#It had been a long time since I had made a drawing that contained blood.

[mel-loly]

-(click for a better quality!)

[hollandroos]

Liar / Spencer Reid

Paring: Spencer Reid X Reader Insert

Words: 900

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst. No happy ending

A/N: Now I know what you're all thinking.... Soph, since when do you write for criminal minds? well.... what do you think I watched religiously during my very painful pregnancy and the last five months post partum?

Your packed bags fell against the door to what was once your shared home. Now it just felt empty. Empty draws, followed by an empty bathroom cabinet that once contained items that were now packed away tightly in a suitcase. Followed by an empty bedside table, and an empty mug cupboard because you bought every single one of those prized mugs - and you’d be damned if he expected you just to leave them behind. 

Spencer stood before you, eye bags partnered by the suit he must’ve worn home on the jet - the same one he left in three days ago. The same one you had ironed just five days ago, and snuck a loving note in the front pocket. You wondered if he got it. If he had, he hadn’t mentioned it. 

Be safe, I love you. Please eat. 

You’d thought it’d be cute if you sprayed the paper with a spritz of one of your perfumes… the one he used to compliment you on every time you wore it. Somewhere down the line he must’ve grown tired of it. He’d stopped complimenting your perfume long ago.

Come to think of it, he hadn't complimented anything about you in a long while. You merely felt like a side gig in Spencer Reid's busy, ever chaotic life.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly. His eyes rack your bags before landing on your tear stricken face.

You swallow, however the lump in the back of your throat refuses to budge. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re leaving me.”

Spencer shoves his hands into his pant pockets, gripping tightly onto an old lip balm and a foreign hair tie. He looks exhausted. You want to crawl into his arms and beg him to get some well deserved rest. Rest that you needed too. God you needed rest.

“Spenc-”

“And considering it’s just gone two am, I’d assume you were trying to slip out before I got home because you couldn’t tell me yourself.”

“You’d assume correctly.” You straighten out, feeling your eyes well up with tears that were so goddamn close to spilling over. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe if you cried he’d beg you to stay, promise to fix it and try harder. You imagine he’d beg you to crawl into bed with him and sort it out tomorrow when you both weren’t so sleep deprived. You’d both shimmy under the covers and get that sleep in you’d been craving. The reality is however, you’d probably wake up and the space next to you would be cold again. And you’d be alone once more. 

Truth be told you didn’t sleep very much while Spencer was away. Your bed felt so much colder, and the genius wasn’t all that good at using his phone so you’d wait and wait for a text from him, just to let you know that he’s okay and before you knew it the sun would be coming up and your phone hadn’t pinged once.

You wondered how often you crossed the man's mind while he was away, because he crossed yours plenty. It seemed as though you were a foreign thought. 

“Are you?” He raised a brow, not much emotion crossing the man's face. It made your blood boil, because if he did love you as much as he once claimed he wasn’t very good at showing it.

You tried to remember when you first noticed his love for you fizzle out. Maybe it was when he stopped opening doors for you first, or complimenting your new outfits. Maybe it was when he started to sneak out of bed in the morning without giving you a kiss and a feeble I love you. Or when rereading the books he’d already ingrained into his memory became more enticing then a shower with you. 

Despite this, you never stopped your attempts at sharing your love with him. Dear god - you had so much of it to give, and he had been at the receiving end of it all. 

“Are you sorry?” You spit back, definitely harsher then you had intended. 

“Am I sorry?” He questioned, seeming awfully confused about the whole ordeal. If he wasn’t confused then he was just acting dumb. “Why would I - You’re the one trying to leave me in the middle of the night, why should I be sorry?”

“When did you stop loving me?”     

Spencers poker face finally breaks, however instead of breaking into a look of sadness, remorse, or anything of the sort it’s just confusion.

“I never stopped-”

“You’re not a liar, Spence, don’t start now.” 

With a heavy heart, tears now spilling freely down already damp cheeks and tight fists you grip the suitcase handles and haul your entire life out the door of your previously shared apartment. 

It’s crazy how you could pack up your entire life into two raggedy old suitcases. 

You wondered if it’d break Spencer's heart to find little pieces of you around the apartment - pieces that hadn’t been important enough to take with you. If maybe he’d cry when taking down photos of the two of you or miss your presence in your designated barstool at breakfast.

Tonight, Spencer would be the one sleeping in that cold, lonesome bed down the hall, while you cuddled up in some overpriced hotel sheets feeling heartbroken, yet equally proud for finally allowing yourself to walk away.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

@fenharel-babe this is your fault. You left some tags and… time for me to live up to the gut-wrench of my name, I guess.

Memory was cruel.

His was sharp, acutely efficient at recalling the most minute details, from a scent on the breath of an Elvhen noble to the pauses between words meant to convey emphasis.

He could remember the first time he saw her. Laid flat on a sour straw pallet, drenched in sweat, the green glare of his Mark on her palm. Solas hadn’t focused much on her face then; he’d noted the Dalish markings of Mythal and that was enough of a reason not to examine the woman’s features for too long.

Would that he had. Would that he had simply stopped and allowed each and every single moment of their time together stretch for as long as they possibly could. There was always something drawing his attention. Always the next event, or mission. Always a bit of research.

And there was the matter of the Inquisitor’s own duties. She had been cast headlong into a den of vipers and she was at war from all sides, besieged and harried, fighting for not only her people and the world… but herself. Her personhood.

Her true self.

“I feel safe with you, my Solas,” she’d said once.

He could remember smiling at being called hers. He wanted to be. He longed to rise in the morning, warmed by her body and spirit, to live days at her side performing only simple tasks of the home together. It was the dream he liked best, even if it increasingly cut away at his heart; dreams with no chance of coming true were often jagged, weighty things.

Solas had also taken pride in the fact that out of all of their companions, he was the one in which she sought refuge and respite. He was the calm for her storm. There were times when he felt that his heart could soar for her, on the wind of her success and triumph…

Now, Solas felt as if his chest contained a fractured shard of obsidian. It sliced away at him with each breath, each push of blood through his lyrium-formed veins.

She lay still. As still as she had in Haven. The arm he’d severed some years back rested at her side. Her hair, longer with time, fanned out behind her head. Her face was serene and soft as driven snow. Not a crease, not a flaw; the blood from the wound in the center of her body had been cleaned away.

She could have been one of his paintings.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain were no more. Rook and the surviving Veilguard core team were quiet now, mourning their own dead. Morrigan was… somewhere. The various groups Rook had allied with were working on the wounded, fighting. Trying.

He hadn’t even been able to fight for her. She had been gone when he’d reached her. Face slack. Eyes wide open. She’d looked so small. Abandoned. Alone.

The Nevarran professor, Volkarion, Solas recalled numbly, had helped him bear up the Inquisitor. He was a slender man, graying of hair. But with kind eyes and an even kinder heart. He’d not made Solas speak while he made a place for them. Emmrich had even been so good as to find something to place under her head, and covered her with his own cloak.

It had been hours since it was all over. Solas hadn’t moved. He’d sat beside her, clasping her hand, watching her face. Pleading. Pleading with whatever gods there had ever been, in dreams or in the waking world, pleading with his own magic, with any Spirit that might hear him…

Elgar’nan had stabbed her with a blight tendril. He’d laughed, sensing Solas’ shock upon seeing her. Connecting the dots, as Sera once said.

Something in the mere recollection of their old Inquisition partner broke loose a final barrier within him, and Solas leaned on the table where Emmrich had laid his love, and wept.

He touched her arm, her shoulder, her face. Whispered her name. She had only wanted him to love her. And he had been too bent on his own internal morality that he’d refused both of them what they truly desired. Over and over he had pushed her away, but she had never stopped following him.

Solas had heard her calling out to Rook in the battle, Elven flying from her tongue, strong and swift. She’d moved with a grace befitting Andruil, quick and agile. Determined. She’d run to him, intent on freeing him from a huge arm of Blight. And she’d succeeded... Her life was the price for his freedom.

“Vhenan,” Solas begged. “I stopped, I- I will not… please. Please.” She, of course, did not answer. All Solas could do was hold her dead hand, kiss her dead lips, and hate every fiber of his being for bringing her to this fate.

It was exactly what he had done. He might as well have plunged the Fang into her heart, as well as Varric’s. He’d never deserved a second of her time. He’d never earned the gentle touches, the embraces round his back that made him want to melt… the kisses. The precious touches of her hands.

“She got your letter.”

Solas shuddered, unable to lift his head from her. But the knowledge seemed to claw its way through him, a demon born of grief. She’d come because of him. Why had she loved him? What in him had she been so… why? Why couldn’t she have loved one of the others? Blackwall… Thom? Or the General? Bull… they would have been good to her.

“For what it’s worth… she wouldn’t have been anywhere else. She spoke of you so… she never gave up. You proved her right. Stopping…”

“I killed her… I-“

Rook drew near, boots scuffing the ground. Their hand rested on his back. “… I’m so sorry, Solas. She deserved that future she wanted… she dreamed of being with you, you know? You were happiness to her… even just… the thought of you.”

“I wish she’d never loved me,” Solas whispered, cradling her face in his hands. He’d never held her with abandon before, placing his hands exactly where he wanted. Where she wished. He could never.

“Solas… I’m sorry but… I have an idea.”

Solas didn’t immediately look up. But he sighed, heavy, exhausted… he hoped he was dying. He hoped it would all just stop. Drawing back, he kept the Inquisitor’s hand, brushing his lips to her knuckles. Her fingers.

“Please leave me alone,” he asked in a gray, lifeless voice.

“It is just that… the Veil needs a source of power. To remain effective, a life must supply it.”

“Please…”

“You’re not hearing me, Solas. If your life could sustain the Veil… it could sustain her. I am a necromancer. Her spirit is here, with you. It will always be, until you release it. Stop for a moment… feel for her.”

Rook’s hand withdrew, giving Solas space. He lifted his head a bit, letting his eyes close. Tears fell across his cheeks, down his neck. His mind was so very tired, battered. He wished to stop… to cease.

“Vhenan?”

All at once, there she was. Warm. The light. He couldn’t see her but… she was there. As if his use of the name, her name, had given her just enough tether to let him see her.

“What must I do?” Solas half-sobbed, opening eyes that pled with the Professor, and then with Rook, who clasped his shoulder. Steadying him.

“Shed your blood, for the Veil and for her, let… let them mix.”

“Dorian.” How long the Wizard had been there, Solas didn’t know. But the man looked every bit as wrecked as Solas felt. They looked at each other across the broken down courtyard, matching haunted stare for haunted stare.

“I’m here for her, Solas. This wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you… but she wants… wanted you. You fail, at least you’re protecting the world she loved. The world she died for.” Then Dorian’s face darkened, hardening. “And you will protect it.”

Solas swallowed, nodding once. There weren’t any words to speak.

Rook slipped something into Solas’ hand. The dagger. “Here… best hurry.”

He’d never done anything so easily in his long life as draw the blade over his hand. It stung, but he turned toward the glowing rift behind them, and slung the cupped handful of his own blood at it. It pulsed as if receiving it. Then Solas gingerly pulled open the Inquisitor’s tunic and laid the flat of his cut palm over the wound near her heart.

“Please,” he whispered, bending close to her, gathering her up to his chest. “Vhenan, please.”

But she just slumped there, her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Not a stir of breath. Not a twitch.

Dorian stepped forward but Emmrich held up a warning hand. “The bond must be made. Give it a moment.”

Rook fidgeted, rocking side to side worriedly.

Only the necromancer watched with a serene understanding. And then… a slow smile.

“Mm… what… Solas? Solas…”

He wept. He’d broken before Mythal, as she released him. He’d shed tears so often in the Fade that Spite had remarked that he smelled of them… as well as in the Lighthouse. But never like this. Solas collapsed, knees buckling under him. He pressed his face into the Inquisitor’s lap, clutching her to him, unable to do anything else.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-“

“Solas! Solas, Vhenan, Vhenan.”

She was crooning at him, her voice was divine, she was alive, she was alive!! Her hand smoothed over his neck, the back of his hand and shoulders. Then she made him look at her, and she smiled…

“Ar lath ma,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “I knew you could save us. I knew you could.”

He surged up into her arms, lifting her, shivering under her kiss at his forehead and temple, and then, miracle of miracles, Solas kissed her. It was a tearful, graceless thing full of trembling lips and hands that clutched at the other too tightly.

And it was perfect.

How Solas allowed her to leave his arms, he couldn’t ever know. She didn’t let go of him, though; she gave him her prosthetic hand to close his around.

Dorian wept but kissed his best friend’s forehead. “Take your wolf on home, now.”

Rook and Emmrich gave her encouraging smiles.

She tugged at his hand, giving him a wide, unrepentant smile. “Vhenan. Ir ghilana.” So he allowed her to lead him. Up the steps. Across the platform.

“Hamin.”

“Solas. Garas.”

He drew her close, close enough to see the flecks of green dance in her eyes. Her alive, vibrant, empowered eyes. “Ar ghilas vir banal… .” She was bound to him, to his life force… but the thought of her suffering his own fate. There would be a time where he may find atonement… but peace… no. Not if she remained. But she should remain.

The Inquisitor shook her head and smiled. There was nothing but pride and love in her face. It made Solas want to bow down to her. “Tel’banal ar ama. Vir shiral malasa… bellanaris.”

She kissed him. Short and gentle. It took his very breath. And then she tugged at him again. “Garas.” When the rift sealed behind them, neither looked back.

[gaycragula]

Cold and Complacent

Pairing: (MK1) Bi-Han/Noob Saibot/Male Reader Warning(s): NSFW/18+ under the cut, spoilers for the end of the Khaos Reigns DLC AO3 Link Account Navigation Word Count: 3179

Warning(s): Mildly dubious consent at first, restraints/light bondage, blood licking, pain kink, bi-han intentionally drawing blood, bottom reader, top noob saibot/bi-han, bi-han used throughout in place of noob saibot, spit as lube, not beta read

Bi-Han. Your former Grandmaster. Your former lover. 

After his betrayal to Liu Kang, the truth of his father’s demise, the truth behind his greed for power, you no longer considered him either of those things. You’d gone with Kuai Liang when he and Tomas had fled. 

Sometimes you regret it. Memories of your time with Bi-Han, sharing a bed, meals, bathing together make you miss what used to be even though you know you won’t ever get it back. He made his decision, you made yours. You doubt anything could ever repair that bridge that had long since burned to ash.

Or so you thought, at least.

After the situation with Titan Havik was resolved, you were put in charge of the former cryomancer’s holding container. It was an honor to be trusted by Liu Kang to the point that he’d trust you with a task of this magnitude. Or maybe it was the god’s way of testing you.

Though Bi-Han no longer looked like himself, you knew his mind was the same. Liu Kang had cleansed that much.

Sometimes you sit next to the container and look at your ex-lover, looking over the changes his body had gone through. The graying skin, the green glow that resonates from his chest. He still holds some features without that hood on.

His face was the same shape, his nose and lips. He was still pretty. 

It’s been a few months since then. Liu Kang comes every day to find out if he can figure out a way to properly restore Bi-Han. You’re lucky enough to be able to watch him do so and get live updates on the progress. 

Today, however, Liu Kang is away. He’d be away for a few days, not that you were worried. You had plenty of help at your beck and call if you needed it. You sit at the small desk in the room, your laptop open to keep yourself entertained for a few more hours until you were summoned for lunch. 

It’s quiet in the temple, peaceful. You can hear rain hitting the walls outside and it just adds to the overall peacefulness.

You let your guard down. Perhaps a foolish thing on your part, getting too complacent with how peaceful things have been. Bi-Han had always warned you about getting complacent. 

So you don’t hear the creak of the container behind you as it shifts. Or the quiet clanking of metal as someone comes up behind you. 

A hand covers your mouth and you reach for the panic button under the desk. Your hand never makes it, a black tendril wrapping around your wrist and stopping it just centimeters from the button. 

“What have I told you about getting complacent?” A voice growls out next to your ear. The tendril wrapped around your wrist continues to coil around your arm, traveling further up before it wretches your arm back and forces it behind the chair. 

