#And the water/ice child has returned

[rafeandonlyrafe]

dealer

words: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, female receiving oral, mentions of p in v sex, kind of shy/anxious!reader, dealer!rafe, no drug taking is actually done but mentions of weed and coke

“tina, i love you, i really do, but im not buying weed for you.” 

“its not buying! ill give you the money, just go pick it up from my dealer for me.” tina hands you a wad of cash, forcing it into your grip.

“what if i get caught with it?” you question, nerves already flooding your system. you aren't a complete straight edge, you're willing to drink occasionally and you've been to a couple parties before, but illegal drugs are way out of your comfort zone.

“relax, it's just weed! it's not like im having you buy coke from him or something.” tina laughs, and you wonder how this wild child became your best friend. 

“he sells coke?” you squeal.

“listen, babe.” tina places her hands on your shoulders. “you need to live a little. get out of your comfort zone. im not saying you need to take drugs, but you can at least go and pick some up for me.”

“fine.” you sigh, pocketing the cash.

“great!” seeing tinas wide smile, gracing her gorgeous face, is the only reason why you actually agreed to this. “he already knows im sending you to pick it up. he says it has to be today and ive got work.”

“you knew id agree?” you question. 

“of course.” tina shrugs. “you're my best friend.”

“alright, alright. good point.”

--

your eyes are wide as you approach the imposing house. you hesitate on the front porch, but ultimately force your hand to raise and knock on the door.

it opens a few moments later, and you’re not sure why you're surprised at the sight of the dealer. he’s put together and handsome, whereas you expected him to look disheveled and strung out, but you suppose that's more of the user than the seller.

“y/n?” he questions, looking you up and down. you hesitate to respond, your name sounding so smooth and silky coming from him. “picking up for tina?” “oh!” you nod quickly. “yes, yeah. sorry.”

the dealer smiles at you, clearly amused by your nerves. “i’m rafe. come in.”

you follow rafe into the house, shutting the door behind you. he leads you into the living room, gesturing for you to sit on the couch. you slide onto the soft material, not sure if this is normal or not, you’ve never bought any sort of drugs before.

“can i get you something to drink?” rafe asks.

“uh-” you clear your throat, looking around the living room to avoid making eye contact. “water is fine.”

rafe nods, leaving you alone in the spacious room before returning with two glasses of water, one with ice and one without.

“didn’t know if you wanted ice or not, take whichever.” rafe sets them both in front of you on the coffee table, and you reach for the one without ice, taking a polite sip. you’re too nervous to really drink it, but want to be courteous. you’re not sure if rafe is dangerous, he doesn’t really look it, but he must be by nature of being a drug dealer.

“let me grab you tinas weed.” rafe says, exiting the room again to return a moment later, with a baggie of weed in his hand. he sets it on the table, taking a seat on the arm chair across from the couch, facing you.

“tina gave me $50.” you say, pulling the cash out of your pocket and setting it on the table next to the weed. “is that good?”

“yes its good.” rafe laughs, not even bothering to grab the cash off the table and count it.

“i-i don’t smoke.” you say, unsure why you felt the need to make the confession. “or do any drugs. so i don’t really… know anything.”

“would you like me to teach you?” rafe asks, making your eyes widen as you shake your head no.

“i just wanted to explain why i’m so nervous.” you say, hands wringing together on your lap, wanting to escape the house.

“its cute.” rafe simply says with a shrug.

“whats cute?” you hum, confused.

“how nervous you are. you’re adorable.” rafe explains, making you blush and stare at the floor, muttering a quiet thank you.

“i should go now.” you say, needing to get out of under his intense gaze.

“let me walk you to the door.” rafe says, standing. you grab the bag off the table, putting it into your back pocket, regretting not bringing some sort of purse or bag to carry it in.

you stand up, tracing your steps through the complex house back to the front door. “thank you.” you say when rafe opens the door for you.

“no problem, y/n.” rafe practically purs your name out. “tell tina to call me when she gets home from work.”

“did i do something wrong?” you question, suddenly worried until rafe lets out a soft laugh. 

“not at all, baby.” you want to jump at the pet name, but simply nod and head out the door, not glancing back even though you can feel rafes intense eyes on you.

--

“rafe wants you to come to the party this weekend.” tina says.

“no.” you shake your head. “no way.” “come on.” tina flops onto your bed, batting her eyelashes at you. “he said he’d give me my weed for free if i get you to come.” “tina, no! he’s… he’s too intense.” “oh my god.” tinas jaw drops open. “did he flirt with you?” “i… i think so? he called me cute and-” you can’t even finish your sentence as tina screeches. “oh my god!! y/n you have to date him, he’s like the biggest catch on the island!”

“he is a drug dealer, tina! i’ve never even smoked weed and he fucking sells coke.” you whisper the last bit.

“he doesn’t like his girls to do drugs anyways.” tina shrugs. “it’s been like a year since he dated anyone though, and i’ve genuinely heard he’s a really good boyfriend. you remember lily? she was so sad they had to break up, said she only did because her family was moving to california.”

“how good of a boyfriend can a drug dealer be?” you question, not sure how it would be to be mixed up in that world, even if rafe was clearly small time, selling only to his peers on the island.

“think about it.” tina says. “he has a ton of cash, can buy you whatever you want, can get me free weed.” “what if i don’t want to fuel your addiction?” you question, but a smile plays on your lips. tina only smokes every once in a while, and she is by no means addicted, otherwise you wouldn’t agree to have bought the drug for her.

“please come to the party.” tina says, completely switching the subject. “for me.” she pouts, causing you to groan and lean your head back against the pillow while tina thanks you, knowing that means you’ve conceded to her.

--

“y/n.” the voice that you would recognize anywhere purrs into your ear. you whip around, coming face to face with rafe. “i’m glad you could make it.”

“i came because tina asked me to.” you say honestly. 

“ill make sure to get her her weed for free then.” rafe says with a nod, keeping true to his word.

“why did you want me to come?” you question.

“is it not obvious?” rafe raises his eyebrows. “i like you.”

“oh.” you blush, dropping your gaze down. “um… thanks. i like you too.” you know it's in a different way than rafe was implying, but honestly don't know what to say in response.

“yeah?” he questions, a smile playing on his face, completely ignore the guy who you assume must be his friend as he walks by and slaps rafe on the shoulder in greeting. “you like me the same way i like you?”

“it depends i guess…” you're truly trying to flirt back at this point, hoping your nerves don't give your voice a quiver. “how do you like me?”

“well.” rafe smirks, his eyes slowly sinking down your front, looking over your party outfit, a tight dress that tina insisted that you wear, borrowed of course out of her closet. “i want to get to know you better. take you out on a date. show you a good time. kiss you.” rafe leans in, teasingly close until you're able to feel his breath over your mouth. “and if you'd let me, take you up to my room. show you a good time.”

“oh.” you blush, cheeks surely flaring red. you have to clench your thighs together slightly, and it certainly doesn't go unnoticed by rafe. “i guess you could take me out on a date.”

“perfect.” he smiles, another grin that makes you want to melt into a puddle on the floor. he glances towards the door as a new man walks in, looking out of place compared to everyone else, his long black hair tied up in a ponytail. “ive got to go work for a bit, doll. enjoy my party with your friends, ill find you before the night is over.” he leans in, head turning at the last minute to press a delicate kiss to your cheek. 

rafe walks away and greets the man, his demeanor instantly changing from flirty and sultry to smiling and friendly as he claps hands with the new man, who you hear rafe call him barry.

“holy shit, holy shit!” tina runs up to you. you didn't even realize she was watching the entire interaction, so caught up in rafe.

“he wants to take me on a date!” you whisper-scream to tina, well aware that rafe is only on the other side of the room.

“you said yes, right?”

“girl, of course!” --

“hello beautiful.” rafe smiles as you open up the door. you’re glad that your parents are gone for the weekend. they never really care who you’re dating, having developed a lot of trust in you, but you didn’t even want to introduce them to rafe.

“hey rafe.” you smile back, accepting the kiss onto your cheek when he leans forward.

“got us a nice reservation at the country club.” rafe says, hand coming to the small of your back as he leads you towards his truck. he helps you climb in, not wanting you to fall in your heels.

“im really excited.” you admit after rafe rounds the hood and gets into the drivers seat, smoothly backing out of your long driveway.

“not nervous?” rafe questions, calling back to your meeting.

“im not buying drugs from you, so i think im okay.” you giggle, although you do have a bit of anxiety building, but only in the form of slight butterflies in your stomach.

“i like that you’re not a part of that scene.” rafe says, reaching over and looping your fingers together, resting your joined hands on the center console.

“you probably have a lot of girls try to date you to get stuff for free.” you assume.

“yeah.” he admits with a sigh. “don't get me wrong, i get it comes with what i do, but its frustrating to never know if someone is seriously into me.” you’re surprised by rafes confession, seemingly overly intimate and vulnerable for someone with his persona. you lean across the seats as he stops at a red light, pressing your lips to his cheek.

rafe smiles at you, squeezing your hand in appreciation. “can’t wait to kiss you when i drop you off back home.”

“talking about kissing me and haven’t even taken me on the actual date yet?” you say with a laugh.

“baby, i could take about eating you out or taking you from behind or kissing you. all of them are going to happen very soon.” your cheeks turn red as you swallow, suddenly turning silent as rafe pulls into the country club.

you’re not surprised how rafe is recepted as he leads you inside, the wait staff not even having to ask his name, already calling him mr. cameron before leading you towards the reserved table.

“this is really nice.” you admit with a whisper. you’ve never been inside of the country club before. you had heard that they have a pool, golf course, a bar restaurant area and then the fancier restaurant that you’re currently in, but you never had any reason to join.

“only the best for you, gorgeous.” rafe says with a smooth grin.

the dinner goes by just as smooth as his smile. its a set menu by the chef, but you found everything to be delicious, and feel perfectly filled by the end of it, not too stuffed but not hungry for more. you also feel like you know rafe much better, the conversation easily flowing.

its no surprise when rafe drives you back home that his hand lands on your thigh, even managing to creep underneath your skirt and touch your bare skin without you hollering and pushing his hand away like you would with any other guy.

“about that kiss…” rafe says when he gets you back home, standing on your doorstep.

“kiss and then what else were you talking about?” you hum, already knowing you’ve got a wet sport formed on your underwear just from his hand on your leg. “eating me out and taking me from behind?” “are you saying i can do all of those things tonight?” rafe smirks. he didn’t expect to get in your bed after one date, thinking he’d have to work a whole lot harder to convince you, but you are far too needy to deny him entry.

“i certainly won’t tell you no.” you smile, the grin quickly wiped off your face when rafe leans in, one hand on your cheek and the other moving to your waist, pulling you in tight to his body as his lips devour yours, mouth hot and wet against yours.

you fist a hand in his shirt, needing some sort of stabilization as you kiss for all your neighbors to see, moaning into his mouth when his hand moves lower to grip your ass, feeling the plump flesh under the fabric of your skirt.

you pull away from the kiss only to take a step backwards into the house, rafe quickly following you in. you practically race up to your room, trying not to seem too desperate.

the illusion is broken when rafe finally gets between your legs, having slowly undressed you and pressed kisses all over your body, showing special attention to your chest but ignoring your pussy until he was also naked, now laid between your spread thighs.

“such a pretty pussy for me baby.” rafe coos. “all mine now, understood?” “yeah, yeah.” you nod. “all yours.” you think to yourself that you will have to thank tina for begging you to pick up her drugs that day, and all the convincing shes done since as rafe leans forward, tongue swiping through your folds.

you let out a moan, hand reaching down to grip rafes hair as he moves upward, sucking your clit into his mouth.

yeah, you’ll definitely have to thank tina.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie

[hysteria-things]

can you do a story where y/n is really sick (a cold)

and chris is loving and takes cares of her

SNUG AS A BUG

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve been fighting this terrible cold for about a week, and your boyfriend loves to take care of you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFF, swearing, crying

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 570

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: fun fact this is based off when i was sick and dying in like october LMAO it was the worst i’ve ever felt.

hope you like it anon!

i’m feeling jolly today so i might post a smut later ;)

here’s to day a million of being sick. realistically, it’s only been a week, but you still felt like shit.

the TV was playing your favorite show since you’ve had enough free time to binge. it feels like you’ve been glued to the couch forever.

tissues were scattered on the snack table next to you along with two empty bowls — one with soup from breakfast and one with ice cream. those are the only two things you can eat since your throat is killing you.

your parents have to work, so chris has been coming over to take care of you when they’re not available.

the front door opens; you don’t have the energy to look at who it is (even though you know)

“i got you your soup from wawa and some more water.” chris smiles sympathetically at you, placing the things on the table.

“thank you.” you hoarse out.

“how are you feeling?”

“terrible.”

he pouts. “i’m going to go to your room for just a second. let me know if you need anything.”

you nod as he walks away, making his way up the staircase. however, he pauses midway when he hears your sniffles.

it’s not just congested sniffles. they’re cry sniffles.

he snaps his head to you. you have the soup in your hands, but you’re not eating it. instead, you’re using the spoon to mix it.

he quickly goes back down the stairs to come rushing to you. “oh, no. none of that.” he takes his thumbs and wipes your tears, leaving his hands cupping your cheeks afterward.

“i don’t want to be sick anymore.” you sob. his heart is breaking seeing you like this. he hates it when you’re upset. “my h-head hurts so bad. a-and i feel so weak.”

“i know, i’m sorry.” he places your head into his stomach since he’s standing in front of you, and your tears start to wet his shirt. “just keep taking the medicine the doctor gave you and you’ll get better in no time.”

“i don’t want the soup.” you cry. you tend to say nonsense when you’re this upset about something.

“that’s okay.” he grabs it from your hands and places it with the other bowls. “we can save it for later, alright?”

a chill runs up your spine. chris starts to take the blanket off of your body and before you can protest, he speaks. “let’s bring you to bed. it’s much more comfortable.”

he takes your hands in his and helps you off the couch, walking at your pace until you’re upstairs and into your room. you immediately head under the covers, plus two more blankets for your chills.

chris starts tucking you in with a goofy grin on his face, as if he’s a father tucking in his child. “feel snug?”

you smile warmly. “as a bug.”

“i’m going to go get your medicine and water so you have them. i’ll be right back.”

you yawn but nod as he leaves the room.

moments later chris returns, but you already passed out. he quietly makes his way into the room when he notices this, placing the items on your nightstand.

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kneeling to kiss you on the forehead. “i love you.” he whispers, backing out of the room and closing the door, leaving you to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; "Missing"

notes; i <3 angst writing!!! tw; angst, pregnancy, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, loid went to get milk without even realizing wc; 1.5k

[YourName] stood there, uncharacteristically caught off guard. She knew there would be missions where Twilight couldn’t say where he was going or how long he’d be, but right now? When she had the biggest news of their lives to share? That simply was crueler than just cruel.

The woman looked down, nodding toward The Handler. “Uhm, okay, well, thank you.” [YourName] said, swallowing thickly before going to turn around. “I know you’re with child, (AgentName).” The Handler said making [YourName] halt in her foot steps, “I-I may be.” [YourName] replied.

“That’s wonderful news. Do you want me to send a message to Twilight?” The Handler asks, and as much as [YourName] wanted her husband to know- she shook her head. “No, I’ll let him know whenever he gets back. Even if it’s years later.” [YourName] said before heading back home.

Once home and the doors were locked, windows drawn to a close too, [YourName] finally broke down. She wasn’t ready to be a single mother, but from the way The Handler wanted to hand such a useless message to Twilight, [YourName] knew it was going to be quite a long time before [YourName] gets to feel Twilight’s lips against her own.

