#I’m so exhausted and tired and I just want to sleep

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter three: A Stormy Prison

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8

When you woke the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty. Only the faint indentation of his body and lingering warmth remained, a ghostly reminder that he had been there at all.

You stared at the disheveled sheets, the blankets tangled on the floor from your restless sleep. The hollow ache of exhaustion clung to your limbs as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stretched, wincing as your muscles protested.

The cool marble tiles sent a chill up your spine as you padded toward the bathroom. You caught sight of your reflection in the mirror—tired, worn down, dark circles blooming under your eyes.

You let out a low grunt, running a hand down your face. “This marriage is going to kill me,” you muttered, rubbing at your eyes with cold fingers in a futile attempt to wake yourself up.

Still in your pajamas, you shuffled toward the kitchen, the cold seeping into your feet. The vast, modern space greeted you with gleaming stainless steel and muted tones of black and white—so sterile it felt lifeless. Even the sharp lines and sleek marble failed to distract from the suffocating emptiness.

You poured yourself a large cup of coffee and carried it into the sitting room, seeking the comfort of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The rain outside streaked the glass, casting long shadows across the room as you watched the storm churn over the horizon. The sight of crashing waves against jagged rocks should have been calming—wild, free—but here, it was nothing more than another reminder of your confinement.

Something caught your eye. A black envelope lay on the table, tied with a pink bow so neatly that it almost seemed mocking.

You approached cautiously, setting your coffee aside. Your fingers trembled as you slipped the bow loose and unfolded the thick, expensive paper inside.

Dear Y/N,

I wanted to make you aware that as the new month begins, so do the next games. The search for players will begin tomorrow. As the Frontman’s wife, you are responsible for ensuring the VIPs are comfortable upon their arrival for the third game and beyond. I trust you will exceed expectations and meet their needs accordingly.

Frontman

Your stomach twisted as you reread the letter. The cold formality stung more than you expected—there was no warmth, no personal touch, just a command disguised as a trustful obligation.

You muttered bitterly, “He barely speaks to me in person, but now I’m supposed to cater to murderous sociopaths?”

Frustration burned under your skin, but the anger simmered into unease. Defying him wasn’t an option, and you didn’t want to know what would happen if you failed.

———————

You wandered the sitting room, pacing back and forth as if movement could quiet the storm in your mind. Every thought circled back to the letter, to the looming responsibility you hadn’t agreed to, to the husband who you rarely interacted with.

The storm outside raged, casting shadows across the room. The view from the massive windows should have brought peace, with its dramatic cliffs and sprawling sea, but instead, it felt like a boundary. Beyond it was a world you would never touch.

The sky darkened slowly, the colors shifting from bruised purples to deep indigos as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon. You lingered by the glass, your hand pressed to its cold surface.

You missed freedom.

Solemnly, you remembered driving late at night with friends, the windows down, music blaring as laughter filled the air. Convenience store snacks, city lights blurring past, the simple thrill of existing in a world without chains.

You blinked back the ache that settled in your chest. Here, you weren’t living. You were surviving.

No matter your words to him last night about how you weren’t one of his contestants, you sure felt like one.

Hours later, your eyes finally felt heavy with sleep. You trudged to the bedroom, yawning as you tugged at your sleeves. You had worn the same pajamas all day, and for a moment, you debated whether to bother changing.

A strange thought surfaced—what would he think if he noticed?

You shook your head, scowling. “Why should I care?”

But you did.

With a huff, you peeled off your clothes, pulling on something fresh before slipping into bed. The sheets were cool against your skin, and the weight of the blankets provided a fleeting comfort as your eyes grew heavy.

You didn’t stir when he returned.

The door clicked softly as he entered, his heavy steps faltering for a moment as he saw you peacefully in bed before he resumed.

He removed his boots with a clatter, the sound sharp against the stillness. The mask followed, placed carefully on the nightstand, a hollow, impassive face staring into nothing.

His jacket crumpled into a forgotten heap on the floor.

The bed creaked as he collapsed onto it, exhaustion dragging him under before his head fully hit the pillow.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you reached across the space between you.

And yet, in the quiet darkness, you both lay beneath the same roof, trapped by circumstance.

———————

Alright that is the third chapter! I’m wondering if I should make this a large series? Let me know what you think! :)

Tag list:

@sunny21200

@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

@allmylovegoestomusic

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@livelaughcelica

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@write-from-the-heart

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Ahem can I request what shadow would do with his s/o when they have nightmares?

