#Sword slash to the chest. and you’re on fire.
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olibennyyy · 1 year ago
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I can’t stand these two 💔
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leonisdumbasallhell · 1 year ago
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Sketch Prompt: something something Leon or Chris something something dragons
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How bout dnd?
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bloodtwin · 3 months ago
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𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 。
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           ⸻ familial & platonic.                   not an exhaustive list. will add more. :o)
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𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 。
&&. I HAD A DREAM ABOUT US WHERE WE WERE TWO HALVES OF A WORM … !𝐛𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬。(accultant) // @accultant
&&. IT’S TIME I HAD A GO AT THE GUILLOTINE !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢。(sleetkissed) // @sleetkissed
&&. YOU ARE SO A LITTLE BITCH !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐚𝐧。(murderreign) // @murderreign
&&. NOT ONLY MONSTERS BUT PEOPLE TOO … !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐚。(faebhaal)  // @faebhaal
&&. I TOTALLY CLEAN THE DISHES … !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢。(slaycults) // @slaycults
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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 。
&&. YOU ARE LOVE PERSONIFIED !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭。(lovepvnch) // @lovepvnch
&&. SWORD SLASH TO THE CHEST & YOU’RE ON FIRE !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐜𝐤。(bluebardofhappiness) // @bluebardofhappiness
&&. BABSI’S REPLY GUYS … !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧。(estarion) // @estarion
&&. CHRONIC MAYBE LATER DANCE !𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐤 & 𝐰𝐲𝐥𝐥。
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geschiedenisish · 1 year ago
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sword slash to the chest. and you’re on fire
kids were roleplaying with minecraft figurines and one of them had their figure go up to the other and say “i’m in love with you” and the other one replied “sword slash to the chest. and you’re on fire”
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pandora-writes-one-piece · 3 months ago
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Hi Pandora!!! Happy birthday!! 🎉🎉🎉Thank you for deciding to share the celebrations with all of us 😊 You've really got me on a Law kick lately with the Meet Cute, so could I get Law with "I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as you, and I can’t stop thinking about you"? Maybe NSFW with fem!reader?
@froggiewrites Froggie, Froggie, Froggie... your time has come! 😂 First of, thank you so much for the lovely birthday wishes! And now... I had so much fun writing this prompt, I do hope you enjoy it! Thank you for participating! ❤️
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Rulebreaker
Word Count: 3036
Tags: Fem!Reader; Teasing; Edging; Power Dynamics; Fluff Ending; NSFW; MDNI;
Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.
Summary: Law, your captain, is tired of the shenaningans you pull whenever the Heart Pirates land on a new island, so he devises a way for you to follow his rules.
Notes: I couldn't hold on another day. I regret nothing. Though I supose the day will come when I'll leave you guys high and dry (fic-less) for some time 😅 Anyway, this is not that time, so please, enjoy this meal!
|Masterlist|
“For the umpteenth time, Law! I know! Now give me a break!” Logic never has been your forte. Thinking on your feet, damn right! Making hard decisions under stress, bring’em, baby. Endurance, the best at it! But logic? No.
So is it logical to argue with your captain after having disobeyed his orders yet again? Not in the least. And damned if there aren’t more than one reason not to lose your patience with him, way more than one, actually. First, you are in his office, second, he’s your superior, third, he’s your boyfriend. But fourth, and the most important one, there’s no getting away from Law if you make him snap. Literally. He’d shambles you from anywhere. 
Still, despite the violence with which your heart is hammering in your chest, your bravado remains in place, as you hold the stare with which his amber eyes pin you, not even flinching. 
“You know?” His voice is clipped as he leans back in his chair, fingers entwined and resting beneath his chin. Fuck, he’s pissed. “You claim to already know, but as soon as we land on another island, the first thing you do is get into trouble.”
“I don’t go looking for trouble, trouble finds me!” You say, trademark smirk in place before the little voice in your head starts to whisper in your ear. You’re going to regret pissing him off…
“That’s cute.” Is it? Because he’s not even close to being amused. 
“I know, that’s how you found me. You were the trouble, and you were drawn to me.” There. That has to placate some of his anger, right?
He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment as if pondering his next move. Then, he reaches for one drawer of his desk and removes an envelope. Curiosity nips at you while you angle your head, trying to see what he’s holding, but instead of hiding it, Law gets up, hands you the envelope, and walks to the door. 
What the hell? You open it and reach for a piece of folded paper as you hear the distinct click of the door being locked. “Am I supposed to read this?”
“Yes.” Clipped, curt, cold. You really pissed him off. 
The scribbled handwriting is a dead giveaway that this was written by Law, but knowing him for over a year, and being involved for half of it, you’re quite familiar with it by now. The letters on top instantly turn your curious look into a scowl. “Rulebook?” 
Law sits again and smirks softly, a barely-there twitch of the upper lip. “Looks like you need one.” You scoff as you skim the first articles.
“I play by the rules!”
“Really? Then why have I had to mend your slashed leg today? Tell me that.” Your teeth clack together as you close your mouth and nearly growl at him. Your name in his lips sounds like a warning. “It’s an order. Answer it.”
“Because I didn’t obey you.” You manage to sputter the words between your teeth and each of them parting your lips hurts more than the sword cut you received from the marines stationed at the island. 
“Hence the rulebook. It’s not unwarranted. I’ve known you for a year and every time we encounter a new island, you run amok doing your own shit and come back slashed, bruised, cut, or bleeding. I’ve had enough.” You swallow the knot in your throat as Law gets up, circling the desk and leaning on it, right in front of you. “I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as you, and yet, I can’t stop thinking about you. So it’s time you make me stop worrying, before I drive myself insane.”
Aww…You’d actually think that’s a cute thing to say, if it wasn’t for the unhinged glint in Law’s eyes or the way that his smirk makes you tremble in anticipation. 
“You want me to follow this rulebook?” He gives you that annoying ‘what do you think?’ look and you scoff. “There’s like fifteen rules here! I’m not following this!” Your eyes skim the rules again. “Report back every hour? What the hell, Law?”
“You can use a DenDen for that.” He’s enjoying this. You were expecting punishment, but not this kind of punishment, this is unbearable. “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart.” His voice softens as you glare at him through hooded eyes. “I’ll make you a deal.”
What?
“If you read me all the items in that rulebook without stopping, you don’t have to follow it.” What the fuck? Your head cocks to the side as your eyes switch between the paper in your hands and the amused glare of your boyfriend.
“Just like that?”
“With a few more conditions.” He chuckles with that low vibrato in his voice and your knees tremble. 
“Which are?”
“Get up.” When you do, he unzips your boiler suit all the way down, revealing the top you have underneath. “Strip the rest.”
“Is this a kink, Law?” You tease, knowing you don’t mind at all. If reciting the items naked for him is what gets you your freedom, you’re game. So you take everything but your panties because he stops you when you were going to remove them. 
“Perfect.” He says.
“Okay, I’ll start.” You clear your throat and bend your legs to sit when Law’s tutting stops you. “What?”
“Bend over the desk for me, sweetheart.” Bend over? Heat starts to pool at your core because that position over that desk has already given you quite a few orgasms in the past months, and you have excellent muscle memory. 
“Law?”
“It’s up to you. If you don’t read them, you have to follow them.” He pushes off the table as his eyes devour you, inch by inch, making you inhale deeply just to gather your thoughts again. 
“Fine.” Anything to not follow his stupid rules! You bend over his desk, which is conveniently the perfect height to line up your ass with his cock, as proven many times before, and push a few books to the side so you’re leaning on your elbows. You clear your throat again and begin reciting in a sing-song voice. “Rule number one: no wandering off alone! Sure, this one is simple, I usually go out with Ik– mmph, Law!”
Heat rushes to your cheeks as your body snaps with tension. Looking over your shoulder, you see your captain sitting in the chair you were in earlier, with his finger in your clothed cunt. 
“You stopped.” Fuck. “But I’ll give you that one, you weren’t prepared. Start over.” Your breath comes out in ragged gasps as you feel yourself already getting wet at the prospect of all the things Law is going to do to you. It kind of makes you want to throw the rules overboard and just beg him to take you right now.
“Fuck, Law. Okay, here we go: Rule number one: no wandering off alone!” A gasp leaves your lips and you close your eyes for a second as Law’s fingers tease your clit over the panties, the friction of the fabric increasing his touch. “Rule number two: Fuck, Law, like that.” You moan, closing your eyes again as he teases one finger inside the panties to see how wet you are. 
His tuts are unforgiving, and he removes his fingers altogether, earning him a grunt from you. “You stopped again, sweetheart.”
“Law!”
“The deal is: you read them all until the end without stopping, and you don’t have to follow them. Got it?” You groan and shake your head. That’s impossible. If he’s going to torture you  like this, it will be impossible to read the rules. 
“That’s unfair, Law.”
“Okay, then, you’re right. So how about this: you can pause three times during five seconds.” You nod. You can do that. Law’s hand caresses your buttcheeks as he talks, and every single rub makes you tingle.  “Moaning is encouraged, but keep reading. Oh, and when you pause,” Law removes his hands from you, “I pause. Keep that in mind.”
What? Now that’s cruel! You look at the rules again and feel angered. There’s no fucking way you’re going to follow them, you can do this! You can zone out. Let’s go!
