#Elemental Master of Haze

[monchy-cronchy]

Melody Jun!!!

Watch out Tumblr, this is the first ya’ll are seeing of my oh so pretty OC, Melody Jun (MJ)

She was crated to be a ‘cringe OCxCanon’ idea and I went ALL out.. she’s the biggest (and I mean biggest) Kai fan girl, she also really enjoys writing Y/N fan fic in her spare time..

I might post lore about her IDK it’s still in the works

[talesofesther]

until one of us caves

Rolan x Reader

Summary: After fighting Lorroakan, you decide to stay with Rolan.

A/N: I know that like maybe three people are gonna read this but I couldn't care less. The more I learned about Rolan's story, the bigger of a soft spot I got, and this little thought wouldn't leave my head so I had to write this down. Nothing serious, just something I wish I could do in the game. Also, this story kinda drifted a little from the original plan about halfway through and started writing itself, so don't blame me if the quality is dubious lmao. Requests for him are open I guess, if anyone's interested.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The scent of smoke and ash hung in the air. Stones and mud, remains of the elementals, littered the floor of Ramazith's Tower; as well as a few burned books here and there, smashed furniture, and splatters of blood in the marble. It would take a while to get the place back to the glory it could hold, but you figured it was doable.

The body of its previous master lay lifeless on the floor, spine broken, skin torn. You held no pity for him, only resentment.

From the corner of your eyes, you could spot a twitching tail and clenched fists, staring blankly at the body of his tormentor. He said nothing, merely huffed and walked away before you could think of saying anything, your gaze followed his steps.

The time between when you'd first set foot in Sorcerous Sundries and now had gone by in a haze. You had stopped dead in your tracks then, breath hitching as you caught sight of the countless bruises on Rolan's skin, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness took over you. You'd walked up to him, the words "Who did this to you?" were stumbling past your lips before he even had the chance to utter the practiced greeting. Rolan had evaded the matter, as you'd expected, building ever higher walls around himself. And you'd surprised yourself with how restless the sight of him had made you feel.

"Soldier?" Karlach's hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present, making you quickly turn your head back to her.

You blinked several times until your eyes regained their focus; "yeah?"

She gave you a halfhearted smile and you wondered just how much your turmoil showed on your face. "I was just asking if you're alright, and… where do we go from here." Her voice held kindness to it, as it usually did. More often than not Karlach was, surprisingly, a calming balm in your hectic days.

"Uh-" you hesitated. Perhaps you should already be used to being the one people turned to in search of guidance, leadership. But it was a title you'd never really asked for, was it?

"You guys should go ahead, dispose of him somewhere," you gestured to Lorroakan's lifeless form, "before anyone walks in on… all of this."

Karlach nodded along and then raised a brow at you. "And what of you?" She asked, yet there was a smirk on her lips that alluded to the fact that she already knew the answer.

"I'll hang back." Your cheeks warmed up, "I'll meet you guys at Elfsong later."

"Take your time, soldier," Karlach winked at you, then turned to hurl the dead Wizard's body over her shoulder. "Right let's go people, nothing left to see here."

"And how exactly do you intend to walk around the city with that?" Shadowheart asked exasperatedly, yet followed Karlach to the swirling portal nonetheless.

The tiefling shrugged, holding Lorroakan's body with one arm, "I don't know. If anyone asks we'll just say he's drunk or something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, I want to see that."

Shadowheart and Astarion added simultaneously, one rolling her eyes and the other smiling brightly.

"Alright then, you think of some excuse for-"

You chuckled at the banter of your companions, their voices growing distant as they disappeared through the portal that would take them back to the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries.

With a deep breath in and a long exhale out, you turned around, gaze slowly roaming over the empty expanse of the luxurious tower; now so quiet, bordering on serene, save for the damage the battle left behind. Until you finally spotted the one you were looking for.

Rolan was tucked away in a shadowy corner, head bowed as he stacked a few fallen books on his hands and then beside each other on the shelves. His movements all stiff and slow, as if the books were much too heavy and it hurt to carry them.

The worry twirling in your stomach threatened to escape as you took careful steps towards him. Yet you still weren't sure how to approach him. The tower suddenly held a nearly intimate air. It was delicate, fragile. The lines between you and him had started to blur, you couldn't pinpoint when, but they did; and now, in the privacy of the high tower, you started to feel the weight of it.

You cleared your throat, but the tiefling didn't turn to look at you, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. You wondered if he knew you'd stayed, or perhaps hoped you would.

"Rolan… would you like some help with organizing things a little? At least for the night?" You tried, unsure what else you could possibly say and biting back the urge to tell him that he looked like he needed a good night's rest. He wouldn't admit it, you knew; but the fight had taken a huge toll on his already bruised body. He looked utterly exhausted; shoulders slumped, tail laying limply on the floor, barely holding himself together.

He turned his head to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and lips hovering with uncertainty for a moment. "No, I can manage…" Rolan's voice was quiet, his features softly highlighted by the last fading rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows. You could see the bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose—some new, some old; darker shades blooming on his reddish skin.

"You can go," he turned away again.

"Are you… sure?" You took half a step forward, fidgeting with your own hands. You didn't feel like leaving him just yet.

"Yes. I'm sure." He finally faced you fully in a quick motion, eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I'm not a helpless child, I can at least take care of organizing this mess by myself, if nothing else."

You closed your eyes momentarily at his words, "That's- that's not what I meant, I know you can-"

"What is it you want then? That I thank you for saving my sorry ass? Again?" His tone held bite to it, anger even, yet you had a feeling that it wasn't directed at you, but at himself. With a huff, he threw aside the one book he still held in his hands, "Okay then, thank you, your heroic attitude of the day has been achieved." He gestured toward you, speaking as if he had been just another thing to check off your list.

The movement of his mouth had pried open a fresh cut he had on his lip. Rolan didn't seem to notice, but the small sliver of blood glinted in the low light. Your heart ached, but not for his words, they were mostly empty. It ached because you saw how much he was hurting. That defeated look lingered in his golden eyes, the same you'd seen at Last Light Inn when he had been incapable of rescuing his siblings. You wished you could tell him he was enough. You wished he would believe you.

You took in a steadying breath, holding onto your composure for both of your sakes. "It's not about being a hero, Rolan, it's about helping the people I care about."

Another scoff fell past his lips, he avoided your eyes, looking distantly out the window beside him; "What are you doing here then?"

You merely raised an eyebrow at him, features soft, allowing him to believe in whatever he wanted to believe.

His throat worked through a heavy gulp when he glanced at you again, tail swishing behind him as he took half a step back. "Sod off," the words came out heavy and unstable, "You came here because Lorroakan was after your Aasimar friend… Your job is done now, you can leave." He stormed past you then, quick steps taking him to the other side of the tower.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed after him, "I came here because I care about you, too." You tried to convey as much sincerity in your words as you could, staring intently at his back as he raised a fallen chair. You caught a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg. You wondered if he even realizes he's doing it, if it's some kind of self-soothing habit he's learned over the years.

His hair had been undone, too, falling freely over his shoulders and looking a tad longer than what you were used to. The look suited him—a touch of softness in his usually sharp appearance—in the back of your mind you promised yourself to tell him that someday.

Several beats of silence went by. With Rolan holding tightly onto the back of the wooden chair. You tended to be annoyingly insistent, the tiefling thought to himself. Ever since the first time he met you, you had a habit of refusing to give up on people. On him. Rolan tried to tell himself it didn't get to him, that the butterflies in his stomach, and the overwhelming relief your mere presence brought him meant absolutely nothing. Because of course, you wouldn't look twice at someone like him, would you?

It was ironically sad that his heart would choose you—the hero, his hero—of all people, to have a soft spot for. He could never measure up, not really, and he knew that; told himself that very fact over and over whenever his mind dared to hope with what-ifs.

"You don't mean that," his voice was small and he berated himself for allowing it to be. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles growing white with his grip on the chair. "And I was fine," Rolan emphasized the words yet he didn't know anymore if he was trying to convince you or himself.

Silence engulfed the tower again. Deafening silence. One sharp claw tapped the back of the wooden chair, a fast rhythm, following the heartbeat thundering through his veins. With a defeated sigh, Rolan turned to face you. Still, he refused to meet your eyes, focusing instead on the fabric of your glove wrapped around your hand; he could see faint scars on your fingers, wondered how you got them.

"Were you, really?" You asked then, softly, near desperately; waiting with bated breath for him to just look at you.

Rolan was a little difficult to get to, had been since you first met him. Part of you rather enjoyed your harmless bickering every now and then. Behind the witty words, there had always been hidden smiles and bashful eyes, the hopeful glint of being in each other's presence, if briefly.

Alas, you weren't exactly entitled to pry or demand, much as you cared for him it wasn't your place, so you relented; "Tell me you're alright, truly alright, and I'll leave if that's what you want so bad."

Rolan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then two, and three. Any words he might want to say were stuck in his throat, tangled in between feelings that confused the hells out of him. How could he ever tell you that he's not alright? That he hasn't been for a long time?

How could he tell you that he doesn't want you to leave, ever?

There was a distant stinging behind his eyes and he hated himself for it, for being so needy and vulnerable. He hated how his palms were sweaty and his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage with the speed it was beating. He hated how his knees seemed on the brink of collapsing with his weight. He hated how he suddenly felt all the bruises in his body hurting so badly, as if only now he allowed himself to feel the pain they inflicted. He hated-

A soft touch on his lower lip halted Rolan's spiraling thoughts abruptly, and his breath. With the sleeve of your robe, movement as light as a feather, you cleaned a sliver of blood that had escaped the fresh cut there. Rolan shuddered under your touch, for like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning to death, that was all he could feel.

Pointy teeth dug into the inside of his cheek, holding back what would only be a flood of embarrassment for him if he allowed his pestering emotions to spill. His throat closed up tight, vision growing hazy until you were nothing but a blur in front of him.

There was something about the way you touched him oh so tenderly that got his walls tumbling down as if they were paper under the rain. Your hand lingered, refusing to part from him. Your fingers trailed a hesitant path to his cheek, mapping the bruises underneath- no, mapping his skin, him.

And he could crumble. Rolan felt himself falling, falling, falling.

When was the last time he felt a kind touch? one that didn't hurt or sting or threatened? He couldn't recall.

"I do mean it, I care about you, Rolan." You promised him, and only him. Whispered words dripping with affection.

The front of your boots hit his shoes as you took a final step closer. Rolan brought one hand up, his fingers closing around your wrist with urgency. Yet his hold was gentle, pressing into the veins there and feeling your pulse running beneath his fingertips. He held you there, all but begging you to stay. Words were difficult, complicated, and messy; hopefully his soul could tell you what he couldn't.

With your heart in your mouth, you mumbled; "it's okay. It's over." You're not sure if he heard or felt the words, but Rolan dipped his head forward until his forehead bumped yours.

Suddenly close wasn't close enough. You wanted to kiss away his tears, his bruises, his pain; promise him that everything would be alright now even if your own life was a sea of uncertainty.

"Why?" It fell past his lips. Such a genuine question uttered with such a small voice that it hurt you like a dagger to the heart.

"Why do these things happen to me?" Rolan's voice cracked and stumbled, his eyebrows briefly furrowed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "I-" he breathed in deep and unsteady, bright eyes welling with unshed tears that shone brightly under the soft candlelights on the walls.

You gulped back your own heartache, struggling to keep to yourself how soft he made you feel. You slowly raised your other hand to push fallen strands of hair behind his ear.

"I hoped it had a purpose," he admitted then, quiet as breath. His lower lip quivered before he spoke again, closing his eyes and leaning timidly towards your touch. "That it was a test, and he would- he would eventually stop. That I just needed to endure a while longer."

A choked sob stumbled past his lips and you felt the first of his tears landing on your thumb. Rolan shook his head, a self-deprecating scoff falling past his lips; "that I deserved it."

"Stop," you said before you could think, finally taking your hand away from his cheek, only to bury it into his hair instead. With the encouragement you knew he needed, you pulled him to you.

Rolan fell forward with no restraints, no hesitations, only a weary soul looking for solace. He buried his head between your neck and shoulder, both arms coming around your waist and squeezing tightly, to the point of his claws nearly ripping your robe.

You held him back with the same desperation, one hand tangling in between his hair and cradling his head to you. Your lips brushed the nape of his neck in a silent confession of adoration.

The fabric of your robe grew damp as silent tears fell past Rolan's defenses, his body shaking in your hold, releasing months if not years of bottled-up emotions.

With a kiss to his warm skin, embers of the fire he ignited in your heart broke free; "You could never deserve what he did to you. You're so very special, Rolan. To Cal, To Lia…" You told him, slow and tender, twirling strands of his hair between your fingers, and a small smile stretched your lips when you felt him relaxing against you. "… To me." It was nothing but a whisper, blown into the wind only for him to hear.

Rolan's breath stumbled, you felt it in the way he gripped you tighter—if that was even possible—and heard it in the soft gasp beside your ear.

"Please don't-" His voice broke in the middle, all husky and wobbly from his tears. "Don't say… that. If you don't mean-" he hesitated, fresh tears cascading freely down his cheeks, beyond any foolish attempt to be held back; they dripped down the bridge of his nose and soaked the fabric of your robe, making him curl into you all the more to hide his embarrassment from the outside world.

"Please," it was so quiet as he pleaded. For what, he wasn't entirely sure anymore. Maybe he just knew he couldn't take losing anything else.

You pulled back and Rolan felt his heart stumbling and cracking in his chest. But you were quick to mend it back together, with both hands coming up to hold his cheeks again, your thumbs brushing away the wetness there, near reverently.

"I promise," you whispered, gaze drifting ever so slightly downward before focusing back on his bright eyes. You were bold enough to lean in until the tip of your nose touched his, and as you did so you felt something coiling around your leg. You smiled; "I promise."

Rolan gulped, his mouth parting as he barely held himself back from closing the gap between you. Goosebumps littered his whole body when his upper lip accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled away but refused to loosen his grip on your waist. "I don't want you to leave," he said it so quietly, offering you his bleeding heart with a shaking hand.

Gentle fingers brushed away the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead. When Rolan looked up, there was a loving smile on your lips, it was the first time he saw it and he already knew he'd kill to see it again.

You leaned closer, and with a kiss between his brows, you said; "then I'll stay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Rolan’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

[megamindsecretlair]

A Taste of the Divine - Chapter 1

Masterlist Chapter 2

Pairing: Yakuza!True Form!Sukuna x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. slow burn. Monster fuckers unite. Dark elements. Kidnapped reader. Cursing, graphic depictions of violence, implied violence against women but not shown, mentions of blood and gore, Sukuna is aroused by violence. Sorry if I missed others.

Summary: Sukuna is the feared leader of the Itadori clan. There are rumors that he uses a pet beast to get rid of his enemies. Nothing but rooms and locations full of blood and body parts. He happens about a group of men who dared to cross his territory without permission. When Sukuna runs across you, he suddenly finds himself unable to kill you. Not until he figures out who you are and why you were so important as to get kidnapped. He takes over being your captor, whisking you away to his property, where he proceeds to play with his food.

AO3 Link

Word count: 5,763k

A/N: Could not get this idea out of my head to save my life. I hope you enjoy. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @westside-rot @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @twocentuar @umber-cinders @chaos-4baby @soft-persephone

Rain beat against the windows in a steady stream. Cold, neon lights shone in a haze just beyond, painting the sides of the building sunset purple and cerulean. Ads played lazily on the billboards, reminding people that even while sleeping, it was never too late to buy.

Rival clan Kamo had members holed up in a shithole penthouse apartment, awaiting the signal for when they could move. They spent the first few days playing cards and board games. They were strictly forbidden from turning on their phones. From going outside. From doing anything fucking fun. 

Yet, after a few days when they were tired of talking to each other, it was only a matter of time before someone broke the rules. There were only four of them. Each low tier members of the Kamo clan, some not even worthy of the association. 

They were a low-key crew, handling situations that required stealth and finesse. Like babysitting a sweet little morsel tied up in the bathroom. They were instructed not to talk to you, touch you, or breathe in your direction.

Days passed and the men’s eyes lingered a beat too long, licking their lips as their thoughts ran away on their face, or rubbing their hands together as if they could imagine what your skin would feel like. 

While on mission, they used no names. So instead, they numbered themselves. One, the leader, was bald with a stern frown permanently etched onto his face. He currently held the biggest pot of money on his side of the table, flipping through cards with masterful precision. 

