#I wish I was a stoic but alas

[enlitment]

Hang on kitten, not now, mommy's gotta type an angry comment 'cause someone just grossly misinterpreted David Hume on YouTube

[ozzgin]

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

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

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin. 

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop. 

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged. 

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar. 

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously. 

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top. 

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege? 

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey I really love your writings and drawings, could I request a capitano one shot, where he meets the embodiment of death on a battlefield and after some time they fall in love, please. I hope you have a great day/night.

(anon, you are literally speaking my language rn, because I had that same idea. Hope I did it justice ❣ slight enemies to lovers, fluff, reader hinted to have abyss powers) 

✦ A dance between the unyielding & the unconquerable

✧ The current Pyro Archon, Mavuika, harbored a profound distaste for dealing with You and Il Capitano.

Not because of the obvious concerns such as the 1st Harbinger jeopardizing the safety of the gnosis, or you being an entity of abyssal nature. But because currently, the two of you stood in the grand arena exchanging too many… pleasantries. 

“To see you grace this battle arena with your might is truly an honor no man can ever hope to achieve. I'm looking forward to witnessing your grandeur once more.” 

The Captain held your hand in his armored one, his helmeted head leaned for a reverence kiss, knowing well these same hands could end him if you so desired. You mirrored his polite gentleness and smiled with a soft bow - “Nonsense, the honor is all mine to see you in action.” 

Mavuika was already removing her red optics and sighing dejectedly. They will never get this over with. She saw a fair share of competitive banter between opponents in her time: tense bickering, respectful encouragement, or excited chatter. But witnessing the stoic, stern Harbinger exchanging smitten words with his immortal enemy? You two looked more like a couple ready to slow dance. 

Perhaps your and Capitano's everlasting rivalry always resembled a dance. 

✧ Centuries ago, when the enigmatic faceless Fatuus first acquired the title of “The Captain”, he was employed by The Jester for one simple task – Find you and eliminate you. You resembled a simple mortal, yet one gaze at your eyes, and the vision of abyssal hell could be reflected. The personification of oblivion, strolling the surface of Teyvat innocently, leaving no trace behind yet appearing soundlessly. 

Your first exchange with him proved uneventful, as well. “A Fatui… Harbinger? What's that?” - was all you said back then. Nonetheless, Capitano knew he shouldn't underestimate your anomalous powers, he is a powerful man himself, and his blade knows no deception. 

He almost died that day. 

Years passed, and the scars or toils of your battles with him remained. With constant expedition to the abyss, The Harbinger ventured between realms seeking you out for revenge. Each time you crossed paths, the outcome remained the same - a polite exchange, followed by earth-shattering battles where both of your weapons clash and bodies are exerted. However, was the Harbinger seeking you out of his obligation for the Fatui, or because you were the only one who witnessed his full might? Perhaps, because you were the one to draw scars along his skin, a fair result of the duels he ignited. Or because only you knew of the thrill the two of you provided when battling? 

When bodies are taught with swift agility, blood surges hot with each evade. He feels your movement, swift and soundless, yet each murderous blow carries elegance as you fight him. This wasn't a gentle dance where he'll hold your delicate hand, and guide you on the ballroom floor by the waist. No, even if he secretly wished to. Alas, this was a dance where you would crush him to his knees, feel his sword pinning back against your weapon, holding his knuckles to block his direct attack. 

And he loved every second of it. The way you moved effortlessly, mirrored his excitement and triumphantly knocked him to the floor, or used your abilities to loom over him. The Captain makes sure that all his attacks are up close and personal against yours. 

✧ At times, when fate mockingly sends him back following your shadow, he’d encounter you in less hostile places. You sat at some ledge of a cliff, not far away from the People of the Springs tribe, your head raised to look at the fake stars of Teyvat. The Harbinger knew there were civilians nearby, initiating the usual duels would be unwise. Instead, he would sit next to you and raise his helmeted face at the taunting stars that brought you together. It was a rare moment of solitude, to see your figure next to him, so human-like and simple. Even he feels so human in your presence. 

And on such quiet, gentle nights – you two would just talk. Legs inching closer to sit close by. A hand gently placed on top of another. Silhouettes of two faces leaning tenderly into one, unseen by the dark sky as they exchange silent kisses. 

It was a foolish fate, for the immovable to fall in love with the indestructible. Thus, this was your life with the 1st Fatui Harbinger.  

✧ Going back to the present with Mavuika; the Pyro Archon received reports that not only did the Fatui send their strongest Harbinger, but the Abyss also sent their most formidable entity. For Natlan, this would be grave news, but as she delves deeper into understanding the two of you, the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. How come the Captain is always conveniently there when you are sighted? How come when you two are supposedly meant to clash, no actual devastations happen? 

Instead, Il Capitano stays close to you. His armored hand is often clasped around yours to kiss the skin that can shower the world with annihilation. He'd drape his coat over your figure protectively, shielding you from stranger's fearful stares. You never liked unwanted attention, only he had the right to bask you in his. And most importantly, he'd kneel beside you so you may cup his helmeted face and bestow upon him tender kisses on his pitch-black visage.

Perhaps Mavuika has nothing to worry about. If the immovable cancels out the indestructible, then you two are not here to wreck chaos onto Natlan. Maybe you two are using it as a honeymoon destination. 

-

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 (𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨) + 𝙘𝙖𝙩

note ✥ dipping my toe in the sandman fandom hello :3 i'd like to write longer fic ngl. hopefully i could do it and post it in my writing blog. alas, this is a practice on morpheus' character tbh

content ✥ slight dark!dream of the endless, he's a cat and a certified stalker c'mon now, a little possessive thoughts, gn!reader

Morpheus thinks it is a little ridiculous to approach you like this. 

For eons, he is never afraid to come up to mortals who have caught his eyes, offering them his hand to guide them back to The Dreaming, to indulge in his love. But he could not say the same, in this case. 

He did try. He knows how The Waking and humans work. He has approached you in a manner that people say is normal, but perhaps his stoic voice and straight stance spook you so badly that you retreat the sun on your lips, hiding away from one such as him. 

He first called you by your full name. 

First mistake.

You had never seen him around and yet he already knows full name. Next, he told you his name—“You may call me Morpheus.” He said and he could only watch in confusion as you stuttered and grabbed the cat you were feeding before jogging away from him in haste. 

Is the name Morpheus too unusual for you? Too ancient? Shall he pick another modern alias that could help him blend in among the humans? Well, his real name does hold a sense of modernity in it—Yes, he will introduce himself to you with it the next day. 

And he waited. Only for you to not appear. 

Perhaps it was just a coincidence. But that is impossible. He has watched you for so long, he knows your routine by heart. He decides to stay back in The Dreaming and orders Matthew to fly his way to The Waking. And there you were, in the same place where he waited for you to appear. 

You were feeding the same stray cat. 

At that moment, Morpheus realized, you have a liking towards cats. You are fond of them. He continues to watch you through the eyes of his raven, seeing how you greet every cat you pass by with a “Hi, meow!” 

Your cute voice does bring a shadow of his rare smile. 

But his goal right now is to pursue you. 

He might have lost his mind in an attempt to pursue love, for he has shifted his physique into a black cat, roaming The Waking, searching for his mortal who has tickled his heart unknowingly. 

There you are—he arrives at the usual spot you would stop by to feed a stray cat. He meows and you immediately squeal in happiness at the sight of a new cat in town. 

“Hey, baby!” You chime as you wiggle your fingers, motioning him to come. Of course he would. He walks up to you, ignoring the glare from the stray cat beside your feet. The stray cat hisses at him once before it continues to eat the food you prepared for it. 

Morpheus looks up at you, meowing once to get your attention. You chuckle, petting his head and giving nice scratches on his chin. Oh, how he wishes you would do this when he is in his truest form, in all its glory. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t have food for you left…” You coo sadly. Morpheus does not care about that either. He continues to circle you, rubbing himself against your legs. Yes, he is marking you—he has long decided that you are his anyway. 

“I’ll get you some food. Can you wait here? Yeah, meow?” You talk to him before standing. You are stepping away and he already follows you, catching up fast. It surprises you a bit that he follows you so eagerly. You sigh with a smile. “Alright, you hungry boy. Come on.” You pick him up, cradling him in your arms as you walk through the busy streets. 

Morpheus snuggles against your body, purring. Ah, how wonderful would it be if he had the chance to be himself and actually buries his face into your chest, like this. 

“You don't look like you're from here, Murphy. Maybe you’re lost…” You say to him and he looks up at you with his adorable eyes. You grin. “Murphy sounds cool to you, yeah? You’re completely black like that one weird guy who approached me. He called himself ‘Morpheus’. You kinda look like him… in a sense.” You giggle before you lift your arms a bit, pressing a hard kiss on Morpheus’ head.

“But you are much cuter, Murphy.” You say with a hardened tone. Cuteness aggression is certainly flooding your mind as you press more kisses on his head. “You’re my good luck charm, okay? When you're near, that weird man is not gonna appear to me.”

“He’s a little scary. He knows my full name, can you believe it, Murphy?” You continue to ramble as your feet keep walking and you seem to have a destination in mind. “I’m afraid I have a stalker… I have to report him to the police but I don't really know who he is.”

Any human agency is no match for me, dear love—Morpheus thinks. 

Listening to your rambles, he only stays quiet, relaxing himself in your embrace—something he wishes you to do to him when the two of you are officially together. You keep telling him stories until you arrive at your apartment. 

“I just got an idea, Murphy. I’ll keep you around for tonight and tomorrow we’re gonna find your owners, yeah?” You give him another kiss and bring him into your humble apartment. You put him on the floor and he starts to explore your place by himself. It is not like he has never been here before. When you are asleep, he comes here through your dream, checking this little life of yours. 

You provide him with simple cat food on a paper plate, along with a bowl of water. Then, you leave him in the living room, going to your bathroom to take a shower. He does not even touch the food—he just patiently waits for you in front of the door, sometimes his paw digs the wooden door. 

He has all the power to get inside, but it is better to not rouse suspicion. He learned that he does need to be patient—which is not that pleasing, but he has all the time in the universe to tickle your heart. 

You sure take a while washing yourself. He gives up staring at the door and starts to pace around your house—beginning from the hallway, to the kitchen, to the living room and finally, he gets into your bedroom by sneaking in through the gap between the door. 

He jumps onto your bed, making himself comfortable and cuddles in your blanket. Soon after, you finally enter your room, only in a towel wrapped around your body. 

“Oh, hey, Murphy. You sure are a smart cat.” You give him some more pets before you go to your wardrobe, dressing yourself in a comfy shirt and a pair of shorts. 