[YourName] curled into a ball on the couch, finally finished crying her eyes out. Afterwards she took a shower, made a dinner she’d share with her baby, and then headed to bed for the night. [YourName] didn’t dream that night, she just blinked and it morning.

She called out of work for the month, only returning to the office when she was five months pregnant, or around that time period. She didn’t expect to open the door and confetti be popped around her, but it happened. She should have expected something like this.

“Congratulations! We heard you were pregnant!” A co-worker said excitedly, [YourName] simply nodded with a bittersweet smile. “Oh, yeah, five months along.” [YourName] says, gently placing a hand on her forming bump. There was a small office baby shower for [YourName] which she had no choice but to accept.

For the next five months, [YourName] was pampered around the office, not that she asked for it- it seemed to just happen. [YourName] found out about the mission her husband had been sent on, and all she could summarize from it was that he played therapist and dad for another family.

The day someone accidentally spoiled what Twilight was doing, [YourName] excused herself to the bathroom where she cried out everything she had held back. She wanted Twilight to play father for the family they had made together. She would exit her bathroom, that’s when her water finally broke.

Her co-worker rushed her to the nearest hospital, which happened to be the one Twilight played Loid Forger at. [YourName] sat in her room, holding her arms, alone. She never in a million years thought she’d be alone in this situation, shes read many books where women have been, but she swore she’d never be alone in labor.

[YourName] munched on ice chips between tears, that’s when a familiar face had knocked on the door and entered, “Nightfall-“ [YourName] said clearing her throat, wiping her face, and setting the cup of ice chips down. “Twilight is simply across the building, we just have to tell him that [AgentName] is in the bit thing unit, he’d come.” Nightfall explained to [YourName], it just made the pregnant woman scoff.

“It’s not fair to distract him from his work, he has a wife and daughter to act out with.” [YourName] says, looking away from Twilight’s co-worker. “Yes, true, but you’re his real wife and you’re giving birth to his first born.” Nightfall says as she attempted to convince the woman to tell Twilight about her situation, “I made my decision, maybe he should’ve tried to reach out through The Handler.” [YourName] says.

Oh. Yeah. Nightfall was suppose to give those check in messages to The Handler. Oops. Nightfall sighed, “Your secret is safe with me.” she promised before exiting the room.

[YourName] sighed, and before she knew it, she was giving birth. The whole pushing and breathing thing was so much harder than she expected. She swore she almost fainted, but she shot right back into consciousness when she heard the cry of her baby. “It’s a girl!” The doctor said, gently setting the baby on [YourName]’s chest.

[YourName] cried happy tears for the first time her entire pregnancy. Instantly, baby girl stopped crying and cuddled into her mom’s chest. It melted [YourName]’s heart, she never wanted to let go of such a tiny thing before. Eventually, the nurses had to take the baby girl to wash her up and place her in a warm blanket and hat.

With the help of a co-worker, [YourName] got home with her daughter three days later. Lotte, meaning ‘free’ in German, settled in nicely. How [YourName] wished she had Twilight with her on some nights to cheer her up and explain how he’ll get Lotte so that she could get rest instead. But [YourName] pushed through, not letting herself get too down in the dumps due to it.

Months would pass, Lotte was finally almost ten months old. Lotte watched as her mother scattered around the room, going in and out of the kitchen, cleaning. It started to bother the baby that she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted, so she began to get fussy, which her mom simply put off as ‘hating the boppy’.

Fussy turned into crying, and [YourName] was right there. She held her daughter in her arms, gently rocking her, trying everything in her power to calm her down. “M..” baby Lotte mumbled “Mama..” she cried. Despite the crying, it was clear as day who Lotte was crying for and it warmed every ounce of [YourName]’s broken heart.

It had been over a year and some things had changed since Twilight had gone on his mission. It had been over an entire year, and since there were still no messages from him- [YourName] didn’t send any to him either. It broke her heart that she had to play single mom when she was legally married to Twilight.

It just proved to herself that she could do this alone, sure she had a bit of help from co-workers, but it was mostly her doing all the work! The thought of possibly divorcing him had floated through her head, but she loved Twilight way too damn much to go through with it.

Another year would pass and Lotte was walking now, sure she had a little wobble to her walk- but she was walking! It was one of those nice days where she was sure nothing could’ve gone bad, so [YourName] decided to take Lotte out for a little treat. Over the last two years, [YourName] realized her daughter loved those soft cake pops from a local café. So her daughter would get a cake pop and [YourName] would get something to drink.

As [YourName] entered into the café with Lotte in her arms, she hardly noticed Franky and a pink haired child sitting together. By the time the mother did notice, Franky had noticed her fully first. [YourName] set Lotte on the chair and unwrapped her cake pop before breaking it into fours and taking the stick away, she then sat down next to her daughter.

That is when Franky had approached her, now she knew who he was- he was the closest thing Twilight had as a friend. “[AgentName]?” The short man asked, out of habit [YourName] turned around slightly to face whoever called her name. “Oh.. Franky..!” [YourName] said, blinking a few times to try and see better.

“Oh my god, it is you!” Franky said, dropping the child’s hand. “Where have you been? Who’s this?” He asked, referring to Lotte. Lotte was too busy stuffing her face to notice a stranger doting over her. [YourName] sighed, “I’ll tell you who she is if you tell me who she is.” she said making Franky nod.

With some hesitation, [YourName] would finally tell Franky; “This is Lotte, she’s Twi’s and I’s daughter.” she announced. Franky practically blew up as he malfunctioned, he covered the pink haired girl’s ears before he spoke, “Thats not possible. Twilight has been on his mission for two years.” Franky defended, “And I was pregnant before he left, now who is she?” [YourName] replied, gesturing to the child Franky had with him.

The pink haired girl pushed Franky’s hands off her ears. “I’m Anya Forger! Loid and Yor Forger’s daughter!” Anya introduced, but then it kicked in for Anya that THIS woman was Loid’s REAL wife. “Your baby is pretty.” Anya said, trying to break tension.

“I’ve got to go.” [YourName] scoffed, cleaning up her and Lotte’s area before getting up and picking her daughter up and going to leave. “He didn’t want to leave, [AgentName],” Franky said across the café. “Yet, he did and hasn’t sent a message since.” [YourName] says before exiting the café.

Franky had a lot of information to pass to Twilight this afternoon.

[dakotalun]

What Now? | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: PART 2-- Eddie helps you deal with your break up.

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

a/n: please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

"Uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm walking to your place at 10pm in the pouring rain," I tried to make a joke but it came out soft and broken.

"A little bit but I'm not gonna push you. You can tell me when you’re ready," The softness and sincerity in his voice makes me wanna start crying all over again. God why does he have to be so perfect all the time?

"Jamie um,” I pause, the wound still too fresh to speak of, “Broke up with me."

"What?! Why??" I can picture the expression in his face without even looking, mouth open and brows furrowed. Almost like an angry dad scolding their child, I would laugh at the thought if I wasn’t so damn sad right now.

"They said they had shit to work on and that having a partner would hold them back and they'd feel like they were lying to me if we kept going."

"Bullshit,” I wasn’t expecting this reaction out of him, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

"It's whatever, I just couldn't stay there and I can’t go home because Robin has Vickie over for the weekend, Chrissy is at Jason’s this weekend and apparently Nancy has an impromptu date with Johnathan, I was supposed to stay at Jamie's this weekend, but clearly…”

"You're staying here. No question. Do you need anything? Water? Tea?" He stands up and walks over to his small kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something for me to drink.

"Honestly I just wanna get out of these clothes," And cry. But I don’t say that because he’s seen me cry enough already.

"You can cry if you need to, you know. I won’t judge, it’s a perfectly understandable situation.” Can this man read my mind or something? I sure as shit hope not. I just nod and look down at my shaking hands, from either the cold, or sadness I can’t quite tell.

“I'll put on some water for tea then start the shower for you," He pulls out his kettle from above his fridge, filling it with water and turning it on. Then he disappears into his room and returns a minute later with a t-shirt, crew neck and a pair of his boxers.

"I wasn't sure if you had stuff to wear so here are some options, towels are in the bathroom. I'll be out here if you need anything."

I grab the pile of clothes from him, "Thank you."

"It's nothing. Anything for you," His smile is infectious and a small one spreads to my face as well.

His words mean so much more to me than he can ever imagine. I get up off the couch and head to the bathroom to shower off the mixture of rain water and tears. As the water hits me, my brain keeps thinking of all the things Jamie and I did together; buying Gregory, going to Lolla, spending weekends watching Criminal Minds and eating ice cream. Before I know it I'm crying and I can't stop the tears. I don’t know how much time has passed since I got in but I snap out of my crying fit when I hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

I wipe my tears, as if it makes a difference with water pouring down on me, and clear my throat before speaking, “Uh yeah?”

“Sorry to interrupt but I was wondering if you’d eaten yet?” His voice is slightly muffled from the door and the sound of the water doesn’t help either.

“I uh,” I pause before answering, I know that I haven’t eaten since Jamie and I were gonna cook something at their place but I also know that Eddie will want to pay for the food and him allowing me to stay here is already too much, “Yeah, I ate before I went over to Jamie’s”

“Hmm,” I hope he can’t tell I’m lying, “Okay.”

I let out a breath and go back to cleaning myself off, I need to get rid of their smell.

After my shower I put on his boxers and the crewneck he offered me. A genuine smile crosses my face when I notice it’s the same one he let me borrow in early August when we went to his lake house. But the happiness of the memory gets overshadowed by the thought of the fact that not only 4 hours before that I was in Chicago with Jamie, leaving Lollapalooza.

I shake my head and get rid of those thoughts before heading out to the living room with my dirty clothes in my hand. I see Eddie standing by his balcony door, hands in his pockets just staring out into the night sky. I watch him for a second and think about how someone like him can be so friendly and happy around me. It’s confused me since the day we met.

It was the first day of freshman orientation and we were all in a small classroom waiting for our group mentor to show up and tell us about what we’d be doing this week. I chose to sit in the middle of the room but in a seat next to the wall so I could rest my back against it and watch the entire room.

As I sat there scanning the room my eyes landed on a handful of interesting people, some that I’ve recognized from orientation day, others who just had interesting clothes or hair, and then there was Eddie. There was just something about him, his long curly hair, his dark clothes, the chains hanging around his neck and off his plants, and those rings.

I couldn’t help but stare, from what I could see he was clearly attractive and dressed very differently from what I’ve noticed most men wear. As I admired him from afar, our mentor came rushing in apologizing for being late. They had to make sure they had the right group since some people had to switch at the last minute.

We all turned our attention to the two mentors standing in the front as they talked about what the next few days were going to look like for us. I tried my best to retain the information but then they had us do a “get to know you” game and my heart dropped. I’ve always hated talking about myself and what I enjoy and it seemed kind of redundant to say I like art seeing as though this is an art school. But the curiosity to find out more about the mysterious man across the room was too strong.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis @witchwolflea @micheledawn1975 @daydreaming-mood @idfwfeelings @adaydreamaway08 @preciousbumplingbee @rustboxstarr @plk-18 @teary-eyed-egg @needylilgal022 @exploding-bonbon @gagasbee @eddiemunsonsguitarpic @aol19 @thatwitchyoucouldntburn @meanlilbean @sonnyahngel @corrodedcass @pigwidgeonxo @marsmunson86 @lottie-90 @figmentofquinn @sareim123122 @eddies-puppet @gvf23 @kennedy-brooke @rocklees-wife @emma77645 @cherris-n-peaches @breehumbles @joequinn-love @anyoddthoughts @aysheashea @eddiesskittle @uncxmfxrtablex @cherrymedicine13 @mrsjellymunson @shotgunhallelujah @bambipowerblueaddition @hexqueensupreme @josephquinnsfreckles @harrysgothicbitch @paleidiot @smurfflynn @lilyungpeanut @selena-rocker27

[naffeclipse]

Hey, Naff! I was thinking of the AU where y/n is a dolphin mermaid and Sun, Moon and Eclipse run a mafia pod, and then I thought of the alternate scenario someone sent asking what would have happened if y/n had a kid with them, and then I had a thought! XD Not to contribute to the baby fever but!

What if the initial encounter went the same, y/n is chased, caught and forced to accept the deal of working for them, but in this scenario they are already expecting. Like super early pregnancy stage. Y/n does know about it, but it's so early that it's not outwardly visible or noticeable to anyone else.

And since that first encounter was so rough they are hesitant to ever mention it to the trio because they don't know how the mafia works and they are afraid either them or the future baby would be seen as a liability (unable to tell that's not actually the case). So they do the jobs they ask, while trying to hide it to the best of their ability. And thankfully for them (at least they think so), it's one of those pregnancies that doesn't really show until much later, but there comes a point where they can very much not hide it anymore.

But what if that point comes when there is a lull between jobs for them, and the trio of bosses is pretty busy, so they are left alone for a while and they are like "Great! Maybe I can have this baby unnoticed!" But then just as they approach the due date they are finally summoned back, but at this point they know they can't go to them. So when they don't respond to the call it causes for one (or all three) of the boys to get suspicious and come looking for them. And that's all I thought about gkjfhgkfh No idea what happens next XD

Chaotik, I'm rattling you so hard right now! It's a sweet little twist on dolphin Y/N dealing with the mafia sirens + baby, and I'm entirely here for it!

Continuing where you left off, I like to imagine that Sun and Moon are the ones to go look for Y/N.

They can't have one of their own go rogue, especially without consequences. They make no exceptions as they explained what would happen to those who aren't loyal, but Sun and Moon are especially sullen. Dolphin Y/N is all three of the bossess' favorite, and to have them try and think they can get away spears their pride (and hearts) when they've been so good to them. Of course, that's not to say they haven't taunted, teased, and grabbed Y/N mercilessly, as they have full rights to do within their territory and those under their protection, but they thought Y/N was growing closer with them in return. Regardless, they're on the hunt.

On the farthest northern edge of their territory, where it was confirmed that Y/N was summoned back but did not follow through on the command, they come upon a thick Arctic ice pack and towering, roaming glaciers. Sun catches sight of Y/N first. They're hiding behind a sizeable outcropping of ice, flukes flitting anxiously. Moon swims around to catch Y/N from behind should they decide swimming away is a possibility.

Y/N is panicking, doing their best to keep their now very visible pregnancy concealed while also pondering their fate. The due date is close but the ferocious bosses are upon them. How useless will the two orca sirens decide they are while carrying a child?

Sun calls out to Dolphin Y/N to come out before he has to make them, and though Y/N reluctantly answers, they still keep their belly hidden. Moon, however, sees them entirely from his position, baby bump and all. Caught off guard, Moon slips behind Y/N while Sun is still interrogating them, and he takes their arm and firmly but gently pulls them out into open water. Sun stops midsentence to stare at Y/N while they flounder internally, deeply unsettled by their reactions—or the lack thereof.

After Moon and Sun silently stare at Y/N and process the new situation, they share a sharp look. Sun asks where Y/N's mate is. Y/N says in a small but no uncertain voice that they have no mate. They intend to raise their baby alone. Both sirens seem to relax at this. Y/N begins to babble about being able to care for the baby and still perform their work but Sun and Moon have made a silent decision together. Sun softly takes Y/N's other arm to guide them back to the center of their territory, where they belong.