Three was to his right, a man with long hair that reached well past his shoulders. It was swept back into a half ponytail, the rest running down his back like a black river. Two was next, a shifty and nervous sort of man who couldn’t sit still longer than a minute. Eyes were always on a swivel around the room, looking for potential threats.

Though if Four had anything to say about it, he’d say that Two was snorting the White Dragon and they were left to suffer through it. Four held the worst hand with his cards, but he kept his face neutral. He could bluff with the likes of Three, but One might see through him. 

A thump on the roof made them all look up. All except for One who continued to stare at his cards. Two sat up in his seat, moaning and chewing on his nails. He shook his head back and forth, getting more agitated by the minute.

“I told you we should have checked. This doesn’t feel right,” Two said.

Three sighed and rolled his eyes. “You say that about every drop of water that hits the roof.” 

Two shook his head once more. “That wasn’t a raindrop,” he said and pointed to the ceiling. Four looked at him, annoyed. This mission was freaky enough without the ghost stories. He took a swig of his whiskey, following the burn down his chest since it was the first interesting thing tonight. 

He stood up, getting ready for Two’s freakout to overtake the night. First it was the bird that flew into the window. Then it was the nail he found under his mattress. He went on rants about ill omens and angering the elder gods. 

“Then what was it, genius?” Three sighed, tossing down his cards because he also knew that Two was just getting started. A crackle from the lit fireplace drew Four’s attention. He stared at it and briefly wondered if dying by fire was worth the pain.

“We’re too close to his border. How sure are you that this is on our side?” Two asked. 

One leaned back from the table, tossing down his cards and rolling his neck. “I know how to do my job,” One said. He folded his arms and stared straight ahead. If Four wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure that Four was a hidden synth. Nothing but clockwork and oil pumping through his system. 

The first thing Four was going to do when the mission was over, was take his payment and go find a warm pair of legs to sleep between. Maybe this was burnout. Maybe he needed to check out that app his sister sent to him about that crap. She always thought his stress was too high. Always going on about going on walks or getting a pet or doing anything else that didn’t involve being a gangster.

Heh. He owed his baby sister a call soon. Their last conversation ended too quickly when she started talking about an asshole teacher and how Four offered to kill him. Or at least persuade him to watch his fucking mouth.

“How do you not know who Sukuna is? He’s the leader of the Itadori clan,” Two said.

Three laughed obnoxiously and clapped his hands. “Since when do you believe in fairytales? No one’s seen or heard of that made up bullshit. You really think that he has so much curse energy, that he’s lived this long? That he has a secret army of beasts who rip his enemies to shreds?” Three continued laughing, his chair creaking from Three settling into it. 

Two cracked a smile and Four poured himself another drink. The first two clearly weren’t doing the job. Four moved back to the table, bored out of his skull. In fact, he should probably check on you. He wouldn’t get paid if you went on and died on him.

Instead of sitting, Four changed directions and went towards the bathroom. The penthouse was decorated in slate gray and mustard. There were expensive paintings on the paneled walls, ceramic statues of bodies twisting, imported plants from all over the world every few feet. It was a pompous, underhanded way to show that the rich could buy anything, even nature.

Four moved down the wide hallway, big enough to park a sedan in and still have room on both sides. He knocked on the door once and your answering gasp was enough confirmation that he needed. Still..,

He opened the door, turned on the light, and looked down at you. You were on your side, curled up on the plush bathroom rug like a pathetic pet. Your sweater was stained and dirty, your light colored jeans worse for wear. The tennis shoes used to be a light color, but were now so dirty that it was hard to tell. The blindfold was still secure on your face.

“You dead yet?” Four asked.

“Untie me and find out, bitch,” you spat at him.

He laughed, tempted to kick you in your fat ass stomach for that. But he doubted you’d feel it. “I’d watch that mouth of yours,” he said.

“Or else you’ll try to stick your shrimp dick in my mouth? Might take me a few tries but I’ll bite clean off if you do,” you growled. 

Four laughed again and shook his head. “Never fails to make me laugh, bitch,” he said. He turned off the light and slammed the door. His anger at last getting the best of him. Stupid bitch. He had half a mind to break that reckless streak of yours. To fill your mouth so you couldn’t talk back for once.

You’d been nothing but a pain in his ass since they kidnapped you. You fought like a hellcat, scratching and biting. They had to punch you in the face a few times to knock you out and then drag your fat ass to the van. When you came to in the bathroom, you gave everyone a mouthful. And had been an annoying asshole the last few days.

Four rubbed his shoulders and walked away. He needed the money more than he needed to teach you your place. As Four walked down the hallway, he heard a series of thumps that made him falter in his steps. He looked between each of the closed doors, sealed up like a damn museum in this place.

He walked closer to one door, where he thought the thumps were coming from. He strained his hearing, awareness searching for anything out of the norm. Two and Three were still arguing in the living room but Four was too far away to hear what stage they were in. If Two was standing on the table and arguing his point or covering his ears and screaming loud over the other person.

Four opened the door he was in front of, arms up, prepared for anything to pop out. The room was dark but the window was open, letting watery moonlight shine across the carpeted floor. Looked to be some kind of guest room, all done up in cobalt blue. Four did a cursory sweep, just in case.

He turned around to the shadowy figure before him and jumped, screaming out before realizing that he faced a mirror. His heart skipped a beat as it caught up to the realization that he wasn’t in danger. He stalked closer to the mirror, chuckling as he confirmed with his eyes that he got scared by his own reflection. The other men couldn’t know this. They’d see him as weak and he couldn’t have that. 

He tapped the mirror once, for extra confirmation. Two’s conspiracy theory rants were starting to get to him. Next thing he knew, there’ll be Sukuna’s pet beast right behind him. He chuckled at his own thoughts and looked at his reflection. It became darker so he leaned in, opening his mouth to look at his teeth.

The darkness kept going, almost otherworldly so, and Four felt a menacing, thick presence at his back. The aura was indescribably heavy, bowing him at the shoulders. Going lower still. He had just enough energy to turn his head and stare into a pair – no two pairs – oh god – there’s too many red eyes staring at him.

He opened his mouth to let out a scream but a slice to the neck cut it off. His hands flew to his neck, warm spray of blood soaking his fingers. There was nothing to compare to the horror of feeling the heat from your own blood outside of your body. Hands stained red and sticky. Four stared into those red eyes and his last thought was of how Two was actually fucking right this time.

One opened his eyes with a silent gasp. “We are not alone,” he said. He hopped from his seat, flying to the edge of the living room where they had abandoned the majority of their weaponry. They each held their guns at the base of their spines, tucked into their pants. But the bigger weapons lay across the table, thrown haphazardly. They had gotten too comfortable.

The menacing aura was enough to choke him but he kept his mind on the mission. This had turned from a simple kidnapping to a game of survival. No amount of money was worth this, losing his life to the boogeyman. His people had forgotten the old world. Forgotten that the myths were merely legends once upon a time. 

The lights shut off as his hands closed around his semi-automatic. Two and Three finally stopped their incessant fighting and grabbed their guns. Gone was the twitching, sketchy conspiracy nut and in its place was a ruthless killer. A ruthless kobun for the Kamo clan. 

Three took measured, slow steps around the room. The rain seemed to increase in intensity. But that was only because it was quiet now. The water slapped against the windows. Purple and blue neon light shone in from the windows giving them just enough light to see each other. Or see anything that may have entered the penthouse.

If they somehow found a way to survive the night, they’d have no answers on how the beast got in. How the beast found them. Or how Sukuna even knew that they were on the this side of the boundary. 

One hadn’t lied. He was very good at his job. This building was right on the cusp of Sukuna’s territory but it was decidedly in Kamo’s territory. If this was Sukuna’s infamous beastie, then Sukuna was in the wrong this time. Honorless scum. 

One swept through the living room, keeping his semi-automatic up and at the ready. He communicated silently with the other two. Where the hell was Four? If he was back there missing with you at a time like this, he’d kill Four himself. 

He took off in your direction, intending to check and make sure that you hadn’t escaped. Reaching the door, he opened it and heard you gasp. “What’s going on?” You asked.

“Shut up,” he hissed. If you were too fucking stupid to understand what was going on, then the least you could do was shut that fucking mouth up for once. He closed the door and continued checking rooms, wondering if Four went out onto the terrace for a smoke break. 

He made his way forward, the crack of a door catching his eye. He used his gun to nudge the door open, the room too dark to see much of anything. Still, something was off about this room. Some lingering aura that beckoned him even as his brain was screaming for him to turn around and run and never look back. 

His boot squelched on the carpet and he looked down. His mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. His mind said he was looking at a mangled hand but his eyes only saw blood. Red. 

There were pieces everywhere. Half a foot. An elbow. One stepped backwards. The evil aura in this room was astounding. The rumors were true. They were actually true. Sukuna did have a beast in his employ and it was here to eat them all. 

He turned and ran to the door only to be blocked by a massive arm across the doorway. The massive tree trunk sized arm split in two. Oh god. There were four arms. Red eyes crept open slowly and a wide grin split open in the middle of the beasts’ belly. The monster stood on two legs, at least seven foot tall, and it chuckled. It laughed.

“You’re far from home,” the beast said.

“You’re in Kamo’s territory. When Kamo hears about this…” 

The beast chuckled and the deep rumbling laugh was like the crack of lightning outside the windows. “Who’s gonna tell him?” The beast asked.

One was no stranger to fear and he would not pretend as if he were not capable of it. But even as he trembled and gulped around the painful lump in his throat, he stared at the many-eyed beast and lifted his chin. 

“Your lord has no honor,” One said. Sweat gathered at his brow, tickling his forehead and he fought the urge to wipe it away. To move. 

The beast laughed again. And laughed still as he picked One up as if he weighed no more than a feather. It laughed and laughed as it took big chunks out of One, chewing on him like a snack. Blood sprayed One’s face, hot and sticky and stinging his eyes. His screams were no match to the sound of that maniacal laughter.

You 

The second scream had to be the worst one. Maybe because it was coupled by the sound of bone-chilling laughter. Something cold and cruel. Your arm was killing you from laying on your side but you were finding it difficult to roll over in this bathroom. 

The nauseating perfume clung to your nostrils and made it hard to breathe around its cloying scent. Why couldn’t these idiots kill you and call it a day? You hated being at their mercy. Hated the way they casually joked about slitting your throat or teaching you how to respect your betters. 

Assholes. You’d be a liar if you weren’t enjoying the sounds of their screams. But at the same time, you didn’t want to meet whatever the hell that thing was. You prayed that you’d remain invisible, small, insignificant. Not worth whatever that thing’s gaze was. Surely it was some sort of vengeful god. Malevolent beast come to feast on the world. 

You couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Couldn’t make a sound. In case the beast was capable of turning the knob, opposable thumbs letting you know that the beast was far scarier than previously believed, you wanted to remain on the floor. Better yet, you needed to get somewhere you could hide. 

Your options were limited. There were no other sounds outside your door. You knew that you were in the bathroom so you rubbed against the floor until you could heave yourself into a sitting position. You were out of breath, but you had to keep going. Had to get into the tub.

Hell, what was worse? The silence or the screams? 

You got to your feet and steadied yourself. You were woozy. It’d been too long since your last meal. Your fault. You couldn’t take your death lying down. You fought and cursed and insulted their dick sizes until you were blue in the face. They retaliated by withholding food. 

You’d take that over the way they knocked you out. Hitting you like a grown man. Your jaw still stung from it. Your skin would surely be darker with a bruise the size of a fist. The way their hands wandered while they checked you for weapons, tied your hands behind your back, and shoved you into a musty van. How they laughed over your figure as they pretended to struggle with tossing you into the bathroom. 

You didn’t know when they put the blindfold on but had to be when you were out cold. There was no telling what they could do while you were sleep so you learned to sleep lighter, waking up at any little sound. So far they weren’t hurting you. You couldn’t imagine why. However, you’d have to stop provoking the last guy that came in here. He was perilously close to breaking and you didn’t want to be around for it. 

You felt behind you for the edge of the tub. Rich people’s apartments like these usually had a tub on one side and a shower on the other. As if it was some subconscious misogyny bullshit about women taking baths and men taking showers. 

You scooted further down, tennis shoes scraping against the tile as you tried to figure out how you were going to get into the tub safely and quietly. You weren’t even sure that you’d be hidden from the door. But you had to do something. Had to try at least.

You lifted one leg and got into the tub as another blood curdling scream split the air. You were shaking with fear while at the same time feeling vindicated. Fuck those bastards. If you’d survive, you’d never take your life for granted again.

The sound of wet splatter hit the walls and you wondered briefly if a window opened somewhere. If there wasn’t rain pouring all over fancy furniture. You got your other foot into the tub and then sank to your knees, getting down into the wide tub and turned on your side. 

It wasn’t perfect. And you didn’t want to think about what kind of germs you were kneeling in. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

You waited. You jumped at every sound. Every scrape. Every knock of wood. There was a final scream as the last of your captors went silent. His screams still echoed in your ears. 

Your heartbeat thumped steadily, shifting your awareness inward. You ached all over. Your shoulder was killing you. Your stomach pains twisting your insides. You had a faint ache in your foot and you weren’t sure if you sprang it during your last escape attempt. 

How the hell did you end up here? 

It was the question that rang through your mind every so often when you weren’t thinking about escape. How did you end up kidnapped, taken, and held against your will like this? 

And the sick part? No one would know. You had a job where you set your own hours, the perfect introverted job. You didn’t have to talk to others when you didn’t want to. Didn’t have to set alarms for when you went to sleep or stayed up. You followed your body’s natural rhythm and was damn happy with your solitary life. You had friends, but they knew about your need to disappear sometimes. Go radio silent while you work on your special projects. Or pigged out in front of the TV. 

So here you were, stuck between how you were going to escape or how you ended up in this position. You lived a normal life. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt others. You gave money to the homeless and smiled at the janitorial staff. You weren’t perfect, but fuck. You didn’t deserve this shit.

Thumping steps traveled down the hall and you clasped your lips shut, throat shaking with your need to cry. You needed to alert someone, anyone, to come and help you. Or at least untie you so you could have a fighting chance. How pathetic it was to die on your back, tied up, and at the beasts’ mercy. 

The steps got closer. That aura. It was so intimidating. Sweat gathered on your brow, fear like icy spikes in your stomach. There was no way that you were getting out of this alive. With an aura like that, the beast could likely smell the fear on you. Lead it straight to you as if you had rang the dinner bell. 

You were so stupid. You should have used your remaining time to find a way to cut through the zip ties behind your back. Found a pair of scissors or clippers. Anything to get your hands free. Ah well. Didn’t matter this time. Because whatever it was that was outside of your door, you had no way of defeating such a creature.

Sukuna

You smelled delicious. After dispensing with the four-man crew that dared cross into his territory earlier in the week while traveling to this dump, Sukuna licked blood from his lips as he shrunk down from his true form. 

He hadn’t intended on striking against the Kamo clan for at least another two weeks. He’d been in the middle of his usual reconnaissance, following the habits of his enemies before pinpointing when to strike. 

These four were barely worth the effort. A small time, petty offense. But the rules were the rules and he had to enforce them. He grinned, picking meat from his teeth as he thought how these idiots still haven’t figured out that there is no Sukuna’s beast. He was the beast.

He had no qualms about eating his enemies into submission. Fighting for every strip of land, every pulse of illegal activity in the country, every dollar to join his coffers. And he’d be damned if even one cockroach stepped an antenna out of line. 

What he did not expect was the tasty scent of fear wafting from the bathroom. A stowaway. The imbeciles had hidden you somehow. Oh, that delicious scent. He followed it, already growing hungrier by the second. 

His black suit was pasted to him, slick with the blood of the four insignificant humans. Let their people find them like this. Ripped apart, Let the rumors grow. The beast. The beast. 

He approached the door and he sensed that you sensed him. Your body was shaking, teeth clacking. He could hear you through the door. He was getting harder by the minute just thinking about it. He pictured where he’d start first. If he’d bite your neck. Or somewhere he could still make you scream. He wondered what you’d sound like.

He pushed on the door and it gave way under his hand. He left a bloody handprint on the door as he swept into the dark room. His eyes adjusted to the dark, detail starting to fill in as his eyes relaxed. 

There you were. Sukuna chuckled evilly as he approached. You were too damn good. Each second brought a fresh wave of fear skittering down your spine. He inhaled deeply, mouth salivating with the thought of ripping you to pieces. 

