#I haven't proof read this

[macverse]

I love the evans fanfic reader enthusiasm. 5 am and a wake-up has only been out for about a week and it's almost at 100 hits already. thank you guys so so much.

in case your like "I've never heard of this fic. what's that?" link and tiny preview below.

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“Chris, stop. I have to get up to leave for work in 20 minutes,” he continues to not listen to you and starts kissing his way down your neck and combing his fingers through your hair. The gentle, not-so-innocent grind of his hips on your butt makes your pleas sound more inviting than you mean, “Chris, please.”

"Please, what?” Chris’s sleep-laden and warm voice rumbles softly in your ear as he shifts you onto your back, his legs coxing yours wider to make space for him. You catch the teasing glint in his eyes as your still sleep-heavy legs easily make way from him. If you didn't need to be up you'd think you'd be too tired right now to play along but you give it your best effort.

“Please keep going? Please let me up even though it's too early for anyone to be going anywhere? Or please fuck me into the mattress, please pick up where we left off last night, please make me scream your name and please make me oh so very late for work?” Chris teases you and begins kissing your exposed skin everywhere, “Which” Kiss. “one” Kiss. “Y/N?” His mouth makes its way up to your mouth and kisses you deeply as his fingers dance sensually across your skin and into your underwear. Chris moans into the kiss as his fingers find you molten between your thighs and easily slip a few fingers into your slipper core...

[carinavi5]

I remember a teacher I had once, she was always so mad at people talking about how student didn't study because of lack of motivation.

I know she was pissed off because she wanted us to know that work should be done you feeling excited about it or not, to make us see that hard work and commitment are what actually make a difference.

She was an awful communicator, well she was lacking in a lot of areas to be honest, but at least she was right about that.

There was a blatant misunderstanding both from students and teachers about what motivation in education and in different grades is and should look like and be treated as.

She viewed "lack of motivation" as laziness, and us students thought it was the induced anxiety and all its consequences and expressions. Other professionals I think tried to apply the tools they knew or had read about, but they were all the kind to make kids in primary school feel engaged, us 16 year old's needed a bit of a different approach.

I don't want to do anything right now, I am being lazy in bed. I have reasons to want to study and pass this classes: I like what I'm studying, I wanna be a proper professional, I don't want to lose money and I made a deal with myself to buy something I really want if I don't have to retake any classes.

Those are more on the long run, but if I can't see a conection between working now and archieving that, or if I don't see them giving me the stimulation I crave at this very moment I may simply not work. Here I need compromise with my goals for the long run, I need to be logical, not let current emotions and desires drive me. So here is were my teachers point of view comes in play: hard work and commitment regardless of emotions because our rational side is guiding us.

But looking back at that time, how could I have wanted to work if fear and anxiety were freezing, crushing our self esteem, hope and moderate safety needed to be able to explore properly?

A good studying environment is like Zelda BotW or TotK.

It's big and extense, you can choose were to start.

You have a few tasks you can either do or not before going for the big boss, but you know they are gonna be helpful and fullfiling.

Yes, there's a bit of pressure in certain tasks, and if you are engaged with the story you really want to get things done and help the characters. Time. Pressure.

And the most important aspect: you can fuck up. But you can try things you're not sure if they're gonna work because even if those monsters may kill you, or you want to check if you'll actually die if you jump out of the cliff in front of the cave you've started the game in, you know it's no big issue if your character dies. You can go again with no big repercussions. You are being taken care of, held and helped, but not constricted and not rushed.

[teastainedprose]

Mark You Pretty (Homelander x Reader)

My brain saw this post and ran with it. Homelander bruises you. 13k words, Homelander x GN!reader (Warnings for bruising, mild Sadism/masochistic play)

The first time Homelander bruises you, it's an honest mistake. He didn't mean to grab you that hard. Not really. Sometimes Homelander forgets how delicate normal people can be. It had been a reflexive thing, snatching you about the arm just above your wrist as you reach over him to gather up the handouts from the meeting.

"Leave it," Homelander mutters with eyes still fixated on the stack of papers set before him, gloves creaking as he briefly tightens his grip on your arm before releasing you. The small gasp you make as you withdraw doesn't penetrate his concentration. He doesn't notice how you rub at your arm, expression pinching up while stepping away. You're another faceless worker bee and Homelander has no time for you. The meeting is over and you shuffle out with the other nameless non-supe Vought employees. His attention is back to the paperwork in front of him, mind buzzing on how to handle the downswing in public opinion on The Seven. You're forgotten as Homelander turns back to the task of being Homelander.

He doesn't even register that he hurt you until the next day. It's the top you're wearing that does it. Long sleeved and out of season, which draws his attention to you for the second time this week. He registers the blooming bruise peeking out from under your sleeve when you bend over to offer handouts about the table. He blinks, clocking the imprint as a mirror of his gloved grip. There's no guilt associated with this realization, simply an understanding of the connection. He did that to you. Homelander marred your pretty skin with a bloom of purple where he grabbed you. Suddenly, it's satisfaction that's coiling in his gut. He likes how you wear his mark.

For better or worse, now he notices you.

Homelander lets his eyes wander up your arm, snagging briefly on your ample chest before flicking across your face. You instantly look away, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. Cute. He smirks as he takes you in. You're a charming enough little thing. A bit too skittish for his taste, but the bruise he left on you keeps drawing Homelander's eyes back over and over again.

For the entirety of the meeting, Homelander lets his attention wander to you while his eyes roam your form. He's shameless with the ogling and never looks away when you catch him at it. No, he's only further pleased by it. He makes sure to catch your eye as his lips curl up and part slightly, his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. That gets a blush across your cheeks and you're quick to break eye contact. This only amuses Homelander further and galvanizes him to find further ways to unsettle you throughout the meeting. You are his distraction to make this presentation a little less dull.