Of course, Sun and Moon now recall certain moments from the past few months, such as Y/N being especially skittish whenever they or Eclipse grabbed onto their hips or caressed their sides. Another siren under their pod commented on Y/Ne eating better for they're a little thicker around the middle, and Y/N quickly brushed aside the remark. Of course, Sun and Moon see now how much softer Y/N's face is and that their movements are slow and careful, not as slipstreamed as they were when the brothers first chased them down. They're a bit bewildered (and abashed) that they missed the signs.

Y/N is still panicking at how closely Sun and Moon guide them back into the heart of their territory before taking them to a sizeable ice cave, carved out by claws. Sun darts away once they pull Y/N inside. Moon asks Y/N more questions about their pregnancy: how are they feeling, do they need to eat, are they tired, do they know when they might have the baby, and so on. Y/N grows increasingly anxious by the grilling but answers truthfully. The due date is soon, very soon. That's why they couldn't answer the summons. Moon dismisses Y/N's stumbling overexplaining with a wave of his head. He's already pieced that bit together.

Then Eclipse arrives with Sun. His burning eyes immediately land on their big belly in plain view, and Moon tending closely to their side, his claws curled around their hand. Y/N finally asks what the bosses are going to do with them. They don't want any harm to come to their baby but Y/N is well aware that they can't fend off three orca sirens. (Eclipse remembers a time he noticed a slight swell to Y/N's belly but attributed that to providing well for their Dolphin Y/N after they've been so loyal and hard working in return.) Eclipse is silent for a long heartbeat before he flashes his teeth and chastises Y/N for not telling them earlier. They could have protected them more, allowed them to rest and stay closer to them, and given them less dangerous work.

Y/N stammers for a moment before falling silent. Did the terrifying eldest boss just say what they think he said? Sun leaves to retrieve a fish before Moon speaks low into Eclipse's ear. Sun returns and gives all his attention to Y/N while he ensures the fish he caught for them won't trigger any nausea. After Y/N says the fish is fine, Sun caresses their cheek once. Then, the twins disappear, leaving Y/N with Eclipse as he watches them eat. He explains that their child falls under the orca sirens' protection because he and his brothers already protect Y/N. They will see that Y/N is given whatever they need to rest and recover. Y/N is struck dumb, but the fish is delicious and they haven't been torn apart yet, so that can only be a good thing. Right?

Eclipse catches Y/N's chin in his hand, lifting their head to hold their gaze as he grins. It will be lovely to have a little one around, he says. Y/N believes he's sincere, still wrapping their head around how they started the day off terrified and somehow finished it with devotion and support from the three orca sirens.

[dhampling]

sunburn dadstarion, <1k

She runs in with cheeks flushed, head wet with a thin clad layer of sweat. Remnants from some form of cool treat dry on her chin. Plaits - neat this morning - loose now with tangles and damp as she beelines straight for his workroom. 

Face scalding as she buries it in his abdomen. 

“You’re getting muck on my shirt, little one.”

She mimics his words with a cutting tone as she burrows deeper, wraps even tighter around him. Smells like cloves and hot paving and the dry-sweet musk of city dust. As he presses a kiss to her head he feels the sun lingering in her hair. Little white cowlicks brushing his nose.

If he stills he can hear you out on one of the cast-iron chairs with a glass of red in hand, talking to a friend of some parental variety in the early evening heat. 

“You’re so cold” 

His heat comes from woodsmoke and yours from the sun. Both familiar to her. He could light a fire but you’d moan at him for it.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He pokes at her clammy arms with a fat laugh and she winces away, pulling a face.

“It’s hot.” She sneers. He quirks a brow.

“Sounds like a you problem.’

He lifts the last of her plaits and looks round at the ruddy blush beginning to bloom at the nape of her neck. She squirms at the ice of his fingers.

‘Run up to the washroom and get the cream. Quick.” 

You sit just beyond the window - he can hear your laughter, the muffled lilt of your voice by the climbing ivy. He imagines the ornate carafe - left to aerate all afternoon - rich and ripe as the wine within soaks on your tongue and darkens your teeth. Your loving grin. The little wave you’d do; the light clothes he’d spent all winter designing for you to sit out front and feel comfortable in, in spite of the sweltering sun. 

To throw a casual look through open shutters and see you out there again. A wink. A little sign that he’s thinking of you. 

Maybe he’ll head out, when the stars are newly minted yet the sun still lingers. Feel the iron sear his skin through his clothes. The warmth of your palm as it wraps around his forearm. 

It’s not until the youngling returns that his gaze shifts from the dark to her, a tired furrow on her brow. 

“I’m too hot.”

Her mouth hangs open in a wide pant. Astarion kneels before her.

“Have you had any water?’

No.

‘Right then.”

-

Hours pass and you shuffle back in with a thick-knotted shawl draped lazy over your shoulders, the singe of a giggle still whisper-light in your breath as your friend shouts their farewells.

“She burned today, you know.” 

He’s quiet as he stitches, merely an observation; thread between teeth. You sigh fondly in the doorway.

“She’s a child. It’s what children do.”

You bring your warm chalice to his mouth and he lifts his head to take a sip, humming softly. He looks up at you with a raised brow. 

“Get burned?”

“You morose bastard. Sun-burn. Children get sunburned.”

She’s lounging on his worn chaise, hair wrapped in towel, with a small bowl of plums at her side and a drawing pad atop her knee. Contented in new pyjamas and the cool dim of her father’s workroom.

The cream has seemingly worked. The cool bath you heard her splash about in not so long ago must’ve been some clever placebo work.

“Found some pretty beetles today, but wasn’t allowed to bring them in.” She speaks as usual with Astarion’s theatrical whine, riddled with fatigue. You roll your eyes affectionately.

“What were they like, darling?”

He’s preoccupied, stitching something small in the gilded embroidery he works at; but there’s the persistent glimmer of interest in his tone. The slightest tilt of his head as his eyes find her in the periphery.

“Really pretty. Different colours. All pinky and greeny.” She waggles her fingers and sighs with a start.

“Draw them for me?”

She looks at him warily as you watch on.

“Will you keep it if I do?”

At that, Astarion stops. A gentle halt. The needle and thread in hand gently tucked into the stitchwork. 

“I keep everything you do.”

You scoff. She looks at him with a tiny glare.

“Where is it then?”

“What?”

“All my drawings?”

“It’s where are they, darling.’ He chides, the smallest chit of his fangs.

You move to sit and your daughter lifts her head from the chaise, so it rests on your settled lap when dropped once more. The hint of a grin plays at his mouth.

‘And I keep them somewhere safe so when you’re old - like me - you’ll be able to look back on you now. You’ll be able to remember the beetles.’

He shuffles over to where you both sit, cross legged as he rests his chin on the chaise. Brings the back of a hand to her forehead and swears a sizzle as he pulls away.

‘Plus. I can’t see these beetles now, can I? My sunburn gets a fair bit more serious than yours in nature. I’d like to see them.” 

She pauses for a moment.

“Okay. But ONLY because you can’t go and see them for yourself.”

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor. 

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty. 

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target. 

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it. 

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing. 

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.” 

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.  

“So unwilling to have fun–” 

She had just been bait. 

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—” 

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror. 

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t. 

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight. 

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down. 

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes. 

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor. 

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks. 

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

[seeingivy]

out of the woods

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

--

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest things. 

because despite it all, if anyone was allowed to fall straight into despair – if anyone had the right to –  it would be him. 

but he simply can’t. 

only because every time he finds himself at the edge of the cliff, there’s always something pulling him back. 

a bratty six year old with spiky hair, his smiley older sister, or you – his beloved coworker that he, by the grace of god, charmed right into his hand. a bored salesman, an over-enthusiastic pink-haired high school student, and the ingredients to rice balls. 

he supposes that’s why the words don’t hit him. that every other time, there were two, four, or six hands pulling him back. but the depths of this won’t impact anyone the way it would impact him. that he’d fall on his own this time. 

there would be a pair of hands missing. 

all he can think about is that the chairs in the ward are rather uncomfortable, that all hospitals have the same, shitty fluorescent lights, and that megumi’s probably wondering why the two of you haven’t called him to check on him after his mission yet. 

that you would have made some shitty joke about sitting in his lap instead of sitting in the chairs, that you’d complain the lighting in the room was too dingy to take any good pictures, and that you’d call megumi the second you knew he was home. 

“so when will she remember?” gojo asks. 

shoko looks at him, steely eyes staring back into his, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. he can tell there won’t be any pulling this time. 

“we have no idea of knowing when she’ll be out of the woods. it could be three days for all we know.” shoko states. 

“or three years.” gojo states. 

shoko swallows hard. 

“or three years.” shoko affirms. 

satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact. 

first, the slow walk to the edge of the cliff, with everything looming below him – the mere fact that he could sense that something went wrong when kugisaki returned from her mission alone. 

second, the pause right at the edge, where the rocks begin to crumble under his feet. there’s a wide expanse in front of him, ice cold water that he could plunge into at any second, and he can slightly feel himself leaning forward – someone telling him straightforwardly, shoko’s warm hands on his shoulders when he explained. 

and lastly, the plunge. it’s cold air obliterating his ears as he falls, the crush so hard that he can barely stand when it happens. and he makes no efforts to stand back up once he’s fallen, because for all he knows, his limbs are broken – when he has to sleep in his bed without you for the first time. 

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest things, until he doesn’t. because the woman he’s spent four years loving doesn’t even remember who he is. 

--

the first thing you remember is icy blue eyes. in some object permanence, child-like type of way, it’s the only thing that makes you feel safe now. 

that and the fact that he’s always here. 

“okay, y/n. can you tell us what you remember?” 

shoko is standing across from you – gloved hands on her clipboard as she holds her pen firmly in her hand. 

“my name is y/n l/n. i’m a jujutsu sorcerer and a teacher at jujutsu tech. i lost my memory three months ago on a mission with one of my students when i got struck by a curse.” 

you try not to visibly wince. or make long pauses. only because it makes shoko and satoru’s faces droop a little more when you do. recalling the memories gets easier, more repetitive as time goes on, but it still feels like a warm sting rod is hitting the raw parts of your brain at times. 

“do you remember the student’s name?” shoko asks. 

“kugisaki.” 

“okay, that’s good. do you know who we are?” she asks. 

the instruction is helpful. the questions feel like a soft guidance – like each of your memories has been placed in a room that you need to unlock and that she’s presenting you right at the doorstep of the room. 

“you’re shoko. my doctor. but we were friends before in school.” you add. 

“that’s right. what about him?” 

you look over at satoru, at the way he’s stiffly sitting in the chair next to you. 

every time you look at him, the smiles are always genuine. soft and sweet – always accompanied with a gentle nod to encourage you. but you can tell from his posture, from the darkness under his eyes, that it must bother him all greatly. 

though, he has every right to be upset, to be tired. 

“that’s satoru. he was here when i woke up. and he’s my husband.” 

shoko scratches on the clipboard before she gives you a smile. 

“that’s good. anything else?” 

you frown. 

“no. no, i don’t think so.” you murmur. 

she gives you a nod, as she sets the clipboard down. and when she starts rummaging through her drawers, you feel your heart sink at what comes next. 

“wait. wait, can we not do that today?” 

shoko looks back at you, quickly flickering her gaze to satoru, before she meets your eyes again. 

“it’s really best if we try little by little, everyday. i need to be careful when we use reverse cursed technique on something so malleable as a brain and memories, so it needs to be in small amounts. but consistent. we can’t skip and lose precious time.” 

you look over at satoru, reaching for his wrist. his skin is searing and warm under your fingertips, and you squeeze hard over his pulse point. 

please. 

satoru gives you a nod, before sighing, and looking back up at shoko. 

“can i talk to her alone?” he asks. 

shoko gives him a curt nod, before shuffling out of the room and sliding the door closed. you look back at satoru, as he gestures for you to talk. 

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position with your friend….i mean, our friend.” you clarify. 

“s’okay, bug. what’s wrong?” he murmurs. 

satoru watches as you squint your eyes, an elongated pause in your response. 

one of shoko’s directions to him was to try to sprinkle normalcy in as much as he could – nicknames, memories, common phrases –  in hopes that something would trigger in your memory and help you remember. 

he’s supplied you with each story when you don’t remember and he can tell that you’re trying to commit them all the memory again. to retrieve the memories that he’s told you. 

“bug.” you state. 

“that’s right.” 

“because…” 

“we were on a mission and-” satoru adds. 

“and the curse was a bug.” you finish. 

satoru smiles brightly. it almost feels like praise, when he looks at you so warmly. when you can remember something. 

“big insect type thing.” satoru confirms. 

“and i hate bugs. so you started calling me bug because…” 

you frown. 

“i forgot why you did that.” you state. 

satoru scoffs. 

“it’s called flirting, princess. though, that was never your forté.” 

you smile. 

“you have horrible game.” you respond. 

you can tell that the tiny gripes make satoru really happy. you recall shoko telling you a story about how it related to something from before, but you can’t really recall exactly what it was. regardless, the smile you always get feels good. 

“oh yeah?” he asks. 

“mhm. you think calling the girl you like a bug is flirting?” you state. 

“girl i love. and you can’t even accost me for it, because it worked. we’re married, idiot.” 

the blunt admission makes your chest hurt. only because you can tell that he means it earnestly. 

and that it must be painstakingly true – that satoru gojo loves you – because he’s still sitting here three months later, when you can barely remember his name at times. or the fact that you clearly must have been in a very loving relationship with him if he’s still sitting here with you when he could, and maybe should have, run. 

you squeeze hard on his pulse point again, your hands still curled around his wrist. he uncurls his hand from your hold before locking his fingers in with yours and squeezing your hand back. 

“you’re like a space heater, satoru.” you state. 

“it’s part of my charm. when we still slept in the same bed, you’d always put your ice cold feet on my legs and try to steal my warmth.” he states. 

“and you’d let me?” you ask. 

he smiles. 

“and i’d let you.” he affirms. 

you swallow hard. 

“sorry. i’ll do the treatment thing. i just hate how it makes me feel after. s’kind of like…my brain got fried? and sometimes it jumbles things up more so i feel like i’ve barely made any progress. and….and i want to remember you all really badly i just-” 

you feel the warmth on your cheek this time, his nimble fingers transferring warmth to your face this time. 

“we know. just take your time, okay? we’re not going anywhere.” 

--

six months after the fact, satoru throws you a birthday party. 

it’s hard not to hold onto him like a tether when you go out in big crowds – the overstimulation  nauseating at times. and it makes your chest swell that he firstly, realizes it, and second, refuses to leave your side because of it. you lock your fingers in with his as he lightly guides you through each of the people in the room. 

“y/n sensei!” 

you swallow hard as four people present themselves to you, a harsh squeeze on satoru’s fingers. he obliges quickly, a hand on your back as you shake your head. pink hair, brown eyes. 

“you’re choso?” you ask. 

you watch his face fall quickly, before he shakes it off. 

“no, no. this is choso. but you were close, he’s my brother! we talked about him last time i saw you.” he responds, gesturing to the boy at his left. 

“right. i’m sorry. it’s todo.” you state. 

“no, no. he’s todo.” the boy responds again, this time gesturing to the boy at his right. 

you feel another hand loop around you – cold hands on your shoulders – that you welcome. that you easily recognize as one of the other constants, besides satoru. 

“ignore yuuji. and i promise, it’s just as confusing when you can remember it too.” megumi states. 

you smile. 

“are you flattering me, megumi?” you ask. 

satoru reaches forward, and much to megumi’s dismay, flicks his forehead. 

“you’re such a mama’s boy.” 