You were cowed in the bathtub. Sukuna grinned wider before he really took you in. Your hands were bound behind your back. You also had a blindfold on. Your clothes were dirty and stained, a strange odor emanating from you. Your shoes looked like you’d been marched around in mud for the past few days. Your hair was wild and unkempt, riotous thick hair escaping your plaits. 

His smile disappeared. You had already been kidnapped. You weren’t part of their crew. You were a victim. Sukuna’s curiosity peaked. It wasn’t every day that he ran into this situation. He was no hero. Whether lord or pauper, a tasty meal was a tasty meal. But the urge to eat you was growing fainter the longer he took in every detail he could about you.

What did you do in order to get kidnapped by these thugs? What was so special about you? You’d clearly been here a few days and you were still alive, untouched. You were important to them for a reason. 

“Well?” You asked.

Sukuna was taken aback by the sound of your voice. He could smell your fear and yet…you dared to talk to him? 

“Quit playing around and kill me, I don’t have all day. Or night. Whenever it is,” you huffed.

Shocked, Sukuna laughed. Hell, he hadn’t been this surprised in a millenia. “Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m a nobody. Are you going to kill me or not?” You asked. 

Sukuna chuckled again, sucking blood from his finger. “Pretty eager to die,” he commented. 

“Not very eager to wonder when it’s coming. The wait is the worst part,” you said.

There was a hitch in your voice. As if you were no stranger to waiting or being disappointed. Sukuna tilted his head. This was bizarre. It’d been a long time since he felt like this, interested in something other than eating at the moment. You couldn’t see him. You were right to be afraid but still had the audacity to talk to him like that.

He had half a mind to break your spine here and now. Rip your head from your shoulders. Suck the life from your heart. His fingers twitched with the insatiable need to shred. Throat burned with a hunger that never truly faded. 

He stepped closer to you, stared down at your pathetic form on your side in this tub. It’d be so easy to lift his boot and crush your skull. So easy to snuff the spark of life that kept you animated. 

But he found himself hesitating. Withdrawing his presence. You gasped audibly, catching your breath. It was a wonder you held out as long as you did. He’d seen people have entire heart attacks after enduring his aura for too long. But not you.

“Who are you and why did those men hold you captive?” Sukuna asked. 

“I don’t know. I told you, I’m a nobody. Just an insignificant bug,” you said.

A burning in Sukuna’s chest made him want to correct you. To ensure that you’d never talk like this about yourself where he could fucking hear. He grimaced and scowled. What the hell kind of thoughts was he having? 

He lifted his hand, reaching out over your form. He’d just snatch you up like he did the others. You were their victim and it wasn’t terribly your fault for crossing boundary lines with them, but well. He couldn’t let you go.

What if you talked? What if your harmless story caught on the news like wildfire, spreading, until the legend of Sukuna’s pet beast was no longer feared. The real gangsters knew. No one fucked with him or his clan and lived to tell the tale. 

He had to end you right here and now. Go on and do it. Be done with it. Separate your head from your body. Again, he was unable to harm you. There were too many questions in his head. He was having fun not being the smartest person in the room at the moment. 

He growled and grabbed the front of your sweater. You yelled out, kicking your legs as Sukuna lifted you higher, more at eye level with himself. You scrambled, kicking and kicking. 

“Put me down!” You screamed.

Sukuna laughed. “Aren’t you scared?” He asked.

“I’m terrified!” You yelled. 

“Then how do you bark orders with the same mouth that should be begging for mercy?” He asked.

“What mercy? Go on and kill me and be done with this bullshit,” you said. You were still flailing but no longer screaming in fear. 

You were fun! He scanned your body, looking for some source of trickery. Some hidden agenda. He stretched his awareness searching for a hint of your aura to reveal something that explained you. Some part of your genetic makeup, some part of your clothing or jewelry able to repel creatures like him.

Nothing. You wore nothing, you had nothing, you were nothing. And he still had questions. He wanted to know more. His thirst for knowledge was almost as large as his thirst for blood. He should want yours. But even yours smelled insignificant. 

“Who are you?” He asked once more, voice soft as he regarded you. You didn’t make sense and it was driving him nuts. Driving him to the point of not wanting to solve you at all. He’d rather toss you into the nearest fire and call it a job well done. 

Tonight, at least, his curiosity got the best of him. He’d figure out who you were and what you were keeping from him. Then he’d get rid of you. 

“I’m nothing, a nobody,” you responded. Your lips parted and he felt a strange tug in his chest. Another weird sensation he hadn’t experienced in hundreds, if not thousands of years. 

“You’re coming with me,” he growled. He half dragged, half carried you out of the room. You didn’t fight him or scream. You didn’t try to tug yourself free. You kept up as much as you were able as Sukuna left the penthouse suite of the Kamo clan. He didn’t have to worry about security cameras as he turned off power to the whole block.

Rain pelted the both of you, soaking his shirt. Rivulets of red dripped from him and disappeared into the nearest drain. He ran towards his car at the end of the block, shaking you in his haste to get to his car. His hair plastered to his face and he growled. He didn’t have enough hands to move his hair from his face.

It may be the dead of night, but that meant little to a world still guided by its misconceptions and folktales. They told themselves stories about being safe because the government told them that they were. Nevermind the fact that the pent up anxiety they pushed down, the suppressed emotions, created a legion of curses to haunt the natural world for years and years to come yet. 

He couldn’t shift into his true form over hair in his eyes. Too many cameras. Too many onlookers. He pushed you into his car and you finally yelped as your shoulder hit the side of the seat. 

He quickly crossed in front of the car and got in, starting it, and tearing off down the street in a whirl of tires and smoke. The sound of the windshield wipers were the only source of sound. 

Sukuna kept glancing at you. At the way the streetlights and ads shone periodically across your face. It was maddening to see. And yet all you did was pant for breath. Your lips were parted again. Were you doing it on purpose? What the hell was wrong with you?

He could tell that you were still scared. Still nervous to be around him. But there was a soft acceptance in the way you didn’t mouth off or ask a million annoying questions. You were an unassuming presence beside him and it was a feeling he wasn’t used to. Couldn’t name. 

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to arrive at one of his many penthouses. This one was in the dead center of the city. If his enemies got through his defenses and reached the middle of the city, well then, they deserved to take their shot at him. 

He pulled into the private garage, turning off the engine and looked over at you. You licked your lips and he followed the movement, the glide of your tongue darting out from your mouth. Sukuna tore his eyes away with a scowl.

He got out of the car a little too roughly. Yanked open the passenger side door a little too harshly. Grabbing you out of the seat with too much force. He slammed you against the car as he closed his door. Then, he dragged you towards the private elevator.

No cameras. Exactly what he needed. He rode the elevator straight to his penthouse. It opened out into a spacious foyer decorated in black. He dragged you inside, growing impatient with your human body unable to keep up with his stalking gait. 

He knew the perfect room to throw you in too. Sometimes Sukuna liked to play with his food. 

He pushed you into the small room that had a million cameras set up inside. The room was decorated in an off white subway tile scheme. There was a bunk bed held up by chains drilled into the wall. There was a private bathroom. He found that allowing that little bit of decency made humans think he was merciful. It made betraying them that much more delicious. 

You fell to the floor on top of your bad shoulder and cried out. Sukuna laughed at your pain and shut the door. 

“Why won’t you kill me?!” You yelled, loud enough to be heard through the thick, reinforced door. No small feat. 

Sukuna turned and looked at you through the checkered plexiglass window. He smiled, grin spreading across his face and likely making him look feral. 

“The fun’s just getting started, princess,” he said. His haunting laugh echoed throughout his apartment as he left you alone for the night. Tomorrow, he’d make sure that you knew whose control you were under.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

[yuesya]

The Lord of the Vortex.

There is none who does not know the name of Osial, That Which Lies in The Deep. The most powerful god of the Hydro element. He who commands authority over the tempestuous seas, who controls the monsters of those very same waters.

The bird remembers that the– the–

Remembers that the Mistress of Dreams had treated the Lord of the Vortex with honeyed smiles and wary caution. Knows that the Lord of the Vortex is a god of war and battle, even despite the genial countenance that he dons an agreeable demeanor, complete with cold eyes that make it clear the god will not suffer any disagreement to his commands.

“Will you not say anything, little bird?” The Hydro god arches an eyebrow coolly. “Answer. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Involuntarily, the bird’s hands twitch. Its throat tightens, and words simply –refuse to rise to its tongue. The bird does not know the reason why.

Quicksilver images flash through its mind. White hair, and blue eyes.

I don’t have orders. Just go.

… The new Master –Not-Master?– had not made any demands for obedience, nor compelled any vows of secrecy from it. And yet, the bird finds itself reluctant to speak of the young god to the Lord of the Vortex, who has already slain countless foes whom it deemed a threat, monsters and gods alike–

“Who killed Malphas?” Impatience is beginning to creep into the sea god’s voice. The faux-friendly air about the god is fading swiftly; the Lord of the Vortex’s mood is known to be as mercurial as the storms that rise over the seas that he rules. “If you will not sing for me, little bird, then clearly you do not need that useless tongue of yours.”

The threat is crude, and unsubtle. There’s a faint tremor of fear that the bird can feel fluttering inside its chest, but even so, it remains silent.

A cruel smile splits across the god’s face. Jagged teeth elongate into fangs, as the manifestation of the Lord of the Vortex’s power destabilizes the human shape that the god has chosen to take. “So be it. Die knowing that your loyalty to a dead, worthless god is what killed you.”

(Its god isn’t dead. Not dead, and not worthless)

You can wake up now.

Anemo swirls around the bird’s feet in a violent gust as it summons the last dregs of its power in defiance of the Lord of the Vortex. Truthfully, to one who’d been forced into the service of the Mistress of Dreams, death is not the frightening prospect that the Lord of the Vortex appears to believe it is–

“Osial. Cease your posturing.” An authoritative voice suddenly rings out from –above? The bird glances above, just in time to see a golden shower of Geo energy coalesce and condense into a human form. Tall, male. There is an air about this new arrival that makes them seem implacable, and immovable.

… Another god.

“If a single human who has been displaced here dies to your carelessness,” the Geo god states, amber eyes glowing, “Then know that I shall revisit this upon your seaborn kin threefold.”

The Lord of the Vortex’s form shimmers like the haze of a watery mirage, then smooths out into the image of a blue-haired human man once more. One who appears bored and unaffected, instead of ready to release its power mere moments prior.

“Ah, Morax.” The Lord of the Vortex smiles, bright and insincere. His delight upon seeing the new god who’d just arrived is genuine, but it’s the sort of delight that’s associated with bloodshed. “I’d wondered if you’d be coming to take a look at this interesting little spectacle as well. Haagentus isn’t around to keep ahold of your leash today?”

“We are allies of equal standing,” the other god does not sound amused. “Return to your waters, Osial.”

Morax, the Groundbreaker. One of the most powerful among the host of adepti in these lands, a god of Geo whose mastery over the manipulation of earth and stone was unparalleled. Another god whom the Mistress of Dreams had been rightfully wary of, especially since the Groundbreaker was in an alliance with Haagentus, the Lord of Dust. Haagentus was a gentler god of Geo, who was not known for her physical might, but rather the keenness of her mind instead.

“You and what army?” The Lord of the Vortex retorts, and sweeps out a hand around him with an exaggerated flourish. “Or do you care nothing for your precious land-bound humans, hmm?”

The Groundbreaker’s eyes narrow. The Lord of the Vortex laughs.

“Little bird,” the sea god says, not once lifting his gaze from the other god even as he addresses it. “I’d advise you to start talking. Morax isn’t nearly as patient as I am.”

The Groundbreaker’s gaze turns towards the bird. “… You know of what transpired here?”

The bird tenses.

“Knows, and refuses to utter a single word about it,” the Lord of the Vortex chuckles. “How very loyal, isn’t it?”

The Groundbreaker’s attention shifts towards the dark barrier stretching up into the sky behind the bird, assessing. “That barrier…”

“Don’t break it.” Somehow, the words blurt out from its mouth. The bird is seized with the urge to duck its head as soon as both gods immediately look towards it, but… this is something that must be said, before either one of the powerful gods decide to do something that would be deeply regrettable.

“Oh? And why not?”

“This barrier, it…” Body folding into a bow before both gods, the bird recalls what the white-haired god had explained to it. The god who’s still doing her best to combat the lingering traces of the Mistress of Dreams’ powers, even now. “The… aftereffects of the Mistress of Dreams’ death is being contained within. Please don’t break it.”

“Hm.” The Groundbreaker frowns. Then, stiffens slightly, because–

“How interesting,” the Lord of the Vortex smiles. Beneath his feet, the ground ripples, with a texture not unlike that of rippling waves. “Morax, if you and Haagentus are dealing with the results of Malphas’ unfortunate demise, do you think Chi might be grateful for the opportunity to finally feast with his darling children?”

Amber eyes widen, then narrow in fury. “You dare–”

“You should not have slain my bride-to-be’s brothers and sisters,” the Lord of the Vortex’s smile darkens. Hydro energy engulfs its body fully, a blue glow that causes the humans around the god to attempt to scurry back even further, to start running–

The bird is already moving before it fully realizes what it’s doing, forcibly swallowing bitter guilt and reproach over the words that it should not have spoken. Fierce winds whip beneath the bird’s feet, hastening its movements as it lunges forward to get the fragile humans out of the way, as many as possible–

Water erupts from the ground, amid the Lord of the Vortex’s delighted laughter–

“Osial!” The Groundbreaker roars thunderously, and the very earth trembles in response to the god’s outrage.

[lady-quen]

End of the Line

"A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so." "You killed your death, now live with it."

[Post-EoD drabble, 3k words, just exploring the consequences of people finding out my Commander a is a lich. Part of joint canon with @commanderteag (Maolmuire used with permission.) Angst, tw for decapitation, swearing, fantasy racism. I took some very mild creative liberties with the Pact status and the Void.]

Even times of newfound peace still had their work cut out for what remained of the Pact.

The original plan had been to dissolve after Jormag and Primordus. Then, after Soo-Won. And now, with Void stragglers remaining all around the world, he was in charge of the strike forces in a large-scale round-em-up-and-neutralize operation. Because of course he would be - the famed Pact Commander that he was. At least the rounding up part was easy, with choice waypoints repurposed into ley-line beacons at Taimi's suggestion. One he took gladly, with the haze beast as the precedent for Void's attraction to energy nexi.

At least, this time, his emotions weren't being used as the lure. Even if the calculations were just barely within the margin of error, his daughter's plan was working.

"Sir! We've got sightings in the canyon!" Elina, one of the scouts, reported. Maelmordha nodded, comms device clicking to life.

"Hundar Pike strike force! On my mark, unload all explosives into the valley!"

"Demolitionist Tirxxi reporting! All troops in position!"

Splendid. Despite last minute adjustments when the Void headed down an alternate path, everything was going more or less smoothly. Much easier this way - if this continued to go well enough, nobody would even have to engage the enemy in ground combat. He alone would likely be more than sufficient to pick off the leftovers. A bitter smile graced his features in anticipation. Ever since Aurene had departed into slumber, he could no longer count on that little miracle atop the Harvest Temple. And so, he had to make this work without her.

The Void was already dying out, but the last of it congregated in areas most affected by the late Elder Dragons. Though waiting was certainly an option, there was always the risk of further loss of life - and so, mobilizing the army for one final cleanup was the most logical course of action. The Commander's voice once again entered the channel.

"Site Alpha confirmed, reached. Team Alpha, on my mark... Now!"

He could feel the explosion from miles away. The ground itself shook as a decent part of the canyon collapsed into itself, burying the monsters below in a rockslide, clouds of gunpowder, and an avalanche for good measure. Freeform Void attempted to bleed through out of the cracks before dissolving into the air without particular fanfare.

He repeated the order for site Beta, cutting off the encroaching shadows and closing the valley behind them. Perfect. Like sheep herded to the slaughter - without the mind behind it, the chaotic element was as directionless as any other dragon minions left without their master.

Still, where it was directionless, it was certainly not a complete pushover. The final act drew close; Descend into the valley on-foot with Legion choppers monitoring closely from above. If it gets ugly, fall back. It shouldn't, but he was no fool to risk his troops like so.

"Lieutenant Tornbanner. Everett. Cinniod. Maolmuire. We're going in."

"Sir yes Sir!"

A small contingent of shock troopers under Tornbanner, Everett's medics, Cinniod's mages and Maolmuire would be more than enough to make quick work of whatever creatures still clawed their way out of the snow. There weren't many, and most were already far too dazed by the explosion and distracted by the ley line energy wafted into the canyon to be as much of a threat in close quarters as they used to be during the Canthan campaign. And so, in they went.