Morpheus watches. Of course he will. He never plans to look away. 

You hop into the bed afterwards, making yourself comfortable. Ah, nap time. Morpheus almost forgets this time you choose out of the hours you have in a day. He moves a bit, giving you the room to lie comfortably. You stroke his fur again as you take your phone, scrolling through your social media. 

He just stays there and moves an inch closer when he senses that your sleep is also coming near. Yawning for the tenth time, you finally put away your phone, adjusting your head on the pillow. “Wanna sleep with me, Murphy? Come, come, kitty, kitty.” 

He meows. He gets closer, curling right beside you as he watches you slowly drifting away. Your soul taps into The Dreaming—he can feel it. He waits until the dream in your mind is forming clearer—until your brain cannot tell what is reality and unreality. 

His black fur dissipates into sand—and the sand multiplies, growing larger and larger in size until it forms a tall figure in a black cloak looming over your vulnerable body.

Morpheus’ bony fingers reach out to you as his void of eyes stare deeply into your dream. His finger slowly touches your head, sliding down your face, caressing your skin ever so slightly. He bends down to bring his face close to you. 

His pale lips touch your skin. And your body tenses, as if there is a change in your slumbering mind. 

Dream a little dream of me, dearest.

©doukeshi-kun 2024 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[dovesndecay]

Okay folks, the last one lost traction and it's April now anyway. So yeah, it's time for my newest, updated plea for help. (I'm not happy about it any more than you are, I promise.)

the spiel:

Hi, I'm a disabled qpoc and I have too many damn bills for how little work I can do, and how little money that brings in.

My attempts to be a professional adult are my print store and patreon.

all the necessities and accessories i can't afford no matter how much i stare at them are over here

the household wishlist includes some groceries, accessibility items, and a myriad of other products we haven't been able to acquire.

now. the bills. my eternal nemesis. and i don't mean that in a sexy-sort-of-pin-me-to-the-wall-way but in the "i wish i could hunt certain political positions for sport" kind of way but, alas, here we are.

I'm $280 short on paying the last of March's bills, and April's bills have come out to a whopping $1K.

(we are sharing a commiserating look, right now, you and I. Yes, you understand why I desire a hunting license. We are nodding our heads together in quiet resignation.)

In all honesty, I haven't been doing well. (I doubt anyone noticed; I'm very stoic and closed off from other people, you see) so if you can, and only if you can, any & all help is amazing:

Venmo: dovesndecay

Cashapp: $dovesndecay

Paypal: LINK

[ratedfleur]

… prince!jake who took a liking into the head guard’s daughter who recently became a maid for his sister..

jake knew it was practically impossible to be able to have even a brief moment with you when he knew that you were like his sister’s tail, so he quickly formulated a plan that he wish he could execute well.

waltzing through the halls, jake walked gracefully with a hum accompanying him, smile gently placed on his face as he greeted those maids and palace guards that he passed by as he made his way towards his little sister’s piano room.

he didn’t bother to knock and instead he quickly and quietly slipped into the room like a mice looking for cheese, and alas, you were right there standing prettily by the wall as his sister, julie, was gracefully playing the piano.

julie's fingers came crashing down when she caught a whiff of jake’s wood-like perfume when he tried to walk past her, an array of notes came when her fingers harshly pressed the piano keys, “oppa, why are you here?” julie says, face stoic as she turned her head to look at jake who cheekily smiled at her, clearly caught in the act as he stood straight with his hands clasped together.

“oh nothing, can’t i just hang with you? i mean, you have a few weeks before you’re to be sent off to london, can’t i bond with my baby sister?” jake asks, eyes clearly pure and innocent as he spoke to julie. 

furrowing her brows at him, she dismisses him with a wave of the hand before she turned her head to face the piano once more, “i suppose you could stay.. oppa, please just don’t interrupt me while i play this last song then i guess we could hang.” she says while making air quotations.

smiling triumphantly, jake quickly makes his way beside you who let out a little sound when he stood beside you, merely a few inches apart from you.

you knew you couldn’t look jake straight in the eye when he turned his head to look at you, you simply kept your head down, eyes fixated on the ground as your hands fiddled around with themselves despite seeing jake’s feet turn to face you.

“you are permitted to look at me, you know? i don’t bite unlike that little dragon over there.” jake jokes, making you purse your lips into a line as you turned your head as you looked up at jake, eyes innocently looking at jake’s sharp ones that curve into a smile when he meets eyes with you.

seeing that you were shy, jake turns back to avoid your gaze, hearing you take a little breath of relief when he does turn away from you. you kept your eyes fixated on your master who continued to gracefully play the piano, a soft melody emitting from the piano which echoed all over the piano room.

now that you’ve seen jake a little up close, you noticed how your young master had the same features as the man, she had puppy like features, much like an angrier and fiercer version of jake’s softer ones.

despite nearly resembling each other, their personalities were far from the same. just like their different features, it was exactly the same as their personalities. jake had the puppy-like and friendly personality whilst your young master was blunt and stoic.

lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice how jake was quietly speaking to you, “… here?” jake asks, head slightly turned to look at you.

flustered, you turned your body to face him before you bowed as an apology, “apologies, my lord.. could you repeat that? i wasn’t paying attention..” you say shyly, eyes still avoiding jake’s who had his eyes curled up into a smile as he chuckled.

“i said, how are you liking it here? it hasn’t been long since you moved to the palace, am i mistaken?” jake asks once more, eyes twinkling when you do nod because he made sure that your stay in the palace is well, always reminding his maid to take care of you in his behalf.

silence blankets itself over you both, making jake's eyes dart from all over the room as he thought of another topic, clearly i didn't think this through, jake thought to himself.

"have you seen the new garden? aren't the new flowers marvelous?" jake asks, pointing over to the window where the garden could be seen.

your eyes twinkle, making jake smile when you ramble about the new flowers you’ve planted for the dear queen a few weeks ago.

"i just think the garden looks breathtaking with the new peruvian lilies– were.. were you listening?" you ask as you turned your head to look at jake who seemed uninterested in your ramble, his eyes were empty before he blinked at you.

"you're pretty." jake says blankly before your cheeks flush red when jake's own cheeks mirror your own, his eyes avoid yours as he looks on the ground before the huge doors push open, revealing the king who's eyes immediately land on jake's guilty ones.

"jake, come along. do remember not to bother julie when she's making use of her practice time." the king's voice booms in the room as jake sheepishly smiles at you, bidding his goodbyes before leaving alongside the king.

[8seraphim8]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴛᴀᴋᴇʀ x ғᴇᴍ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (Platonic)

6.1 pages 2,112 words

As you navigated the bustling streets of Victorian London, your curious eyes searched for opportunities to snatch coins or scraps of bread. You had been successful yesterday, but it had come at the cost of a bruised rib. You hoped for better luck today, as it would spare you from starvation.

With a sigh, you settled on the edge of the pavement, hunched over with your hands resting on your cheeks and a frown on your face. You weren’t particularly skilled at stealing or tricking people. Once, you had been part of the working class until your father passed away, leaving only you and your mother. Unfortunately, your mother—being uneducated and a woman—found it very difficult to secure a decent job, which limited her options to less respectable means of earning money.

Look where that got her… dead. Disregarded and buried in the gutter. As far as you knew, your mother had contracted some disease from her job, which ultimately killed her. Now you were all that remained, having fallen in class but still alive and struggling to survive.

Your eyes darted to each carriage that passed, filled with blue-blooded individuals who only sneered and looked uptight in their ridiculous hats. You stood up, dusted off your worn dress, and decided not to feel sorry for yourself. You resolved to do something about your situation—perhaps you could find a job. Maybe people would take pity on you, a child, and offer you a position as an assistant or something similar. But that felt like wishful thinking, especially considering what had happened to your mother.

With some newfound energy, you strutted down the street, the soles of your shoes slapping against the cobbled ground. Perhaps you could steal some rich kid's clothes, replace them, and become an earl, or whatever it is that girls become. Wives? Not for you. You wanted to be rich and powerful.

Your strutting came to a halt when you spotted a group of sorrowful people entering a church in the cemetery. 'Who died today? Probably some rich guy, considering the number of people here; he obviously had enough money for a funeral,' you thought bitterly, holding onto the iron fence. You sighed. Maybe you could take the coins from his eyes and get a slice of bread, but alas, you’d get caught.

Your gaze flicked to the side when you saw a black blur stop at the fence on the other side. You raised an eyebrow at the strange man. 'How can he even see with all that hair?' You believed yourself to be a kind and cheerful girl, so you decided to approach him.

The man's tall and imposing presence was accentuated by a cascade of long, silver-grey hair that looked somewhat dusty. "Today is a man’s special gala—the final great ceremony in every human's life: a funeral," he spoke, as if to no one in particular.

You skipped over and abruptly skidded to a stop in front of him. "Hello, Mister!" you grinned brightly at the man, a stark contrast to the weeping souls behind him. Your curious voice pierced through the solemn air, catching the attention of the tall man. His gaze shifted downwards to meet your young face, a flicker of surprise in his intense eyes. He studied you for a moment, his expression stoic yet intrigued, before responding with a wry smile. "Ah, there we go. A curious one we have here," he replied, his voice as velvety as the surrounding mist.

He leaned down a bit, bringing his head closer to your level, his hair framing his face like a silver veil. As he spoke, his eyes seemed to dance with an undercurrent of playful humour. "I take it you’re not here to mourn but to observe, are you not, young one?" You nodded your head. "I was passing by and it caught my attention. They’re pretty loud, to be honest; hard not to notice."

At your affirmation, the man chuckled softly, the sound like a whisper against the stillness of the cemetery. "I thought as much. You've got a curious gleam in your eye, one that yearns for more than a mere funeral. Tell me, curiosity, what’s your name?"

"I'm (Y/n)," you said, holding out your hand. The man's grin widened at the sound of your name. He nodded, silently committing it to memory, and shook your hand. "(Y/n), is it? A fine name indeed. As fine as your curiosity, I dare say." He straightened up again, still towering above you, and looked out across the gathering mourners with an air of practised calm.

The man's gaze lingered on the sombre scene before them, the mourners like black moths drawn to the flickering flames of grief. He spoke quietly, his voice a soothing murmur, as if he was sharing a secret. "An aristocrat, one of the wealthy elites who hold this city in the palm of their hand. His name, however, has little significance anymore. To me, he is simply another name on a long list of those who've shuffled off this mortal coil."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you grabbed the iron bars and bent your back, looking up at the silver-haired man in a position deemed 'unladylike' by others, but the strange man didn’t seem to care about a child's need to constantly move. "What's mortal mean?" 