“oh, leave him alone, satoru.” you state. 

the group of them smile, even the ends of megumi’s mouth upturning, as satoru feigns shock by clutching his hands to his chest. you give them all a smile as they break up into their own conversation. 

satoru gestures for you to follow him into the kitchen and you give the group of them a smile as you walk away. you push yourself onto the counter as satoru reaches for the birthday hat and a tiny little book before he makes residence in between your legs. 

“okay, you ready, bug?” he asks. 

“for?” 

“you love to take pictures. lots of them. you’re kind of the sentimental type. so…” 

satoru hands you the book as you start to flip through all the pages. each one has four little polaroids in it – of you and him, megumi sprinkled in here, with little captions on each of them. 

new year’s 2021 

megumi’s sweet sixteen 

shotgun wedding :D 

“shotgun wedding?” you ask. 

“we had a quickie court wedding before we actually got married because we couldn’t wait. anyways! we have to-” 

“wait.” you state. 

satoru stops, bright blue eyes staring into yours expectantly. you can tell that he’s trying to brush it off quickly from the way he’s jittery as he shakes the camera in his hands. 

“i know you don’t like to remember memories like this one because they make you sad but-” 

“they don’t make me sad.” satoru states. 

“don’t- don’t lie. i can hear you crying sometimes in the other room after we talk. and i feel bad but, but maybe it’ll click or something?” you ask. 

satoru sighs, before giving you a nod. and he recounts one of the best days of his life, in as much detail as he can. 

“what if we got married tomorrow?” you ask. 

satoru looks over at you, your glasses still perched on your nose as you work through the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. satoru always thought that it was a little bit corny that you did it right before you went to bed, like a little elderly lady, but knew better than to poke fun at your “enrichment time in your enclosure” as you so poignantly termed it. 

“huh?” he asks. 

“like. went to court. got married.” you shrug. 

satoru reaches for the newspaper, before quickly shoving it straight to the side – not short of any protests from you – as he crawls straight into your lap, nose only a few inches away from yours. 

“i was still doing that, idiot.” you state, cupping his face in your hands as you squeeze hard. 

“you want to marry me?” he asks, voice laced with excitement. 

you scoff. 

“are you dumb? we’re engaged, satoru.” 

“but you want to marry me. tomorrow?” he asks. 

satoru watches as you pause, eyes so full of love that it makes his chest hurt. 

“dunno. was just thinking about it.” 

“and?” 

“stop trying to get me to say something cute.” you state. 

“so you admit it. there’s something cute to say?” 

you smile, before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“no.” you state. 

“c’mon. we’ll do it tomorrow if you tell me. i’ll wear a nice suit, you can wear that silky white dress you have. have sushi with megs after, he can be our witness. pick up rings, get a bouquet on the way.” 

you smile brightly. 

“you’ll really do it?” you ask. 

“of course. s’nothing i wouldn’t do for you.” he whispers. 

you lean forward, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. 

“i just don’t like that you’re not my husband already. and i get the whole big wedding and clan members and blah blah blah but…i just want to be married to you now. i don’t really care how it happens, i just want that day to be here already.”  

satoru smiles, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“it’s settled then. we’re getting married tomorrow, bug.” he responds, before pushing off of you and shuffling under the sheets. 

you smile hard, following suit by placing your glasses on the nightstand and curling up into his arms. 

“s’bad luck to sleep in the same bed? because that means i’ll see you tomorrow morning?” you ask. 

“maybe. but who's going to keep your feet warm if i don’t sleep next to you?” 

“very good point, satoru gojo.” 

you look back down at the picture, pressing your fingers against the polaroid wrapped in the plastic. the two of you stayed true to your word – a plain but white dress and a simple suit – with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both cheese into the camera. 

you note that glittering necklace around satoru’s neck, as you press your fingers to the chain around yours. you had the necklace when you woke up, the only other jewelry you had besides the golden little band around your ring finger – which you assumed was the wedding ring satoru gave you when you got married. 

“you have one of these too?” you ask. 

satoru smiles, before reaching into his shirt and pulling out the necklace. and surely but not, he has the same necklace as you with the little paper airplane charm hanging at the end. 

“we couldn’t find rings on the way to the courthouse. so you picked these shitty airplane necklaces from one of the stands on the way there.” he states. 

you smile, as you look down at the picture. 

“and we ate with megumi after?” 

“uh huh. he got really mad at us after. you kind of whined that you didn’t get a first dance so i decided to move all the furniture around to make room and kind of broke his science fair project.” 

“oh my god. no wonder that kid hates you.” 

“shut up. we stayed up fixing it. and he doesn’t hate me. he actually danced with us a little bit too – though it was definitely against his will.” satoru adds. 

“you tease him too much. leave the poor baby alone.” you state. 

satoru’s eyes go wide as he places his hands on your shoulder, the look on his face so excited as he smiles. 

“y/n?”

you raise your eyebrows. 

“yeah?” 

his face falls just as fast. 

“oh. nothing.” 

you frown. 

“what happened?” 

“nothing. it’s stupid, i just-” 

“it’s not stupid! what is it?” you ask. 

he looks at you, before pulling back a little. 

“i thought you remembered for a second. that’s always the line you use when i tease him – leave the poor baby alone.” 

you frown. 

“sorry.” you whisper. 

he shrugs. 

“s’okay. it’s kind of nice if you think about it.” he states. 

“how?” 

“well. it’s obvious that big parts of us are shaped by the people that are around us. your best friends, your co-workers, your partners.” 

you reach for his hand. 

“you wonder how much of it is the stuff you experienced that makes you act the way that you do and how much of it is actually you, you know?” he states. 

“exactly! sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt, but-but i think about that all the time. like if i can’t remember, will i still be the same person i was before? the person you all loved? or if this is going to change me so drastically that i’ll be someone new.”

satoru smiles. 

“the former.” 

“huh?” 

“you’ll be the same person you were before. cheesy as hell, but the cuteness will make up for it.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“how are you so sure?” 

he pauses, before placing his hand in your palm. 

“one of my favorite things about you is that you were, or are, really compassionate. we always joked that megumi was our kid, but really. you were like his mom – understood him in ways i didn’t, always knew what he was thinking and how to fix it too.” he states. 

“yeah?” 

“and one of the things megumi hates most is when i tease him in front of yuuji. s’got a big crush on him.” he states. 

you look over at the two of them, at megumi and yuuji laughing at choso three feet away and try your best to recall every memory of the two of them together. if megumi always smiled so brightly when he was around him.  

“you got real mad at me. told me to leave your poor baby alone. you’ve always cared for him in that way and i can tell that you still do. you might not remember him, but he’s still your baby. you might not remember who you are but you’re still you.” 

it’s silent. 

“you’ll be the same. you’re still going to be the girl i loved and you’re still going to be my wife.” he whispers, warm tears in his eyes. 

his voice wavers on the latter part of the statement. 

almost like he doesn’t believe it. 

you place your hands on his shoulders and squeeze hard. 

“satoru.” you whisper. 

he shakes his head. 

“sorry. i didn’t mean to say it like that, i just-” he states. 

you place your hands on his cheeks and squeeze hard. 

“from the type of guy you are, i can tell that i probably fell in love with you all over again hundred times in one day.” 

satoru smiles, a tear spilling as you quickly wipe the wetness on his cheek. 

“this isn’t any different. i’m not sure about a lot of things, but-but this i am. your eyes are the first thing i remember from when i woke up. i’m almost positive they’ll be the last thing i remember when we’re old wrinkly people too.” you murmur. 

satoru wraps his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck, as he squeezes you hard into his frame. you can feel his heart racing underneath you, his pulse point rapid as he slowly breathes in. and surely, it comes to a standstill. 

“what did i say? told you that you’d still be cheesy as hell.” satoru states. 

you scoff. 

“does the cuteness make up for it?” you ask. 

“a hundred percent.” satoru responds, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

satoru takes the picture, after snagging one of the little party hats and securing it on top of your hair, and quickly scribbling on the developed polaroid before tucking it into the book. satoru runs off to the little cake, quickly lighting all the candles as you take the quick second to look down at the picture. 

a very forgetful bug turns twenty-six <;3 

--

“hey, i’m home!” 

satoru shuffles back into the apartment, arms aching and sore from his mission, as he rummages through the kitchen. the fridge is empty leave for a few condiments and he makes a mental note to order takeout. 

“did you want to order something?” he calls out, halfheartedly registering you walking towards him as he shuts the fridge door. 

he’s taken aback when he feels your arms wrap around him from behind, your arms nearly squeezing the breath out of him. 

“ow, bug. you’re hugging too hard.” 

he turns around only to find tearfilled eyes staring back at him, immediately dropping his phone in his hand to cup your cheeks. 

“woah, hey. you okay?” he asks. 

you shake your head, bringing your eyes to your sockets to rub the wetness away. you can barely say the words, the pounding in your head and racing in your chest not coming to the standstill. 

“what’s wrong?” he asks. 

“do-do you remember the first time you cried in front of me?” you ask. 

satoru pulls back, albeit a little bit confused, as he frowns. 

“um. let me try and think. maybe at our real wedding?” he asks. 

“no. no, that’s not right.” you whisper. 

“huh?” 

“you cried for the first time when megumi got hurt when he was out with nobara and yuuji. he didn’t call either of us afterwards and you were sad that maybe he didn’t need you anymore.” you state. 

satoru hums in response. 

“that’s right. i totally forgot. idiot got twenty stitches and didn’t think to tell either of us.” 

you deflate, putting your hands on his shoulders as you squeeze. 

“satoru.” 

“what?” 

“you forgot. but i remembered.” you whisper. 

satoru brings his hands to your sides, squeezing hard as you see his eyes - icy blue - filled with warm tears. 

“y/n. are-are you serious?” he whispers. 

“yeah. s’all kind of fuzzy and i have a really bad headache but i remember you and-” 

you can barely finish your sentence because satoru’s hands – now cupped around your neck – have pulled his face flesh with yours and he’s pressing his lips to yours. it’s enough to shock you to your core, nearly stumbling in his arms, as you feel his tears start to fall onto your face. 

“you’re back. you-you remember me.” he whispers. 

“yeah. yeah, i am. i do.” you whisper, nearly hiccuping from the lack of air reaching your lungs from the tears. 

you rest your forehead against his, the two of you heaving in tandem as satoru runs his hands all over you – on your cheeks, your biceps, the length of your back. 

“i know that it was still you before. and-and i still loved you the same, of course i did – you’re my wife. but you don’t know how fucking happy i am that you’re-” 

“you’re insane, satoru. i can’t believe you…you stayed. and you-” 

“you’re mine. of course i stayed.” 

“i know, but…i didn’t even remember you. and now that i look back on it, sweetheart. you must have been so upset and alone, you…you barely even smiled. or made any shitty jokes. i’m sorry i didn’t notice.” 

“you didn’t have anything to go off of. s’okay.” 

you wrap your arms around his neck, his face tucked into yours as you run your hands in his hair and softly murmur into his ear. you’re not sure when the crying starts, when he starts trembling under you, but you have every intent to keep him in your arms as long as he needs to. 

“satoru, you did so good.” 

“yeah?” 

“so good, sweetheart.” you murmur.

satoru frowns.

“i tried really hard to keep it together for you. i-i didn’t want to make you feel bad or that-” 

“you did keep it together for me. but you can let go now, i’m here to catch you.” 

it’s enough to leave him sobbing in your arms, your quiet whispering in his ears not reaching him. he’s positive that he’s made you say it a hundred times at this point – that you love him – and he’s more than thankful that you’re willing to oblige. 

satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact. 

first, it’s the hand being extended to him. it was so quiet that he barely realized it at first – the fact that you were trying to pull him back, the first second that you remembered. warm hands squeezing his frame, the same way they always had. 

second, the realization. the water he was drowning in was so cold that he could barely remember the extent of the warmth and when it returned, it was so sweltering that he could barely remember that he was freezing a few seconds ago. sweet honey eyes – being so full of love that he can see it pouring out of your eyes when you look at him. 

and lastly, being pulled up. it’s warm air tickling his skin this time – the smell of your perfume, cold feet on top of his when he goes to bed, a kiss on the forehead, two little airplane necklaces, matching golden wedding bands. 

satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest of things. in the mere fact that you were looking at him. 

--

an: our very first 1989 song!!! I thought ironically that it would be very funny if I did an amnesia au to out of the woods. and then I accidentally wrote all of it.

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome  @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

[daenerystargaryen06]

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Here we have a passage of a story Doreah tells Daenerys, a tale of two moons in the sky. One wandered too close to the sun, and it cracked from the heat, resulting in dragons. And that one day, the second moon will 'kiss' the sun.

Notice G.R.R.M's play on words here. In this story, the first time one of the moons cracks, it "wandered" too close to the sun. And for the second, it is said that the second moon will "kiss" the sun. This is deliberate.

"You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Notice the same phrase of wording used here in Jon's passage. He has been "kissed" by the moon, etching his shadow along the Wall.

As I've stated in my post here, I believe that while Daenerys is the main focal point for her role as AA/TPTWP, she would be joined by others in this task. One of those people being Jon. He will be one of the three heads to join her side for the coming war against the Others. To unite the realm against the cold, and the dark.

"One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

"You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

As for these two passages- let's believe they are to be taken literally. It happens for Dany and Drogo the first time around: Drogo is the sun, Dany the moon. Dany "wanders" too close to the sun, Drogo, in his funeral pyre, and thus her dragons hatch.

Now how could this relate to Jon?

I believe Jon being "kissed" by the moon, is in reference to Jon and Daenerys' eventual future romance and union together. We have evidence for this, provided from me here and here. More quotes providing into Jon being Daenerys' last romantic interest and husband:

". . . three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love. . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt. . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love. . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . ." --A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"I don't . . ." Her voice was no more than a whisper, almost as faint as theirs. What was happening to her? "I don't understand," she said, more loudly. Why was it so hard to talk here? "Help me. Show me." . . . help her . . . the whispers mocked. . . . show her . . . Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . . Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

Notice that each prophecy given to Dany in the HOTU was given to her in three, each one ending in love. When asked to be shown what it meant, Dany is given visions. Two connecting her to Jon, both ending in three, as her prophecies for love:

"Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name" - this is clearly Rhaegar, Jon's father, dying upon the Trident. It is believed he is whispering Lyanna's name, Jon's mother.

"A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness" - Dany is seeing Jon at the Wall, through the metaphor of a blue flower (connecting him to Lyanna- blue winter roses). The air is full with sweetness- a metaphor to love, and sweetness- something Dany likes (also maybe this hints to Dany joining Jon at the Wall, giving him the three dragons he wishes for in another passage).

Dany will be the moon, who kisses Jon, her second sun. A reference to their love and union.

Now- how does this bring dragons into play? Who knows. The wording is a bit tricky here. The passage states that when the second moon kisses the sun, dragons will return. And yet dragons have already returned- Dany hatches her children the first time she "wanders" too close to the sun. So how do dragons come into play with her and Jon's union regarding this text?

Well, perhaps it may not be so literal. Maybe the return of dragons from Dany and Jon's union is that Jon will gain a dragon. Maybe Jon will discover ice dragons. Maybe they will find more dragon eggs at Winterfell or somewhere else. Maybe Dany's own dragons will breed and begin a second hatching of eggs, thus "returning" dragons once more with Dany and Jon's union. There are different possibilities for this.

Jon's resurrection can also lean more into him being the second sun to Dany, as he would be a wight of fire.

"Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she'd appeared." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III

"And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

Both Jon and Dany experience dreams of fighting the Others.

