into it—they're not incompatible, but her body yearns for something that Dew can't give her right now. She's grateful though, for the comfort, his steady scent not spiking in any way, arousal or otherwise.

(She's only mildly afraid of what she could be capable of if she were to catch the scent of arousal so soon.)

"I was going to go down to the lake, it's a nice day out. Do you wanna come?" Dew murmurs into her hair.

Cumulus wants to shake her head, pull from his embrace and go lock herself in her room for a bit while the fire in her belly licks tantalizingly at her very being.

"It'll be good for you," Dew needles her gently, he's not pushing but he's not backing down in her silence. "You know how stinky the church gets when everyone starts waking up for the day. Do you really want to subject yourself to that?"

She doesn't, is the issue, and Dew knows this.

"Yeah, okay, at least let me pack a bag first so I have a few things." She finally settles on, briefly mourning the closeness of Dew when he finally pulls back.

"Sure thing," he says, smiling at her. "I'm going to go pack a lunch. I'm feeling like a nice relaxing day at the lake is in order. Probably won't be able to drag myself out of the water for lunch, later."

Cumulus nods and allows herself to calm down at the prospect of being only surrounded by nature and the one ghoul who's nearly perfect at keeping his scent in check.

They split ways, only long enough for Cumulus to pack a few things; a book and a towel, she throws a swimsuit in as a last minute thing, just in case she gets needled into swimming with Dew—she also changes into something lighter, a flowy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the material soft and comfortable against her skin.

When she exits her room a little bit later, Dew's waiting at the end of the hall, a brown basket sitting at his feet and a blanket folded over his arm; he's also dressed down, casual in swim trunks and a tank top—he's glamoured, much like she is, so his skin is pale and lightly freckled from his time in the sun.

"There you are," Dew says with a smile, soft and friendly as he scoops the basket up again, "Ready?"

She smiles in return and goes over to him, nudging her shoulder against his, "Ready."

Together, they head down to the lake, only running into a couple of siblings who offer waves to them before carrying on—Cumulus is glad for this, unsure if she could stand the small talk today, already so on edge from the heat running through her veins.

The lake is peaceful and quiet, there's a slight breeze though the sun shines high in the sky, warming the entire area—quietly, they set everything up, Dew spreading the blanket out on the pier, placing the basket on one of the corners and motions for Cumulus to make herself comfortable.

She does, her rut still burning below her skin, in her veins, a steady reminder that it's there and setting in, but she's able to lie back on the blanket, eyes fluttering closed as the sun bears down on her.

She doesn't see Dew, but she can smell when he removes his shirt, dropping it into a pile near her; not close enough for his scent to bother her, but close enough that it offers some sort of comfort to her—and then, there's a splash, a whoop of laughter as Dew comes up to the surface of the water.

She can smell his happiness, the warm and rich scent making her purr softly, she's not providing for him, she doesn't provide for another who goes into rut, but being part of his happiness, of his own way to relax on a day off makes her happy too.

Cumulus dozes on the pier, warm and happy in the sun as the sounds of Dew splashing around the lake fade into nothingness.

It's the first reprieve that she's had since waking this morning to the burning beneath her skin.

At some point, she wakes up—slowly, like all of her limbs are underwater. She stays horizontal and rolls over onto her side, Dew's sitting a distance away from her, bare chested and watching the clouds float through the sky. There's an unwrapped sandwich next to him and a bottle of water.

Her stomach growls and Dew glances over at her, a serene smile on his face, "Hey sleepy head," he says, and then he tilts his head towards the basket, "Food's in there. Should still be good. Cirrus packed you something special when I told her you were coming down here with me."

Something clenches in her belly at that, a low rumble of a purr in her chest as she slowly sits up, stretching her limbs out.

In the basket, there's something wrapped in a checkered napkin, and Cumulus can smell the remains of Cirrus's scent on it when she pulls it close—she doesn't think too hard about the date written in green sparkly pen in her calendar, the one that matches up with her own in matte blue ink.