The position was uncomfortable to say the least and you try to tug your arm free from the tendril. It doesn’t work. In fact, it gets you claws digging into your cheek and you can feel just the slightest bit of blood begin to trickle down your cheek.

“Do not struggle.” A second hand closes around your neck while the first uses its grip to tilt your head back so you were looking up at the being behind you.

Bi-Han. Or rather, what’s become of him now. 

Fuck.

You don’t believe he’s going to kill you. He would’ve already done so if it was his goal. You hope. 

The hand around your throat squeezes and your body tenses on instinct. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” Bi-Han growls. You don’t like the tone of his voice.

A second tendril wraps around your other wrist and, despite your struggle, it’s forced to join the first one behind the back of the chair. Two more wrap around your legs, keeping you completely pinned in place.

Bi-Han’s hands leave you but, before you can curse him out, a fifth tendril replaces them, coiling across your mouth and around your neck. It allows Bi-Han to pull your chair back so he can stand in front of you. 

White eyes stared at you for a moment, almost like he was inspecting your restrained form. You wonder for a moment if the tendrils feel pain. Your jaw shifts minutely and Bi-Han is grabbing your jaw in an instant, his claws finding gaps between the tendrils to do so. “Don’t even think about it.”

His claws dig into your skin hard enough to draw blood again. “Do you understand?”

You can find it in yourself to nod and he lets go on your jaw, pushing your head back in the process. Adding salt to the wound already. “Good. You still know how to listen.”

Prick. He plants his hands on the arms of your chair and leans over you. The tendril around your mouth twitches before it slowly unravels from your mouth. You stay quiet for the time being. You can tell your decision pleases Bi-Han just from the growl he gives.

“Tell me boy,” he starts, leaning in closer to you. His breath is still cold even after the physical alterations to his body and it has you unconsciously leaning away from him. “How long did you think it would be before I found you?”

What? You barely stop yourself from scoffing. “You hardly found me,” you say, hiding your laugh with a cough. You’d been watching over him for months. The little bastard just broke out of his cage.

The tendril around your neck tightens and you can feel your throat begin to close. Air struggles to reach your lungs and you can feel parts of your face begin to numb as your vision begins to spot. A choked groan escapes your mouth and the tendril loosens just enough for you to breathe again.

“You still don’t think before you speak,” Bi-Han growls, watching gleefully as you struggle to regain your bearings. “You look so much better when you’re like this.”

He grabs your jaw again though it’s almost gentle this time. He tilts your head side to side before prying your mouth open with his thumb. One of his claws tap against your teeth and all you can do is allow it. He runs his thumb over your gums, then pulls your lower lip away from your teeth before forcing your jaw shut again.

It takes everything in you not to snap at him for treating you with such blatant disrespect. But you know you’re in no position to do as such. “Liu Kang left you to keep guard?” Bi-Han scoffs, finally letting your jaw go and taking in your restrained form once again.

“From outside threats,” you correct with a low huff. You were already upset being restrained and Bi-Han chastising you was of no help.

Bi-Han gives a cold chuckle in response. The tendrils around your limbs undulate over your skin. It feels.. strange. 

Your hands flex, wrists twisting to see if the things would loosen up at least a little. They don’t. In fact, they tighten a bit more. 

The ones around your legs, however, force your legs to spread apart even as you try to keep them closed. Holy hell, they were strong. What were these things made out of??

Another tendril pops up between your legs, immediately making itself comfortable and pressing against your groin, pushing and kneading against it. “What are you-?” You start to say but your words trail off into a quiet groan as the tendril begins massaging you through your pants, encouraging your cock to respond to its touch.

“Still as easy to please as ever,” Bi-Han says, stepping between your legs to take your chin in his hand again. He forces you to look up at him as the tendril begins to apply more pressure, massaging more intentionally. How the hell did he still remember what made you tick?

And why did your body still respond to it? It’s not long before the tendril moves away, revealing the lovely tent in your trousers. 

Bi-Han tears his gaze away from your face to look at your crotch. His eyes narrow and you can only assume his face has turned into a sneer. “Pathetic,” he chuckles.

Your heart jumps, breath hitching. You swear you can feel your cock twitch too. You were always embarrassed how your body reacted when Bi-Han called you pathetic in that low growl of his. 

His claws dig into your cheeks again while he brings his free hand to palm you (quite roughly) through your pants. Gods forbid he’s ever gentle with you. And gods forbid that you don’t respond to it.

You grit your teeth but your body betrays you. Your hips twitch and jerk as much as they can against the tendrils. Choked breaths manage to slip through your teeth, your eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep quiet. You couldn’t give in.

Cold lips find your jaw and that’s all it takes to do you in. Your back arches away from the chair, your head falling back against the chair as Bi-Han kisses along your jaw. His lips feel the same. They’re the same cold, chapped lips. It surprises you. 

They trail across your jaw down to your neck. Where he bites you. “Fuck-!” You stop yourself before you curse him specifically. To his credit, he licks over the mark in a poor attempt to soothe the pain.

His hand never stops moving against you, palming and groping you through your pants. You can no longer stop the sounds spilling from your lips. You don’t know if you care at this point.

The mix of Bi-Han’s hand on you and his lips against your neck is making your head go fuzzy. You don’t even register the tendrils around your limbs loosening until Bi-Han hauls you out of your chair. Only to bend you over your desk. The panic button is long forgotten as you use your arms to cushion your head.

You’re watching him over your shoulder, watching as he takes in your form with hungry eyes. He looks like a man starved.

You swallow when Bi-Han begins to push your shirt up your back, goosebumps rising to your skin with the action. A claw traces up your spine before it drags back down. You hiss in pain, your body telling you to pull away from the pain while your head begs for more. You can feel the warmth of your blood against your cooled skin as it seeps from the scratch.

Then, Bi-Han bends down, his tongue running over your spine, licking up the blood he’d drawn out with his claw. “Bi-Han!” You gasp out, a shiver tearing up your spine at the feeling. 

He simply chuckles against your skin, his tongue lapping at your spine until he’s got you squirming, your hips trying to push back against anything they can. “Words,” he growls out against your back.

Of course he’d make you say it..

“Please.. fuck me,” you manage out, still trying to hold onto at least a sliver of your dignity. No response and no extra movement. “Bi-Han, please,” you plead, trying to push back against him. 

You hear him click his tongue dismissively before his hands are grabbing at your hips, forcing them to keep still. You could’ve sobbed.

You know exactly what he wants. You swallow the last bit of pride you have. “Please, Grandmaster,” you force out. 

“Good,” Bi-Han basically purrs in approval. His fingers hook in the waistband of your trousers and slowly tug them down your hips and thighs to sit at your knees. Embarrassingly, you’re wearing a pair of his boxers that you ‘stole’ from him when you were dating. It’s got his name embroidered in the waistband.

And you know he knows. He plucks at the elastic, letting it snap back against your skin a few times before your boxers join your pants at your knees.

You let out a quiet gasp as the cool air of the temple hits your heated cock. You for sure feel it twitch this time. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when something cold drips onto your ass. He spat on you. Go figure. A glove lands next to your head and you just barely register what it means before two fingers are circling around your hole, smearing the spit around. At least he took the damned clawed glove off.

The tip of his finger teases you, pushing against your taint a few times without breaching. You’re about to open your mouth when he finally pushes a finger inside. You can’t bite back your groan. 

Bi-Han loved the sight before him. Having you on your stomach under him like this was like honey to him. Something so.. addicting about being in control of your pleasure. Watching you try to stay still to please him. 

His finger pumps in and out of you and he watches how it disappears inside you, listens to the sounds you make. The quiet hisses, the soft moans and keens don’t escape him. 

A second finger joins the first and you let out another kiss with the stretch. It had been a while since you’d last gotten intimate with anyone. Considering the last time you’d gotten intimate with another person, the person had been Bi-Han before he betrayed Liu Kang.

He’s surprisingly gentle with you as he scissors you open, prepping you meticulously. He finally allows you to begin to meet the movements of his fingers. And you take full advantage of it, pushing back against his fingers, matching his movements.

A third and a fourth are quick to join after that. The stretch is pleasant after a few moments and it’s not much longer before you’re wanting more. You voice as much to Bi-Han. “More.. please,” you rasp. “Grandmaster,” you add quickly.

You hear him growl behind you but his fingers are quick to leave you clenching on nothing as he pulls them out. Metal clinks behind you as Bi-Han undoes his belt and you feel more spit drip onto your ass. Then, you feel the head of his cock push against your taint. 

You take a deep breath to brace yourself. Bi-Han does not grant the time to do so, his hips pushing forward and breaching you. It brings a pained gasp from you and your body tensing around him. It does little to deter Bi-Han who continues pushing into you until he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.

One hand grips your hip, the other pressing against your upper back to keep you still as he pulls out a little, just to push back in slowly. He continues doing as much, pulling out a little more each time until your body relaxed enough for him to pick up the pace. 

He’s not gentle about it once he’s sure you’re not in too much pain. Bi-Han fucks you hard and fast, his hips slamming into yours, the sound echoing between your choked moans of pain and pleasure. 

He grunts and huffs above you, calling you pathetic a couple more times just to hear the embarrassed whines that leave your lips when he does. The hand on your back moves and you’re just vaguely aware as it wraps around your neck.

Bi-Han hauls you up, your back now flush against his chest. He holds you in place by your neck, tilting your head back just enough to kiss you. God, he needs chapstick. His tongue pushes into your mouth when you moan, tasting you. What used to be his.

You grip the edge of the desk for dear life. Until his hand starts squeezing around your neck. You grab his wrist, not yet pulling it away from you. Bi-Han parts from the kiss, watching you pant as you catch your breath.

His fingers press against your pulse points. He can feel your heart racing underneath them as he slowly starts applying more pressure. He gleefully watches as your eyes lid and unfocus. A light squeeze around his wrist, however, makes him lessen his grip again, letting you gasp for breath.

“Good boy. You remember,” he praises against your ear. Your breath hitches and your cock twitches with the praise. Your head still felt fuzzy, your vision swimming. But god did you love it. 

His hand remains on your neck as he continues to fuck you, his hips becoming more and more erratic as he chases his orgasm. His lips meet your neck, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around your cock and jerk you off sloppily. You pant Bi-Han’s name like a mantra, begging for release from your Grandmaster.

A choked gasp tears from you when Bi-Han starts choking you again. He doesn’t ease you in this time, squeezing your neck to the point you’re sure you’re going to pass out. The edges of your vision begin to fade and you know you’re treading a thin line.

 He lets you go completely when you squeeze his wrist a second time and you fall forward against the desk again. A hand lands by your head as Bi-Han steadies himself against the desk. His hand continues pumping your cock, using your precum to make the glide easier.

Your moans mix with his grunts as you get closer and you can barely warn him before you’re coming, shooting spend onto the front of the desk. Bi-Han feels you go limp under him when your orgasm hits you and he pulls out, pumping his cock until he’s making a mess of your ass and the backs of your thighs.

You’re vaguely aware of the feeling of cum sliding down your skin. It’s not until a rag touches your skin that you come back a little. 

Bi-Han cleans you up quickly before pulling your pants back up for you. He leaves you leaned against the desk, watching you try to regain your bearings. Your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath.

He’d put his glove back on at some point, two clawed fingers gripping your chin and forcing your head up to look at him. “Your Grandmaster is the only one who can make you feel like this, do you understand?”

You nod at first. The grip on your chin tightens and you groan quietly. “Yes, Grandmaster,” you manage to rasp out. 

Bi-Han lets out a content huff and tilts your head back to admire the big bruise around your neck. That won’t be going away for a while. “Now, tell me how to get out of here,” he demands.

You shake your head and, for a second, Bi-Han gives you a look of utter confusion before the look disappears. Before he can respond, however, you can hear the door to the temple creak open. 

Bi-Han glares at you and you just smile weakly as you bring your hand out from under the desk, the button underneath dimly flashing. “Apologies, Grandmaster.”

[reviewsthatburn]

THE WITCH KING by Martha Wells is excellent and I had a great time reading it. The worldbuilding is nuanced and well-developed, with factions and history in a way that implies much more going on, but not getting bogged down in little details that don’t matter to this particular story. It deals with colonization and empire from the perspective of a quasi-immortal character (Kai) who has not been around forever, but has been around long enough that things which are part of his culture and history are now details that would fascinate only historians. The narrative shifts between two time periods in his life. This means that some events are mentioned before they were actually shown, but it was generally in a way that made the whole thing easier to follow. The two timelines are connected, as the main characters are trying to figure out whether the plan they were working on when they were betrayed is still salvageable. 

Full Review at Link

[lacefedora]

Sleep: Devil's Minion/ Armandaniel

@its-a-moral-gay-area

Armand has a nightmare about marius, daniel comforts him

<got a little stuck on this one a few days but I like the result. Contains references to marius and all the baggage that comes with that>

-

Armand rarely slept. He didn't need much sleep and to Daniel it seemed like Armand felt he was wasting his time if he slept away the hours instead of using them to do something. Read or buy art or whatever the fuck he kept doing that utterly destroyed Daniel's blender and garbage disposal. The man kept busy.

So it was an odd thing, to find Armand asleep. Even odder to find Armand in Daniel's bed doing it. Daniel was pretty sure they'd had sex in the past, some moments Armand has erased from Daniel's mind. He had caught glimpses of it when he had tasted Armand's blood. Glimpses of a life that Daniel had no memory of. He planned to go digging on that. But they hadn't shared a bed since his return.

He takes a moment to just watch him. Armand looked younger in sleep somehow. Too young. Daniel reaches out, about to brush some dark curls from his face. But then he sees Armand's brow furrow. His face twists like he's in pain. He starts to speak. Daniel can't understand the words… he knows enough French to get by but this isn't french… but not quite Italian either. He seems to be… pleading though. Trapped in a nightmare.

Perhaps this was the real reason Armand avoided sleep.

"Armand." He calls to him when he starts moving and twitching. Finally he reaches out, brushing his hair back and trying to wake him gently.

The response is immediate. Armand shoots straight up, cringing away from Daniel's hand. Daniel draws back his hands, holding them up. Armand's eyes are wild as he looks around the room, more panicked than Daniel had ever seen him.

"It's me Armand… just me." Armand's eyes come to rest on him.

"Daniel…" He says, like he's coming back from far away. Daniel sees Armand start to reach for him, then he stops, hands falling back to the bed. "Forgive me. I was dreaming." He says slowly.

Daniel has never been particularly hesitant. He moves across the bed and grabs Armand, pulling him against him. It's… bizarre how Armand fits against him immediately. He buries his face against Daniel's shoulder and he feels a shuttering breath against it.

"I'd say you had a nightmare, boss. It's okay." Daniel says and he puts his hand on Armand's hair, petting his curls. "You want to talk about it?" He asks. He doubted he would. Armand simply… didn't talk about things if he could help it. He was a volatile ball of constant repression. Right up until he exploded.

Armand seems to somehow burrow deeper into his embrace, clinging onto him.

"It was about Marius. Just… an old punishment." Armand tells him in a halting voice. Daniel's honestly a little touched he even got that much out of him.

"Marius… your creep Maker that used to pimp you out to his other artist friends?" Daniel asks and he keeps petting Armand's hair, feeling him start to unwind and relax under the touch. "Can't say I'm surprised he did shit to give you nightmares. Guy seems like a real peach." Daniel says flatly.

"He was not always… I was a wild thing then." Armand says, almost in defense.

"I don't know how to break this to you, but you're a wild thing now." Daniel tells him. He liked it about him actually. Which probably made him completely fucking insane, but here they were. "Don't really care how wild you were. Didn't deserve that shit, And you didn't deserve whatever it is that gave you nightmares 500 years after the fact, okay?"

Armand is silent for a long time after that. Daniel starts to think he's fallen back asleep. Instead after an age of silence Armand turns his head and presses a kiss to Daniel's shoulder and then tightens his arms around him.

"Thank you…" Armand says quietly. Daniel just smiles and pulls him to lay down together on the bed.