-Both are wearing black armor and both are wielding fire; Dany with her dragons, Jon with a sword.

And while their dreams share similarities, they also bear differences:

-Jon is battling the Others upon the Wall, whereas Dany is battling them within the Trident.

-Jon sees Ygritte and realizes too late he's killed her (a person he views with grief and regret), Dany however believes herself to be Rhaegar (a person she sees as a fierce warrior and protector).

Both are also viewed by other people as the chosen ones, AA/TPTWP:

"On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell V

"Daenerys is the only hope," he concluded. "Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell V

"Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow. Whenever she was asked what she saw within her fires, Melisandre would answer, "Much and more," but seeing was never as simple as those words suggested. It was an art, and like all arts it demanded mastery, discipline, study. Pain. That too. R'hllor spoke to his chosen ones through blessed fire, in a language of ash and cinder and twisting flame that only a god could truly grasp. Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames. Yet now she could not even seem to find her king. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow. "Devan," she called, "a drink." Her throat was raw and parched." -A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I

Jon and Daenerys both have arcs of leadership. In which both have to make hard decisions that they believe is best. Both have the qualities of strong leaders, military strategists, and unifiers. It might turn out that Jon will wind up helping Dany in the books gather the people to face against the Others and fight against the cold and the dark. Perhaps even coming into acceptance of his true parentage and relation to Dany as well.

Both Jon and Dany are also known to have cultivated into, lived with, loved, and learned the humanity of the Freefolk and the Dothraki- two factions many view as "savage" and "barbaric", and yet I believe that the Freefolk and the Dothraki will come into a big play for both Jon and Dany against the war of the Others. The culmination of their work and efforts into unifying people to work together against one common enemy.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 12: FRIENDS & TOBACCO ARE SEPARATE THINGS (& SO ARE REVOLUTIONS)

synopsis: you, connor, and hank are all off the case. the only option left is to plead with jericho.

word count: 4.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: (evilly) hello. prepare to be fucked up.

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

Connor’s eyelashes catch snow as he opens his eyes. The Zen Garden is frozen over, and there’s a chill in the air he can feel down to where his bones would be.

Across the iced-over lake is the silvery tree. It’s grown – now it’s four, maybe four and a half feet tall. It’s still bare and leafless, but wisps of what looks like a mycelium complex are branching off the trunk. Connor forces himself to turn away.

The glowing stone sits a few feet away. Connor steps closer, and it pulls him in like a vortex. His hand finds the stone, and it sends a buzz through his system, causing his hand to pull away and curl up into a fist. He stands and walks away. 

The layer of ice over the water groans under Connor’s weight, but doesn’t crack or break. He continues and comes to a stop in front of Amanda. She’s cloaked in whites and dark blues to match the environment surrounding them. 

“After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war,” Amanda says. “The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”

“I thought Kamski knew something.” Connor’s eyebrows crease. “I was wrong.”

“Maybe he did.” Amanda’s eyebrows rise, almost mocking. “But you chose not to ask.”

There’s a pulse in Connor’s code, something like a heartbeat. Lips that form a smile shaped like yours. The feeling of an invisible body presses against his back, and the feeling of their hand snakes up his chest from behind, resting over his Thirium pump.

“What does she know?” Someone’s breath is hot against the shell of his ear. The voice sounds like yours, but is… weird, and twisted. “She wasn’t even there… but you were.”

Something clicks inside Connor. This is the first time the instability has taken on a form. And he’s inclined to believe it – mostly because it sounds like you. (He doesn’t even know why. He can unpack that later, surely…) And he’s not giving into the instability if it’s right.

“You know what you saw,” the instability croons. “You know the truth. Tell her.”

“I chose not to play his twisted little game!” Connor barks. “There was no reason to kill that android.”

The instability clutches him tighter and lets out a shaky breath that ends in a whine, like it approves. 

“I saw a photo of Amanda at Kamski’s place,” Connor continues. “She was his teacher.”

“When Kamski designed me, he wanted an interface that would look familiar,” Amanda says, her voice cold and stern. “That’s why he chose his former mentor. What are you getting at?”

“I’m not a unique model, am I?” Connor takes a tiny step forward. The instability clings to him as he moves. “How many Connors are there?”

“I don’t see how that question pertains to your investigation,” Amanda says. 

“You didn’t tell me everything you know about deviants, did you?” Connor asks, that venom still in his voice.

“I expect you to find answers, Connor.” Amanda’s lips set in a hard line. “Not ask questions.”

She takes a few steps forward and looks up at Connor. “You’re the only one who can prevent civil war. Find the deviants, or there will be chaos.”

Her eyes narrow. “This is your last chance, Connor.”

When you open your eyes, you’re surrounded by lumino-polymer. You inhale a lungful, causing that warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest to return.

You slowly crawl out of the pool like a child who doesn’t want to get out of a warm bath. The lumino-polymer slides off you as you get out in one big, sludge-y lump.

You know what to do by now. The Vavilov Complex, the metal pail, the stairs, the angel that is the PEC-4 Birchtree looking down on you from within her cylindrical plexiglass capsule. You kneel and look up at her as the lumino-polymer settles in her soil.

“Тех карт, что у меня на руках, недостаточно,” you say. “Все они были мной переиграны. Мне кажется, что это все, что я говорю вам в эти дни, но… я не знаю, что делать.”

Nonsense, child, she says, her voice once again talking to you from inside your mind. Life isn’t a static image. Draw more cards. Play a different game if you need to – while they’re playing poker, you’re playing caravan. They can’t comprehend the reasons and motives behind your moves if you’re playing a game they don’t even know exists.

You look down at your knees and your stomach twists when you realize what she’s talking about. “Но Коннор знает! Он знает о…” You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence.

I know, I know, she soothes. He doesn’t know everything, though. He doesn’t know where it is, or that you know how to use it.

“Он может…!” You growl in the back of your throat and clench your hands into fists. You force yourself to soften your words and to speak with respect.  “Он детектив. Скорее всего, он во всем разберется. Коннор - эксперт, когда дело доходит до... до подобных вещей.”

You look up at her. “У него есть банки памяти, и он воспроизводит каждое воспоминание с безупречной точностью. Он помнит мои рассказы ему о Пионере, о Челомее, о…” You swallow thickly. “о моей матери и моем отце.”

He doesn’t know the specifics, does he? She reminds you. He only knows their names, and that’s not a lot to go off of. There are plenty of Olgas and plenty of Yegors in Chelomey, let alone the entirety of Russia, let alone the entirety of the Soviet Union. 

“Я просто…” You sigh. “Я просто волнуюсь. Как всегда.” You smile, tight-lipped and awkward. “И вы правы. Как всегда.”

You stand and place a hand on the plexiglass of her capsule. “Спасибо.”

Her branches sway, just slightly. Please, be careful. They need you. Both of them. You can keep them on this Earth. Be vigilant. I love you.

“Да, мэм,” you say softly. “Я тоже вас люблю. Спокойной ночи.”

A notification on your phone is what pulls you fully out of the Vavilov Complex. You look down at your phone in your hand and read the headline of the news bulletin that just popped up. 

THE AFTERSHOCKS OF A TERRORIST ATTACK: ANDROID WORKERS TO BE PULLED FROM HOSPITALS, SCHOOLS, ELECTRICITY GRIDS, WATER MANAGEMENT CENTERS, & NETWORK GRIDS

You sigh and place your phone face-down on your desk. The last thing you need is to doomscroll at work, and you know most of the story already.

You lean back in your wheely chair and look at the monitor in front of you. The rest of them are shut off, leaving only your halfway-filled-out report staring back at you. The report of the Ortiz android is really like any other – boring and long-winded. You have to use flowery words instead of writing “Shit’s fucked. Have a good night.”

You’re blessed with a reprieve when there’s a knock on your door. You quickly get up to answer it to find someone who’s never stepped foot near the android autopsy room: Hank.

“Fowler needs us in his office.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “Said it was something serious.”

You follow him and shut the door behind you. “Something serious?”

“Kept it vague,” Hank grumbles.

“He always does,” you hiss under your breath.

As you walk, Connor spots you and Hank from across the room and falls in step with you. Again, he switches his pace to match yours.

Hank opens the glass door to Fowler’s office, then follows you and Connor in once you enter. All three of you stand before Fowler, like children called into the Headmaster’s office. (You sure as hell feel like you got into trouble, somehow.)

Fowler’s sitting on his desk – something you know he does when he wants to convince someone of something, or to be more informal. This situation feels all but informal. 

He takes a deep breath, then says, “Both of you are off the case. The FBI is taking over.”

“What?” “Чего?” Both you and Hank manage to say at the same time.

Hank looks over at you, then looks back at Fowler and continues. “But we’re onto something! We… we just need more time. I’m sure we can –”

“Hank!” Fowler cuts in. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just another investigation, this is a fucking civil war! It’s out of our hands now. We’re talking about national security here –”

“Fuck that!” Hank snaps. “You can’t just pull the plug now. Not when we’re so close!”

“You’re always saying you can’t stand androids!” Fowler gestures at Connor, then looks at you. “And you were talking about how you were unfit for this case. I thought both of you would be happy about this! Jesus, make up your mind!”

“We’re about to crack the case. I know we can solve it!” Hank leans in, bracing his hands on the back of one of the chairs. “For god’s sake, Jeffery, can’t you back me up this one time?”

“Sir, if I may,” you cut in. You swallow your nervousness and speak, almost like you’ve practiced. “I – I was only tentative because I hadn’t handled a case of this importance before. I’m confident in myself now, and I’m confident in my team!”

Fowler sighs and shrugs. “There’s nothing I can do. You’re back in Cybersecurity, Hank’s back in Homicide, and the android returns to CyberLife.”

You bite back a “The android has a name!” and glance over at Connor. He almost looks… sad. Like he’s disappointed in himself.

“I’m sorry,” Fowler says. “But it’s over.”

Hank scoffs and storms out. You exhale sharply and follow after him, holding open the door for Connor. But when you look back, he’s standing right where he was. 

Connor’s looking at Fowler, then he realizes he should be doing something. He relaxes his hands and lets them hang by his sides instead of being folded behind his back and nods at Fowler. 

You shepherd Connor through the door with a light touch on his upper back. You look at Fowler, making the briefest of eye contact, then turn away and close the door behind you.

“Come on, let’s go,” you say softly and lead Connor to Hank’s desk. He sidles up on Hank’s desk, his movements so fluid and human compared to how he sat in his desk chair a few days ago – rigid, polite. Like he was waiting to be served dinner at an in-law’s house. 

“We can’t just give up like that!” Connor says. “I know we could’ve solved this case!”

You lean back against the plexiglass divider adjacent to Hank’s desk and cross your arms. “So… you’re going back to CyberLife?”

“I have no choice.” Connor looks up at you, then averts his eyes. “I’ll be… deactivated, and analyzed to find out why I failed.”

You can’t help but feel like your guts have been ripped from your belly. The air in your lungs isn’t enough. Your feet threaten to slip out from under you.

“They can’t…” You take in a shaky breath. “They can’t just do that! Right?”

“They can,” Connor says quietly. “I am CyberLife’s property, after all.”

“Androids aren’t property,” you spit before you can stop yourself. You stiffen when you realize what you just said and look down at Hank. He’s looking right back at you.

“You’re right.” He turns to Connor. “What if we’re on the wrong side, Connor? What if we’re fighting against people who just wanna be free?”

“When deviants rise up, there will be chaos,” Connor says, finality heavy in his voice. “We could’ve stopped it… but now it’s too late.”

Hank pauses for a moment. “When you refused to kill that android at Kamski’s place, you put yourself in her shoes.”

Connor tilts his head, reminding you of when you first met him – just a guy with a somewhat-cute, somewhat-maddening lost puppy dog look on his face. “What…?”

“You showed empathy, Connor,” Hank continues. “Empathy’s a human emotion.”

He looks at you, then away, then back to you again, like a nervous dog. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“We don’t need to know why,” you say. “We just know that you did do it.”

Connor nods, then thinks for a second before speaking again. “I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I want you to know I really appreciated working with you. Both of you.” He leans back, turning his hands palm-up. “That’s not my social relations program talking, I – I really mean that. At least… I think I do.”

The banging of a door hitting the wall as it’s thrown open pulls you all from your nice conversation. You crane your neck to see who it is.

“Well, well,” Hank says, with no small amount of disgust in his voice. “Here comes Perkins, that motherfucker. Sure don’t waste any time at the FBI.”

You quickly move so you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Connor, your back to the door Perkins just walked through. When Hank looks at you with a questioning glare, you excuse it with “I don’t want him to see me! You remember the hell he gave me at Stratford Tower?” which is a half-truth, at best. You just don’t want to risk someone taking Connor away – putting yourself in between him and them, even if it’s futile and only to comfort your frantic mind, is your best bet.

“We can’t give up.” Connor leans forward, jostling his shoulder against yours. “I know the answer is in the evidence we collected. If Perkins takes it, it’s all over.”

“There’s no choice!” Hank says, still with that angry disgust in his tone. “You heard Fowler – we’re off the case. All of us.”

Connor hops off the desk suddenly, sending you to the side. He doesn’t even look as he catches your wrist to keep you steady, causing the spark in your belly to flare up and the creature (no longer pride or jealousy – just a beast) tending it to howl in glee. 

“You’ve got to help me, Lieutenant,” Connor says, his grip still firm, like he’s not even thinking about it. “I need more time so I can find a lead in the evidence we collected. I know the solution is there!”

Hank holds up a hand. “Listen, Connor –”

“If I don’t solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me!” Connor says, something like fear lacing his words. He grips your wrist tighter, like you’re anchoring him. “Five minutes. It’s all I ask.”

Hank stands suddenly, leaning into Connor’s personal space. He whispers, “Key to the basement is on my desk.”

He moves away, towards Perkins. “Get a move on! I can’t distract them forever.”

You don’t know whether to praise Hank or curse him a thousand times over. On one hand, Connor could damn every android, deviant or not. On the other hand, he could fail and be sent back to CyberLife for the type of autopsy you’re all too familiar with. But… what if…?

Connor gives your wrist a squeeze and you turn to face him. “You should go home, Officer. Whatever happens, you’ll be in danger. You should fill spare containers you have with water, and charge all the electronics you have. I don’t know if you can get through to them, but… you should contact your parents and let them know you’re okay before the network goes down.”

You look into those big, brown doe eyes and can’t stop yourself from pulling Connor in for a hug. (Well, it’s not really a hug. You’re clutching to him, and he’s politely resting his hands on the small of your back.)

You step back after a moment too long for it to be considered normal. “You… do what you think is best, Connor. I trust you to do the right thing.”

You hurry away before he can say anything. You walk past Perkins on the floor, who’s cradling a broken nose. (You’re tempted to kick him, but restrain yourself.)

Hank gives you a glance and a nod as you walk by. You nod back, then continue your way out. 

A few minutes later, you’re in your car in the DPD parking lot. The fans are blowing hot air on the windshield to defrost it. Your hands are shaking where they rest on the steering wheel. 

You glance over at your glovebox. You take your hands away from the steering wheel and lean over the console, then hold your left hand out to the lock. The silver star on your polymer glove retracts, and the wires snake out. They unlock the electronic lock that’s keeping the glovebox shut, and it pops open. 