The man's eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. He chuckled softly again at your innocent question. "Ah, mortal, simply put, means 'of this world'—alive. A mortal coil is another way of referring to life. To say someone shuffled off this mortal coil means they have died." 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, still confused. "So, people who are mortals... will die soon?" The man paused for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the funeral, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Ah, yes. All mortals face death, young one. It's the one certainty in this world. No matter who you are or how powerful you might be, death comes for us all."

You released your grip on the iron fence, straightened your back, and stood on your tiptoes to look over. "And then the Grim Reaper will take them away?" The man's grin twisted into an almost mischievous smile at the mention of the Grim Reaper. He leaned down a bit closer to you as if sharing a tantalizing secret. "Oh, the Grim Reaper, hmm? You've heard of him, have you? Yes, he's quite infamous. And you're right. When a mortal shuffles off this mortal coil, the Grim Reaper greets them and guides them to the world beyond our own."

His voice dropped to an almost conspiratorial tone, a hint of dark humour in his eyes as he continued. "Some say he's a fearsome sight, a cloaked figure with a giant scythe. Others say he's a friendly fellow who simply does his job. But one thing is for sure: he's part of the natural order of things. As certain as night follows day, the Grim Reaper comes for us all in the end."

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with a curious gleam for a child discussing death. The man chuckled softly at your wide-eyed acknowledgement, amused by how seriously you seemed to take the information. "You're very receptive, aren't you? Most children your age wouldn't approach this conversation so seriously. But not you. You have a thirst for knowledge, hmm?"

You grinned at the man, admiration already beginning to settle in. "Yeah!" You were practically bouncing on your feet.  The man chuckled again, unable to help but smile at your enthusiasm. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes glittering with curiosity "Well then, since you're so keen to learn more, here’s a question for you," the man paused, his grin widening ever so slightly. "Have you ever wondered what actually happens after death?" 

"Eh..." Your expression dropped as you lightly scratched your cheek and shrugged your shoulders. "I don't know; I haven't really thought about it... never bothered to, despite..." You paused mid-sentence. "I'm ten," you added, changing the last part.

The man chuckled again, a touch of amused disbelief in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before responding. "A bit young, huh? Well, that's fair. But it's quite interesting you're curious about everything else, but not this. Can I ask you another question, (Y/n)?"

The man's gaze turned thoughtful, his eyes studying you closely as he asked his next question. His voice still carried a note of quiet humor. "You said you weren't here to mourn, but to observe, yes? So, what exactly is the most interesting thing you've spotted about this funeral so far?"

"...The body," you say, looking down. You wanted those damn coins, but you couldn't admit that, so you said, "It looks like he was stabbed in the face." In that moment of deception, you hoped it was true.

The man's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and dark humour playing on his face. He chuckled softly to himself. "Ah, I see. You observed the dead man, did you? And that's the most interesting thing you've noticed, eh? A face full of stab wounds, you say? Quite a macabre observation, young one."

'Was that seriously what happened?!' Despite the shocking revelation swirling in your mind, you cringed outwardly, continuing to maintain your falsehood. "Yeah... it must have hurt a lot." 

The man grinned again, a mixture of wry humour and morbid fascination dancing in his eyes. "Oh, I can assure you, it did hurt. It probably hurt an unthinkable amount. Death by stab wounds is anything but pleasant."

"What dead bodies have you seen?" you say, tilting your head and placing your hands behind your back, looking like a polite schoolboy. 

The man paused for a moment, his mind seemingly flickering through the memory of past funerals. The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he responded, but his eyes held a touch of dark amusement. "Ah, I've seen quite a few. A rather... unique part of my job as a funeral director. But I suppose some stick in my memory more than others."

“Oooh! You’re the funeral person! What’s your full name? Under...under-” you ask, racking your brain for it. You honestly thought he was just some oddly dressed guest.

The man chuckled again, clearly amused by your attempt to remember the word. He leaned down a touch, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Undertaker. Just call me Undertaker, dearie."

 You nodded before looking back at the steets, your stomach rumbling. You frowned at the Inconvenience. "I have to go now..."

The man, Undertaker, chuckled at the sound of your stomach growling. He watched you with an amused smile for a moment before responding. "Ah, hungry are we? Well, I suppose it's time for you to be on your way then, dearie." 

You waved your hand at him, begging to walk away. "Bye, bye!" You'll definitely be going back to him.

Undertaker watched you waving and grinned, nodding his head in farewell, a hint of amusement still dancing in his green eyes. "Farewell, (Y/n). Until we meet again."

As you turned to leave, the man watched you go, an amused smile lingering on his face. For a moment, he almost seemed like a different person, someone less grim and more... human. But as you disappeared into the crowd, the humor slowly faded from his expression, and the man known as the Undertaker of Death returned, an eccentric figure standing in the shadows of the graveyard, observing the funeral from a distance.

He watched the rest of the funeral proceedings with a stoic exterior, his mind now filled with curious thoughts about the young, observant child. You were certainly unlike any other child he had encountered during a funeral. Your morbid curiosity and eagerness to learn were a stark contrast to the usual sobs and tears.

The ceremony eventually came to an end, and the mourners began to disperse. The man known as the Undertaker remained in his place, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the spot where you had stood. Then, with a final glance at the grave, he turned and silently disappeared into the shadows of the graveyard, his thoughts still focused on the curious, morbid child he had just encountered.

"AHHHH I COULD'VE JUST ASKED FOR A JOB THENNNN!!"

​​​​​​​

[alexanderlightweight]

Happy Wednesday! I hope things are going well for you. Do you have anything for cider verse or the frost of fury?

it was a good Wednesday! and I hope your weekend is going well

I had to have blood drawn today and they took twice the normal amount which made driving home really fun. it took several hours, caffeine and food for me to break through the haze after but i managed and here we are

one of the reasons it takes me a bit to answer is because I only have unposted pre-written scenes for maybe 2-3 of my universes. I write 99% of everything in the moment based on the prompts i'm responding to so if I don't have anything, I will by the end of the fill! (as I write this nightshade is purposefully stuck half out of his dog door, hesitating because 'it's scary to go potty in the dark by himself')

i hope you enjoy, I've missed this verse so it was nice to revisit it <3

lumine

the frost of fury

-

Alec luxuriates in the feel of muscles hot against his bare skin and arms keeping him close.

He’s sore in a blissfully intoxicating way that has him stretching up against Magnus, just to feel the strained evidence of his body. 

“You still haven’t told me what you want, Alexander.”  Magnus' voice is hoarse, deep with barely satiated desire as he nuzzles against Alec’s neck.  The sharp press of his stubble against the bite marks he’d left have Alec sighing and arching into the touch.

“Oh, have you gotten all that you wanted in return?” Personally, Alec finds himself disappointed at the idea of Magnus being so easily satisfied. Alec really wouldn’t mind if he’d drawn it out a bit more.

Magnus laughter tickles Alec’s hair, “alas, what I want happens to be a rather clever shadowhunter with a busy schedule. I’m afraid I’ll have to rely on having thoroughly ruined him for any other to ensure his return.”

“Is that what I am now, ruined?” Alec is charmed by Magnus’ confidence despite his best efforts, amusement softening his voice.

“I don’t mind using the term claimed, if you prefer that option.”

—

Alexander’s little huff of laughter settles over Magnus as his shadowhunter turns within the confines of Magnus’ embrace.  His dark eyes are playful, long lashes petting over Alexander’s cheekbones with an intimacy that Magnus finds himself achingly jealous over.

“As magical as you are, Magnus, I truly hope you have someone else check your math.”

“Oh?”

“You help me, I pay back the favor granted me and suddenly I’m allowed a wish?” Alexander’s brow furrows and his nose wrinkles in faux judgment. “Hardly seems profitable.”

“What can I say, I’ve been seduced by your pretty face and stoic mannerisms.  I practically swooned watching you wield common sense as proficient as your sword.” 

“I feel as though telling you that you need higher standards is just an insult to us both.” Alexander is trying to bite back his humor, teeth sharply digging into the swollen and bruised swell of his lips.

Magnus kisses him then, truly helpless when faced with the temptation that is a debauched Alexander.  If Alexander lacks the awareness to understand that even a single night spent together is worth far more than the memories of one single mundane, then Magnus will just take the opportunity to teach him slowly.

Once he belongs to Magnus unconditionally, of course.

“I assure you, sweetheart. I have the highest of standards, as evidenced by the fact you’re in my arms.”

—

notes:

Alec’s self worth is fine, he’s just confused because he normally rates his worth in terms of skillsets and accomplishments and he’s like: i’ve never had sex before so i’m really not sure how good i'll do or how satisfied he'll be but lets not say anything because i’m very happy with this entire transaction. This is the best deal i’ve made in my entire life.

Magnus: yeah no, that’s worth double, triple even, please stop i am getting the better end of this deal to a degree where i almost feel bad for how much i’m taking advantage of you but it’s just making me want to do it more

Alec: can you take a little more advantage? Please? This unnecessary chivalry of yours is really getting in the way of my goals, magnus. I have finally experienced nirvana and i will not be held responsible for my actions going forward if denied

—

Magnus: okay deals done what do you want

Alec: ... i want? I want the deal not to be over wtf magnus what kind of pillow talk is this? It couldn’t have at least waited until we slept???? 

Magnus: ... darling that was very clearly foreplay and i’m just upping the stakes by offering to fulfill whatever lovely little wishes are in your pretty head

Alec: this is not the mood you think it is. I am sulking now. What do you mean it’s my turn to pick? I don’t even know what i want or like yet and you’re putting me in such an awful position 

Magnus: did you just want me to make all the choices and leave you no options?

Alec: i mean that would have been easier, yes. I didn’t expect to have to use cognitive reasoning while we were in bed, magnus. You want me to make choices after the week i’ve had??

-

Alec-i-have-been-the-only-one-with-a-braincell-for-years-lightwood: I need a mental holiday. I've tried mental staycations but the medics tell me thats just dissociation.

-

alec really out here hoping that magnus' reputation truly proceeds him and he's about to have marathon reimbursement sex only to find out he got an unwanted discount: ... can I get a refund?

magnus: .... you paid with sex

alec: yes, I know. and I would like a refund.

magnus: thats just more sex

alec with his eyebrow twitching: yes Magnus. I realize that.

[saoirseyun]

⸝⸝ x fem reader

noble!dazai who acts more like a traditionalist whilst approach with the concept and idea of romance to you... The painful slowburn and steady time for the love to bloom serene. Yep. All too familiar.

noble!dazai who never stood the constant bickers and judgements upheld from disappointed peers. Can't they get it? The genuine blossom of a small love from a cold yet comforting prostitute is just as an appeal—at first glance.