“Fine! Okay, we’re doing this. Just know that you’re the infuriating one! Rule number two–”
“No, no, no. From the beginning.” Does this man want you angered or turned on? Because he’s doing both brilliantly. 
“Rule number one: no wandering off alone.” You cry out softly as his hand slaps your ass, leaving the most marvellous burning sensation behind, which he soothes with a caress. “Rule number two: report back every hour. Oh, my God.” You take a deep breath before reading the other one, trying to focus on the words instead of the slow way he’s pulling your pants down your legs and breathing against your cunt.
“Rule number three: no-... no-... my God, Law.” He’s using his tongue! He swipes up from your clit to your hole in a long upwards streak, then probes around the entrance with slow, teasing circles. He inches just the tip of his tongue inside as his hand reaches to brush against your swollen clit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“One… Two…” His movements stop, and he starts counting the seconds you’re quiet against your cunt, making you shudder. The dry thud of your forehead against the wooden desk should ground you, but it’s impossible when he was working his fingers like that. “Three…Four…” One more second to regain focus, one deep breath to continue. “Five.”
Just as you open your mouth, so does he, tongue reaching inside you, twisting and curling to hit delicious spots as you cry out his name before your muddled brain repeats the same word over and over: read, read, read!
“Rule number three: no unauthorized fucking fights!” An unbridled moan parts your lips as Law switches up and two of his fingers go where his tongue was and his tongue sucks on your clit. “FUCK. Rule number four: ah, Law, ah! No reckless stunts! That was one time! One–... ahhh!” You suck in three deep breaths and punch the table as his fingers curl and his teeth nibble gently, just the way he knows you like.
God, you’re so close. Your legs numb and tense up as heat spreads throughout your veins. The pressure in your abdomen threatens to release at any given moment and you can’t stop right now. 
“Rule number five: don’t stop, Law! Don’t… ah!” You cry out his name as wave upon wave of pleasure washes over you, taking your sanity with it and blurring your vision until tiny white dots are all you can see. Sweat drips from your temples, and your elbows give out as you squeeze your breasts against the table. Your hands find purchase against anything to help you ride this high, and there’s now a book on Law’s desk with very crumpled pages. 
You’re still breathing hard, trying to regain focus when the buzzing in your ears subsides, and you hear Law’s voice again. “Four…” Fuck, fuck, the list! You open your eyes with a deep exhale and focus back on the now crumpled paper, just as Law finishes his count. You’re now down to one more pause. Crap.
“Rule number five: do not interact with suspicious strangers.” You hear Law unbuckling his belt and start to read faster, even though the aftershocks of your orgasm are still making you shudder and gasp. “Rule number six: do not go to bars without me.” Well, that one is warranted. You pretty much fuck everything up when you’re wasted. The zipper, hurry up! “Rule number seven: obey curfew.” 
A lone whimper leaves your lips as you feel Law rubbing the tip of his cock against your slit, up and down, touching your oversensitive clit before teasing your entrance but not entering. You’re going to fail if you don’t hurry. 
“Rule number ei–...” You gasp and cry out the loudest moan yet as Law sheathes himself inside of you, immediately bottoming out. The feeling of fullness, the tip hitting your cervix, and the burn of the stretching is so intense that it takes your breath away for a second. 
“Breathe, sweetheart, I’m giving you this one for free.” He rubs soothing circles on your back and doesn’t move until you relax around him. “Now continue, or I’ll start the break time.”
You heave in a few sharp breaths, already too winded to speak, but you have no other choice. 
“Rule number eight: hmm… ah…” Law pulls back, his hands firmly planted against your hips and you brace yourself for what’s next. “You’re forbidden to act as ba–... ahngh! Fuck! Bait!” He slams into you and the desk skids forward with the force. The pleasure of his thrust and the pain of the desk biting into your hips shoots warmth through your core and down your legs and you focus again on the words in front of you.
On the very blurry words in front of you. Tears of pleasure gather at the corner of your eyes as your mouth hangs open and Law keeps thrusting harder and harder.
“Rule number– just like that, more! Nine: Always carry a, fuck, weapon!” Almost there. Both at the end of the list and on the next wave of bliss that’s already cresting and forming as the coil winds tight in your stomach. 
“Rule–... ngh… rule–” You’re about to break and cry out or tap out, anything. You can’t think about anything other than the pure perfection that is your bodies conjoined. The lewd sounds of his cock filling you and the soft grunts he’s releasing behind you. 
“Go on, love, you got this.” He urges, thrusting even harder. 
But you don’t ‘got this’, at all. Your hair is damp against your forehead, and all that escapes your lips are ragged moans and broken pleas. You’re there, you’re right there. A few more thrusts and you’ll be–...
“One…Two…” He stopped. He fucking stopped! A desperate whine leaves your lips as you wiggle your hips against him because you were just there! “Three…” He won’t move until five or until you start to read again.
This has to be torture for him too!
“Four…” Deep breaths, focus. You can do this, it’s as simple as reading a supermarket list. If you were being railed against the dairy section. Damn. New kink unlocked. “Five…”
“Rule number–...” Where the fuck was I? Blank. There’s nothing there. And then there’s Law and another deep thrust clicking your brain into place. “Rule number ten: fuck me harder, Law!”
He can’t help but chuckle as he reaches forward, his back sprawling over you and you feel the way his sweat clings to your back. “That’s not written there, love, carry on.”
“Don’t leave the ship without permission.” You moan out the rule, but you said it. There are five more rules and one big impediment. You don’t have more timeouts, and your orgasm is approaching fast. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to read while you're in ecstasy. 
Spit them all out, now.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rule number eleven: stay out of off-limit areas; rule number twelve: stay inside the sub if you’re hurt.” Intelligible. Everything you’re saying comes out in ragged breaths, gasps, and moans, but you’re reading. And Law ups his game.
He slithers a hand around your waist, lifting your body against him, grabbing your leg and hoisting your knee over the desk. His cock slides deeper with each thrust as he breathes heavily into your ear.
God, you won’t make it. 
“Rule number thirteen: ah… Law… I’m… nghh. Absolutely no secrets.” Two more, just two more rules, but you can feel the coil tightening, almost, almost snapping. The way Law holds your body against his, as sweat drenches both of you, his mouth on the curve of your neck, the way he’s digging his teeth in… it’s too much.
“Rule number fourteen: follow my medical advice.” One more. 
Law’s fingers reach down to press your clit, circling it with expert precision, and his next deep thrust makes you lose it. 
Your release hits you like a truck, and you arch your back, nails digging into Law’s forearm as he expertly works his fingers to squeeze every bit of pleasure out of you. Your cry mingles with his low grunt as he spills his seed inside you, riding his pleasure with a few more ragged thrusts. 
The world is reduced to just the two of you and this moment. Nothing else matters but the way he whispers ‘I love you’ in your ear in a breathless whisper. You nod back at him, too addled, hazed, and tired to give him an adequate response, knowing you’ll do so after a brief moment of reprieve.
Law pulls himself out of you and brings you both into the chair, cradling you against his chest as his fingers caress your hair, and he kisses your nose affectionately. “Are you all right?”
Another nod. Too early to speak yet. 
“You almost did it, love. You had one more rule.” He chuckles, and you laugh along with him. 
“This is an impossible challenge, Law. You’re terrible. But I love you.” You lift the crumpled paper to glimpse at the last rule. “Rule number fifteen: follow the chain of command.” You scoff. “Got it, Captain. I’ll obey every damn, stupid, silly rule. You won.”
You’re not even pissed at him anymore. This was fucking hot. 
“Check the addendum.” You lift your head from his chest to meet his amber gaze in curiosity before looking back at the paper, confused. “Turn it.” He says, so you do.
“Addendum: the following of this rulebook can be challenged at any given time, under the same rules.” A smirk forms on your lips at the implications of the addendum, you can have a repeat of this little game anytime you want. You’ll find a way to beat the rules, eventually. Chuckling, you snuggle back into that cosy spot in the curve of Law’s neck, where your head fits perfectly. “Give me half an hour and we’ll try again.”
Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @walmartmihawk
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hello-from-nrc-infirmary · 4 months ago
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A Centennial Celebration
Book 2: A Century of Circumstance
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5A] [5B]
Chapter 6: Winter's Fangs
Vern thought he was ready. At least, he had an idea of what would happen when Victor saw him after the meeting. It didn’t take long for his assumptions to be proven right. His unique magic is left withering. 
“You didn’t call,” the winter sprites tone is frigid.
He grits his teeth as he jumps away, dodging an oversized icicle by a hair. Impaling the earth, it sends out a cloud of dirt. Coughing, Vern stumbles as he lands. Barely catching himself, he casts for a thick barrier of brambles and bushes. 
“What happened, sweetie,” Victor’s amused laugh briefly rings in the air, “did that school make you softer?”
An explosive spell slams into his chest and knocks the air from his lungs. Flying back, his buffer instantly wilting. He crashes through several trees. Slamming to the ground hard enough to leave a small crater. Air feels almost impossible to inhale as he’s left choking from the impact.
Pain shoots through his system from his shoulder. His jaw drops in a silent scream, unable to fully process what exactly happened. The high whistle of Victor’s spell gets closer. Forcing his signature spell out, the barely formed line of trees is effortlessly cut down.