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 7 - Trust

You help Mohawk give the crew their annual medical checkups.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Apparently the Kid Pirates took their health more seriously than Yin would have guessed, because during dinner it was decided that tomorrow Yin would start her new job in the infirmary by assisting with annual medical checkups. Apparently Mohawk was adamant that the crew have regular health assessments, though to be honest only the top dogs ever usually made it through more than one annual checkup. Henchmen and cabin boys didn't often survive that long. Regardless, he kept well organized records of everyone currently on the ship, with manila folders containing sheets of information, from medical history to blood types to work he'd done himself. They were all kept in careful alphabetical order in filing cabinets that sat in the infirmary, organized by first name since many of the ship's occupants didn't have a surname.

With the addition of Yin's skills he was determined to add a new sheet of paper to each file, documenting old bone breaks, as well as any current internal issues that he might not have been able to catch without scanning equipment. The crew wasn't due for their annuals for another month or so, but he was excited to test out her abilities, so he'd convinced Kid to bring it forward.

She followed him to the infirmary after breakfast, where he gave her a quick tour of the room before performing her own checkup. He usually liked to do an initial interview when a new crewmate came on board but there hadn't really been the opportunity to do it till now. Anytime she'd been free, he'd been busy.

She gave him the short version of her life, he wasn't shocked to hear how the marines had treated her. They discussed contraceptives for a short while, but in truth he didn't really know much about them, since he was used to working for a crew of only men. She told him she had some sort of implant the commodore had forced on to her, so he made a note to look in to it, but left it be at that. The entire female reproductive system was something he was going to need to study now. He at least didn't need to inquire about her last cycle, or how irregular her period was, since he'd heard from Heat what happened during her initiation. He'd been unsurprised to discover the slave mark burned in to her skin in the middle of her back, it was long healed since it had been probably twenty years since she was branded.

“Any old injuries to note?” He asked, pulling out the new page he'd whipped up yesterday and photocopied a million times. It had a simple outline of a human, duplicated and labeled ‘front’ and ‘back’, with space around the edges so he could make notes and draw arrows to mark notable injuries.

“I broke my left ankle when I was learning to moon step, when I was about fourteen,” she said, tapping her lip with her index finger while she tried to recall past injuries, “oh and I dislocated my right hip when I was eight”

“How'd you do that?” He asked, making quick notes on the page.

“Got raped by a man too big for me,” she said plainly. He paused and put down his pen, letting out a heavy sigh. She seemed indifferent, like she'd just told him she'd fallen from a tree or something. You know, something normal for an eight year old to have done. He didn't pry further, she'd already given him her life story, he didn't need more information.

“I just need to check your eyes and ears and we can start calling the crew in for their checks,” he said, wheeling his stool over to sit in front of her. She was sitting over the side of the examination table. The infirmary wasn't large, but it was big enough for a decent size desk, an examination table, and a couple of more comfortable beds for those who needed a quiet place to recover, or required observation. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of them under lock and key, bookcases containing medical journals, and several tall filing cabinets. The room didn't have any windows, since it was smack in the middle of the building that sat above deck towards the back of the ship, and it smelt heavily of medical grade disinfectant.

“Can you remove your mask for me?” He asked politely, otoscope in hand.

“I can but you have to be quick, did Killer explain how my mask works to you?” She asked.

“He did, you won't be able to hear or see me properly, correct?” He said, “I'll be quick, just look straight ahead and stay still, I'll put your mask back on as soon as I'm done”

“Okay then, I think I trust you,” she slid her mask off and placed it on the bed beside her, sitting as still as she could, “okay, go ahead,” she couldn't make out her own voice, but she hoped she was speaking.

He gasped as he looked at her eyes and saw the grey-pink, no whites or iris or discernable pupil visible on them. He pushed it aside for now, he had to check her ears first. He moved quickly, knowing that every second he took was another second for her to become overwhelmed. Killer had warned that in the past she'd been known to become feral when she was without her mask, and he didn't feel like getting bitten today.

Her ears looked healthy, so he swapped his otoscope for his ophthalmoscope, rolling his stool to be directly in front of her and gently pulling her eyelids away to see more of her eyeballs. It was useless, he couldn't make out anything remotely human on her eyes other than the shape - whatever was going on with them was outside of his skillset. He sighed and gave up, putting the tool down and picking her mask up to slide carefully over her head. She felt it starting to touch her, so she quickly took over and shimmied it into its usual comfortable position.

“All done?” She asked.

“All done, thanks for not biting me,” he half laughed as he scribbled notes in her chart.

“I only do that to men who ask nicely,” he assumed she winked after that but he couldn't tell past the visor.

“Right,” he tried to brush it off, he wasn't one who was comfortable or who knew how to react to open flirting, “so, with the others. I'll do all my usual examinations, and when I'm done I'll have you scan them. I want to hear about any current or old injuries, and any abnormalities you see. I've never had access to scanning equipment so it'll be mostly new information for me.”

“Okay, can do doc!” She replied, moving from the exam table to the desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet.

“One last thing,” Mohawk said as he stood to go find his first patient. Most of the crew thought medical checks were for pussies and would no doubt be unwilling victims, “everything in this room comes under doctor-patient confidentiality okay? You're my nurse now, everything you hear is to be kept private. And keep it professional, you may be surprised how many of these men have STIs. If I hear a single laugh while I'm looking at someone's dick I'll have Killer drown you, got it?”

“Genitals don't phase me, most of the showers in the marines were mixed gender,” she shrugged, “you may be surprised to hear how many dicks I've come face first with to check for UTIs”

“Okay, good, we should have no issues then,” he said, “get off the desk, it's not professional. Sit in my chair till I need your assistance. I'll be mostly on the stool anyway”

“Roger that, doc,” she gave a mock salute and slid off the desk as he left.

Yin really was surprised at how many henchmen had STIs, and by the time they were done she was sure she could recite Mohawk's safe sex spiel of the top of her head, word for word. A few henchmen had been suffering in silence with bad constipation, and one had a badly broken toe. The cabin boys were all relatively healthy, but Mohawk gave them all the safe sex talk anyway, since it wouldn't be long before they started getting curious about the women, and he desperately hoped he could keep them from turning in to disease-ridden henchmen. Some of them were already partaking, but had been lucky enough to not catch anything.

It was well in to the afternoon when they got to the officers and commanders. The officers were all healthy, being that they'd been on the ship long enough to have regular checkups and knew well to follow Mohawk's advice. Yin had to stand on the examination table to check Wire's head, since he was just so damn tall.

She was surprised to find during Heat's examination that he actually had several hidden piercings that she could see through his clothes while she scanned him. She didn't ask why his dick was pierced, it didn't seem like an appropriate medical question. Kid wasn't happy about being examined, and complained the whole time that he was too busy for this shit. Mohawk gave him a long, stern talking to about drinking less beer and more water, if he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. She hadn't realised that the metal arm didn't have a real arm inside, she'd just assumed it was some sort of cover. She bit back a gasp when he removed it so Mohawk could check the stump of what used to be an arm. The base had metal embedded in to it, assumedly to help the prosthetic stick. She did her best to not gawk.

Last up was Killer, who they had to wait quite long for since he had been busy with some new recipe he had wanted to try that required being cooked slowly for many hours. He smelled of freshly cut herbs and bread when he entered, mixed with his usual scent of musk and spices. He locked the door as he entered, and Yin came to the jarring realisation that he was probably going to need to remove his mask. Mohawk went through his usual line of questioning before standing in front of Killer, he was too tall to examine from the stool. He did the same flexibility and grip strength tests he'd done for everyone else, and tapped his knees with a little hammer to check reaction times, before picking up his otoscope and turning to Yin expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning and facing the wall. She heard something click and hair rustling as Killer removed his mask. “Hey um.. should I examine his head while the mask is off? I can't see his face if I'm scanning him, I promise”

“My head is fine,” Killer said flatly.

“I'm making notes of old injuries as well though, its important for my records,” Mohawk explained, “she's fast, it'll only take her a moment to check your head if nothing is wrong”

“Fine,” he sighed, “as long as she can't see”

“If my visor is dark green or red, I can't see you, just your insides,” she said, “to be honest I can only make out faces when its purple or like a neon green”

“Neon green is what you had when you killed the seaking right?” Killer asked, “is that some sort of night vision?”

“Yeah,” she explained, still awkwardly facing the wall, “and I can see pretty deep in the water as well, thats how I saw the seaking. I'm gonna turn around now, okay? I'll only be able to see your bones”

“Okay,” he replied. Mohawk finished checking Killer's eyes and stepped aside for her. She couldn't see well, but she'd spent all day in the room so she knew there was no furniture between them, and she could see their skeletons, the metal base of the examination bed, and Killer's mask sitting on the bed bedside him. She used what she could see as a guide to carefully make her way over, but she couldn't see the floor so her steps were awkward and she tripped.

“Woah, careful,” Mohawk said as he caught her, ��what's wrong with you?”

“Can't see the floor,” she laughed, “I can only really see your bones and the metal things in the room, like Killer's mask and the base of the bed. Hard to walk without a floor”

She righted herself and stood carefully in front of Killer, who was definitely too tall. “You're too big, I'm gonna need to get on the table,” she climbed up on the side of him that didn't hold his mask, thankful that the base was metal and the mattress was thin so she could even see what she was doing. In her mind she was adding thickness to all the things she could see to account for what she couldn't.

“Ah- my hair-” Killer growled and pulled away, she'd unknowingly knelt on his long blond locks that had been resting against the bed.

“Fuck, sorry Kil,” she said, kneeling behind him, “I couldn't see it”

“It's fine, just get it over with,” he muttered, pulling his hair over his shoulder to the front so she couldn't catch it again.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She asked as professionally as she could, “I need to turn your head”

“That's fine,” he replied.

She put her hands gently on either side of his head, carefully turning it and moving her hands around as she examined. It felt like he had thick bangs over his forehead, which definitely surprised her.

���Fuck you have a lot of old fractures for someone who wears a helmet,” she noted, “I can see… seven, Mohawk, if you want to note that down”

“Got it,” he replied, scribbling in his notes.

She turned Killer's face to look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheeks as she inspected them. She didn't even realise how intimate she was being, it was a natural process for her. His jawline seemed strong and his cheekbones looked prominent, if she had to guess she'd say he must have a sharp, attractive face. It looked symmetrical at the bone level, but who knows what kind of scars or deformities he might have on top that caused him to wear a mask.

“Old fracture on the left cheek as well,” she said, “I'd bet good money Kid did that”

“It'd be a winning bet,” he replied, suppressing a smile. Mohawk was busy with his notes, and she couldn't actually see his face, but he felt exposed anyway, and he didn't want anyone to see his ugly smile - the real reason he wore a mask.

“I'm gonna switch to red now okay?” She said, removing one of her hands from his face to fiddle with her mask. The visor turned red and her hand returned to his face, “Nothing of note on the front, eyes look healthy, frontal lobe looks fine,” she turned his head and made her way around, checking the side, then the back, then the other side. She paused, holding his head firmly in place. “Mohawk?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from his notes.

“There's something here, on the outside, towards the base of the neck,” she said, running her hand through Killer's hair and pulling it gently aside to clear the area she wanted Mohawk to check, “right here,” she pointed as she saw the bag of organs and veins that formed Mohawk stand beside the bed.

“It looks like a small cyst,” he said, prodding it with a gloved hand, “Killer I thought I told you to let me know if your mask did shit like this, it looks like it's about where the edge would rub”

“It's nothing,” he pulled Yin's hand out of his hair, entirely ignoring how nice her delicate hands felt woven through his locks, “I was just gonna deal with it myself”

Mohawk sighed and returned to his desk, “you're staying when she's done checking you over, so I can deal with that. It needs draining”

“I have shit to do,” Killer grumbled.

“Will you stop being a baby and let him do his job?” Yin scowled as she slid off the bed carefully, “now stand up so I can finish the scan, you can put your mask back on but I still have to check the rest of you”

He sighed and put his mask back in place before unwillingly standing, she tugged his arm to pull him further from the bed so she could walk all the way around him and quickly went about her scan, checking his bones first, then switching back to the red mode. She lifted his left arm as she checked his side.

“Your heart is beating a little fast Kil, you okay?” She noted.

“His heart rate was fine before,” Mohawk mused, quirking an eyebrow at Killer, who scowled under his mask at the clear insinuation.

“I'm just pissed off, now hurry the fuck up and quit touching me,” he growled.

“Anddd mister grumpymask is back,” she smiled, “relax, I'm done. He's all clear, doc, fit as a fiddle”

“Good, thats everyone then,” Mohawk said as he made a few last notes and stood to start collecting the supplies he needed for Killer's cyst, “you can go, Yin, thank you for your help. It won't always be this much work, I promise”

“Its fine,” she replied, unlocking the door to leave, “this was fun, I was happy to help. See you two at dinner,” she sung as she left. Mohawk gave her a weak goodbye, and Killer remained quiet.

Dinner wasn't far off, in fact by the time Mohawk was done with Killer it was time to head to the dining hall. Everyone else was already there, and Killer quickly finished off the special recipe of slow cooked beef and beer stew that he'd been working on earlier, with several fresh loaves of sourdough he'd made earlier to go with it.

“Anything of importance to report from the annuals?” Kid asked Mohawk as he dipped his bread in the hearty stew.

“Just that your henchmen need to keep it in their pants if they can't learn to use a rubber,” Mohawk sighed.

“The usual then,” Kid laughed, “dirty cunts”

“Oi, Yin,” Wire interjected, “I've got a question for you”

“Hit me,” she replied with a smile, inhaling another mouthful of the delicious stew - Killer's cooking really was the best she'd ever had.

“How did you know anything about us or our reputation if you've been locked away for the last five years?” He asked in a serious tone. It felt like an integration, like he was about to crack open that everything she'd told them was a lie, “you knew who Heat and I were, you knew the Captain and Killer, you said you knew you'd fit in here. But you've been in a cell for the last five years, and we only got our first bounties a few years ago”

Eveyone else turned and stared at her, and Kid stopped eating entirely, mulling it over in his head and coming to the same realisation Wire had, that the dots didn't connect. “How did you know about us?” Kid was almost growling, it felt like a threat.

She sighed and put down her spoon, looking across the table at Killer's expressionless mask, like he could offer some sort of support. “You really want to know? You're not gonna like the answer”

“Answer the fucking question,” Kid said sternly, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, fuck, don't bite my fucking head off. I'd been with the commodore you found me with for most of my imprisonment, and I guess you could say he was a fan of yours,” she explained, careful to speak to Kid directly, so as not to incur any further wrath from him, “when you came on to the grandline he started getting a bit obsessed. Every time he came to… visit me… he would tell me about your crew, and the big promotion he was gonna get when he took you down. Which is ironic, in hindsight. Anyway at some point he started bringing in your bounty posters, the four of you, mostly Kid's, and he'd use them against me if I wasn't obediently letting him have his way with me. He'd say shit like ‘you're so lucky you have me here to protect you and make you feel so good’ and then he'd wave Kid's poster in my face and say ‘this cunt would rip your legs off just so he could fuck the bloody holes left behind, he'd rape you to death and then he'd keep going. His whole crew would rape your dead body till you were nothing but a pile of rotting bones’. Sometimes he'd leave the posters in the cell with me, to remind me of my place, so I got familiar with your faces. Of course I never believed that shit, it wasn't hard for me to see that the marines are the bad people in this world, I've seen pirates as the good guys for a long time now. The second Kid let me go the day you found me, I knew I was right and the commodore was full of shit. Not that I think there aren't pirates that rape, I just knew for sure that you guys didn't. Anyway, yeah. That's how.”

Kid was visibly angry, not at her but at the commodore, as he tore a huge chunk of bread from an untouched loaf and dipped it with a little too much force in to his stew, making liquid spill out around the edges of the bowl, “Fucker…” he said through a full mouth.

“I did say you wouldn't like it,” she grumbled, looking mournfully at her stew. She no longer had any appetite but forced herself to keep eating anyway. She didn't want to offend Killer by not finishing the food he'd made them.