A/n: I've actually only had a nightmare once, and I don't really consider what I had one, so idk how well this is written

Shadow x s/o with nightmare

You wake up with a jolt, your heart pounding against your ribs. you shook ad you heaved in and out heavily. The room is dark, but you can make out Shadow’s silhouette, sitting in his usual spot by the window. He’s always up late, either lost in thought or silently keeping watch. His eyes flick to you almost immediately, keen as ever to notice the change in your breathing.

"You’re awake," he states, his voice low and quiet, more an observation than a question. He’s by your side in moments, moving with the same silent precision you’ve grown used to. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he sits beside you, his hand hesitating before settling gently on your shoulder.

"You had another one, didn’t you?" Shadow asks, softer this time. His voice, though stern, had a touch of concern in it.

You nod, unable to find your voice yet. The nightmare still fresh in your mind as you tried to regulate your breaths. Shadow notices. Of course he notices. He’s always observant when it comes to you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, his hand shifting to rest against your back, a small gesture of comfort that feels grounding.

You shake your head. "I... I don’t know. I don’t think it’ll help."

Shadow’s eyes narrow slightly, not out of irritation but in thought. He knows nightmares well, too well. He knows the weight they leave, how they linger like a shadow you can’t shake. Still, he doesn’t push you. That’s one thing you appreciate about him, he respects your boundaries, even if he’s tempted to press further for your own sake.

"All right," he says after a moment, standing abruptly, grabbing a blanket. "Come on."

You blink, startled. "What?"

"You’re not going back to sleep like this," he says matter-of-factly. "We’re going outside."

"Outside? Shadow, it’s the middle of the night!"

"Fresh air helps clear your head," he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Trust me."

You sigh but find yourself sliding out of bed anyway. there was no poing in arguing, and frankly you were too tired to anyways.

Shadow leads you out to the quiet woods near your home, the two of you walking in comfortable silence. The cold night air nipped at your skin, but Shadow draped the blabket he took over your shoulders keeps you warm. He walks just ahead, glancing back every so often to make sure you’re keeping up. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting silvery patches on the ground, and you find yourself focusing on the sound of his footsteps and the rustle of leaves.

After a while, Shadow stops at a clearing. He gestures for you to sit, spreading the blanket out on the grass. "Here," he says, sitting beside you. He tilts his head back to look at the sky. "Look."

You follow his gaze. The stars are brilliant tonight, scattered across the inky sky like shards of a diamond. For a moment, you forget entirely about the nightmare as you gaze up at the night sky.

"Better?" Shadow asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod. "Yeah. Thanks."

He doesn’t say anything, but the slight upward twitch of his mouth tells you enough. Shadow leans back on his hands, his usual stoicism softening in the starlight. "You’re stronger than you think," he murmurs after a while. "Whatever it is you’re afraid of... it will not overtake you. Not while I’m here."

The two of you sit there in comfortavle silence for a moment.

Eventually, he nudges your shoulder gently. "You should try to sleep. I’ll keep watch."

You hesitate, but the exhaustion tugs at you. Lying down on the blanket, you close your eyes, taking in the nights hidden sounds. Cricket chirping, the leaves of the trees around you gently clashing against each other and shadiws steady breathing next to you. It was all almost harmonious.

As sleep starts to claim you, the last thing you hear is his voice, low and steady "I’ve got you. Nothing will hurt you while I’m here."

[kruegerspillow]

the look of love ; jayce talis pt.2

creators note: sigh i lowkey made this half awake so i hope this isnt too bad. still, i hope you all enjoy this !!

word count: 2k

warnings: reader is a Zaunite, Piltovans being a bunch of dicks and not proofread.

part one — part two — part three

Work.

His own work haunted him, always chasing him like a shadow; sticking onto him like a curse. He swore to act according to his reputation— the man of progress. But, despite the distractions: the gala, Mel, and Viktor— he can't ignore the people who won't stop breathing down his neck. It was frustrating, to say the least. Even the most sociable creatures get tired of the constant chattering, and today was no different.

Another gala, it was announced. Another, another and another. It’s the same every damn year.

But Jayce never complained. Will he ever? Probably not. He's now apart of the Council, anyway.

The bright lights nearly blinded Jayce upon entering the edifice. The chattering from others became clearly audible now. Jayce adjusted his tie, greeting one person to another as he made his way to the main hall. His legs moved on its own, easily squeezing in and out of the crowds.

