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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

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I'D GO BACK TO DECEMBER, TURN AROUND AND CHANGE MY OWN MIND.

summary: eddie can't sleep, and decides to write a song. you join him.

warnings: strong language, angst, minors dni

wc: 5k+

a/n: if you're curious about the song eddie is writing & showing to sugar in this chapter, it's take aim by sleep token <3

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Eddie never thought he’d get this far.

Not with the band, not in life, and most certainly not with you.

It’s all he could think about as he sits in his studio, still reminiscing on the time he’d spent sat the edge of the bed this morning. Precious time spent as he’d watched you curl into his sheets, a faded trail of mascara still visible along your cheek. He’d expected you to up and run the moment it was all over; he thought you’d sprint to the finish line, to his front door, to the elevator. He had assumed you’d be eager to get as far from him as possible in the aftermath. But then, you didn’t.

You’d clung to him for just a few moments longer than necessary. You’d let your nails sink into his skin for a few blissful extra seconds, and let your lips graze against his shoulder with the softest of panting breaths. And although he had enjoyed it, he doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s at a loss for where to go now that you still allow him the comfort of your presence as you stay wrapped up in the ruffled sheets of his bed, as you take intentionally deep breaths that he knows are laced with the scent of his cologne.

He thinks you’re asleep. He hopes you are.

He’d almost forgotten how it felt – the privilege of watching you in this state, face relaxed and chest rising and falling with every breath that veers just shy of becoming a snore. The way your lashes brush the delicate skin beneath your eyes, the way your hand contracts into a weak fist against the deep black of his sheets on occasion, the way your lips part more and more with every second you fall into a deeper rest. It’s mesmerizing – it’s homely. For the first time in years, since that last tour he had embarked on before losing you, he feels peace. It’s a sizzling warmth that crackles in his lower ribs first, gently licking its way up his spine until the emotion settles in the back of his throat. You’re here. He had felt you, held you, had you, even if only momentarily, and you’re still here.

It all haunts him, the only thing he can think about as he sits in the room across the hall from you now, a heavy guitar in his lap and a fractured memory falling off his lips in quiet hums.

“So take aim,” his falsetto tone is so gentle, so whispered, it’s nearly broken as it rolls off his tongue. His teeth don’t grind together like they normally do during his writing process, his fingers don’t flutter and falter as they find the reach of a melody against strings entirely natural.

For once, the music is coming to him as easily as it once had. The way it had during summer days at your side, during late autumn nights while the two of you loitered on picnic tables at the edge of the forest surrounding the trailer park.

It’s the simplest of melodies, the muddiest of lyrics, but they’re still coming naturally.

“And when I see you waking up, and it sends me shivers,” he murmurs, voice hardly melodic as he plucks along a few individual notes, “How you love like weapons kill-”

He cuts himself off with a sudden sigh. What the fuck does that even mean? Love like weapons kill? He can already hear the producers, all the men in business suits who throw money at him as they demand his heart and blood, scrutinizing the nonsensical poetry.

“Like weapons kill?” he scolds himself outloud this time over the line, still desperately trying to whisper as to not wake you, “What the fuck does that even mean-”

“Sounds like this person’s love is dangerous, especially in the wrong hands.”

Everything freezes as your voice carries from the doorframe. Eddie looks up in an instant, aware of just how ridiculous he currently looks. Clad in nothing but his boxers, hair still frizzy from your recent activities.

But something instantly thaws just as quickly as it had chilled at the sight of you.

You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, an older one that he’d buried in some drawer long ago when he’d first moved in. One of the first merch designs for Corroded Coffin.

The fabric has been stretched out in odd places from the years of previous wear, and the neckline exposes just enough of your skin for him to see traces of his bites he’d left behind, visibly blooming beneath the skin when the light hits them just right.

He wonders how long it would take them to fade if you choose to leave now.

“What?” he finally questions, aware of just how long he’s been staring. Each blink is slow, rhythmic as he begins to settle the guitar onto the stand to his right.

You’re quick to shake your head, “No, uh, I- I didn’t mean for you to stop. Please, by all means…” You trail off, waving in the air between the two of you, motioning for him to keep the guitar in his hands.

He’s under your entrapment, left with no defenses as he keeps the acoustic Yamaha in his lap. “What did you mean when you said it sounds like the person’s love is dangerous?”

He watches the fall of your face carefully, easily spots the internal war that begins to take place behind your solemn eyes. Maybe he’s gone too far, maybe he’s pressed further against the precipice than he should have-

“Weapons don’t always kill,” you say slowly, taking further steps into the room. He tries not to think about the way you’re the first person besides himself to be in here, in a space he considers so holy, “A gun is just a gun, a knife is just a knife. We all know what their purpose is but… well, they only kill when the person wielding them wants them to, you know?” your brows are furrowed, arms crossed as your fingertips dig into your flesh nervously. He catches the way you nearly bite your lip before deciding against it, and he also catches the apology on the tip of your tongue when your eyes shoot up to meet his, “Shit, I’m psychoanalyzing your lyrics, I’m sor-”

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupts, trying to fight the grin wanting to spread, “I’m just glad it makes sense, since I was only… Well, it just sounded good, you know?”

It’s exactly as he saw you. You had the power to kill him, to let him back in. To lay your weapons down as you gave up the fight or set your aim directly on his chest.

Selfishly, he’s hoping for the latter. He’s hoping you paint a bullseye right across his sorry existence, make him your chosen once more, especially after tonight.

“You used to do that a lot back in the day,” he forces out around a lump in his throat right as the realization hits. This scene is a familiar one; if you were to replace the small makeshift studio he’s built in his home with his bedroom back in Hawkins, Indiana, it would be a frame-for-frame reenactment of how many afternoons went between the two of you, “I think at this point, you deserve writing credits on half our earlier shit.”

“Just because I can tear your words apart doesn’t mean I did anything,” you’re quick to shake your head, and your steps are more sure as you sit down on one of the stools in front of him, “The words were yours to begin with. I’m just like any other adoring fan in the crowd.”

Except you’re not in the crowd.

You haven’t been for so long, he almost forgets what it’s like to look across a crowd flooded with the house lights and see your vibrant smile. It used to be his anchor during performances, and now it’s been nothing more than a ghost haunting him at every show. Always searching, always coming up empty handed. An empty, hollow ache to make his entire existence churn as he realizes not a single person in that sea of faces are the one meant to hear the words he was belting messily against a mic.

They don’t get the little gasps of pain between lines, they don’t get why he’s played hard enough to make his knuckles bleed during a few performances. They just think it’s hot, according to the tabloids and online chatter. Another layer to the bad boy persona, to the version of him that has become so ostracized as a poor passionate fool with a nice face.

“Are you okay if I join you?” you say suddenly, shifting as if you think his silence was meant to be an invisible nod towards the door, “I can leave-”

“Please don’t,” he nearly gasps out, desperate to keep you right here. In his line of sight, in his apartment. Just the word leave triggers his fight or flight. “I mean, you can stay. I don’t mind. I was just fucking around, anyways.”

He’s missed doing that. Missed plucking aimlessly at an instrument with you nearby, humming pointlessly as he can see a serene grin spreading across your face in his peripherals. He misses when the music felt good.

When you were both the muse and the audience. Guaranteed. Only one of those is a solid bet these days.

You snort a little, and he notices the way your eyes are still bleary, “Just fucking around? If I were the one just fucking around with a guitar, it would sound way worse.”

“Oh, c’mon. It wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Did you forget the one time you tried to teach me guitar?” you blurt it out so recklessly, like a photo album of memories spitting out an old faded polaroid. Something that’s gathered enough dust in the attic to make you both choke, “I was hopeless.”

He remembers. God, he remembers.

You, sitting on that shitty mattress in his old bedroom. All the creaks in that homely trailer and the smell of the summer heat just outside the window. Back in the days when there was always a pillow on his bed that reeked out your shampoo, back when he probably would hardly have to sift through his laundry to find one of your missing socks in the piles.

When you kept a spare tube of chapstick on his nightstand. When there was a toothbrush just for you that Wayne had bought and never said a word about, a silent gesture to welcome you into the Munson home. When Eddie could almost guarantee he’d always be coming home to you, there, in his space and in his heart. A comforting blanket of security that was torn from him too quickly and by his own two hands.

“You weren’t hopeless,” he scrunches up his face, even though he also remembers those had been his words, not yours.

They had been said through laughter, though, that day. The guitar had looked so clunky, so awkward, from the moment he’d sat it in your lap. The two of you spent hours trying to teach you the simplest of chords. With Eddie perched in front of you, nimble fingers trying to guide yours to correct placement. And then, once the two of you finally began to slip down the precipice of giving up, it had been you sitting between his legs, his entire body cradling yours as his hand hovered over yours to ensure the right notes were played.

“God, you’re hopeless,” he had cackled when you’d broken out of frustration and strummed violently at the guitar.

Something about the simple notion had drained the aggravation, though, and you’d joined him as you laughed, “You’re the rockstar, not me! If you want me in the band, I can just play the triangle or some shit.”

“You don’t have to lie,” you mumble softly, ghost of a smile tilting up the corners of your mouth, “I’m not very musically inclined. It’s okay.”

He has an idea. A terrible, terrible idea. You’re going to say no. It’ll end even more catastrophically than when he’d asked to kiss you.

“We should try again,” he says anyway, immediately standing and walking to the couch along the wall, nodding for you to follow him, trying to not overthink it, “C’mere.”

He stands and waits. Prepares himself for the rejection. Prepares for you to tell him a stern no before you race back into the other room to gather your things and leave him once more.

“What?” you laugh instead, looking between him and the seat he’s motioned to.

“C’mere,” he stresses, throwing all caution to the wind.

The worst you can do is say no. The worst you can do has already been done.

It’s all hesitation when your hand grips the edge of the stool, waiting till your knuckles turn right before you slowly rise. This is it, this is the part you reject him. You turn heel and run, and-

You walk over to him. Timid steps aside, the shake he can see in your hand when you fiddle with the hem of the shirt aside, you walk over to him.

“I haven’t gotten any better,” you warn him when you pause right in front of him, staring at the guitar he holds by the neck with wide eyes, “I’m still going to be hopeless.”

“That’s okay,” he assures, and means it entirely, still stunned that you didn’t turn him down, “I’m still a shit teacher,” you open your mouth, clearly about to argue with him about that, but instead he just leans down and pats the cushion next to the one he drops down onto, “Sit, Sugar.”

You’re wringing your hands in front of him, “Won’t your neighbors get pissed off at people playing guitar at three in the morning?”

“I don’t have neighbors,” he cringes the moment he corrects you. He sounds like a rich asshole right now in the grand scheme of things, and he knows it, “Besides, the room is soundproof.”

“The door’s open-”

“I can close it. Don’t worry.”

Your excuses have officially run dry. You both know it as your eyes finally flit back to that empty seat.

“Fine.”

You sit yourself down, or perhaps more aptly described as throwing yourself down beside him. There’s a huff of air that escapes from the action, laced up with all your defeat, but he also can still see that damn smile beneath the surface. As if you’re actually excited, and you’re actually about to enjoy yourself. The dramatics are all for show, but he still takes the time to pass you the guitar before he does exactly as he promised – he gets up and closes the door.

Immediately, the air is heavy with a new sort of intimacy.

It was easy to ignore earlier when he’d been distracted with his lips on you – on your lips, on your neck, on your cunt – but there are no diversions now. Neither of you can avoid the fact of the matter; you’re here, with him, alone in a confined space. Just the two of you and the four walls to bear witness to whatever was about to happen. It could end in tragedy, it could end in laughter, it could end in awkwardness – this story can end a million different ways, and at the end of the day, only the two of you will have to know.

It’s always been like that when it comes to the two of you. You’ve always been an indirect secret of his, something not purposefully hidden but instead fiercely protected. All the songs never handed over to producers, all the lyrics that paint out all that has transpired in a scarlet maroon.

You’ve always been a private matter for Eddie. An untouchable topic never up for discussion. Ending up here is fitting.

He tries to not stare too long at the way the guitar is pressing into your bare thighs as he takes his seat once more, dramatically clapping and rubbing his hands together, “Alright, what song do you want me to teach you?”

“I get to choose this time?”

You’re teasing him. A sly smile has broken out of its cage, your eyes staying downturned as you trace over the body of the guitar.

Maybe he shouldn’t have closed the door, not when it’s clear the two of you have become nothing more than a dusty book of memories to recreate.