Two dozen pairs of boots touched the ground when suddenly, the Commander raised up an arm, signaling for the soldiers to wait. His gaze, fixed on the heaps of rubble, was unreadable.

"...Allow me to handle this by myself. Stay behind and make sure nothing sneaks up on any of us. Eyes and ears wide open."

He did have a rather poor track record with magical lures. It would be for the best if he went on ahead and cleared the way, with the others as backup but otherwise out of harm's way. The unmistakable spires of Brand crystals shimmered all around him in their rich, purple hue, framing an entrance underground. Kralkatorrik. Guess a piece of the old man remained beneath the canyon, after all. Not that completely erasing an Elder Dragon's influence from the world was easy, even for another one. Forces this old had their roots set firmly in the world.

A part of him wondered whether she really wanted to purge every last trace of her grandfather. These crystals, now dormant - in a sense, were they not the final keepsake she still had of him..?

Did she remember him? Were the Dragons not connected by some sort of Dream? Did it possess past memories, as well? Did she know what he was like before he -

Went mad. Razed billions. Slaughtered her mother.

Something turned deep within his gut, a familiar pain he did not expect. Visions of a burning blade, the same one that took his life - and an asuran prodigy, the only other mortal he had known who stood, with him, at the precipice of immortality. How did it feel..? To achieve the state he had. Locked within the chassis of a machine, mind uploaded into ones and zeroes. A novel form of life, if it could be called that.

Blish, do you think you were alive?

He descended further into the cave, Banner warband watching closely behind.

My golem body kept me safe, but... if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself.

Forgiveness. What a fleeting concept, comparably far easier to give than to receive. He stared into the brilliant violet. Hey, old friend... are you in there, still..? Do you "forgive" me?

Killing and corrupting... it's what you do. It's what you were born to do.

W - what?

A harsh left, swords pointed at nothing. Gold eyes blinking against the crystal gleam before turning to face his troops. The Commander gave a reassuring nod - nothing here, either.

He wasn't sure whether whatever he heard was a voice inside his mind or a product of stress. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. The crystals had eyes.

Could a dead thing feel..? This wasn't Kralkatorrik. He was gone. And yet, there was a distinct sorrow within the air, and each step felt like moving through mud. He couldn't help but wonder: Did the beast regret all that he had killed? Was this a final vestige of his tortured soul, buried in hopes of never again seeing sunlight? Was what Aurene had been doing all this time..?

It wasn't just to erase his corruption. It was to erase his pain. Kralkatorrik, he... couldn't rest easy until he was gone to the very last, it seemed. But what about Blish? Was he gone, too, or was he suspended in that hellish state of darkness? Unable to pass on until the silent prison holding him was destroyed without a trace? Dear Mother, why did everything have to always end in boundless suffering?

And it was then that he realized. The miscalculation was not a miscalculation. They accounted for it, yes, but the Void? It hadn't been following the ley line at all.

It was following Kralkatorrik's torment.

The ground shook. Tendrils of black slithering through bedrock, snaking around Brand pillars.

Several malformed creatures emerged, taking on shapes of the long dead in a chaotic masquerade. Icebrood. Risen. Branded. Destroyers. Mordrem.

"Fall back!" Maelmordha wasted no time. This was bad terrain - a chokepoint. They needed to make it back out into the open, into a direct sightline with the choppers, should all this go south even faster than it was already going.

Wherever he was involved, things had a habit of turning to shit. SNAFU, indeed. At least then, his presence usually prevented the situation from escalating from merely "shit" to "fucked beyond measure and then some."

He was not about to let anyone die this time.

For you. Trahearne, Eir, Almorra, Blish, and too many others to count.

"I'll hold them back! Go! Go! Go!" A swift cut from Lædingr ended a charging Icebrood. Black ooze splashed his armor, sizzling where it hit. "Don't worry about me, I'll be right behind you!"

It was a lie. But, hah, he was very much planning on surviving. Call him a control freak - but this? How this ended was entirely up to him.

No more hesitation. No more loss. No more -

Vaughn Tornbanner's matchlock took out one last Mordrem before the Lieutenant herded his warband outside, the charr providing cover for escaping medics. Flame and lightning magic crackled all around them, lashing out against whatever unlucky monsters sought a bite of the Commander's forces. Here and there, phantom mirages of the fourth Knight of Thorn distracted and incinerated foes with beams of light.

There was more Void here than they had ever accounted for. Even in its death throes, it closed in like a storm.

The diabolist focused, and shade magic enveloped his form. The necromantic fire in his blades erupted into a blaze of blue, his once-gold eyes opening to the same, cold hue. Rows of fangs unfurled upon his chest, a full-body snarl.

In the shimmering dragon amethyst, he swore he could glimpse an image of a small and sickly asura. In life, Blish had mirrored Taimi so closely.

His lips moved, soundless. There was judgement in his eyes.

The front line of Void creatures suddenly stopped, phantom hooks digging into the mass of writhing shadow as his chains constricted all like hungry serpents. With a sickening crunch, the bodies before him were warped, limbs torn from their sockets, necks snapped, multicolor eyes fading in the flash freeze of death. He exhaled a puff of frigid breath, attempting to channel enough ice to seal over the entrance. In his chanting, Grenth's own magic - permafrost extending out of his palm in an explosion of crystalline shards.

The Void. It was trapped... finally.

"Commander!" There was abject terror in Cinniod's voice. Several people gasped. Maelmordha made a single step to turn around, dual blades still held firmly within his grasp.

"Everyone! Is everyone -"

There was the vague sensation of something cold passing through his flesh. A blur of black and technicolor, a flash of steel on his left - his eyes followed it, and then it was on his right. He... his neck... hurt.

Something strange happened to his vision and he watched his own body collapse with a thud against the ice wall. Rivulets of gold quickly seeping into black fabric as he convulsed and fell slack, Dromi and Lædingr falling from the grasp of still-twitching fingers.

"Holy shit." Someone commented, eloquently.

Vaughn's rifle and Maolmuire's blade made short work of the beast who had mysteriously gotten behind the seal.

"Commander..!" A cacophony of meaningless voices that only registered as though from underwater. Gibberish. People shouting, shuffling closer, then back again in sheer disbelief. Distant sounds of magic and gunfire, a yelled warning as more Void began to close in, this time having dug itself out of the avalanche resting outside. Someone at his side, clearly shell-shocked, calling for a medic.

What... what was... going on..? His senses, suspended and disembodied. He willed his hands to move and watched them do so, as though he were a puppetmaster observing his doll.

A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so.

You killed your death, now live with it.

The body slumped against the ice seized, more sap spurting out of the stump of its neck. But his spirit held dominion over it yet. That foolish, foolish spirit. Fists clenched, feeling the familiar shape of sword handles. It was jarring. Utterly disorienting, but he closed his eyes, and he allowed the puppet strings of his curse to guide his movements. And he rose, like the countless dead he once commanded.

Now upright, the lich's body stumbled over to where his head lay. He released Lædingr and felt his own fingers in his leaves, and then he willed them to lift.

Only then did he open his eyes. Nothing but blackness and striking blue. Phantom pain pulsed throughout his flesh, and it maddened him. Even now, disconnected from his lungs, he let out a broken laugh - it seemed to reverberate, like the voice of a ghost. The Pact forces turned to face him. Several drew their weapons.

The implications of everything that transpired in this cave would wait.

"Just... let me handle this. Nobody dies here... but me."

He was the expendable one. He was the sacrificial lamb. And he was the wolf, draped in lambskin. Every death he took instead of another was penance. His every breath was a lie, for as long as nobody knew the true extent of the monster he really was.

Blish' mechanized voice echoed in his mind. This is the end of the line.

No more secrets.

That's right. He was the accursed; The Commander of Death. And all his fallen subjects haunted him.

Maelmordha stepped out of the darkness, Dromi hovering patiently next to his hand as he cast a spell. Without a shred of mercy, phantom fangs crushed the few Void creatures that still remained, grinding them into less than the dust they had come from. And then, all was quiet. Only the winter wind and the buzz of ley magic in his ears.

The Pact troops slowly approached, and with a deep sadness he realized most of their weapons were pointed at him. Their eyes, reflections of terror. And he realized he was still holding his head like a grocery bag.

The necromancer loudly cleared his throat - if a ghostly impression of doing so counted.

"...Excuse me." He fumbled for a moment to place his head where it used to be, making several adjustments before what seemed like blue fire began to knit his flesh back together.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Cinniod confessed, knees giving out as the elementalist violently dry-heaved into the snow. Several worried voices chattered, indistinct. Indecisive. He couldn't blame them - after all, they had just witnessed their hero turn out to be a villain. Perhaps Joko had been right - at least in the sense that both of them were abominations.

Perhaps the world would one day need saving - from him. But until then, he could still work to make it better.

"Soldiers."

His troops shuffled uncomfortably. They had every right to. Monster, someone snarled. He smiled.

"A good friend once told me.. to stop keeping secrets. I admit I fumbled that spectacularly. So, now, there you have it."

"Fucking knew you can't have killed a god." Vaughn spat, lips trembling over angry fangs. He raised his rifle, claw hovering dangerously over the lever. "Without selling your soul for power."

He laced his fingers, and smiled apologetically. There was no resentment in his eyes, only understanding. No words to make it better. Only open ears, to hear what was overdue. The price for this betrayal. At the very least, he had managed to keep up the act until the Dragon War was over. This operation? He would gladly step down if asked. Though Logan had been aware from the start, they both agreed on one thing: keep it under wraps. And if the cat ever gets out of the bag, then, well...

"Soldier." He addressed the charr. "While we're still on the field, your behavior is mutiny. Reconsider."

"Fucking bold of you to talk, monster!"

"And pray tell, what will shooting me accomplish that cutting off my head failed to?"

The Lieutenant snarled, but slowly lowered his gun. Bronze eyes gazing with nothing but pure disgust at the sylvari who seemed to be, despite all, a picture of flawless stoicism. All a part of his charm. Every liar needed a strong façade.

The Commander opened his mouth to speak. Maolmuire, however, had other ideas.

"Everyone! Don't you know the Void's properties have been evolving? Didn't you hear about the haze in the Gyala Depths?"

Maelmordha sighed. "Maolmuire..."

"It's messing with us. This is a mass hallucination!"

It seemed he had to be more... forceful.

"Maolmuire, stop! You've said enough."

"You're complicit, huh, you malformed weed?" Tornbanner sneered. "All you hivemind bastards were in on it from the get-go."

The necromancer focused his gaze on the Iron Legionnaire, something dark in his eyes that sent a shiver of dread up the warrior's spine. "I'm asking for the last time, Lieutenant Tornbanner. As for everyone else. I do not intend to falsify the truth, and welcome those who wish to report the incident to do so at their leisure."

He could feel an era close with his words. Despite everything, still he smiled. Time and time again, he found a way to smile in the face of those who doubted him. Always, he would.

"It is overdue that I stand in front of the Pact War Tribunal for my crime against Tyria and her people. But first... Lieutenant, report. Is everyone alright?"

Something shifted behind Vaughn's eyes. Flews slipping over jutting fangs - a predator that only stood down knowing its might to be no use. Not in front of a Godkiller. A Dragonslayer. A... whatever this man even was.

"Nobody was badly hurt... Maelmordha." The name tasted like venom on his tongue. "I answered you. So now, you'll answer us."

"I will, rest assured." Without further ado, the choppers descended, extending ladders. The necromancer looked away, turning his gaze to the sky.

"Everyone. It was an honor to be your Commander."

[filthgarbage86]

The List: Dominant!Eddie

(this is part of a series that I've been writing but the general idea is that you're trying to figure out which nickname makes Eddie go crazy for and in that attempt, you prove how naive you still are as well)

Part 1

Part 2

CW: daddy kink, daddy!eddie munson, bunny!reader, dom!eddie, submissive!reader, smut smut smut and did I mention smut, trying out different nicknames, dirty talk, fingering, pentration, rough but caring? squirting, etc.

Name 1

You were so nervous to start but you were too excited not to start as soon as the first bell rang and you were going though the hallway at the high school getting to your locker. He was already there, waiting for you like he does everyday. He does a "morning check in" which is seeing how you slept, seeing what you've got going on today, and getting one more kiss before going to his English Class. It was one of the many things that he did that made your heart melt.

"Good morning princess, how my sweet bunny doing?" He immediately has his hands on your waist and is greeting you with those kisses.

"I'm good, sir, and how are you?" "Sir? What am I, a warden?" "Yeah, you're right, not a good match" "What?" "nothing, don't worry about it" Okay, not the reaction you were hoping for. Noted. Moving on. To be fair, you weren't a big fan of it either. Eddie is looking down at you with a quirked eyebrow and then a sudden realization, and his eyes squint down into a knowing grin. You were going to be such trouble for him. Name 2

It was lunch time and you were all sitting together at your table, listening to the freshmen talk at length about some alien in one of the new horror movies you're assuming and how "inaccurate" they are as if they've ever seen them. You soon figure out that they were talking about a part of the campaign that you missed out on while you were talking to a teacher. While they continue talking in length, Eddie is paying close attention to everything they're saying, taking mental notes. He's definitely trying to figure out how to control the game from this naïve information they're giving. He does look like he is in his element. Fully scheming, knowing exactly every move that they could make and how it would impact the players and the game as a whole. He really was the...

"Well it is up to our generous dungeon master, isn't it?" you pipe in, last minute, emphasizing master. You look Eddie directly in the eye as you say it almost as a challenge. Eddie looks at you again, daring you to try that again. It's finally his turn to blush, cough in attempt to hide his face. He focused back on the table, every now and then glancing at you. Okay we're getting closer.

Name 3:

The last one, you didn't even really fully mean to do it. it was like your name all over again, a slip of the tongue and a moment of realization. You were at his trailer, it was after hellfire again but this time, you're both a little high and listening to music.

You're sat on his couch, already curled up into him, and he just looks delectable. Delicious even. He is a little blissed out, head back on the couch back, and nodding along to the song. His haze is a beauty to you and you just want to be so good for him again.

"you're so pretty" "Thank you bunny, I think you're stunning" you whine. you wish it was easy for you, that you were some sexy vixen that he seemed to take you for but the truth is that you don't know how to do this. it makes you a bit sad honestly.

"Where are you baby? What's that pretty head thinking about?" "You" "Oh? In what way?" He turns towards you, propping his head on his hand and propping himself up. "You make sexy look so easy" He lets out a laugh "Sweetheart, I'm flattered but you are just by design" "Not really though" "What on Earth do you mean?" "It's just... you were able to figure out what name I liked so easily. You knew exactly what you were doing and everything you do just makes me go crazy like a puddle-" Oh no, you're rambling. You tend to get like this when you're high and sensitive. It makes it all the more embarrassing and arousing, it's very confusing.

"I just want to be good to you too, I just want to be good for you. I want to be able to say something and it makes you really excited and flips that switch for you but I don't know how to figure it out. I went through like 20 different videos trying to find suggestions-"

"Wait a second, videos? What kind of videos are you watching, princess?"

Shit. You spoke too much.

"You know... videos that could give me ideas of what to call.. you.. in a.. hot, sexy way.."

Eddie is trying so hard not to crack a smile. He is actively fighting down a little laugh, not in a mean way, of course. His sweet, kind, caring, very literal girlfriend had decided to research how to dirty talk in an attempt to please him too. He was just teasing her by saying she needed to try his way. In reality, he had no idea what he was doing either, he was just trying shit. His heart melts at the idea of how much effort you were putting in for his benefit. He really didn't know what he was going to do with you so he just smiled and leaned in giving you a warm, long, deep kiss.

He's holding the side of your face/head and just leaning in ever so slightly. He made you melt in a moments notice. "You mean to tell me..." he starts kissing you gently all around your face and you're blushing from the tenderness of it all. "That you went out of your way to go rent some half-assed, fake-orgasming porn just to try to figure out how to dirty talk to me?" it sounded so silly when he said it like that. You were so embarrassed. Fuck, of course this wouldn't work.

"Bunny, that is the cutest and hottest thing I've ever thought of, you're going to kill me"

"Wh.. What?" You're on the brink of tears, you're so sensitive and so high and you're recognizing so, SO needy.

"There's no right or wrong way to do this as long as we're talking to each other about it. I can teach you things that you don't know yet, don't be embarrassed about it."

"Really?" "Yes baby, of course. It's not an issue or turn off in any way, in fact its literally the opposite. Just let me teach you and let me help you out okay?" You were blushing, you felt hot with want. You were steaming already and all he had done was tell you how much he cared about you. In that moment, it made sense to you. It wasn't the words, or the names, it was feeling and desire. And the way he made you feel was so cared for, so loved, so dominant and strong, and so... daddy.