“Yep, ah, yeah, sorry there.” He apologized almost awkwardly, stumbling through the horde of people here and there.

The people of Piltover, of course, looked at him with utter respect, having no idea how exhausted he was. His hands constantly trembled from the lack of sleep and his hair had started to be more disheveled by the day. His popularity was something that he’s used to these days, though he did not fully cherish it. On some days he even despise it. Jayce had always wondered how easy it’ll be to disappoint these people if he didn’t live up to their expectations.

“The Golden Boy of Piltover is here!” People whispered to each other with every step they took, gazes locked onto him as if he was some kind of God. They’d blindly worship the ground he stepped on, if they were asked to.

Jayce brushed off the praises and words, trying his hardest to not start another awkward conversation with these Pilties. That was, until he spotted you, in the corner of the room. You were sipping your wine, swirling it in your glass with a carefree look on your face. For you, the room smelled of polished wood and fine wine, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the Undercity air. Even the way people moved here—graceful, deliberate—seemed like an art form.

Jayce’s heartbeat quickened, his face heating up like some kind of deer caught in headlights. He didn’t want to be seen like this, well, he didn’t have a reason to, did he?

“—Jayce?” A familiar voice called out to him, so sweetly—so soothingly, that he almost fell onto his knees like an idiot.

His head immediately twisted towards the source of the sound, just to find Mel, who’d been staring at him with an almost… confused look. One of her eyebrows raised as she took in the sight of Jayce.

“Ah, Mel, yes. You— you must be here for some kind of political favour?” Jayce asked abruptly, seemingly lost in his own world. That caught Mel’s attention. Political favour? Where'd he get that from?

“No… no, I’m not. I just wanted to converse, that’s all. Though, you seem to be busy at the moment,” she paused. “Whether it’s busy admiring someone from afar or busy with your own work, it doesn’t matter. So, if I may—I’ll bother you next time.”

He cursed himself in the inside, feeling his thoughts turn into a jumbled mess as Mel gave him a small nod of understanding, walking away to talk with other members of the Council. Jayce could’ve sworn that he saw that smirk on her face, and he mentally facepalmed himself. He made himself look like a fool—in front of the Council that he’s most fond of.

A small, defeated sigh left his lips before his gaze returned to you. You didn’t move a single inch from when he’d spotted you. The gears turned in his head slowly but surely, before he made his choice. It’s his chance to finally talk to you, ever since the day of his speech—and he won't waste it.

And like they said, one may die from curiosity.

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before striding towards you. His steps were steady and calculated, a stark contrast to his beating heart. You looked… magnificent, though he won't admit it himself.

“Hey there,” he'd greeted you awkwardly, standing by your side with a small smile on his lips. Very out of character for the Man of Progress.

His sudden appearance nearly caught you off guard, causing you to look at him wide eyed. With that look on your face, he could only wish that he didn't give you the worst first impression of him. His shoulders tensed momentarily, taking in every detail of your expression. Was there confusion? Indifference?

“Oh? Council Jayce, fancy seeing you here.” You quipped, your voice nearly coming out as a purr.

“Yes, yes. Missing the gala would be… a very unprofessional move from one of the Council members themselves, no?” He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You laughed softly, “hm, fair enough.”

A few seconds of silence passed with only the sound of chattering from others present in his conversation with you. Sweat slid down his palm as he thought of a way to create a smooth flow for the interaction.

“And you are…?” He started.

You paused briefly, amused by the sudden question. The Man of Progress himself is right in front of you with the intention of... getting to know you? Surprising. Your gaze fixed on Jayce's, meeting his hypnotizing hazel eyes that nearly got you in trance. A soft smile tugged from the corner of your lips before you gave him your name.

“Great, it's nice meeting you.” He replied, his mind already chanting your name. “Sorry, where are you from?”

A sigh escaped your lips as you pondered about your answer, “the unpleasant Undercity.”

He noticed the shift in your tone as your gaze moved from him to the crowd of people around you. He'd heard about how differently the Pilties had treated the people of Zaun—it was something that's quite hard to go unnoticed, especially for someone like him. His eyes softened at the mention of Zaun. On the contrary, his muscles tensed beneath his suit.

Zaun wasn't a place that everyone was fond of. It was full of crime, very much unhinged people and so, so much controversy. Though ever since Viktor, his view on the Undercity had shifted a little. Just a little. He's no longer so… defensive around Zaunites, though his full trust wasn't fulfilled—yet. In understanding, he pushed the topics away, wishing to create a comfortable atmosphere for both you and him.