The meeting ends and Homelander puts you from his mind once more as soon as you walk out the conference room doors. You're nothing but a passing amusement, something to play with at the next meeting perhaps. He's already letting the image of your blush and the bruise he left on your skin fade from his thoughts before something catches in Homelander's ear later that day as he strides down the hallway.

There are many curious sounds within Vought Tower and Homelander has heard plenty. People whispering secrets across phone lines and into ears. Muffled moans of employees sneaking off to empty conference rooms or even broom closets for salacious rendezvous. The one that catches him now? It's soft, more a quiet exhale with a moan undercutting the sound. He blinks, pausing to look towards where the sound came from. It's your office Homelander finds himself standing outside as he cocks his head to the side. He watches you as you sit at your desk, clearly not thinking yourself observed. X-ray vision lets him watch as you press two fingers into the bruise he left on you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back that noise. You moan again all the same, your enjoyment evident as your face twists into a brief flash of pleasure.

Oh, isn't that interesting?

Now Homelander's fascination with you ignites. His eyes seek yours constantly throughout every business meeting the two of you find yourselves in now. He's prone to stepping too close and invading your personal space whenever Homelander comes across you, which has jumped in frequency. He even has the gall to hook his pinky on the sleeve of your shirt one day, tugging it up enough to check if the bruise is still there. By then the purple has faded to a duller, splotchy green. His mark is almost gone and Homelander finds he doesn't like that one bit.

The second time Homelander bruises you, it is very intentional. 

He's bolder the second week. Homelander deliberately holds you back after one meeting with a flimsy excuse. Those massive doors ominously shutting close after everyone else has filed out. Now you're trapped inside the conference room with him. It makes your pulse skitter with terror, which is an utter delight to Homelander. He can smell the fear off of you. A heady scent that stirs a primal need within him because it's mingled with your arousal as well. That fact alone has a smirk on Homelander's lips as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back and under his cape as he leisurely strolls over. Normally, such posture would be non-threatening but on Homelander it's anything but.

It's a terrifying sight yet compelling. Homelander is ever the perfect superhero in looks. Vought's true golden boy that you and countless others privately swoon over in the break room despite his reputation. yet even you have learned that Homelander isn't the squeaky clean supe he's portrayed as. The looming trial only adds further credit to the rumors that circulate about him. Still, it's thrilling, and you may be a little too into the danger Homelander represents. You can't help the anticipation coiling in your belly as you watch him stalk closer.

He traps you there against the wall, shifting as he places a palm flat against it. You stare at his chest as Homelander slides his hand down, lifting it to cup your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet his own. "Er, you wanted to talk sir?" You manage to push the words out, flushing at the tremor in your voice. He smiles and those too sharp canines flash. You shiver, eyes wide as you meet the clear blue of his gaze.

"You bruise easily, don't you?" Homelander muses, his hand on your chin shifting to stroke down your cheek before moving to your neck. Electric heat shoots up your spine from the chaste caress, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin. His fingers curl around your throat as you feel his thumb ghost over your pulse point. Your breath hitches at the subtle threat but then he's sliding his hand down to tighten his fingers about your shoulder. Homelander digs his thumb in just below your collarbone to the point of pain as he watches you intently.

You hiss in response, eyes squeezing shut before you huff out a sound. It’s not a pained noise. An echo of the sound he’d heard by chance last week. He eases up, a knowing look on his face as you open your eyes again.The scent of your fear lesses, while your arousal fills his nostrils. You like the pain. He smirks all the wider while leaning in to ghost his lips over your cheek. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Homelander rumbles out, breath a hot caress against your skin. For the other day or just now? You don't know which he's apologizing for and there's not much time to ponder over that because Homelander's lips are against your own in the next breath.

His mouth against your is Homelander's sort of apology, more for him than you but you enjoy it all the same.

[clu-ven]

A Curious Mind

summary: Hunter has always treated you slightly different and Omega is determined to find out why

word count: 2.1k

!reader goes by she/her pronouns!

The bright suns of Plurax make you wince, your arm instinctively coming up to shield your eyes. Shuffling out of the Marauder, you’re about to follow Echo down the steps when a hand suddenly appears in front of you. 

“Oh!” you abruptly stop, almost colliding with it. Looking over to identify the owner of the hand, Hunter comes into view, an amused smile playing at his lips. 

Already on the ground below, he stretches his gloved hand up to you, offering some support as you exit. You give him a grateful smile “Thanks Sarge”. 

Slipping your hand into his, Hunter gives you a small, reassuring squeeze and you continue your descent down. 

You’re not sure why you were so surprised by the action, after all, this isn’t a rare occurrence. In fact, it’s the opposite. Whether you have to jump a few feet from a ship or simply walk down a landing platform, Hunter always offers you his hand. 

Every. Single. Time.

Once your feet reach the ground, he nods his head and reluctantly lets his hand fall from yours. His grip on his helmet, placed neatly underneath his other arm tightens for a moment as he wonders if he should have said more to you. 

Oblivious to Hunter’s internal worries, you walk over to the rest of the batch and listen to Tech’s recap of the plan.

Turning back to the ship, Hunter taps the command panel and watches as the Marauder begins to close. Sensing eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder to the rest of the batch, only to realise none of them are paying much attention to him. 

Casting his gaze downwards, his eyes meet Omega’s, who peers up at him curiously.

“Why do you always do that?” she asks.

“So we won’t get raided,” he shrugs as if the answer is obvious “or worse, if someone sees a ship like this unlocked, they’ll steal it and get a few thousands credits for it, especially with the amount of upgrades it has”. 

“What? No, not that” Omega rolls her eyes, returning Hunter’s ‘that should be obvious’ tone. 

When Omega says your name, Hunter’s eyes go wide, his posture becoming stiff as she elaborates “You always help her off the ship… why?”. His eyes flick over to you as Omega talks, hoping you didn’t hear her say your name. 