“Sorry,” Wire said solemnly, “I shouldn't have pried”

“It's okay Wire,” she forced a smile for him, “I get it. I'm a stranger, you don't trust me, and things didn't add up. You were just protecting the crew. I hope you'll come to trust me, in time, like I'm trying my best to learn to trust all of you”

“Trust is hard earned,” Killer added plainly.

“You think I don't know that?” She almost yelled in clear annoyance. Heat spooked a little as she slammed a closed fist on the table, “You think its easy for me to be sitting here on a ship full of men when every man who has every touched me has raped me? You think I don't know how hard it is to learn to trust someone? Cut me some fucking slack, Killer”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” she said, frustrated and angry. She felt like she was being treated like the enemy, and she'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd been working hard every day to earn their trust, and she felt brushed off. “Sorry, the food was delicious Killer, I'm just… not hungry anymore”

“Leave the bowl, I'll finish it,” Kid told her. He grabbed her hand before she left, “you'll have our trust, Killer's is just a little harder to earn. You're doing good work here, just give it time. I hope I can earn your trust as well, as your Captain”

“Thanks, Kid,” she sighed as he let her hand go. She didn't say anything more, and they watched as she quickly disappeared out of the galley and the doors swung shut behind her.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[morganas-pendragons]

Fruits Of My Labor | Aemond Targaryen

I was blasting Fruits by Paris Paloma when I wrote this and came up with this idea in the shower. This will contain MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILED, DO NOT READ IT. I did change two things in this as compared to Fire and Blood. 

Enjoy! I’m excited to see what you guys think. This is my first time writing for this universe other than for Jaime Lannister! 

Edit: This literally took me over a week because having a full time job is so time consuming lol 

You should have known better. You were a true born Velaryon, a daughter of the sea and a fearsome dragon rider. You were smart. Fierce. Deadly. 

But you were also a child. A child who had lost her older brother and sister and mother. 

Your cousins. Your life. 

Your family had been your livelihood for so long that you didn’t know how to live without them. Your mother’s comfort, your sisters compassion, your brothers steadfastness, your father’s loyalty. 

You’d take them in all their faults for even a moment if it took your focus off of what fueled you when they were no longer around: Your anger. 

And oh.. you were so prone to your anger. 

***

Blood and Cheese 

When word got back to you about the atrocities committed against Helaena Targaryen, you were furious. Fuming. It had been a long time since someone had been able to provoke you to such rage. 

You understood, and yet you didn’t. A son for a son. Did Rhaenyra not give any considerations to her half-sister? Aegon may be the subject of her ire, but Helaena Targaryen had done nothing to provoke being witness and victim to such levels of cruelty. 

You couldn’t imagine it. So you made Rhaenyra imagine it for you, while your mother stood in the back of the room and bore witness to the dragon fire that lay deep within you. 

  “The gall you have..” You murmur, drawing Rhaenyra and Daemon’s attention where they stand by the fireplace. “Do you realize what you just did?” 

  “They took my son.” Rhaenyra snaps, harsh and cold, the eyes of a grieving mother staring back at you. “Which is something you could not begin to fathom, seeing as how your betrothal ended so abruptly.” 

Oh. That’s wonderful. So now she’s going to use Alicent breaking off your betrothal against you as well? 

  “No, no I didn’t. But at least my children would have been legitimate,” You snarl. Daemon steps forward to intervene, as he always does when it comes to Rhaenyra, but you slamming your fist against the painted table stops him in his tracks. “Did you even consider the ramifications of this, Rhaenyra? Jahaerys was innocent!”

 “The Greens took Visenya and Lucerys from me. They killed my children. It is only fitting that retribution be paid through the loss of their own son!” 

  “Helaena will never be the same again because of what you took from her! You took your vengeance upon a girl who did not deserve it. She was sweet. Sweet, and good, and loved by the commoners. One of my dearest friends.” You jab your thumb at Rhaenyra angrily, eyes lit by the firelight of the candles around the painted table as the two of you stand off against one another. “You took her child away and ruined her. Whatever blood falls upon us now? That’s on you.” 

Rhaenyra is left to hear one final curse before you flee the room, Daemon’s hand resting upon her shoulder to prevent her from following you. 

Things are never quite the same after that. It’s only days later that Meleys is paraded through King’s Landing and your mother’s body lay broken and unmoving after the Battle of Rook’s Rest. 

There’s no one left to temper your anger. 

So, for the rest of the war, that is what fuels you. Your anger and your grief. 

If it gets the job done, who cares what it does to you? 

Anger always wins. 

***

The last time you saw Rhaenys Targaryen, she’d bid you goodbye with a kiss to your forehead and tucked her favorite cloak around your shoulders. It had always been two sizes too big.

She’d whispered affirmations about your future and how proud she was of you in your ear before she walked out the main doors of Dragonstone to Meleys.

You never saw her again.

***

She died less then 24 hours later.

Rhaenyra was the one who told you about Aemond’s involvement in it.

He’d played a hand.

He’d killed your mother.

***

You spent the days following your mothers death weeping, clutching the fabrics of your favorite cloak she often wore when you were a child in trembling fingers. You mourned her presence. Her comfort. You often wished you could join her just to be free of the Dance. 

To be free of him. 

You were a child, and children are impressionable. That was why you loved him. Even when you truly, deeply loathed him for all the pain he caused you and your family. 

  “My Lady? Are you well?” 

You don’t hear your Lady in Waiting call for you from across the room. There you sit beside the window, frail and well beyond your years, eyes cast upon the waters outside the castle while you linger inside the recesses of your own mind.

The Dance of the Dragons ended a long, long time ago. 

You are the only living survivor.  

Your memories are far more pleasant to live in because they are in all of them. Your family is not reduced to the ghosts you now know them as, but are flesh and blood and so very, very real. 

  “Forgive me, Theah... I was just remembering.” 

  “Remembering what?” 

You smile sadly. Something lingers in your eyes as you meet her gaze - she’s so young and so eager to live a life she hasn’t had the opportunity to greet yet - and you see the same lingering within her own that calls to you. It’s familiar. 

It was the same thing that drew you to Aemond. A desire for adventure, for freedom, for life. 

And well... The Dance kept you confined to your duties and kept you from being able to pursue it. 

  “Remembering a better time, sweet girl.” 

*** 

You remember it vividly. Watching from the scorched beaches while Daemon and Aemond take to the skies above Harrenhal, otherwise known as the God’s Eye, to engage in a fearsome battle neither will emerge from. You know it in your heart of hearts. 

A more innocent part of you that still lingers deep inside aches to go to him. To make him see reason, to convince him to surrender to Daemon and Rhaenyra and just... stop. 

To just let it go. The Green’s haven’t been able to do that once since the Dance started, to submit to the succession of Viserys the First would mean abdicating the throne. 

Otto would never let it stand. His lust for power and influence over Alicent had gotten Aegon the throne and plunged the realm into war over the true successor of the Iron Throne. 

The battle descending from the clouds above you is beautiful, in an incredibly tragic and devastating way. 

Daemon and Aemond are locked in a terrifying battle as they plunge from the clouds, Caraxes and Vhagar desperate to bring the other down first. You watch the dragon’s stomach be torn open. The other ripped at the throat. You can’t bring yourself to look away. These two had been friends once. 

You know there’s nothing you can do to prevent what is about to happen. They both brought it upon themselves. Aemond Targaryen brought this painful, agonizing end upon himself with his involvement in the Dance. 

Your breath catches as Daemon rises from his saddle and lunges across the gap to drive Dark Sister into Aemond’s other eye. There’s nothing you can do. You weren’t even permitted the ability to take part. 

The commoners had seen to that themselves.  They'd mercilessly killed all the dragons who remained in the dragon pit. The numbers were dwindling, growing fewer and fewer as the Dance progressed. Four had fallen. Tyraxes, Morgul, Dreamfyre, and Nightshade. 

When Rhaenyra wailed over the death of Joffery - barely a boy, thrown from Syrax for trying to flee to the dragon pit and rescue his birth right - you were simultaneously crying over the agonizing pain that seared through heart, body, and soul at the loss of your dragon. 

By that time in the Dance, you’d lost nearly everyone within the Blacks. All that remained was your father and Rhaenyra, who were at odds anyway. They had been ever since Rook’s Rest. 

Was this your curse? The last of your House, destined to outlive all the others? Is this what the fruits of your labor as the youngest child of House Velaryon had gotten you? 

It’s over before you realize it. 

This was where they fell.

***

  “What time could have been better? You spent so much of your life engaging in war. You are practically a veteran to it,” Theah absently remarks from your bedside. “I do not envy you. War is-” 

  “Debilitating. Agonizing. Crippling.. suffocating. War tore my Houses apart at the seams and took away everything and everyone I loved,” You interject. “I was thinking about when I was barely a woman grown, not longer after being betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.” 

  “Anything specific?” 

It’s always something specific with your memories with Aemond. They usually take you to the same two places: A little run down shack on the cliffs above the sea, not too far from Driftmark. 

The other is a field of endless wildflowers. 

  “The first time Aemond ever took me away on dragon back was not long after he’d claimed Vhagar. We’d disappeared in the middle of the night from the guards posted outside my door, and I’d guided him back to Driftmark to this little house my mother spent a lot of time in before she married my father. It was very out of the way.” You twist the ring on your finger as you speak, the fading memory of your mother’s face flashing in front of you as you do so. The ring is the last thing you have of Rhaenys. “We spent the night there. I told him I wanted to do it forever. That I wanted to leave behind duties and obligations to experience something I never really got to have. Not like my sister and brother did. My mother doted over me far too much.” 

  “And what was the thing you never got to have?” 

You smile wryly. “My freedom, sweet girl. As I am sure you well understand.” 

Theah goes quiet for several minutes. She was brought to you by Aegon the Third not long after the two of you had met. Once he’d read his mother’s last testament - found in her former chambers in the Red Keep after her death - and found your name written within, he’d sought you out and gave you a Lady in Waiting. It had been freedom for Theah. Being your Lady had gotten her away from the brothels. 

You’d thanked both Viserys and Aegon profusely after that. She may be the only soul left in this world sympathetic to your plight.  

You’d never anticipate them traveling from King’s Landing to Driftmark to see you.

  “Did you think it would last? Your betrothal?” Theah asks. 

 You did. Aemond didn't. He knew the Targaryen customs, he knew his duty. He knew Aegon didn’t want to marry Helaena. 

Alicent had also seen how much you meant to her son.

And that could not stand.

  “I would’ve burned down the world to hand its remains to Aemond Targaryen if he’d asked me to,” Something shifts in your gaze then, something cold and hard and unyielding that most have not seen in you before. It was something you’d only learned to embrace during the Dance of Dragons. “And then he betrayed me.” 

Theah furrows her brow in confusion. “What did he do?” 

Lucerys’ innocent face replaces that of your mother. Another soul lost to the war so many years ago, the first of many. Lucerys’ death had been what catalyzed the beginning of the Dance. 

All at Aemond’s hand.

  “He killed my sweet, innocent cousin. He killed him. Then he played a hand in killing my mother and I never forgave him for it.” You shrug. “That was the beginning of the end for something we’d never get to have anyway.” 

***

The minute Rhaenyra received news about Lucerys, you were quick to have the Maesters write a note that you would be hand delivering to Aemond yourself. You would not give him the satisfaction of being able to speak to you in person after the atrocity he’d just committed. 

Poor Luke. He was a boy. So good, so innocent, desperately trying to do his duty and do right by his mother. 

He wasn’t a warrior. He was a child. 

And Aemond had killed him anyway. 

You leave the note pierced through the center by one of your daggers inside of the shack overlooking Driftmark. When Aemond bursts through the door several hours after fleeing Storm’s End, he finds it and frantically opens the letter to reads the words written upon. 

Aemond, 

You have brought what follows the death of Lucerys upon yourself.

Kesan ilimagho līr iksin dōrī  āzma ezīmagon bisa vys.  Se kesan daor ilimagho ao skori aōha hoskagon maghagon aōha ropagon. 

He swallows the knot in his throat and presses his forehead to the paper.

I will not mourn that which was never born into this world. And I will not mourn you when your pride brings your fall. 

Aemond wishes he was brave enough to tell you like he did in this little house on the cliffs all those years ago. 

But just like the dreams of things that will never come to pass, his harbored desires for you die as he flees the cliffsides to Vhagar. 

The house on the cliffs is never occupied again. 

***

You know when you do find what little remains of him that this is what he wrought. There was nothing to be done. 

Nothing, you think, as you remove Dark Sister from Aemond’s other eye and throw it into the water. 

You don’t unchain him. His body will be found years later still confined to the chains that held him to Vhagar’s saddle. 

It’s... quite fitting, really. Aemond Targaryen - the one who sought freedom - dying confined to both his physical and metaphorical chains made quite a lot of sense. 

The thought of it almost made you smile, despite the tightness in your chest. 

You had wept profusely for your mother. For Laenor, for Laena. You refuse to give Aemond that same satisfaction, despite that part of you from your childhood that still wants to chase him forever. 

The childlike spirits of you and Aemond Targaryen run far away together in a field of wildflowers. Far away from war, from pain and suffering, and.. happy. You’re happy. 

Oh how you wish you could be there. 

You grimace and bend down to cup water in your hands. The air is thick with smoke and difficult to breathe in, but you’re more focused about keeping yourself together then falling apart as realization falls upon you. 

Aemond is dead. 

You should be fine with it. He hurt you irreparably. 

So why does looking at him hurt? Why does thinking about all the things you should’ve gotten to do, to be - as his wife, Aemond would’ve let you be anything you wanted if it meant you were free of your duties and obligations as a Velaryon - cut deeper then the sharpest knife? 

   “I would’ve brought this entire country to its knees for you,” You murmur. The water at your feet is tinged red now. The dragons corpses had been settled in it long enough to stain it red. “But you never could have done the same thing for me.” 

It will be quite some time before either is pulled from the water. You are quick to leave - unable to do so on dragon back, since almost all the dragons have been killed by now - by horseback to Driftmark. You and your father are the last Velaryons, and he had made it clear you were to not be directly involved on the fronts of the war anymore. 

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t send Alicent a parting gift first. 

***

  “Were you there when the Dowager Queen died?” 

  “Oh no, but I sent my regards. She got what she deserved. You reap what you sow.”

The regard in question: Aemond’s sapphire eye, taken out with your own fingers, and his sword - both recovered from the body that you left chained to Vhagar. 

You hadn’t been present for most of what happened after the God’s Eye. You’d gone straight back to your father in Driftmark, where he forced you to remain until the end of the war. Corlys was not about to let anything else happen to his family like it had Baela, Rhaena, Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor. 

He’d pass peacefully in his sleep some years later. 

When Alicent Hightower died around the same time, you lit a single candle and placed it in your window. You didn’t mourn her. You hoped she was suffering the same way she’d allowed you and your family to suffer. 

The flame flickered out, and the last of House Velaryon stood. 

*** 

Someone else has entered the room. You’re not sure who, given that your chambers are mostly off limits, and Driftmark is scarcely occupied these days. You pay no mind to it when Theah stands in the midst of your conversation to go and greet your guests. They must be important if your guards let them pass. 

It was only recently that you’d been declared unfit to rule Driftmark. It was never supposed to be yours anyways, but with the lack of heirs and the death of your House, it had gone to you anyway. 

With your passing would also be the end of House Velaryon, never to be remembered as anything other than the House dragged into the darkness with House Targaryen after effectively tearing each other apart. 

  “My dearest one,” Your eyes snap open. It’s been so long since you’ve heard that voice. “The years have been kind to you. You look peaceful.” 

  “The years kept me from you, Mother.” You whisper. “Especially when I needed you most.” 

Rhaenys is the one you keep seeing, both in your waking and dreaming moments. It’s cruel. It’s cruel knowing she’s the only family member to appear to you when so many others could be the the ones to guide you home. Out of this darkness and into the waking light. 

It would be so much better where you were going. 