On the other hand, the abrupt silence was unnerving for you. In fear of making him perturbed, you quickly thought of a way to ease the sudden tight atmosphere.

“Sorry, I know it's not the best place to reside from.” You blurt out.

“Wait, no, it's alright, really. I know what it's like.” Jayce quickly assured you, “no judgement from me.”

You gave him a nod of appreciation, hoping that you could change the topic as quickly as possible. You raised your glass to your lips, the wine sliding down your throat with a burning sensation.

“So, how do you like the Gala so far?” He (thankfully) asked, pushing the previous topic away.

“... Loud, fancy, cheerful, you know? I feel like I don't belong here as a Zaunite,” you attempted a poorly made joke.

“Hey, don't say that." He jested, though his voice held a serious edge to it. “This Gala is not exclusive for Piltovans—well, it might seem like it, but no, it isn't. I know some Zaunites are... capable and worthy.”

“You really think so?”

“I've seen them with my own eyes,” he paused before leaning in. “You.”

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you watched him, a soft look present in his eyes before he straightened his posture once again. Jayce could feel his own heartbeat quicken, not knowing why he'd made that risky move that could possibly shatter the upcoming bond between the both of you.

“Well, I'm flattered.” You admitted, “though, I'm curious. What makes you think that?”

“Seeing you in the Piltover Academy is enough.”

“Ah, so you saw me during your speech?”

He flashed you a nervous, toothy grin at your reply. He didn't think that you would make a remark about that. He gulped, shaking his head in disbelief as his face heated up.

“It's... It's hard to not notice, especially with unfamiliar faces, y'know?” He countered, his demeanor quickly changing.

A small laugh escaped your lips as you nodded in understanding, placing your empty wine glass aside. His shoulders slumped in an almost defeated way.

“I believe you, don't worry—”

A sudden voice erupted, “Councilor Jayce, tell us more about your upcoming inventions!”

The enjoyment from the conversation was quick to fade away as Piltovans, specifically interviewers, began to approach Jayce, overwhelming him with all kinds of questions about his inventions and the Hextech gemstones.

“What's your most complex invention of all time?”

“Why hasn't the Hextech company created a Hexstrap?”

Jayce was quickly crowded with questions, losing sight of your figure as the amount of interviewers gradually increased by the second.

“This wasn’t what progress was supposed to feel like,” Jayce thought bitterly, his forced smile faltering as the questions bombarded him.

He watched as people brushed you away as if you were nothing. Frustration bubbled up inside of him as his gaze shifted from one person to another. At this point, they were invading his privacy.

“I—uh, sorry, can't you see that I'm busy?” Jayce grunted, the tone of his voice was filled with hidden anger.

His brows furrowed as he made his way out of the crowd, leaving some Piltovans stunned at his small outburst. He'd never been seen like this—all worked up and hot-headed.

“Sorry, excuse me.” He murmured underneath his breath, trying to not bump into another interviewer.

His mood immediately dropped as he watched you from afar, your back turned against him as you walked to the exit. His eyes widened, almost pleading before he quickened his pace. He didn't care about the eyes that stared daggers into his figure. He kept his gaze on you before managing to catch up to you. Softly, he called out your name, causing your movements to halt.

“Jayce?” You called back, your voice softer than before. “You didn't need to chase—”

“Why're you leaving?” He unintentionally cut you off, his voice breathless.

You fully faced him, watching as his chest heaved up and down. Your eyes met his gaze, the confusion and desperation evident in his hazel eyes.

“Figured that I should rest, I have work to do soon, anyway.” You replied casually.

Jayce paused, disappointment seeping in. “I see. Right, right. Get some rest, okay?”

“Of course, you too.”

“If you don't mind, we can... meet up in the Hextech lab tomorrow? I'll—probably be there for the whole day, with my partner, Viktor. He's... he's a Zaunite, too. We can talk more tomorrow, come anytime, will you?”

The mention of another Zaunite working together with him piqued your interest. You took in his words, nodding along before making up your mind.

“Sounds nice, I'll see you there tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

And with that, you withdrew yourself from the conversation. You shot him an appreciative smile, knowing that not all Piltovans were kind enough to even acknowledge the presence of a Zaunite.

His eyes softened, mouth agape as you turned your back on him once again. He didn't know why he felt so... drawn to you. There was something about the way you carried yourself—aloof, yet grounded. You didn't clamor for his attention or approval. You simply existed.