Besides, they're all horrendously wrong about you! Rumors about both of you and him taking matters into selfish use, noble!dazai could never.

Which so happens to come into failed fruition after how noble!dazai proceeds to spend his near monthly allowance on anything you'd want, 10x more expensive. It always scare you how high the numbers were on the bill, when Dazai had a stoic face the whole time purchased.

Time to put that whole sum of yen intp some good use, then! noble!dazai who then often if not every night asks you to try on the new clothes and kimono fabrics if you were feeling it. What can he say? His wife looks so angelic like such for him.

noble!dazai who too wishes that he had enough time to spend it towards your presence too, but alas. His moments are counted careful, construct. More like a commoner's small sack of yen instead of his own.

He insured that at the least you're reminded of every bits and pieces of noble!dazai's affection through classical letters and his prints to it. You can only do so much, trace a deep burgundy red kiss mark to stain the material. Disguised as a formal statement.

Speaking of disguises... noble!dazai had to fake his own looks and identity in order for the public eye to not catch on that his wife, you, was once a whore from around the way in the rundown pathetic streets. What a type to present dedication...

noble!dazai knew it could ruin it all—his fame, money, power or status, and respect. But the laundry was done, with dirt remaining on small spots as stains. If you ever had fallen, he'd rather fall with you than catch.

noble!dazai who silently wonders if there'd be another time where he didn't had to do all of this; buy you out of that nasty industry and be a liar to all he knew, the fellow townsfolk and House of Peers alike. Instead to gentle love a person he met naturally one day... Maybe in another universe.

He's no believer, don't get him wrong about that thought. If he were... noble!dazai would've made you his god—entire religion, book and all first. It's just that... This kind of life gets cruel and unfair too much to where breath feels limited.

At least noble!dazai has you. A dependency, his reliance. To be surrounded of you forever like free open air tainted by smokers, breath in regardless of the risk.

a/n; half an hour for love 2nd chapter's on the way by feb 4th~ sorry for the long wait, my notes app apparently hates me but at least I have all of you. thanks to all for the love and appreciation for this series<3

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @wasdy-san , @inojuuy , @imkwikly , @nonexistence1199 , @emyyy007 , @coilai , @writingandmusing , @hypocritic-trash-baby , @3lectraheart

[valentine-cafe]

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : mango pudding !! . . . snake monster ⊹ fem reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡​​​​​​​𝑢​​​​​​​𝑟​​​​​​​𝑖𝑛​​​​​​​𝑔﹕verse 781 ꮽ  zhào talisen

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a stoic grim reaper/naga. poet by day hero by night 

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... talisen writes about his desires of you in his diary. All the words he is too afraid to speak ⊹ cw ٬٬ downbad poet . smut . talisen fantasizing

March 16. 3144

I wonder often whether she is aware of it. This state of arousal that inflicts my whole being. Swallowed whole like the finest ambrosia. Delicate, down my willing tongue. More than a lubricant to a sore, dry throat. I wonder indeed if she is aware that each night my hands yearn to brush against her skin.

Imagination could never compare to how soft it truly is. So many pleasures in this life. Yet the silk touch of her skin on mine. What bliss, what experience to recoil and memory to carry with into the far future. An unforgettable moment amidst many.

These nights, it becomes harder to live with these thoughts unaccompanied by the rise of heat in this cold body of a drunken, poet reaper. Heart strung and wrapped up for a warm hand to hold. It has not the slightest idea yet, that it holds a heart.

Gasps into the night become lyrics of your name, sung quietly by my lips. I've long yearned for you to hear it. See it. Alas, fears of dismissal plague these thoughts of yearning and love, the tiltilated feelings I feel when you speak my name. It rouses excitement as it does worry in my chest. That what I feel is not reciprocated.

March 18. 3144

Yesternight, your voice breathlessly called out for my name. Such beautiful whisper. Whirlpools of it still stir within my mind. Might I have this moment to be as explicit and admit shamelessly that once I had arrived home. My hands could not leave myself.

It is greatly disappointing you did not hear the calls that rushed into the night for you. Even more so, that. . . Without you here, all that found me was difficulty to properly relieve myself. Do you know what you do to me?

Have you the slightest idea that the one thing I yearn the most, is press the most delicate kisses to your lips and feel the plush softness of them? Oh my heart wringes itself over. I beg of you, yearn for me as I yearn for you. Look at what you do to me

Reduced to naught but a humble beggar. Every night, singing your name, with the essence of my being wasted in my hands. Who do you moan the names of in the hours of the night, or perhaps the day? Who is the man, woman or person so lucky to have caught the attention of the light of the sun?

The pleasures these skilled hands could grant you. . . Yet it is naught but wishful thinking on my part. Thinking, I do a lot of. The sensual move of your body, the free spirted feel of your soul against mine. Why have you bewitched me so?

March 31. 3144

The orchard has once again bloomed, plenty and abundant this year. Full of life, like the love I made to you last night. Though you will never read these diaries, one day, I hope to tell you of the yearning I felt in the span of time our souls were not linked with one another.

Never have I felt such strong connection with another being, physically, intimately, emotionally. The music your body and soul composes, I've never felt nor heard it. Only imagined. I supposed nostalgia of imagination seems to trickle in like the bated breaths of last night. Once I thought the silk of your skin was knowledge to me already. I overestimated such.

It is more than silk, it is something that surely of another plane of existence. The feel of it, the soft plush. My dearest heart, I could go on.

When walls parted and hugged around me for the first time, I felt as though my entire being would fade away. I forgot to breathe entirely in the presence of you.

I worshipped you. You finally felt what I have meant to give to you for for the longest time now. More is to come. Much more.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki . 

[kastlequill]

iv/v. unearth without a name: the wolf that seeks always his own kind

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 2.3k synopsis: the fourth and final time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, amnesia, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

IV.

The day you finally broke started off like all the rest.

Tray of gruel, no spoon. Recreational beating, violent enough to put the ache in your bones and the blooms of purple in your flesh, but nevertheless mindful not to render you out of commission. And now, mind games with Rorke.

Another harsh knee slammed into your abdomen, bruising the spleen beneath layers of tender flesh. The blow would’ve had you in a fetal position if you weren’t currently hanging from the ceiling by bound wrists. So, instead, you twisted your hands to tighten your grip on the taut rope, hoping to ground yourself with something tangible, something real. Alas, the move only served to agitate the preexisting friction burns along your restraints.  

Rorke sighed. “This little game of yours is gettin’ old, don’t y’think?”

You silently agreed with the sentiment, but your outward expression remained stoic. Or, at least, as stoic as could be expected from a half-beat, nearly-gone prisoner of war. Fatigue and exhaustion had assumed residence in your headspace, the pair thick as thieves, and you were growing weary of their company. 

Thanks to Rorke breaking your orbital bone a few meet-and-greets ago, your right eye had swollen shut, so it hurt like a motherfucker to tear your gaze up from the blood-soaked floor. When he at last entered your field of view, you almost wished you hadn’t wasted the energy to do so in the first place. 

“I’ll make you an offer,” he started, leaning forward. His breath reeked something foul. “Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I let you walk out that door with all your limbs still intact.”

In your desire to put an end to this prolonged bout of suffering, the suggestion briefly appealed to you. That was, until you felt the unforgiving, unmistakable heat of shame burn deeply within your gut. 

The Ghosts—the guys, your guys—were depending on you. They were out there, saving the world or what’s left of it, and you were down here, protecting their secrets with your rotting mind, body, and soul, heedless to the sharp sting of their apparent betrayal. Despite the horrors Rorke had forced you to endure over the course of presumably several months, you continued to keep firm so as to buy your men the time they needed to fulfill their ultimate objective. 

Hold the line, Keegan had instructed you once, hand heavy on your shoulder. The intensity in his eyes had captivated you as the team readied themselves to embark on another suicide mission.

Hold the line ‘til I tell you to fall back. Know I’m always watchin’ everyone, everything, everywhere, so trust I won’t forget about you. Just ‘cause you’re out of sight doesn't mean you’re out of mind. Is that clear, rookie?

Crystal clear. As clear as the wad of saliva you now lobbed at Rorke’s face, landing on the dead center of his left cheek. You watched him process the small act of rebellion and predicted his impending streak of violence. Then, for good measure, you broke your vow of silence and whispered two words:

“Fuck you.”

You had taken Rorke for the Devil at the beginning of this whole ordeal, but the revulsion he’d evoked in you back then did not compare to the pure malignancy that now contorted his scarred face. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to beat it out o’ you,” he resolved, cracking his knuckles. 

And so the torture ensued as it always did in this vile and twisted tango. Punch after punch, kick after kick, cut after cut—you somehow remained conscious through it all. Even when you finally began to black out, he didn’t for a second relent his rapid volley attacks. 

At this point, fear was a distant thing. Bitter acceptance, however, had never been closer. Its arrival marked the beginning of the end. 

Everything that would follow was entirely and utterly out of your control. 

“What’s your name?”

“. . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I. . . I can’t remember it. My name.”

“Alright. Next question—”

“—did I do something wrong? Where am I? Is this some kind of test—”

“—how about your mother’s name? Think you can tell me that?”

“My mother. . ? Is she here? Safe?”

“Her name, please. If you’re unsure of the answer, say the word ‘unknown’.”

“She’s. . . her name is. . .” 

“Is what?”

“Unknown.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? I’ll show you interesting. You better start explaining why I can’t remember her, or her face, or my own goddamn name.” 

“That’s what we’d like to know as well, considering you are the one who all but short-circuited her brain and forgot everything of note.”

“. . . I what?”

“Retrograde amnesia. Quite a severe case of it, at that.”

“You’re saying I gave myself amnesia? Impossible.”

“Evidently not.”

“Just what exactly is this place? And who the hell you people?”

“Answer our questions, then maybe we’ll answer some of yours. Now, do you recognize the man in this photo?”

“Should I?”

“Yes or no.”

“No. I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Well, this certainly changes things. Not to worry, though. You’ve made your mind a blank slate, and we can most definitely use that to our advantage.”

“Sorry, could you repeat that last part? My ears are still ringing, and your mumbling makes it hard to hear a damn thing.”

“Not important. Moving forward, it’s imperative that you understand the Federation is here to support your want for revenge. We can begin training you—”

“Slow down, alright, you’re not making any fucking sense. Let’s rewind. Who’s the guy with the mask? What’s his deal?”

“That guy is Keegan P. Russ. He’s part of the terrorist organization that launched the attack that murdered your family. Their plan called for no survivors, but you beat the odds and clung onto life long enough for us to find and rehabilitate you. We extend our sincerest condolences and hope to ease your pain by helping you eliminate him.”