  “I have waited so long for you to come home to your family.” Rhaenys murmurs, and you find yourself unintentionally leaning outward in search of her touch when her hands extends toward you. “I’m sorry to have left you behind.” 

It didn’t matter. You had sought vengeance for your mother’s death once and for all when the list of living Targaryens dwindled and left so few alive. 

No one ever did find out who poisoned Aegon the Usurper. 

In the corner, Theah stands frozen at the sight of who lingers in the doorway. “Your Grace,” She murmurs in shock, clearly unsure of what to do. “This is a most unexpected surprise. For both Targaryen brothers to be here-” 

Aegon the Younger holds up a hand. He’d only just recently been granted the time to read his mother’s last testament. After being present at the time of her death, it had taken decades for him to gather the courage to even go near the document she’d left behind for her sons. 

That was why he’d let Viserys read it first. That was what led them here. 

  “My Hand and I have come to express our thanks to the last Lady of House Velaryon,” Aegon remarks. “As our mother had asked of us. According to her last testament, she is also the last survivor of the Dance of Dragons who fought on the front lines of the war. We wish to extend our gratitude for all she's done since.” 

Behind her stands Rhaenyra. She’s the same age as she was when she was killed by Aegon, wearing your favorite hairstyle and dress that you’d thought always complimented her so well. You want to think her stare of longing is directed at you. 

It’s not. 

She’s looking at her sons. 

  “My boys. My beautiful boys,” She whispers, coming to stand beside Rhaenys. “Tell them I’m proud of them.” 

So you do. You tell Viserys and Aegon that you can see their mother, as clear as the last time you ever saw her, and that she is sorry for all the suffering they endured during The Dance of Dragons. That she’s proud of who they became and how they honor their family. 

You miss the single tear that falls down both faces at the confession. 

*** 

  “It’s coming.” Viserys the Second murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as both he and Theah watch you from the side of the room. Aegon is quietly murmuring to you from your bedside. Ever since you’d told the brothers that their mother was proud of them, Viserys had known deep within him that you were not long for this world. 

  “What?” 

  “The end.” 

Aegon feigns a warm smile as he squeezes your hand. “Our mother spoke highly of you, My Lady,” He whispers. “I hope now that you can find some peace of mind.” 

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy reaching, reaching, reaching for your mother’s hand that you’ve so longed to ache for the last several decades that have passed since the end of the Dance. 

  “My love.” A whisper echoes in your ear as you sigh softly, the rise and fall of your chest slowing as Aemond slowly appears in your peripheral. He’s still the same age he was when he died. “Come home to us. Let me make it right.” 

A single tear rolled down your cheek.

  “Can we go to the wildflowers?” You whisper. “And the cliffside overlooking the ocean?” 

  “It’s beautiful here. There’s no pain. No pain, anger, no blood, no suffering... No obligations to our duties.” Aemond extends his hand. “Your mother is waiting for you in the house on the cliffside. A field of wildflowers awaits us. There’s so many to choose from. Come home.” 

  “Aemond...” 

  “I’m ready to love you the way you always desired. I just never knew how. I do now. And I regret every moment that has passed since I cast you aside.” His eye softens. There’s something about him that just seems... gentler. It’s an odd contrast to how you knew him when he was alive. “Come home.” 

Hm. You’d thought that the fruits of your labors over the last decades had rotted and died, leaving you with nothing. No legacy, no heirs, no one left to remember your name. There had been no point to all the fighting for you because you’d lost anyway. There was never a war to be won because it was always going to be lost. 

The Dance of Dragons had effectively torn apart House Targaryen at the seams. 

Maybe your fruits were ripe and you just didn’t know it. You know that all the people you love are waiting for you. That the current king on the Iron Throne knows you well - because his mother had taken careful care to write about you in her last testament - and his brother holds you in high regard. That your Lady in Waiting knows your story and all the horrors that fall upon it. About how you endured and survived, how resilient you became, how you spent the rest of your days ensuring people would not forget the name Velaryon. 

Your last wish for Westeros was to make sure people remembered. Not your name, but your mothers name. Your fathers name. 

They deserved the credit and legacy far, far more than their headstrong daughter driven by the anger that came from duty. 

  “I’m coming, Mother.” You whisper once again, eyes falling closed. “I’m coming, My Love.” 

Your hand falls limp in Aegon’s. No one will admit it, but something dies in both of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sons that day. They’d had so much still to learn about the mother they barely remembered. To have someone who knew her first hand and had cared deeply for her had prompted them to pursue a relationship with the Heir to Driftmark. 

You knew their story, their mother, better than they ever would. 

   “The Realm has lost quite a woman today,” Viserys murmurs, swallowing the knot in his throat as he presses his hands to Aegon’s shoulders. Theah can’t help but shift uncomfortably. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment she cannot comprehend. “May the Seven bring her the peace she was never able to find in this world.” 

When the Silent Sisters tend to your body, a single crown sits upon it at completion. 

People would know the Heir of Driftmark died today. 

And so the last of the Sea Snake’s line would cease. 

[angelst4re]

this is for my beloved @jamiesdarlin who came up with this idea and it made me feral so i did what had to be done... and rewrote it about 5 times &lt;3

Like a Villain- Jamie Campbell Bower/Henry Creel x Reader

summary: your boyfriend gets a haircut in preparation to play henry again and decides to surprise you when you come home...

warnings: NSFW!!! contains smut!! don't read if this makes you uncomfortable my love!

notes: i intended for this to be a male reader fic but i think it's more gender neutral :)

As you were driving home from work, you remembered Jamie was going to get his haircut today. It had grown out quite a lot since the last time he had it properly cut, and you thought the look really suited him. You liked running your fingers through his long hair, shampooing it when you would take showers and baths together, and just playing with it when the two of you would be watching a movie and he’d rest his head on your lap. You asked him to send you a picture after he had it cut, but he said no, he wanted to surprise you when you got home. 

Shutting the door behind you, you kicked your shoes off and put your car keys by Jamie’s. It seemed a bit quiet, you wondered if your boyfriend was even home. 

“Jamie? I’m home!” You called out before going into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“How was work, darling?” Jamie asked, and as you turned around to face him you almost choked on your water. 

Jamie leaned against the door frame, his hair had been cut a lot shorter, it had been lightened, and it appeared to have been slightly curled. Only one thing came to mind.

Henry.

And that was when you noticed what he was wearing, the white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the white trousers… It was clear he had done this on purpose, as he knew how you felt about this particular character. 

“...” You were too shocked, perhaps even stunned, to answer his question. You didn’t know where to look, or how to react. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know, darling.” He chuckled, his voice appearing darker, and he began to move closer to you, until he was looking down at you, a playful look in his eye as his hand came up to stroke your cheek. 

“Jamie-”

“Shh,” he hushed you, placing his finger over your lips, “we’re going to go upstairs, love,” he said, his voice now slow and almost gentle, “and Henry is going to fuck you, just like you’ve always wanted. Okay?”

You were silenced, almost frozen in utter shock and undeniable arousal. You eagerly nodded your head, and Jamie smiled, winking at you before taking your hand, leading you to the bedroom. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Once upstairs, Jamie shut the bedroom door behind the both of you before sitting down on the bed, his back against the headboard. He ordered you to undress, and he then patted his lap. 

Once you were left in just your underwear, you joined him on the bed, straddling his hips as his hand came up to the back of your head, pulling your face closer to his and crashing his lips into yours. This took you by surprise, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was being so much rougher with you than usual, and the way his other hand had a hold of your hip made you wonder if he would leave bruises on your skin, the way he bit down on your lip before he slowly pulled away from the kiss had you wondering if it was enough to draw blood… 

“Jamie-” you were cut off as his hand sent a gentle slap to your face, before he took your jaw in his hand and moved your head, so you were looking at him. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were from the way he handled you, which usually would be with care, but you loved to see this rough side of him, and you were willing to see how far he would take it.

“Sweetheart…” He sighed, shaking his head as his eyes lit up with a devilish spark, “Jamie treats you so well, doesn’t he? He’s gentle, he can be slow and passionate when he fucks you, but you seem to be forgetting something…” His breathing began to get heavier as he spoke to you, it’s quite clear that he’s been waiting to do this for a while, and that he seems to be enjoying it more than he would care to admit, “Jamie’s not going to fuck you, baby. Henry will.” 

You could feel the throbbing in your most private areas becoming harder and harder to ignore, and you were sure- given the position you were in- that he could feel it too. 

“Say my name.” He demanded, a smirk creeping up on his face at how flustered you had become, watching as your cheeks redden at his words. When you didn’t answer him, he removed his hand from your hip, and it came down on your ass with a slap.

“Henry…” You said, it came out as almost a whimper, trying to avoid eye contact with the man that was making you feel this way. 

“Say it again, love.” He teased, his hand now massaging the flesh of your ass, loving the effect he had on you. 

“Henry.” You said, more confident this time as your eyes met his, seconds before his lips were back on yours again, and your arms came up to wrap around his neck, involuntarily grinding down against his hardening cock through his white trousers. 

He bucked his hips up, sending shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands came down to where your bodies met and your fingers fumbled around with his belt, but you quickly became frustrated, frowning against his lips as you struggled with it. 

He was seemingly as needy as you at this moment as his hands quickly swatted yours away and he took his belt off, placing it beside him on the bed…

He wrapped an arm around you, flipping the both of you over so you were now beneath him, looking up at him with lust filled eyes, and your lips slightly parted as you caught your breath. He unbuttoned his trousers, but never fully undressed. Your hand reached down to wrap your fingers around his cock, needing to touch him there- but he took your wrists in one hand, his belt in the other, and he tied you up, wrapping the belt around the headboard to keep your arms in place, acting like handcuffs. 

He then slid his hands down your body, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulling them ever so slowly down your legs before throwing them to the side. The velvety head of his cock was pressing into your thigh as he angled his head slightly and let a drop of spit land onto your area. He used it as lubrication as he pressed the tip of his thumb into your hole, grinning as he watched the sudden change of expression on your face. 

He eased you open, preparing you to take his cock. You bit down on your lip as he switched from his thumb to two fingers, easing in and out of you, pleasure running through your body with each curl of his fingers as they pumped into you.

“Eyes on me.” He reminded you after your let your eyes fall shut. You angled your head to look at him, and he had the most devilish look upon his face, everything about Jamie was gone, from the way he held you to the way he spoke, his whole demeanour switched, and you were loving every moment of it.

He took his cock into his hand, and you gasped as you felt the tip nudge against your hole. Your hips bucked up, and he placed his other hand on your lower stomach to keep you in place as he teased you, pushing the very tip of his cock into you before withdrawing it again. You continued to squirm beneath him, arching your back as you tried to move your hips, needing him to fuck you and stop teasing.

“Please, I need you.” You whined, screwing your eyes shut, “Henry, please!”

You didn’t even notice he had untied your arms until you’re flipped over again. He ties your hands behind your back using his belt again and wraps his hands around your hips to pull your ass into the air whilst pushing your face down into the pillows.

“Not a sound, pet.” He tells you, “or I won’t let you finish. You don’t want that, do you?”

You shook your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

He holds onto your hip with one hand as the other positions his cock at your entrance, and he begins to slowly fill you up. You bite down on your lip as you feel your walls being stretched around his length, and he brushed against every spot inside you that made you want to scream his name.

Once he was settled inside you, you felt his hand stroke your back, before he began to slowly move his hips, sliding inches out of you to pound back into you. You gasped as his hand moved again, between your bodies, and you wanted to scream out. But you fought against the urge, burying your face further into the pillow.

The impact from his thrusts, the feeling of his pubic bone hitting your ass, only pushed you further into the pillows. When he noticed, he snaked an arm around your upper body, pulling your back to his chest, all whilst continuing to fuck you mercilessly.

His hand crept to your throat, his fingers wrapping around as he kissed the side of your neck, his freshly bleached hair tickling your delicate skin.

“You feel so good, darling. You’re doing such a good job. I can feel you getting close, just hold on a bit longer, okay?” He whispered, although it was more of a pant. His breath was warm as he spoke, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, and the raspiness went straight to your core. “Just a bit longer.” He reminded you.

You tried to hold back the feeling that was slowly approaching. But as you felt his cock hit deeper and deeper inside you as his pace quickened, you worried you couldn’t hold out for him. However, your knees buckled when you felt him twitch inside you, you knew he was close too.

“Who’s fucking you like this, huh? Who’s making you feel this good? Say it, honey. Use your words.”

“Y-you, Henry.” You stutter, your half-lidded eyes making contact with his, “just you.”

“That’s right, baby,” he tells you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, placing a kiss there as he twitches inside you again, “you want it inside you, pet?”

You nod your head, a ‘please’ falling from your lips, although he could’ve mistaken it for a moan. However, with one last thrust of his hips, you felt yourself coming closer and closer, until it hit you all at once. The warmth of his seed made your belly tingle as you lost control of your limbs, falling back onto his chest. He held you up as he gave sharp strokes inside you, and you contracted around him, milking his cock of all it had.

"Fuck-" He said with a groan as he stilled inside you, feeling his heartbeat against your back as it began to beat in time with yours as you began to catch your breath.

He placed a final kiss to your neck before he released your wrists from the makeshift tie, placing a kiss on each of your wrists as he laid you down on the bed. As you laid down, he noticed his cum was already beginning to drip down your thighs. He parted your thighs again and leaned down, collecting it with his finger and pushing it back inside, causing you to hiss from the overstimulation. He patted your thigh as he spoke,

“Let’s keep it all where it belongs, darling.”

You could only wish this is how he would continue to fuck you as he prepared to play his character again.

[t00nyah]

If you could make your own video game (think of an idea l and it just snaps into existence somehow) what would it be about and what mechanics would it consist of? What platforms would it be available for? Who's the target demographic? Or anything else you want to ramble about... I like to think of creating my own games sometimes.

haha they dont know i have a joke rpg game i made in a day to test my abilities.

in all seriousness though, i actually did have bigger projects that i never finished... so, just gonna drop that i'm a big fan of RPG maker games, horror ones, PSYCHOLOGICAL horror ones for even better score. and i am kind of a liiiittle experienced with rpg maker.

warning!!

this answer ended up containing a lot of sensitive topics(in my opinion??) and i tried my best to make sure to include them in tags AND before each idea's explanation, please check the tags and not proceed if those topics are sensitive to you personally!!

i had a project that i started making as a vent. that's the closest i had to actually making something. it was called zepphire's lair. zepphire is my sona from 2015 that had very bright neon colours that were probably UNBEARABLE to look at, then i tried redesigning her years later into something pastel. and then, umm... in 2022 i had issues with my style because i used to be VERY caught in 'oh,,,this one line is weird,,,how do people even like my art there's a stray pixel there...god.' and decided to do something about it. this 'something about it' was changing my art style to PURPOSEFULLY unpleasant to look at, messy and annoying. it was bright, i didnt care, and honestly i think it helped with being that critical to myself. anyways. sorry im rambling but it is important

so in 2022, when i had a giant relief of drawing in the most unbearable(and stunning at the same time) art style, i reused zepphire. FUCK PASTEL said me. NEONS ARE GOOD. it was a great decision.

so zepphire's lair was meant to be an rpg game where you play as zepphire. who in her head is still her young self that doesn't have to think about what happened. but in reality, her magical world she was meant to become a god of was destroyed and ruined because she wasn't responsible enough with powers granted to her. she is now the only resident of the Forbidden Location, an alternative world that people could get into by just clipping randomly. like you know when you find a spot in a videogame that doesn't have an invisible wall and you go OH. that. i wasn't sure how to continue working on it because it lacked story to tell as present. it had a past story to unfold, but i had no idea what would happen now. i had a thought of someone getting into FL somehow after long time and zepphire trying to solve this because they're clearly not meant to be there while in her head she's still stuck struggling with herself.

i want to put a little bit of assets i made for zepphire's lair, but since it's all very bright toxic neon i think i'm gonna place them at the veeeery end so you don't have to look at them if you can't stand it.