As you disappeared from his sight, he'd noticed the soft look on your face, hiding away the disappointment and hurt from how the Piltovans had pushed you away. His heart was about to burst, the frustration still present inside of him, because deep inside, he understood why the Piltovans had treated you like that—but he wished he hadn't. He shook his head in disbelief, and with a final murmur of your name, he dragged his body back into the Gala.

mini taglist: @blueorchid-rain, @sseleniaa

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Content Warning: Description of death, blood, pregnancy

Something was off.

The daily walk home from the shop felt like a marathon, everything just felt so exhausting lately. This earned many concerned glances from Khargaad as the two of you reached the end of the season’s harvest. You spent many a moment slumped on your knees, hands folded in your lap.

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” He tilted his canteen to your lips, letting you take a sip of his water. You wiped your brow, “I know, I’m just… so tired all the time.”

“Hmmm...” He stroked the back of your head, ignoring how sweaty and gross you were from working, “Let’s finish up for today, does that sound good?”

You nodded weakly, shouting no protest as he scooped you up in his arms. Before you knew it you were sitting in the grass outside of his tent. You almost fell asleep right there before you heard the lighting of a fire, and sloshing of water from the creek. You opened your eyes, seeing him filling a large washbasin.

Before long steam rose from the surface of the basin and you felt hands pulling at the strings of your tunic. “Let me take care of this.” Khargaad’s voice cooed in that special way that could melt you. He undressed you and led you by your hand to the basin, letting you step in to the deliciously hot water before undressing himself. He settled behind you in the water, pulling you onto his lap.

There was nothing sexual or suggestive about the way his touch landed on your skin. Just tender and caring. He lathered you in soap and massaged your muscles, eventually letting you sink your back into his chest. He rested one hand on your tummy, rubbing therapeutic circles into you.

“Maybe you should take it easier?” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder. You huffed, “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” His tone did not sound entirely confident in your statement, but he accepted it nonetheless. That night he walked you home, clothed in his shirt that fit you like a dress. Tucked into bed, you could hear him and your mother chatting outside but their words were undecipherable.

-

It wasn’t just you that was off now. Every day of the following week you found your mother waking up before you to making breakfast.

“Oh my darling, I don’t want to hear it. Sleep in and get some rest.”

Khargaad now consistently walked you to and from the town square, making sure to come and give you a kiss on the cheek in the mornings before leaving to hunt.

Today, you were clearing out a junk closet in the shop, too busy to hear the door open behind you.

“Now this really is low, y/n.”

You hadn’t heard that voice in ages. Not since Khargaad had scared Milo out of your shop all those weeks ago. You shot up, looking behind you to see Milo with a rather sickened look on his face.

“Surely you haven’t been fucking that orc?”

You clenched your fists, wrapping a tighter grip on the pocket knife you already had in your hand. “Get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Won’t be yours for long. You won’t make it through winter.”

“Guess you’re right because we’ll be long gone by then.” You retorted with a cocky confidence.

“Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed.

Perhaps you should shut your big mouth now. “Nothing.” Your voice wavered unconvincingly. He took a step towards you.

“No, not nothing. You have something planned. You and that mother of yours. Maybe even that big stupid orc, whore.”

You raised the knife threateningly, “Milo, you need to leave now.” You tried your best to put on an air of confidence, but you had quite possibly put all of the plans in jeopardy. Milo lacked the honor and dignity which would stop a regular person from doing a terrible thing in the name of vengeance.

He huffed, turning around to leave. On his way out, he slammed the door with such force that it shattered a pane of glass on the door. You turned your head just slightly, seeing Khargaad standing on the other end of the square. It seemed as if he had just returned from his hunt to catch Milo storming out, and based on his heaving shoulders he was fuming.

It was a tense walk home.

“Are you… angry with me?” You were bewildered by his demeanor. He stopped in his tracks, getting down on one knee to get on your level.

“No. No no no. How… could I be angry with you?” He was so sweet, so calm. You sighed, cupping his cheek, “You’re just so tense, so angry-“

“I’m scared, y/n.” He cut you off. You didn’t like seeing him like this. He was shaking a little bit, “I’m scared of him. Before I met you, we happened to frequent the same taverns every now and then. I’ve heard him say things that frighten me. I don’t think he would hesitate to hurt you or your mother.”

You knew this just as well as he did. Khargaad had brought his hand up to your waist, thumbing over your stomach. It seemed soothing to him.