“Hey, in my defense,” he puts up his hands, putting on a show. Desperate to make you comfortable and to watch you thaw as he had when you’d entered the room, “Metallica is a perfectly reasonable staple to learn on guitar!”

“For you!”

“Oh, no, we are not doing this,” he holds up a warning finger that you instinctively reach out to swat away. The icicles are clearly dripping, and the warmth is returning to your face, “You loved Master of Puppets just as much as me, if not more.”

“I-” you start to exclaim, before you stop yourself. He just thinks you’re being funny at first, but then he watches the grave look pass over your features. That misty look you’ve gotten in your eyes, the same one he knows he wears most nights as he writes in this alone in this room. Someone lost in the passage of time, recalling a place they can never go back to.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” he tries to joke. He wants to hear the words you’re struggling to swallow down – needs to hear them.

And he almost immediately regrets that selfish craving.

“I loved it because you loved it.”

Your words are a whisper in the night, and he’s not even sure if the walls could hear you.

He’s quiet, and you’re clearly embarrassed. Nervously tapping at the instrument in your lap as one of your feet begging to bounce, lip being tugged up right between your teeth as you stare straight ahead. It’s hard. Being this vulnerable, learning one another again, is no easy feat.

And then you have to go and do that thing he’d so terribly missed, where you can’t sit in the silence. Your mouth runs faster than your mind as you try to fill what was quickly becoming an awkward silence.

“I don’t mean I don’t like Metallica. Who doesn’t like Metallica? I just mean- I meant-” you pause and take a deep breath, leaning into the guitar, almost crumpling into yourself, “I just mean that I loved the song so much because I saw how much you loved it, and you make it hard to not love the same things as you do. You have this way about you when you get excited about things. The way you would light up, and then you’d go and insist we drive around at night blasting it, and- I mean- how do I not fall in love with that song? Every time I hear it, all I can think about is you, in that stupid van with the windows down, screaming along to it.”

Hear. Not heard.

Present tense. Not past tense.

“I get it,” he croaks out, clearing his throat, nodding as though this type of information isn’t a stab to all the wounds he’s been nursing for years, “No, yeah, I get that. Makes sense.”

I loved it because you loved it.

The inescapable process of love – to absorb the things the one you love cares for, to find joy in the things they find enjoyable.

It makes sense, because he went through that process, too. Still does, even to this day.

He still orders his coffee the way you used to, because the sweetness on his tongue reminds him of your sleepy eyes whenever you’d take your first sip of the day. He still pours his chocolate candy into his popcorn at the movies, because you’d once claimed on a date it was not only the best way, but the only correct way to achieve ultimate sweet and salty delight. He still prefers the winter to the summer because of you, he still uses your favorite brand of pen to write all his songs, and he still uses the guitar pick you’d gotten for him on your one year anniversary. He has better picks now – he has an endless array at his disposal, all varying in thickness and material in order to achieve what would be the perfect sound for each individual song, but none of them sound perfect except for the one you gave him.

“Teach me the song you were just playing,” you suddenly insist, unaware of the spiral you’ve caused.

“Huh?”

“I want to learn the song you were playing when I walked in,” you explain, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before, but it sounded nice. Talk of love being a weapon, you know, aside.”

You don’t realize it. You don’t know.

“Oh, it’s not-”

“I don’t care if it’s not beginner friendly-”

“No, I mean-”

“I’m going to butcher whatever song you throw at me, anyways-”

“It’s an original.”

Time doesn’t slow – it just stops. Pauses in the harshest of ways, with your lips still parted and his eyes still oversized as he looks to you.

It’s an original, and it’s about you.

“It’s from Corroded Coffin?” you ask, voice a bit squeaky with what must be humiliation, “Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry, I haven’t really… stayed caught up on your guys’ recent stuff. Sorry.”

You’re apologizing too much. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell you that he’d felt lucky you’d even remembered the band’s name, let alone would he have expected you to have listened to any recent music from them.

“Don’t be sorry,” he dares to scoot just a bit closer, already waving it all off. If you want to learn the song, he’ll teach you the song. Or, at least, what he’s written of the song, “It’s unreleased. Not even finished yet, actually. You’re getting a Corroded exclusive. Fair warning, though - if you tell the press, Matt will hunt you down.”

One snort from you, and the dust disappears. All the ice, all the dust, all of the past that clearly still had such a chokehold on the two of you is entirely forgotten.

He’s done it – he’s made you comfortable again.

It may take him a few tries to get it right, but he’s certain he can reteach himself this part. The part where he’d always been able to read you without a single word, and he’d always been able to make you feel better no matter what situation the two of you found yourselves in.

“Oh, please,” you play along, lifting one hand as the other continues to balance the guitar, “Don’t sic Matt on me. I’m absolutely terrified.”

“You should be. He may not seem like it, but he can get scary,” Eddie continues with the joke, half telling the truth as he begins to position the two of you. His hands hover away from your skin, but it’s a clear motion for you to turn just enough for he can have his hand hold the neck of the guitar instead of yours, “Speaking of which, please remind me to call him back in the morning. Also, maybe have an ambulance on speed dial, since I hung up on him earlier.”

You laugh so hard your entire body bumps against his, back half way pressed to his chest. It’s a careful arrangement, and he wonders for a moment just how long he can draw this all out to keep you close to him. How many songs he can pull out of his ass, how many mistakes he can deliberately cause at a careful rate. Just enough to prolong the lesson, but not so many that you get frustrated enough to give up.

He also wonders if you’ve caught on to the hidden question of your presence in the morning.

“I’ll remind you after we get breakfast or something. Don’t want you dying with an empty stomach,” you jest, and you confirm.

Breakfast. You’re staying the rest of the night.

You’re still giggling as he jokingly rolls his eyes, and he finally decides to focus on the task at hand, “Okay, okay. Enough fucking around. I’m gonna start off with me forming the chords, and your only job is to strum. Fair enough?”

“With just my hand? I don’t have a p-”

Right on cue, he produces the pick. The only one he dares to touch when performing alone at home. As though he’d just been waiting for you to bring it up.

And he had been. Waiting, pretty and patiently, for the big reveal.

It’s another moment for you to swat him away or run away from it all, but all you do is look gently at the relic and smile. When you take it from him, pinching it carefully between your fingers, you take a second to just smile at it.

You don’t have to say that you know the pick – the smile says it all.

You switch it to your right hand just as Eddie’s left hand curls around the neck. His fingers are quick to press into the strings just as he had been before you’d interrupted, calluses finding familiar solace in the formation of a B note.

“Alright,” he softly begins to instruct, “So, I’m still playing around with it. But, I was doing a pretty simple strumming pattern.”

“Strumming pattern,” you hum, echoing his soft tone, “I remember that one from our first lesson.”

“Good. The pattern was down, down-up, down-up, down,” As he explains it, he watches your hand try to follow along. You fumble a bit, moving slower than his mouth, so he just repeats himself, “That’s alright. You’ve got it. Down, down-up, down-up, down. Put some stress on that last downstroke.”

The second time, you follow along a bit better. The pick still catches oddly on a few of the strings at random, and none of your movements are quite as natural as his had been, but you’re getting the gist.

You stagger through the strumming a few more times, becoming more and more comfortable, movements becoming more languid before Eddie finally begins to sing out the lyrics that had been formulating before your arrival.

“Wait,” his voice cracks a little with the falsetto, making a conscious effort to be quiet when his mouth is so close to your ear, “Won’t you wait for me?”

He’s timing it to match your slower strums. Bending the song right at your will.

“Don’t you bathe in rivers? Don’t you feel alive?”

It works better like this. A calmer tempo, letting him draw out syllables until his breath runs out.

“And when I see you waking up, and it sends me shivers,” he tries not to flush as his cheek nearly brushes your shoulder, praying to some nonexistent God that you won’t pick up all the hidden meaning behind the words. He even takes a deep breath when you nearly lose your grip on the pick, earning you a few extra seconds to reorient yourself before he continues on, “How you love like weapons kill.”

You had had a choice. You had had the power to kill him, or to let him back in. A choice in choosing to set your aim directly to him.

You’d chosen the latter. Maybe not permanently, maybe not forever, but for now.

For just a few seconds now, he gets to be your chosen once more. He doesn’t care how long it does or doesn’t last; he drinks it in like a starving man, desperate for every last drop of serenity you’re willing to offer him here during the witching hour.

Somehow, with only that thought and revelry weighing on his mind, he can only get out one lyric for the chorus. The only one that makes sense, in the here and in the now, with you.

“So take aim, at me for once. Just take aim, break me apart.”

His fingers work effortlessly with the strums still administrated from your hand. Positions changing so that you were strumming out notes of E, of a D minor, of a G sharp. He’s fumbling just as much as you are as it all comes together. It shouldn’t sound like a song yet – all the notes are sort of getting lost as Eddie tries to come up with them on the spot, and your strums aren’t entirely evenly paced with the same skill as a musician. Half the lyrics are a mumble or hum in lieu of actual words.

But it does. It sounds like the best song he’s ever written, and he thinks it’s solely because you’re there.

“Call, won’t you call out my name? Like a curse in this world? Like a battle cry?”

Your actions stop at those lyrics, and he hardly has time to process when you turn your head to him suddenly. He was so caught up in it all, he hadn’t been thinking. Just singing, just whispering, just getting spun right into the web of the feeling of your body against his and the indent of the body of the guitar digging deeper into your thigh.

“Sorry, was I too l-” he begins to apologize, worrying that maybe his tone had been irritating or too close to your ear. He could imagine how quickly it might get old-

“Eddie.”

You don’t call it out. You whisper it out, softer than the smoke of a candle blown out in the dying light of an evening wasted. Nearly silent.

You don’t say it like a curse. It falls like a prayer of wonder from your lips, as if there’s a space permanently left on your tongue, only for it.

And it’s not a battle cry. It’s the raising of a white flag as you look at him with glossy eyes and bated breaths, laying all your weapons down, even if for only a moment.

Whatever aim you have left to offer him, it’s of the most tender degree.

He’d whisper your name back to you, offer you the same formality and care you’re showing him, but you steal every word out of his mouth when you lean in and put your lips to his.

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#ghost's stories #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things

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lacybunie · 1 year ago

Text

adieu, mon dieu!

“forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, virginity loss, blasphemy, dub-con, inexperienced/pure reader, religious reader, manipulation, cum eating, creampie, pussy slapping, pet names, breeding kink, slight choking, crying during sex, age gap mention (reader is 19 while leon is 27), fingering, porn with plot (?), bit of ooc leon

note: first time writing hence why it’s so long :3 also wrote this based on leon saying “i’ll give you a holy body” in re4r bc nobody freaks out over it like i do

“holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners.” the prayer is muscle memory. a smile adorns your face as you walk out of sunday mass with your family. oh how you cherish the time spent in god’s temple. you would not have it any other way. this small, quiet town in washington homes jesus freaks like yourself. where every summer, all children through teens spend their time at church camp. cross necklaces or rosaries are worn around the necks of bypassers and neighbors. you feel as though you are blessed with such a life.

so when leon appears in your life, you think you’re the most blessed girl alive. as the two of you go steady, he starts attending church with you and listens to the word of the lord with you in his black jeep. he listens to your prayers and readings of the bible. leon couldn’t be anymore perfect. “our heavenly father has blessed me with a man who loves me.” pink hues flush your cheeks as you smile giddishly during confession. “do not let temptation fool you.” the priest on the other side taunts, almost as if it’s a warning.

the people of the church disagree with the relationship you have with leon, the eight year gap between you two. more so, they dislike leon. they tell you he is not a man of the lord, he is a walking sin. they share their stories of glancing at him during mass and how he’s appearing to hold back laughter, how he doesn’t actually consume the blood and body of christ, how his eyes are filled with something evil. you choose to not believe them as they don’t know leon as you do. “he is nothing like that, sister olivia.” you defend during sunday lunch, biting your tongue. “you have found the devil in a lover.” sister olivia spews with disgust.

her words are a distraction during your date, echoing and bleeding into the grooves of your brain. “sweetheart?” leon calls as he catches your zoned out state. your eyes connect with his, you break yourself out of thought. “i’m sorry, i was just lost in thought.” you apologize, gleaming with a shy smile. the warmth of leon’s hand engulfs yours across the table, the cold silver of your ring turning hot. “i was asking if you would want to go back to my place after this?” leon repeats what you had muffled seconds ago.