CW: cartoon blood!! a little bit of it!!

next up is my cool idea of a fangame! so, purrfect apawcalypse is one of my favourite game series. and i've been following it since first one and i have a LARGE fanmade setting set in the same universe! (in fact, two! i also made a reference for kitsune high which is set to be in an agricultural town inhabitated by foxes! it was a cool project)

the game idea was to make an rpg (because, again, that's all i know, lmao) that follows the Chatting club - a school interest club literally dedicated to rumors and just having a good time - as they unveil the secrets their school holds. cats and dogs disappearance cases? rumors of ghost around? who the heck lives in the garden and what're they up to? what is up with the Detective club's president Seraphima? there are many mysteries. it would have an overall vibe of the original novellas' series - a cutesy game about very cute furries and weird magic stuff happening, while also having a little bit...darker tone. like i was actually going to explore a very dark topic with this one but honestly? right now i really don't like the way i wrote it back then. if i were to pick up the idea again i deffo would try to rewrite it and make more sense into it. i like the detective vibe it had going though!

here are some references of the characters that are important to the plot! a lot of twists were planned for this story and i'm not going to tell them all because it's a secret tee-hee.

also as i searched for the refs i found that the working title of the game was 'purrfect meowting'

another concept for a game i had...which is a lot.

CW: contains themes of child neglect, probably abuse, general cat mistreatment, probably a bit of ableism(im unsure about this one) and maybe a bit of weird racism because one of mc's character's parent is weird and very stupid and we are allowed to hate her for that...i hope i mentioned it all.

i have a little ocs setting with three main characters that i refer as 'kitty girls' this story is tragic and is based on idea i had about making a story...about girls...but put them into life situations that would reflect what cats sometimes have to go through bc some humans are trash, but put it through a human lens, although not exactly. it also ended up a story that portrays children who've lost their childhoods for various reasons. idk how to explain.

these are Snowwhite, Rouge and Patches. their names were meant to be reflecting what another one's kitty sona is, but i fucked up, lol.

Showwhite is a picture perfect girl for her parents who's mostly been treated as a prize all her life, making her feel sick of herself. Rouge was neglected by her mom because 'she wasn't born red'(as in orange...like a cat...i used cat allegories every time i explained it but i think the implications are clear enough - her mother wanted her to look different.) and she lived a happy life with her grandparents. and Patches...is a deaf girl whose parents just couldn't take care of her properly so she ended up in an orphanage. she has awful attachment issues.

i won't explain the whole plot but their stories were meant to be kind of a portrayal of how some people treat animals as just objects, things they can just get rid of. a cat of specific breed, bred for specific traits which may be hurtful to it, a cat whose owner just threw it away after it not meeting the expectations, and a general theme of people not wanting to take in cats with injuries that make them 'not pretty' for them. i don't know why im tearing up right now but these make me so upset and i smh wanted to portray these issues though human characters, and while adapting them i realized that those awful stories ended up overlapping with how neglectful parents end up treating their children.

in the end they end up in cat heaven, where they all meet and get to be happy and be themselves. snowwhite learns to love herself for who she is and find out hobbies there, rouge just finally gets friends she lacked. also patches doesn't magically start hearing in cat heaven, she was given an option to but she felt overwhelmed a lot and ended up sticking to being deaf but not treating it as a bad thing, just a different thing.

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BONUS SECTION

i also have this unused character and concept art that i just made bc i finally felt like i could do something back in the day

her working name was 'vogel'

so. returning to zepphire's lair. one thing i forgot to mention earlier is that i also even made OST for it (didn't feel like it would fit the text above). this one is just the theme that plays in the first playable area

main menu theme...is too heavy for tumblr apparently. huh. it's a very simple tune it just goes on for very long (bc there's an easter egg if you listen to it for too long!!!)

next section contains bright images that im gonna put even deeper below!!

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title screen!

intro cutscene! small baby zepphire, and then zepphire acquiring her godmode key, and then ending up becoming a photoshooter!! the camera is important .

here she is!!! the cat herself!!!

a photo that she has in her inventory!! it's mewtona, her sister!

gameplay-wise i was gonna make it so you can collect random photos zepphire made and have to learn the implications of that and what it has to do with 'the photoshooting incident'. it would be somewhat close to omori - part of story is in reality and parts of it in headspace that explains the story.

I THINK that's all. sorry this took so long that was a lot of yapping!!!

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 - 𝐒𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Word Count: 1,173

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader,blood, ptsd,nude drawings, mentions of male private parts

Proof Read and Edited

Quirk user has a drawing tablet and stencil, can attatch to clothes or body parts. Can draw anything in the tablet and it will come to life, can be aniamls, weapons, items , anything as long as they can draw it.

You left your dorm room, clutching your sketchbook and a handful of pencils, in search of a peaceful spot to let your creativity flow. Weekends were your favorite time to draw and be alone with your thoughts. Although drawing was your quirk, you preferred it when it was freestyle and not too intense.

Exiting the elevator, you adjusted your hoodie and entered the lounge area. A few of your classmates were already there, the early birds who enjoyed waking up early. Momo greeted you "Morning Y/n," turning towards you as she waited for her tea to boil. You waved back, your mouth occupied with pencils, while your other hand held two bags of chips.

Taking a seat at the table, you placed your belongings down and let out a sigh. The lounge room was unusually quiet, especially for this time of day. Glancing around, you noticed the same five people who were always up at this hour - Iida, Todoroki, Koda, Tokoyami, and of course, Momo. Pulling your knee up to your chest, you immediately began sketching.

After a short while of doing your own thing, Momo placed a cup of tea in front of you, being careful not to disturb your drawings. You glanced up and couldn't help but smile at the girl beside you. "Peppermint?" you asked, bringing the cup to your nose and taking a whiff. "Y/n, I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't know your preferred flavor."

Recognizing the familiar scent, you took a sip eagerly. Closing your eyes, you savored the taste that brought back fond memories. Peppermint tea would always hold a special place in your heart. When you were around 7 years old, you and your parents would often sit on the couch, sipping peppermint tea on chilly days, snuggled up under cozy blankets, enjoying each other's company. This became a cherished routine until you turned 10, when things suddenly changed. Your parents grew distant, speaking formally and giving short responses. They only seemed to care about work, and one day, you woke up to find them gone. Returning home, the house remained empty. Since then, your family had never been the same, communicating in robotic, formal answers. Now, you struggled with any noise, as you had grown accustomed to silence.

Passing Momo one of your chips, you both sat there in comfortable silence. Unfortunately, your peace was soon interrupted as the rest of 1-A began to arrive for breakfast or their usual activities. Mentally sighing, you knew your tranquility was about to be shattered. "Here," Momo spoke up, offering a solution. You looked up and saw her creating earplugs from her chest. At this point, you were used to her quirks, so you didn't bother acting flustered. Swiftly, you grabbed the earplugs and inserted them into your ears, effectively blocking out most of the noise.

You did your best to ignore the rowdy bunch, but Bakugo's loud yelling and the rest of them talking loudly made it impossible. The noise was overwhelming, and you could feel the frustration building up inside you. Quickly, you packed up and stood up, giving a smile to Momo before hurrying away from the group.

"Y/n always leaves when we get here. Is it because we smell?" Denki asked, raising his arms to smell his armpits. Kirishima smacked the back of his head. "Don't be weird, bro," he said with disgust.

"It's because they have sensitive ears," Momo spoke up on your behalf. "We've been classmates for months now, you should at least know that much about them." Momo walked towards them, a smirk on her face. "Plus, you guys are just too loud. You're even making me leave." She walked towards the exit, munching on her chips.

"That's not our fault, Y/n barely responds when we try to talk to them," Denki mumbled, crossing his arms. "Even I knew that," Todoroki spoke up from behind them. Sero turned to face him. "Did Y/n tell you?" he asked. Todoroki shook his head. "No, but their body language did. They would cover their ears whenever you guys come in or when it gets too loud for them. And today, Momo even gave them earplugs." He spoke with ease. "As aspiring pros, we should know how to observe people," he added, his voice tinged with a hint of monotone.

-

The next day, you left your dorm and headed towards the lounge area to meet up with Momo, just like you did every weekend. You had your sketchbooks and pencils in hand, ready to spend some quality time together. Usually, everything was the same - you would sit down, the usual five people would be there, Momo would make you tea, and you would share your chips. But today was different.

As you started drawing, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Denki, Sero, and Kirishima standing there, with Bakugo a little further away. "Hey Y/n," Sero spoke up. You smiled softly and greeted them. "Hello. Is something wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"No, we just wanted to talk to you since we never really do," Denki replied, before noticing your sketchbook. "Wow, Y/n! I knew you liked drawing and it's part of your quirk, but I never knew you were this good," Kirishima exclaimed as he sat next to you, peering over your shoulder at your drawing. "You drew Momo so well. It looks incredibly realistic," he said in awe.

One thing you loved about drawing was capturing people's details and making them look realistic, as if someone had taken a photograph. "Thank you, Kirishima," you said gratefully, as the rest of the boys gathered behind to admire your work.

But then, in an instant, Denki snatched your sketchbook and started flipping through the pages. Panic washed over you, as you had some personal drawings in there. "Please don't look-" you pleaded, but it was too late.

"Whoa, they drew all of us!" Denki exclaimed, showing the group. "Denki, Y/n said not to look through them," Momo tried to intervene, attempting to retrieve the book. "I know, but these drawings are just too good!"

"Denki-" Sero began, but more of your classmates started to gather around, curious about the commotion. You sat there, feeling helpless as they spoke over you, not listening to your pleas. Denki continued to show the class your drawings, flipping through the pages as everyone spoke loudly.

Todoroki's voice broke the silence, "Denki, can't you see Y/n doesn't want you looking?" You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, avoiding eye contact with anyone, as the noise around you became increasingly unbearable. Suddenly, your attention was drawn to Denki, who exclaimed, "Look, Todoroki! They drew a picture of you!" Your face drained of color as you realized what the next few pages held, and you vowed to keep them hidden from everyone. Denki turned the book towards Todoroki, revealing yet another drawing of him.

"Please, stop," you softly pleaded, covering your ears. Mineta questioned, "Why are there so many drawings of Todoroki?" Todoroki chimed in, "We shouldn't be looking." With each page flip, more drawings of the heterochromia boy emerged, some of them quite spicy, causing chaos to erupt. Todoroki fell silent, his face displayed on every page of the book. As more people spoke, the ringing in your ears intensified. You removed your hands from your ears, only to feel something wet. "Y/n, your ears are bleeding," Momo gasped, capturing everyone's attention. Jiro, who could relate to the situation, offered, "Let me see." She examined your ear and grabbed a napkin to clean it up. Overwhelmed, you stood up, tears welling in your eyes. "I told you to stop!" you yelled, wincing in pain. "Didn't I tell you to stop?" Your voice resonated louder than anyone had ever heard before. The room fell silent, mouths agape, in response to your sudden outburst.

You found yourself unable to form any other words, so you turned away and made your way towards the elevator, heading back to your room. Once you were safely inside your dorm, all the anger you had been holding in came pouring out. Tears streamed down your face as your sobs grew louder. You had never felt so embarrassed in your life. You laid down on your bed, facing away from the door. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock. "Come in," you sniffled, wiping away your tears. You turned to face Momo, but to your surprise, it wasn't your best friend standing in your room. "Oh. I thought you were Momo," you spoke gently, looking down at your leg as your feet dangled from the bed.

"I'm probably one of the last people you want to see right now," he said before moving closer to where you were sitting. "Can I clean up your ear?" Todoroki asked. You hesitated for a moment before nodding, your eyes fixed on the floor. He gently pushed the stray strands of hair behind your ear as he grabbed an alcohol pad to clean up the dried blood in and around your ear. You winced slightly at the sudden action. "Sorry," he whispered softly. He finished cleaning and then taped a gauze pad on your ear, just in case it started bleeding again.

"You know," he began as he packed away the trash, "I actually enjoyed the drawings."

"You did?" you asked, feeling the embarrassment creeping back in. "Yeah, the way you captured my facial expressions turned out really well. Especially the one where I was naked," he chuckled, causing you to playfully push him. "Stop," you laughed. "No one was supposed to see them."

"I really like this one," he exclaimed, pulling your sketchbook out from behind his back. "The way the water drop is rolling down my abs onto my di-" You swiftly snatched the book and tossed it onto your pile of clothes on the floor. "That's enough of that, I'm already embarrassed," you blushed.

"Hmm," Todoroki pondered. "How about you draw me right now?"

"Right now?" you questioned. "Yeah, so you won't feel so flustered. And if you want, you can show the class a PG drawing of me," he chuckled. You nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Alright then, go get the book, my love,"

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Epilogue

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

——————————————————————————

Continuing to stand here wouldn’t make that any better.

“Yeah, you are right, I’d better bring these to him, hey you wanna try planting one too?”

I separated about five of the plants and held them towards him as he nodded. 

He gently took them and started putting his tools away.

“Well, i’ll be off then, good luck with the plants and see you later”

He waved and put a few more stones around the perimeter of the garden before continuing to put his stuff back in the toolbox he got from Barsen.

Speaking of Barsen, where was he anyway?

While he had the habit of finding everything in the Garden it was a nightmare to search for him as he sometimes just disappeared into the greenery.

Well, I still didn’t want these to wilt so I’d better find him.

Going methodical might be best here, so I would go back and see if he was near the rock anywhere.

He’d been there last i saw him, and it was likely he’d go back there to collect the plants he asked for.

And I hoped that at this point he finally went to get the wheelbarrow repaired.

Ducking under a branch back into the unobstructed space next to the rock I could see him, so I had been right.

He did come back to collect the plants he asked for, and this time he was not carrying a wheelbarrow on his shoulders.

He turned to face me before i could draw any attention to myself, Once again a bit eerie but he was the gardener and probably knew what made the different sounds in the underbrush.

He smiled when he saw me and the bluebells I was carrying with me and I gently passed them along when I reached him, but instead of once again disappearing like he did so often he looked at me with a serious face.

Uh oh, did I do something wrong?

Did I step on some prized plant as an Ardua?

But it appeared that I was wrong in that aspect.

“There is someone in the main hall that knows your name, your entire name, and he asked to speak to you.

He’s waiting somewhere in front of the throne for you, you better hurry i have no idea how long he’ll actually wait”

Someone that knew my name? My full name at that?

The only ones who I had told that were Robin, Arthur and Rikaad.

So who the fuck waltzed in here with the knowledge of my name?

Well, there was only one way to find out, and I couldn’t deny that I was curious as to who this person was.

And also ask how they knew my name, because that was very weird.

I knew I had not told anyone my name as there really wasn’t much opportunity to since Fae blooded people were basically hunted for sport.

Maybe it was an estranged uncle or something?

After all, claiming to be related to a Fae Bastard was not something people would have freely admitted just a month ago.

Still wouldn’t really.

But if the guy wanted to freeload on the fact that i lived in the castle i would tell him to fuck off.

I now had people that liked me for who I was and not because I was rich or whatever.

I wasn’t even rich either, the only thing I got here was shelter and the occasional sweet treat from the kitchen.

Well, feeding something the size of an Ardua would get fucking expensive really quick so it was good that i could live off of sunlight.

But there were still things I could not resist, like cinnamon bread.

The loaves made by the Castle were really good though.

Speaking of Castle there it was, including the, at least in my opinion, stupidly oversized door.

So the guy that knew my name was in there, I briefly wondered what he would look like but since I was about to go see for myself that wasn’t necessary.

Going in I could see that the room was almost empty, safe for Norrin who was talking to Rikaad and a few other Guards in one of the corners.

And of course the man Barsen had said that he knew my full name.

He wasn’t facing me, he was facing the throne instead and I could see he was tall and had long off-white hair.

Since I couldn’t see his face I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he seemed to be fit, an archer perhaps? Or a dancer?

Maybe the off-white hair threw me out of the loop a bit.

But I could also tell that he was tall, very much so, taller than Rikaad even.

I’d guess he was at least six foot something and he was clad in a weirdly sewn green tunic that had leaves embroidered on the upper part of the sleeves and light beige pants with sturdy boots.