“We need to develop a plan. Now.” You pulled on him to follow you. The sooner you were out of town the better, and didn’t like the idea of Milo possibly being clued in on that fact.

-

“Within the next two weeks, at the very least.” Your mother proclaimed at the dining table. Khargaad nodded, crossing his arms satisfiedly. You just sat there dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry. two weeks? Why does it seem like you two had this worked out before we even sat down!”

They were shooting nervous glances at each other.

“Well-“

“You've-“

They had both started at the same time, stumbling over each other’s words. There was something going on. You shot up, pointing two accusatory fingers at them, “Ma! You start first. Then Khargaad. Go.”

The woman stared down at her hands twiddling her thumbs, “Well… what I was going to say was… you sure you’ve been feeling alright lately sweetheart?” You stood there baffled, did they think you were about to be on your deathbed or something? Khargaad breathed out,

“You’ve missed a period.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but as you wracked your brain you realized, by the Gods, the orc was right. You disregarded the fact that he had seemingly been tracking your cycles in secret. A lot of things began making sense as the reality set in.

How daft did you have to be for these two to figure out you were pregnant before your own self. The bottom of your lip quivered as you tried to figure out a rational response to the situation. Maybe… maybe it was just a random fluke in your cycle. Maybe it was something else. This wasn’t a part of the plan. You hadn’t accounted for a baby at all.

A warm hand slipped around yours. Khargaad was staring at you with unbridled adoration, tears running down his face. You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed your mother leave the room.

“Talk to me.” His voice was shaking, it almost sounded like a plea. As if waiting for you to break your silence on this was his own personal form of torture.

“I- I- What are we going to-“ The words tried to clumsily fall from your lips. You lifted the edge of your tunic, staring down at the bare stomach, and sure enough there was the slight bump that hadn’t eased on its own. It was so subtle that you had been writing it off as merely bloat. But now, you looked down and couldn’t see it any other way.

“Oh my Gods.” You began to cry a confusing mixture of happy and scared tears. Clearly the pull-out method was not entirely dependable. You looked back at your lover, still with tears streaming down his own face.

“When I realized you might be… oh merciful gods I was terrified too.” He laughed weakly, squeezing your hand, “I can’t speak on how you must be feeling right now. But…” He sniffled, “…You’re not alone.”

It started with a low chuckle, then you broke into a full laugh. Khargaad looked at you, bewildered, as if maybe this was the (giant) straw that broke the camels back.

“We need to leave. Not even in two weeks. In one week. In a couple days. I need to close up the shop, we need to pack-“ You were rambling frantically.

“So… so you want to keep it?”

You almost choked on your own words, looking down at Khargaad who was still sitting in his chair. He was afraid to admit how thrilled he was, his worst fear was making you feel pressured by his own feelings. After all, it was your decision in the end.

“Oh Khargaad,” you took his hand and placed it on your stomach, “all I’m thinking is what kinda person they’re gonna be. Will they be an artist? A hunter? An explorer?”

He giggled through his tears, pulling you close to nuzzle his head into your stomach. The dull ends of his tucks grazed over your skin. “Whoever they may be, they will know the overwhelming love of their mother and father.”

This was surreal. You had been so caught up dealing with life, the thought of a baby was completely foreign to you. Yet here you were, being confronted by the idea in the most literal way possible. Then a thought struck you.

“Khargaad, we’re going to your home, right?”

He nodded, still practically purring into your stomach like a cat. “They won’t be… angry that you’re with a human?” He shook his head, “‘Course not, my brother Vakgar’s been with his husband Thierry for six years now. We love that guy.” His voice was muffled into your skin.

You sighed, coming down from the emotional high of this entire situation. “We’ll need a wagon, a big one. Probably one? No, two strong draft horses. And then-“ your mind was already picking up from where it left off, you scrambled for a piece of paper and quill to write it all down.

“Hush my love. Me and your Ma have it handled. Just say the word and we can be packed and ready in three days.”

“Well consider this the word. Let’s go. I… don’t want to stay around and wait for it to start showing.” He knew you were talking about Milo. The last thing you all needed was him finding out about this.

“Yes we agree. Definitely.” Khargaad replied, making his way to the door. “Will you need to go back into town again?” It was clear he wanted the answer to be no, but he would be disappointed unfortunately. “Just one more day.” You responded with a sorry look in your eyes. The two of you came to a compromise, you would do what you needed to do for that day, only if you didn't leave his sight for even on second. And you could only go into town once the lot of you were good and ready to leave. In case you needed to make a run for it.