“. . . eliminate? Do you hear how absolutely insane you sound? You’ve got the wrong woman, pal. I don’t do revenge, and I’m no killer.”

“Perhaps not yet. But you will be. Of that, I have no doubts.”

They pumped you full of drugs and said it was to aid in your recovery from old wounds. Although that sounded like a steaming pile of horse shit, the barricaded exits and the constant stream of guards meant you had no choice but to comply. 

Honestly, you didn’t much care if their words were honest or deceitful. With no sense of who you were or what you cared about, a numbness froze your heart and your mind. And with nothing to gain and nothing to lose, apathy usurped the majority of your other emotions and thoughts. 

Still, you had no wish to participate in whatever acts of vengeance the Federation had planned. You attended the training sessions held by Commander Rorke because knowing how to fire a gun and how to defend yourself were valuable skills to have. Taking a life was altogether absent from the equation. 

But things changed once you came across the man in the mask. 

He appeared like a mirage not too long after your first dose of whatever they injected into your system. Initially, you’d assumed it was a trick of the light, but you quickly ruled out that possibility because there was simply no logical explanation for why you would otherwise be able to conjure a perfect replica of a stranger. The only sensical answer was that he had actually infiltrated the compound and was actually standing before you. 

That was when you learned that the faceless man—Keegan Russ, they’d called him—was a downright asshole. 

He took a liking to beating the utter shit out of you. You were certain you’d never been so sore in your entire life, given no recovery time between each show of his strength. Russ also accompanied his physical hits with verbal degradation, and with every additional insult he hurled your way, the more it stung: 

Worthless. Burden.

Omen. 

At first, it struck you as rather odd that no one else in the compound seemed able to discern Keegan’s presence. You’d once asked the female guard who brought your meals why she kept letting an enemy breach their supposedly-secure base, but your only reply had been a confused look and a disbelieving laugh. 

Seeing ghosts already, eh? She had no sooner spoken the words before her smirk disappeared, replaced by a more serious expression. Be calm, none pass without the commander’s permission. 

So, naturally, you concluded that this Keegan Russ must indeed have a personal vendetta against you, going as far as to risk his life and sneak past several defenses just to make you his very own punching bag. Upon realizing the extent of his desire to reap the life to which he still felt owed, your previous general apathy gradually morphed into a refined, pinpointed hatred. The emotional detachment lingered, but you were suddenly filled with a reinvigorated sense of purpose. 

In your new unfeeling world, you couldn’t help but latch onto the one thing that had managed to reduce you to a volatile vessel of rage. 

As the intensity and frequency of the beatings increased, so too did your eagerness to return his damage in full. Luckily, Commander Rorke was always there to patch you up and mend your wounds, though he was never curious about how you acquired them. Amidst your painful meetings with Russ, the commander began to grow on you slowly but surely. 

However, despite your greatest efforts, you simply could not grasp why he wouldn’t just kill Keegan himself. After all, based on what you’d gathered from your conversations, he seemed to hate the guy just as much as you did, if not more. 

Perhaps you should be thankful for the fact that the task had fallen onto you, because it was now the sole reason you awoke in the morning and went to sleep at night. Nothing else mattered; there was only this mounting need for revenge. It fueled you with a limitless supply of motivation, and you were determined not to let even a drop of it go to waste. 

Glorious be the day you finally sink a knife into his abdomen, face to face so you can see how the light fades from his eyes. 

That’s too easy. Too quick, you decided, mind elsewhere as your body remained fixed in the training room, wrapped fists ricocheting off a sparring dummy. He needs a taste of his own medicine. Maybe a few rounds of torture first, then I’ll kill him. 

That didn’t sound half bad. Actually, it sounded quite good. 

Still, you needed to give this some more thought. Killing Keegan Russ properly was of the utmost importance. 

And you’d have only a single chance to get it right. 

“Name?”

“Not applicable.”

“Not applicable?”

“I have no use for a name. My name is my designation, and I am a weapon of the Federation.”  

“Understood. Familial relations?”

“Irrelevant and unimportant.”

“How so?”

“Logically, they must’ve existed at some point, but their existence has been reduced to a shadow in my mind. No tangibility, no substance.”

“And your primary objective?”

“Neutralize Keegan P. Russ. Then incapacitate all remaining Ghosts.”

“Good. Any further questions?” 

“Just one—how do you want me to confirm his death?”

“It’s simple, really. Bring us his head, mask and all.”

“Consider it done.” 

Harsh winds pierced the layers of your gear as it funneled through the trees encircling the cliff from which you conducted reconnaissance. A few hundred meters away, you observed four men tend to their contained campfire and watched their hound roll in the dirt to score an extra piece of meat. 

The group appeared to be preparing for a confrontation. One was cleaning the barrel of his gun, and another was sharpening the blade of his combat knife. The remaining two had risen from the ground and were now engaged in conversation. Of them, the more animated speaker was bald, and the other listened as he fiddled with a pair of radios. Your stare locked on his face, or, more importantly, the familiar mask that covered it. 

Keegan Russ’ mask. 

Bloodlust began to take root in every fiber of your being, but you forced yourself to reduce its intensity to a simmer. 

Patience, came Rorke’s characteristic drawl, so embedded into the walls of your skull after three months of nonstop training and conditioning that it seemed to have developed a consciousness of its own. An unwelcome guest capable of overriding the authority of its helpless host. You’ll catch ‘em soon enough. Act sloppy, and I’ll put a bullet in your kneecaps, hear? If those sons of bitches don’t kill you first, that is. 

Flashes of phantom pain bloomed at the spot on your forehead between your brows, right where he would’ve usually flicked you for insubordination or incompetence. A fairly lax disciplinary measure, all things considered, and any irritation it sparked in you was simply redirected onto your target. Although the meek form of corporal punishment felt humiliating, you knew Rorke had only wanted to make you stronger to ensure you would survive your encounter with Keegan Russ and emerge victorious. 

You heaved a shaky sigh and raised your visor before clenching your gloved hands into fists, squeezing tightly, then releasing. Coming here had been strictly for recon purposes; there’d be no contact today, much to your disappointment.

Soon, you reassured yourself, trigger finger twitching against your leg. 

Soon, the task to which you had devoted yourself for months on end would be over and done with. Soon, the haunting image of a man known to you only as your attempted murderer would linger no longer. And soon, the world would reorient about its axis and start to make a bit of sense again. 

Soon. 

tbc.

[crow-aeris]

Tim's Meeting With Kon (Non-canonical version)

This is in another world where Damian is more open with his emotions and is 75% less emotionally constipated

Tim hesitates, anxiously pulling his wings tighter around him as he followed Damian across the cave.

"What if make a fool of myself?" Tim frowned, resisting the urge to cling onto Damian's cape like a terrified hatchling.

The older bat raised a questioning brow, "When have you ever allowed the opinions of lesser beings to affect you?"

"Jon's a part of the "lesser beings", you know that, right?" Tim comments Damian squinted in embarrassment, “and so is Kathy.”

"Kent and Branden," Damian huffs, "are the exceptions."

Tim rolls his eyes, yelping as Damian flicks his forehead, "HEY! I'll tell Duke you hit me!"

"He'd say you deserved it," Damian says while looking ahead, but the slightest twitch of his lips betrayed the older teen's amusement, "but we both know what Duke would say."

Tim smiles, "Probably something sappy."

"Incredibly sappy," Damian twists his voice to perfectly mimic Duke's, "Don't worry, Tim! As long as you be yourself and do whatever Damian says, everyone will love you!"

The falcon shudders, his feathers bristling with disgust, "Eugh. I hate it when you do that. Its literally so uncanny."

"I love you, Tim!" Damian chirps, still using Dukes voice as they reach the cave’s exit, "I'm Duke and I'm all lovey dovey. Sunshine, Rainbows, I can see light! I go to college! I’m Bruce’s favorite because I LOVE med school! I LOVE being tired and exhausted! Coo coo coo, peace and love and-“

"What are you two doing?"

Tim abruptly stifles his laugh and whips around with a strangled yelp. Damian remains stoic, but Tim could see he was also startled. "Aren’t you supposed to be at college?"

Duke gave the pair an unimpressed look, a plate of Alfred's cookies within his hands, "You need to hurry up before either Jon or Clark calls Bruce, and we all know how he gets."

Tim and Damian exchange matching looks of displeasure, but they had no choice but to get going.

——(~~~)——

"I thought you were a no-show," Jon teased as Tim and Damian landed on the roof of the skyscraper.

Tim twitched as he felt two pairs of eyes pin onto him, and the Shadow allowed a mixture of his Shadow and Gala personas to drape over his features.

Damian leaned slightly toward Tim in a vague show of comfort, "We would've taken longer if not for Seraph's prodding."

Tim glances over the small group of people gathering around. He pursed his lips before turning to Damian, "Shouldn't there be more people here?"

"What, are we not enough for Batman's almighty Shadow?" a voice huffed, and Tim snapped his head up with an irritated expression. He was about to say something, but his words died in his throat.

"Nova," Jon admonished lightly, and Damian tapped Tim's back, noticing how the fledgling had considerably.

"We didn't want to overwhelm you," Superboy, Jonathan Kent, supplied.

"Either way, you will meet the rest of the imbeciles in due time," Damian huffed, "but Superboy insisted on this audiance with Supernova."

"Supernova," Tim tested the name, ignoring how his heart pounded in his chest. That was Kon-el, Conner Kent, clone made from Superman and Lex Luthor, rescued from Cadmus labs by Reaper and Superboy alongside Beacon and the other Titans. Tim hums in consideration, the name fits him. He looks away and mutters nder hs breath, “just as pretty, too.”

As Supernova flushes a deep scarlet, Tim couldn’t help but instantly regret his every decision that brought him up to this point, and the falcon wishes that a villain- or preferably a giant asteroid- would interupt the conversation and slam into his face. Alas, that didn’t happen, and so Tim was left to suffer as Super laughed at him.

The two, red-faced vigilantes found solace in the other as their older counterparts chatted and caught up.

Tim can’t wait to go home.

[limonjarritos]

VINCE IS SO DOWN BAD FOR RODY OH MY GOD??? LITERALLY KILLS HIS EX GIRLFRIEND TO MAKE HIM HAPPY???? THEYVE KNOWN EACH OTHER LESS THAN A WEEK??????

LITERALLY LIKE- MY MAN FELL HARD AND INSANELY. LIKE WHO DOES THAT? I wouldn't have it any other way. Just the way that as soon as Rody came into his life he was like 'I need this man to be so whole-y mine.'

When I was playing the game my pet theory was that he fell for Rody's brand of love, for how he loved Manon (he did say that he spoke of Manon when they first met) and Rody's personality.