Thankfully you’re too busy listening to Tech, who’s explaining your part of the mission to you.

“Just to be nice, I guess” he mumbles his response, trying to keep his voice low. 

“But you don’t do it for Wrecker or Tech or Echo… hey, you don’t do that for me either!” she exclaims, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

Hunter shakes his head, his mind turning to mush as he tries to think of an easy explanation “Well, that’s because you don’t need help getting off the ship”.

It’s like he can see the cogs turning in Omega’s head, already cringing at his answer as she questions “... but she needs help? She can’t get off the ship if you don’t hold her hand?”.

Oh Kriff. 

“Well, no, that’s not what I meant-” he starts but Omega quickly talks over him. “Is she not good with balance? Is it like how Wrecker doesn’t like heights?”. 

Before Hunter can form a response, Wrecker loudly interrupts them, the mere mention of his fear getting his full attention.

“Heights?!” Wrecker repeats, drawing everyone’s focus to Hunter and Omega. Throwing his head back, Wrecker lets out a whine “Oh please tell me this mission doesn’t involve heights”.

“Plurax is a relatively flat planet,” Tech interjects, his eyes still fixed on his datapad “and considering our main objective is to extract the bacta pods found in the small medical facility, I doubt heights will be involved”.

Wrecker lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders deflating. “Phew, you almost got me that time, Hunter” he chuckles. 

Hunter nods, hoping to quickly brush past this entire situation. “Right, well let’s get this over and done with” taking his helmet from underneath his arm, Hunter places it on his head.

“But what about my quest-” Omega starts but Hunter cuts her off, acutely aware that you as well as the others are still listening “Later, Omega. All that matters right now is the mission”. With a sigh, she nods her head.

***

After successfully retrieving the bacta pods, the Marauder is quiet… for once. The hum of the ship speeding through hyperspace fills the silence as everyone gets some much needed rest. 

Peering out of her room, Omega holds on to Lula the tooka doll as she scans the bunks. Wrecker sleeps in one, his arm obscuring his face and thankfully muffling his snores. On the other bunk, Tech is fast asleep and judging by the pile of blankets on the upper bunk, you’re asleep up there.

Tip-toeing past, Echo comes into view. He’s seated at the table, head resting on his arm as he mumbles in his sleep. Continuing on her journey, Hunter is the last person for Omega to see, his seated form visible when she approaches the cockpit. Slowly, she nears him.

From the corner of his eye, Hunter notices Omega, subtly watching as she quietly walks forward. “You should be asleep” Hunter’s voice cuts through the silence, making Omega stop in her tracks.

She sighs, giving up her attempt to sneak “But I can’t, I’m not tired”. Hopping up on the seat beside him, Omega keeps Lula close to her, curling up on the chair. 

Hunter doesn’t reply. He knows how hard it is to go from being on high alert on a mission to being told to get some rest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

He remembers the first few missions he ever went on and how hard it was to rest, his senses too overwhelmed to even comprehend the idea of sleep. 

“You did it again, y’know” Omega says, pulling his attention back to her.

“What?” Hunter has a suspicious feeling he knows what she’s talking about but he hopes if he feigns some kind of ignorance then hopefully she’ll drop it.

“You helped her back onto the ship,” she explains, some sarcasm in her voice as she teases “when we were leaving Plurax… she must have really bad balance if you have to help her all the time”.

Head dipping down, Hunter’s hair obscures his face. “Omega,” he groans “she doesn't have balance problems, it’s just… look, it’s better if you let this go, ok?”.

“But why?” she drops her legs down, leaving them dangle freely.

“It’s… complicated”.

“How?” she presses, shrugging as she mumbles “I’m just curious”.

“Yeah, too curious,” Hunter says with an affectionate scoff and shake of his head.

Trying to simplify it, Omega begins listing out “Earlier you said that you do it to be nice but you only do it for her, nobody else! She doesn’t need you to do it since she doesn’t actually have any balance problems, hmmm and it’s pretty obvious you don’t like it when people point it out”. Hunter grimaces the more Omega goes on. 

Thinking out loud, she furrows her brow “I wonder if she notices, I mean it’s pretty obvious so she must have by now…maybe I should ask her”.

“What? No!“ Hunter is quick to sit on the edge of his seat, facing Omega fully “You can’t do that, that’s a direct order”. Despite his pleading look, Omega simply raises an eyebrow, knowing she’s got him right where she wants him.

“Okay, I won’t ask her,” she complies before adding “but you have to tell me why!”.

Hunter sighs. A part of him is impressed, equally proud of her determination as well as cursing it. Sighing, he avoids her eye contact as he tries to explain. 

“Well, since she’s not… uh, a clone… I just want to make sure… that, um… that she feels welcome” yes, Hunter is making this up as he goes. It’s true, of course but not his main reason. 

Omega is not convinced, her face the epitome of disappointment. Not giving in, she replies “Yeah, that’s nice and all, Hunter but I don’t think that’s why”. 

Hunter’s body deflates, putting his face in his hands. Even if he wants to, he doesn’t think he can get the words out. This is something he’s never had to verbalise before nor is it something he’s had to admit to anybody.

With his face still covered, he hears Omega’s voice “Can I tell you my theory?”.

He doesn’t reply and yet Omega continues “I think you like her”. Hunter can hear her smile in her tone, removing his hands to confirm his suspicions. 

Watching for his reaction, Omega beams up at him. “And I mean like like her” she adds with the wiggle of her eyebrows.

Hunter keeps his face still, unsure how to react. 

“I mean, it’s not a bad thing if you do,” she shrugs, offering some reassurance “I think it’s kinda cute, especially since she like likes you too”. 

He freezes. 

What?

Judging by the stunned look on Hunter’s face, Omega explains “I overheard her saying it to Echo, she said something about her heart racing whenever you’re around and being paranoid over it. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing at first but every time you do something nice for her, she gets all lovey-dovey so I think it’s a good thing”.