Eddie breathed in and dropped down to a low whisper "What did you just say?"

The cassette player started to rewind itself, whirling as you started spiraling. You are zoned out enough to where you perk up a big at his acknowledgement and you realized you must have spoken aloud what you were thinking.

And it seemed to have worked, but you weren't sure how yet.

"I didn't mean to say that, Eddie" "No nono no. You said something that definitely was meant for me to hear." "I don't know what I said, I just said it and I'm just a little buzzed babe-"

He straddles you on either side of your cushion, leans in slightly, and gentle grasps onto your throat. He applies a light, barely-there amount of pressure on the sides "Now bunny, you and I both know that's not what you just called me, so I will ask for the final time, what. did. you say?"

Your eyes are glazed over and your breathing goes shallow "um.. I.. I.. said.. daddy.. BUT I don't know why and it was just a thought in my head and-" You're cut off when he squeezes a bit more and your airway is blocked. His strong hand chokes you upwards and he takes another draw from his joint he had been holding. He blows the smoke into your face and smirks "that's about to be the only thought in your head."

He sits right down on you and you immediately feel the bulge that's already formed. This was just from calling him daddy? You were definitely going to play with this later. He starts by motioning you to take off your shirt and you quickly comply. Since it was Friday night and you were in for movies and joints, you didn't have a bra on, meaning Eddie instantly was greeted by your sensitive tits from sudden exposure. You both gasp, you from the temperature change and speed, him from want.

He looks down at you and grabs the right one and holds it all in his hand, while his mouth is latched and sucking on your left tit. You're creening at this, just choking down moans before he moves his hand back onto you throat and you exhale the noises you were trying to hold down

"Don't you dare hold back those sounds, you filthy, dirty, needy bunny. You take that pleasure away from me and I'll leave you here high and dry until you're screaming and begging me to finish you off"

"PLEASE"

"Please what?" He's stood up long enough to slide your sweatpants off and everything off, leaving you completely exposed to him, while he's still completely dressed. You have never felt more naked than in this moment.

"Please daddy"

He growls "good bunny. Now stay still, I need teach you how to say my name properly".

He hoists your legs up and over his shoulders. He places his fingers in front of your mouth, "suck. Make them as wet as you bunny." so you take them into your mouth and start giving him a show. You're sucking, swirling your tongue, and at one point even deepthroating his fingers until he's taking them out of your mouth and into your pussy. The squelching sound that followed had you both moaning again.

"Fuck meeee"

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that, did you say something? Address me when you're talking to me"

"fuck me pleaaasseee daddy please finger me, get me ready"

He does, he starts moving his fingers at a consistent pace, one that starts to bang out a rhythm, and has you groaning. He starts to do the 'come here' motion to start hitting that gummy part inside you that makes you see stars. Your eyes go glossy.

"yes yes yes fuck me daddy, yes, thank you thank you, wanna cum-"

"don't you fucking dare, you will cum on my cock and when I say, you've got that?"

You're nodding, too fucked out to fully listen to him until he's pulling his fingers out and you whine at the lost of sensation. He stands up to undress himself and boy it's like a show for you. Seeing him with such a radiant energy to him, all his tattoos on display, his hair as frazzled as he was and his cock, oh my gods, it's just as pretty as it always is. It's already leaking and begging to be touched. You sit up a bit, just about to give it some attention when your legs are being hooked around Eddie's waist and he's giving it a few strokes

"Not today princess, we got other things we need to focus on first" He starts sliding into you and inch by inch just groaning as it goes. He leans down to offer more kisses along your jaw and neck line, as well as playing with your nipples to try to relax you. Eventually, once he bottoms out, he all but grinds into you. His crotch is robbing up into your clit, while his cock is deeper than you could ever imagine it. You almost wonder if you're drooling over his cock right now and just as you start to imagine that, he pulls back just enough to where just the tip is there and re-enters you with a bit of force.

He starts a slow, steady, pace that is highlighting how deep he can go. It doesn't take long until your cunt is so wet for him that he's sliding in and out with ease and you're both making sounds that if the neighbors could hear, they would be blushing too.

"Who makes you feel this good? Who's the one that can fuck you this dumb?"

"You daddy! Always you! You!"

"That's right, because you're mine. You are my girl, my little fuck toy, my good, needy, perfect bunny. This is my pussy, you are my girl, and nothing. is going. to change that."

Your head is going all the way back into the cushions, you are so far in the clouds, he's fucked you beyond well, he's fucked you dumb

"My dumb little bunny, my good bunny"

He doesn't show signs of giving up when he's puncturing every thrust with a whispered chant of mine. mine. mine.

You're whining, you're so close and he can feel it

"Just a little longer bunny, you can do it, hold it.. hold it for me, don't you dare cum, I'm almost there."

You're holding on so hard, the knot in your stomach seeming to be climbing more and more and more until you can barely hear when he finally does give you the confirmation "cum for me, bunny, cum all over me. Take it. Take it really good." and you're just a string of daddy daddy daddy daddy until you're both limb from each other. You're both cumming harder than ever before and wetter than ever before when you realize you're squirting all over Eddie's cock and over the couch.

He gasps and chuckles at it before falling forward and turning over to the side so you can curl into his chest and he can slip out of you slowly.

You're both out of breathe, sweaty, and covered in marks and different bodily fluids. You're disgusting and you've never been more starstruck than you were right now.

"Thank you daddy"

"Anytime bunny"

He holds you for a little longer until you both go shower each other off and start trying to figure out how you're going to clean off your couch. So incredibly worth it though.

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

A/N: Ahhh this is already so long so I'm going to cut it off here but if you want more daddy!Eddie or dominant Eddie just make sure to leave a comment or to ask in my ask box! I'll be looking for writing inspo through those two ways! I hope you liked this!

[rustingcat]

Heist

She heard Lena's angry steps as she got closer to the med bay. She should've probably heard them sooner, but her current condition left her more exhausted than she realised.

The door opened with more force than necessary as a furious Lena Luthor headed in her direction. 

"Good luck sis." Alex provided her with a small pat on her shoulder before leaving the room. Giving Lena a small nod as she left.

"You better have a very good explanation for that." Lena's tone carried so much untamed anger, it almost sounded like a threat.

"It was just a heist gone wrong." She started, attempting to sit up on the bed and failing as she felt the wound on her stomach pulse in excruciating pain. She let out a small groan she tried her best to suppress, and continued with the best smile she could master. "I'm fine though!" She promised. "I just didn't know about the alien weapons. Don't worry Alex is looking into them."

"You were reckless and stupid!" she hurled at her. "You could've waited for reinforcement when you suspected they were using something bigger." She took the seat next to her, seemingly needing to ground herself.

"It was quicker that way! I had the element of surprise and as you can see I'm fine." Kara tried again, attempting to put a hand on Lena's before she shook her hand away.

"You're clearly not fine Kara! Look at you! You should've taken the safer option. Always take the safer option."

"Lena, I really am fine, I promise."

"No!" Her eyes were beginning to water when she met her gaze. "You listen to me Kara Zor-El Danvers! In a few months we are going to have children together, kids who are going to need both their mothers, do you understand that?"

"I– "

"And they don't need you to fighting criminals in the streets for them–"

"It was a heist–"

"They need you home with them!" She didn't think she’d heard Lena this emotional, not since the fortress. Kata turned off the sun lamp so Lena could get closer. Lena didn't hesitate and embraced her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly. "I need you Kara." She whispered in her ear between sobs.

Something bloomed within Kara's chest and she didn't think it was the blast from earlier. Lena felt perfect in her arms, she always did, but there was something about that moment that  - Kara realised she didn't want to let her go. Simply holding Lena in her arms felt more healing than a thousand sun lumps.

"Sorry," Lena cleared her throat as she pulled back.

"No, no it's fine. I'm sorry." Kara smiled back, her heartbeat quickening all of a sudden. She moved a stray hair from Lena's face and felt as if the world stopped. Lena's face was all that existed, her eyes still red glistened in the fluorescent lights of the bay, they were the most beautiful things that Kara had ever seen. And her lips were so full and red. Were her lips always so soft looking?

"Kara!" Alex's voice broke her out of her haze. She wasn't sure when she got so close to Lena's face. "Are you okay? Your heart rate skyrocketed!" 

Despite not having superspeed, she moved back from Lena faster than she thought was humanly possible, her face red as a tomato. She groaned loudly as she did once the pain from the sudden movement surged through her body.

"Why is the sun lamp turned off? Kara, do you need me to remind you of the importance of continuance healing?"

"I know, it's just–"

"Sorry Lena, I think I might have to have some words with my sister."

"It's okay. I'll be on my way." Lena composed herself quickly and walked out of the room. Kara couldn't help but follow her figure with her eyes as she went, even after she left her field of view. 

She wasn't sure what, but something felt different.

Read everything in order on AO3

[riptide-pools]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐞

                The whirlwind of a blizzard passed through the meadows like the seasons, stood upon the cliffside mountain a figure with a stoic demeanor. His expression painted with coldness, akin to that the same winter cold. After all, he's the element of it all.

                His piercing gaze watched as the mortals descend to their homes, lanterns in hand. The moon up above the sky, gleaming the world of its beauty and grace. A small smile adorned his lips as he greeted the Luna with his own gem shining in its glory, blessing the sky of its borealis.

                Silent flutters of wings brought him out of a trance, his cerulean gaze sharpening as his companion shifted from her beast form to a human-like creature.

                "Are the nature's creatures safe? The winter foxes? Bears in hibernation? Bucks and Does with their fawns?" He demanded an answer. Condemning the humans for their barbaric ways to hunt such creatures, as a guardian he worried over the well-being of his charges. Especially ones under him.

                "They are secluded as you commander, My Liege." Eva answered with a curt bow. Then, she lifted her head, "It is also time for your nightly ritual."

                A sense of relief washed over the Winter Guardian's form. His tense muscles easing and a haze of gentleness painted his features. A gust of wind broke past his figure, making him glance at the bright ball of stone.

                "Your Radiance, I'll be there shortly." With a pull of his cape, he trekked over his path.

                Eva watched with a neutral expression, following her charge's figure shrink into the distance as he returned to his winter realm and prepare for his ritual to pray to the Moon Deity.

                She reminisced the time when he was a mortal. She was a mere owl. An animal with no thoughts. Before she had witnessed the rebirth of her Master. The weak human among the Sun Guardian's Temple.

                A boy. Adolescent age. He was found as a baby to the Sun Guardian's Temples footsteps. Outworldly appearance like no other, with hair dark as the moon and eyes as deep as the sea and skin pale as the moon. They say he's blessed by the moon itself. He had grown to be gentle, curious and compassionate man.

                Due to his effeminate appearance, [REDACTED] was accepted among the acolytes of Aelia's temple. Yet as time passed as he grown, the members of the temple had targeted him, always picked him on. Compiling his rituals and offerings to "test" his devotion.

                Eva winced at the memory of mistreatment. The foul words addressed his way. Mocking and harsh, the poor boy had been tormented to the point of madness. To which he fled to the Moon's Temple.

                Thankfully, he was accepted. Mostly out of pity by the ladies serving under the moon. Grateful to have been accepted in the temple, he had devoted himself to serving the moon.

                Then, his sickness began. Out of the blue, without much warning... His body had grown weaker, thinner and colder like it's almost winter. Even with how much the ladies of the Moon Temple had attempted to find medicine and cure him, [REDACTED] succumbed to his end.

                Distraught and devastated at the loss, the ladies prayed to their moon to give [REDACTED] a better life...

                Thus, as the full moon gleamed the sky and its light shine upon his window. As his body reformed, with new appearance and identity, Cryo is reborn.

                Eva strutted after her Master, following just close behind as he prepared for his tribute. Moonflowers, Moonstones, and even a crystal respectively synthetic to represent the Moon. He carefully rearranged it with precise coordination.

                Cryo stood in the center, his hands put together in a silent prayer. His elemental crystal shine under the shadows as it cascaded within the walls. The only illumination coming from up above as the moon shines its rays to his ritual.

                "Your Radiance... May your reign flourish forevermore..." Cryo whispered longingly, glancing up as he saw the large glowing rock greet him.

                It's no question who is the Winter Guardian loyalty lies.

                Despite his upbringing, his fate at the hands of the Sun Temple, he had found solace as the Moon's Acolyte.

Inspired from: This post by @cjstararts A small snippet of Cryo's backstory. Just got inspired out of nowhere and dabbled in my writing style.

[anika-ann]

A Night at the Museum (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, fluffiest fluff; canon-divergence from Defending Jacob

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader  WC: 5000

Summary: You always loved wandering through your museum after closing time – there was something so peaceful about it, a new layer of beauty to space and all the art that adorned the walls.

Tonight however, the peace is interrupted by a charming handsome man who has no business to be there… will you throw him out?

Warnings: 18+ for allusions to smut, TOOTH. ROTTING. FLUFF., uncomplete list to keep some mystique - so read at your own risk (but no supernatural elements)

A/N: a story dedicated to lovely @chase-your-dreams-away ✨, to everyone who enjoys a tooth-rotting fluff and to all you lovelies who support my writing shenanigans - you know who you are, giving me love and life 💕 Happy Holidays, if you celebrate! // divider by @firefly-graphics

Every single step you took felt so light it was almost as if you were floating.

The endless beauty adorning the walls, the soft intimate lights reserved for occasional night visiting hours only accentuating the already romantic atmosphere of the art museum, walking through the halls and galleries equalled a magnificent experience that made your soul shiver and yet feel at peace. You let the serenity wash over you as you roamed the art museum, already having helped usher the lingering visitors outside. The sound of your heels echoed in the vast galleries, your eyes drawn from one beautiful piece of art to another, even as you had seen them all a hundred times.

There were simply sights in this world that would never get old, you mused, a small smile playing on your lips, a slow steady pace bringing you to another section – and having you freeze in your step.

Just standing there without a care for the outside world, apparently immersed in admiring a painting – one of favourite, you realized distantly – stood a man. A man who most definitely did not worked here.  Your heart skipped a beat.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out lowly, anything louder than a that feeling wrong in the otherwise quiet gallery. “It’s after hours. You can’t be here.”

He startled too at the first sound of your voice – his head snapped to you, piercing but kind blue eyes wide with surprise, as if you brought him down from a haze, from a deep thought; from thorough appreciation of art. You would have smiled at that, since you knew the feeling too well, but you were too distracted by the man’s handsome face.

Awfully, unbearably handsome, with a ruffle of dark hair and a clearly well-kept beard, a dark blue suit that only highlighting his beautiful eyes, hands slipping from his pockets as he straightened upon facing you; his biceps bulged a bit with that movement, visible even under the suit jacket. There was a good-natured expression on his face, a pleasant note in his voice as he responded on the same volume, if not slightly quieter.

“Oh. Sorry.”

His voice was as lovely to hear as his face was to look at; almost like he had belonged here, the central piece among the sea of art, a sculpture capturing the peak of a man crafted by talented hands of the old masters.

As you walked closer to him, your chest ached a little; he wasn’t just handsome. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And while that didn’t authorise him to be here, it sure made your approach more amicable. You were only human, after all.

“I was actually heading out,” he continued, “but I just… got a little caught up in admiring the art.”

The corners of your lips rose involuntarily. You could see that easily happening to anyone – it was after all a painting close to your own heart and soul. Some might call it too simple – an image of hands, one larger, rougher than the other, held out palm up to the other, softer, smaller one, fingertips barely brushing, the mahogany brown background with a few lighter strokes of brush adding an aura of warmth. But its simplicity and what some would call imperfections were deceiving.

Many would argue that hundreds of art students all over the world drew a hand study every day. Masterfully executed or not, this particular piece of art could indeed be called plain; but it wasn’t. As things stood, the painting was no Creation of Adam, your all-time favourite, but it had earned a rightful place in the art gallery and n your heart, and it wasn’t only because of how old the painting was or who had created it.

If you were being honest, you were never able to quite put your finger on why, but it always tended to touch something deep inside you. So truly, you understood the man perfectly.

He had no business being here so late – and yet. Perhaps for his pretty face and his breathtaking physique indeed, perhaps for his warm gaze having returned to the painting with curious, soft eyes – you couldn’t just have him dragged away, keen on hearing his insight instead.

“How so?” you inquired.