Bark splinters whip through the air. Any greenery around him withers as it’s strangled by frost. Struggling to push himself up, Vern’s left panting as he squints through the dust. Ice abruptly shackles his wrists. It drags his arms over his head as a pillar of ice curls upwards, leaving him dangling.
He chokes on a scream, unable to voice it as his shoulder is moved. The pain is dizzying as he tries to focus on casting something—anything. Familiar night-dark eyes glimmer as Victor steps up to him. Vern attempts to kick him, but the winter sprite is just out of range.
“There’s that fire.”
The sharp snap of Victor’s fingers cut through the air. Ice shoots up to trap Vern’s feet, yanking them towards the ground. He steps closer with a satisfied grin, “you know, this would all hurt a lot less if you-“
He stops as spit suddenly splatters across his face. Vern’s glare is sharper than daggers, “I-I still have t-twenty years.”
Chilled fingers grip his chin, “we both know you won’t find anyone…”
Frost curls across his chin and cheeks from the winter sprite’s touch. The light in his amber eyes dims a little. Victor’s other hand traces a jagged scar across Vern’s exposed abdomen. More ice spreads out from Victor’s fingers. He flinches at the touch, trembling as he’s gradually encased in ice and frost. At least, his shoulder has gone numb from the cold.
“Aw, sweetheart,” he freezes the tears on Vern’s cheeks, “you’re as damaged as always.”
“I-I…. ’m… I’m… n-not….”
“Sh…I’ll make you pretty and take-“ a spell slices between them. Victor barely dodges it by a hair. Victor casts an ice spike, stepping further back as it’s shattered by a second and third spell. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against the shards.
“Hey.”
That voice… is familiar. He slowly opens his eyes, new tears spilling down his cheeks. They’re hot against his skin, and the world is overly bright. A flicker of green fire and aurora eyes greet his vision. A relieved smile pulls at the corner of his lips, “h-hello…”
Steel keeps his sword pointed at Victor, who lands a few feet away. He quickly fires a few more spells to blast the winter sprite back. His voice is low, only meant for Vern, “can you hold on a moment?”
“I… th-think….”
He glances at Vern, concern and guilt flash in his gaze, “your lips are blue.”
“O-oh…”
Right as he casts to try blasting the ice holding Vern, a spell slams into him. Stumbling, he tries to stay on his feet. An icicle is launched at them. He curses and slashes it off course, sending it crashing to the ground.
“I’ll be quick. Stay awake!”
Steel blocks another spell with his sword before lunging for the winter sprite. Vern squints to keep ice shards out. Careful not to let his eyes close for too long. He can hear a few other familiar voices. They’re muffled and distant, not quite able to hear what’s being said over the growing ringing in his ears. Even his vision is getting a little fuzzy…
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Ooc// Songs: Deep End by I Prevail and Kill the Noise by Papa Roach
@nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain
Book 1: [1] [2] [3]
Book 2: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5A] [5B] [6] [7]
Book 3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
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star-girl69 · 1 year ago
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Apocalypse
Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader
—-
synopsis: a day of capture the flag, and clarisse finds out you’re ashamed of your scars.
a/n: love love love love love also from this ask
Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex
warnings: shitty ending but IDC!!!!!!!, hurt/comfort, more hurt/comfort, god i need to be put down, insecure y/n, scars and all that stuff, possessive clarisse, protective clarisse, soft clarisse, probs ooc clarisse, yeah, swearing, mentions of food, mac n’ cheese is y/n’s fav but you can just pretend if you’re a weirdo and don’t like mac n’ cheese, tell me if i missed anything!!
—-
“I don’t get it,” he laughs. “How can you be a daughter of Aphrodite and still have those ugly scars all over you?”
You pretend like you don’t hear him, leaning your head back against the tree, staring up at the blue sky through the gaps.
Him and his two friends have been teasing you the entire 20 minutes you’ve been tied up to this tree, captured by the blue team.
That was horribly embarrassing, but you were doing your best to ignore it- instead doing your best to pray to whatever God would listen that Clarisse would win for the red team.
It’s just plain stupid. He’s been saying the same thing over and over again for 20 minutes- can he at least come up with something original?
Besides, you don’t see where he gets off from this. It’s not like you give any reaction, or even look at him. The most you give him is the occasional squeeze of your hands- imagining his neck under them.
“Maybe she’s forsaken you,” he hums, kicking at your limp leg.
You finally look up at him. You’re sitting on the ground, arms at your sides, back pressed to the tree and rope digging tightly into your chest.
“Maybe your mother gave up on you after the second scar,” he says, staring straight into your eyes. “And then you’ve just gotten uglier and uglier ever since.”
You have scars all over your body. Clarisse has them too, and she shows them off proudly, a dramatic story for each one. You have a horrible memory, so you don’t remember all of them- but the tiny one on your jawline is from you accidentally tripping with scissors in your hand as a kid.
Clarisse had laughed hysterically when you told her about that one, pulling you closer when you pouted, saying something about how she was going to carry all scissors for you in the future.
The one on your collarbone is from sparring gone awry. Clarisse likes to kiss that one- it’s silvery smooth, she says some bullshit about how it feels like your lips.
The big one on your arm is from some clawed monster getting a bit too close to you- slashing at your arm and leaving a permanent tattoo of your failure to kill the monster. Or at least successfully run away.
Then, there’s all the tiny ones you can’t remember.
The boy, you seriously don’t even know his name, looks at you. There’s fire in his eyes, he wants a fight, but you won’t give him one. Especially not when your stomach squeezes inside of you in a way that makes you feel like you might throw up.
The conch mercifully blows, even as you feel sick- you don’t want to let his words effect you. But you just can’t help it.
He gives you an odd look, like he’s contemplating just leaving you out there- but eventually releases you. You stand up, dusting yourself off, grabbing your sword from where it was discarded on the ground.
“Good game!” you say, smiling brightly, but you can’t even pretend to be nice to him, so it tapers off into a laugh. He glares at you, but you’re already jogging through the woods, eager to see Clarisse again.
—-
The blue flag waves proudly above a sea of orange camp t-shirts and red helmets, so you smile widely and skip down to the beach. Your team has formed this huge pit of people, everyone congratulating each other, shouting and celebrating. You stick your sword in the sand as you head into it- one person on your mind.
“Clarisse!” you shout, heading straight towards the middle. “Clarisse!”
She actually rips apart two people hugging to meet you.
“Baby!” she says, even when the two people give her dirty looks, pushing past them and into your arms. “We won!” she giggles, kissing your cheek.
“I know,” you smile, digging your face into her neck. She holds you there for just a moment, hand on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of her girlfriend running to her after a long day.
“Are you tired?” she fusses, squeezing your waist. “What happened? Did you get hurt? I knew I should have made you stay with me-”
“No, Clar,” you laugh, taking your face out of the hiding spot that is her neck and pressing your noses together. “I got captured,” you sigh.
Her fingers wind through your hair.
She scans the crowd, like she might just beat up any random member of the blue team.
“If they don’t learn to not fucking touch you I am going to make them learn.”
“Guard dog,” you tease her.
“And?” she says, leaning down to kiss the scar she loves kissing, right at the beginning of your collarbone. It makes you freeze. “You love it,” she mumbles against your skin.
You can’t think of an answer.
When you stay silent, she looks up at you, confusion in her face.
“What? You look… sad. Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”
“N-nothing,” you breathe, because it’s just embarrassing to know you let his words get to you like this.
“You can tell me anything,” she says, searching your eyes.
“I know.”
The conch blows, making you jump at the sudden loud noise. “Lunch!” someone shouts, and Clarisse settles for just grabbing your hand, walking with you back to camp.
—-
You stop by your cabins first, taking off your armor and switching into clean camp shirts. You hesitate for a second, but eventually put on a thin long-sleeved shirt under the orange.
You take extra care in reapplying your makeup, making sure to cover the scar on your collarbone and your jaw, and once everything is as covered as it’s gonna get you set out.
Clarisse is waiting for you outside the Aphrodite cabin, smiling as you open the door, applying lipstick with one hand. She grabs your hand and helps you down the steps, admiring the way you’re so intensely focused on getting the perfect lip, even without a mirror.
It’s not like you have to try very hard, but still.
“I don’t mind waiting a second longer,” she says, bringing you closer by the waist as you tube the lipstick and stick it in your pocket.
“You’re a hungry demon after capture the flag.”
“Yeah,” she says, not really trying to deny it.
You smile and lean against her, pressing a short kiss to your lips.
“Oh, do I look pretty now?” she asks, rubbing in the lipstick that came off onto her lips.
“Always,” you smile.
Her eyes focus in on the green sleeves pulled up to your wrists.
“It’s, like, 100 degrees, baby. You’re gonna boil.”
You frown and shake your head. “No, it’s not that bad. I’m cold.”
She looks at you oddly, but seems to begrudgingly accept it, hand against your forehead as she brushes your hair back. You make it into the buffet style line for lunch, grabbing plates, Clarisse quickly piling hers with a cheeseburger and a hot dog, making you laugh.
“You’re so hungry, all the time,” you mutter when she gives you a dirty look.
“I work out all the time,” she glares. She flexes her arm. “All of this takes a lot of work.”
You stare at her muscles peeking out from just under her sleeves, biting your lip as you quickly look away. She smiles brightly.
“Uh huh, that’s what I thought. You love these muscles, don’t judge me.”
You make your way down the line, scanning the trays of food.