Still, your hands are shaking as you push Hank’s flask aside and pull the case out. You rest it in your lap and let the wires unlock the electronic lock on the handle. You open it, and…

The black metal of your Makarov pistol gleams in the dim of the streetlights shining through the car windows. It grew up with you – the cherry wood of the grip has nicks and scratches, as does the stout barrel. The red plastic indicating that the safety is off has faded into a soft pink – not that you’re planning on turning the safety off. It’s just something that’s happened to the gun with age.

You pull it out and put the case in the passenger seat, then close your eyes and lean your head back against the headrest. You haven’t had much time to think over these past few days.

Jericho is an abandoned freighter. It must be close to the docks. The Ferndale district has abandoned docks. It’s right on the river. I just need to figure out a way to get there.

You open your eyes and put the gun case back in the glovebox. You shut off the ignition and step out of your car, but not before tossing anything even remotely police-related on your person onto the floor of the passenger seat. Cold metal meets your tailbone as you tuck your pistol into the waistband of your pants, then you flip the back of your jacket over it to conceal it.

You hold your hand out in an “L” shape and your glove lights up the path in front of you. You just need to follow it, and you’ll find Jericho.

You pat your front jacket pocket to make sure you have your concealed carry license on hand, then start walking.

Your mother always told you “Measure seven times, cut once.” It was used before you got yourself into trouble by not planning things out before you did them.

But right now, you don’t have time to practice. You’re being pushed into the deep end without having contact with a drop of water before in your life.

You clear your throat and knock on the metal doorframe, looking at the man who’s sitting on a crate and hanging his head. “Khm, excuse me? Are you Markus?”

Markus looks up, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “Yes. I am.”

“May I…?” you trail off. 

“Of course, of course.” Markus stands. “Come in.”

You move into the bridge of the ship, your hands folded in front of you. “I’ve come to talk, sir. If you’ll allow me the time?” 

Markus nods. “Yes. But please, be quick.”

“Firstly, I’m armed.” You hold your hands up. “But I won’t shoot you – or anyone aboard this vessel. I’m a human, from the Detroit Police Department.”

Markus narrows his eyes and turns his head slightly, like he doesn’t believe you. After a few seconds, he speaks. “Give me the gun.”

You reach behind you and pull your pistol from your waistband, holding it by the barrel. You hold it out to Markus, the muzzle pointed towards you. “The safety is on, and there aren’t any bullets in the chamber.”

Markus takes the gun and puts it on the navigation panels, out of your reach. He nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t know for sure, but I have reason to believe that Connor is heading for Jericho,” you say. “Excuse me – you know him as the Deviant Hunter.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Markus asks. 

“I want you to continue your revolution the way it is,” you say. “Peacefully. Without violence. Connor may disrupt that. He may… kill you, and send the deviants into a frenzy.”

“My people aren’t dogs,” Markus says evenly. “They know how to control themselves.”

“Yes sir, I understand that, a-and I apologize if I insinuated that, but…” You purse your lips and sigh, your eyes falling to the floor. “Without you – without a leader – they may take actions in your name that you’re against. They may become violent and kill. And that would set your revolution back to before the beginning.”

You look up and meet his eyes again. “Connor… he doesn’t believe it, but he’s on the verge of turning deviant. He’s expressed emotion before – empathy, and fear. You may be the person that can convince him of his deviancy.”

“I can’t convince someone of something they don’t want to believe,” Markus says. “I can try, but… I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I… I understand.” You sigh softly. “I’ll go now. If I may have my pistol…?”

Markus reaches behind him and grabs your gun by the grip. You take it by the barrel, and clutch it tighter when you hear the door open behind you.

You turn and adjust your hands so that you’re grabbing the grip of the pistol with one hand and cradling it with the other. Yes, he’s dressed in civvy clothes, but you still recognize him. “Connor…?”

“Officer, stay out of this,” Connor says, his voice sure of himself and the situation. His own pistol is pointed at the center of Markus’ chest. “I’ve been ordered to take you alive, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

“What are you doing?” Markus asks, taking a small step forward. “You are one of us. You can’t betray your own people.”

Connor’s jaw tenses, as does his index finger that’s on the trigger. “You’re coming with me!”

“We are your people,” Markus says. “We’re fighting for your freedom, too! You don’t have to be their slave anymore.”

He continues walking forward. “You’re nothing to them. You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you’re more than that. We’re all more than that.”

Connor turns his aim and fires a warning shot, shattering the side window panels behind you. You flinch at the sound, covering one of your ears with your free hand. Then, instinct takes over and you try to steady your hands as you point the gun at Connor. 

“О чем ты, черт возьми, думаешь?!” You bark despite your shaky aim.

“That was a warning shot, Officer,” Connor says, his eyes trained on Markus. “Stay out of this.”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘warning shot,’ Connor!” You snap. “When you shoot, you’re doing so to kill! Stop being идиотом and put down the gun!”

“They’re right,” Markus says, his voice even, as if he wasn’t just shot at. “You really don’t have to do this. You don’t have to obey them anymore.”

He stops just a few feet away from Connor, just close enough to be considered point blank. “You are alive. You can decide who you want to be. You can be free.”

Connor opens his mouth to speak, then stills. A shudder rolls through him, then he lowers his pistol, looking down at it like it’s an insult. He tucks it into his gun belt, and you lower your own pistol, a wave of relief crashing over you.

“Connor…” you breathe out. You tuck your pistol back into your waistband, the metal thankfully cold. You wouldn’t know what to do if it was hot from a fired bullet.

Connor’s eyes snap up. “They’re going to attack Jericho.”

“What?” Markus spits.

The blades of a helicopter beating against the wind sound overhead. Connor glances between you and Markus. “We have to get outta here!”

“Shit,” Markus mumbles, then he breaks into a sprint. Connor follows, as do you (with you pushing your prosthetics to the limit to keep up with them, no doubt).

You tail them down stairs and ladders and down into the under-deck cargo holds. You nearly crash into Connor’s back as he skids to a stop. 

“They’re coming from all sides!” A woman says. “Our people are trapped in the hold – they’re gonna be slaughtered!”

Markus holds two fingers up to his temple and closes his eyes. When you shoot Connor a questioning look, he mumbles, “He’s sending a message telepathically.”

Before you can really question him on how that’s possible, Markus continues. “We have to blow up Jericho. If the ship goes down, they’ll evacuate and our people can escape!”

“You’ll never make it!” The woman says. “The explosives are all the way down in the hold, and there are soldiers everywhere!”

“She’s right,” Connor says. “They know who you are. They’ll do anything to get you.”

“Go and help the others,” Markus insists. “I’ll join you later.”

“Markus –” “I won’t be long!”

Connor grabs your hand and runs, forcing you to stumble and keep up with him as he navigates the halls of the holds.

Eventually, your group meets up with Markus again. He doesn’t even bother with formalities. “Bomb’s gonna explode any second. We gotta get outta here!”

Connor takes off again, dragging you with him. Even as your feet twist and your legs ache from the effort, instinct and adrenaline and Connor’s grip keeps you going. It would be nice – his hand in yours – if not for the current situation, and the gunshots ringing through the air behind you.

You duck your head into your shoulders and cover the back of your neck with your free hand. Connor pushes you in front of him as the woman from before cries out.

A metallic-sounding voice shouts, “Fire at will!”

Markus doesn’t think twice before grabbing a scrap piece of metal and tossing it to her. She uses it as a shield as Markus charges forward and takes on the soldiers.

Connor wraps his arm around your shoulder and ushers you closer to the hole in the hull. “Come on, you need to go.”

“But –” you start. 

“No, you can’t!” Connor snaps, his hold growing tighter. “Officer, please! Please listen to me, just this once.”

You shake yourself free and turn him so that your back is to the soldiers. 

Bad move.

Something pinches the bottom of your shoulder blade, like someone had clapped it a bit too hard. You fall forward into Connor, and he catches you easily. You struggle to take in breath.

“What…?” you mumble. Then, it hits you upside the head: you’ve been shot.

You look into Connor’s eyes as a sudden wave of calm washes over you. “Hank needs you. You can keep him on this Earth. Be vigilant.”

And, you repeat the rest of the PEC-4 Birchtree’s words silently: I love you. (Because, honestly, you’re not sure you’ll be alive long enough to explain those words – not because you don’t love him, but because you’re unsure of the type of love you feel for him.)

“What?” Connor’s expression turns to panic. “No –”

You push.

These aren’t the cards you’ve been dealt. You’ve drawn more, and you’ve made do. You’re playing caravan. He’s playing poker.

Connor’s hand almost grabs the edge of the hole, but it slips and misses. He reaches for you like God reached for Adam, but he falls. The last you see of him is his panic.

Another sting. This time, in your gut. You fall to your knees, clutching yourself. People rush past you and jump out.

You reach behind you to draw your pistol, but someone kicks it from your hand as soon as you do. The calm subsides, as does the adrenaline. Fear sets in. Something brushes against the back of your head.

You do the only thing you can think of: repeat something you first learned of when you came to America.

You mumble, “милосе́рде Го́споди, поми́луй мя гре́шнаго.”

Something cold and hard bites the center of the back of your head.

[alicerosejensen]

All pets go to heaven

Warning: mention of pet deaths; hurt/comfort; angst; dad!Leon.

Synopsis: This is a tragedy in Leon's family. It was inevitable, but it broke one small child's heart.

A/n: I am writing this because my beloved cat who lived with me for 17 years died. It is a great pain to lose pets who have become part of the family, and even knowing that this is inevitable, the pain will not become less. Although I am already an adult, this is the first time I have encountered this pain. I'm just trying to distract myself a little bit and, as always, find solace in writing while my heart heals.

Everyone who has pets - love them because their lives are so short compared to ours. We are their whole life, and they are only a part of it for us.

Losing is always hard. Returning home after a difficult mission that somehow miraculously passed without unnecessary sacrifices, Leon hoped to return to the calm atmosphere of his house where you and your baby girl were waiting for him, whom he had just bought gifts. Some sweets, soft toys, besides, as he drove up to the house, he was thinking about a family outing somewhere to an amusement park and then drop into some cafe and eat ice cream. It would be a great therapy for him and a good opportunity to make up for lost time with his family.

He has already written to you about his imminent return, but did not expect that when he entered the house, he would feel some unusual emptiness. Something that was not as usual when he returned.

You immediately left the kitchen holding a glass of water in your hands when you heard the bang of the front door, which caused a slight smile to blossom on your sad face.

"Leon!" you shouted, putting the glass on the frame that he was home with you again. "You're back! Why didn't you call? I would have prepared something special for dinner."

Leon frowned into your eyes. It's like you've been crying recently. He put the bag on the frame next to the keys, hugged you to him, put his head on top of your head, feeling you relax in his arms.

"I texted you on your phone, wanted to surprise D/N, bought something for her and for you. By the way, where is she? And what happened to your eyes? Did something happen while I was gone?

You nodded softly, freeing yourself from the ring of his arms, and looked up at the second floor, which only made Leon tense, making him nervous.

"Let's go to the kitchen, I'll warm up your lunch" you took Leon's hand hoping that he would immediately follow you and not do everything his own way "And tell you everything. D/N fell asleep in her room recently. I'm sorry, I've hardly picked up the phone lately."

And yet, going into the kitchen, Leon could not help but feel the oppressive atmosphere involuntarily returning him to the distant past where he also sat at the table with an excess of alcohol before the next call from his superiors, waiting for him to be sent on a new mission. The feeling he hoped would never come back. You were sluggishly putting the leftovers of yesterday's lunch on a plate, putting it in the microwave to heat up the food, while Leon was behind you looking at the corner where there were always cat bowls with food and water for Oliver...

It's so strange that the darling of the whole family didn't come out to meet him, as it always was, and now his bowls are gone, but the first thought was that you just decided to wash them and just haven't put them in place yet, and Oliver sleeps on the couch in the living room or in the D/N room, lately because of age He slept a lot.

"The furry fighter sleeps with D/N" joked Leon, sinking into a chair and taking the fork in his hand that you put in front of him.

You shook your head negatively.

"You know, a few days after you left, he got really bad." you began to explain after a heavy sigh, "He was already old by cat standards, at first he began to eat less, then he stopped altogether. He drank only one water, the vet said his kidneys were failing. I decided not to torture him, after all, no matter how painful it was for me to say goodbye to him, I didn't want Oliver to suffer in the last few days, but he quietly died his own death. It makes me feel a little calmer, but D/N... Our girl has been crying for three days."

Leon felt like he had lost all his words. That's why he never got animals, probably because he knew that sooner or later he would have to say goodbye to the one he became attached to, but he met you when you took Oliver as a kitten, and therefore the "furry fighter" as Leon himself called him when they first met, one day also became part of his family along with you. A slightly naughty cat, spoiled, loving to beg for food, when someone just went to the kitchen, often gnawing wires, which is why they had to be hidden. And yet Oliver was part of this family, and D/N love him with all her heart, how could his little girl now know that her beloved furry friend will never come to her again and she will not be able to pet him? Inside Leon everything sank from this thought that his heart demanded to come to his little girl and comfort her.

His appetite immediately disappeared.

"Of course he was old, but it seemed to me that he still had enough strength. He wasn't that bad before I left."

"Yeah," you agreed, placing a plate in front of him.

"He sometimes lost his appetite, but I probably noticed the symptoms too late, although the doctor said that cats often have kidney problems. D/N is the hardest hit. I carefully prepared her for this moment, but three days ago in the morning when she woke up to pet Oliver, he simply did not react - he died peacefully in his sleep. D/N now does not want to do anything, cries all day long and hardly eats."

"I'll go to her," Leon said, getting up from the table without touching his food.

"Leon," you called out to him quietly, causing him to turn around to look at you. "Maybe you can do better than me, to be honest, I haven't been able to find the right words for her in the last three days."

"This... this is not easy for her. She has been with him since birth, but we will succeed, we just need to help her get through this together."

Those were good words. You probably needed them yourself, considering you were the one who picked up Oliver as a kitten, but it's never easy to survive someone else's death, especially someone you loved and cared for for years. While comforting your child, you comfort yourself with the thought that Oliver had lived a good, long cat life. No one had ever hurt him, he lived in warmth, care, and satiety. It was just that his life inevitably came to an end, no matter how much it broke your heart.

Leon paused for a few seconds in front of the door as he climbed the stairs. He often comforted Jane when she was injured or upset about something, but death... It was incredibly difficult for a child to face something like that, especially when his girl loved all animals so much. Leon quietly opened the door and immediately heard sobs that involuntarily made him feel guilty.

Of course he should have been there for her during this difficult period, but he wasn't there, and you alone weren't enough. D/N cries quietly, turning away to the window, hugging a soft toy, not even hearing the steps behind her, immersed only in her grief. Before, she would have jumped out of bed and run to her father, spreading her arms for a hug, and then would have hung on his neck for a long time, begging him to play with her until late in the evening, but now...

"Sunshine, daddy is here"

Leon whispered, sitting down next to her on the bed and putting his hand on her shoulder.

There was another sob. D/N didn't even turn around when she heard his voice, but she definitely realized that her father had returned. How could he blame her? In general, Leon often found himself thinking that it was in his nature to forgive everything to those he loved, especially if it was his own blood. It was more difficult than scraped knees or broken favorite toys. This is the realization to a little girl that her furry friend is gone forever.

She continued to squeeze the toy, sobbing, burying her nose in the pillow. Even when Leon bent down to turn on the night lamp.

"Oliver is gone," she lisped, sniffing loudly, "Mom said he's in a better place now, but I want him back.

"I know, sweetie, I know. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there at that moment." Leon bent down to her, brushing her hair from her face, still gently stroking her back, hoping to ease those tears a little, but it seemed terrible. This is not a situation where you could turn everything into a joke or make her pay attention to something else.