“Lovey-dovey?” Hunter scrunches up his face, not quite believing what his sister is saying.

“Yeah, like this” clutching her hands together, Omega tries her best to bat her eyelashes as she lets out a comically loud sigh before giving Hunter a goofy smile.

With a grin tugging at his lips, he dismisses “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that before”.

“That’s because you always look away!” she exclaims “ooh, I’ll have to add that to the list; you’re really bad at keeping eye contact with her”.

He rolls his eyes but the idea that maybe, just maybe you like him too distracts Hunter from properly deflecting Omega’s addition to her list. Even the idea of their being some hope that you feel the same way is enough to send Hunter’s head spinning. 

Yawning, Omega hops down from her seat “I’m just saying, it would be a shame if you both like like each other but never tell one another”. 

Hunter stays quiet, though he knows she’s right. “Anyways, I’ll try to get some sleep, night Hunter” giving him one last smile, Omega leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Hunter leans back in his seat, resting one of his legs by the command panel as he looks out at the whirling blue lights of hyperspace. Hunter closes his eyes, trying to centre himself. Only you could daze him as much as this and make it feel so damn exciting. 

Were the signs that you liked him back always there? For a guy with heightened senses, he presumed he would have picked up on it… but Omega is right, he doesn’t exactly hold eye contact with you. And whenever he hears the loud beating of a heart when you’re near, he hurriedly assumes it’s his own.

Speaking of his senses, he can tell Omega is still there, hovering by the doorway. He waits a few seconds, giving her the time to speak but she doesn’t.

Hunter knows where this is going, presuming she’ll either ask him to carry her back to bed or try to convince him to get her a snack. He takes his time opening his eyes again, turning his upper body to look at her.

Hunter can feel his stomach drop. His body automatically freezing as if you won’t see him if he doesn’t move. 

You give him an equally bewildered look, a twist of anxiety in your gut. “Can we talk?” you ask, the words coming out quieter than expected.

Hunter has one main question on his mind: how much have you heard? And yet he doesn’t ask that question, instead blurting out “But I thought you were sleeping?”. 

Is that a question? Or a statement? Hunter has no idea, his brain utterly scattered.

You smile nervously. “I was getting ready to go to sleep,” you reveal “I was just in the refresher”.

Pointing to the door to the refresher, Hunter’s heart lurches at how close it is to the cockpit, knowing you’ve definitely heard everything.

Clearing his throat, Hunter nods “Yeah, let’s talk”. It’s better to talk this through now, while everyone else is asleep. 

He isn’t sure how this will go, still doubtful that you could actually like him back. But there’s only one way to find out. Hunter gives you a small smile as you sit where Omega was minutes ago. Once you’re comfortably seated, Hunter takes a deep breath and begins…

[the-broken-pen]

“I’ve never used a gun before,” the hero swallowed, mouth dry. They had never needed to, but now—

The villain’s head lolled over to look at them. A lazy grin spread across their face.

“Don’t worry,” they held the hero’s gaze, unflinching. “I have.”

The gun went off. Across the room, one of their enemies dropped, blood splattering against the wall.

Still, the villain didn’t break eye contact, content to shoot without looking. They hit their target every time, but still—

“Can you please look where you’re pointing that thing?”

“Why,” the villain tipped their head, and that shit eating grin was back, “Am I making you nervous, hero?”

The hero grimaced as the villain sent another target sprawling onto the floor. Surely they had to run out of ammo eventually?

When the hero didn’t respond, the villain laughed.

“Oh, I am. Well, that’s adorable, frankly.”

The hero flinched at the next gunshot, and the villain nodded their head towards the hero’s gun. “If you were to—and bear with me this is a crazy idea—help me, this would be over with way faster.”

The hero looked down to their gun, shifting it side to side in their hands. It didn’t look all that hard. Point, aim, shoot. They could do that, right?

They lifted their gun, aiming at the nearest combatant—

The villain slid to a stop next to them, tsking, and their hand settled onto the hero’s gun too quickly for them to see. “Not-no not quite like that,” they hummed in the hero’s ear, and though they couldn’t see their face, the hero knew they were amused. 

The hero’s jaw clenched with irritation.

“First,” the villain murmured, far too close, “Safety needs to be off.” They clicked something on the hero’s gun, repositioning the hero’s hands as they did. “Second,” they continued, and the hero shivered. “Don’t aim at me, love. You like me too much to kill me.”

“You’re awfully sure about that.”

The villain half rested their chin on the hero’s shoulder, batting their eyes. Their free arm jerked up, firing a shot behind them at someone who had evidently gotten too close to the two of them.

“I am,” they grinned. Their hand rested over the hero’s once more. “Now, aim,” they guided the hero’s hand towards the nearest enemy. Their finger slipped over the hero’s on the trigger. “And shoot.” They pulled down on the trigger, trapping the hero’s finger underneath theirs, so when the gun fired, they fired it together. The hero winced.

It was louder than the hero had thought it would be.

Across the room, the body dropped.

“Good,” the villain praised, voice low, and something stirred in the hero’s chest. “Again, love.”

They guided the hero through the motions once more.

By the time there was no one left to fight, the villain was staring at them with a look they couldn’t decipher. It was all encompassing. Hungry. Wild.

The hero cleared their throat, and the villain smirked like they knew what the hero was doing.

They eyed the hero, still with that look on their face.

“God, you’re pretty with a gun in your hand,” the villain cursed. They stepped closer. The hero didn’t move, holding their breath as the villain wiped a splattering of blood off their face. “Pretty covered in blood, too, but that might be a bit too insane for you, hm?”

The hero’s face went hot. It wasn’t, they thought. They wanted to kiss the villain so badly they worried it might be a sickness, twisting their mind, something terminal. But still, that smile—

The villain stepped away. They scanned the hero’s blushing face, and grinned harder at whatever they saw.