“Ooh,” Clarisse coos, “They have your fave, pretty thing.”
She scoops probably the biggest portion of mac n’ cheese you’ve ever seen in your life, slapping it onto your plate with a smile.
You gape at the now almost empty tray, remembering the still long line behind you. Hopefully there’s another one somewhere.
“Clarisse, we should save some for everyone else.”
She seems actually confused by that statement.
“Uh, yeah, no. My girl gets the best.”
“Clarisse-” but you’ve reached the end of the line and she heads off to a table. You follow her, begrudgingly, because you really do covet this mac n’ cheese like it’s ambrosia.
—-
By the time the night rolls around, you’ve retreated into the blankets of your bed, feeling much safer completely covered up. You’re supposed to be going to the bonfire- all of your siblings have come over and bugged you at least once about going, but you’ve refused them all.
Finally, all of your siblings leave in their pretty but revealing outfits- after today, you don’t think you could ever wear something like that again.
The door to your cabin creaks open.
“Y/N?”
You make a mumbled sound in the back of your throat that’s supposed to resemble “I’m here” but Clarisse is already walking over to you and pulling the blanket off of you.
“Silena told me you were staying back. Why?”
You pull the blanket back up over yourself.
“I’m jus’ tired.”
“Okay…” she says, sitting down on the bed. She puts her warm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Do you have a headache?”
“No, Clar, I’m fine.”
“I’m confused,” she huffs. “You love the bonfires. Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you tell me?”
“I’m just tired, Clarisse, that’s all.”
“Fine,” she says. “I can be tired too.”
She kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed with you, under the blankets, chest pressed against your back.
“I’m not good at this. You know that,” she sighs after a second. “And I wish I was. But I do know something’s wrong. And I really don’t know for the life of me what it is, but I really want to know. I really want to help you.”
She traces her fingertips up and down your arms, tracing over the silvery scar from the monster- and you involuntarily jerk away.
“Oh,” she says. She’s painfully observant. She notices everything. She notices you pulling away when she touches your scars. “Your scars.”
Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.
“W-when I got captured, this boy kept teasing me. And I tried not to let it bother me, I tried not to give him a reaction… but I just- what if I’m not worthy of my mother anymore? It’s embarrassing. I know. But I…”
“Who the fuck said that to you?”
She sits up, eyes blazing, like she can just imagine it and whoever hurt you will suddenly feel her wrath.
You turn around so you’re facing her, laughing.
“I don’t even know his stupid name,” you mutter.
She looks down at you, at the tears spilling from your pretty eyes.
“I’ll kill him later,” she mumbles, settling back down and kissing the corner of your cheek. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, baby. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’ve never met your mother, of course, so I can say that without getting us both struck down by doves, or something.”
You swat her chest.
“I’ll kill you with doves, watch me.”
She hums. “Probably. Okay, stop. You’re getting me off topic.”
You roll your eyes.
“I’m not good with my words,” she whispers. “But I hope I show you everyday that you are the only woman I have eyes for. This is, like, really embarrassing… but I’ve planned out our entire lives together. We’re gonna go to to college in Arizona by my mom, we’ll have an apartment off-campus, and after we graduate we’ll get married. I really wanna be married to you. And I don’t care if that’s cheesy, I just really want you to look at the ring I’ll give you and be able to feel all my love. Besides, if you ever want to get away from me, it’ll be a hell of a lot harder.”
“I would never wanna get away from you, Clar,” you smile. “It’s not embarrassing. I wanna go to college in Arizona. I wanna marry you.”
“Good, because you didn’t really have a choice,” she smiles.
“And you’re plenty good with your words.”
“Yeah… okay, I guess. But let me show you, too.”
“What does that even-”
She shuts you up by kissing your lips.
“I love your lips. I love how soft they are, and how they feel so perfect against me.”
She kisses your cheek.
“I like your cheeks for the same reasons.”
Your temple, your forehead, your nose.
“Same reasons,” she smiles.
Finally she ends up at your jawline. She rubs over the scar, taking concealer and foundation with the pad of her thumb.
“And I love this scar. It looks kind of like a C, so everyone knows you’re mine.”
“Freak,” you huff, and she doesn’t have to say it. You both know you love it.
She kisses your neck and talks about how she loves the way you get mad at her for leaving hickeys, the dedication you pour into covering them up before you eventually decide it’s too much effort and let them show.
She kisses the scar on your collarbone.
“I like putting my head here, right under your chin. I can feel your pulse. I can hear you swallow, too, which is weird but also soothing.”
She kisses from your shoulder and down to your arm, skimming past the scar. She kisses the back of your hand and your fingertips.
“I love it when you braid my hair, or just put your hands in my hair for… other reasons.”
“Freak,” you mumble again. “You’re just obsessed with kissing me.”
“True,” she hums, kissing back up to your scar. “I don’t have anything poetic to say about this one. It’s just fucking badass. I mean, you got it when you were 12- you survived what most have been something truly monstrous to leave a scar like this, and that’s all you get? Most of the kids here would have died. Even the ones our age. And you escaped when you were only 12.”
You smile like a lovesick fool. The apocalypse could be going on outside, and you would just be here with Clarisse.
“In conclusion, your beauty is actually life changing. I mean, have you seen me? I become a total softie, just for you. And it’s all because I like seeing that pretty smile on your gorgeous face. But you frown pretty, too, which I didn’t even know was possible- so I win either way.”
You smile and put your hand on her face, kissing her softly.
“Thank you, Clar. For always taking care of me, and reassuring me…”
“It’s quite literally my job,” she smiles. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”
“You don’t even trust me, Little Miss Makes-My-Plate-For-Me.”
She laughs and presses her head under your chin, her hair tickling your skin, pressing a kiss to your scar.
“It’s my job,” she smiles. “As your girlfriend and future wife.”
“I love you, Clarisse,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. Nothing can have you here. No pain, no suffering.
“I love you too,” she says. “I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.”
—-
the kid who bullied you walking around with a big ass scar on his cheek the next day 😍😍😍😍😍 no….. no clarisse did not cut him with her spear….. ofc not….
—-
taglist:
@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish
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midnight-shadow-cafe · 1 month ago
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Embers of Betrayal
Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader
AU: Knight 141 x Healer Reader
Warnings: There is a lot of fighting in this, mentions of the group getting attacked and the healer (aka you) as well as Soap will be hurt
Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I’ve decided to kinda make the ‘Knight 141 x Healer! Reader’ kinda like a oneshot Story instead of how I’ve made Shadow and Paws, do enjoy this series!
Word Count: 1.1k
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The crackle of the campfire echoed in the stillness of the forest, its embers dancing up into the ink-black sky. Around you, the 141 knights moved like shadows, their well-worn armor clinking softly as they secured the camp’s perimeter. Price stood near the fire, his gaze hard and vigilant, while Soap whistled a jaunty tune that failed to mask the tension in his shoulders.
The past weeks of travel had taken a toll on all of you, but tonight felt different. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but an ominous weight pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Soap plopped down beside you, breaking your spiraling thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight, lass. That’s not like you.”
You glanced up, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”
“Aye, I’d believe that, but you’ve got a look about you—like you’re bracing for a fight that hasn’t started yet.” His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, reading you too easily.
You hesitated. “It’s just… a feeling. Something’s coming.”
Soap frowned, his playful demeanor fading. “A feeling? How long’ve you had it?”
“Since we made camp.” You rubbed your arms, as though trying to dispel the cold that seeped into your bones. “It’s like… I can’t explain it, but something bad is going to happen. To me, or to you. Maybe all of us.”
His jaw tightened. “And you’re only saying this now?”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze.
“Well, too late for that,” he muttered, standing abruptly. “Price!”
“What is it?” Price’s voice was a steady rumble as he strode over, his sword sheathed but ready.
Soap explained your feeling, his voice low but urgent. Price’s brow furrowed, his expression unreadable.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Price asked, his tone gentler than you expected.
“I wasn’t sure if it meant anything,” you replied. “But now…”
Price nodded grimly. “We’ll stay sharp. Ghost, Gaz, double the perimeter watch. Soap, you stay close to her.”
Ghost and Gaz exchanged a glance before moving to obey. Soap sat back down, closer this time, and gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, lass. We’ve got your back.”
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The attack came without warning.
You’d barely begun to relax when a sharp whistle pierced the night air. An arrow streaked toward the fire, embedding itself into a log with a hollow *thunk*.
“Ambush!” Price’s voice boomed as he unsheathed his sword, the firelight gleaming off the polished steel.
The camp erupted into chaos. Figures clad in dark cloaks surged from the treeline, their blades glinting in the dim light. The 141 moved as one, their weapons flashing as they met the attackers head-on.
Soap pushed you behind him, his dagger gleaming in the firelight. “Stay close, lass!”
But the enemy was relentless, and the camp was too small to avoid the fray. A soldier lunged at you, his sword arcing toward your head.
Your instincts kicked in before you had time to think. You raised your hands, a burst of golden light flaring between your palms. The spell struck the soldier square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Soap glanced back, his eyes wide with surprise. “That’s new.”
“No time for explanations!” you shouted, drawing the dagger he’d given you weeks ago.
Another attacker came at you, his blade slashing in a wild arc. You ducked under the swing, your dagger slicing across his leg. He crumpled with a scream, and you kicked him away before spinning to face the next threat.