His gaze snapped back to you, surprised. He examined you for a bit, as if he couldn’t figure out whether you were asking or just bidding your time before security found you, but in the end, he just smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. I don’t know the first thing about art, so I can’t even appreciate it properly-“

“Of course you can,” you interrupted him, regretting your hastiness when his eyes widened, watching you intently. You smiled apologetically, gaze dropping before it returned to the painting, the sight of the beautiful man too much – and you were used to looking at art every day. “What I mean is… sure, the knowledge of history of art and art technique can help you recognize a painting’s value to the world, but not its value to yourself.”

You cringed internally; you sounded like a fool, a pretentious one at that, contradicting your own words. And yet, his voice was soft when he spoke again without a hint of offense.

“I’ll take your word for it… but still. Might help to have a guide… what do you like about this painting?” he asked, gaze returning to the art in question. “That is, if you like it at all.”

“I like it a lot, actually. It’s one of my favourites.”

“How so?” he echoed your earlier words, something about the way his gaze flickered to you making you feel warm all over. He sounded genuinely curious. About what you thought. He seemed interested in your very personal insight; and in the intimate lightening of the gallery, you reluctantly gave in, all too aware of how close you seemed to stand now, side by side, barely two feet apart.

“I like how it makes me feel. I like wondering what made the artist capture this particular moment in time – not sooner, not later. Not when the hands touch further or part completely. And what the moment even is. All that wondering just leaves a lasting impression.”

“Yeah… I suppose that’s what I could say as well,” he mused, tilting his head slightly to side as he considered your words. “Tell me more.”

It wasn’t an order – despite the wording, it sounded more like a plea. Something pleasing hummed in your chest, a gentle stroke to your ego.

“It’s the position of the hands. Hands can be so expressive, we can say so much with them, with a touch. And I don’t mean it in the sense of sign language, where people literally use them to form words agreed upon earlier, but… they can convey feelings, capture so much more than words themselves often can,” you tried to explain, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You sounded like a crazy person who read Jane Austen too much – and you were all too aware. You often couldn’t help it, when you talked about art – but the poor man didn’t sign up for this. You chuckled bashfully. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” he opposed, causing you to risk a side-way glance. His gaze lost nothing of its warmth, quite the opposite; his lips melted in a gentle smile and he was certainly paying more attention to you than the painting. You’d lie if you said it wasn’t flattering. And the electricity you seemed to feel in the air sure wasn’t unpleasant either. “I never thought of it this way, but I certainly cannot argue with that. And I argue for living.”

“Ah. A lawyer then?” you said, his hands rising in surrender in response.

He had really nice and big hands. Someone should paint them. And he should put them on me.

“Guilty as charged.”

“And with a sense of humour, I see.”

There was something a little shy and definitely intimate about his laugh, his gaze firmly on yours. “I have been told I only have old man jokes these days.”

“Well, that’s just rude. You should have that person arrested for such insult.”

“That’s not how this works.” He was laughing again, crinkles around his eyes. He had such a gentle laugh, quiet, fitting for the space. “Now… what do you think is happening here then?” he beckoned to the painting.

You pursed your lips, accepting his prompt.

“Well, that’s one of the things I love about it so much – it can be whatever you want it to be. A man and a woman… there’s this atmosphere of longing. Tenderness to the touch. Uncertainty, as if they aren’t sure if they are allowed. The man especially. Maybe they are future lovers…” You felt your cheeks heat, blush spreading as the man’s eyes flickered to yours. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a goodbye.”

“How do you figure?”

“The blurry lines,” you whispered, your smile turning dreamy. You truly did love this piece – it conveyed so much emotion, offered so many interpretations. Made you feel so much. “They’re not accidental – the moment is hazy. Maybe it’s a memory, a painful one, a memory of a goodbye smeared by unshed tears. Maybe it’s a dream – dreaming about what can’t be, no matter what the heart desires.”

“Wishful thinking,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he’s an artist asking his muse to be let into her favour.”

Your head snapped to him in surprise; but for once, he kept looking at the painting. Still, your breath caught; that definitely was a lovely interpretation.

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Your gaze returned to the painting, even as your gaze was drawn to him instead, distracted, your thoughts consumed by the image of his handsome profile and the well-fitting suit – and those damn hands. He stood even closer now, slightly behind you; you could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek, the woodsy tones of his cologne wrapping around you like a blanket. You could get in trouble, lingering here, with him – but deep down, you felt you’d happily do so. And probably thank him for it.

He spoke again before he gathered your wits, a warm smile in his voice. “Could be a lonely artist who set his eyes on the most beautiful of women…”

You felt the back of his hand brush yours. No accident; a lover’s caress. You felt tingles spread thought your whole body from the point of contact, your heart thundering in your chest even as it shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have such an effect on you. Not after two years of much more intimate touches, teasing brushes of his fingertips, his palms roaming your body firmly, his lips appreciating every inch of your skin. A simple touch of a hand shouldn’t have made you shiver, but it did. With Andy, it always did. Especially when he talked like that, your face growing warmer by the second at his praise. Because it was clear he was no longer talking about the painting on the wall. Not when he ran his fingers over the back of your hand before turning it so your own hand slipped into his easily, and squeezed.

“…and was somehow insanely lucky that she accepted when he asked her out two years ago. And ever since then, his life’s been full of happiness he thought was no longer in cards for him. How’s that for knowledge of history?” he asked cheekily now, full grin spreading on his lips as he pulled lightly on your hand to spin you around to face him, his free hand already cupping your cheek as you giggled, letting the façade fall.

“You’re a charmer and a flatterer,” you muttered as he leaned in for a kiss, palm cradling your face and guiding you closer to his lips, soft whiskers tickling your face as your lips finally met.

His hand released yours, sneaking around your waist instead, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl in your pumps even after having received thousands kisses like this from him.

You had met pretty much like this – with you working late and him charming your wits out of you and having you lose yourself in his beautiful blues, mesmerized by his almost startlingly handsome face, even if he had been the one who had got a bit lost in the museum complex. Sparks flew, hearts fluttered, hands wandered – much sooner than they ever had in your previous relationship. But the whirlwind of passion was wrapped in an intimacy on an emotional level too – you had never fallen so fast, body, mind and soul, but Andy Barber was simply special. Bless his heart, he hadn’t really known much about art back then – but he had a quick mind and willingness to learn, eager to listen to you as you talked about your long-life love, watching you with a curious adoring gaze, a patient smile on his lips.

He told you he’d pick you up after work so you could celebrate the two-year anniversary of your first date. So as soon as you shoed away the last visitors, you hurried to the staff room to freshen up at least a bit. Andy hadn’t told you where he would take you up until two hours ago – where he called you on your short break to inform you that he was, in fact, a sneak who had an exceptional way with words.

Bribing your colleagues with god-knows-what, he had arranged for you to have the museum for yourselves up until midnight – a private tour with the softened lights saved for the evening, likely wandering hand in hand, beauty surrounding you as well as love. You had no doubt he had brought refreshments too, having left work right after lunch, probably preparing one of his excellent recipes; the premise of spending your special night like this with him had you giddy and soft for the rest of your shift. So when you saw him standing there like that, you couldn’t help but re-act your first encounter for a bit – but you didn’t expect him to lean into it so fully, letting you relive the awe of a handsome stranger being so impressed by whatever you had to say.

The nip of teeth on your lower lip brought you back to reality, heat swirling in your belly, having you press into Andy’s firm body further, not an inch left between you just as it should be, especially since your head was already beginning to spin with the lack of oxygen.

He was the one to retreat, smiling against your lips, nose caressing yours, your palms smoothening over his shoulders lovingly.

“You started it,” he opposed, pecking your lips again and then once more for a good measure, a little breathless himself. When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but adoration in his eyes. “I simply played along. …hi, by the way.”

You chuckled and returned his greeting, meeting his lips once more.

“Hi stranger. Happy anniversary.”

His smile was almost blinding as he tucked the lose strand of your hair behind your ear, fingertips stroking your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes roaming your face so attentively – as if he was admiring what had been no doubt etched into his memory by now – that your felt your skin heat up again, gaze lowering timidly. “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

I love you. It was a simple admission – but that didn’t mean it still didn’t send your heart flutter, especially when he looked at you as if you were the single most precious piece of art in the whole complex.

“I love you too—what?” you questioned, when his eyes suddenly flickered behind you, back to the painting, and a frown twisted his features.

“There’s something missing,” he mused, causing your chest to spasm with panic. You spun on your heels and escaped his embrace so fast you nearly toppled over. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of what was wrong – a missing plate with description? Had piece of the golden frame broken away? A- “I do like the painting, but it’s just… it’s missing something.”

You huffed out a breath of relief, turning back to Andy swiftly, hitting his chest with the back of your hand, earning a burst of silent laughter.

“Sorry-“

“You are not! Don’t do that, Andrew!” you whisper-yelled, your ribcage actually aching a bit from the sudden scare. “I’d be in real trouble if there was something missing, you know that! But do enlighten me, Mr. I Don’t Know The First Thing About Art. What is missing here?”

He had the decency to look a tiniest bit guilty as he gently touched your shoulders, spinning you back to the painting, wrapping his arm over your middle to pull you flush to his front.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful. I know you love this one. But I… I think finally figured out what the scene is about,” he explained slowly, voice dropping back to a whisper, only a trace of gentle laughter in his pleasant timbre.

“Oh?” you inquired nonchalantly, still pouting a bit even as your exasperation evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. You could get fired if something got lost on your watch, so that was a mean joke – but you should have known better. You had known him for two years now after all.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, guiding your hands to lay on your stomach, placing one of his warm palms over them, chin resting on your shoulder. “Well, obviously, they are a man and a woman.”

“Is that how you win all the cases at court? With your excellent observation skills and dead-on-point arguments, Mr. Obvious?”

Andy continued, unbothered by your snarky teasing.

“And he’s an old, maybe a little dorky man, who is crazy in love with this gorgeous woman with passion for art…”

The corners of your lips twitched as you turned your head to him, nose nudging his cheek as you understood where this was going. “You’re not that old… but you’re plenty sappy for sure.”

“Who said I was talking about us?” he teased, squeezing your hands again as he nudged you to look forward again despite your prolonged ‘riiiight’. “But he’s a little bit like the artist, asking a muse for her favour… he’d feel like the luckiest man on Earth if she’d allow him.”

You leaned your weight back onto Andy’s warm body, tilting your head, as a full smile spread on your lips along with the sweetest warmth curling in your heart.

“Well… I know you said it’s not us, but… if it were, he wouldn’t have to ask. He’s already plenty in her favour.”

You let your eyes slip shut, revelling in the feeling of being in the arms of the man you loved, almost tasting his own affection for you on your tongue, feeling it float in the air. You felt at peace; safe, warm and loved. Nothing could measure up to the serenity of the moment. Whatever Andy had planned for you two, as nice as it no doubt was, it didn’t matter much – you could just stay like this for hours, with his lips occasionally reaching to kiss your cheek, your temple.

“I adore you, Andrew Stephen Barber,” you sighed. “Sappy and all.”

His chest rumbled behind you as he hummed, his finger softly stroking your hand, pulling you somehow even closer to him. “Well perhaps he’s asking something else then.”

You felt your eyebrows rise, eyes fluttering open, smile still plastered on your face – you were probably grinning like a loon at this point.

“What’s he asking then? And what was that thing you said was missing?”

He caressed your fingers again. You felt him gulp behind you before he straightened and took your left hand, bringing it to your shoulder, to his lips, his hold on you never faltering.

“Maybe he’s asking if he could gain her favour forever.”

You chuckled breathlessly. Sap. For someone who had already been married once, even if mostly for convenience of an unplanned child, and then got divorced, he sure stayed a romantic.

“Forever is a long time,” you hummed noncommittally, not at all opposed to the idea though.

Andy was without doubt your Prince Charming in a three-piece suit, the wishful image of a happily ever after having crossed your mind more than once. With him, forever sounded sweet – and entirely plausible.

“Yeah, I know. But I want to try my luck asking anyway.”

That was the only warning you got before Andy suddenly released you from his embrace and used the gentle hold he still had on your left hand to turn you to face him, the strangest expression on his face.

Adoration. Affection. Worry. A nervous smile.

Nervous? What reason-

The realization slammed into you the very second Andy began to drop to one knee, a voiceless ‘oh my god’ knocked out of you along with your breath. A little blue box held up in his free palm, he gazed up at you as you watched him with wide eyes already filling with tears.

God, had you had any capacity to do so, you’d feel like a dumbass for not figuring out sooner what all his talk had meant. Why the missing thing. Why this was the painting he decided to stand in front of, this one among hundred others that adorned the walls of this place. Why the hand that had been right under his had been your left one, the whole time, and he hadn’t been caressing all your fingers. He had been – perhaps subconsciously – tracing a line of a ring which he hoped to put on your ring finger.

“Andy-”

“Sweetheart… I’m supposed to be great with words, but now when you’re actually facing me when I kneel here, they all… disappeared. But know that I love you. I love you with everything I am, with my whole heart. I will never understand art as well as you do, but I promise I’ll never stop trying and never stop listening, because I want to understand everything you love. I promise I will always do all I can to stay in your favour, in the favour of a woman who might as well be a muse herself,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes turning glassy as a huge lump grew in your throat, several tears escaping you and rolling down your cheeks even as you were biting your lip – as not to cry, a not to laugh giddily.

He wanted to marry you. He wanted to spend the rest of your lives with you and he wanted to make it as tangible as possible. He made this damn moment all about you, a true promise, a true testimony that he meant what he was saying. You bit your tongue hard as not to blurt out your answer before he could even ask the question.

He choked a little as he said your full name, thumb pressing to the edge of the box for it to open and reveal a no doubt beautiful ring – but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it, not when his lips twitched in a smile, his hand a little clammy as he still held yours. Or perhaps it only felt that way because your own were trembling, your heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest?

“Will you marry me?” he asked at last, finishing the question with a wide grin as you started to nod halfway through, the yes escaping a little too loud in the enormous room, the echo drowned in Andy’s relieved laugh, his hands – indeed shaking – slipping the ring on your ring finger meticulously before rising to his feet and framing your face with his palms and smashing his lips to yours, a grin to a grin, salty tears to salty tears.

Your fingers found purchase into his locks, holding onto him for dear life as he kissed you with vigour, nearly bending you backwards in half, one hand gripping your nape, the other moving to your lower back instead for better balance as he continued to steal your breath all for himself, an insistent press of his lips tasting like heaven and a promise of happiness.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips. “I love you.” A kiss to your nose. “I love you so fucking much-“

You giggled against his lips, returning the affection as much as you could, your heart pounding in your chest, pressed against Andy’s ribcage – his heart was racing too, as if he had run a marathon or argued the case of his life in front of a full courtroom.

“I love you too-“

“Thank you-“

You laughed breathlessly, yelping when his hands slipped under your thighs and he lifted you to up to spin you around, a brilliant smile on his face.

“You’re a sneak, Andrew Barber,” you teased him, the world still spinning even as he set you down, taking both of your hands to place a tender kiss to your fingers.

It was the first time you actually took a proper look at the shiny ring – and your breath caught in your throat, eyes burning, nose tingling with fresh tears.

“Andy…”

It was gorgeous – and most definitely not a mindlessly picked piece of jewellery with the biggest diamond in a ten-mile radius to show off. No. Much like he had shown dedication to the proposal itself – you were getting married, holy damn, Andy just PROPOSED – he must have put plenty of thought into choosing what was to adorn your finger for hopefully a very long time; forever even. Delicate but intricate in design, a bigger centre stone with what seemed to be a thousand of tiny gemstones surrounding it as a halo in an unpredictable but beautiful pattern. He must have spent a fortune on it – it was a piece of art itself. Probably one of a kind.

Just like the gem of a man who now stood in front of you with a mix of pride and bashfulness in his expression as you admired your new accessory – a new promise.

You met his gaze, eyes probably shining brighter than the ring.

“It’s gorgeous,” you sighed, unable to resist and leaning in for another kiss, hoping to pour all your gratitude and delight into his lips. “I see what you did here, Andy. Thank you… and I really really adore you, you have no idea. I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head with a grin, nudging your nose with his, hugging you close. “Let’s agree to disagree, sweetheart…”

A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. “Mr. Barber… are you already disagreeing with your future wife?”

Judging by certain sensation against your belly, you weren’t the only one who felt a shot of euphoria through your veins when you said it; Andy’s pupils dilated, gaze flickering to your lips, this time with less than sweet intent, hand wandering from your lower back to the globes of your ass instead.