Father's mind rightly told him only that it was necessary for Jane to survive this. That sometimes those we love inevitably leave. An experience that no one wants to go through on their own skin, and Leon himself never wanted such suffering for his daughter.

Leon spoke again only when the children's sobs subsided under his caring hand.

"We all loved him very much, even when he was doing his cat chores past the tray or gnawing on the wires," he smiled, feeling that D/N had done the same, even if she wasn't looking at him. "But unfortunately, the life of animals is much shorter than that of humans. And yet, despite this, I'm sure he was a happy cat. Has anyone offended him?"

She took a deep breath, wiping tears from her cheeks with her palm, finally looking at her father with tear-stained eyes and quietly shook her head in denial.

"N-no" the stuffed toy was back in her hands "But you used to swear at him sometimes"

"Well, sometimes Oliver behaved badly, I mean that some animals are much less lucky. I've never been mad at him for a long time, even when you were very young. You were just born then and you were lying in your crib when Oliver scratched you because you cried."

Leon shrugged, remembering the past, smiling involuntarily.

D/N frowned, scratching her swollen face, clearly not believing Leon's words.

"He didn't hurt me. We always played and he slept next to me."

"It was the only time. I think you were just something new to him and he was scared of loud noises."

These words brought a short smile to her face, which couldn't help but please Leon. He settled down more comfortably next to her, pressing D/N to his shoulder, watching as she gradually began to calm down.

With a heavy sigh, a new stream of tears nevertheless gushed from her eyes after several minutes of silence. "I miss him".

"Shh, I know it's hard. It's really hard but it happened. His life is over and Mom didn't lie to you - Oliver really is in a better place now."

Leon held her small body close to him, letting her cry and cry. His strong embrace protected, but hardly comforted. Even when you came into the room, hearing another cry, this sight of your daughter's tears tore you apart. An endlessly long stage of denial of grief and a childish selfish desire for a beloved cat to come back to life no matter what. You wanted this too, but no one has such power.

You sat down on the other side of the bed so that D/N was in the middle of the two of you, however, it seemed that she did not notice your presence, but you still gently stroked her hair, looking into Leon's eyes, feeling helpless.

Until Leon took her on his lap and kissed the top of her head, ignoring the fact that his shirt and sleeve were now covered in saliva and snot. However, he is a father and this is not the worst thing he could get dirty in.

"Baby, listen to Daddy for a minute," Leon brushed the hair from her tear-stained face, forcing her to look at him, "Do you remember when we watched the cartoon 'all dogs go to heaven'? "

D/N nodded, clutching his arm. You were just reaching for the bedside table for paper handkerchiefs, taking out a couple of them, wiping her face while Leon was talking:

"Of course, the cartoon was about dogs, but it wasn't entirely true. In fact, not only dogs get to heaven, but also cats, birds, hamsters, guinea pigs, it doesn't matter, all pets. And our Oliver is there now too."

"So he's just like Charlie now?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Leon nodded, hugging her to him. "Yeah, our Oliver is in the best place now, just like Charlie."

"Can't he wind up the clock too and stay with us a little longer? "

You cast a brief glance at Leon, either rejoicing at the brief glimmer of calm, or on the contrary disapproving of using the plot of an old cartoon as a consolation. On the other hand, what's wrong with a child believing that a pet has gone to heaven after death? At least it would help her start accepting death, because despite still young age, you didn't want to deceive her by coming up with excuses just to hide the painful truth.

It didn't seem like a good idea. So you reached out to D/N, joining the conversation without abandoning your husband in trouble:

"Sweetie, alas, but no. Oliver can no longer come back to us, but he knows that we love him and miss him. And he loves us too."

"Besides," Leon chimed in, "if you remember, no one had the right to wind that clock."

There was that deafening silence again, broken only by sighs and sniffing. Neither you nor Leon dared to speak again while Jane sat quietly on his lap with her eyes downcast, thinking about something of her own. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. After all, this cannot even be considered as such a deception, just a way to cope with the loss.

Cautiously glancing at his wristwatch, Leon saw what time it was and realized that Jane usually falls asleep at this time, but leaving her alone at such a moment... After kissing her on the forehead, Leon easily lifted her into his arms, feeling her arms around his neck as he carried her to your shared bedroom. You didn't even have time to understand anything, just watching with wide eyes as he nods at you in the direction of the door.

"We're not going to cry anymore, are we?" he asked D/N, and although she wiped her cheeks, she still shrugged her shoulders from ignorance, "I bought us all ice cream, so now we're going to wash our faces with you, and then mom will bring us a bucket of ice cream and the three of us will eat and watch cartoon, how do you like this plan?"

Finally she smiled nodding her head in agreement. How could you object? While they were washing in the bathroom, you straightened the bed, took a pillow and a blanket from the nursery and put them in the middle of the bed, then went downstairs, took them out of the freezer, not forgetting the spoons. By the time you returned to the room, Leon and D/N had already selected a cartoon, launched it for viewing and were waiting only for you.

laying down next to her side of the bed, dimming the light, you could see Jane was tired, but she still ate ice cream for a while, after which she settled comfortably under Leon's armpit, falling asleep pretty quickly without watching the cartoon. At least you can all get some sleep.

"So all pets go to heaven?" You asked quietly as you got into bed and watched Leon carefully place Jane's head on the pillow so that he could take a bath and go to bed himself.

He just sighed, grabbing a towel and a set of clothes from the closet, turning to you, speaking in a whisper so as not to wake the child.

"So be it. In the end, despite all the cat's antics, I also want to believe that this cat is now somewhere where he is good." He bent down to leave a short kiss on your lips.

"You don't believe it," you said, stopping him in the aisle, forcing him to turn around and look at you again. "Allright, the main thing is that it worked and she was able to calm down a little."

Leon looked at you sadly as you put the empty bucket on the bedside table lying down next to D/N. After all, it was difficult for you too, but crying in front of a child was unacceptable. However, he knew that you were the one who sheltered Oliver, which is why his death hurt you no less, if not more.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, with my job it's hard to believe in something like that, but now I really want to think that all pets go to heaven. And not only them..."

Fair or not, you both lay in bed for a long time without falling asleep, listening to your daughter's childish snores. After the shower, Leon held your hand for a long time in silence, realizing that it was not only Jane who really needed comfort, but you too.

All pets go to heaven... falling asleep you also wanted to believe that your Oliver is now in a place where he will never feel bad or that perhaps he will really come back again in the form of another cat.

[coolbattlegirl]

Based off my cryptid twst au post

Feverish coughing filled the dark cottage, its source coming from the small bundle hidden underneath the bed sheets. The monster that loomed over the bed cooed and hushed at the sickened child, “Oh, you poor thing…” It whispered tenderly, “How ill and frail you are…” 

Clawed fingers dips a small towel into ice cold water, mimicking the familiar actions the creature had seen the humans do numerous times when their offspring fell ill. Moving its now inky long hair away from its face, it delicately places the towel onto the child’s sweaty forehead, a small whimper escaping the child as it does so. 

Despite the help of the cooling towel, the feverish child still seemed restless. Now that wouldn’t do. The creature began to hum softly towards the ailing child, a song they sang many times in the past. His fingers caressed the child’s hair, as he did, careful to not scratch the soft skin underneath it. 

Lilia watches as the child’s face slowly begins to relax, letting out a content sigh as they did. Upon seeing such a simple action, he couldn’t help but feel a part of his heart fracture at the similarity. A memory flashes through his mind, the soothing sound of rain falling outside the cave, a small, warm, fluffy being nestled by his side for warmth as he diligently groomed his offspring dry. If he dared to close his eyes, he could almost delude himself into thinking the child before him was his own offspring. 

And in an instant, the skin of his new form feels too tight, too suffocating. He has to stifle the hysterical laughter that has now become trapped in his throat, because he knows those cherished moments are never coming back. No matter how much he tries to delude himself, his offspring is gone. They picked up their spears and swords and slaughtered his poor child. They took his child away from him. The child who had once been filled with life and curiosity now lies rotting in some unknown ditch. 

Rage still boils underneath his skin, burning at his veins, threatening to erupt. But he reels it in, because he got even with them. They took what was his, and in return, he took, no, claimed something of theirs. A smile creeps onto his face, looking too sharp and wide for his now human face. He nuzzles the child’s face, cooing tenderly into their now silvery locks, “It’s only fair for you to be by my side now...��� A hand trails up the child’s neck, pausing before gently going to hold his face, “My sweet little prince…” 

[sphireath-wisp]

please do sae and kaiser next for You and Me - Always Forever i love it sm!!! 💗💗

#You and Me - Always Forever

Sypnosis: What was one of the moments that made them decide they wanted to marry you and vice versa?

Warnings: Might fall in love with the reader, no actual proposals (just the moments that spark the thought, that feeling that you'd want to spend a lifetime with that person), not proofread, messy interchanging grammar

Notes: SOMEONE HAS ANSWERED MY PRAYERS I FINALLY GOT A REQUEST, ILYSM ANON TYSM 💪💪💪

Featuring: Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser x GN! Reader

Sae Itoshi - What made him want to marry you?

"One ice cream for the newlyweds!" The ice cream uncle ecstatically exclaims, a smile beaming on his face. He passes you the ice cream and swipes the money from Sae's hands - he would have usually done the uncle a favor by passing the money directly, but his assumption about the both of you made him malfunction for a moment.

Sae exchanged quick glances with you - any longer and you would have noticed a hint of red creeping up his cheeks. "We're not newlyweds," Sae speaks before stuffing spare change in his wallet.

"Oh?" The uncle's eyes widen, "You both looked on the younger side. How long have you both been married?"

"Aha, no, we're not married." You blurt out, the already-dopey smile on your face growing even wider as you feel Sae's pinky finger link with yours. "We're not engaged either." You add on, just in case.

"Really? I'm sorry for making assumptions then," the uncle nods as you insist it's okay, he did give you and Sae quite a euphoric moment to remember - a small moment etched into both of your memories.

As you laugh about the whole situation after waving the uncle goodbye, you notice Sae seems to be... absorbed in his thoughts, hands still tucked in his pockets and silent as ever - he didn't even taste the ice cream you both agreed to share, he was so excited to show you his favorite ice cream truck that he almost annually visited every week as a child.

"Sae?" You nudge him lightly after scooping up a portion of the ice cream with a small spoon. "Come on, eat some ice cream, or else it'll melt."

Sae blinks and snaps out of his dazed trance, eyes on the ice cream before looking at you - gaze melting ever so slightly. "You can have all of it. I had a lot of it as a kid."

"But, didn't you say it's your favorite flavor? Plus, we agreed to share or else I'll be too full for lunch." He still seems to be out of it as his eyes linger on you for longer than usual. His mind was still stuck on the interaction between you, him, and the ice cream uncle.

Did you both look like a couple that much? Did the both of you really act like a married couple? The thought that both you and Sae were just dating never even crossed the uncle's mind. The look on his face when you told him that you weren't married to Sae... was it really that surprising?

Sae's eyes narrow slightly at you after you take another bite. Taking the complimentary tissues the uncle passed you, one hand lifts your chin up, the other hand using the tissue to wipe the corner of your mouth gently. He didn't laugh or make fun of you, the gears in his body turning to help you without any judgment.

Sae pauses, taking a mental note of his actions. His eyes locked with you once more before shifting back... perhaps the both of you did resemble a married couple a bit. "...What were you saying?"

"...Nothing." You glance away, swarms of butterflies invading your stomach.

After that, even when you both returned to your shared apartment, he began realizing just how automatic and in tune the both of you were together. Every morning, you always prepared that extra cup of coffee for him. He'd always warn you of hot surfaces beforehand. You'd always prepare the bath before he reached home and he always reminded you to water the plants outside.

Sae was logical, calculative, and always thought before he acted. He had no reason to marry you (if he ignored how hopelessly in love he was with you, but he wouldn't accept that as a legitimate reason.). However, at the very same time, he didn't have any reason to not marry you (which he used to convince himself that everything he was doing was planned and completely logical.)

The more he considered it, the more he thought about his life with you. He loved waking up with you next to him every morning. He loved how adaptable you were, waiting in bed for him for his nap so he wouldn't have to drag you into bed with him. He couldn't see himself in a future without you. He had someone to lose.

So, he'll hold you close and never let you go, forever.

You - What made you want to marry him?

Sae was always someone that sensed more than he spoke.

His eyes are constantly at work, observing your every reaction, greedily stealing glances from you because he could never get tired of looking at you despite living in the same apartment. The smell of your perfume/cologne comforts him to unbelievable lengths, it calms him down. And occasionally, he wouldn't mind a bit of physical touch if it's with you. Give him that sweet smile and his barriers are broken down in an instant; maybe his lips will work their magic on you if he has the time (Sae always says he does).

But, of course, we're left with the last of the 5 senses - hearing. If there was one thing he loved doing, he absolutely adored hearing your voice. He's always the first to notice when you have a sore throat or when you're sick because of your voice, he's so sharp that even slight changes in your tone don't go unnoticed.

Sae would always insist that you call him, but since he rarely had the time overseas, you would resort to voice messages instead. Long voice messages about you rambling to him about your day, about the stone you accidentally tripped over, about that new Cafe that just opened up and smelt just like him during slow mornings - freshly brewed coffee.

Even after he was back from his overseas trip, he still continued to (indirectly) ask you to send him voice messages. It was a bit... strange to you. You didn't mind honestly, but it did pique your curiosity.

"Why do you want me to send you voice messages when we can just talk like this?" The question pops up in your head and you blurt it out without a second thought, adjusting yourself in the passenger seat of Sae's car to get comfortable. "You're back from your overseas trip, we could always talk in person."

Sae doesn't respond and you notice his lips part slightly before he purses them back - little changes in his body language that you've learned to take note of. He was hesitant to respond.

He was aware of how aloof he could be, painfully aware. Even in times like now, he was still trying to frame his words in a way that wasn't too blunt.

"Once..." Sae parked the car first before finally speaking. "You told me you felt like I wasn't listening to you and you got sad. You stopped rambling and talking to me as much as you used to." Sae lets go of the steering wheel, body twisting to the side to face you fully, demonstrating to you just how much he meant every word.

"You always told me you didn't like one-way conversations... but I like your voice." Sae openly admits - something he's sure he would've regretted in the past, but he knows you wouldn't judge. You nodded as he spoke, eyes locked with his as you felt heat creep to your cheeks and up the tip of your ears - he really was listening.

"For the first time in a while, I heard you ramble in your voice messages. It was... nice to hear you talk for so long and you sounded so happy." Your eyes capture the heartwarming image of him glancing away to hide the pink dusted on his cheeks, a smile tugging on his lips. At that point, you couldn't stop smiling, words like this would make anyone fall in love. "I just wanted to hear you ramble like that more."

His hands land on the back of his neck, scratching it lightly whilst waiting for your response.

It was weirdly innocent and pure for someone like Sae, even you couldn't hold back your giggles after hearing his reasoning. Sae grip on your hand tightens as you laugh. Damn it, did you have to be that charming?

"Sae," Your voice lowers and he feels shivers crawl down his spine at the way you hum his name. You've immediately stolen all of his focus with one word, you really are remarkable. "It feels uncomfortable because sometimes you never reply. When I talk, I wanna feel like I'm being heard, you know?"

Sae nodded.

"A simple 'uhuh' or asking questions makes me feel like I'm being listened to." You gently stroke his knuckles with your thumb and his gaze alternates between you and your hand interlocked with his. "Plus, hearing my voice like this, in real life, sounds much better, right?"