(read more because I am so annoying about this game vv)

Something something, how Rody loves so intensely to the detriment of himself (Manon told him to stop giving, to for once in his life realise that he needed to take care of him self and be stable. He can't just account for the other person's needs <- barely know her but I get why Rody was head over heels). How Rody's love is similar to his cooking, burning, burning himself, burning and oh so overwhelming. And I do think Vince wanted the feel of that burn for himself, wanted to feel the warmth and devotion of which he had been so devoid of. To understand what it was he was lacking. How love and cooking go hand in hand in the story, how Vince's dishes were devoid of love, how he can't taste. How Rody's love surely would be strong enough, would be the missing ingredient to allow him to finally taste something. (Also lack of taste going hand in hand with what looks like depression of some sort, or perhaps just apathy for life. How bland his own life may be. How such a love, such a person could perhaps bring some taste to his life.) Vince seems to have killed Manon as a form of trying to show Rody a similar type of love. Giving him something, giving him a meal made out of Rody's own love. A gift since he couldn't give his own brand of love in a way that matters, couldn't give it without showing his own brand of devotion. I do think he 100% had an underlying jealousy and hatred of Manon, how Rody was still stuck up on her. How she never once mentioned Rody when her and Vince dated (though outside of Vince's pov I'm pretty sure Manon was just doing the healthy normal thing by not mentioning an ex?? but Vince is soooo gone) which is obviously a sin (he doesn't seem to take kindly to people who are mean to Rody. Such as the article and Rody's old college classmate) and proof she wasn't deserving enough of Rody's love. But alas she was still a gift and show of love to Rody.

On the personality topic (thought I forgot about that did you?), Rody is such a brash and kind person. A perfect foil for Vincent's more stoic nature. Rody willing to try and befriend Vincent, running into the kitchen to talk to him. He showed a bit of said love to Vince by trying to befriend him and how could Vince not want more? (why wouldn't Vince try to reciprocate in his own way. Make him happy) I mean he seems pretty feared by his cooks, and the people at the party have mentioned that Vince is pretty ruthless, not at all a person many wish to get to know. But Rody is willing to, yet Vince wants his undivided attention...

Okay wow this has gone on way too long uhh I'm 100% open to further discussion especially if I forgot something! And I haven't really looked too much into the game past playing it, so any reveals the creator may have given I'm mostly unaware of and would love to be informed of more!

Anyways tiny Vincent attack!

[i-write-sometimes-maybe]

Come Back To Me- Emily Prentiss X FemReader!

Synopsis: Emily comes back from the dead, and your world just flipped upside down again. Or right side up?

Warnings: mentions of death and depression, angst but I make it better. lmk if I missed any.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/n: I decided to post my other OneShots here and hopefully open the floodgates to more requests, hope you enjoy! All likes, comments, and reblogs welcomed!

© This is my work, you have no right to repost my work for any reason without my explicit permission, all rights reserved.

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

It was approaching another month. Another month that you desperately wished didn't arrive. One more month since your other half was taken, no ripped, from you.

Emily was your everything, the only light to be found amongst your plethora of darkness. Single-handedly, she swooped in and saved you, saving you from things that you didn't even know you needed to be saved from.

Alas, after every broken sob that came from you behind closed doors, you began to hide your heartbreak from the team. It was proven difficult, not just because they're a group of profilers but also because they're your family. The closest thing you have to one. Though, you started to become better at hiding your pain. Pushing through your heartache for the sake of your job and the others.

Even though you and Emily were together, you felt as if you had no right to mourn her more than the others. Thinking it'd be selfish of you to make the others see and deal with your pain on top of theirs. No, you'd bury it deep within you like you did everything else.

After all, the one person you could open up to was gone.

The days never got easier, but you didn't let on to it. You had finally gotten used to the fact that she was gone just enough for you to not break down at the mere thought of Emily, only while in front of anyone else of course.

The thought of another month arriving took hold of your thoughts, leaving a shell of you sitting at your desk in the bullpen.

You could hear the light conversations and shuffling of paperwork from your coworkers around you. Aside from Spencer, he was overanalyzing your daydreaming, a habit of his you've learned to ignore.

Suddenly, Hotch and JJ pulled the team into the round table room.

Confusion overtook everyone as there was no mention of a new case to be solved. A stoic Hotch stood in front of the tv with a worried-looking JJ standing beside him.

With one look, you knew that something was wrong and they were afraid of something. You were a profiler after all. But what they were afraid of, you had no idea. And that terrified you more.

You kept looking between the blonde and the brunette standing just off to the left of you, stealing a glance around the room to see everyone else as equally confused.

Derek was the first one to break the uncomfortable silence, "What's going on? Everything alright?"

Hotch lowered his head just slightly as he spoke next, "Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilize-"

Your stomach instantly churned and dropped, leaving you feeling as if you were to be sick. You heard the words Hotch was saying, but you couldn't process them.

A ringing began in your ears as you began to realize exactly what he was saying. Tears instantly violated your eyes, coming to the surface with the threat of falling.

You couldn't look away from Hotch, "No." A pathetic attempt of a whisper left your lips. Or at least you thought it did.

This can't be happening.

"She's alive?" Garcia spoke with disbelief.

"No." You whispered once more, a single tear escaping.

Spencer almost didn't want to believe it, "But, we buried her?"

"No." You spoke a little louder, you weren't sure what emotion you were feeling at this moment.

A movement at the doorway, the one you walked through just moments ago, grabbed everyone's attention. Looking up, you saw something, someone, you thought you'd never see again. If it weren't for the others around you, you would've sworn you were dreaming.

"No. No!" You stand from the table, the emotions and pain becoming too difficult to bare.

"Y/n-" Emily tried talking to you, to get you to hear her.

But you need to leave, you don't want to risk the team seeing you break down again. You disliked them witnessing the first time it occurred, the moment JJ and Hotch came around the corner in the hospital to tell everyone that 'she never made it off the table'. You always, and still do, thought that there were dozens of other ways she could've worded it, and she chose that.

"NO." You all but shouted.

You go to exit through the other door in the round room but Hotch attempted to stop you by standing in front of you, "No! Y-You, stay away from me!" You say as you push past him.

He lied to you. He lied to you about the most important person in your life. And that's enough for you to want to leave this place and never return.

You rushed down the stairs, quickly coming up to your desk. You opened the bottom drawer and swapped your gun and badge for your bag. You can feel the team watching you from the windows, but that's not enough to stop you, not even close.

You hear rushed movements, unsurprised that someone came after you. What you weren't expecting was the person that was behind you. Emily came up to you. Normally under any other circumstance, she would've been plenty to stop you in your trail, but not now.

And what did surprise you, was that she was standing in front of you. In the flesh. The Emily Prentiss that you buried just months ago, standing in front of you.

The tears are completely streaming down your face, "Y/n, please wait," Emily tried.

This was already too much to bare, but hearing her voice so close to you, that's an entirely new type of difficulty, "No! You should've known that I can't handle this," Your eyes scanned her in disbelief. "You, you- UGH!" You were frustrated with everything.

Frustrated with yourself due to being unable to express your thoughts in feelings in quite literally any way. Frustrated with Hotch and JJ for lying to you, frustrated with Emily for leaving you, frustrated with the team for you don't even know why at this point.

You just had misplaced emotions everywhere at this moment.

You tried walking away from her.

She came forward and tried to touch you, "Y/n please-"

Fear, maybe longing, flashed in your eyes as you flinched away from her touch, after all, you are looking at a ghost,  "I said no. Just- you- no. No."

You pulled yourself away from her and walked out of the BAU, leaving not only Emily confused with your reaction but everyone else too.

~Time Skip~

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, with you laying on the couch just watching as it moves ever so slightly with each buzz.

You had quickly become annoyed with the sound of your ringer, so you shut it off. You wanted to shut your phone off completely but you knew that was a bad idea for many different reasons. You knew the team would panic, panic being an understatement, if they couldn't even get one ring on your phone. That and you knew Garcia was tracking your phone just so they knew where you were.

Instead, you opted to watch it buzz. Leaving the texts unchecked and the calls unanswered.

You may have been a little dramatic but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

———

Emily was standing, well pacing, in Hotch's office as he sat at his desk, "I just don't know what to do. She won't answer my calls or texts,"

"She's not answering any of ours either." He didn't want to let on that he was worried, this being entirely out of character for you.

"Hotch, it's been a week. She hasn't come to work." Concern practically dripped from Emily's voice.

He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose, "I know. I didn't think she would react like this."

"I didn't either, did I mess up by not telling her?"

"No. We did what we had to. Not only for the importance of the case, but it kept her safe too."

He tried to reason with the thoughts raging through the brunette's mind, ultimately failing.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to head over to her place and try to talk to her."

Of course, he felt that maybe Emily going wasn't the best idea. Maybe Rossi or Reid could go. But he knew that she wouldn't listen regardless of what he said anyways.

"Okay, keep us posted."

She rushed out of his office with your apartment in mind, "Will do."

It took Emily all of twenty minutes to get out of the BAU and to the front door of your apartment.

Oddly, she hesitated for a mere second before knocking. A feeling of relief came to her when she heard your voice on the other side.

"Who is it?" Your voice was weak and hoarse, presumably from your exhaustion but also because you haven't actually talked in quite a few days.

"It's me, Emily."

You regretted your choice of calling out instead of looking into the peephole.

You jumped up from the couch, with more abruptness and energy than you've had in ages, instantly going to the door, "No one's home. Go away." You quietly paced back and forth behind it.

"Come on Y/n, you can't hide forever."

"Sure I can, maybe if I hide long enough everyone will think I died." You couldn't care less about the childish sentence that left your mouth.

"That's not fair, I did what I had to."

The door flies open, "Really?! That's the best you could come up with?! God, Emily!"

The moment her eyes landed on you, she took the opportunity to get a better look at you. She hasn't seen you in months, just like you hadn't seen her. But your flushed and tear-stained face isn't what she was expecting. Emily was expecting you to be tired, a bit different maybe. But not like this. The dark circles that claimed home under your eyes weren't budging, becoming a new part of you because you never were able to get actual sleep since she was gone.

You tried to slam the door shut but she stops it, you don't have enough energy to fight it. You sigh loudly and sharply but it doesn't phase Emily.

She glanced around your apartment, the usual tidiness and comfort nowhere to be found. In your defense, this didn't happen in a week, the clutter occurred from the sheer lack of energy and motivation to clean anything over the past several months.

"Y/n, you have to talk to me." Her hands are out front of her, bracing for something, though it's as if she's almost afraid of approaching you.

You cross your arms, "Oh? Now you're all for communication?"