You giggled and let him pull you to him until you realized the direction you were facing – not. Because like this, Andy’s hand appreciating your ass was perfectly visible to the camera.

“Andy, wait-“

“I wouldn’t dare to disagree… guess we can both thank to our lucky stars then…” he muttered, completely ignoring your protest, lips nearing yours, suddenly painfully slow, butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite the rational voice in he back of your head that your really shouldn’t give in. But how when his palm sprawled further, long fingers reaching to your quickly heating centre.

“An-“

He swallowed your noise of protest and plea at once, your knees buckling an inch when he stroked over your covered slit.

 “Celebrate with me?” he whispered against your lips, his hips rutting against yours making you whimper.

“Andy, the cameras-“

“-are off, I bribed the guard, I swear-“ he cut you off as his other hand slipped under your pencil skirt,  already tracing the line of your panties on your thigh.

“Andy-“ you whined as his lips retreated only to pepper soft slow kisses down the column of your throat, your head tilting back on its own volition as your body craved his touch, your core now throbbing. He’d better not be joking about the cameras, otherwise you really would-

“Come on, love, you gonna let me pin you to the wall like the masterpiece you are deserves?” he whispered and it was a terrible, terrible line, but he nipped at your pulse point and your feet obliged as he back you into the wall, fingers pushing the soaked fabric of your underwear to side, finding your hot and wet and waiting for him. A groan escaped his lips, his hard cock rutting into you as his fingertips teased your slit. “Gonna let me paint you all pretty with my cum, like a good little wife?”

“Jesus, Andy-“

“Gonna say yes to me one more time today, won’t you?” he demanded huskily, a knowing teasing lull to his voice as he kissed you again, letting you taste his sinful smile. He knew you would. You could never tell him no, not when you knew what awaited you was pure bliss, a loving but no less filthy ecstasy.

It was wrong. It was beautiful. It was insane and you’d happily take the leap. You were getting married. What other answer was there, especially with such a reward in your reach?

“Yes,” you sighed, head hitting the wall lightly, the hard warm planes of Andy’s body indeed pinning you in place, right between two damn exquisite painting. “Yes, I will.”

And then, because that beautiful bastard seducing you in the least appropriate place deserved a retaliation, you breathed out the last coherent words you could form before Andy made you forget how to do so:

“I will always say yes to my husband.”

Misc characters masterlist

Full masterlist

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed 🥰

Once again, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate 💕

Headboard info: framed picture from this artist (edited) - https://displate.com/displate/5918780, gif from Tenor

[blu3cl0v3rs]

Summary: Euphrasia meets Morro.

Warnings: Funky dream writing, Euphrasia's probably out of character

Prompt: Day 25 - "I'm not very good."

Extra: Wind duo!!! I'm so disappointed in myself that I haven't written about them yet. Ngl, I have not watched Dragon's Rising, so I'm making a shot in the dark on her personality based on the fanart and clips I've seen-

Mist swirled in mesmerizing patterns, curls and twists spun threads of blue-grey fog around creaky willow trees, whose leaves swayed easily and joined the haze in a calm dance guided by the wind.

Euphrasia squinted in an attempt to see through the mist, one hand rested on a nearby tree trunk as she carefully walked forwards.

She had never been here, wherever she was. Tree branches stretched overhead, the dark canopy cast a shadow onto the ground, making the terrain discreet. The wisps of a breeze knocked off her hood and played with her hair. Euphrasia held a hand up to stop any loose strands of dark brown hair from drifting in front of her face.

Up ahead, the breeze became a gale, which whipped hair and loose leaves and stray rocks around a centerpoint; a person.

There stood a rather lanky person, tattered green clothes haphazardly draped on their lithe frame, from which dirtied bandages peeked out underneath. Short wisps of ebony and emerald flailed around the jagged, almost hollow features of the person. The person who was looking straight at her.

Euphrasia's eyes bulged, and she froze like a deer in headlights. Their eyes resembled storm clouds, she noted as the stranger padded near her. The winds grew stronger and stronger, and she felt her footing slip from underneath her.

She yelped as the ground neared her face and dear destiny she was going to make a fool of herself — she was grabbed by the arm, and yanked firmly back on her feet. The winds settled.

Whoever helped her didn't let go for a moment, until they reached up and adjusted the messy hairs out of place on their head. She reflexively drove a hand through my hair, quickly checking that she looked decent and brushing off any dirt on her robes.

It was only then that Euphrasia took a glance at the person's face. An unfamiliar sharp face, ghostly green tinge coated their skin, and jagged dark green marks around the eyes were what stood out the most.

"So, you're the new Elemental Master of Wind, huh?" a rough distorted voice came from the figure.

"Heh, that's what it seems… I guess," she trailed off, nerves getting to her.

"I'm not very good- or was-" he stumbled on his words before sighing, "I wasn't a good person, and I used my powers for all the wrong reasons."

He stepped back, glowing eyes darted around in his sockets.

"If you ever need help with something, just call for me," he said, voice starting to echo as his silhouette began fading. "Oh, out of time already."

"Wait!" she tried to grasp his wrist, but her hand fazed right through him. "Who are you? What's your name?"

The person looked shocked. "I am Morro, Master of… well, ex-Master of Wind." He muttered before the wind whisked him away, the trees curled around and the gusts blasted.

Euphrasia bolted out of bed, sweat dripping down her face as her chest heaved.

"Morro… the one who rewrote destiny..?"

[blackjackkent]

OK, with Gale in tow, we're off to talk to the bookseller downstairs:

"(Literature department. Can I help you?)" the tome-seller at the rear of Sundries stage-whispers as Rakha approaches.

"Why are you whispering?" asks Rakha at a completely normal volume, having never been in a library or, frankly, been much concerned about delicacy.

"(Whisht! These books are sensitive!)" the woman hisses. "(They prefer an environment of quiet reverence.)"

(A/N: One of the options here is to then immediately shout at the top of your lungs, "IS THAT TRUE, BOOKS? ARE YOU SENSITIVE?" At this point, you're kicked out of the conversation, Gale disapproves -1, and both nearby stacks of books explode in a fireball. XD And then the bookseller won't talk to you again until you pay 400 gold to cover the damages.

Tempting, but Rakha isn't really interested in causing trouble; as usual, she just wants answers and wants them now.)

"(I'm trying to find out about a particular Netherese crown)" Rakha says, agreeably lowering her voice; with her particular mannerisms, the effect is a sort of rumbly murmur, like an earth elemental with a head cold. "(Have you anything on that subject?)"

The woman's eyebrows shoot up, startled. "(Bold!)" she whispers. "(You might've heard that our library has a collection other shops would lack the skill to curate. Between us, even Master Lorroakan was reluctant to house them in his tower. The pen is mightier than the magic wand, apparently.)" She snickers briefly before returning to a serious attitude. "(They're locked away for their and our customers' safety. Our finest reserve includes the 'Tharchiate Codex,' 'The Annals of Karsus: A Netherese Folly', 'Sights of the Seelie,' and 'The Curriculum of Strategy.' Do any of those interest you?)"

All of them interest Rakha, in fact. If these are tomes of magic knowledge, then she wants all of them and every bit of information they can provide her. But there isn't time, not now, to be distracted from the main point. The Annals of Karsus is certainly what she wants - information on Netherese magic.

Something, however, gives her a moment's pause - something she hasn't thought about in some time.

Nestled deep in her pack, untouched for months now and almost forgotten in her haze of other problems, is a book. The Necromancy of Thay, found in the basement of the blighted village near the place where the nautiloid crashed. A book full of magic which, even in those early days, she was able to subdue with her own natural power - but which, nevertheless, holds secrets she was not able to unlock.

It belonged, Gale explained to her, to a Red Wizard of a far-off country called Thay. And he used the word Tharchiate as an adjective to describe some of the magic from that place.

"(The Tharchiate Codex)" she hears herself say before she's realized she's going to ask.

The bookseller gives her a careful, narrow look. "(Interesting choice)" she says slowly. "(If I didn't know better, I'd think you might have 'The Necromancy of Thay' in your position. I'd advise tremendous care with the Tharchiate Codex. The cost of unlocking its mysteries is onerous.)"

Interesting. This is not an answer, and the woman seems to know it perfectly well - but also quite clearly has no further interest in giving more information. "(The Annals of Karsus)" Rakha says, somewhat irritably. Her voice starts to lift a little in volume and one of the nearby books emits a threatening belch of sparks.

The shopkeep raises an eyebrow. "(It is said to be written by Lord Karsus himself)" she intones dramatically. "(The Netherese arcanist who attempted to replace the goddess Mystra, failed, and was banished for the attempt. Great magical knowledge lies within those pages, but not many can withstand it.)"

"(That's it! That's what I need!)" Gale hisses eagerly from behind Rakha.

Narrator: The Annals of Karsus would no doubt have much to say about the crown's true nature, if only you could read them...

"(Sounds perfect. How much to buy it from you?)" Rakha asks briskly, ignoring the little voice in her head intimating that this isn't possible.

"(Buy?!)" Rakha can hear the effort in the woman's voice not to break her own rule and shout. "(Books as temperamental as these are not on sale!)" she hisses. "(They are secured in our vault, where none can harm them, nor can they do any harm. Consider yourself lucky to have learned of such a book's existence - and then forget about it. The Annals of Karsus are best left unread.)"

Rakha releases a heavy breath between her teeth. No doubt this woman knows what she is talking about, but the truth is it doesn't matter. Gale has said this book is important if they are to stop the Chosen and the Elder Brain. And, perhaps more importantly - these are books full of answers and this woman is trying to keep them from her.

She leans forward, drawing her lips back a little from her teeth. [INTIMIDATION] "(Unless you want a very nasty paper cut)" she rumbles, "(you're going to tell me how to get into that vault.)"

A little of the blood seems to drain out of the woman's face - but to her credit, she stands her ground and holds Rakha's eye contact. "(Customers like you are why I prefer the company of books)" she growls. "(The only way to gain access to the vault is through my office. And before you ask - no, you are not allowed in there either.)"

Ah. There it is. "(Thank you)" Rakha says curtly, turning away. "(I've learned more than enough.)"

"(You certainly have!)" the bookseller hisses irritably at her retreating back. "(Even simple knowledge of these tomes is enough to stimulate most.)"

-----

"Well. What a lovely woman," Gale says as they move out of earshot of the bookseller - and the books. "A proper respect for the power which can be contained in a volume of knowledge. Truly admirable in all respects."

Wyll gives him a sidelong look. "Are you intending to suggest we give up the search?" he asks, his lips twitching.

"Oh, most certainly not," Gale says cheerfully. "This is a case far too important for petty, quibbling regulations - and with Lorroakan out of the picture, we have full run of the place and I see no reason why we shouldn't take advantage of it. Still - always nice to see someone taking their work seriously." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "Those Annals are definitely precisely what I need. Somewhere in that vault are pages with all the answers about how that brain is being controlled."

"And the Tharchiate Codex," Rakha mutters distractedly. "Answers about the Necromancy of Thay." Absently she puts a hand on her pack where the heavy outline of the ancient book still sits.

"Yes, yes," Gale agrees brightly. "Much to be gleaned in that regard as well - if you feel your mental stamina is up to the challenge."

"Oh, good," Jaheira quips sardonically. "In my experience it is always a good sign when a book comes with a warning label."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Daddy is at an event all smiley because he finally caught you and tied you down in his basement with a reminder that nobody says no to him 😊

You know, I had to do a tiny little drabble for you, sly.

Behind the Scenes

Warnings: kidnap, deception, allusions to other dark elements.

The frigid air pickles over your skin, clouding from your lips into the dark, a shiver rising from more than the temperature. You heave as your teeth chatter, the thin sheet your only semblance of warmth in the pitch black. The metal beneath you offers little more as you squirm.

The cuffs bite into the flesh of ankle and wrist, a heavy collar around your neck similarly chained to keep you trapped. Even if you were not bound, there is no escape from these walls. You squint but see nothing, yet you know they are there. That they are immovable.

You shudder and close your eyes. You hear him, feel the gentle caress along your forehead, a memory stirring as the echo of his breath grazes your cheek.

“I’m sorry, baby, but you can’t be good,” his voice is gravelly, rough with restraint, “maybe one day when you can behave.”

You clench your teeth. Your instinct is fear but a spark of rage flickers beneath the helplessness. He’s insane. Deluded. There will not be one day. There cannot be. If that day ever comes, you would no longer be you.

A crackle tears through the silence. Your eyes snap open as a haze casts over you, hues blurring around you. You stare at the ceiling, confused. Slowly, you turn your head. The wall is lined with screens, at least a dozen, each one a different size but projecting the same image. It’s him.

Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes. Heart throb. Paparazzi bait. Hollywood’s most wanted. 

Whatever’s written in those rags, whatever he recites in those carefully curated interviews, no one could ever suspect the truth. Who he really is is even more far fetched than the movies he stars in. One would laugh in your face, even if they saw you then, quivering and bound.

“So, James,” the interview with her overly large mic gushes at him, “the rumour is you’re taking a break from the big screen. Is there a special reason?”

He smiles, his blue eyes gleam at the camera, his chiseled jaw even sharper in the lighting. No wonder he’s famous, no wonder he’s on the cover of every magazine, no wonder you were gullible enough to fall for his stupid act. You sneer as you watch with dread, the vision of him smiling scalds you to tears. A master of his craft indeed, to stand there and pretend so easily.

“I don’t wanna spoil anything,” he smiles as he pushes a long lock behind his ear, giving a coy grin as his eyes skirt away, “you know, I wanna just wait and see how things pan out.”

“It sounds like maybe… there’s someone special?” The interviewer prompts.

He shrugs. A barely believable evasion, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

You suck in air as your heart tamps behind your ears. You turn your head straight, the spectrum of colours pulsing over you, limning your body in a soft glow. You can only move your head enough to see the rise and fall of your chest. You drop back futilely and sigh.

“I can imagine there are a lot of broken hearts out there right now, James, but we are truly happy for you,” the interviewer preens, “all the best. A good luck tonight.”

“I don’t need luck,” Bucky’s voice slices into you, “I’m the type of guy, I don’t wait for good things to come to me. I go out and get them.”

[thlayli-ra]

The WhumpWheel gave me: Barely Conscious... with CodyPunk pretty please? 🥺

Oh, go on then! 😁

Trick - 'Barely Conscious'

Characters - Cody Rhodes, CM Punk, The Rock, The Bloodline

Rating - Teen and up

Warnings - Physical assault, blood, whipping

The Chicago rain was bitter cold, as Cody discovered firsthand whilst lying face-down on the water-logged concrete, soaked to the bone in dripping wet clothes. His thin, button-down shirt had almost been torn right off his body, exposing his sun-cradled skin to the merciless elements and the arctic sting of the asphalt beneath him.

He couldn't move, couldn't run, could hardly even open his eyes, blinded by a concoction of rain and his own blood beading on his lashes. Pain throbbed in every part of his battered body, his head and stomach especially where the man who stood tall above him had beaten him ruthlessly.

The man had many different names. The Brahma Bull, the People's Champion, Rocky Maivia, the Great One, the Most Electrifying Man in all of Sport's Entertainment. The Rock. These days he was mainly called Dwayne Johnson, but since returning to the WWE, he insisted on being called The Final Boss.

And right now, he was showing Cody exactly why. He'd ambushed the younger man backstage at the end of Raw and pummelled him brutally, never once letting up as he threw Cody outside into the stormy night and slammed him into his own tour bus busting him open. It was then that he'd produced the weight belt, one he'd had specially crafted for this very occasion and flogged the helpless man with it until he lay on the brink of unconsciousness.

Out the corner of his eye, Cody could see his bus and the decal of his beloved dog Pharoah on the door. He felt a surge of relief that he wasn't there right now in case the brave husky saw his master's plight and came rushing to his rescue, putting himself in harm's way to face down the cruel brute.

Instead, someone far worse answered the call!

Cody's eyelids drooped for a moment and when they pulled back open, he spied a pair of baby pink sneakers blocking his view, a man in black jeans and a hoodie standing tall above him. The last piece of warmth in him turned ice cold and his fading mind began to scream in protest when he recognised his boyfriend, CM Punk, shielding him from the danger.

No! This can't be happening! Run, Punk, get away!

But his numb lips couldn't even form the words as the distinctive voice seeped into his ringing ears. 'Get the fuck out of here, Dwayne!'

The Rock gave a chuckle, amused at the audacity of the man who dared to stand up against him. 'Punk. It's been a while.' Punk tightened his fists, snarling at the larger man. 'I see nothing's changed.'