It's just a sandwich, but it's a somewhat indulgent one with pepper spiced turkey, lettuce, tomato and green apple slices, a light spread of mayonnaise on one side of the bread and the barest hint of cream cheese on the other.

It's her favorite.

She tears into it with a ravenous hunger, the bread, meat, vegetable and fruit melting away under her teeth—it's easily the best thing she's ever eaten, fisting the napkin in one of her hands as if hoping the rest of Cirrus's scent would rub away into her skin.

"So, tomorrow, you think you'll be okay? I mean, I could make more time for you, obviously. Maybe go bird watching or whatever it is you air ghouls like to do," Dew says, humor in his tone as he teases her. "But, I do have a hot date with a water ghoul later, so if I'm needed it'll have to be early morning."

"Swiss likes bird watching and he's mostly an outlier," Cumulus says around a mouthful of food. "But no, I think this time may be different." She squeezes the napkin tighter in her hand, "I believe I'm being courted."

Dew gives her a funny look, "Aren't you and Cirrus already mated?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. "You do that whole mated pair thing already."

Cumulus snorts softly, "Come on, Dew. Don't tell me you've never tried to spice things up with someone you've been together with for a long time." She says, and then she smiles, soft and gentle, "It's a thing we do. Every couple hundred years. Sometimes I court her when she's about to go into heat. Sometimes she courts me when I'm going into a rut. Depends on what we're feeling."

"That's disgustingly domestic of you two. Though I think you ladies may be the outlier here." Dew says with a shrug. "Personally, my longest courting has been since I've been summoned. So, for only a few years. I don't think it's been long enough to do it again." He gets a sort of thoughtful look on his face, "Might take Aether by surprise if I started trying to court him again."

Cumulus finishes her sandwich and folds the napkin up carefully, tucking it into the collar of her shirt, "I forget that compared to us, some of you are babies," she says with a little laugh.

"Uh huh," Dew says with a roll of his eyes, before he fishes out another bottle of water from the basket and tosses it in her direction.

Cumulus bares her teeth at him as she catches it, "I'm just saying, it's nice sometimes, to fall back into old habits with someone you care about."

Dew has a thoughtful look on his face, he's not looking at Cumulus anymore, but towards the sky, "Huh," he says slowly. "You and Cirrus have been together for...a while, yeah?"

"Millennia." Cumulus says, as if she's talking about some small and insignificant number of years. "Swiss too, but he was. Well, he was later. A couple hundred years later." She smiles, a soft and private thing, "Cirrus and I have seen the rise and fall of many civilizations, both here and in the pits."

"Huh." Dew says again, "Maybe you are onto something, birdy."

Cumulus laughs then, light and happy, feeling warm and content as she settles back onto her back again. "Guess you better listen to me then, waterbug."

Dew scoffs at the name, but soon the conversation grows quiet and Cumulus's eyes flutter closed again, another round of tiredness pulling at her.

-

The next day she wakes up warmer than before, naked and pressed against Cirrus's back, nose right against where her scent is thickest.

A chirp, soft and content, Cirrus's hand coming back to comb through her unruly hair—the haze of heat overtaking as Cumulus leans into her touch.

She can smell the scent of heat just burning under Cirrus's skin, the need to provide calls deep from in her bones as she presses closer, rolling them until Cirrus is on her front and Cumulus can stretch out across her back, blanketing her—pressing her down against the bed as she does.

Cirrus purrs loudly, content to let Cumulus keep her there. She folds her arms and pillows her head on them, face turned to the side—her features lax and open, happy.

With an answering purr, Cumulus leans down and nuzzles into her jaw, feeling soft downy feathers against her own as she does—before her brain goes too much, she makes a note to have Cirrus sit up later, have her wings on display so she can properly groom them, the most basic act of love of their kind.

Cirrus angles her head, tipping it to the side, purring louder as she puckers her lips, urging Cumulus down with the pout of her lips—she's eager to comply, pressing their lips together sweetly in a chaste kiss.