Gently, they took the gun from the hero’s hands, vanishing it behind their back.

“The next time you need someone to show you how to shoot, give me a call,” they nodded towards the hero’s hands. “I wouldn’t want someone else touching my hero, now would I?”

The hero couldn’t stop the smile that spread across their face.

The villain winked, stepped back, and was gone.

My hero.

Oh, the hero was well and truly fucked.

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday Everyone!! Thanks to @monbons for tagging me, so excited for the next chapter of your fic!

I've been having a really good week, I finished up all my finals and all my papers, and I moved all my stuff out of my dorm room—meaning I'm back home now and ready for summer! I have two weeks before my main summer job starts, so that means a lot of time for writing! And I've already gotten a start by having a super productive week writing-wise this week as well (finally got some solid work in on my COBB fic, turns out getting some vampire name inspo from @fiend-for-culture and seeing the first peek of the artwork really brought back all my excitement for this wip!!!)

I'm posting the newest chapter of Proof of Life tomorrow, which is one that I'm super excited to share. Unfortunately, this is the last chapter in my backlog, so I'll have take a small posting break after this, but that just means that if you haven't had a chance to start reading yet, you have time to catch up 🙃

But even more exciting news! I realized that I missed the 2 year anniversary of the first fanfic I wrote for this fandom! After reading all three Carry On books, I absolutely devoured fanfiction for probably around 6 months before ever writing my own. And the only reason I wrote anything was because I had a scene absolutely stuck in my head, and no one else had written it yet. So honor of being a month late to it's birthday, here are 6ish sentences from the first fanfic I wrote: Tense Silence (under the cut because this is already getting long):

“You’re a vampire.” says Simon. His voice came from above me. “You really are.”

I look up to see Simon standing, staring down at me. He has the Sword of Mages in one hand and the silver cross dangling in the other. It is very close to my face. I turn my head away. He moves the cross closer. I close my eyes as I smell the metal hanging merely centimetres away from me. 

“You tried to bite me.” He says. “You really tried to drink my blood.”

As you can see, I started out the fandom almost exactly where I ended up—writing angsty vampire Baz fics. While there's some things that I would do differently now and a few noticeable mistakes (Simon's cross is gold not silver, Past Lily, get it right!), I'm still really proud of this fic. I remember spending weeks working on it and being very nervous to post this 6k fic, so it's definitely kind of crazy to look back it and see how much I've grown as a writer, and how many friends I've made in fandom since then.

Tags & Hellos!

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @artsyunderstudy

@onepintobean @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16

@thewholelemon @shrekgogurt @brendughh @a-maisie-ng @hertragedyconnoisseur

@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs

@fiend-for-culture @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife

@arthurkko @rbkzz

[tanith-rhea]

Carnations

It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.

Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.

You may do with this information whatever you please 💛

You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.

"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.

"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.

She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.

"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."

Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.

It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.

The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.

The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.

Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.

Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.

"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.

"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.

Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.

She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.

You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."

"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.

"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?

She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.

She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.

She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.

"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"

You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.

"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.

"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.

His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.

"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"

His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."

He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.

"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.

The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.

Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.

That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.

In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."

She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.

You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?

It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.

"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".

You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.

"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."

She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.

"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.

Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.

As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.

But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.

After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.

"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.

Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.

Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.

"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.

Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?

You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.

This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.

You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.

As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.

When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.

You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.

Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."

The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.

That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.

You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.

You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.

When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.

She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.

"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.

I loved you so much that it killed me.

Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.

I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.

Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.

It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.

If I coul"

Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.

Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."

I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand

[kanerallels]

Fun update to this post is that not only did my little sister finish the graphic novel, get impatient, and then start reading our copy of Keeper of the Lost Cities, but she also brought it with her to the horse camp thing she's going to today so she can read during lunch

[la-pheacienne]

In today's episode of fact-checking I suddenly can't read and I want someone to tell me the exact page and line in the asoiaf book series where it is mentioned that Rhaegar wanted a Visenya! Waiting patiently.

[wickedwitchofthewesninski]

Neil Josten has very strong Shane Madej in the first seasons of BuzzFeed Unsolved Supernatural vibes.

No I will not elaborate.

[rendnotmyheart]

me with armand lately:

[accioprocrastination]

His girls

Jake hangman seresin x reader

A/N: Pure fluff; he has such girl dad energy

TW: slight reference to abuse

You've got your headphones on cooking while your daughters sleep upstairs, too distracted by your Spotify playlist to hear your husband unlock the door. Jake immediately takes off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the door as he throws his bag on the ground - too tired to think about putting it away properly.

"Sweets?" He asks hesitantly, wondering where you are. He expects you to whisper shout your response as per normal but is instead met with silence. He peers his head into the living room to see whether you've fallen asleep waiting for him. No not in there.

But he sees drawing on the coffee table which draws him into the room. A smile blossoms on his face as he looks down at the paintings his youngest has clearly made while he was at work. It's you three on a hill and a little stick figure in a plane that he knows is him.

He instantly heads to the kitchen - momentarily abandoning his search for you as he goes to stick the painting on the fridge.

"Here you are!" Jake exclaims at your presence as he glides past you to the magnets. You jump out of your skin only just registering that he's home.

You slide off one ear of your headphones. "Hi Princess." you tease giving him a smile which he instantly reciprocates before his arms find your waist. He squeezes you into a tight hug as you turn to give him a kiss hello.

"Dinner smells amazing." he comments peering over your shoulder to see what it is. "What did the girls have?" he smirks knowing they're still the world's fussiest eaters. "Thing one had chicken nuggets." You roll your eyes, that's the only thing your youngest will eat at the moment. You have both introduced her to countless foods trying to combat her fixation, but it's a losing battle.