"Look, I know you're mad-" Okay, maybe you weren't expressing your feelings entirely in the right way.

"Mad? Mad?! Emily, I'm not fucking mad, I'm fucking destroyed."

She has a questioning face but lets you further explain.

The tears you so desperately tried to hide returned faster than before, "Every damn day for months, I cried the hardest I've ever cried in my life. I cried so hard because I thought that the love of my life, the other half of my soul, was gone. YOU DIED," Your arms were flailing in attempts to hide your shaking form. "And- and then when I thought I finally found a way to not cry every damn hour, you just, walk right in? Like nothing happened?! What the fuck?!" You wiped the tears that you had felt during your rant.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I truly am. I wanted to talk to you, to reach out, but I couldn't." The pain in her eyes beginning to match yours.

"The worst part of it all," You took a stuttering breath. "I didn't get to say goodbye. Every day, I had to walk by your portrait that was screwed into the wall, as if it was mocking me." More tears fell on your face.

Emily took a step forward towards you, and in turn, you took a step back.

"I want to believe this is real. That you are standing right in front of me. But I can't bring myself to. I can't savor this to just lose you all over again." A broken sob left your lips.

Despite your, very pathetic, attempt at keeping Emily from getting close to you, she moved your hands aside and pulled you into her.

Another sob escaped you when you realized she didn't vanish. Her scent and the feeling of her stroking your head made you realize, this is real, and she is here, with you.

At this realization though, your knees gave out, and you are no longer able to muster the energy to keep you upright. More broken cries and sobs came from you as Emily dropped to the floor with you, her hold never faltering.

Your fears of her vanishing again were clear in the way you held onto any part of her you could.

As your sobs and cries shifted into stuttering breaths, you began to feel the embarrassment roll over you. You knew you shouldn't be embarrassed for your emotions, especially for showing them in front of Emily. She was always the only one you never hid from. But you were feeling many different things at once, and you couldn't help it.

You pulled back from her and silently wiped your tear-stained face, you knew it wouldn't make a difference though.

It took you a second to remember the reason why Emily returned to begin with, "So, how's the case?"

Guilt took over you again, you made this about yourself, ignoring the much bigger picture that was happening. How could you do that? Leave in the middle of one of the biggest cases the BAU has had in some time.

Emily was clearly confused by your sudden shift, "No no, how are you?"

Sighing, you tried to get the topic off of you, "Emily, we can talk about that later. I've missed a lot of what's happened on the case."

"We haven't made much progress, well, we haven't made any progress. So, I'll ask again, how are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Wanna try that again, 'cause I'm right here." Not a thing changed, she still saw straight through you.

"Before I answer that, I have a question for you."

"Anything."

"If we had caught Doyle on our own, would you have come back? Would you have come back if you didn't have to?"

She paused for a second, "I'd like to think that I would've, yes."

Her political voice was clear as if she were speaking on trial, "Oh, stop the bullshit Emily, I'm not Strauss," She looked a little surprised. "You don't need to be posh when speaking with me. If the real answer was no you could've just said that."

She sighed before speaking, "I won't lie and say I didn't embrace the slight break of things at least a little bit, but it was just as much hell for me as it was for you," You waited for her to explain more because her tone told you she wasn't done. "You mourned the loss of one, I mourned the loss of six. Every day, I lived in fear that Doyle or one of his men would find me and finish what they started. Or worse, they'd find you. And that's why I couldn't tell you. There was a chance that if they found you, going on normally and living your life, they'd know I wasn't actually gone. And they would use you to get to me. And I wasn't going to risk that."

Your tears returned when you saw Emily fighting off her tears, trying to at least keep herself together. That was another way you two were alike.

"I understand why you did what you had to, I really do. A part of me just couldn't help but feel every possible thing." She searched your eyes for something, and she likely already found it.

"Your turn." You knew what she was talking about.

"No, I'm not," You looked at your hands in your lap. "It felt like a huge part of me died with you that day. A part of me that I was certain wouldn't come back. I became reckless on cases, anyone could tell you that, just hoping that if there was anything that could go wrong, it would happen to me. If anything was to happen to someone on the team, it would be me. I guess, I thought that if something did happen, it would bring me to you." You were terrified to meet Emily's gaze, you know the type of look she'd have and you couldn't bare to see it right now.

"Y/n, I-"

"Don't be sorry, please don't be sorry for me." You whispered, looking up to see her with the exact look you didn't want her to have.

"I'm not-"

"Emily, that's the face you make when you have to talk with a victim's family. I know that tone. I don't want you to treat me like one of them because I'm not, nowhere close."

Yes, you did lose the love of your life. Yes, you were utterly lost. And no matter what the hell you were currently feeling, you got her back. She was here and in your arms. And that is what sets you apart from any family of victims.

"I know that," She spoke as she just slightly nodded her head. "Believe me, I do. And I know I'm just a broken record but I'm so sorry. Y/n, I didn't want to go without saying anything to you but I didn't have a choice."

"I know, I was just being selfish. I just wanted you to come back to me, I wanted this to just be a nightmare and I'd wake up and see you sleeping next to me." Emily brought her hand up and caressed your cheek as you finished your sentence.

"Well, I'm back now. And I know we can't take back the time we lost but we can make up for it, we can continue where we left off or we can even start over if that's what you want."

Your eyes search hers, the same russet brown that you longed to see for ages, but you weren't looking for anything in particular, you just missed her. At this moment, seeing and holding her, you said to hell with it. You pulled her back to you and rejoined your lips, deciding that you were ready to be done with the past. After all, it was irrelevant now.

The world was drowned out with her lips on yours, nothing else was important and nothing could pull you from this moment. That is until your phone went off again. You pulled back from Emily with a groan, and a small chuckle came from her.

"You should probably answer that." She followed your eyes to your buzzing phone that was on the coffee table.

You sighed, "Yeah, I don't want Morgan breaking down my door if you guys decide to come for me."

You crawled a few feet's distance towards your phone, a smile coming to your face when you heard Emily's laugh at your comment.

You turned around, leaning against the coffee table as you answered the phone, "Hey, you."

Emily tried to make it seem like she wasn't listening to the call, but she wasn't trying too hard and you saw straight through it.

Garcia squealed as she heard your voice, "OH! Oh my god! Lovey, are you okay? I don't know what I was expecting but I'm glad you picked up! How are you doing?" You chuckled at her antics, her asking a million questions a second.

You looked up at Emily, "I'm okay, now."

"Oh! I'm so glad! As much as I'm glad you're having this reunion, there's been a breakthrough on the case." Just as Garcia asked you if you could come in, your eyes snapped to Emily.

The moment she saw your look, she knew that both of you were needed, of course, she heard what Garcia said but that's unimportant.

Before you made your leave for the office, you opted to shower and change out of your clothes. You may not have been dirty per se, but it was nice to refresh and rid yourself of the past few days.

The smile that came to your face when Emily rested her hand on your thigh during the drive back to the BAU was entirely involuntary, but it was welcomed. There was plenty you two could've been talking about during the drive, plenty to catch up on, but you both just decided to enjoy the silence the both of you shared and enjoy each other's presence.

All eyes were on you when you and Emily walked back into the bullpen, and instead of speaking you just flashed everyone a sheepish smile. You may have blatantly ignored both Hotch and JJ, not quite ready to face them and be the bigger person, and listened to Garcia as she announced the newfound information.

With everything coming together, the team set a plan in action. Of course, you didn't like that Emily was their main play, you just got her back.

Luckily, all went well, except for Doyle being killed but you counted that as a win. But you, Emily, Declan, and everyone else on the team were safe.

"Let's go home." You placed your hands on either side of her face in an attempt to ground her, you knew that what just happened was a lot for her.

She just nodded in acceptance and took your hand, following you back to the car. Everyone else on the team just watched as you both walked away, they would catch up with you both later, they knew that you both just needed each other right now and the paperwork could wait.

Yeah, the last seven months were hell, but that doesn't matter anymore. All that heartache, all the tears, they're irrelevant now that you have Emily in your arms again.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @v3nusxsky @just-your-casual-nerd @pebbleswritessometimes @bigolgay @scream-queenlover @darkth1ngs @sgelessoanddoveykissing. Y’all are my Taglist so you get to see all my characters 🥰

[m0chisenpai]

but you, are mine

˚｡⋆ oberyn martell x black!fem!reader

authors note: Part of the Marie Antoinette series. You don't need to read the other parts but if you'd like more background I'd suggest reading some of the other imagines before this one.

Oberyn loved his son, loves him more than the entirety of his being. Of course he loved each and every one of his daughters. He held no favoritism amongst them all. But a part of him could not help but yearn for a son. And so as you pressed his first son to your flushed, heaving chest he felt his own heave as Ellaria hugged herself behind him. 

"A son..." Oberyn sat himself beside your body. He pressed kiss after kiss to the side of your face, thanking you, praising you. "You did amazing my love, so amazing. Bearing my child is a gift I could never repay. Oh you have given me the greatest of treasures."

Your tired smile was all you could offer as your arms held your first born to your chest as the midwives made work of cleaning you and your babe. You had no words to offer, but Oberyn could see what you wished in that moment.

"Thank you...thank you my love."

Ellaria takes seat besdie his love to lay upon your hand. "You can rest now flower. He will be fine. I will watch over you both." She watches as you allow your eyes to fall shut and carefully pick the cooing babe up for Oberyn to gaze down.

Oh how did we get here? Oberyn wondered as he brushed his knuckles upon his sons cheek. The last nine moons, the pair watched as the beloved girl would die and the woman before him be reborn.

When you first found yourself to be with a child you were beyond furious. You begged the midwife to check again, you’d been careful for years, you were young. Grandmother taught you to not let a single drop taint your womb lest it was legitimate that could bring favor to your house name. And you had too much life ahead of you! But alas the women once more told you that you were with child. You’d miss your flowering twice. It was a telltale sign.

You were calm, too calm as you stood and walked down the stony halls. Maids looked upon your stoic face in concern as they were so used to your joyous greetings. Your gaze was blank, so cold that whispers began to spread among the palace that very day.

There as the assumption you would be shipped back to Highgarden, Oberyn finally disposed of you, your father or mother passing.

Your hand carefully grazed the hidden dagger within your dresses, sliding it beneath your sleeve. You'd only ned to slip your other hand and the thin blade would end any attackers life then and there.

And as you turned the corner you saw the one who cursed you greet you most joyously in your shared chamber.

Oberyn found out when you had taken your most prized gift and pressed it to his throat, cursing him to the gods. Yet despite this predicament he held the most joyous smile with the sharp weapon just inches from putting an end to him. 

"You smile at what you have done to me?" You hiss between clenched teeth.