For a while, they stay like this, trading kisses back and forth, Cirrus's purrs loud and content as she lounges under Cumulus—basking in the weight against her back, the press of bare skin against bare skin.

Warmth surrounds the two of them, scents thickened with pheromones; at some point, Cumulus urges Cirrus up into a sitting position, coaxes her to drop her glamour fully so her wings are out.

She starts at the base of one wing, careful as she coaxes the messy feathers into order until Cirrus is warm putty under her touch, sagging forward as her wings twitch with each pass of her fingers through the feathers.

It's quiet except for the low song that Cumulus is humming, something she'd written on her own, a gentle ode to her love for Cirrus—there's no words, but neither of them need words to convey feelings anymore.

As she finishes one wing, she moves onto the next, spends a considerable amount of time putting all the feathers into order, plucking out the ones that have become a nuisance, Cirrus's scent is warm and sweet, her eyes drooping and sleepy; a true sign of trust and intimacy.

Cumulus keeps an eye on Cirrus, knows when her heat hits that she goes mostly nonverbal, choosing to mostly speak through their bond if she needs to, prefers to give into her instincts—she keeps such a front up when around everyone else, a proper shoulder to lean on, someone who can be firm, a leader.

But here, when they're together, when the press of heat is under her skin, when she's in Cumulus's arms, she allows herself to give up control, trusts that Cumulus knows what she needs, what's best for her.

Knows how to take care of her.

At some point, Cirrus finds herself stretched out on her back, her wings spread out under her while Cumulus's own flare out behind her.

Cumulus has a knee between Cirrus's legs, draws her into a sweet kiss as she shifts closer, presses the heft of her thigh right against Cirrus's cunt.

Cirrus makes a noise into the kiss, claws at Cumulus's arms, at her sides, presses her fingers into soft skin as she grinds down against her, panting as the heat overtakes her, as her mind goes hazy and dumb with it.

It's such a treat, to have her like this, desperate and needy, wet and sticky, messy and Cumulus deepens the kiss, reaches down between her legs and presses her fingertips against the stiff point of her clit—the sudden pressure making Cirrus shudder, a wounded noise tearing its way through her chest as she comes.

Always so easy the first time, Cumulus thinks with some delight, happy that she's able to provide this for her mate. It makes the low burn of her own rut flare up, she doesn't need anything just yet though, content to take Cirrus apart over and over again.

When Cirrus's legs stop shaking, Cumulus pulls her fingers away, brings them up to her lips and takes a moment to taste, humming happily as the thick scent of her mate coats her tongue, worms its way into her senses, her very being.

"Cu," Cirrus mumbles out loud, half delirious, one hand shoved against her shoulder, trying to urge her downwards, "Your mouth, please," she manages to get out.

Cumulus shushes her, kisses her again and they share the taste of Cirrus's slick for a moment, Cirrus's hand getting more insistent and pushy as she tries to redirect Cumulus once more—so she goes, easily, pulls away from the kiss and slinks down the bed, settles on her chest between Cirrus's legs, mouthing kisses along her inner thighs.

There's a litany of praises, of pleases in Cumulus's mind, all coming from her bond with Cirrus as she moves higher and higher until she's able to mouth over her cunt, drag the tip of her tongue along the seam of her lips, a little bit of a tease as she uses two fingers to spread them just enough to drag the flat of her tongue over Cirrus's clit.

Cirrus's hand drops to her hair, not tugging or pulling though, just resting there, keeping her close even as Cumulus continues to tease her with slow little kitten licks, gentle touches even though Cirrus feels like she's burning up from the inside.

Only when a whine falls from Cirrus's mouth, sad and despondent, does Cumulus give in, firming up her tongue, each pass along her clit now slow and sensual as she works two fingers into her slowly, curling them upwards—it's just enough to fill Cirrus up, just enough to sate her need but not enough to get her off just yet.