“i’ll have to ask my dad first.” you embarrassingly respond as pinks heat your cheeks. there’s limited privacy with leon, daytime stays at his home with an hour max limit and once every two weeks only. your father implemented this as a way to keep a better peace of mind. “c’mon sweetheart, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” leon persuades with sugar on his tongue. the veil of orange from the candles illuminating the table is covering his face, you might just burst from the ethereal beauty he holds. he’s saying something color-coded yet it’s muffled as the tidal wave of his eyes are drowning you. “okay.” you mindlessly respond, leon faintly smirks.

the little skirt you wear is almost halfway off while you and leon makeout on his couch, something you shamelessly leave out during confessions. you keep your hands on his broad shoulders while he dangerously lingers his hands at your hips and thighs. you think you’re seeping through your panties as you feel a wet patch forming, making you feel bothered. “i feel weird.” you pant between a kiss, lungs aflame from the little oxygen you grant yourself. leon pulls away with furrowing eyebrows, “did i do something wrong?”

yet you’re struggling to understand what IS wrong. why do you feel so…wet down there? maybe you started your period but you realize it ended a week ago. leon’s eyes are burning into your skin, the gaze causing you to feel mortified. how can you tell him this? what if he thinks you’re weird? his girlfriend is wetting herself like a damn fool for no reason. “what is it?” that soft tone of his makes you feel even worse. embarrassment is starting to creep itself into the flesh of your body.

“i feel wet.” you say it so clearly and slowly as if you’re dumbing it down for yourself. you don’t know why you feel like this and you don’t know why it’s happening. leon smiles at the frustration you show, clearly not thinking of your situation weirdly. “that’s a good thing, doll.” he coos while holding your hands. head tilting and ditzy eyes searching for an answer, you are clueless by how this is a good thing. “what do you mean, leon?” “you’re turned on, that’s what i mean.” the blood pumping into your heart turns cold at the realization of what you have let yourself done. one of the deadliest sins of all: lust

how can you let yourself get carried away and almost give into something sacred? something you promised to your heavenly father that you will wait till marriage to do? you clutch the rosary wrapped around your neck, “please forgive me. i’m sorry, leon.” you think leon must be feeling the same way too, realizing you both almost gave into sin. oh how awful he must feel, to almost have betrayed the lord and gave into temptation. leon searches your face in hopes to find something you’re not sure of. “why are you apologizing?” he questions, hands no longer embracing your own.

“for getting you caught up in almost sinning.” “it’s not a bad thing to be turned on.” his voice is laced with something unfamiliar, a tone you’re not even aware of. “but it can lead to having sex and we’re not-” “there’s nothing bad about having sex either.” leon interrupts with annoyance. you can’t fathom how he thinks premature sex is not bad, he’s read the bible with you countless times. the purity ring wrapped around your finger symbolizes the commitment you vowed to and he’s reminded every time he holds your hand. “we can’t have sex, leon. you know that.”

“do you not love me?” leon is frowning at you, taking you aback with his words. “i love you, leon. of course i do.” you profusely confess as you get closer to him. the weight of your chest growing heavy while he shakes his head. “you’re supposed to have sex with the one you love right? then why don’t you? if you love me enough, then it’s not sin.” leon preaches with eyes glimmering with something indescribable. “we won’t have sex, we’ll be making love. that’s different. the lord doesn’t view it as sin.”

different strokes of blue are piercing into your soul, almost like his eyes are trapping you. your mind is foggy as you try to think of something to say. “i don’t think...” you trail off with unsure certainty, but what you want to actually say becomes lost in thought as leon’s cherry-bruised lips pull apart in a smile. you think he’s right, it’s something you probably skimmed over. cold hands caress your bare thighs, leon’s lips kiss the skin below your jaw. “you know i’m right, doll.” he mutters while his teeth lightly nip your skin, you grow hot. “i would never lie to such a pretty angel.”

“i’ll make you feel so good.” leon promises with his hands scrunching up your skirt. the sudden action causing your heart to burst within itself. your dry mouth defeats the words wanting to escape, to tell him to not touch there. you’re also battling the urge to let yourself do so as his hands grasp your inner thigh, sending a rush throughout your body. doe eyes noticing the way leon is looking at you as if you’re a sheep, tethered in his sharp teeth, bracing to become a meal.

two fingers rub you over your panties, the new feeling quickly has you inhale sharply. butterflies flutter around in your abdomen. leon hums as his fingers gather your essence that is leaking through the fabric. “there you are, pretty.” leon lays you further down on the couch. his lips kiss you again roughly and you grip at his bicep as his hands quickly discard your skirt. leon impatiently pulls away from your lips to look at the newly found view, lilac panties adorned with a baby blue ribbon. leon’s favorite color.

the wetness from earlier feels as if it’s completely soaking the fabric. you feel utterly exposed like this, so vulnerable in front of leon. “you’re so fucking sexy.” he sighs out once he finally removes the one thing keeping him away from your forbidden fruit. “please leon.” you’re unsure if you’re begging or pleading. the temperature of your body is uncomfortably hot and you’re sure it’s because your soul is already spiraling down to hell. you want to stop leon from inserting his finger into your sopping cunt, but of course you don’t.

“have you ever touched yourself, doll?” leon asks, while fingering you agonizingly slow. you crave for more, not exactly sure of what. you need more of him. you’re heaving at this point, staring into leon’s eyes as he watches you unfold before him, a flower blooming almost too late. “i’m not supposed to.” you choke out the answer while he begins to messily rub your clit. the smirk resting on leon’s lips is haunting you, why does he always look so desirable with that stupid smirk?

“says who? your god?” leon pushes a second finger into your sopping hole, an uncomfortable stretch soon followed by an indescribable pleasure. the erotic sounds of your cunt being touched for the first time reach your hot pink ears. leon curls his fingers against your spongey walls causing you to squirm. the imaginary coil in your lower stomach feels like it’s on the brink of snapping.

“yes.” you moan while he lightly slaps your cunt. “what kind of god deprives his children of a pleasure such as this? don’t you feel good, angel? i know your pussy sure does.” leon smiles at your reaction for his choice of words, you forget how blunt he tends to be. “d-don’t say that.” “your god can’t be all that great if he won’t even let me feel how your pussy squeezes around my fingers.” the blasphemy hits you like a gunshot only temporarily, the pleasure you’re receiving rids it right away.

you’re shaking your head but you don’t know if it’s from the frustration of leon speaking against the lord or if you’re about to reach sweet relief. “leon.” you hiccup, the pleasure becoming too much and your mind is turning into mush. a tight grip on leon’s bicep has him chuckling, looking down at you so pathetically. “you look so fucking stupid. go ahead and cum for me, pretty.” he grants while your cunt is squeezing so tightly around his digits.

back arching off the couch along with the most pornographic moan to ever come out of your chest, the coil snaps. waves of ecstasy crashes within your body, releasing out of your sopping hole. your thighs are shaking to snap close but leon doesn’t let it happen as he gathers your essence up with his fingers. “god, you’re just so fucking perfect.” leon grunts before sticking his own fingers in his mouth, the honey he has been craving falls onto his tongue. you feel yourself get dizzy at the sight.

leon reaches down to give you a messy kiss, tasting your cum on his tongue. “wanna fuck you.” he moans into your mouth, his jeans rub against your cunt and you’re sure your cum smeared onto the denim. you want to stop right here, you want to run straight to church and plead for your life in the confessional booth. however, when leon pulls away to strip off his pants and his fat, long cock hits his abdomen, you feel that indescribable want grow stronger.

your breathing becomes heavy as leon rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance. his cock looks too big for you, fearing he’ll split you open. the taste of bitter metallic hits your tongue and you realize you’re biting your bottom lip too hard. “i’m so lucky.” leon grunts, dragging his thumb across your bleeding lip. “get to be the first to fuck this virgin pussy.” he barely pushes the tip into your tight cunt when you start crying. the pain of slight tearing mixed with the eternal damnation you’re going to face is cutting at your skin. “please.” your vision is blurry through the tears when leon pushes his cock fully into you, you can hear him let out a deep groan.

the way leon’s cock feels inside of you makes you feel so full. the pain of being ripped open for the first time is soon subsided by a mind clouded with desire, yet you’re still crying. leon moves in and out slowly but roughly, hitting a spot within you just right. you moan wearily, salty tears trickling down into your agape mouth. when leon begins to thrust a bit more hard, you’re sobbing out loud moans. leon presses his hand against your throat, “so fucking loud.” he’s snapping his hips into you, his cock bruising the inside of your cunt so sweetly that you feel the coil about to snap again.

“need to shut that mouth of yours next time.” leon grunts, looking at you in a haze. he squeezes your throat as if to test the waters and you choke out a needy moan, your cunt almost suffocating his cock at the action. “such a nasty girl.” leon smirks while picking up the pace of the abuse on your cunt. baby pink nails are scratching at leon’s biceps. you slur out an apology, clearly not in the right headspace to realize that leon is toying with the rosary tangled in your neck. “oh my-” you cut yourself off when leon’s cock repeatedly hits against a spot so sweet, the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.

“say it.” leon taunts. his hand reaches down to messily rub at your clit once more, your eyes flutter shut. you know what he wants and you don’t think you can push yourself further into damnation by saying the lord’s name in vain. “c’mon, doll. tell your god how my cock is making you feel.” leon tightly wraps his fingers around the dainty rosary, you’re pleading at him through your eyes, mouth too occupied by the moans you let out. “leon please.” you cry out, you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop the blasphemy or to make you cum.

leon soon loses himself in your cunt, grasping at your hips to drill his cock deeper in you. the stars in your eyes are getting brighter, you’re almost there. dirty blonde hair covers leon’s eyes, relieving yourself of the gaze he had on you. “gonna fucking breed you.” leon laps at your neck, biting at your soft skin as if it’s the bread he eats at church. “you want that? want me to fill you up?” you moan out a incoherent yes, too fucked out to understand what he’s even saying. leon captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues relentlessly clash against each other.

leon’s cock hits that sweet spot one final time before the coil within you finally snaps. “oh my god, leon!” you moan so loudly, throat becoming faintly sore. your body is shaking at the ecstasy that’s somehow stronger than before, nails clawing at leon’s back that you feel like you may draw blood. “there you go, angel.” leon’s words are drowned out by pure euphoria. you feel the warm essence escape out of your cunt but it’s soon mixed with another hot feeling, leon’s own cum. he desperately shoves his cock into you to rid himself of every last drop. you look down to where you two are connected, the lewd sight brings you back down to earth.

if anyone were to rip open your chest to view the way your heart is pounding, almost punching itself out, they’d think you murdered a man. the burden of betrayal is sitting heavy on your shoulders, all the prayers in the world couldn’t save you now. when you look at leon, who is taking in the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt, the thought begins to become a crimson haze. a string of pearl beads clutched in leon’s fist catches your eye, you look up at him. a blue hue meet yours, the once bright shade now dark. leon lets out a daunting chuckle, “won’t be needing that anymore.”

sprawled out on his palm is a broken chain along with a few pearls and a tiny cross. leon ripped off your rosary.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil 4 smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x fem reader #idk how to tag this

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yandereunsolved · 29 days ago

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✒ Yandere Low Honor Jack Marston (RDR1) ᝰ.ᐟ

A chance meeting. Fate, what a crock of shit. He's never believed in such things. If he did, then it would mean that some higher being wanted, made, let, or whatever goddamn word you want to use—pain. That's the point. All this loss and death.

Was it really needed to get to you?

He'd never admit it, but the thought scares him. Not because he would change everything, keep his family alive, if to not meet you. It's the fact that he wouldn't change a damn thing if it meant he could lay his fresh eyes on you all over again.

It's a line from this old book someone gave him from a past only the dead remember. 'The world takes, but it gives just as much back.' Well, the world isn't taking anything else from him, least of all you. Not even the apocalypse could separate you two.

"If you ever need help, Marston, I'm here."

The only person who has meant those words. Kept them.

His usual seat at the bar is taken by some halfwit inbred fucker. He just wanted some damn peace after his shitty day. And now this prideful asshole is blocking him from his peace. Where does this motherfucker get the damn nerve?

"I believe you're in my seat, buddy."

Jack's white-knuckling the brunt of his pistol. Hat tipped low. Eyes staring bullet holes into the man's head.

And the old ass man has the gall to offer him a scanty glance, chortling obnoxiously, acting like a pig who has found a new favorite patch of mud.

"Hey, youngin'. Can't you see me and the bartender here are striking up a proposition?"

He props his chaffed elbow against the pristine bar, fishing out his sheriff badge and flashing it like it's some sacred religious object. Bullshit, buddy, pure and utter bullshit.

Gotta prove a point to these pathetic mongrels who think they own every inch of earth they prowl on.