You lost track of time, the world narrowing to a blur of steel and magic. Each spell you cast drained your energy, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins kept you moving. You were dimly aware of Ghost and Gaz fighting nearby, their movements precise and lethal, while Price barked orders to regroup.
A sudden blow to your side knocked the wind out of you. You stumbled, your vision swimming as a soldier grabbed your wrist, twisting it until the dagger fell from your grasp.
“You’re the healer,” he sneered, yanking you toward him. “Your friends will trade anything to get you back.”
Panic flared in your chest, but before you could react, the soldier was ripped away. Ghost loomed behind him, his blade slicing through the man’s armor with terrifying ease.
“You all right?” Ghost’s voice was low and urgent as he crouched beside you.
“I’m fine,” you gasped, clutching your side.
He helped you to your feet, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before he turned back to the fight.
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By the time the last attacker fell, the camp was in ruins. The fire had been extinguished during the skirmish, and the only light came from the moon and the faint glow of your healing magic as you worked to patch up Soap’s shoulder.
“You’re full of surprises, lass,” he said with a wince. “Didn’t know you could fight like that.”
“I didn’t either,” you admitted, your hands trembling as you sealed the wound.
Price crouched beside you, his expression grim. “What the hell was that back there?”
You swallowed hard, still reeling from the battle. “I told you—I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.”
He studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes sharp. “And this feeling of yours… is it always this accurate?”
You hesitated. “It’s not always this strong. But when it is, I’ve learned not to ignore it.”
Gaz, who had been standing nearby, frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“I didn’t want to alarm anyone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re part of this team now,” Gaz said firmly. “Next time, speak up.”
Soap nodded, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. “Aye. If you’ve got a gift like that, we need to know about it.”
Ghost remained silent, his dark eyes unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady and deliberate. “They were after you.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
“Why would they target me?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.
“You’re a healer,” Price said, his tone heavy. “In war, someone like you is worth more than gold.”
Soap’s hand landed on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “They won’t get another chance, lass. Not while we’re here.”
Gaz nodded in agreement. “We’ll protect you. No matter what.”
For a moment, the weight of their words pressed against your chest, threatening to overwhelm you. But as you looked around at the faces of the men who had fought tooth and nail to keep you safe, you felt something stronger than fear.
Hope.
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Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜
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novaursa · 4 months ago
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Hi Novaursa! I saw that you are taking in requests. Can I make one with Targaryen!Reader (supports team black) and Gwayne Hightower? They had a feelings with each other but they don't act on it (at least on public).They are now in the battlefield and must fight each other.
Divided Banners
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- Summary: When the Dance came you picked your half-sister. And now you have to face a price for choices made.
- Paring: niece!reader/Gwanye Hightower
- Note: The reader is a second daughter of the late King Viserys I Targaryen and Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. The reader is bonded with Grey Ghost.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs
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The roar of the battlefield surrounds you, a cacophony of clashing steel, screams, and the eerie screech of dragons. You sit atop Grey Ghost, his massive wings beating against the wind, your silver-white hair whipping in the air. You scan the chaos below, searching for your enemies—your family. They are the ones you should be fighting for, but you’ve turned your back on them. For Rhaenyra. For the throne she deserves. For your half-sister, who should wear the crown instead of Aegon.
But even now, in the heat of war, you can’t shake the lingering feeling of dread. You’ve heard the Hightower banners are here, which means he is here—Gwayne.
It has been months since you last saw him. Months since you shared stolen kisses in shadowed alcoves, behind closed doors where no one could see. But in public, you were enemies now, just another Targaryen who had betrayed the Greens, who had turned your back on your mother, on your brothers. On him.
Grey Ghost lets out a low growl beneath you as the enemy comes into view—green banners fluttering in the wind. You feel a pang in your chest, but there is no time for hesitation. You spur Grey Ghost forward, your heart pounding in your chest, as you descend on the battlefield.
The sea of green soldiers swarms below like ants, and you unleash a torrent of fire, scorching the ground beneath. Screams of agony reach your ears, but you block them out. This is war. There is no room for mercy.
Suddenly, a flash of silver armor catches your eye. Gwayne.
He is on horseback, leading a charge toward you, his sword gleaming in the fading light. His face is hardened with resolve, his jaw clenched. He knows it’s you. He always knows.
You curse under your breath, gripping Grey Ghost’s reins tighter, but you can’t look away from him. He’s still so beautiful, even in this moment. Even with the blood on his hands, even as he rides toward you with the intent to kill.
He raises his sword, and you realize with a sickening clarity that you are his target.
“Gwayne!” you call out, your voice lost in the roar of the battlefield. But he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
You dive down, forcing Grey Ghost to pull up just as Gwayne slashes at the air where you once were. His horse rears back, and for a moment, you see his face—pained, conflicted.
He’s struggling. Just like you.
You land on the ground a few feet away from him, dismounting from Grey Ghost as he flies off to circle above. Gwayne’s horse snorts nervously, sensing the tension, but he holds the reins steady.
For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The battlefield fades into the background, and all you can see is him. Gwayne, the man you love, standing before you with a sword in his hand, ready to strike you down. And you—his enemy now, with fire in your veins and blood on your hands.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. There’s something desperate in his eyes, a plea hidden beneath the hardness. “You’re making this harder than it already is.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” you snap back, your voice trembling. “Stand by and watch as you kill my family? My sister?”
“They’re my family too,” he growls, stepping closer. His sword is still raised, but his hands shake. “I never wanted this, none of this!”
“Neither did I, Gwayne,” you say softly. “But we can’t change it now. We’re on opposite sides of this war.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Is that all we are now? Opponents?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. The truth is too painful to admit. You’ve always been more than that. You always will be.
For a heartbeat, it feels like the world pauses. You remember the nights spent together, the whispered promises of love, the stolen moments of happiness. But those memories feel like another lifetime now. This is war. And in war, love is a luxury you can’t afford.
He takes another step toward you, his sword lowering ever so slightly. His voice cracks when he speaks. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, don’t make me do this.”
“I won’t make it easy for you,” you whisper. “I can’t.”
There’s no more time for words. You both know what has to happen. You draw your sword, your hands trembling as you face him. His eyes widen, the hurt in them cutting deeper than any blade ever could.
And then, you clash.
The sound of steel meeting steel echoes around you. Every strike, every swing feels like a betrayal. You don’t want to hurt him, but you know if you hesitate, you’ll die. He’s stronger than you, more experienced, but you’re quicker, your strikes more precise.
He blocks your blows, parrying with practiced ease, but there’s hesitation in his movements. He’s holding back. You know it.
“Stop holding back!” you shout, your frustration boiling over. “Fight me, Gwayne!”
“I can’t!” he snaps, his voice raw with emotion. His sword wavers in his hand, and for a moment, you think you see tears in his eyes. “I can’t do this!”
“You have to!” you scream, slashing at him again, your sword narrowly missing his shoulder. “We don’t have a choice!”
He parries your strike, his breath ragged. “There’s always a choice.”
Before you can respond, a deafening roar fills the air, and you see it—Criston Cole’s scorpion ballista being aimed at Grey Ghost. Your heart stops in your chest.
“No,” you breathe, your blood turning to ice. “No, no, no!”
You turn to run toward Grey Ghost, to scream out a warning, but Gwayne grabs your arm, pulling you back. “Wait!”
“There’s no time!” you shout, struggling against his grip. “They’ll kill him!”
His eyes search yours for a long moment, and then, with a grim resolve, he lets you go. “Run,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
“What?” you breathe, confusion clouding your mind. “Gwayne, what are you—”
“Just go!” he shouts, pushing you toward Grey Ghost. “Before it’s too late!”
You hesitate for a moment, your heart warring with your mind, but then you see it—the way his eyes flicker toward the scorpion, the way his hand tightens around his sword. He’s going to stop them.
“Gwayne, don’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a pained smile.
“Go,” he says again, his voice breaking. “I’ll buy you time. Just... go.”
Tears blur your vision as you mount Grey Ghost, your heart shattering into pieces. You don’t want to leave him. You don’t want to lose him. But you know if you stay, you’ll both die.
With one last glance, you urge Grey Ghost into the sky, the wind whipping around you as the world blurs beneath you. You don’t look back. You can’t.
You hear the scorpion fire, but there’s no strike. No deathly roar. And you know—Gwayne sabotaged it. He let you live. 
But at what cost?
The war rages on, but a part of you died on that battlefield near Duskendale. And as you fly away, the tears streaming down your face, you know you’ll never forget the sacrifice he made for you.
Or the fact that you may never see him again.
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theshitpostcalligrapher · 11 months ago
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I LOVE YOU
Sword slash to the chest.
And you’re on fire.
(a very famous Minecraft meme)
----
submitted by @lexiklecksi
LMAO nice
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angelofsmalldeaath · 6 months ago
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kathy's song — a.h.b.
a/n: this is based on one of the songs mentioned in this interview. the prompt is "it looks like it might rain outside". this is quite self indulgent too because @handfulofhoney and i were discussing andrew and gaming (in great detail mind you!!)
cw: weed
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“it looks like it might rain outside,” i point to the window, leaning against his chest. a moment later, i feel smoke caress my earlobe, followed by the familiar earthy, grassy smell. 
he hums, voice deeper than before and right next to my ear. 