So that was the guy that knew my name and wanted to see me, Well, I’d better greet him then.

“Hello, are you the one that wanted to see me?”

The man turned around and suddenly I wished Barsen would have told me beforehand that this was an Elf, an actual one and not a Bastard.

His pointy ears were even longer than mine so there was no doubt about that, and now it made sense why he was so tall too.

The strangest thing about him however was that he was the palest person i had ever seen and possessed a pair of red eyes that looked like dull rubies.

An albino then, huh, but on top of that he looked eerily like one of those expensive porcelain dolls that Noble children sometimes had.

Something was off about him though, but I couldn’t say what, just an inherent sense that something was weird about him.

His movements were graceful, but seemed overly practiced and his face was like an emotionless mask even as he smiled.

A perfectly symmetrical smile that did not reach his eyes and seemed almost painted on with practice.

He opened his arms in what was probably meant to be a welcoming gesture but to me it still seemed strangely puppet like and practiced.

Then he spoke in a calm and melodious voice, still smiling that weird and a bit unnerving smile of his.

“Hello little Brother”

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Full warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Chapter 23 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The night was dark and quiet, the air thick with the tension that had gripped the city for days. Itadori, Panda, and Inumaki moved silently through the shadows, their footsteps barely making a sound on the cracked pavement. The two women from Tenjiku followed close behind, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. They had bid tearful goodbyes to their friends back at Yaga’s HQ, knowing this might be the last time they saw each other. Now, their only hope lay in the boys who had promised to get them to safety.

Itadori led the way, his senses on high alert as he scanned the streets for any sign of danger. They had been careful, checking and double-checking that Gojo was asleep and that Geto was nowhere in the building before they made their move. The last thing they needed was to be caught by one of the two most powerful sorcerers in the city. They had seen what Gojo was capable of in his current state, and the thought of facing Geto was enough to make their blood run cold.

As they reached the edge of town, Itadori felt a small sense of relief wash over him. They had made it this far without incident, and now Todo and Okkotsu were waiting for them with a car to take the women the rest of the way. The Zen’in clan’s territory was just a few blocks away, and the boys knew they couldn’t afford to be caught anywhere near it. The Zen’in were always on the hunt, and if they found out about the escape, they would stop at nothing to capture the women and make an example out of them.

Todo and Okkotsu stood by the car, their expressions grim but determined. They had agreed to this dangerous mission because they knew it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. The Zen’in clan was ruthless, and if they caught wind of this, it could mean the end for all of them.

The women thanked the boys with tearful smiles, one of them placing a sweet peck on each of their foreheads as a token of gratitude. Itadori, Panda, and Inumaki watched as the car drove off into the night, feeling a sense of accomplishment but also a deep, gnawing anxiety. They had done what they could to help, but they knew this was only a small victory in a much larger, much deadlier war.

As they walked back through the empty streets, Itadori broke the silence, his voice quiet and thoughtful, “It’s strange, isn’t it? We haven’t seen any Zen’in around lately.”

Panda nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I noticed that too," he said, glancing around, "But it’s probably because we've been quiet too. They've probably been laying low, trying to avoid drawing any more attention since Megumi died.”

Inumaki hummed softly, nodding his head in agreement. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and unaddressed fears. They all knew the stakes were high, and that any misstep could lead to disaster.

After a few more moments of silence, Itadori asked quietly, “What happened to Hakari?” The question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on them like a lead blanket.

Panda was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a sadness that made Itadori’s heart ache. “If Hakari’s still alive… he probably wishes he wasn’t," he said softly.

They walked in silence after that, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Inumaki sniffled quietly, wiping at his eyes before pulling out his phone. He typed a message and showed it to the others: “I wish we would have just called for backup that night.”

Itadori and Panda both nodded, their hearts heavy with guilt. They had been told time and time again that the war wasn’t their fault, that they couldn’t have known what would happen. But it was hard to shake the feeling that they had played a part in it. If they hadn’t gotten into that fight, Fumiya wouldn’t have died. If they had been more patient, Hakari wouldn’t have lost his mind.

Itadori inhaled deeply, trying to push the guilt down, to bury it deep where it couldn’t hurt him anymore. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said quietly, his voice firm but tinged with sadness. “The only thing we can do now is help save who we can.”

Panda and Inumaki nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening. They had to focus on the present, on the people who were still alive and needed their help. They couldn’t change the past, but they could still fight for the future. And that was all they could do.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Nanami sat quietly in his dimly lit office, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating the meticulous work before him. Papers lay in neat stacks, each one carefully filed into a locking case beside his desk. Bank records, important documents, personal files—everything Nanami might need for the life he was about to embark on, far away from the chaos that had consumed his world. He shredded the rest, making sure to leave no trace, no remnants of the life he was preparing to abandon.

His hands moved with precision, each movement deliberate, but his mind was heavy. As the teeth of the shredder devoured the last piece of paper, Nanami exhaled slowly, almost as if the sound of the machine had mirrored the finality of his decision. He was leaving. For good.

As he reached for the locking case to secure the last of his things, a weight pressed on the room, one so familiar and overwhelming that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He froze, his fingers tightening momentarily around the case handle, before realizing who it was.

Gojo stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, eyes glassy and distant. He blinked slowly, clearly drunk, his disheveled appearance made even worse by the half-empty bottle of whiskey he cradled in his hand. His presence was like a storm cloud, thick and oppressive, yet lacking the energy to burst.

Nanami straightened, turning toward Gojo, his face a mask of calm professionalism despite the pit forming in his stomach. "Do you need anything?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Gojo stared at him for a long moment, his gaze unfocused, as though he was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. Then, finally, he spoke, his words slurred but clear enough to make Nanami’s chest tighten. "Are you leaving too?"

Nanami’s first instinct was to lie, to protect whatever fragment of their strained relationship still existed. But seeing Gojo like this, so utterly lost and broken, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he nodded slowly, making the decision to speak the truth. "Yes," he admitted softly, the word hanging in the space between them.

Gojo took a long swig from the bottle, his eyes flickering for a second, but his expression remained unreadable. His sigh was long and drawn out, almost as if it carried the weight of an entire lifetime of regrets. "Yeah… figures," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is what it is."

Nanami's brows furrowed slightly as he studied Gojo’s face, trying to gauge his emotions. "Are you upset?" He asked carefully.

For a moment, Gojo didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingers as if he was too tired to hold it anymore. When he finally looked back up, there was a faint, bittersweet smile on his face—one that made Nanami’s stomach twist with a sense of foreboding. "Nah," Gojo said, shaking his head, "I’m used to people leaving. You do what you gotta do, man."

He lifted the bottle in a mock salute, his eyes dim with a hollow sense of resignation. "Just fuck off, Nanami. Don’t come back."

Nanami’s heart clenched at the words, not because of the harshness of them, but because of the quiet pain hidden beneath. He nodded, accepting Gojo's command without protest. It wasn’t as if either of them expected much else. But even as he turned to close his case, the weight of unsaid things lingered, and for the first time in a long while, Nanami felt compelled to say something that mattered.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, his voice softer than he expected. Gojo’s head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for an explanation. "I’m sorry that the two of us never really saw eye to eye," Nanami continued, "I always thought you were careless, too flippant, but... I know now that you’re more sincere than people give you credit for. It’s just… hard for me to see it through the way you act."

Gojo laughed—a bitter, humorless sound that cut through the tension in the room like a knife. He swayed slightly, the alcohol clearly taking its toll, but his voice was steady when he responded. "It’s not like I tried, either," he slurred with a shrug.

The two men stood in silence for a beat, neither quite knowing what to say. The weight of years spent misunderstanding one another, the years of standing on opposite sides of the same battlefield, felt suddenly too heavy to bear.

Gojo looked at Nanami, his expression softening just a little as he raised the bottle in a toast. "I hope you find peace," he said, the sincerity in his voice almost startling in its rawness.

Nanami hesitated, his throat tightening for a moment before he responded. "I hope you do too."

Gojo leaned in the doorway, eyes glazed with alcohol and a strange, distant sorrow. The air between him and Nanami was thick with tension, the kind that had built up over years of misunderstanding, of taking different paths and silently resenting each other for it.

Nanami moved to leave, but Gojo’s voice, unusually low and grave, stopped him. "Before you go," he muttered, swirling the bottle of whiskey in his hand, "how about one last drink together?"

Nanami paused, his hand resting on the door handle. He didn't owe Gojo anything—except maybe this. A drink. A shared moment, free from the weight of everything else. For all their differences, Gojo was still a man Nanami respected, and at this moment, something about his request felt like a quiet plea.

He turned back, walking to the shelf, and grabbed a glass. Gojo filled it with a lazy grin, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as he tipped the bottle. The room was filled with silence, thick and heavy, as the two men stood together, drink in hand, sharing something more profound than either could put into words.

After a long moment, Nanami broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative, "Do you think I’m doing the right thing?"

Gojo lifted his eyes from his drink, looking at Nanami as if weighing his answer. "Do you love Rin?" He asked.

Nanami didn’t even hesitate. "I do."

Gojo nodded, taking a long sip from his glass. "Then it’s the right thing," he said with a shrug.

They stood quietly for a moment, the sound of Gojo’s breath ragged from the whiskey and whatever demons he’d been wrestling with all night. Finally, Nanami turned to him, his brows furrowing in genuine concern. "What about you? The group’s fallen apart. What are you going to do now?" He asked.

Gojo tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if searching for an answer that had long evaded him. When he finally spoke, his voice was tired and flat, "I’m just waiting for Sarah to come kill me."

Nanami’s glass paused midway to his lips, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You can’t be serious."

Gojo chuckled, a bitter, humorless sound. "Oh, I’m serious," he said, "I know how much she hates me, Nanami. It’s crystal clear. She’ll come for me, and when she kills me, she’ll be happy. I’ll have finally done something good for her."

Nanami placed his drink down, the weight of Gojo’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. "It doesn’t have to be that way," he said quietly, but firmly, "Even if she’ll never love you again, that doesn’t mean you can’t save her. There’s still a chance."

Gojo’s expression darkened, his eyes half-lidded, as though he was already half-asleep or halfway to giving up entirely. "Save her? From what? She doesn’t need saving from me. She needs saving from this place, from this world, from all of us."

"Or maybe," Nanami said slowly, "she’ll regret it. Killing you, I mean. She really did love you when you were younger, or at least, that’s what I understood."

Gojo laughed again, that same hollow sound that sent a chill down Nanami’s spine. "Maybe. But it’s going to happen. So, why fight it? I’ve got nothing left anyway, Nanami. Nothing to hold onto. Might as well let her have her revenge."

Nanami stared at him for a long moment, wrestling with his frustration. He’d always had difficulty understanding Gojo, but this? This nihilistic, fatalistic approach to everything... it felt like a man who had given up long ago. A man who had lost his way and couldn’t find a reason to keep moving forward.

"I disagree," Nanami said softly, the weight of his words hanging in the air, "You’re obsessed with this idea of her killing you. But if you really want to make things up to Sarah, if you want to make peace with what happened, you should be doing everything in your power to save her. You want to make amends? Try to fix things. Not by dying, but by living and proving that you’ve changed."

Gojo stared into his glass, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he downed the rest of his whiskey in one swift motion. He didn’t respond right away, just kept staring at the empty glass, turning it slowly in his hand.

"Maybe you’re right," he muttered eventually, "But what if it’s too late for me, Nanami?"

Nanami shook his head. "It’s never too late. Not if you still care. And I think, deep down, you do," he said.

Gojo set the glass down on the desk, his fingers trembling slightly. "You’re wrong," he said quietly, but there was no conviction in his voice, only the echo of a man who had already decided his fate.

Nanami watched him for a moment longer, the room falling into a heavy silence once more. There was nothing more to say, no words that could reach Gojo now. But still, Nanami felt compelled to leave him with one last thought.

"Just… think about it," Nanami said softly, standing and grabbing his case, "For her sake. If not for your own."

Gojo didn’t respond, just kept staring at the desk, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like a boulder. And with that, Nanami left the office, leaving Gojo to wrestle with his demons alone.

Gojo stood alone in Nanami's empty office, the silence around him almost suffocating. The usual noise of the world felt distant here, drowned out by the weight of his thoughts. He stared at the glass in his hand, the remnants of whiskey swirling lazily at the bottom. Nanami’s words echoed in his mind, louder than they had been in the moment.

“If you really want to make things up to Sarah… try to fix things. Not by dying, but by living and proving that you’ve changed.”

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Change. Was that even possible for him at this point? He had spent years convincing himself that he was above everyone else, that nothing could touch him. He’d built walls around his emotions, using arrogance and detachment as shields. Now, standing here in the empty room, he realized how hollow that had made him.

His eyes drifted over to the bottle of whiskey, his constant companion since he was a teenager. It had always been there, numbing the sharp edges of reality. It had been the crutch he leaned on after all the battles, after all the people he’d lost. He thought of all the times he'd come back from a mission, blood still on his hands, and reached for that bottle instead of reaching out to someone who might actually understand.

But it wasn’t working anymore. Nothing was. The alcohol, the power, the bravado—none of it filled the void. And now, for the first time, he was seeing just how deep that void was. He'd been pushing people away, slowly but surely, without even realizing it. His own friends—Geto, Shimizu and even Nanami—had become more like strangers to him than the people he once trusted with his life.

When did that happen? He wondered, but he knew the answer. It had been happening for years, little by little, until one day he woke up and realized there was nothing left but the loneliness he’d created for himself.

The fact that Nanami had been the only one to ask how he was doing since Yaga died stung more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t like Gojo was completely oblivious. He knew Geto had been trying to get him to snap. Every word, every nudge—it was all intentional, designed to push him to the edge. And Gojo had played right into it, hadn’t he?

How pathetic, he thought bitterly. Here he was, the strongest sorcerer, and he’d let himself fall apart because Geto knew exactly where to press. It wasn’t just Geto, though. Gojo had been letting himself fall for a long time. He had just chosen not to see it.

He turned the bottle in his hand, watching the amber liquid slosh gently against the glass. This was the thing that had been keeping him company when everyone else had drifted away. This was what he’d turned to when he didn’t want to face the reality of how badly things had gotten. He thought about Sarah, about the rage she must feel for him. About how, in his darkest moments, he almost welcomed it.

She’ll kill me and be happy, he’d said to Nanami. But now, standing here in the quiet aftermath of that conversation, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Would she really be happy? Or would it just be another cycle of destruction, another life ruined because he couldn’t stop himself from self-sabotaging?

He set the bottle down on Nanami’s empty desk, the glass making a dull thud against the wood. His fingers tightened into fists, knuckles white as he stared at the bottle. He wanted to grab it, to throw it, to shatter it into a million pieces. But what good would that do? Breaking things wouldn’t fix anything. He was so tired of breaking things. Breaking people.

With a slow, deliberate breath, he unclenched his fists. His fingers trembled slightly, but he pushed the sensation aside. Walking out of the office felt like a small victory, though he wasn’t sure what for. He didn’t have any answers yet—just more questions.

But as he stepped into the hallway, something shifted inside him. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely consumed by the idea of letting go. Maybe Nanami was right. Maybe living was the harder choice, but the right one. Maybe it was time to stop running from the mess he’d made. Maybe it wasn’t too late to start fixing things.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Rin stepped out of the courthouse, the crisp afternoon air hitting her face as she paused at the top of the steps. She breathed deeply, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to her bones. Courtrooms, meetings, endless paperwork—it had all begun to blur together. She was tired of fighting, tired of the weight of Tenjiku on her shoulders. A weight that had become more suffocating with every passing day.

She glanced around the city, her gaze following the familiar streets she’d walked a thousand times. The courthouse, the people going about their lives, the hum of distant traffic—it all felt distant, as if she were looking at it through a haze. Her mind was elsewhere, with Boe and Sarah, wondering where they could be or if they were even still alive.