It's perfect, in a maddening way as Cirrus's fingers pet along Cumulus's scalp and she hooks a leg over Cumulus's shoulder, using her heel to pull her closer until Cumulus's face is right against her, her hand squished between them even as she continues to undulate her fingers inside her.

She's begging, she realizes, unsure if out loud or through the bond, the fire in her veins calling for more and Cumulus provides, she happily provides as she presses another finger into her, stretching them and curling them, pressing upwards as she sucks at her clit.

The force and suddenness of this orgasm catches the both of them off guard, Cirrus gushing around Cumulus's fingers, wetting her chin and throat easily, her wrist, her entire hand.

Cirrus makes an urgent noise, tugs, tugs, tugs until Cumulus comes up, knees over her and Cirrus hooks a leg around her waist now, pulls their lower bodies together as she offers up her mouth in a filthy kiss, licking the taste of herself from Cumulus's tongue.

They make out for a bit, Cirrus making happy noises into each kiss, her hand tight in Cumulus's hair to keep her their as their hips rock together minutely—Cirrus can feel the tell-tale signs that Cumulus is affected by all of this, by her own rut, by Cirrus's heat.

It doesn't happen often, only when their cycles line up like this, but Cirrus can feel it, the way Cumulus's clit is hard, peeking out from between her folds, engorged and hot, it nudges between her folds, against her clit with each grind upwards, she's making noises into each kiss, soft little uh uh uhs that have Cumulus purring happily, too content to part ways.

They don't really need to breathe anyway.

She doesn't push even if she wants to, wants to beg Cumulus to fuck her, to fill her, to breed her, make her belong to Cumulus once again after all these years together—she has to stop the train of thought, before it spills over into the bond, but it must anyway because Cumulus laughs softly, musically, pulls away from the kiss and whispers soon against her slack mouth, grinding down against her like she's already trying to make room inside her.

It's wet and slick between them, Cirrus can smell the thick scent of Cumulus's arousal now mixed with her own, she wants to bury her face between Cumulus's legs where the scent is the thickest, take her into her mouth until she's ready to fuck—she whines out loud, grips tight at Cumulus's hips as she comes again, the insistent nudging of Cumulus's clit against hers too much to handle.

She clenches around nothing and briefly mourns, but Cumulus is once again a beautiful, wonderful mate because she reaches between them and stuffs three fingers into Cirrus again, quickly brings her off once more so Cirrus has something to clench around.

It's bliss. True and utter bliss.

"Lovely, lovely," Cumulus murmurs, kissing along her hairline as she comes down again, shuddering as she leaves her fingers inside, curling them just enough so it feels like she's able to hold them. Like they're going to plug her up and keep her full until the heat subsides.

Cirrus purrs happily, loud and content as she allows Cumulus to smother her in kisses, little pecks along her skin as her heat subsides for now, now that she's come and she's full.

Cumulus presses one last kiss to her mouth, pulls back and smiles down at her, "Good?" she asks, she keeps her arm as still as she can, there's an ache in her wrist, in her elbow but she settles down against Cirrus again, pressing her into the bed, "Good, mate?"

"Good," Cirrus mumbles back, turning her head to nuzzle Cumulus's cheek. "Sleepy now."

"Of course, love," Cumulus murmurs, feeling her own rut start to sink its claws into her, but she pushes it down, ignores it for now, "Rest now."

Later on, she'll have Cirrus present for her, she'll grind against her, fill her up until the two of them are locked together as one while Cirrus goes pliant and soft underneath her.

For now, she presses one last kiss to Cirrus's lips, soft and sweet and full of love and drifts off into a light sleep.