“should we do something?”
i turn my face, parting my lips a little so he can place the joint between them. the smoke makes warmth bloom in my chest, a minute late, the familiar calm descends. 
“i was thinking about restarting that zelda game we like so much.”
“oh yeah?”
his chest vibrates when he speaks, scattering goosebumps over my arms. a moment later, the first fat raindrop hits the window. 
“would you play with me?”
“you always chuck the joycons at me when the fights get hard,” he snickers, flicking my nose when i wrinkle it at him. the joint dangles between his lips, smouldering. i can’t resist placing a little kiss on his jaw. 
“because you’re so much better than i am!” i whine. 
“how will you get better if you don’t play!”
“is it not enough that i can sit here and cheer you on?”
we both stare at each other, noses almost touching, my side pressed against his chest and my back resting against his knee. a second later he exhales, blowing smoke all over my face. 
“go on, get it then.” he smiles when i whoop, stumbling off the bed to turn the console on and get the joycons.
a moment later i’m back where i was, slotted between his legs and leaning against his chest. the rain gains speed, more fat raindrops hitting the window. it’s the perfect rhythm, i think. or maybe it’s the weed thinking that, making its way through my bloodstream. the world feels slower, softer around the edges. 
i stare at the colours on the starter screen, mesmerised. 
“that’s you,” he points at the screen. i wrinkle my nose and flick him in the shin. “that pig-like monster?!”
“no, you idiot,” he giggles, kissing the shell of my ear and takes another drag of the joint. i have a sudden and visceral urge to kiss him, to feel that smoke entering my lungs. 
“that old man. you’d love to be unnecessarily cryptic and sit by the fire roasting apples.”
i hmph, unable to contradict really because he is right. a second later he turns my face to his as if he’s read my mind and kisses me. his lips feel warm from the smoke, soft from my lip balm that he keeps stealing. his beard tickles a little and i laugh. 
when he lets go, he holds the spliff in front of my lips, letting me take a small drag. 
the sound of the rain fills the room, along with the click of my joycons. link grunts every few seconds, in the middle of a fight and slashing at enemies left and right with a measly rusty sword. every few seconds he leans and kisses my neck. 
“tickles,” i laugh, “you’re being very distracting.”
“am i? i thought you were a pro at this.”
i briefly let go of the joycons, twisting my hands into his t-shirt and kiss him again. it’s a leisurely, slow kiss—mostly indulgent and lazy and soft. he cradles my face in one hand, holding the joint far away from us so he won’t burn one of us on accident.
a second later a thwack echoes in the room and we break apart, giggling, laughing louder when the ‘game over’ screen blinks at us. 
“look at that, you’ve killed link!” i poke his chest. 
he traces his thumb over my lip, dragging it down and letting it go. “i guess i am being distracting.”
i take the joint from his hands, handing him the controllers in return. “go on. your turn.”
“and what will you do?”
“stare at the rain, i think.”
i look behind me and out the window. it’s raining in sheets by now. so hard i can barely see the neighbour’s house anymore. the trees outside sway lightly, leaves dancing under raindrops. my head feels heavy, so do my eyelids. i could fall asleep like this, cocooned by the warmth of his body and surrounded by his smell. 
“you’d fall asleep,” he catches me instantly. or maybe it’s that my eyelids are already drooping and i’ve turned into a ball against his body. 
“would that be so bad?”
he hums, threading his fingers through my hair, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. i smile at his tenderness. 
“you’ve played two minutes of the game you insisted on playing!”
i pout at him, hoping the big eyes would have some effect on him. a second later he rolls his eyes and tucks my face into his chest. i feel him take the joint out of my hands, put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. 
“this was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it!”
i shrug, already snuggling into him, as cosy as i can be while he restarts the game, goes through the same motions i was before but at a much faster rate. and even when my eyes close of their own accord, i can tell where he is in the game based on the soundtrack alone. 
“that’s you,” i point blindly at the screen. he pauses. 
“that…apple tree?”
“noooo,” i laugh, properly slurring my words. “link. brave knight rescuing the princess and everything. from nasty boss fights in your case.”
“alright, princess,” he chuckles and kisses the crown of my hair. “go sleep now. i’ll wake you up if something interesting happens.”
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whataperfectwasteoftime · 5 months ago
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The Rift - Chapter Seven
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader
Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics
Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.
A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!
Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>
(Moreno)
Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.
He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 
No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–
He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 
He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 
Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?
He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 
He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.
M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?
Marcus snorts softly.
Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?
M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.
He smiles. 
I choose option 1, obviously.
M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 
Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?
M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.
Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 
It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.
I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.
M: You’re weird.
Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’
The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.
Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 
He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 
He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 
The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’
It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 
But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 
And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?
He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.
The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 
He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.
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(Pike)
Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 
The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 
“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 
“I have always risen with the sun.”
“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 
“And decidedly not our hostess.”
They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 
“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 
“I would love some.”
Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.
At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 
It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 
When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 
Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.
He had no concept of what last night had meant. 
He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 
“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.
“Just thinking.”
“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”
Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”
“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”
Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”
“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”
“A metaphor?”
“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”
Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”
The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”
His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”
“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”
“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 
“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 
You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” 
Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.
“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 
Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…
“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.
“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 
Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”
“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”
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(Acacius)
Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 
The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 
The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.
“Feel okay?”
“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.
The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.
It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.
And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 
Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.
You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 
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abiiors · 6 months ago
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17. thunderstorms - ross x reader
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a/n: this is literally so fucking self-indulgent but i yearn for this so much i can't even find it in myself to be embarrased
cw: smoking weed, some kissing and touching but very very tame
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“it looks like it might rain outside,” you point to the window, leaning against ross’ chest. a moment later, the sky rumbles, briefly flashing, and you feel smoke caress your earlobe, followed by the familiar earthy, grassy smell. 
he hums, voice deeper than before and right next to your ear. 
“should we do something?”
you turn your face, parting your lips a little so he can place the joint between them. the smoke makes warmth bloom in your chest. a second later, ross takes the joint back, inhaling the smoke again.
“i was thinking about restarting that zelda game we like so much.”
“oh yeah?”
his chest vibrates when he speaks, scattering goosebumps over your arms. you’re about to speak when another rumble cuts you off. then the first fat raindrop hits the window. 
“would you play with me?”
ross makes a show of thinking, pointing one accusatory finger at you. “you always chuck the joycons at me when the fights get hard,” he snickers, flicking your nose when you wrinkle it at him. the joint dangles between his lips, smouldering. you can’t resist placing a little kiss on his jaw. 
“because you’re so much better than i am!” you whine. 
“how will you get better if you don’t play!”
“is it not enough that i can sit here and cheer you on?”
you both stare at each other, noses almost touching, your side pressed against his chest and your back resting against his knee. a second later he exhales, blowing smoke right into your parted mouth. somehow this feels better than smoking on your own. 
“go on, get it then.” he smiles when you whoop, stumbling off the bed to turn the console on and get the joycons. 
when you’re back he pulls you into his chest again, slotted between his legs with his arms firmly around you. your bare legs spread out on the bed—it was a muggy summer day until the storm started and you’ve rather taken to wearing just his t-shirts and underwear around the house for comfort’s sake. most of the time. 
the rain gains speed, more fat raindrops hitting the window. it’s the perfect rhythm, you think. or maybe it’s the weed thinking that, making its way through your bloodstream. the world feels slower, softer around the edges. 
you stare at the colours on the starter screen, mesmerised. 
“that’s you,” he points at the screen when the first cut scene ends. you wrinkle your nose and flick him in the shin. “that pig-like monster?!”
“no, you idiot,” he giggles, kissing the shell of your ear and takes another drag of the joint. you have a sudden and visceral urge to kiss him, to feel that smoke entering your lungs again. 
“that old man. you’d love to be unnecessarily cryptic and sit by the fire roasting apples.”
you hmph, unable to contradict really because he is right. a second later he turns your face to his, as if he’s read your mind, and kisses you. his lips feel warm from the smoke, soft from your lip balm that he keeps stealing. his beard tickles a little and you laugh. 
when he lets go, he holds the spliff in front of your lips, letting you take a small drag. 
the sound of the rain fills the room, along with the click of your joycons. link grunts every few seconds, in the middle of a fight, and slashes at enemies left and right with a measly rusty sword. every few seconds ross leans and kisses your neck. 
“tickles,” you laugh, “you’re being very distracting.”
“am i? i thought you were a pro at this.” 
and just to hammer home the point, his hands push under your t-shirt, caressing the underside of your boob, thumb flicking over the nipple in a way that’s barely a brush. and yet you feel as if the thunderstorm outside suddenly enters your body. 
you briefly let go of the joycons, twisting your hands into his t-shirt and kiss him again. it’s a leisurely, slow kiss—mostly indulgent and lazy and soft. his hand lingers over your ribs, right under your t-shirt and still brushing against your nipple softly. ross holds the joint far away from you so he won’t burn either of you by accident.
right when his kiss turns a little more intense, a thwack echoes in the room. you break apart, giggling, laughing louder when the ‘game over’ screen blinks at you. 
“look at that, you’ve killed link!” you poke his chest. 
ross traces his thumb over your lip, dragging it down and letting it go. “i guess i am being distracting.”
you take the joint from his hands, handing him the controllers in return. “go on. your turn.”
“and what will you do?”