"What about Abbie?" He nuzzles your shoulder. "She's been a little off today. Came home from school and demanded cereal, has not been back downstairs since taking it to bed." You inform him and Jake's smile falters. "Is she awake?" He asks. "Her light is off so I think she's gone to sleep." You shake your head.

"Since when did we have a teenager?" You remark thinking back to when she was your little angel. "I know." He smiles. "I kind of love it though-" You cut him off by saying, "she is such a little you." Jake smiles wider but does not open his mouth to deny that claim.

"She is isn't she?" He giggles reaching to take a swig out of your wine glass. He winces as he does so. "Are you cooking with that?" He looks to you for confirmation. You nod. "Yeah, why, does it taste bad?" You ask instantly. He nods grabbing a glass to fill up with water. You take a sip and confirm he is just being overly dramatic. "All wine tastes the same. I don't know what you're on about." You state. He shakes his head at the sentiment.

"I'll go check on Abs quickly before dinner." Jake says arms untangling from your body. "Some genius allowed her to get a lock on her door so I can't go check on her" You cross your arms and turn towards your husband. He kisses your forehead, the closest thing you'll get to an apology on that front before he turns on his heel and sprints near silently up the stairs.

Jake has experienced an abusive home growing up and will do anything to make sure your kids are happy. Including giving Abbie a lock on her door. Theoretically you thought it would be nice to give her privacy, now you just worry about her more because you can't check in on her anymore. You check the lock every night before bed to see whether you can make sure she's alright before sleeping. It is beyond rare for her to leave it open.

*

The morning is as crazy hectic as normal. You're woken up to your youngest jumping on the bed before Jake's seven thousand alarms begin. You had Abbie so young you forgot how tiring this stage is: kids have so much energy that no matter how hard either of you try you cannot match.

Jake groans sitting up and wrapping Ivy into his arms to get her to stop jumping on the bed. "Five more minutes then I'll get up" He whispers into her hair. You smile into your pillow at the sound of his tired voice.

"Daddy can you do my hair today?" She asks eyes wide with excitement. He cannot say no to that face, not that he would ever deny your kids anything. You'll always be bad cop out of the two of you. Ivy wiggles so much you cannot fall back asleep as she is singlehandedly rocking the entire mattress. "Of course I can." he responds smiling at her request. "How do you want it today?" she asks. "I don't know." she hesitates.

"Okay, let's go get your hair done then I'll make breakfast?" he says to her looking for clarification that she does not want food first. She nods eagerly running ahead of him to your vanity which is now covered in her hair accessories as this has become a routine. Jake helps her up onto the stool and begins braiding her hair.

Within the same millisecond she sits down, Ivy starts moving impatiently. "Can you try and hold still baby girl, I'm almost done. You're going to love it." he says quickly braiding the other side before trying them together into a pony tail. She claps in excitement at her reflection. "You look so pretty!" Jake exclaims kissing her cheek. She smiles and outstretches her arms to be picked up. "I look like a princess." she toys with the pink bow in her hair.

Jake obliges and takes her downstairs to hang out with him while he cooks breakfast.

"Breakfast!" Jake shouts from downstairs. You finally peel yourself out of bed and go to check Abbie has heard him. Her door is still locked so you knock. "Abbie, breakfast." You repeat in case she didn't hear.

You reach the kitchen and Jake instantly pounces on you wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you deeply. "Morning." He says. You're interrupted by Abbie vocalising her disgust as she enters. "Ew. You two are too old to be doing that." She says making you laugh. "Would you rather we argue all the time and get divorced?" You ask your daughter having experienced that type of household growing up. She sighs and rolls her eyes. She tries to just grab an apple and head out.

"Sit down and eat with everyone Abs." Jake instructs her and she listens to him. "I'm going to be late." She talks into the bagel Jake has already made for her. "Eat up and I'll give you a lift on my way to work." Jake says and you watch her visibly relax slightly. Is that just because she thinks she'll get to school on time or is that because she didn't want to take the bus?

They both get up to go almost as soon as they've sat down. "Wait!" you call after them, launching up towards the fridge and grabbing what you prepared yesterday. "I made you both lunch." you say handing them their respective lunch bags. "Thank you sweetheart." Jake kisses your cheek. "Ugh PDA." Abbie says. You smile at her. "Have a great day Abs, text me if you need anything." You say to her as she's already walking to the passenger side of Jake's truck.

[feuqueerfire]

The Categories of Final Hallucinations

I noticed 2 types of visions that the characters had in the last episode, specifically in regards to Non

Non was front and center and the visions are about him

Phee: He kept continually seeing Non die in different ways, including some which were new and unseen ways. He's grieving Non's death and also feels guilty for what he's said (the "Get lost and die"). Phee was also the only person who understood that these were visions and Non wasn't real. Even in the 2 years later part (which may or may not be real - tbh I'm thinking of it as a continuation of the hallucinations in the courtyard), Phee sees Non walking into the water.

Tee: Non asks Tee to kill him with a knife on the rooftop because he’s so trapped while working for Tee’s uncle. Tee has been feeling guilty about his actions bringing Non into this world and ultimately being unable to get him out of the mess, so this manifests as a horrific way to help Non, though of course he ends up stabbing White in reality :’(

Tan: Non thanks him, then hangs himself, then thanks him again. Tan just wanted to be a good brother and in these hallucinations, after he has avenged Non, he finally is. His last vision is Non thanking him and walking into the light.