She hated thinking like that, but the truth gnawed at her. Boe and Sarah had always been the more volatile ones, driven by anger and revenge in ways Rin never could understand. They hadn’t built a new life at Tenjiku like she had; they were still clinging to the past, to the hurt and betrayal. Rin had accepted long ago that their parents didn’t want her, that they had abandoned her to a world she’d had to survive on her own. It wasn’t easy, but she’d found her place. She’d made her own family within the walls of Tenjiku.

But Boe and Sarah… they were different. Rin wasn’t blind. She saw the rage that fueled them, especially Sarah. The same rage that had torn through the Gojo clan and now had her hunting down the last remnants of them like a woman possessed. Rin had tried—God, had she tried—to find them, to stop them before they went too far. But they were always one step ahead, always disappearing just before she caught up.

And now, as much as it hurt to admit, maybe they didn’t want to be found. Maybe they had already burned themselves out, consumed by their own hatred. Maybe they were already dead. The thought made Rin’s stomach churn, but she had to face it. If they weren’t dead yet, then maybe that was still where this path was heading. She couldn't save them if they didn't want to be saved.

The truth was, Rin was tired. Tired of the endless war, tired of the shady deals, tired of the constant cover-ups. It had started to drain her soul in ways she hadn’t expected. Nanami’s offer—his plan to leave it all behind and start fresh—was beginning to sound like the only real option left. She wasn’t sure if she was truly ready to leave Tenjiku, the only home she’d ever known, but the idea of getting away with Nanami felt like the closest thing to freedom she could imagine.

No more war. No more crime. No more covering up lies. Just the two of them, leaving this broken world behind.

She shifted her weight, glancing down at her phone, checking the time. Nanami was supposed to pick her up any minute now. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought of seeing him again, of knowing that he had been preparing for this escape for months, just waiting for her to say yes. Rin was still torn—Tenjiku had been her sanctuary, her family—but as she stood there, waiting on the street corner, she felt a small sense of relief wash over her. She didn’t have to carry the weight of it anymore. She didn’t have to be responsible for holding it all together.

Let it all go. The thought echoed in her mind, both terrifying and liberating. If she could just let go of the need to control everything, to keep everyone safe, maybe she could find some semblance of peace. Maybe she could finally move forward with her life, with Nanami.

The sound of a car pulling up caught her attention, and she saw Nanami behind the wheel. He gave her a small, knowing smile as he rolled down the window. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he seemed to have everything figured out, or at least a plan to get them through this.

Rin’s heart swelled with affection for him. She knew that leaving with him was the right decision. They had both been through enough. It was time to let go of the past, to leave behind the war and the endless cycles of pain. Time to start anew.

Without a word, she walked over to the car, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. Nanami glanced at her, his expression calm but resolute.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, his voice steady but filled with a sense of finality.

Rin looked out at the city one last time, feeling the weight of everything she was leaving behind, but also the lightness of everything that lay ahead. She turned back to Nanami, nodding.

"Yeah," she said softly, "I'm ready."

And with that, they drove away, leaving the ghosts of their pasts behind.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

[driftward]

Title: Terminal Calculations Characters: Zenos viator Galvus, Nyx Blackmoon Rating: Teen Summary: Nyx reaches end of line. End of a hypothetical Nyx versus Zenos fight at the end of Endwalker. Notes: What if Nyx was the Warrior of Light? How would their story end? This has sat in my roughs for a while, from back when I was outlining Nyx as the Warrior of Light. I have since chosen other paths, and this has sat in my roughs for a long time. I've decided to post it - an answer to many questions I am unlike to ever commit to asking.

Nyx saw Zenos approach, that manic expression with his mouth, and that look of a kind of human insanity in his eyes. He was here, he was completely here, he was perhaps the most real thing out in this realm beyond reality, and right now, that made him the most dangerous person in existence.

They had just clashed with an energy of cataclysmic proportions.

It should have stopped him.

It would have stopped anyone else.

But he was back on his feet, drawing his fist back, and charging in hard.

They saw the faint flickering of possible futures, and all of them converged in a spot just in front of them, where they would have to meet him.

They steadied, getting their feet under them, and focused.

This would have to be it.

Release limiters

There would be nothing else after this exchange, they decided.

A warning was felt.

Core unstable

They felt what faint wisps of aether remained to them open up and align as they charged in, drawing their fist back.

Thresholds exceeded

In cases of uncertainty, in situations where there was no calculation that led to their desired outcome, when all possibilities terminated in failure, when there appeared to be nothing that could close the gap, there was but one recourse available to them. They decided on a future they wanted, projected that into the possible futures, and then they would simply have to close the distance. The difference between probability and possibility was a differential they could only solve blind.

Blind, but not unseeing. In their mind, they picked the result they wanted that was closest to the plateau of futures they could foresee, and simply decided to form a new path to cross the gap.

They would hold nothing back.

Their energy reserves shot downward as reality slowed down, as they watched him carefully, making minute adjustments on their approach, watching his form, watching every muscle movement he was making and was going to make and would never make again.

Another warning.

Containment failing

That didn't matter.

All that mattered was ending this, and protecting the fragile future the Scions had secured.

There would be no ever again.

Every onze of them was propelled, pushed far beyond any possible limits.

Zeno's swing came in high, his whole body glowing red, blood spilling from the edge of his lips, his eyes red with resonance.

Nyx ducked in low and came up.

Lightning struck, booming three times, rolling across eternity. A bright flash of dynamis seeming to ignite, and lit the great plain for an instant. Thunder rolled from their fist down their arm and into their spine, with a deep rumble that they felt in every ilm of who they were.

Zenos's body flew backwards through the air, his charge broken, his assault ended, and his essence shattered. He landed a few feet away, and rolled on the ground, eventually coming to rest on his back. They watched. He landed roughly. He was not moving to get up, but his chest still yet moved with the exertion of his breathing.

The difference between possibility and reality was almost closed.

Nyx stood where they were, arm still extended into the punch they had thrown. Their forearm was bent in a place it shouldn't have been, and their shoulder blade had settled back, far out of its usual position. Their spine was a spiral lattice of ice and fire. In one of their legs, they could feel nothing except the rhythmic flicker of lightning arcs inside of its mass.

They had gained three major breaks in that exchange, and the force of the feedback from the impact had blown out almost all of their major internal supports. Muscle anchors were torn out. Linkages had snapped. They were on life support, now, leaking blood and fluid and aether and life.

Core failure

They stood, barely, watching Zenos' form. They watched as, with great effort, he began to lift a single arm towards the sky. They tensed for new action as his body trembled, as he attempted to get up one more time, and they tensed too hard, too hard by far for their weakened state. Feedback signals were not matching status correctly. Their leg buckled, and they fell down to one knee. Systems were going dark, flesh was seeming to grow cold. A cascade of fresh failures rippled through their body, and the arm that had hit him with such overwhelming impact on the last punch dropped to their side, useless.

And yet they were still ready and willing to take what action might be needed to finish this. They waited.

Fortunately, Zeno's arm also dropped, and at last, he was down. He was still breathing, but he was down, and though their vision was flickering and their aetherometers were filled with static, the important parts of the signal came through.

Possibility became reality. It was finished. Nyx had accomplished their desired objective.

Zenos was down. And he would not be getting back up.

And then so was Nyx. Unlike Zenos, they did not fall to the ground, but rather instead, they began to slowly fold towards it, as though the pressure that was their existence that had allowed them to keep going this far was finally being released.

Which was true. Interstitial pressures were dropping, and they were leaking a lot of working fluid, and few of their cutoffs were operational.

Zenos lay there, his breath only coming out in wheezes.

"That I should lose again, " said Zenos. They thought he might have tried to laugh. It was hard to tell. What he definitely did was cough blood, on to the ground, before steadying his breathing and continuing to speak. "How disappointing."

Nyx's mechanical eye locked onto and fixated on him. Through the static in their sight, they could still see his vitals. They would watch until he was dead.

He kept talking.

"Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions. Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities."

His voice was quiet. They tried to boost their hearing, but there was no reserves to do so. They would have to make do.

"But in these fleeting moments, there is... a spark. Blinding, brilliant... gone... too soon..."

Fresh warnings were still coming in. They ignored them. It did not matter. Their aetherochemical eye wandered, a bit.

The plain was interesting. That there was somehow a sun here to either rise or set was interesting.

"What of you, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure... Was this life a gift...or a burden?"

Nyx wanted the opportunity to share these experiences with others.

Unfortunate that it seemed their probability trees would not extend that far.

They shuddered as pressure continued to lower, as they sunk lower to the ground. The flow of their blood thinned to thin rivulets. Their working fluid was no longer coming out in a flow but in spurts as the force of the remaining pressure approached the force of opposing fluid friction.

"Did you find...fulfillment?"

Zenos took one more shuddering breath in. Through the haze of static and fuzz of malfunctioning instrumentation, Nyx could nevertheless observe as his aether passed below a threshold.

"I..." he rasped.

And then he had leaked out, and there was no more him.

Just the collection of parts that used to be a man.

The task was complete. Nyx considered their objectives, and realised there were none left.

They released all remaining processes.

Their flesh was cold. Their systems were dark.

All that was left was the thin running state of their gestalt, that hybrid of modified Omicron circuitry tied in with aetherochemically adjusted Miqo'te biology tied together with Allagan ingenuity to drive a chimeric life form across time and space to here.

Nyx was only aware of themself. The entirety of existence now just beyond them, and shortly, they too would be beyond it.

Their mind was blank for a time. Just darkness and dim awareness.

An impossibility occurred to them.

I would like to continue to share experience with others, they thought, at last.

Core containment re-established.

Unexpected.

Gestalt online.

One task on the task list.

Hear, feel, think had been completed. Now...

Experience.

Continue system restoration?

Continue.

Their sense of the outside returned to them. It was still full of static and noise and false readings and fuzzy signals and just so much, but they could just barely hear a faint beeping noise, not so very far away.

And then a chime, and they were riding aetheric currents away, and towards the continued shared experiences of life unending.

Zenos' body remained. It had reached the only terminus that had ever been available to it.

[hammerforgedblood]

“No, they’ll just bite through that if they have the teeth for it,” Viktor mused, leaning over Jayce’s broad shoulder to study the diagrams he’d made. “Immobilize the jaw, don’t bother trying to gag them.” He took the pencil from Jayce’s hand, carefully sketching over the drawing to add his suggestions. It was an interesting design. Muzzles for vampires were nothing new, but Jayce’s plan to use Hextech to power a new kind that would be near-impossible to fight one’s way out of was… innovative. Viktor had little interest in weapons, really, but he did like to be useful: where better to apply his unique knowledge than here? As long as Jayce—and anyone else—never guessed at why he was so good at seeing the flaws in a prototype designed for use against vampires. When he was done, he leaned his arm on Jayce’s shoulder, still standing while the other was seated. It felt natural to use him as support, for all that Viktor usually kept a respectful distance between himself and other people for a myriad of reasons. Jayce, he found, was less of a dangerous temptation. Something about his scent. It was pleasant, still smelled like prey, but it didn’t make him half-wild with hunger even on his worst days. “It’s a promising design. Will it fit those with—elongated faces? I know some blood-drinkers in the trenches are a little… eh, oddly shaped.”

After Jayce had returned to the Academy for post-graduate study, he and Viktor had created Hextech and the council and investors wanted Hextech to be integrated into the weapons and traps used by hunters and hunting students. One of the pieces equipment Jayce wanted to redesign from the ground up was the muzzle.

In the past; bits, muzzles and some gags were used to prevent a vampire from biting a hunter whilst under interrogation. The fangs, if long enough could pierce through the material which into hindsight had been too thin for the needed purposes. They knew the material had to be thicker. To immobilise the jaw, the material under the chin needed to be even thicker still - able to stretch and clamp the mouth shut.

'It should fit elongated faces, as the material will stretch to accommodate. Then the Hextech gemstone will act as a buckle and keep the straps in place.' Talis hummed, 'I don't want to be ignorant, but I still don't how people in Zaun survive. Day-to-day, and with vampires. Wouldn't vampires struggle with all the pollutants from the human's blood? The air and water quality down their is poor, but there isn't much one person can do.' He chewed the end of his pencil in thought. 'If we were to contain vampires, and get information out of them. Instead of killing them outright - would that be tamer?' He sighed.

'It goes against training, but all the information we have—primarily from Heimerdinger—none has an actual vampire as a source. I'm not going to be soft on any I hunt. But new information is needed. I think the last time anything that is considered "quality" was published was, what, thirty years ago by the Professor. The old yordle surely has a unconscious bias in all his works, especially the older he gets?' Jayce dragged a head down his face, the pencil pulled from his mouth.

'I don't want to anger him, especially since my trial, but when was the last time he or any of the professors actually went down to the Undercity to observe or hunt themselves—and not as an exams invigilator—sitting behind a desk whilst their skills diminish?' Talis blinked, the pencil was back in his mouth. He grumbled, he put the pencil down on his desk.

'In this version of the muzzle, the vampire wearer will be able to talk but they won't be able to bite down. A metal wire is placed under the upper lip and has microscopic barbs on them to keep the mouth open.' He looked up at Viktor, the arm leant against his shoulder; the other hand gripped his cane white knuckled.

'What do you think of that?' Jayce paused, 'Do you need to sit down Viktor? I can get you a chair.'

[rigginsstreet]

first line analysis

tagged by @blood-mocha-latte

rules: post the first lines of up to 10 of your last fics/chapters posted on ao3 or your wips and try to draw some conclusions.

now you wanna try your life with sin

The bells over the entrance of Pop’s alert FP to the fact that there’s a new customer, but he doesn’t look up from his warm mug of black coffee - on the house, because Pop never lets him pay for anything, not when he comes in this late, especially not when he’s sporting a freshly blooming black eye or split lip or sometimes both. It’s neither tonight. Tonight he’s just… lonely. Not by any means, a new feeling for him, but sometimes it hits harder than others, especially now that he’s out on his own. Still beats living with his old man. He’s not complaining, it’s just, sometimes he needs to be around people. Even if it’s just Pop Tate. And whoever else is looking for company this side of the tracks so late at night.

2. on the back of a hurricane

61 days. That’s how long it’s been since Fred’s parents dropped him off in this place. What was only supposed to be a few weeks has turned into a few months, because the doctors don’t think he’s getting any better, haven’t seen any progress.

3. i carried you to the car and drove you home but you weren't making any sense.

It’s another party of the week, another reason to get shitfaced. Except this time Billy didn’t get the chance, because by the time he worked his way to his third beer, Steve had apparently decided to drown himself in the punch bowl, and, well, intervening needed to occur.

4. i know i must behave to contain all my emotion

Never again would Heather Teresa Holloway move across the country for a boy.

5. dreamed of all the different ways i had to make him glow

“My mom used to build blanket forts all the time,” Billy admits one night, out of the blue while he’s snuggled up against Steve’s side, cheek resting against his naked chest.

6. i want to tell you this story without having to confess anything.

It’s the third night this month Billy has shown up on his doorstep looking worse for wear. He’s lost track of how many times it’s been since they started being cordial to each other, before that made its way into something more serious, more all-consuming.

7. play time

Billy had this rule for himself: for every guy he hooked up with, he had to make a public spectacle of hooking up with a random girl. It helped ease any nerves he had about being found out. Make sure people see him acting like a heterosexual and no one will catch on that he’d rather be sucking dick. Balance out the universe a little bit.

8. parentdale tumblr drabbles

alice smith is about the last person gladys expects to see waltzing into the wyrm in the middle of the afternoon. not since she decided to abandon her club for the likes of her preppy ken doll boyfriend and all the other plastic neanderthals of the north side.

9. no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike

He wakes up on the forest floor, surrounded by trees and the chirping of early morning birds, naked as the day he was born. As he was last night, the last memory he has before everything just… went black.

10. come on baby let me see what you hiding underneath

The sun beats down hot over Hawkins. Another one of those brutal summer days that leaves you panting by the time it takes to walk down your driveway.

what ive learned from this (what i already knew tbh lmao) is that i like to just drop right into a story. no preamble lets just get right to the point lmao

tagging @harrygroves @thatgirlwithasquid @imsodishy