He marched over to you, pulling you into a long deep kiss.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain. Hanging from it was an engraved gold ring.

“I’ve been holding on to this for… uhm. Hehe. I bought it a couple weeks ago. And I thought… I thought had gotten a good fit but then I slipped it on your finger in your sleep and it was like hilariously large and then all of this started and I didn’t want you to think I was only doing this because you’re pregnant. I was always going to-“

You cut him off with a giggle, letting the ring fall into the palm of your hand.

“Yes, I’ll marry you Khargaad.”

-

The next three days felt like a whirlwind. Khargaad FINALLY had a valid excuse to stop you from lifting heavy things and he was being entirely greedy about it.

“Don’t over-exert yourself love.”

You were carrying a basket of jars, probably not more than 15 pounds. You rolled your eyes playfully, “I can’t just sit around-“

He gently took the basket out of your hands, kissing you atop the head, “Now, this evening we’re gonna be in and out, as fast as possible right?”

You nodded, cradling your stomach. With a dress on it as impossible to notice.

As the sun began to set, Khargaad followed you into town. All you needed to do was put your remaining merchandise outside the door, writing a sign that said “free, please take.” It wasn’t much anyways, you could live without the small amount of coin you were gonna lose.

With the job done, the two of you hurried off. The path back to your cottage was a long dirt road, and eventually he just scooped you into his arms to pick up the pace. As a skilled hunter, Khargaad was very aware as to how vulnerable the two of you were right now.

And then he heard it. A clicking noise, frighteningly similar to the mechanical sound of someone loading a crossbow. Most would have never been able to distinguish the difference between this noise and any other normal forest sound.

He was reacting before you could register the sound of something whizzing through the air. You screamed, feeling yourself falling on your ass in the dirt. Khargaad clenched his shoulder, his dark thick blood beginning to bubble through his fingers. The two of you reeled around, seeing Milo standing in the middle of the path struggling to reload his crossbow.

The following moment which occurred felt like slow motion. Like one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you run, you can’t get your feet to move faster than a snail pace.

Khargaad hadn’t been directly hit, but the thick iron arrow from Milo’s weapon had grazed him leaving a nasty gash in his shoulder. The orc had a frenzied look in his eyes, like he was stuck in some sort of waking paralysis, unable to move his feet.

You looked back at Milo, still struggling and now yelling curses, and back to the serrated bowie knife Khargaad always kept on his waist.

As the classic saying goes: kill or be killed.

-

There were things you were always going to remember about this night, like the whites of Milo’s eyes as you hurled the knife into his thin sinewy neck, the heat of his blood spurting on your face, the taste of iron when it got into your mouth. His strangled final breaths, understanding leaving his eyes.

You were yanking Khargaad in a jog behind you, seeing the lights of the cottage ahead. The covered wagon was set to go, horses bridled. You thanked the Gods for his foresight to insist on having everything ready like this. Your mother was standing outside, lantern in hand. She nearly fainted when the two of you were close enough for her to register the scene.

“You’re bleeding!”

“He is.” You insisted, climbing into the back, “Ma, you need to take the reigns, we need to go. Now.”

She snapped her senses, clambering onto the front and balling her fists around the leather. If there were two things you could thank your father for, it was teaching your mother how to steer a horse-drawn wagon, and the years of practice you got out of dressing his wounds after bar fights. You pulled Khargaad into the back, drawing the folds closed and hanging the lantern above the two of you. The bottles and supplies in your first aid kit glinted menacingly

“This will be unpleasant, my love. I’m sorry.”

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786 @sadsilver @shellyyyyy0000 @thecreativeblueberry-blog @lovingbadguys

[limetameta]

Tell me about A short life of trouble

It's a scene from chapter 8 of Mr Eye of Zaun I had to cut! I'll try to rework bits of it later in the story because I really like it :)

’’I’m very tired.’’

Vander regards him, with his very own exhaustion. They’re bare, in the solace of drunken privacy. Stripped from the strength it takes to keep the flame of animosity lit.

’’Yeah,’’ he simply agrees. ’’I’ve been tired for a while now, too.’’

Silco closes his eye and leans back, rolling his shoulders back and ignoring the cracks. He opens his eye and, now staring up, glares at the overhead light hitting him in the face. ’’You aren’t going to ask what the photographs were about?’’