Quicker than a blink of an eye, the sheriff's badge clatters to the ground, blood leaking from a wound in the law's hand—a bullet lodged in the bulbous, fleshy meat. He hears several guns being pulled on him.

What? He barely scratched the man. He'll have a working hand, most likely, unfortunately. It certainly is less gory than what his fingers itch to do. But he doesn't want any part of your saloon too bloody. If this pathetic excuse's blood stained your saloon, then he may have had to burn it down, just to make sure it didn't infect you.

There's a high-pitched ringing stuck in his ears. It blocks out the specifics of what your sweet voice tells him. So it takes a moment for him to register you coaxing not just him, but everyone else, to holster their guns. He reluctantly obliges. The lawman swears, running off like the yellow-bellied cocksucker he is, leaving Jack's cherished spot irreparably damaged, but once again open nonetheless.

He reclaims it and knocks on the bar, casually waving at you.

"One whiskey—" his words trail off for a moment as he takes in your bewildered expression.

"Damn, if you look at me like that any longer, I may just take you on this bar right now. Show all these milksop pansies what belongs to me." He wolfishly grins.

"Then again, I'm not a big fan of sharin', as you can tell."

The grin drops away as you don't thank him. In fact, you don't respond at all. You just plop a shot of whiskey down in front of him like he's some one-time stranger who isn't worth sparing a glance at.

You are about to go to the next customer. You're about to give someone else your attention, with more warmth towards them than him. So he does the most logical thing and grabs your upper arm, tightly squeezing it in his grasp, trying to mold the memory of your flesh into his hand. He leans over the bar closer to you, cockiness seeping onto his tongue.

"It ain't kind to ignore a man, Mx., especially one you owe."

"I don't owe you nothin'."

"Those er' dangerous words. Come on, just one kiss, sugar lips."

He pulls you sideways against the bar, giving zero damns about everything else. He forces you to stare at him. To look at what you're doing to him.

"My father owed a debt to yours that he could never repay, and John knew that, but he never abused it. He let my daddy go and run his business till they both got shot by the law. Now, let. me. go."

The intensity in your words nearly gives him a boner. Scratch that. Gives him a boner. He's never seen you this riled up.

But it's more than just that. Something about it makes the little Jack in him cry, wanting comfort that never existed.

So for the second time that night, he heals, like some obedient bitch. But he keeps up his cockiness, winking at you before plopping down back in his seat. He takes the whiskey and chugs it, tapping on the small glass for another.

You come back to him after a minute, staring at the empty glass instead of him.

"You aren't your father. Your father was a good man," the wistfulness in your voice almost beats how his father sounded when he died—was murdered in cold blood.

"You're right, sweetheart, I ain't my pa," smooth and low, vindictive, "but he certainly wasn't a good man. You still owe the Marstons a debt, and I'm the collector." The words are weighted with years of cancerous obsession, intensity still multiplying and soon spilling over.

#yandere #yandere x reader #rdr1 #red dead redemption #rdr1 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #yandere rdr #yandere rdr1 #yandere rdr x reader #yandere rdr1 x reader #jack marston #jack marston x reader #yandere jack marston #yandere jack marston x reader #jack x reader

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strangeshoepatrolbandit · 2 years ago

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Brotherly Love Pt.5

J.T. D.W

Jason Todd x Al-Ghul/Wayne reader(platonic)Gender Neutral

Pt.[1][2][3][4]

Summary:Jason keeps finding ways to connect with you, Damian's a little jealous.

Warnings:Light fight scene, cigarette, a knife. (Also the pie recipe is a copy and paste from google)

~☆~

Bruce awoke with a fright, running down the stairs and down to the living area of the Manor. His short red robe riding up his thighs as he ran to try and find the cause of the loud bang he had heard.

"Hey, Bruce." Jason had lazily greeted, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper infront of him, hand scratching the top of Aces head.

"What was that sound?" The older man questioned, not even asking what Jason was doing at the Manor.

"You got new locks." Jason deadpanned whilst finally looking up at Bruce from where he sits.

"Why are you here?" Bruce finally asked.

"Waiting for Y/N, they sleep so much later than Demon spawn." Jason complained.

Bruce paused, thinking of what to say. He just knew he was glad Jason was finally coming around, and that you had a brother again, even if he isn't your actual blood brother.

"Can I borrow them for the day?" Jason asked, almost shy but Bruce knew better.

"Yeah, go wake them up." He told Jason, before patting his shoulder.

~☆~

"Y/Nnnnn.." Jason sung out, trying to wake you. You could feel the almost inhuman warmth radiating from his hand that rested on your shoulder.

"Y/Nnnnn.." The living dead man next to you sang again.

"What?" You moaned out, eyes stinging from the sleep wridden in them.

"Get dressed, were hangin' out." Jason informed, leaving a pat to the arm that his hand rested on.

~☆~

Jason ended up taking you to his apartment, asking you if Alfred had introduced you to his baking yet. Your answer left Jason at a loss for words, what do you mean Alfred hadn't introduced you to his infamous cookies, or his brownies?

"Well we may not be making his cookies, because he won't give me the recipe, but we will be making pie!" Jason exclaimed, a giddy grin resting on his face.

~☆~

The memories of rarely baking pies with Jason's mother when they had the supplies clouded his mind, how after her death it moved to baking with Alfred. Now as if it's some family tradition he's moved on to doing it with you, only this time he's the teacher.

Jason sprinkled flour onto his counter, before plopping half of the dough Alfred made for you to that morning on top of the thinly dusted surface.

"You ever baked?" Jason asked, his Gotham accent dripping in his word. You shook your head and Jason offered a smile whilst grabbing a rolling pin.

"Watch me." Jason's arms gripped the utensil, rolling over the dough just a bit so you could get the gist. His arm nudged against your own as he handed you the rolling pin so he could peel the apples for the filling. You delicately pushed down and rolled the dough into a thinner circle, Jason eyed you from where he stood peeling fruit so that he could tell you when it was thin enough.

"Alright, flour your hands." He whispered, walking back over to your side and taking the rolling pin. His hands peeled the edge of the dough off of the counter, before placing it onto your newly dusted hands. Jason placed a pie tin in front of you and helped you set the dough into it.

"Make sure it's tucked in." He instructed, pulling your wrist so that you could push the dough fully into the tin pan. You watched as Jason cut off the extra dough, and prick holes into the bottom with a fork before placing it into the oven.

"I'll peel the apples, you roll out the other half."

~☆~

Jason had peeled and cut all of the apples, now they were placed into a big bowl. The pre-baked crust had already been taken out of the oven, and all of the filling ingredients have already been measured.

Jason situated you infront of the bowl, handing you a spatula for mixing.

He handed you the sugar and the cinnamon to add to the bowl, pouring the flour himself. A spinkle of salt, and some nutmeg came afterwards, Jason poured in the little bit of lemon juice that came last.

"Stir gently." He whispered, watching as you mixed all of the ingredients into the apples.

Jason placed the pie tin infront of you once again, ordering you to spoon the ingredients into the crust-lined pan. Jason's fingers pinched the top layer of dough onto the top of the pie, before cutting a slit into the encasing. He placed tin foil onto the top of the pie, and placed it into the oven.

"Let's clean up." Jason spoke as he held up his hand for a high five, you stared at him for a moment before his opposite hand grabbed your wrist so he could guide your hand to meet his own.

~☆~

*After cleaning up*

"Okay, show me what you got."

"What?"

"Hit me."

Your fist came up without hesitation, aiming a blow below his sternum, his own hands grabbed at you before your fist collided with him. Jason moved quickly, prying a finger into your side, right under your ribcage. Your hand twisted from his grasp, and you landed a kick to his knee. Letting out a grunt in frustration he fell onto one knee. His hands wrapped around both of your legs before pulling you forward, letting you fall to your knees as well. Jason shot out an arm to grab you with, but you quickly caught his hand and got back onto your feet, rounding behind Jason's body so his arm was twisted behind himself.

The front door flying open alerted both of you, forcing you both to stand up in a correct fighting position.

"Hey!" A redheaded man yelled when he caught sight of the both of you.

Jason let out a sigh before wiping a hand over his face.

"Y/N, this is Roy." Jason introduced the redhead for you. The man stepped forward, shooting a hand out for you to take whilst a grin rested on his lips. You glanced at his hand, giving it a dissatisfied look before hesitantly taking it in your own.

As Roy dropped your hand he walked off into the kitchen, snooping around to see is he could find the food he smells.

"Whatcha' makin'?" He asked, neither you or Jason answered, only glancing at each other.

"Damian's more of the fighter, anyway." You shrugged, before walking off to follow Roy.

~☆~

You watched as Jason and Roy played a video game on Jason's TV. Your slice of pie that had previously been made was still being eaten by you, the two men that resided beside you and on the floor had already scarfed down their own slices.

You watched as their characters fought each other on the screen, your mind wondered, what if you and Damian were raised like this? What if the two of you were raised away from war? Gotham it's self had its own spike of violence but still nothing to what you and Damian were raised with. What if the two of you were "normal", raised playing video games, having sleepovers, playing catch with you father?

Part of you resented Talia for raising you the way she did, but another part of you loved her and thought about the times she actually acted like your mother. Like how when you were younger there were certain times when she would sit in her bed, you and Damian tucked on either side of her and she would read a book to you. She even had a painting that was made of you and your brother hanging on the wall of her quarters. But still, she raised you with all of that violence, training as the Al-Ghul heirs. Just because she was a little soft with you at times doesn't make her mother of the year.

~☆~

Before Jason dropped you back off at the Manor he cut a slice of pie and put it in a container with your name on it. Giving you firm instructions to immediately give it to Alfred, then he placed it into your bag.

"Y'know if you want more, call me." Jason told you, handing you the phone of yours that you didn't even know he had. "Roy's is in there too."

The redhead looked over at the sound of his name before throwing a smile and a peace sign.

"See ya' little dude." Roy bid goodbye as you passed him due to Jason pushing you out of the front door.

~☆~

After pulling up to the front of the Manor, Jason leaned on his motorcycle, a hand in his pockets, and the other holding his newly lit cigarette.

The two of you sat out there together, staring at the gothic chic Manor.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" You broke the silence, not ready to watch Jason leave. The taller man only snuffed his cigarette out and put on his helmet.

"Sorry, kid." Jason muttered as the threw a leg over his motorcycle and drove off.

~☆~

Alfred opened the door as soon as you reached the front steps, he always had this strange way of forming at the door before you could even knock. As he held a hand out for your backpack you reached in and handed him your slice of pie that Jason had given you.

"Dinner is set."

"Thank you, Alfred."

~☆~

You headed straight for the dining room, without even changing your clothes first. It's not that you were hungry, you Jason and Roy had snacked on things that you could've never eaten back with Ra's, you just didn't want to be alone yet.

Your socked feet dragged against the hardwood floors, Jason had woken you up too early for your liking. After your grandfather's death and coming to America you've indulged in some things you've never done before, like sleeping in.

Your hand grasped the wooden chair that came in a set with the dining table, after slumping in the chair you sluggishly filled up your plate with food. Both your father and brother had stopped their movement's as they watched your tired state.

"Woke up to early." You sighed, before giving Bruce a big smile, one that he returned.

"Did you have fun?" Bruce asked, cutting up a piece of his dinner.

"Yeah, we baked...an-and I watched him play video games!" You excitedly revealed, missing the expressionless face Damian watched you with.

~☆~

After dinner you started walking to the bathroom for a shower, then you could pass out. Footsteps could be heard walking in sync with your own, familiar footsteps, the ones you know all too well.

Damian pulled you to a stop with a firm grip to your arm, one that your sure will leave Red marks for the next few minutes.

"Why do you keep spending time with him?" He asked as his green eyes bore into your own. You watch as he quickly swallows, before chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"That's none of your concern." You hissed before yanking your arm out of his grip before walking off, leaving Damian standing in the empty hallway.