"Easy my flower, I do not jest. I am truly filled with such joy! A babe oh how long has it been Ellaria-"

"I will find my joy when I have you head!" You press the blade further and for a moment Oberyn swears you are not lying.

Ellaria managed to talk you down, her gentle hand curling around the fist and lowered the slim dagger. She understood your anger was truly the pain of loss, you were becoming a woman. And it was painful. She held you in her arms watching as the anger morphed itself into bitter pain, into sadness that drenched your cheeks with bitter tears that she wiped away.

She walked you to your chambers while Oberyn went to alert his brother of the news.

A legitimate heir for House Martell.

You did not attend the celebration deast that following night, only watcching from the seat of your balcony.

She would try to bring it up in conversations. She offered to send word to your mother about the newborn, you waved it off. You would fall into silence, or spit out a short response. It was as though the thread between the three of you was being pulled tight.

You refused to speak to Oberyn. He first found it to be part of that quick temper he fell in love with. But slowly it festered. Unforgiveness planted seeds which blossomed into a garden of silent hatred. You would mumble to yourself in the mirror, to your stomach at times. He heard you curse it, his little snake. That’s when the thread snapped. The day you cursed the babe back from whence it came. 

As you joined for evening meal your cup flew to hit the wall behind Oberyn's head.

Ellaria's eyes fall shut as she breths deeply through her nose, knowing her own anger would not help either of you.

“It has done nothing against you to earn you bitter hatred!”

“I never wanted it! I never wanted this burden Oberyn! What do you know? You merely plant seeds, but do you know the burden of a mother? My mother told me stories! The pains, the aches, the near death.” You hissed each word. “You’ve damned me and I hate you both!” 

“Take your words back” Oberyn’s voice is hoarse. He could care less about your hatred towards him, but his babe? He refused to allow the child into a world without a mother to love. Your lips pressed tight as your fist shook, and Ellaria wrapped her arms around her lover.

“Let us go Oberyn, give her time to breathe…please.” She begs, her eyes are tired as she guides him out the room, her gaze stares upon your broken resolve before the doors shut, much like your heart. 

You leave the meal there, locking away for the evening, in your personal chamber away from the two. You let a pair of your attending women know to bring more of your belongings and clotbing over.

You and Oberyn found yourselves in a period of silence. When it was time to break fast, enjoy a mid day meal, Ellaria would notice the stiff tension between the two of you. At this point you had just barely begun to show. You hid your bump like it was a dirty secret, like you were ashamed. Your favorite dresses are replaced with ones much looser. You felt disgusting. Your diamonds, and jewels no longer held the shine to them. 

They recieve reports from servants that they have taken extra steps to bathing you and clothng you for the day after havign found you slept through the morning and nearly into the evening.

You start taking more of your meals away in the comfort of your room or in the gardens hidden from the world.

It was a day where Oberyn was needed to attend to his duties, Ellaria was to accompany you. And as she went to your dressing quarters she saw you crumbled to the ground, surrounded by your gowns. Your jewelry scattered as you blubbered incoherently. 

It broke her heart. Because after she watched you quickly fix yourself and whisper harshly to your reflection as you dabbed at your eyes. She watched you pick up broken pieces, and it made her ill as she sat upon your bed waiting for you. When you stepped out you jumped at Ellaria sitting on your bed. “How are you flower?”

And she felt her eyes water as the mask smiled and breathed out, “well.”

Slowly you found yourself sleeping in your personal chambers apart from Ellaria and Oberyn. His heart tore in two. He had forgotten what it was like without your form. He missed how you’d tug the sheets to yourself on the more chilly nights. Or how Ellaria managed to always hold you to her chest and massage your head till your slow breaths lulled him to sleep. 

He wonders if you can sleep well, att his point surely your back is aching. He should be there to aid you in this tender time.

But all eh can do is allow his hand to lay upon your spot.

You were at the stage of aching. You could no longer run after the girls in the gardens. You couldn’t keep your meals down, Oberyn nearly broke down your door hearing your whimpers and curses in your bed chamber as you heaved. One of the midwives would sit beside your side, dabbing at your damp head with cold towels, messaging your back and belly with oils.

Your personal maidens rubbed at your feet, offering old wives tales and trcks to get through it.

You sit outside more often finding the fresh air to be a help.

They’d deliver updates to Oberyn daily, the babe was healthy and fine as was the mother. How she was moving a bit more, keeping some food down. A sad smile found its way to his face when she informed the prince how she adored cherries. You would sneak bowls of them in your rooms and the servants would find bowls filled with stems and seeds. 

So now he makes sure every morning you awaken to a bowl beside your chaise. He imagines feeding them to you as you lay int he gardens. But all he can do is watxh from his own window as you pluck a cherry while the girls surround you.

“Ellaria,” he never sounded so broken in his life, “have I truly cursed her. My precious rose.” 

She can only wrap him into her arms and kiss his tears away. “No my love.”

A trip, just you and Ellaria. She asked, no, she demanded you two would go away while you. Oberyn bid his paramour a safe travel, he said the same to you, but you kept your eyes ahead, hands folded beneath your aching stomach. The villa was set atop a hill. You remember Oberyn bringing you to see it.

This would be the girls second time and they loved it just as much as their first with you.

They ran throughout the halls, enjoying their echoes as they each found their rooms and the servants brought in your trunks. You were too tired and fell aslep the moment your room was settled, but the girls brought your supper to your room telling you of all their adventures.

"And we saw this crab Aunty Y/N but then ever more of them started springing up from the sands!!"

"Oh did you my love? Careful let me-"

"No let us please Aunty Y/N?" Oh how could you say no to those big brown eyes? You smiled as you let the girls feed you bread and broth and tell you more of the day until Ellaria told them to allow you to get rest.

It felt incomplete without him there. You hate to admit as you lay in your bed eyeing the space where he would surely be. Instead you find Ellaria's back, and you press your eyes tight to get some rest.

You sat on the beach beside watching the girls dance about in the waters. Ellaria picked up Loreza twirling her in her arms eliciting a gleeful cry of joy that in turn made you smile. They asked if you would join, but you declined. The warmth heat was making you sleepy and you didn't want to fall ill. 

The sun slowly began to set and the girls sat upon their own blankets eating whatever pastries and meats the villas cooks provide in woven baskets. You managed to hold down a few berries, sipping on cool water.

“My love,” Ellaria stood looking down at you. Your eyes gazed down at her hand which she offered to you. “The water should be much cooler now.” Her arm draped around your back in support that eased some of the pains. She matched your slow steps not once rushing you, and when the gentle waves hit your feet you let out a small groan. 

It felt like heaven surrounded you as you waded in more, pulling your skirts up to avoid getting them drenched. Ellaria smiled from beside you as your eyes stared out to the golden sun. Your eyes looked down as you stepped onto something hard and smooth.

“Mama! Auntie Y/N! Look!”

“For the baby.” 

You smiled down at the little one taking the small pouch of shells. “I am sure the little one will love them”

The storm had blown past. You and Oberyn work slowly day by day to build back the relationship you had. Apologies are exchanged. Affection returns slowly but surely. And by the time your water has broken, you cling to Oberyn and push through hours of painful labor demanding he stay by your side.

The moon sbines bright when you finally awaken, and he sits beside you, gazing fondly at the baby situated in a bundle of blankets beside you. Ellaria helps you to sit up tucking the sheets over your lap.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“No, not yet. I think that’s a gift Oberyn is worthy of.”

“Oh my love..." Ellaria cooed softly as she sat beside Oberyn, her hands brushing your curls off your damp forehead. Her nimble fingers smoothed back the baby's soft curls. He was so quiet, so beautiful. A beautiful combination of yourself and Oberyn. 

Oberyn begged to name him and who were you to withhold it. And so now as he lovingly gazes upon the bundle of life swaddled in the softest of blankets in Dorne. His eyes scrunched tight, silent gurgles that pull at his heart. He reaaches down to bring his son to his face to place a kiss upon his forehead.

"Orion, my first and beloved son" Oberyn breathes.

[indomitablemegnolia]

So, on an off chance that I will be heard I leave this mark on the world. I believe that kindness, compassion are the things that can heal the world; not that I believe it could ever be a great…err good place, but it is our home. I believe people are beautiful; albeit I can’t seriously say all people.

I… live; I am alive; how…why… possibly purely out of spite. They tell me I am going to die… I have been in a plane crash; head on car collision; been beaten… attacked left bleeding; and always yet I am alive. In my life I have done 18 rounds of chemotherapy; I plant a garden, watch the butterflies and bees do their work; I see the blue of the sky, the clouds and the rain with the iridescent rainbow edge of the water refraction. The trees glorious in their stoic watch they keep of the world, the colour of the leaves… they comfort.

I have a inoperable brain tumor; I had eighteen lymph nodes and 11 Foot of intestine and colon removed. I have had seizures; gods they are like slipping off the edge of the world. Its kind of hard to see out of my left eye, but this is all old news. Three days before Christmas I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, my neurologist says it is well advanced; the medication he wants to put me on is hugely expensive; $7600 a dose. My insurance denied it; like a good self- advocate I called to make sure it was not coded wrong. It was not; the man on the phone begins to tell me how lucky a static zero like me to even get the chemotherapy, I am currently enjoying; a bit of a exaggeration of that last word. I proceeded to dress him down in return; using static zero, an occurrence that happens in a magnetic current where no matter how much current is added or subtracted it the pole still stays at zero; he obviously studied to be an electrical engineer; but alas he is stuck in a dime a dozen human squawk box on the end of the phone being directed by an A.I. program; explaining why he lacked kindness or empathy.

I know he was trying to cleverly insult me, I kind of took that as a compliment; no matter what I “gain,” or “lose" I am still here. New diagnosis new research; and gosh, it’s hard to keep optimistic. I have never gained much; I am a loser most often; lost my dogs last month, as well as three cats; lost my car it just stopped wanting to start; lost my ability to taste and swallow; lost at my one single try at love; lost my home; lost every foray, so far, at tying for disability; lost my favourite sunglasses; hell I lost a one hundred bill to a Buddhist monk. Though I have not lost my sense of humour or my unique style.

You see when you kind of borrow the idea of perfect imperfection and ichi I, ichi go; the idea of treasuring the unrepeatable nature of a moment. The term has been roughly translated as "for this time only", and "once in a lifetime". In that simple truth all were never really mine; though they were all mine for a moment. I do wish I had a friend to talk this new development with… but I don’t want to weight down another human with all of this. I am seeking out a counselor I have an appointment on the 9th, I just don’t know sometimes; the world continues to get more and more curious.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose @mousedetective @writernotwaiting @notpedeka @