Non may or may not be there but it's mostly about their own situations/consequences/fears rather than Non

Fluke: Non is hardly there except at the end, Fluke's mostly being chased by a cop because he's deathly afraid of ruining his reputation and not getting to become a doctor. Aside: I loved that Fluke gouged his own eyes out, the eyes with which he was constantly witnessing the misbehavior against Non (Top breaking the camera, Jin taking the video) but keeping silent about

Top: He was just being chased by Non through the woods, very little depth because we hardly knew anything about him

White: he never knew Non and so his visions are about his relationship with Tee instead

Jin: I don't think Non even appeared in this but I'd have to double check. It was mostly about what if what Jin did to Non happened to Jin himself with him seeing people taking videos of him in compromising situations, including with Keng

For me, Tee's was the most shocking and horrifying because I was expecting death for Tee (especially after episode 11) but there was the vibe that maybe White is the final girl who will survive. Instead, my mouth fell open as soon as I realized what they were hinting at and I lost my mind as the sequence went on. One of the most unpredictable aspects of this whole show for me and it really is tearing me up, esp after ep 11.

Tan's and Phee's are the most tragic. I didn't cry at all during this show but for a second there, during Tan's visions, I became misty-eyed. (also I've been typing Tan as Non and having to correct... I think NewTan would like that tbh)

I think Jin's was the most disappointing to me because although he knows his actions to release that video were wrong and likely feels guilty, I was hoping Non would at least make an appearance? When Jin apologized to Non the day Non disappeared, Non didn't know what he was apologizing for and said Jin didn't have to apologize. I wanted Jin to apologize to Non while admitting to his wrongdoings, even if it's in hallucinations. Instead, it's Jin being paranoid about what he did to Non being done to him.

[Edited because the Tee/White scene did a whole number on me so I got a bit confused about their visions when I first posted this right after watching the ep]

[xbalayage]

"I Promise."

Words: 1592

Silvio Ricci/Reader

Angst/Fluff

The sails whipped foul against the currents of wind, the ship's crest plunging into the corpse of deadly waters, the waves thundering its hold of an all too familiar lullaby. It rocks to and fro aggressively, baring its teeth into the amidship from all sides of the body the crew inhabited themselves in. Not but moments earlier had the seas been tame, obeying the captain of the sea happening on yet another voyage to surrounding countries in hope of trade. It was but another price to pay for prosperity for his fast growing country; to think any ounce of confidence to set sail on another excursion would've had all but the crew on their toes for something haphazard to happen across on the open seas. But nothing like the beauty of this storm before them had the experienced captain faltering for a moment.

Lives are on the line -- a moment's lapse is the death to all. His skin runs cold as his hairs stick up across every aspect of his body.

...Dammit.

The crushing winds combined with the thunderous waves had left his eyes and ears to naught, hearing nothing but the fear rapidly beating out of his chest. He couldn't die here. His loyal crew of merchants couldn't die here. Managing what little view he had through the blinding walls of rain, he maneuvered across the ship's deck to the mast, trying desperately to rein in and secure the sails, salvaging any left through the claws of the vicious winds before being rubbed and roughly torn from his grasp. Gritting his teeth and inhaling a sharp breath, a fresh wound erupted where the rope once held its place in his hands; the color of roses bled. His eyes darted across to call out to any crew in earshot but the moment his gaze turned forwards, it was as if his heart stopped. The ravenous beast of water destroyed and swallowed the bow, dislocating it from the ship itself, allowing it's freezing embrace to slip into the ship and slowly start drifting it down into the shallows of the unknown with it. His mind went into a state of panic and fear.

Silvio was not a weak man; far from it to hold the arrogance and brashness of a mask, to mock confidence and instill fear through status and money to be given subservience of undying loyalty, even with their very lives. But the unspoken kindness in his heart made sure they were taken care of, providing all they needed for their families to thrive and the enacting confidence of men who could protect anything in exchange. They were treated as equals, regardless of status.

But the feeling of helplessness filled his lungs. He had failed to protect his men. He had failed to man the ship he's had for years, that he had poured his blood, sweat and tears into. He failed to foresee any possible events to happen and ensure their safety.

I can't die like this.

The boat suddenly rocked from the sheer force of the storm, a strong force colliding against his back in the midst of his pondering and self-loathing, his rigid body slumping against the wooden supports of the ships frame. He couldn't breathe, only able to allow the shallowest of breaths, his body numb, wet and cold from the relenting attacks. As he could feel his conscientiousness began to drift, his neck fell slack and dimming ocean eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

Thoughts of her began to run rampant.

Her sickly sweet smile she shone just for him on the days he didn't deserve it. The way her eyes shimmered against the waves of the Benitoite shores without a care in the world and leaves his heart questioning itself. The smooth touch of her cold fingertips caressing his flustering cheeks, casting a spell over his lingering thoughts of self doubt as she embraced him. The sexy, sultry voice of a virgin that sung between the sheets of their spoken love for one another.

Love was something that wasn't made for a person like him. It was a waste of time, energy and money. Who even needed to play into emotions like that? After all, he was never shown it; his family would've rather he dropped dead, why should he humor it? Created between the bonds of two people who held no love for one another, wouldn't history undoubtedly repeat itself?

Women are all the same.

But not you.

The annoying persistence you showered was unbecoming and unwanted. But the chance to toy with another women who'll just use him for personal gain yet again peaked his interest, running the same play by play like any other broad to be five steps ahead. Assuming you'd try and hurt him, he wasn't going to allow the chance - so he hurt you first. But you wouldn't take the bite, you wouldn't fall for the trap, repeatedly stirring a unknown feeling deep in his unwavering heart that he's walled up all these years. For once, for fucking once in his life, someone saw him. And as much as he tried anchoring down his feelings for you to the bottom of the ocean, to refuse acknowledging it - you were the siren that swam deep, held the anchor close and carried it back up with the song of love and promise glossing your red lips.

As uncomfortable and as pathetic as being vulnerable makes him feel, maybe he could try for you. Maybe you were meant to be the one to find the treasure trove of his long forgotten love. After coming to terms of accepting his feelings, there's no way in hell now he'd let you go. Or ever allow any misfortune or harm to come to you. Because you were his.