~☆~

Where are you from, or at least what time zone? Because I've noticed you guys are mostly active during 12-5 AM (my time). I promise that the next chapter will have action in it....just bear with me people...<3

Taglist:

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murasaki-cha · 4 months ago

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Cale and the Soos but Gen Z

(ft. Choi Han, Alberu and Rosalyn)

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Cale: when I say I have "main character energy," I mean the nerdy introvert with anxiety and a general distaste for humans - Shapeshifter: *transforms to look like Cale* Cale: Okay, are you like BLIND? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm way taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived and lastly, if you could drag comb through that hair you're like a 7 on a good day and I've been told I'm a constant 10. -

Cale: Babygirl I have health problems that would make a grown man cry- yeah of course I'm still going to work what are you talking about

Cale: I love having trauma from an alarmingly young age because when I can't remember stuff from my childhood I get to play a game called "Is This Normal Memory Loss From Growing Up, Or Do I Have Severe Trauma-Induced Memory Repression?" Choi Jung Soo: Oh word Alberu: Preach Choi Han: Fr Eruhaben: Genuinely what in the- Sui Khan: Louder Eruhaben: YOU ARE 13 WHA-

Sui Khan: 'Person of interest' is almost too flattering. Sui Khan: Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, 'A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,' I'd be like, 'Moi? Oh, do go on.' Cale pointing: You see where I got it from?

Rosalyn, eating cake: No wonder Marie Antoinette didn't give a fuck, this shit is good Cale: so true girl

Cale: when Billie Eillish said "I cant escape the way I love you" every gen z kid with attachment issues felt that Alberu: So you felt that? Cale: I felt that too much Alberu: Also who is Billie Eillish? Choi Jung Soo slamming the door open: bITC-

Cale: bitches b like “I'm baby” but have childhood trauma and neglect like wtf do u know about being baby u were forced to grow up from an early age anyways I’m bitches

Rosalyn going to her lesson with Eruhaben: Eruhaben-nim, are we cooking today or what! Eruhaben: Rosalyn, we aren’t… in the kitchen?

Cale: With all this tasks I'm getting from the gods sometimes I wish I was Jared 19 so I never read Birth Of A Hero...

Alberu: Not trying to brag or anything, but I can wake up without an alarm clock now simply due to my crippling and overwhelming anxiety, so... Cale: Mood

Heavenly Demon: do you guys know the meaning of patriarchy? Choi Jung Soo: I prefer Spongebob tbh Heavenly Demon: One more word from you Sword Demon and I swear-

Cale: Can I go outside to say a word to god? Choi Han: Yea. Rosalyn: You go outside and start yelling ‘hey what the heck are you!- then ZAP! Cale: I've questioned god before and I haven't died yet.

Choi Jung Soo: I so wish I had a cat personality but I have such a dog personality like I would do everything for your approval, do you want me to fetch your stick just for a lil treat , hell yeah I would with pleasure! Choi Han: Oh that's what it was!

Choi Jung Soo: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird. But emotionally? *Sees Sui Khan's cute 13 yo child appearance staring daggers at him* Choi Jung Soo: Imagine the toll.

Cale: So apparently the 'bad vibes' I’ve been feeling are actually severe psychological distress

Cale: A weight blanket is not enough I need to be compressed into a .zip file

Cale with a wine glass in hand: Existence is the enemy The group also with wine glasses in their hands: Cheers to that

Cale: Sometimes that sad feeling is due to low blood sugar, and sometimes it's from decades of history. Not that complex

120 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 8 months ago

Text

In the mood for...

July 10th

~*~

1. thanks in advance :) i hope you don't mind a nsfw itmf req. can you/the community recommend any good fics with bimboification vibes? specifically with wwx as the one undergoing it. i've read several fics like this, but i'm hoping there are more i haven't found

Baby, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet by TriviasFolly (E, 177k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Omega LSZ, Mafia, Crime, Sects are Clans, Feral WWX, Feral Omegas, Nurse WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Possessive LWJ, feminine WWX, wwx’s cannon desire to be a sugar baby/trophy wife, Breeding Kink, Mpreg) A/B/O dynamics, long fic, modern AU mafia setting, really great

~*~

2. Hi for the next itmf I was wondering if anyone had some time travel gone wrong? Like, maybe wwx tries to go to the past but instead he only sends resentment and it ends up haunting the wwx of the past or sometimes. Thanks!

Grief and Blame, Interwoven by donutsweeper (T, 2k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Dark, discipline whip, Time Travel) LXC uses time travel and changes something to fix things but it doesn't work remotely as he'd thought it would

🔒❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne (G, 43k,wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect) link in #12

❤️ A Future Family In A Broken Past by Hauntcats (T, 121k, wangxian, time travel, not Jiang friendly, Not Cultivation World Friendly, WWX Needs a Hug, Family Dynamics, What is a good family?, Fear of emotions does not excuse abuse, happy ending of sorts, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, fix-it, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, LXC needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, except JC, He can suffer, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, not YZY friendly) has time travel that was fueled by resentful energy so more monsters are encountered in the new timeline.

Lan Yuan's War by BurningTea (G, 196k, LSZ & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, WangXian, LWJ & WQ, WIP, Time Travel, Dad LWJ, Sunshot Campaign, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Rumours, Lots of rumours about LWJ, several people worry about LWJ, CQL Verse, Mental Health Issues, LWJ is very much not okay, Time travel has consequences, Sick LWJ) has time travel that affects the golden cores and health of those who traveled through time.

~*~

3. Hi, for the next itmf, can you suggest some fics where A-yuan and Lan Jingyi are twins

🔒❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

~*~

4. thank you for your work !! itmf any fic where either yl!wwx gets transported to the future, or he comes back to life after his death, and his name has been cleared/he’s been missed/basically he isn’t met with hatred and killing intent. thanks again!

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, war changes people, resulting to OOC, no pinning, Established Relationship, Mpreg, Good Uncle LQR, a little grey LWJ, a bit of JC bashing from LWJ, BAMF JYL, 16 years of yearning, mainly CQL verse but has scenes from the novel as well, LSZ is WangXian’s Child, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Canon Rewrite, Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts) might work. It isn’t time travel, rather a canon rewrite, but circumstances happen and in the years WWX is absent his name is cleared.

🔒 不忘 | Don't Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Devotion, Reunions, Feelings, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, Names, References to Canon, Modern Era, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

5. Hi! This is for ITMF where WWX works as medical examiner or a coroner or he works in lab like in "i really want to know (who are you)" by Stratisphyre

Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

Slaughter House by Duochanfan (M, 24k, future WangXian, LXC/NMJ, NHS/JC, Light Angst, Drama, Crime Scenes, Crime Drama, Psychometric WWX, Coroner WWX, detective LWJ, Detective JC, slight romance, Amnesia, Past Kidnapping, Murder Mystery, Reference to Autopsies, dead bodies, Single Parent WWX, Modern)

Post Mortem by Cataclysmic_Calamity (E, 178k, WangXian, Psychological Horror, Modern, friends with benefits, they’re both fucked up but they love each other so much, Slow Burn Mystery, Unnegotiated Kink, Dom/sub, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Stalking, Drug Addiction, Serial Killers, in WWX’s desire to critique the ‘final girl’ trope he accidentally becomes one, Angst with a Happy Ending, meta commentary on the horror and true crime genres) medical examiner WWX, thriller/horror, stalking but not between Wangxian, extremely good writing, very worth the read

~*~

6. sorry if this has been asked before but for im ITMF a fic where lan wangji is very overprotective of wei wuxian. preferably because wwx's death traumatized him, but id also take any other overprotective fics. thank you!!!! @stgroversfire

So Full Of Love (Wouldn’t Know Where to Start) by witchupbitch (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Blood and Violence, Idiots in Love, Humor, Mafia AU, Modern AU, Flirting, shameless WWX, Confident WWX, Explicit Language, Mutual Sexual Tension, dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Exhibitionism Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings) modern AU mafia, dark Wangxian, like they're both really fucked up

~*~

7. hello hardworking mods! i can see that you're working on a backlog, so no rush, and thanks for your hard work!! i would love to see a fic where any member of the cast is trans, and learning how to deal with second puberty - preferably ftm, and not treated like a crack fic. bonus points if its wwx and he gets totally railed, bonus bonus points if there are lovely family dynamics centred around someone being lovingly accepted.

~*~

8. Hello good! This fandom is so big that I was wondering if fanfics were written with Lan Wangji condemned to live the same fate as his mother. Mama Lan was always a compelling mystery to me, canon LWJ was more in line with making her father's mistake, but then I thought about Mama Lan and went wild thinking "What if?" It would be a delicious avalanche of mixed feelings and strange curveballs for Wangxian to end up like this, considering their dynamic and how they are as people. I don't know what tag to use to find something like this (if it exists), so I would really appreciate your help! Thanks for your time in advance @makolashida

I haven't read any fanfics of that type but maybe dark!Wei Wuxian + bottom Lan Wangji could give some results? Maybe just bottom Lan Wangji + gusu lan sect bashing

~*~

9. I m new to this... I don't really know how this works but... Are there any fics where Wei Ying goes to therapy and just processes his trauma? @ishipwenqingwithmyself

Better By Change by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 8k, WangXian, Therapy, Not JC Friendly, gaslighting JYL, Happy Wangxian, Fluffy wangxian, Boundaries, healthy mindspace) it's a modern AU, involves JC + JYL bashing, doesn't deal with canon WWX trauma like losing his core/various family deaths/war trauma

redemption lies plainly in truth by kaseyskat (T, 5k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JL & WWX, WQ & WWX, WWX & JYL, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Character Study, WWX is allowed to mourn, that's it that's the fic, Reconciliation, mentions of WWXs past) set in canon so no therapy in the modern sense but WWX gets time to process some of his grief

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks) modern AU, WWX gets a therapist in this one, no canon trauma processing but deals with modern trauma

~*~

10. Are there any fics, where wangxian end up talking about LXC calling WWX LWJ's one mistake? Or where LWJ finds out his brother said that. Thank you for all your amazing work. I adore this blog. @winxhelina

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone?by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded) really wonderful writing, takes a critical look at LXC

Wei Ying Was Not A “MISTAKE” by Jeeny271196 (Not rated, 6k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, BAMF LWJ, confrontation, hurt/comfort, protective LWJ, not LXC friendly) LWJ snaps back at LXC

Enough! by Jeeny271196 (Not Rated, 12k, WangXian, WIP, Gusu Lan Sect Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics) WWX is the one who snaps back at LXC

break by justdoityoufucker (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LXC Critical, JC Critical, Canonical Character Death, Guānyīn Temple Scene, BAMF WN, Protective WN) Wen Ning is the one who snaps back at LXC

~*~

11. ITMF fics (non modern au) that explore WWX’s time on the street and the consequences of it please and thank you @dynmo13

~*~

12. for itmf any fics about wei wuxians childhood in yunmeng jiang sect mostly canon but they save yunmeng jiang sect/not everyone dies and madame yu is not written as an antagonist or she has redemption arc something like that

tysm @r3n-vy

~*~

13. Itmf wwx having a daughter

Jiang Xiaolian's Guide to Motherhood and Gardening by bumbledees (T, 14k, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, Crack Taken Mostly Seriously, like many of WWX's best ideas it starts as a joke!, and then i write it, canon is sad bitch let's get you some fun, purposeful baby aquisition, john mulaney voice: you know those days when you're like 'this might as well happen', that's this fic, WWX when will you learn that there are consequences to your actions, have a melon baby) sort of but not really mpreg? there's no actual pregnancy, just some WWX-typical cultivation shenanigans

sweet lotus petals, unfolding in the sun by stiltonbasket (G, 33k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JC & WWX, Unplanned Pregnancy, Married WangXian, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Curtain Fic, wangxian are dads and it hurts so good, Medical Inaccuracies, heaps of them, Mpreg, lxc is best bro, someone save JC, wangxian dual cultivation baby, except not how you think, the radish method gets an upgrade, Reincarnation) mpreg WWX

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending)

🔒 Little Stars by Aki_no_hikari (G, 4k, WangXian, Family Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect)

The Trouble with Talismans: a Treatise on Time-Travel by Young Master Lan Xiaohui (Age 6) by stiltonbasket (G, 26k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LXC/NMJ, Time Travel, wangxian get smacked in the face with their future children, Parenthood, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, a-yuan is the best big brother, xiao-yu has a, Very bad day, baby just wants his a-niang, and for his parents to GET IT TOGETHER already, Happy Ending, Confused WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, lwj is panicking)

~*~

14. Hi! I'm in the mood for any good recommendations for fanfics that aren't on AO3. Any favorite Tumblr posts, or anything on other sites. Smut or Fluff very welcome! But anything goes. @hikato-chan

Shattered Mirrors Master Post by @besanii

rebuttable presumption masterpost by @sarah-yyy

The requester for 14 should be sure to check out the non-AO3 fic compilations: Non-AO3 Part 1 (Twitter) | Pt.2

~*~

15. Hey! Not sure if my prev. ask got sent so if this is a duplicate please delete. For ITMF - do you know of any fics that challenge the practice of seclusion? It's just the more I think about it the more it seems like the in-universe version of celebrities going to "rehab" at upscale resorts to avoid taking responsibility for their behavior. So I'd like to see a character (possibly lxc?) dragged back out again to clean up their own mess.