“stare at the rain, i think.”
you look out the window. it’s raining in sheets by now, so hard you can barely see the neighbour’s house anymore. the trees outside sway lightly, leaves dancing under raindrops. your head feels heavy, so do your eyelids. you could fall asleep like this, cocooned by the warmth of his body and surrounded by his smell. 
“you’d fall asleep,” ross catches you instantly. or maybe it’s that your eyelids are already drooping and you’ve turned into a ball against his body. 
“would that be so bad?”
he hums, threading his fingers through your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. you smile at his tenderness. 
“you’ve played two minutes of the game you insisted on playing!”
you pout at ross, hoping the big eyes would have some effect on him. a second later he rolls his eyes and tucks your face into his chest. you feel him take the joint out of your hands, put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. 
“this was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it!”
you shrug, already snuggling into him, as cosy as you can be while he restarts the game, goes through the same motions you were before but at a much faster rate. and even when your eyes close of their own accord you can tell where he is in the game based on the soundtrack alone. 
“that’s you,” you point blindly at the screen. he pauses. 
“that…apple tree?”
“noooo,” you laugh, properly slurring your words. “link. brave knight rescuing the princess and everything. from nasty boss fights in your case.”
“alright, princess,” he chuckles and kisses the crown of your hair. “go sleep now. i’ll wake you up if something interesting happens.”
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dreaming-medium · 5 months ago
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Animals Without Direction
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Horn of Miroh
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Masterlist
It doesn’t take long for the Mercy Division to notice Miroh charging down the hill. 
It takes even less time for the two armies to clash together in a bloodbath. Steel met with steel in the most gruesome of ways. Horses trample over bodies while Erban soldiers slash at their tendons. The sound of the innocent animals screeching joins the horrible chorus of battle.
Still, at least half of Erbus’ army seems to have shifted their attention outwards instead of towards Fort Mire.
Taking a deep breath, you look out amongst the blood shed. Changbin’s horse is moving non-stop, his biceps bulging as he uses one hand to swipe down through the throng while the other grabs his horse’s reins. 
His eyes are entirely focused on the battle, his pouty lips pursed with concentration.
You watch as he swings his sword down in a grand motion and beheads a soldier in one fell swoop.
But, even with Miroh storming through their forces, Erbus persists in getting more ladders up to the walls. You can see three of them being brought up the front, your hand already tightening on your sword and getting ready to attack.
Protect the gate, don’t let them in.
Hyunjin moves in sync with you once more, the two of you seem to think with one brain on the battlefield. He follows you like a shadow to where the closest ladder is coming up. 
The same routine as earlier continues, once the ladder hits the wall, enemy soldiers begin pouring over the top to try and get to the lever. Each and every time, you and Hyunjin take care of them.
You both have to be some sight to behold with how well you’re working together.
If you kick a soldier backwards off of you, before he can strike forwards, a fireball knocks him ten feet backwards. When a soldier gets too close to Hyunjin, you yank him backwards by the collar of his breastplate and plunge your sword through his stomach.
Two cogs in a clock spinning around and around.
Four Erban soldiers flank the two of you, two on either side. 
While ducking and moving around you to attack one side, Hyunjin grabs your sword arm with a ball of flames in his other hand and runs it along the flat edge of your sword, bathing the entire weapon in fire.
You spin around the back of him, continuing the motion around and swipe at the two soldiers’ legs. It only makes contact with one of them, his screams adding to the sounds of battle. 
Even though the other isn’t hit with the blade, fire arcs out from the swipe and catches his tunic. The fabric is immediately swallowed in flames.
The first soldier falls to the ground with a deadly gash across his thighs, the other screeches and jumps backwards, trying to pat at his now fire-covered tunic. Your sword spins in your hand and you stab forward at the on-fire soldier, going right through his abdomen.
He coughs up blood with his scream, it sprays all over your body. 
Your boot comes up to kick at his chest and take your sword out at the same time. He falls down to the ground– dead.
When your attention turns to the other soldier, his eyes widen.
“Please!” he begs. His voice somehow makes it through the screaming around you.
With your sword now free, you turn towards the pathetic pleads.
Oh, the irony. The sick, twisted, beautiful irony.
Deadly anger courses through your veins. It only adds to the adrenaline. 
You take a step closer to the soldier, stuck on his knees as blood pours from the front of his thighs. It’s completely soaked through his tunic. 
Your eyes are wild, your hair is frizzy from battle, you’re absolutely covered with blood and sweat. You must look like a demon straight out of the Void. 
“N-No, please!” he pleads again. His legs are so maimed that he cannot even backpedal away from you. He’s stuck on his knees. 
Your chin lifts a bit as you look down at him. “A Mercy Division soldier begs an Elf to spare his life.” Your hand reaches out quickly and you snatch a handful of his hair in a deathlike grip. “I have dreamt about moments like this before.”
He screams out in agony, baring his teeth. His hands come up and grip your wrist, nails digging into your gauntlets. But you don’t feel them. 
You yank his hair even tighter backwards so his entire neck is bared to you. Again, he whines pathetically and begs and pleads for his own life. “Please, please, gods, forgive me!”
Mercy. He’s begging for mercy.
The irony is almost too good! It’s almost poetic! 
It tickles at the back of your throat like a terrible joke. It bubbles up with a dark laugh. 
He wants forgiveness? Forgiveness for the sins he committed against an entire race? Forgiveness for the genocide he took part in?
How many Elven lives did he take after hearing the same pleas for mercy? 
He’s just another rotten, worthless excuse for flesh. 
“Rot in the void, scum.” Your hand comes up and slides your sword across his throat.
The only sound that comes out is gurgles before you shove his body backwards to suffer for those final moments as he chokes on his own blood. 
His entire body arcs and writhes while he clutches uselessly at his slit throat. 
It doesn’t even phase you, not like it should. 
An explosion sounds behind you followed by a wave of heat. 
When you turn and look, the ladder is missing and the area it once sat is surrounded by ashes and embers. Hyunjin stands five paces away from you, his shoulders heaving with heavy pants. His entire chest moves with each breath.
Sweat is pouring down his face as if he’s emerging from a lake. 
You close the gap between the two of you and stand next to him, overlooking the sea of enemies beyond the wall. 
It’s gruesome.
Bodies litter the ground everywhere. The grass looks like it's submerged in a sea of red. The once beautiful, rolling fields now look like something straight out of a nightmare. 
There’s so much death everywhere. The smell of iron wafts through the air and invades your senses.
What you wouldn’t give to step inside Felix’s healing ward right now just to get a whiff of all the plants that hang along the walls. 
Frantically, your eyes search around the field to catch a glimpse of Changbin. 
Where is he? Where is he? Is he alive? Gods, please let him be alive. 
Soldier after soldier skirts past your vision, none of them wearing the armor you’re so familiar with until he finally catches your view to the west of the fort. He’s no longer on horseback and you’re not sure if that’s a good sign or not. 
He’s sheathed his sword in favor of wielding his battle ax. 
Watching Changbin wield his ax is like watching an artist paint a masterpiece. Every single movement is calculated and perfect, not a single ounce of effort is wasted.
Each and every move hits its target, no one can even get close to him as he cuts them down like trees in a lumberyard. 
While you and Hyunjin try to catch your breath, you can’t help but let your gaze linger on your commander, watching him in his element.
A long, even, horn blast suddenly cuts across the battlefield. The Horn of Miroh sounds once more as Jeongin’s battalion joins in the fight.
An even larger ball of hope settles in your chest. Perhaps hope isn’t lost after all.
Just like Changbin did, Jeongin leads the charge of soldiers on horseback down the hill. The sun catches on his armor. 
Chan would be so proud. By the Six, even you’re proud. He looks regal. Gods, when did his hair get so long? 
The longer you stare at Jeongin, the more hopeful you feel. Is Miroh really pulling this off?
Hyunjin shifts besides you. You don’t think anything of it until his hand comes out to grab your shoulder for balance. 
Immediately, your arm comes up to wrap around his waist and hold him up. Your eyes scan over his face frantically.
“Hyunjin?” you ask quickly, dropping your sword to the ground.
When did he turn so pale? His lips are parted and chapped. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows furrowed.
Is he injured? Was he hit? When? Where? You can’t see a wound anywhere, he’s only covered in soot, there’s no blood anywhere.
“Hyunjin?” you ask, more fear in your voice than you care to admit. “Hyunjin? What is it?”
“I.. I may hav..e..” he whispers, it's hoarse and quiet. You can barely hear it. His eyes are rolling back in his head when he tries to open them. His entire body is trembling.
Bringing your ear down closer to his face, your eyebrows pull together like his. Second by second, he’s leaning more and more weight on you. 
“I may have p… have pushed myself too much…” he finally chokes out. No…
“Fuck,” you hiss out. His body is getting heavier by the second.
He’s losing consciousness. 
There’s a crate on the ground directly behind you, you slowly begin to lower him to sit. 
“Sit, sit Hyunjin, shit – just.. Just relax.” 
You carefully maneuver him to rest on the crate with his back against the wall. He’s leaning to the side, panting deeply, his eyes still shut. 
“Come on, Hyunjin,” you murmur with worry. You kneel down in front of him, cupping his sweaty cheeks in your hands. His skin is so cold when you touch it, it almost feels like he’s made of ice. He’s so clammy.
He must’ve used the heat from his body as a last resort. 