'I could say the same,' the tattooed man spat. 'Still strutting in like some big shot, trying to steal the spotlight.'

'It's my spotlight,' The Rock sneered. 'You're all just keeping it warm for me.'

'Nobody wants you here. Go back to Hollywood.'

'Big words coming from a big man,' Cody heard heavy footsteps coming closer and panicked. 'Especially when nobody wants you here either.'

It was too late! A stampede rushed over Punk from behind, knocking him down to the ground. Cody whimpered out a pathetic 'no' as he lay there and watched his boyfriend being set upon by Solo Sikoa and his false Bloodline. Watched as Punk tried to protect his head with his arms as boots came stomping down on top of him, fists flying into every part of him and there was nothing either of them could do to stop the onslaught.

'Pick him up!' The Rock barked and the rabid animals stepped back from their prey, hauling him up onto his knees and holding his arms out to either side in iron grips. Punk tried to blink some of the haze away, his eyes finding Cody's, who was losing his own battle to the darkness.

'Look at you,' The Rock smirked, grasping Punk by the chin. 'Like I said before, you haven't changed. Still a fly in the ointment, nothing but an annoying little shit.' He glanced over his shoulder, addressing Cody. 'This your special guy, huh Cody? This your little sweetheart?'

Punk yanked his face free and wound back. Hocking up a great glob of spit, he fired it right at The Rock, hitting him square in the eye. A call-back to the exact same insult he had done in their match at Elimination Chamber all those years ago.

And just like back then. The Rock wiped the goop from his eye and locked a deathly glare onto the younger man. 'You really should know better by now.'

'I'm not afraid of you!' Punk gave one last act of defiance, all while Cody shivered with terror on the floor.

'The Rock don't give a damn. TURN HIM AROUND!' The men holding him obeyed, twisting Punk around until his back faced their overlord. 'Remove his sweater.'

Together, Tama Tonga and Tonga Loa seized the hem of Punk's hoodie and hauled it up over his head, leaving him in his sleeveless tee. No matter how much the tattooed man struggled, he could not break free from their grasp. Down on the floor, Cody tried to will his arm to move, to reach up and plead for Punk's life, for them to take him instead. But the blackness was creeping into his peripheral vision now. He would not last much longer.

The Rock's huge hand gripped the collar of Punk's tee and shredded it from his body, much like he had tried to do with Cody's button-down shirt, only this time he succeeded in removing it completely, leaving Punk's colourful body exposed from the waist up.

'You should know by now, Punk,' The Rock said again, as he coiled the heavy weight belt around his fist, testing the tough leather in his free hand. 'I beat you twice already, and that was back when you were in your prime. You were no match for me then, and you're no match for me now. But if you're not willing to listen then I'll gladly show you.'

The Rock pulled his arm back, the weight belt dangling from his fist. Punk writhed against the men holding him, yelling every profanity under the sun when-

A hand fell onto The Rock's shoe, hanging there limply. The older man paused and glanced down, finding Cody at his feet. It had taken every last ounce of strength for him to crawl over, he didn't even have enough in the tank to open his eyes and look up at the Final Boss, let alone beg for his lover's life.

'What?' The Rock's voice rumbled in his chest like a growl. 'What is it, you pile of trash?' The fingers feebly tried to grip tighter on his shoe but fell away again. 'You want The Rock to spare him, is that right? Show this little punk some mercy?'

The darkness was growing stronger but even so, Cody managed to wobble his head, desperately clinging to consciousness long enough to save the man he loved.

Something large and ominous bent down over him, its shadow throwing Cody away from the final flicker of light. 'Is The Rock's message not getting through to you? Do you not understand, you little bitch?' The face moved in closer, perfect, white teeth bared. 'The Final Boss... doesn't give a fuck about mercy!'

The shadow disappeared and a polished dress shoe smashed Cody in his broken ribs, flipping him onto his back. The icy rain lashed against his face and through the deluge he heard the whistle of leather snapping through the air, the grisly fwack of it colliding with tender flesh.

He heard the man he loved screaming.

And the tears began to flow from his eyes and the fresh wounds on his back burnt. Sensations that flared for a second before fading until the darkness claimed him entirely. He fell under, with the sound of Punk's anguished howls blaring in his skull.

'AHH!' Cody leapt up and found the space beside him in bed empty. He looked around the small bedroom in alarm. 'Punk? PUNK?'

Thumping footsteps and the door banged open, light spilling into the room and chasing away the shadows. Punk stood in the doorway in only a pair of loose shorts, cuts and bruises littering his body. His eyes were bulging with terror. 'Cody? What's wrong?'

The sight of his boyfriend instantly calmed him but all the same Cody leapt out of the bed and grabbed him by his bristled cheeks, feeling his solidness and warmth for himself. 'Oh, thank god,' he let out a shuddering sigh and kissed Punk on the lips. 'Where were you?'

'Couldn't sleep.' He replied, dazed from the scare. He thumbed behind him to the living area of Cody's tour bus where a mug of coffee and a book lay abandoned on the table, the book face down, spine open, discarded in a rush.

'For god's sake, you and your insomnia,' Cody cursed under his breath albeit with a small smile.

'You think I'd left or something?' There was hurt in his tone and it stung Cody so he quickly explained.

'No, no, nothing like that. I just... had a nightmare.'

'About me?'

'About us. And the Bloodline...'

'Oh, I get what-'

'And The Rock.'

Punk blinked at him. 'The Rock?' He scrunched up his face.

'He's back, Punk. At the end of the show, when you were still being seen to in the Trainer's Room, he showed up.'

Punk's bushy brows furrowed with growing concern. 'Did he hurt you?'

'No,' Cody shook his head, his thumb finding the large bandaid on his boyfriend's forehead and tenderly stroking it. 'No, he just stood there, but he was sending me a message.'

'He's out to finish what he started,' the tattooed man snarled. 'Well let him fucking try! I won't just stand around and let him beat you down like last time.'

Cody's chest grew tight. 'No,' he cried out. 'That's what I'm afraid of.' Punk's thin lips pursed together, turning white. 'Every time they want to get to me, they attack the people I care about. Kevin, Randy... they know they can't hurt me, so they hurt the ones I love instead.'

Punk gave a snort. 'I'm not scared of The Rock!'

And Cody's heart knotted tighter, a terrifying recollection of a moment in his dream manifesting into reality. 'I know you're not but I'm asking you, no, I'm begging you, not to let him get to you. Even if he ambushes me, assaults me, beats me down, you have to promise me that you will stay away.'

'Cody...' Punk shook his head sadly, cupping Cody's cheek with his large hand. 'I can't do that. What you're asking... it's impossible.'

It was. He knew it was. Punk was fiercely protective of those he cared about. It went against everything in his nature to let any harm happen to someone he loved. Cody knew this, because he was exactly the same.

He heaved a sigh of defeat. 'Fine then... just don't let him get his hands on you. Try to stay safe, ok?'

Punk quirked his brows. 'I can do that,' he said. 'Hell, I just about killed myself last night putting down a deranged Scotsman who's been on my ass for more than ten months. I'm not exactly in any rush to do it again. Getting stretched out a building gets real old real fast.'

They both gave a weak chuckle and Cody stroked his fingers through the greying bristles on Punk's cheeks. 'I love you so much.'

'I love you too. I'll always be there for you.'

'And I, you.'

The kissed each other again, shaking off any last lingering pangs of panic and when they pulled away, Cody gave a gentle tug on Punk's wrist. 'Come to bed,' he coaxed the older man. 'You need some real rest after that match.'

'I suppose,' he relinquished and followed his lover to their bed. 'I did just survive 'hell' after all.'

Cody laughed again but it was only a front, and as the pair snuggled into one another and began to drift off, Cody's mind couldn't stop replaying one last horrifying thought in his head over and over.

That his own personal hell was only just beginning!

[shadowdragonempyrian]

Hell has Red Eyes

Time felt endless in a plane of twisted, unliving fate. Eternal are the burdens beared by countless souls that bleed from the sky. Elastic like ribbons trail along behind their essence in the shape of anima.

Over time as a denizen to the Maw, its foundation slips away. Memories of the lifetime forgotten, that make each moment a darkening haze. Color, which is taken for granted, erodes away... We exist in nothing, so muted on this barren wasteland that we forget reason, lose purpose to survive, and suffer in despair.

But I am a dragon.

I do not yield to the temptations of weakness, like mortal souls which relish in bliss. Such comforts are dangerous tools, like honeyed words incanting a spell. The pain I endured, it taught me well. For I will be the master of this eternal hell. Fortitude ever-present, I stand to retain my cunning and hunger.

Soon to does the ground resonate to my will. For each rock shapes the expanse of my domain. What belongs is very much a part of me, that when the brush of change is made - I know where I must go. Unsuspecting often are my prey when I see them so lost in their surroundings. Like fleeting sheets of hospitable ghosts, they cry and scream. Begging for an answer that will never come... Souring their faith in hope and dressing themselves in the flavor of pity.

Ah... such irresistible finds. It's as if a black flame engulfs them over time. Scorching their bright souls into soul ash. Rich in misery they shroud my body against the gravity in the Maw's design. Resilient with inconceivable strength I rise to greet the unending day. The aura waving from my body becomes a tranquil song. For it invites death to gather around to feed the second maw. Each soul is my captive guest to sate my growing madness. I mock their feeble and unimpressionable attempts to escape my fangs.

But with each moment of pride, I have discovered a new theory. This was always my element to rule. No matter who believed their hatred would be enough, found themselves devoured by the Shadow's Devil.

For when his body turned, you would see the crimson bleed spheres in his eyes. Darkness is the mass of his frame, and for all that fall he will only grow. Peculiar is this place so unknown...

@daily-writing-challenge

[firapolemos05]

Deceitful

@whumpuary AO3

Prompt 1

Captivity | Snow

Prompt 8

Muffled screams

CW: captivity, slave whump, left out in the cold, nonhuman whumpee, lady whumper, restraints, muzzles, slapping

The Champion taglist: @emmettverse , @ostensiblyfunctional , @scoundrelwithboba

It wasn't usual for the Cerulean Crescent to receive snowfall, but on occasion there'd be a winter where the temperatures drop low enough.

When you're located higher up in altitude - like Master Scarlet's manor, rested on the mountainside overlooking the valley below - the likelihood increases.

The Champion assumed the view would be appealing to those with a taste for luxury. At least when it wasn't obstructed by the darkness of night and the drowning haze of a snowstorm. He guessed many would find a more clear daytime view a pleasing sight, like a painting in a museum.

He himself never saw the appeal.

He never did like the cold.

Snow was cruelly deceitful. From afar the crystalline flakes looked harmless, coating the outside world in what many compare to a pristine, white fluffy blanket.

Another gust of bitter wind rattled his bones, and the Champion tried and failed again to pull his trembling limbs against his core in effort to keep warm. The thin silks draped over his body provided little protection.

Snow crystals were more akin to tiny knives if you asked him. Their gelid touch searing his toes where he stood. He spent several minutes earlier trying to clear away all the snow beneath his feet, but the shackles at his ankles didn't grant him much room.

He had messed up again.

Master had a guest over, some rich businessman dressed with the money he'd leached from his workers and customers. His jewelry by itself would probably pay for several bets for the Champion’s ring matches. The fabrics had so many ostentatious colors the tiefling had a hard time telling which garment was which.

Master had ordered him to serve the two. So he relayed refreshments back and forth from the servant tending the bar and the servant arriving from the kitchen. Of course, he wasn't permitted to touch any of the food or drinks, not even with his stomach gnawing in protest. The Champion’s only purpose there was to obey, be silent, and look pretty.

It certainly wasn't pretty when he tripped over the edge of the rug and sent two full glasses of red wine spilling onto the man's expensive outfit.

A desperate apology was halfway past his lips when a backhand struck him across the face. Rings painted red onto his cheek. Pain rang in his ears, dulling the sound of the man's furious yelling.

Master said not a word, but closed the distance between them before the Champion could recover. One hand waved and a spell lifted the stains from her guest's clothes. After calling for a servant to come assist the man, her other hand snatched her pet by his horns and began dragging him towards the balcony.

He knew by now that resisting would make things worse.

It hadn't been his first time on the outdoor space. When it was warm out, and when he was being well behaved, Master would allow him to accompany her outside. But tonight the cold was wet and unforgiving and the Champion was to be punished.

Master must've planned for this at some point. There were already metal chains bolted to the brick exterior wall waiting for him.

Their frigid bite snapped right to the bone.

How long has it been since she left him there? Hours? It definitely felt like it. The lashing winds seemed endless and the Champion stood unable to shield himself. The chains forced his limbs apart and all he could do was press his fingers into his palms, press his raised arms against his ears, and curl his tail around his waist. Granting meager solace to vulnerable extremities from the icy curtains raining down.

It didn't help much.

He wished he could scream. He'd already tried. Tried to call to his master and plead to be spared further torment from the elements. But it was no use with the muzzle. Master had strapped it to his face right before heading back to the heated comfort of the indoors. All his cries were muffled before they ever had a chance to echo off the mountainside.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, afraid that the stinging gales would freeze any tears to his face. That's likely why he didn’t notice Master approach until she was snapping her fingers to get the tiefling’s attention.

He didn't understand how the frozen night wasn't bothering her.

The shackles released him, letting him fall into the snow when his feet were too numb to support his body. The wet sapped at fleeting body heat but he was too cold and too tired to do anything but shiver where he laid.

“Well?” Master’s voice rang clear above him, unfazed and apathetic. “Do you wish to return inside or not?”

Oh. So she was expecting him to drag himself back this time.

At least forcing himself to crawl across the balcony brought some feeling back into his hands.

The blissful embrace of the fireplace's warmth was only slightly dampened by Master making him apologize to the man for the spilled wine.

It was dampened far more when, instead of allowing him to curl up on the hearth, to chase away the chills trapped against his skin, she ordered him to the couch to lie in her lap.

The Champion hated how easily he submitted to it. Even more than the snow.

[clonerightsagenda]

for superb owl ppl: tamora pierce character(s) of your choice? or if you don't want to choose, Kel?

Ask meme

Tbh I probably would have chosen Kel anyway lol

First impression

"I want to be like her so bad." Unfortunately I maxed out at 5'1" and my attempts to win the affections of the birds at my parents' bird feeder did not succeed. I could have tried lifting weights more; that one's on me.

Impression now

Oh my god she was 18. They put her in charge of a refugee camp when she was 18. No wonder all the adult refugees were pissed.

Favorite moment

Squire is my favorite book of the series, although I enjoy a lot of the school story elements from the first two, particularly when Kel's helping the other pages (and later training Lalasa). In Squire I always remember the part when Kel's prepping for her ordeal and meditates on serving the "realm" and reflects that while a lot of knights see it as this vague hypothetical concept, she's crossed a lot of the realm on foot or on horseback. She's gotten its dirt under her nails. She's met its people. She's more grounded than a lot of trainees in her societal role and it shows in how she treats people and how they respond to her. Imo it shows the series continuing to deepen and mature from its beginnings - I'm not a huge fan of the Alanna series and have only read it twice, but I feel like that was more a 'important people scuffle' narrative using 'the realm' as a backdrop.

Idea for a story

I love the idea I saw once that she'll become the training master. She's good at it! She helped the other pages, she trained the kids at Haven, she will kill hazing absolutely dead... also she's got a working relationship with the Chamber of the Ordeal which could be handy. Parent-teacher meetings where she's like "listen I expelled your shitty child for his own good. The Chamber would've killed him. Yes it told me that itself. Get out of my office."

Unpopular opinion

I think she could've stood to make Wyldon squirm a bit longer before forgiving him. Ah well she's young yet. She can revisit this.

Favorite relationship

I love her friendship with Neal a lot! They keep each other grounded and always have each other's backs. He's a romantic and a cynic, she's a realist and an idealist, he heals her, she makes him eat his vegetables. Whatever happens in their futures I struggle to imagine them not living in each other's pockets at least part of the time. (He'll probably come be the pages' palace healer when she becomes training master.) Also I really enjoy her mentor/mentee relationship with Raoul - he's a great teacher, they work well with each other, and thankfully considering Pierce's penchant for pairing her female leads with much older men, it does not go anywhere weird.

Favorite headcanon

I think on top of being palace training master her future should also include unofficially running the Tortallan version of the old sunshine senior animal sanctuary. She's halfway there already. Behold Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, training master for the crown, winner of the Scanran war even if no one can legally admit to that, and her 500+ elderly dogs, cats, birds, horses, and sundry. If you leave your animal unattended near her you may not get it back.