Scattered ashes and dispersed smoke series by AshayaTReldai (E, 50k, Past LXC/WWX, WangXian, SL/XXC, Past Mpreg, LXC in Seclusion, Post-LXC in Seclusion, Angst, Family systems theory and differentiation, Broken LXC, but we're going to give him the opportunity to heal, Daoism, PTSD, Abuse, Mental Coercion, Mental Abuse, JGY has a lot to answer for, Dark WWX, Dark LXC, WWX's Birthday, Angry rant, the raw truth) This is a 2 part series, canon divergence AU. Changes are big but don't actually shift the overall plot. (Changes are WWX and LXC have an arranged marriage at first, golden core goes to LXC, WWX and LXC are A-Yuan's birth parents.) That stuff isn't really important and is kind of just mentioned, the focus is on LXC facing his mistakes and actually growing as a person. Wangxian happy ending.

~*~

16. Is there wangxian fics where the gusu classroom sees wangxian's future and shamelessness? what led to deaths framing wwx? Whodunnit and why? @tjrc18

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, First Love, Love Confessions, Fluff and Humor, accidental time travel due to one husband malfunctioning array, teen wangxian meet adult wangxian, Happy Ending, adding extra chapter, in this household we hate JGS, in which WWX love library pavilion, (in a way) Yiling Laozu x Hanguang Jun, Denial, Mutual Pining)

~*~

17. fics where wwx has wings. or a fic where wwx only has a (raven?) wing and lwj saw it and fell in love if I'm not mistaken @quwieiidkd

you'll love me at once (the way you did once upon a dream) by sweetlolixo (T, 18k, WangXian, Dark Fairytale, Inspired by Maleficent (2014), Wingfic, Sleeping Beauty with a twist, Maleficent WWX, Prince LWJ, Older WWX, Younger LWJ, young prince lwj flirts with MILF wwx that's it that's the fic, just kidding there is also, Angst with a Happy Ending, True Love's Kiss, Three Chaotic Fairies NHS NMJ and JGY, A Fairytale Iteration of "Lan Zhan you like Mian Mian?!") maleficent AU WWX

the sleeper's gift by iliacquer (T, 6k, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Torture, Disability, A curse within a curse within a curse, Wingfic, Sleeping Beauty Retelling, Maleficent WWX, Reincarnation, Sometimes love lasts multiple lifetimes I guess, True Love's Kiss) another maleficent AU but more intricate, cursed LWJ and WWX

Two is a Pair, Three is a Murder by cosmicworry14 (E, 6k, WangXian, Wingfic, winged!wwx, demonic bird wwx, Bird/Human Hybrids, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Animal Instincts, Courting Rituals, Blood and Gore, Dark) winged WWX due to burial mounds

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

121 notes · View notes

sadly-in-active · 9 months ago

Text

Affogato Cookie x Amnesiac Reader

Summary: "This is a while after he got exiled, but a long time before the Great Flour Ailment whitewashing appeared. You, one of the Watchers suffered a gruesome head injury while dealing with an enemy, causing you to knock out cold. Before you crumble in the snow, Affogato coincidentally found you suffering and decided to help you out for his own gain before realizing that you had zero clear memories and didn’t know who he was. So he tries to manipulate you obvi" 💜

TW: Loss of blood (or…jam? In this universe, jam. Yep.)

FOR THE NEXT PART: Attempted manipulation, failed poisoning attempt, and he just loves toying with your head and all sweetie be warned

You were the Fourth Watcher. As such, you were tasked with being on the far borders of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, reporting to others about any trouble. Sometimes you ran into Crunchy Chip Cookie, exchanged a few words, MAYBE pet one of his cream wolves if he was feeling nice, then went back to do your duties. It was a fulfilling job, despite the occasional longing to go back and talk to your fellow Watchers once more.

So, you had a normal routine. A routine that got extremely off-track while you were by the cliffs.

You were just scouting for any enemies, when a chill went down your back as something breathed heavily right next to you, its warm exhale hitting the back of your head.

You didn’t turn around. After all, why would you if you already know what it was?

The snow lion of nightmares. The Wraith of the Peaks…

It was like you could feel daggers as sharp as its pupils stabbing you right in the back. A shaky breath left your lips before you reached for your arrow pocket as swiftly as you could.

But the beast was stronger. Not faster, but much more stronger. It let out a yowl of fury, its screams reverberating in your ears as you felt the arrowhead make connection with the snow lion’s shoulder, giving you time to run like your life depended on it — which it did.

Your eyes were glazed with panic and relief, trying as hard as you could to steady your breathing as the strawberry jam rushed to your head, your dough felt like it would self-destruct and crumble right there.

—

Unfortunately for you, the beast wasn’t quite finished toying with its mouse. You could still feel yourself running like you never have before, but it was futile as the snow lion struck a hard blow to your chest, sending you flying more then a few feet back into some rocks, your fall cushioned only by the thin layer of sugar snow on said rocks.

Your consciousness was fading quickly, and so was your life. All you could do was lay there, your scarlet jam seeping into the snow below as the beast approached you slowly, the normal strength it would have in its walk half-gone to the irritating arrow that you stabbed into it.

Yet as the beast’s cold diamond pupils stared at your body, it let out a growl, wondering why its mouse was going limp and acting foolish.

Why wouldn’t this one run? Was this measly fool going to shrivel up and crumble? What a shame, you were no fun after all.

In an act of annoyance and aggression at your weak body, it swatted at you, but narrowed its eyes and walked away when you didn’t respond.

Honestly, the snow lion actually enjoyed it when you ran. It was much more fun.

—

And there you were, half-dead, barely breathing. Your Watcher robes did nothing to keep in your scarlet essence. You were unconsciously begging for the Alter of the Fallen to take you with them. To join their ranks.

And yet…a hand shook your shoulder gently, before pausing to drag you by the legs.

Heck, you were so numb you couldn’t feel anything. It was good you didn’t, because the strawberry jam that flowed out as you were dragged looked like someone’s failed calligraphy lessons.

You faintly heard someone speak, before fully going unconscious and limp.

“Well, well, well…what have we here?”

—

Hey if you like this please urge me to continue because I am going to absolutely forget about this later on oml-

#crk headcanons #cookie run kingdom #affogato cookie #affogato cookie x reader #affogato cookie being a little shit #dark cacao kingdom #x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #crunchy chip cookie #caramel arrow cookie

132 notes · View notes

dawneternal · 10 months ago

Text

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Two

☁︎ notes: so much tea drinking in this chapter?? my bad

☁︎ warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, implied domestic violence

☁︎ word count: 1.9k

☁︎ AO3 Link // Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @mybestfriendmademe @teddyhoneybear @cauldronblssd @imma-too-many-fandoms @tele86

Eris barely remembered the night before. He did not remember the questions his father had asked or the nonsense he’d given as answers. He knew in his gut that the truth remained tucked away and that’s all that mattered.

He did recall his mother hurrying away, though the image was blurry from the pain. He thought he remembered an angel, kneeling by his bedside and blessing him with a touch to his brow. But of course, that was delirium from the blood loss. Every snap of his father’s whip, however, echoed through his memory in a loop.

He woke once in the night, head pounding as he surveyed the room. The moonlight revealed his mother’s sleeping form on the couch by the fire. On the floor beside his bed, another figure slept curled up with a throw pillow. Maybe two figures? It was hard to tell, their outline bulky beneath the quilt. He had a vague understanding that he should be dead, or at least in a great deal of pain. But the bedding felt real enough beneath his hands, the ache in his head like an anchor.

He did not have a chance to wonder about it any further before sleep pulled him away again. He dreamt of the angel and her lovely voice, deep and smooth, easing his pain.

Worry not , she had said. So Eris slept deep and easy.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

When Eris woke he braced for the full impact of his injury to envelope him, but it never arrived. There was a dull ache throughout his body, but nothing compared to what he felt the night before. He found that he could sit up and move and even stretch with no resistance.

He flicked on the fae lights and twisted in the mirror, examining his back. There were large, pink scars still tender to the touch. And he was clean, not a hint of the ocean of blood that had threatened to swallow him in his bed.

That was how his mother found him, staring at his back with confusion and frustration written across his features. She let out a silent sigh as she set down the tea tray, preparing for his interrogation.

“Someone else was here,” He said. Or rather, demanded, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“Yes. The healer I hired.” She did not look at him, focused on spooning tea leaves into the sieve.

“Beron forbade it.” His tone was sharp.

“He will not know. He was called away this morning and you leave for the Spring Court this afternoon.”

Here she was, pulling strings again. He would always admire her cleverness and always dread the consequences. She was constantly doing favors just so she would be owed one in return. It was the oldest Fae trick in the book and the only way she could gain footing in this court.

Most of the court and its people would follow her over Beron in a heartbeat. But his reach was wide and his eyes all-seeing. Not to mention his punishments, always cruel and disturbingly creative. Thus, these games of bargains and favors remained. Whispered in dark halls and midnight meetings. Sometimes outside the borders of the court. So far, she had managed not to be caught. Beron underestimated her and one day it would be her salvation and the last nail in his coffin.

“You hired a secret healer?”

“And swore her to secrecy, yes,” It was an idea she’d toyed with for a while, but Eris had always asked her not to do it. It was not worth it, to risk some healer’s life on his sorry behalf.

“Did you tell her the nature of the job?”

Edana pursed her lips, quiet as she placed sugar cubes into cups. He sat down slowly, releasing a long sigh as he went.

“The risks, mother,” He said, weariness making it sound more thorny than he meant.

“Do not scold me, son,” Her tone was firm but her voice shook. She looked at him, russet eyes gleaming. “You would have died last night if she had not been there. I have said it before and I will say it as many times as it takes for this court to hear me. I will not lose another son.”

Her lips trembled as she let her body crumple into a chair. Eris stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her ruddy hair. Two sides of the same coin, they were. Too soft for Beron’s preferred shade of games, too stubborn not to play their own.

The purple smudges under her eyes were so pronounced Eris wondered if she’d slept at all. If she’d truly slept in years.

“Why now?” He asked, his voice soft. An uneasiness grew in the pit of his stomach. Edana took a moment to answer, her eyes troubled and distant as she warred with something that Eris couldn’t see.

“Things are brewing, Eris,” She said, “Not just in your father’s court, but in Prythian. I needed to ease my mind. To have one less things to worry about.”

He didn’t bother asking what she alluded to. She would have told him already if she were able to. Whether it be Beron or some other higher power, she stayed vague for a reason. It did nothing for that sense of unease.

“Thesan has requested to speak with me,” Edana sighed, sounding a little more like herself again, “I assume I will be receiving a scolding from him as well.”

“No more scolding from me,” Eris sat back down and pulled a cup of tea towards himself, “You know what you’re doing. I just don't want to see you hurt.”

She gave him a small smile and took a sip from her own cup.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, mother. One day you will get your justice.”

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Lady Edana sat across from Thesan, tea and pastries arranged on lace runners between them. The table sat on a balcony, so similar to where she had met with Aya. Fluffy clouds floated past the stone pillars, the arches between them like picture frames housing masterful paintings.

Edana did not care for the Dawn Court. Everything here was too farefree, threatening to float away with the lightest touch. She preferred to be on solid ground, back in her own court with its scents of humus and ripe apples.

“Edana,” Thesan began. His eyes avoided hers, as if her opinion would be read clearly within the amber.

Edana said nothing, anger ebbing and flowing through her like the tide. One moment she had herself worked up, convinced that everyone around her was trying to prove that she was nothing but a fool, a paranoid little housewife. Then she would remind herself that those ideas were Beron’s creation, her anxiety his design. And she calmed, letting all of those feelings flow away until the cycle began again.

“I understand your machinations,” He said, “I know their importance, and I will contribute where I can. But you cannot draw my loved ones into this game. Especially without consulting me.”

“Loved ones?” Edana asked, meeting his gaze as she took a sip of her tea.

“Aya is my cousin, Edana,” Thesan sighed.

“Is there a reason you kept her hidden?”

“She is not hidden. The Dawn Court knows her. But she has always insisted on earning her own living. She wants her success to be her own.”

“I see,” Edana said, though her expression suggested that she did not see.

“I have a feeling that you elected to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.” He continued.

Edana tossed her head, but she did not disagree. That was exactly what she had done. Though she had to admit that the fact of Aya and Thesan being related made her decision look much bolder. She had never meant to make a statement.