It was the day of the expedition and with a heavy heart through playful banter, wrapped in each others embrace that he initiated, you begged to tag along with, to support him and see the other gathering countries and experience life on the seas. His smirk disappeared with your words. He refused and explained that he's said once before how dangerous the open seas were, and you'd just get in the way. A smile crept back on his features while your own turned to a frown, your forehead finding station on his chest.

"Do you at least promise to come back to me safe?"

Your words echoed, and with a scoff and cocky tone, he replied,

"Who the hell do you take me for? Of course I will. It ain't my first time and I'm damn sure it won't be my last. Not if I have anythin' to do with it."

Your eyes lifted to meet his gaze and the smile he adored washed back to the shores of your face again to the point it reached your captivating eyes.

"Promise?"

"...I promise."

The last memory of you seems to eerily fade from his grasp, and as your voice echos into the abyss of his mind, everything began to seep into stilled darkness. Before the blood on his hands disappeared from his sight, he whispered through the pain,

"Ah shit.. how pathetic have I become? ..I couldn't even ..keep my promise."

. . . . . .

Silvio sudden awoke with a start as if water had been filling his lungs. He quickly sat up in his bed, cold sweat pooled at every inch of his body. It was.. just a dream? He thought to himself, trying to ease his racing heart and calm his breathing, staring blankly at one spot on the bed in front of him. Nightmares were an in an out occurrence for him, haunted by the traumas and fears he still hasn't opened up about but never before had they felt so vivid. The aching feeling of helplessness and fear of being utterly and pathetically useless. Not being able to protect and not keeping his promise to the person he loved. As if to ground himself back to reality, he quickly went to stare as his hands, but they were no longer covered and coated with the cold chill of the ocean nor the warm color of roses.

"Hrm.. Silvio? What's wrong?" the voice of an angel brought him from his thoughts and the woman Silvio thought he'd never see again, as death's hand was pulling him down, was right next to him, rubbing the morning sleep from her eyes and yawning adorably. Shock vibrated through him and he trembled, not realizing he unknowingly reached and pulled you close to his chest, refusing for you to see his pained face and tear stained eyes. Your sweet scent grounded him, but the all too painfully real nightmare still lingered fresh.

He didn't want to talk about it. It was embarrassing enough that he was willing being so vulnerable but he couldn't give a damn at the moment. And thankfully, for his sake, you decided not to be stubborn and resorted to holding him comfortably and rubbing his back in circles.

You're here, it was just a dream. That's all that mattered. Maybe one day he'd open up about the demons that lurk from his traumas in the crevices of his mind. But not now.. not when your arms feel like heaven's embrace.

...Maybe he did die? And this was just his heaven's idea of heaven. Whatever the fuck it was, you were there. And that's all he needed to feel safe.

None of the jewels and money in all of the world could compare to the sound of your heart beating.

[flowers-for-em]

"I try to sit up but instead someone tackles me slapping their hand over my mouth. I only realised I had shut my eyes on instinct when I opened them, and the soft smell of fresh air and rain fills my senses. Aurelia. How my brain knew that it was beyond me. Her chest pressed against mine rising and falling in sync. My mind flashes back to last night, our breaths mingling, her blue-grey eyes staring down at me. I blink and wash the memory away trying not to focus on the knife that’s inches from my throat – again – and the soft hand over my mouth. Instead I try to focus on my breathing which isn’t helping when I can feel Aurelia’s stomach on my own, her shirt had ridden up when she launched herself at me and now I can feel he skin against mine."

Callum - Chapter 23, The Silent Court

@nqds @skeelly heheheee

[turtleboyo22]

"Did you know that you have a tell?"

"A tell?"

"Yes, a tell. A crack in your poker face." Cyno rolled his eyes at the suggestion. "I'm the general Mahamatra, Tighnari, I cannot afford to have a tell."

"It's a tell specific to your TCG game," Tighnari's smile was barely visible as he peered over his deck, but the humour was clear in his eyes. "You're not funny," Cyno frowned. "I'm not trying to be, dear."

"Go on then," Cyno began after rolling his dice, "what is it?"

"What's what?" Tighnari hummed as he grabbed the dice for his own turn rolling. "My tell," Cyno said, placing down a strategize card. "And why would I tell you that? Tsk tsk Cyno, don't you know I want to win," Tighnari's taunting grin grew behind his cards. "You're the one who brought it up," Cyno huffed, playing a support card. “And you're the one with only one character left, I just wanted to let you know why,” Tighnari said, the teasing lilt of his voice forcing Cyno to glare.

“You haven't won yet,” Cyno grumbled as he attacked, dealing 3 damage to one of Tighnari's last two characters. “No,” Tighnari conceded, beginning his round by equipping a weapon, “but I'm about to.” Tighnari used his ultimate, leaving Cyno’s card with 1 health. “I hope you have some food cards, sweetheart,” Tighnari said, “though I know you don't.”

“You don't know that," Cyno said, eyebrows furrowed as he searched through his hand. “But I do. As previously mentioned, Cyno, you have a tell.”

All Cyno could do at this point was attack again, though the 2 damage it dealt did very little when both Tighnari's cards had consumed food cards. He barely managed to break one character’s shield. Tighnari forced out a yawn. “Done?” His mocking smile served only to further frustrate Cyno. The other man nodded.

“My turn, general,” Tighnari smiled, looking through his hand. Cyno groaned. “Why bother looking through your cards when you're obviously going to win now?” Cyno asked, shoulders and jaw tensed for defeat. “Because it's fun seeing how worked up you get,” Tighnari said, “you're a terribly sore loser, dear.” With that, Tighnari used a card to switch character without ending his turn, before equipping a bow and attacking.

As the final blow to Cyno's card- and his ego- was dealt, Tighnari's smile softened. "Your tell, my love, is non-existent. I was merely bluffing to throw you off your game," Tighnari stood up and, with a kiss to the other man's temple, left the flustered general to stew in his frustration at being so easily tricked.