’’I figured it was because of a con I didn’t want to know about.’’ Vander’s taking stock of the amount of liquor left in his bottles. He’s writing things down, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Silco nods. He’s now leaning forward on the bar, so he rests his upper body on it, and ignores the light. Instead he watches Vander. Doing the mundane. An ache twists within him, like that of a dagger ripping apart his guts, slashing them open and out into the open. ’’The Chem Barons believe I am prey, and that I have spent too long pretending otherwise.’’ He puts one elbow on the bar, to better support himself, otherwise he’ll hit his teeth on the bar and that’ll be the end of his evening. ’’So until I can fully show my teeth, I must pretend that I am protected. When,’’ he makes sure to stress, because he notices, out of the corner of his eye, the way Vander tenses and looks in his direction, ’’I need no protection at all. Rest assured.’’

’’Right.’’ Vander says.

’’It is,’’ he takes the empty glass and looks through it to see the stretched out, washed out, Hound of the Underground deformed and defanged. ’’Simply the act of preserving illusion.’’ He sets the glass on the bar. ’’Nothing more.’’ And then he pushes himself to stand, wobbly, and disoriented. ’’Nothing less.’’

’’You’re in no way to go out like that.’’

Silco waves him off. ’’You’re probably right.’’ But he makes his way towards the exit. ’’I’ll still take my chances out there.’’

’’Just.’’ Vander makes a move, quickly, to grab Silco – but he doesn’t close that difference fast enough. Silco’s already drawn his dagger and aimed it in his direction. Drunk or not, you don’t make it to their age, with the way they’ve lived, with where they’ve lived, without picking up a lot of tricks along the way. Vander raises his hands, in order to back off.

Silco nods, satisfied. He sheaths his dagger in his sleeve and gives Vander a once over, before saying. ’’Splendid birthday party. I’m certain not even Felicia and Connol would have managed to pull a better one together.’’

[onlythebravest]

nightmare saga part idk too many

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[waywardstation]

Choo-choo! We've almost reached the likes goal on the reblog game!

Please be mindful of future likes for this game!

Now then get ready for departure soon! All Aboard!

For this post

Thank you everyone so, so, so, SOOOO MUCH!!! I set an incredibly difficult goal for this honestly, and yet you all helped it be reached!! I appreciate it so much, thank you!!

Unfortunately however, the next part is not finished yet. I was planning to have it finished and ready weeks ago, but I became severely sick and have been unable to finish it to have it ready for this wonderful moment :( I’m so sorry. And I am still pretty bad off, and I’m unsure how much longer it’ll be like this for me.

But!! It was still pretty far along when I had to stop. A lot of it is done. And I have tried to make it up to everyone by making the part extra long. And it is becoming more lighthearted and about comfort now, the next choice to make falls into that ^^

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU EVERYONE!! It means a lot to me to see that people are actually commenting on the comic and celebrating that it has reached its goal. It means a lot to see that people care!! I am so excited to get the next part out to you guys and to continue on this once again!! ^^ <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[shorthaltsjester]

free my complex female character, she did the same thing as complex male characters but the fandom takes Any analysis of her actions/choices/motivations that doesn’t strip her of all of her agency in bad faith and claims that only misogynists would dare to critique the things that they’ve noticed in her character because she’s a woman, completely ignoring the over-presence of discourse about similarly traited male characters in their fandom.

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

Gentle reminder that my kofi link is in my pinned post. While The Other Q’s ER trip won’t financially destroy us it’s still going to be a big hit on top of having to get some major repairs done on the car before winter hits

[lesbiansanemi]

Man I’m so tired

[sunnibits]

hey @ my body lowkey this whole “chronic fatigue” thing is getting really old 🙄🙄 like learn when to end a bit yknow jeez :// it’s kind of cringe

[excelsior9173]

really hate that my insomnia can’t just come on its own

it always seems to be in tandem with some really nasty, really low thoughts. and i know it’s all stress induced- i have a very demanding client i am anxious about having to deal with tomorrow and i know that’s why i’m not sleeping

but if the loneliness and self-loathing could fuck off that’d be great. i’d prefer to just deal with the insomnia i do not have the bandwidth to deal with the mean part of my brain tonight

[shima-draws]

This is so rude how dare you tell me to sleep when that’s exactly what I want to do but can’t do at the moment

[okcoolthanks]

Fuckikkkkkkkk thursday tomorrowwwwww

[homosubtext]

i never expected to be someone who drinks black coffee. but here we are.