“I suggest you do not make a habit of it,” Thesan’s voice rumbled through the balcony.

Some considered Thesan to be the weakest of the High Lords. Even Tarquin, young and experienced as he may be, could move oceans with his power. But to hear Thesan speak this way painted a different image. Like he possessed some hidden blade within him that was as sharp as he was gentle. Like perhaps, the other courts would be grateful that he stayed close to his palace in this sky.

Edana finally accepted that perhaps her plans had been rash. Maybe she had underestimated how easily Thesan would forgive her. The clouds floating by the balcony grew dark with the threat of a storm.

“I cannot break the bargain,” She said, eyes on the table before her. She studied the crumbs of her macaron, pastel purple and flavored with lavender.

“No,” Said Thesan, a growl full of warning, “But if you misstep, I will have Helion dismantle it.

“I did it for Eris,” Edana choked out, looking up at him. The lovely brown of his eyes was so soft compared to the command in his voice.

“Then he will help protect her. Or he will need more than one healer.”

“Beron will not touch her.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep.”

They were quiet for a long moment. Then the clouds lightened again, all of the tension gone from the sky. Thesan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I did not call you here to scold you,” He said, and Edana thought bitterly that it was a little late for that sentiment.

“I wish to warn you.”

She took another sip of her tea and wondered if this was merely a bridge to another lecture about her schemes and manipulations. As if she was a reckless child with no self control, and not a woman trapped in the underground halls of the Autumn Court. They all gave her sympathy, but if they would not help her with their actions then their words meant nothing. She prepared to tell him off.

“I wish to warn you about Aya,” His eyes narrowed at Edana’s refusal to answer. But he had her attention now. She pursed her lips and locked eyes with him. “There are facets to her power she has not yet discovered. She could rival the best of us one day.”

“And you have not told her this?” Edana’s brows furrowed, “You do not wish for her to control it?”

“Not all of us fancy ourselves puppet masters,” Thesan said tightly, “I was hoping it would be her own discovery. She’s so unsure of herself.”

Edana stared for a moment longer. It had crossed her mind, the depth of Aya’s power. The ease with which she manipulated Eris’s wounds. Her skill was greater than any other healer Edana had met.

“And I suppose you will not tell me any more about her?”

“It is not my story to tell.”

Edana’s nerves were feeling a bit frayed. A scolding, a threat, and now a warning.

“Are we done here, Thesan?” She sighed and dropped the napkin from her lap onto the table.

Thesan’s eyes narrowed. No, he had hoped this conversation might last a little longer. He had more to say. But he was as tired of Edana as she was of him.

“Yes, Edana.”

Truthfully, she had always been this way. Paranoid, calculating. Even in her days as a young and single courtier, she gambled for scandals and drama, her ante paid in lovers. She had played these games for so long now, her entire world was tinted. Perhaps the right person could have encouraged her to hone that energy. But Beron brought out the worst in everyone.

Some thought her sons inherited their cunning from their father, but it was all their mother’s. All of their scheming they learned from her. Beron was as dense as he was cruel.

Thesan watched the Lady leave, her burgundy skirts swishing over the stone floor. Lady of Autumn, Queen of games, mother of foxes.

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hailsureisrotten · 2 months ago

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Literally all of the Slugcats in my silly lil Rotten Hail AU!! Also, some lore on them and a version with a transparent background below the cut!

So, the lore!

Moon and Pebbles: Not shown here. During Moon's collapse, she fell westward, colliding with Pebbles' structure and knocking them both over. This created an eternal Blizzard inside their Facility Grounds. This event also caused the Rot to evolve via consuming the Neuronflies en masse, the Rot now assimilating creatures into itself instead of consuming them...

Survivor: Born into the colony fairly late into the Blizzard. Often does scavenging work, but has learned a fairly vast array of talents, meaning they can help out with pretty much anything, instead of specializing in specific subjects like most other slugcats.

Monk: Born into the colony fairly late into the Blizzard as well, specializing into animal handling and botany. Has diabetes, often carrying extra snacks in their bag in case her blood sugar drops out on the field.

Gourmand: The Colony's primary chef, as well as being a scout and part-time craftsman. Super kind and caring... though often forgets most do not have the appetite they do, often having guests passed out in their spare bed due to food comas.

Hunter: Created by NSH after Moon and Pebbles' collapse. Was very sick with Rot, but thankfully was brought back to NSH before it claimed them. Using samples of the evolved Rot, NSH created an injection that fused Hunter's rot into their body, causing it to stop eating away at Hunter and even granting them new abilities- at the cost of a drastically increased appetite.

Spearmaster: Created by Seven Red Suns as a messenger. After Moon and Pebbles' collapse, was given some specialized equipment. Due to their spaghetti DNA, their tail has grown in size quite excessively, and while this had made them less nimble, they now have the idea of spiking up their tail and swinging it like a giant mace, which has proven quite effective.

Artificer: Also created by Seven Red Suns for the purpose of destroying rubble and starting fires for warmth amongst the Blizzard. Her lost leg and missing eye are due to blood clots forming when she was young, and exploding violently. Was taught by SRS all the technological knowledge of how Iterators and Ancient technology work, and as such is a talented engineer.

Diver and Collector: Artificer and Hunter's pups. Green and Blue instead of red because of Arti's spaghetti DNA. Both carry Hunter's ability to middle alter their own bodies to extend their limbs a little bit, and also Arti's abilities, letting them to light up their bodies in bright, flashy bursts of fire, like little living Fireworks.

Rivulet: Created by a currently unknown Iterator before Moon's collapse, as a gift to keep her company. During the collapse though, got a concussion and memory loss, due to being inside Moon's structure. Lived on her own for a long time, scavenging for supplies under the freezing water. Now lives in the Colony, operating a water treatment machine below it.

Saint: Created by Sliver Of Straw as the Triple Affirmative. After meeting Gourmand, discovered their love of food. Still carries the power to Ascend others using their mechanical arm, but prefers not to unless asked to do it, or if it's the morally better option. Actually fairly chubby underneath their cloak now.

Nightcat: Slugcat from the Colony who, while on one of their first scouting missions, encountered a Rot Cluster who had learned to create immensely powerful bursts of light to flashbang foes. After the encounter, Nightcat was left permanently blind.

Inv/Enot: Cluster of Rot that was experimented on to create the Cure for Hunter. Became sentient and passive, taking on a vaguely slugcat-like form most of the time. Very silly and fun-loving, but also very anxious all the time, which they do their best to cover up. Often resides inside an abandoned Slugcat skeleton, using it to help their body maintain a stable form.

The Colony: The colony of Slugcats living on the outskirts of the Facility Grounds/Outer Expanse. With the guidance of Artificer, as well as SRS and NSH, the colony's home was revamped from a partially hollowed-out tree to a full-on town built vertically around it.

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naamahdarling · 8 months ago

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I had to say goodbye to my 14 year old cat who trained herself to wake me up when my blood sugar went low in the night, and I am very sad. May I see Fancy and/or the Dried Pickle Man? Their faces are good for the soul.

Heretofore unseen angles.

These are fresh pics taken just for you! I hope this helps. Neither was being cooperative in the slightest.

I am so very very sorry. That is a terrible loss.

I had a cat who did something a little similar when I was in a very bad place and had insomnia so bad it was becoming dangerous. She would get on my chest and I wouldn't have the heart to move her since I kind of vaguely figured I wasn't going to stick around a lot longer and should at least let her lie on me all she wanted before I took my leave. I inevitably fell asleep as she did this. Sometimes it took a couple of hours, and she simply would not budge. She had never done this before but she did it every night for as long as the crisis lasted, then stopped. Like she knew. She still put me to bed mostly every night, staying beside me until I slept, but never on my chest. It began when I was in crisis and ended when I was able to go to sleep on my own. I credit her with saving my life. It sounds like your baby girl was a hero cat as well. We should all be so lucky as to have a kind and fuzzy little guardian there to watch over us as we sleep, chasing the bad dreams, or at least some of them, away.

I hope you find ways to celebrate knowing her, and that the holes of grief in your heart swiftly heal into windows looking out on all the good memories.

One more, of Raleigh.

He was rubbing his ears to tell me he wanted to be combed there. Look at his big stupid face!

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namelessprayers · 3 months ago

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lu guang could never understand what made a tragedy so much more superior when crafted with a romance. that always seemed so superficially dictated by society, so obviously manufactured by the world's overwhelming obsession with love.

then, when cheng xiaoshi kissed him, it was like something snapped.

because cheng xiaoshi kissed like it wasn't their first time. cheng xiaoshi kissed like they had all the time in the world. cheng xiaoshi kissed like he wasn't the dead man which lu guang would risk the world to keep alive. they kissed as though time was not of the essence, as if they could somehow transcend it.

and it was tender, and right, and troubling. so troubling.

because he wasn't ignorant, and when they broke apart for air, lu guang could only clutch desperately at cheng xiaoshi's shirt and bow his head down, refusing to look him in the eye. to pass it off casually, he nuzzled his face into cheng xiaoshi's neck, hardly able to stand upright without holding on like this might all evaporate into a dream.

"awh, you really are like a cat." cooed cheng xiaoshi, naive, blissful, all too familiarly and achingly genuine. how sweet, lu guang couldn't help but say to himself.

but it didn't feel as sweet as it looked, because all lu guang could attempt was to not imagine cheng xiaoshi with blood on his chest. lu guang belatedly realized, now he wouldn't just remember everything else about cheng xiaoshi, but also how he tasted and smelled on top of it all. it was a harrowing thought.

and additionally, it seemed apparent that this was a big change. it was a problem big enough to possibly make or break the timeline.

"hey-" started cheng xiaoshi, only to be cut off by lu guang pulling him back in for another kiss. he decided that the timeline was a problem for another day, and secretly, lu guang was hoping that this timeline would be different in a better way. improved, perhaps.

he thought, stupidly, that love could somehow be enough.

then, when cheng xiaoshi died, streaking lu guang's hands in a far too familiar shade of red, another thing snapped.

it became apparent that they weren't getting any time.

lu guang's jumps became less of a dull pain that simply needed to see cheng xiaoshi and live through their friendship again, it became something feral, something carnally desperate. he wasn't sure how to live without getting fifty or more years of this; this, being cheng xiaoshi looking at him that way, kissing him that way, knowing lu guang without the imminent end looming overhead.

and it wasn't fair. yet inexplicably, lu guang began less drained each time, instead becoming somewhat reinvigorated each return, each reignition of what he sought so hard to maintain.

but it was futile, a matter of time, and they were running out.

lu guang could tell, with every shift that got further and further as well as closer and closer, time was mocking them.

because he could see them lasting. he could easily imagine them eighty years old, changed but still the same, stubbornly holding onto the habits of their youth and each other.

he knows cheng xiaoshi would still drag him to pose for a needless amount of photos and hang the pictures everywhere around their living space. he knows cheng xiaoshi would still buy him elaborately childish cat themed apparel and he'd still wear it because it's comfy despite looking ridiculous. he knows cheng xiaoshi would still order his milk tea with the ever consistent levels of sugar and ice.

it especially hurts, because instead of having memories of repetitive routine in old age, lu guang is intimately stuck with the feeling of cheng xiaoshi dying in his arms, bleeding out, taking a final breathe, over and over again.

so he tries, claps and dives back to the beginning without hesitation, any attempt to salvage what feels natural, what feels right. lu guang can't stop time, but he'll live forever if it's the only alternative.

and though the love enhances the pain of loss, it also enhances the joy of living, and lu guang finally understands the value of a tragic love story; in every scream and every timeline and unavoidable death and slightly reiterated kiss. lu guang just has to let it linger, end and all, hoping that one day it'll finally pay off somehow.

#link click #character study #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #relationship study #shiguang #shiguang daili ren #shiguang dailiren #love #grief (bargaining stage specifically)#doomed yaoi #prose #writing

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the-most-humble-blog · 1 month ago

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𝘋𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘏𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 – 𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴!

(For the uninitiated, Warhammer 40K is set in a bleak, dystopian sci-fi future where humanity is crammed into massive hive cities, layered slums stretching miles into the sky. In the depths of these urban hellscapes, food is scarce, and the poor will eat anything—no matter how questionable. The following menu is from a hive-level eatery that specializes in desserts for those whose moral and digestive limits are flexible.)