[randomshenaniganery]

Mairon to Finrod (info dump time)

I am going to draw Oleander when im not busy but I did want to show why it took me three days to finish up everything

Me diving into the outfit design and slso Finrod's opinion on the boys its in the bottom tho skksks

ALSO ALSO if u make vespersonas i will be friends pls let us lore dump together

real name: ??? I haven't picked one akskkaskskaskas

Age: 29 (they pretend they're older as Vigil)

Height: 5'7 cm

Gender: enby

Sexuality: Asexual biromantic

Weight: 73 kg

Traits: Street smart, scrappy, observant, liar liar pants on fire

Skills: Swimming, sewing, sword fighting (shield user), puzzle solving, running,

Weaknesses: when they don't want to do something they'll be stubborn about it, can't jump very high,

Backstory timeline:

Has had Fractum Anima for at least 2 months now (same as all Vespers)

In the surface their job was being part of a group of private guards, they mainly escorted people or goods

Ran away from home due to domestic abuse at the age of 12 before joining the guard for training

Worked there for 17 yrs before they got diagnosed and went under

Met Cirrus they were like okay weird but whatever if there's a lunar ichor alternative we gotta try that, saw Cirrus punishing that dude went nope try again later, they did try again later and got the Cirrus grew bored of you route with Ark

Set the pleasure den on fire by using the lotions and oils that were left in the room. Fun fact if you dry lotion on fabric it's VERY flammable and since they don't have synthetic fibers in this game, plus considering what kind of ingredients they'd be using for lubrication, lotions and oil; it's really easy to set things on fire.

After running away and grabbing a new face, they broke into their old room and left their medallion before returning as 'Finrod'

met Oleander while avoiding the guards because they were feeling antsy

became Vigil and is balancing new work, how do I kill Cirrus thoughts and I might need to steal lunar ichor when it pops up in the market.

Habits & hobbies:

Whenever Finrod gets too overwhelmed they use pain to calm their mind, to them pain is clarity. So, sometimes when Finrod stews on bad memories they'll end up harming themselves in some way to force themselves to calm down

Really, really quiet when it comes to pain, crying or having a crisis, high pain tolerance basically which is good because of their flare ups

Sometimes Finrod doesn't really laugh even though something is funny so they learned to fake laugh as a way to show they find something funny

Whenever something is really funny to them they have the habit of covering their mouth

When they're unsure, nervous or feeling awkward they'll scratch their nose

Doesn't have a tell when they're lying cause they do it so much

Finrod has the habit of bringing everything they think they need with them at all times (matchsticks/lighter/strike-a-light/flint, knife, scissors, needle and thread, bandages, map, a magnifying glass, paper and ink) this is because of having to live on the go for their job. scouting behavior etc.

When Finrod is happy/relaxed/calm they'll start humming or singing this applies to games, when they have their plan all finished and they're confident they'll start singing to themselves

In a fight Finrod will throw themselves at people like a battering ram if needed, not that they're big but that they're good at knowing how to use their momentum and weight.

Likes massaging/caressing/tracing their friends' hands as a way to soothe themselves

Can finish dressing up and arranging all their things in under 4 minutes (habit from being a private guard on the go)

Name stuff:

Chose Mairon for their first half because I thought it would be appropriate since this is their first go at the mountain. Finrod is their second go because of how Finrod died and the betrayal stuff that happened to him.

Outfit Design:

Mairon's Clothes

Wanted it to come off as simple and formal more reminiscent of their time as a private guard. The most color you'll get from them is their belt and matching cuffs. Very neat appearance more npc looking since they want to blend in. They use the standard black mask in the game as well.

Finrod's Clothes

I gave it more color because Finrod had to ditch their old clothes due to the fire, it's a mix of things they grabbed or bought after the fire. They kept their belt and cuff because it's sentimental and also just useful to them. Although they wear more colors It's mostly dark shades so that they don't stand out in shadows. A lot of their body is bandaged and when they met Oleander half their face was bandaged under the mask too.

Opinions on the boys:

REaLLy wants Cirrus dead doesn't care if they get hurt in the process

Slowly growing an obsession over Oleander but they're very good at hiding it, their banter helps calm them down

Likes to mess with Kier otherwise neutral but i think storywise they haven't met

Francesco reminds them of a friend from the surface they bump into each other time to time