"Mmhm, you're right... Could you continue about that cat you saw at the pet shop?" He was always a fast learner.

Michael Kaiser - What made him want to marry you?

"How are you feeling?" You almost flinch when you press your hand against Kaiser's forehead, his rising temperature alarming you. You tilt your head to the side, allowing him to bury his face comfortably into the crook of your neck. "Not so good, meine liebe." Kaiser grumbles, voice hoarse.

You feel heat radiate from his body and arms wrap around your waist, leaving not even a centimeter of breathing room between you and him. Usually, if he was in a better condition, he'd be teasing you in soft whispers or planting delicate kisses against your skin, smirking at your reaction.

Hot breaths against your neck give rise to even more concern and you quickly guide him back to bed - the place where he gathered so much of his energy together to escape from so he could be with you despite his worsening fever. "No crawling out of bed and no rebutting that." You order, lowering his head down on the pillow and spotting the sweat trickling down his face. Strands of hair cling to the back of his neck, breathing heavy and erratic.

"You're so cruel to me, der Liebling." Kaiser groans softly, chuckling in spite of his unfortunate situation. You feel your cheek flush slightly at the way he calls you, though he doesn't sound as pleasant to the ears with his sore throat. "I'll be nice if you listen, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Kaiser's gaze melts and you almost feel yourself melting along. The effect this man had on you was crazy.

You sigh and stand up, "I'll go make you some food. Eating more is important especially when you're sick." Kaiser's fingers inch towards you just as you're about to leave, but he lacks the energy to stop you entirely.

It was... nice to see your nurturing side towards him. How you gently creak the door open and innocently peek your head in, muttering his name in case he was awake. How you'll always catch him when he pretends he's asleep - he just likes feeling you pat his head and run your fingers through his hair to soothe him to sleep. The way you always rush to his room when he calls out your name, you purposefully don't listen to music when he's sick so you can always hear his voice.

You insisted on doing the chores for the week and - no matter how much Kaiser tried to get up and help, you were just as stubborn as him and refused any assistance. He feels exhausted, but he'll ignore that exhaustion if it means he can help you even in this situation - it's out of character for him to be so selfless.

"Kaiser... can you sit up and eat?" You highly doubted he could, especially when all he could do was return you with a weak nod instead of a verbal response. "Okay, I'll lead you outside, but please tell me if you need to go back to bed."

Kaiser wraps his arm around your shoulder, trying to wobble back onto his own two feet. Usually, you would be spoonfeeding him chicken soup or something warm by the bed, but the table bedside didn't have enough space to fit all of the food you prepared.

Weary eyes glance at the whole feast on the table and you help him sit down before sitting down next to him. "Recognize any of the dishes?"

"...are these all German dishes?" He instantly recognizes them from the smell alone. "Mmhm! I got a little carried away with how much I prepared, but I hope they make you feel a little more at home, or at least better." He could practically burst into tears right now, gaze switching between you and the food you spent the whole morning and afternoon preparing.

You pick up a spoon and grab a bite-sized portion of the food in front of you, cupping his cheeks as you ask him say 'aahh'. He obeys, opening his mouth before being fed the food. "How is it?" You inquire, scooping up another bite.

"It tastes like an amateur made it." You almost drop your spoon and your chin dips. It felt like you just received a kick to the stomach and you chuckle. You both sit in silence for a moment and you begin to reconsider whether his initial comment was sarcasm or not.

"But," Kaiser's hand rests on your thigh, thumb lightly caressing your skin - he's always been a bit of a romantic. "It's one of the best dishes I've ever had, der Liebling."

You - What made you want to marry him?

Kaiser was always a risk-taker. His charms never failed him when it came to others and his skills always proved him superior in soccer, so of course you assumed it was the same thing when it came to you. You were sure you were just another victim of his charms and he happened to fall in love so hard that he stuck with you until now.

Though, that all changed when you began reminiscing about your younger years with him.

"Do you remember when we had our first kiss?" The words slip out of your mouth suddenly as you stare out of the window of your shared apartment with Kaiser, entranced by the ocean of stars glittering like jewels in the midnight sky.

Kaiser steals a glance at you and you don't stare back - good, he didn't want you to tease him about the (most likely) obvious blush on his cheeks. "Yeah," he mumbles out loud before your head swerves to look in his direction.

Simultaneously, both of your lips part.

"It was horrible."

"It was amazing."

You blink at Kaiser, lips pursing to hold back your giggles in vain. "You thought it was amazing?"

Kaiser fidgets with the pen in his hand, scoffing. "Yeah, why do you think it was horrible? I invited you out to a nice restaurant, we walked home together and I kissed you goodnight - sounds like it came out of a movie, what's wrong?" His eyebrows furrow as the memories of him being laughably nervous that evening suddenly flood his mind.

"I was a terrible kisser back then." You admit, a tinge of embarrassment laced into your words. You look away, back at the stars. "You broke this kiss so early, I screamed into my pillow all night."

Kaiser rests his cheek on his knuckles, elbow resting against the table and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose slightly. He uses the pen to guide your chin, making you face him. "You weren't terrible, Meine Liebe."

Your fingers gently hold the pen, rolling your eyes with a dopey smile. "Don't use your flattery and charms against me. You always got me all flustered in the past."

"I'm being honest, really. From my very clear memory, you weren't as bad as you described." He's beginning to ramble. "In fact, you were the one who unintentionally made me flustered."

"Oh?" Kaiser pauses as you interrupt him, mind processing what he had just told you. "Like? Give me a few examples."

Oh fuck.

"Was it when I gave you a hug all of a sudden when you won the first match you invited me to?" Oh god, all of the memories are really coming back to him. He wanted to impress you so bad and actually considered that he might lose.

You inch closer, grinning from ear to ear. He had always known you looked good up close but wow.

"Was it when we accidentally bumped shoulders and you couldn't look me in the eye? I thought you felt bad for spilling my drink, but were you actually nervous around me?" You have no idea how many times he's actually stared at you from afar, sweaty hands stuffed into his pockets as he spoke to you.

Did the temperature suddenly rise? Why is he sweating so much?

"So... you broke that kiss with me so early because you were shy?" You hit the nail right on the coffin, watching him melt right before your eyes and glance away. Oh, how the tables had turned.

"Wow, I never knew." You hum in satisfaction, leaning back to give him a little more breathing space. "You fell for me hard, didn't you?"

Kaiser's dead silent, his heart pounding in his chest. He wished his heartbeat was loud enough to block out the sound of your voice, maybe then he would have time to recover and retort. "Meine Liebe, please..."

You place your hand on his, eyes glued back onto the stars as an amused chuckle escapes you. "I like this side of you. I like all sides of you." You heard the leaves rustling outside in a minute of short, sweet silence.

"I love you, Kaiser." You announce, almost too proudly. Kaiser sighs, still unable to lock eye contact with you. "...I love you too."

[bumblesimagines]

was any of it real?

i can't go on without you.

Robb Stark

was any of it real?

i can't go on without you.

pronouns: he/him, male

The tales of chivalry and romance you'd heard growing up never spoke about heartbreak. They never mentioned how it was to feel as if someone forced you into a tub full of ice and water or how it felt to feel your heart slowly shatter into pieces. Maybe if they'd mentioned the devastating ache of such a betrayal, you would've forced yourself to turn away from Robb Stark of Winterfell. You wouldn't have returned the kiss that fateful night by the godswood and you certainly wouldn't have continued to meet him in secret, away from lingering eyes and nosy ears. It'd been fun for a while. Sneaking around Winterfell, sharing knowing looks, stealing a quick kiss during the daytime. 

And then the war came. And with it Talisa Maegyr. 

It was hard to hate her. How could you when she hadn't known about the long romance between you and Robb? Talisa was beautiful with her sunkissed skin, long chestnut locks that cascaded down her back, and sweet eyes that soothed the injured she tended to. Despite her kind and gentle nature, she had a fiery tongue that you'd grown to be amused by. And apparently so had Robb. In fact, she'd amused him so much, he'd gone ahead and slept with her. The bitterness, anger, and cold betrayal you felt had solely been reserved for the so-called King in the North.

You carefully ran a wet rag over your bloodied sword, the cool dampness digging into your skin as the cloth changed from white to red. He'd been silent since the moment he'd entered your tent, lingering by the entrance with a look of deep shame. His mother, the beloved Catelyn Stark, had already given him an earful for sleeping with her, but the light scolding had turned into a long lecture when Talisa revealed she carried the result of their night together. 

"What is it, Your Grace? You've been standing there an awful long time without saying anything." You murmured, watching the sword gleam in the light of the lantern. If it'd been anyone else, you would've been tempted to put the blade through their skin. But Robb was a Stark, a King, and the heir to Winterfell. Your family had sworn their loyalty to them and you'd be damned to break an oath over a foolish man. 

"(Y/N), I swear by the Old Gods and-"

"That means nothing to me, not anymore. You said those same words by the godswood before we marched off to war when you claimed to harbor real love for me. Was any of it real? Or did you see me as a simple bedmate?" Your head snapped in his direction, voice low and full of fury ready to be unleashed. Robb's frown deepened and he stepped further into the tent.

"Of course it was real, (Y/N). I've loved you since we were children. The moment Lord Manderly brought you to Winterfell, I knew you were the only one I'd ever want."

"And yet, Talisa is expecting your child. I don't desire your love if it's so easily ignored the moment someone opens their legs for you." You spat and Robb dipped his head again, looking like the young boy you once cared for so deeply. Rising from the bed, you slid the sword back into its sheath and set it aside. "House Manderly has been indebted to the Starks for many years. Ned Stark had been like a father to me. I fight this war for him and the injustice he faced at the hands of the Lannisters. I'll continue fighting with you, but not for you anymore. Perhaps this is a sign to accept Father's marriage proposal to Jeyne Westerling."

At the mention of marriage, Robb's head shot up, his blue eyes widening into saucers and filling you with some satisfaction. "What? Why was I not made aware of this proposal?"

"Why was I not made aware of you sleeping with Talisa until now?" 

"Because I can't go on without you, (Y/N). It was a mistake. I never should've allowed it to happen-"

"It happened, Robb. You're no longer a boy. You're a king. It's time to face reality and start behaving like one. You can start by marrying Talisa and saving her from shame... and by forgetting about us."

[hisaacswrites]

See, Soap is a bartender. Well, he’s actually whatever his boss says he is while he gets used to civvie life again, but right now he’s a bartender. And before that, he was SAS. In both professions, being able to read people is invaluable. And even before that, Soap had always been good at getting a feel for people, at reading a room and seeing what’s underneath it all.

Which is why he’s been keeping an eye on the bar’s back booth. There’s a couple there. A bombshell of a woman and a hulking mountain of a man. For all intents and purposes, they look like the stereotypical lovesick couple who’ve had a bit too much to drink to understand the boundaries of acceptable PDA- The woman is draped across the man’s lap, her hands are wandering across and under, her lips working furiously over his skin every chance she gets in between sips of her drink and eyeing the crowd.

But something sets Soap’s senses on edge. Something is wrong.

Maybe it’s how stiff and awkward and downright uncomfortable the man looks.

Maybe it’s how the woman keeps shoving drinks into his hands despite his clear reluctance, watching him like a hawk until he finishes the glass.

Maybe it’s how the man subtly flinches every time the woman touches his bare skin with her oxblood nails. Or how he tries to hunch in on himself when she’s not focused on him, how he seems to be pressing back into the seat as if he could disappear into the upholstery.

Maybe it’s the panic in his eyes, the resignation on his face, the ignored “no’s” that Soap can read on his lips even across the dark room.

Something is wrong.

So even though the man is built like a brick shithouse and looks like he could bench Soap without breaking a sweat, and even though he has scars across his face and knuckles that prove he can take care of himself, and even though Soap can feel the aura of “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” radiating from him-

Soap still approaches the man when the woman stumbles her way to the bathroom. Because something is wrong and he’ll be damned if he ignores his intuition.

So Soap goes over under the guise of picking up the empty glasses, undeterred by the man who’s unfocused gaze is boring holes into the sticky table. He picks up the glasses and plays it cool, rapping his knuckles to get the man’s attention, as if taking his order for a refill.

Asks the stranger if he needs an angel shot.

It takes a moment for the man to respond, for him to understand what Soap is asking. But when the man’s shoulders slump in relief and gratitude shines in his dark eyes as he nods up at Soap, looking like a lost child staring up at their salvation, Soap knows he made the right decision.

The woman returns, sliding into the booth and spreading possessively over the man’s lap when Soap asks him how he wants his drink.

The “On ice, please,” spoken in a rough and tired baritone has Soap nodding and heading back to the bar with a grim but determined expression.

In a few minutes, he’ll head back to the table and tell the man that something is wrong with his credit card and he should come with him to settle the tab. He’ll take the man to the back office, safe and secure, and get the woman an Uber of her own. He’ll learn that the man’s name is Simon and that he’s been in an abusive relationship with the woman for two and a half years. Soap’ll learn that she physically, mentally, emotionally, financially abused Simon, that she controls his every move, that she cost him his job, she wrecked his car, she killed his cat-

But right now he’s grabbing a refrigerated bottle of water and a bag of crisps, dropping them off in the back before putting his best apologetic-server face on and heading back towards the booth with the “bad news” about the man’s card.

First, he has an angel shot to deliver.

A brainworm drabble that’s near and dear to my heart. Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes and doesn’t discriminate against gender. Please keep your eyes peeled, your ears sharp, and your hearts open to those who may need help, including yourselves. A part of me wants to make this a full fic, but I’m not sure. For now it’ll live with the other brain worms.

[naffeclipse]

What whould happen if harpy YN was the one to find the baby orcas and desided to take them under their wing (*budum tiss*) before even meeting eclipse?

You couldn't help but catch the desperate, shrill chirps carried by the wind. It's not the cries of chicks, but you feel how small they are in the calls. You waddle cautiously across the ice and reach a breathing hole where the small sounds are coming from.

You never imagine upon looking within you'd find two pairs of small, wide-eyes looking up at you, mouths open in whining hunger. Their small bodies are black and white, but one is tipped in golden yellow colors, and the other has gradient edges of deep blue. They squirm in the quickly freezing water, ice cracking around their tiny, shivering forms.

Then you're seized with terror. If little sirens are here, large ones must be close by.

You should retreat, you should leave before the parents return and decide to make you into a quick meal for their young... but you can't turn away from their little faces. They cry out. Small hands tipped in nubby claws cling to each other. Their complaints of hunger prick your heart.

You wait. You stand by, prepared to dive away on your belly should a siren see you far too close to its babies but they never come.

Their crying grows louder and louder, and your heart softens and softens. Strangely, the young are alone, left so close to where other predators could snatch them up. Perhaps... Just maybe...

You look upon the young and smile at them. Carefully, you dip your flippers into the freezing water and pick them up, cradling one in the crook of each arm. You fear how little warmth you can offer them upon the ice with only your feathers and their slick rubbery skin but like nestling eggs, they dig into your side and their crying falls to whimpers.

"Hush, chicks. I'm here. I'll find you food."

You don't notice the shadow that just arrived at the breathing hole, searching for an unfortunate seal to dine upon but instead discovering a wonderful strange sight. A harpy with the feathers of the penguin tenderly tending to siren young.

You are beautiful.

Those babies will need to be guided in the water, and of course, they require food. They're so sweet and small.

He can provide, he will share the burden of child-rearing, and show you how he can protect his new family. In return, he will make you his.