☠ 𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙍𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨: 𝘼 𝙏𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙊𝙛 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙞𝙩 ☠

1. Blood Pudding Pops – 6 Throne Gelt

🩸 "Like a plasma wound... but sweeter!" Nothing beats the crunch of frozen, clotted hemoviscera on a stick! This grim classic is made from recycled nutrient-rich blood collected from underhive meat pits (source unconfirmed, but best not to ask). Flash-frozen and dipped in a glossy sump-oil chocolate shell to lock in that just-slaughtered freshness. If yours still pulsates, congratulations—it’s extra fresh!

2. Rotberry Tarts – 5 Throne Gelt

🍓 "Fermented to perfection! (And legally not a biohazard.)" What’s that tang? Why, it’s our signature "wildly unregulated" fermentation process! We take overripe underhive berries—those resistant to most pesticides and mildly radioactive—and let them stew in their own juices until they develop that fizzy, borderline-alcoholic texture. Each tart is guaranteed to contain at least one hallucinogenic mold spore, so prepare for a spiritual experience or severe gastric distress—whichever comes first!

3. Bone Marrow Gelato – 7 Throne Gelt

🍦 "Creamy, dreamy, and questionably sourced!" Rich, indulgent, and packed with mystery marrow! Our gelato starts with a hearty extraction from bones we “acquire” from reliable vendors—whether they were volunteers or not is above our pay grade. Blended with vat-grown pseudo-milk and synthetic sugar, this treat has a delightfully gamey aftertaste and may come with "bonus memories" from its former owner! Some customers report experiencing strange, unfamiliar dreams after consuming—don’t worry, it’s just a side effect!

4. Nutrient Sludge Trifle – 8 Throne Gelt

🥄 "Corpse-starch meets luxury!" For those who wish to eat like the working-class masses, but fancier! We start with three layers of reconstituted corpse-starch (yes, the same protein-dense ration used to feed the Imperium’s least fortunate). Then, we drizzle it with a questionable "synthetic vanilla" syrup, pile on expired sump-milk custard, and top it off with candied cockroach wings for an extra crunch. The result? A deceptively sweet sludge that reminds you where you belong in the hive’s food chain.

5. Glowspore Éclair – 9 Throne Gelt

🌟 "It lights up! So will you!" A flaky, deep-fried chitin-crust pastry stuffed with bioengineered luminescent fungal cream that grows deep within the toxic runoff caverns. Not only does it glow in the dark (fun for kids!)—it’ll make you glow, too! Some lucky customers have reported seeing their veins light up through their skin. Others have found it difficult to sleep after eating due to the spores taking root in their bloodstream. Either way, it’s a treat to remember!

6. Hive Queen’s Egg Custard – 12 Throne Gelt

🐜 "The egg is... a surprise." Our creamiest custard, infused with nutrient-dense excretions from hive-born arthropods. The best part? Every serving comes with a mystery egg tucked inside. It could be a delightful, protein-rich yolk, or it could be a fertilized larva just waiting to hatch inside your gut! Either way, it’s the gift that keeps on giving.

7. Flayfruit Pudding – 10 Throne Gelt

🍮 "It peels back more than just your hunger!" This smooth, syrupy pudding is made from the ultra-rare Flayfruit, a mutated underhive plant known for its flesh-stripping enzymes. The flavor is a glorious mix of citrus, acid, and mild pain, and it burns just enough to let you know it’s working. Side effects include "accidental loss of soft tissue", and long-term consumers may experience spontaneous shedding of fingernails or lips. Pairs well with bone broth... if you still have bones left.

8. Ration Bar Tiramisu – 11 Throne Gelt

☕ "For the discerning scummer!" We start with old, expired Imperial Guard ration bars (the ones even they won’t eat) and soften them by soaking them in strong recaf mixed with sumpwater runoff. Then, we layer it with synthetic sump-milk foam and dust the top with a blend of carbon shavings and machine oil for that "authentic hive-flavor." The result? A tiramisu that makes you question your life choices.

9. Maggot Mousse – 6 Throne Gelt

🪱 "You didn't hear that squish." Whipped to perfection using the natural movement of hive maggots, this silky, protein-packed mousse is served chilled to slow their metabolism just enough to keep them from escaping before consumption. Be sure to chew carefully—some of them have been known to reactivate upon swallowing.

10. Emperor’s Mercy Pudding – 15 Throne Gelt

👑 "A dessert so good, it just might be your last!" The pinnacle of our menu: a thick, velvety pudding infused with underhive amasec and just a whisper of "unregulated chemical agents." Every batch is slightly different, meaning some experience a blissful, euphoric high, while others experience cardiac arrest within minutes. It’s the perfect dessert for those who wish to leave this world on a high note! No refunds, no liability.

🔹𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗟🔹

🦠 "𝙁𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙊𝙬𝙣 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙠" 𝘽𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙩 – 30 Throne Gelt

Unlimited access to all menu items (if your digestive system survives the experience!)

Complimentary gut parasite removal (if the doc’s sober enough to operate!)

🎭 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤:

"Sweetness is fleeting. The horror is forever."

🍽 Bon appétit, scummers! 🍽

🔥 REBLOG If you want more!🔥

#warhammer 40k #hive city life #grimdark food #dark sci fi #underhive cuisine #sweet horrors #dystopian future #sci fi worldbuilding #satirical horror #dark humor

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girlwithakiwi · 1 month ago

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The Library

The Long Fics [ IN PROGRESS ]

some nights the lighthouse, some nights the sea (transatlanticism) Game of Thrones S7 canon divergence - can be read here

“Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can answer this message.” “A king,” Sansa echoes, finally meeting his eyes. “Or a princess.” • In Westeros: war. To the east, the Targaryen queen has landed on the shores of Dragonstone, prepared to take back the throne stolen from her family. To the south, the lions of Lannister bathe in the blood and copious spoils of their war—unchallenged, undefeated. To the far north, beyond the Wall, looms an unimaginable nightmare led by a god of death, a demon who will bring eternal winter to the realm by means of his army of walking corpses. And in the middle lies the shattered and broken North with its newly-crowned king, a king given a choice between a dragon and a lioness. The only problem? Sansa thinks that negotiations aren't exactly her brother's specialty anymore and he is surely going to get them all killed. Or: Sansa goes to Dragonstone to meet Daenerys instead of Jon.

all the ground beneath with tears and blood Game of Thrones/The Vampire Diaries fusion - can be read here

Her hometown always is and will always be this: a small corner of the world that will never change. All secrets are stories and all stories must be shared. She decides that whatever is happening is curious but it doesn't concern her, because whatever is happening won't be anything worthwhile. After all, nothing bad ever happens in Starfall. • Dany Dayne does not believe in monsters. She does not believe in witches or hunters or immortal creatures of the night. But when the enigmatic members of the Stark family arrive in Starfall and bodies drained of blood begin to mysteriously appear in the woods, everything that Dany has known about the world and about herself begins to unravel. And to add to her troubles, the answer to everything may lie with the most mysterious and troubled member of the family, a man running away from the ghosts of his past and the chaos of his future… …Jon Snow.

The Long Fics [ COMPLETE ]

the gather, the bend, the bringing forth Game of Thrones S8 alternate ending - can be read here

Jon is their catspaw because above all things he is an honorable man. And in his entire life, he has never wanted to be anything other than that damnable virtue as much as he wants it now. • When Jon Snow enters the throne room, the ruins of King's Landing still smoke on the pyre of conquest and destruction. When he confronts Daenerys Targaryen beneath the suffocating shadow of the Iron Throne, the slaughtered corpses of men, women, and children still soundlessly howl in terror and agony. This is the price of the dragon queen's crown and he has followed her now to be judge, jury, and executioner, to end the nightmare, to end the madness, once and for all. But for players of a different game, a loss is nothing but victory postponed—and there is always one more play, one more chance, to turn a war in their favor. Or: Jon doesn't kill Daenerys and everything they know about the Long Night changes.

the silhouette of a single memory Game of Thrones reincarnation modern AU - can be read here

And then he whispers a single name into her hair. It is warm, like the memory of home and dark nights before a fire, and as sweet as treacle, sugar and butterscotch and promises she cannot remember. And she thinks, as she presses him into a fervent and hungry kiss, chasing the letters and the cadence and the brogue with her tongue, it should not sound so familiar. Dany. He has called her Dany. But… That isn’t her name. • A one-night stand ends up being a whole goddamned mess and two people whose names are certainly (probably) not Daenerys Targaryen or Jon Snow find themselves untangling strange dreams of war and betrayal and lives lost, lived, and forgotten.

The Shorts [ COMPLETE ]

the road trip series Four-part Game of Thrones modern AU - can be read here

like freedom, like rosemary and thyme like the olden days, happy golden days of yore tomorrow's wind, if it be wild untitled (coming soon)

valyrian scroll collection Unrelated one-shots in the ASOIAF bookverse

•

where ruin also exists Post-ADWD two-shot - can be read here

He knows one thing: he was dead, and now he is not. The girl with dragonfire in her veins and starlight in her hair tells him that to be alive is a miraculous thing. She whispers to him in the night, with fury and flame on her tongue and a dynasty cradled in her arms, that life itself, as it exists in them, will cause the world to shudder and bow before them. (To be honest, he thinks that death is afraid of both of them.) (But when she kisses him, he also thinks that she might be right.) • Jon Snow complicates reality. Daenerys Targaryen simplifies it.

a shadow for the splendor (let the profane tremble to ask) Post-ADWD one-shot - can be read here

It is no wonder, the smallfolk will murmur later, that when the King of Winter met the Mother of Dragons, the world spun itself into a cataclysmic revolution of night and summer and every wonderful, terrible thing beneath the white, dispassionate sun. (But if one might ask the queen, the Targaryen witch whose reign is built on fire and shackles of ice, she’ll only shake her head. “You tell yourselves stories,” she chides—but there is a warning here: her husband is the wolf and she herself is the three-headed dragon and some stories must bear the weight of the truth.) • The dragon and the wolf sit on thrones made of iron and conquest. But every dream of spring is built on the ashes of winter, every reign made of duty has its secrets, and a fledgling love can be just as potent as lust.

where raging storms at midnight howl (this place is haunted) ASOIAF "Rhaegar Wins" one-shot AU - can be read here

There is ice in the mirror, and death too—the kiss and the shadow, the inferno and the chasm. She is the Silver Princess, the delight of the realm, and this reflection tells her of a world that cannot be, a world she cannot know. She wants to be comforted, but she cannot reach into that storm-silver surface to touch him and the comely young man with the grey eyes cannot step through to embrace her. His voice is a dream and it is half a memory. It is all her desires and hopes and fears and she wants and wants and wants. • In 283 AC, those who rebelled against the dragons were defeated on the Trident. This is the world Daenerys Targaryen knows, a world where her brother rules over a fractious realm and the dragons still sit on the Iron Throne, a world where the Baratheons and the Lannisters never rose to power. So who is this haunting boy in the frozen winter mirror who tells her otherwise, who tells her that the world she knows is a dream, a lie? And which side of the mirror is the truth?

the one shots Unrelated one-shots in the Game of Thrones/HOTD showverse

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interlude: la danse d'hiver (the winter dance) Game of Thrones S7/S8 missing scenes/alternate ending - can be read here

It is the beginning that is the most important, isn’t it? There are many beginnings to this story but in the end, this tale starts with winter and the dragons, as they all do. If you know the stories by heart—and I know you do, little one—you must remember that all stories start with ice and fire. • As the frost-blue darkness of winter embraces Westeros and fires crackle merrily in homes from Winterfell to Dorne, a mother tells stories to her child of the Dragon Queen and the King in the North.

never let me go Game of Thrones S7 canon divergence - can be read here

This is only a dream of a maybe, a pantomime of what-if. Whatever it was that had started to burn between them, whatever could have been…all of it died beyond the Wall with him. • When the King in the North never returns from beyond the Wall, Daenerys Targaryen’s dreams start to become filled with visions of drowning. In the sea, she is haunted by her failure to save a man she may have loved, a man she has certainly lost. But through the abyss of the deep, she still hears him. She still feels his warm touch on her skin. There is a memory of a kiss she cannot and should not remember. She tells herself: Jon Snow is gone... ...isn’t he?

the horns of jericho House of the Dragon S1 missing scenes - can be read here

“I want you,” she declares into the breath of a kiss as she climbs onto his lap. His breath is hot against her lips, and unsteady. “That is what I can give you. But you have to promise me—promise me—that you will not ask for more than this.” • None of this is what Rhaenyra wanted. Yet somehow it has become her burden to bear—this sham marriage, consummated by death, and the queen's vicious whispers and suspicions trailing after her like a cloak. It is a lonely, burdensome road to walk. But Ser Harwin offers something different, something sweeter, something that she may even call joy and friendship. And many things can change in the span of ten years.

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