The mage’s entire head lolls forward in your hold, his muscles getting weaker by the moment. You start slapping his cheek to get him to wake up. Not now, Hyunjin, please not now.
You need him. 
“Hyunjin!” you call out to him. In your chest, you can feel your heart rate spiking. “Hyunjin, wake up! Look at me, Hyunjin!”
Can you heal him? How do you even heal something like this? He only taught you how to heal physical wounds. What would you need to do?
Your brain is reeling, meanwhile the sound of battle is getting louder and louder. Bangs ring out underneath you as soldiers pound against the gate with all their might.
Curses and screams echo with it.
“Get up, Hyunjin! Please!” You slap his cheek a few more times. He still can’t seem to catch his breath. His body falls limp against the wall and your breath catches in your throat. “You cannot leave me like this, Hyunjin!” 
He doesn’t even flinch.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss and look around frantically.
There’s only one archer left on the wall. Where did that last foot soldier go? Where did everyone go? 
Every time you reach out and slap Hyunjin’s skin, the blood caked on your hands smears onto his perfect skin. You can barely recognize your own hands…
“Shit!” you repeat again even louder. “No, no, no. ”
A chill zips down your spine and it's not from the December air. 
There’s a loud roar that rips across the battlefield once Jeongin’s battalion clashes with the ongoing war. 
An arrow whizzes over your head and embeds itself directly into the remaining archer’s chest. Your blood runs cold as he stumbles backwards and off the wall.
His body disappears behind the wall taking your confidence with you.
It’s just you.
You’re the last one up here.
Hyunjin is passed out and slumped against the stone wall. Fear takes hold of your body and you lunge forward, grabbing two handfuls of his robe. 
“Hyunjin!” you scream. Your voice cracks.Your breathing gets faster and faster as you begin to panic. “Hyunjin! Wake up! Wake up please!” 
Suddenly you’re a little girl again. The years of hardening from battle leave your soul and you’re left with a desperately scared elfling who just had her parents ripped away from her. She’s cold and hungry and can’t stop crying out for her parents.
“Ladders to the front! Ladders to the front!” a soldier screams from below. 
That same fear from that night they were taken from this world is slowly sinking its fingers into your very soul, your blood is running cold and you can barely feel your legs underneath you.
Your heart slams in your ribcage over and over again.
Panic seizes your heart.
“Hyunjin! Hyunjin, please!” You violently shake his limp body back and forth to no avail. “Hyunjin! I cannot do this on my own! Hyunjin! Please! Wake up! Please!”
The sound of wood hitting stone comes from both sides of your body. You’re all too aware of what that noise brings.Those monsters. Those demons.
“ HYUNJIN! ” You shriek. It’s desperate and feral, it pierces your own ears. Never have you screamed like this before. You shake him violently, desperate for any sign of him stirring.
Nothing.
Mercy Division soldiers are crawling up the sides of the fort.
You’re the only defense between the lever to open the gate and those monsters. Your demons are knocking on your door.
And you’re all alone.
Tears prickle at your eyes, the fear wraps around your throat like a snake. It tightens and tightens until you feel like you can’t breathe. 
You’re on the edge of the Void by yourself.
They’re going to kill you. They’re going to maim you. Rip out your innards while forcing you to stay alive and watch. Separate your skin from your body. Break each joint and listen to the marrow slide out.
Hyunjin’s body flops around as you shake him back and forth, desperately wailing for him to wake up. Over and over again you scream his name.
The tears fall down your cheeks as his body slumps to the side off the crate onto the stone ground. You hover over the top of him on your knees, all of the fight leaving your body. All that’s left is the cold grip of panic and desperation.
You’re done.
You’re losing.
You lose, Y/N.
You lost.
And you’re all alone. 
“Please, please, Six, please!” you scream, your body collapses and your face buries into Hyunjin’s chest, wails tearing from your throat.
“Ma! They are going to kill me! They are going to kill me, Pa! Ma, I am so scared! They are going to kill me!”
Your brain stops.
They’re going to kill Hyunjin too. 
Pulling yourself off his chest, you look down at his pale, unconscious face. His skin is still covered in sweat, his hair looks soaking wet.
What will they do to a pureblood Elf?
The fabric in your hands is squeezed tighter and tighter in your fist. Your jaw clenches and your teeth grit together.
You’re still here, Y/N.
You haven’t lost yet. You took an oath that you would protect your fellow court members.
Protect the gate.
Protect Hyunjin.
Fight until the end, Y/N. 
Face the Void with dignity. 
You lean down and press a long kiss to Hyunjin’s clammy forehead. “To my last breath, Hyunjin,” you whisper.
Blindly, you reach down at your side for the sword you previously dropped. Your fingers curl around the hilt.
The sound of the metal scraping against the stone is somehow louder than the screams of death around you.
Once more, the world moves in slow motion.
Soldiers begin pouring over the tops of the ladder, each and every one making a beeline to the last Miron soldier protecting the lever to open the gate of Fort Mire. 
To you. Jarl Bang’s personal Mercenary. 
When you stand up, the tears are still pouring down your cheeks. Your knees feel so weak, like you could get knocked over with one strong gust of wind.
They all charge towards you with murderous intent.
Your sword cuts through the air as you protect both Hyunjin and the lever. 
Left and right. One swipe here, another this way. Punch here, kick here, duck, stab, swipe. Parry this hit, push this one away.
You can barely see your attacks through your tears– instincts are what’s moving your limbs. It’s all fear.
It’s never ending. They’re like a hydra, you cut off one head and three more grow back in its place.
Exhaustion is clawing at your brain. All of your limbs feel fuzzy. Even your gums in your mouth seem to ache. Your throat is constricting even more each second, lungs are desperate for air.
Dig deep, Y/N, go into your soul. Search and find it within yourself.
Your sword collides with another and the two of you arc the weapons around in a grand circle. You step to the side as a soldier behind you stabs forward– his attack goes through his own comrade’s.
A cough claws up your throat but you swallow it.
Hyunjin’s body laying on the ground seems to be the only thing your mind’s eye can see. He has no idea the fight you’re putting up just to keep him alive.
How are they faring down below? How much longer do they need? How much longer can you do this? 
Fight, Y/N, fight.
Grin and bear it.
You can take it. You can take it.
You’ve had worse.
You can hold your ground–
A sharp right hook to the jaw rocks your entire world. Blood immediately tinges your tastebuds. You don’t even have enough time to gather yourself before another punch lands into your gut. 
All the air leaves your lungs in a wheeze. 
No, no, no.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t focus. Your eyes seem to cross. What way is up? What way is down?
Another punch and you stumble backwards. A blow to the back of your head rockets you forwards. Your sword drops from your hand and clangs onto the stone. When your hands come out to cushion your wall, they land on the ledge of the stone wall. Your entire body is leaning against the wall, trying to keep yourself up.
Before you can turn over, a hand grips your hair and your head is kept down in place.
“Open the gate! Open the gate!” A soldier behind you screams.
“No…” you moan. Your voice is entirely broken and raspy. “No…!”
Your body writhes, your boots scramble and slide on the blood-slicked stone, trying to find any sort of purchase to help you stand up. But the hand in your hair is iron-like.
Finally, your eyes focus and you’re met with the gruesome sight of the war below. 
So much death. So… so much loss. 
What…. What happened?
Where are all of Miroh’s soldiers? Where did all of the Erban soldiers come from? There… There weren’t this many before. 
Where’s Changbin? Where’s Jeongin? Are they alive? They have to be alive. They have to be!
Then, you hear it.
Three sharp horn blasts. 
The Horn of Miroh.
A retreat– they’re calling a retreat.
More and more tears pour down your cheeks. 
You lost.
“ Y/N!!! ”
Your bruised eyes look up at the voice that screamed your name across the battlefield. 
Yang Jeongin, covered in blood, his face more desperate than you’ve ever seen is fighting with all his might trying to run to you. Seo Changbin holding him back with every ounce of strength he has left.
Changbin is screaming for him to retreat while Jeongin pushes against his arm.
Over and over again, Jeongin screams your name, tears start streaming down his cheeks. He’s covered in so much blood. So, so much blood.
When the soldier holding you down by your hair grabs your wrist and twists it behind your back, Jeongin screams even louder. How are his vocal chords not collapsing?
The squire tries so hard to push past his commander, but it’s to no avail.
Changbin’s gritting his teeth, biting back his own tears before he finally looks up at you pinned against the stone wall. Even from this distance, you can see the battle he’s having in his head. He wants to run to rescue you just as much as Jeongin does.
But he can’t. He can’t .
It’s only now, as you watch your commander and your squire yank themselves away from the battlefield that you remember your conversation with Changbin all those weeks ago; before this war even started. 
That night in your room where he came to apologize.
“No one expects you to know everything, Changbin.”
“I am the one that everyone will turn to on the front lines to make the tough decisions. I have heard stories of generals making the choice to leave soldiers behind, how am I ever going to make that call?”
He looks down at you suddenly, his eyes full of sorrow. At this moment, he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve. 
“When the time comes, I am confident that you will know what to do.” You nod at him, unknowingly, he mirrors the movement. “But as of right now, no one knows what they are doing. We will have to take each day as they come.”
He nods again and looks back at the wall. His clenched fist slowly loosening.
“And if the time ever comes that you need to make that choice, your soldiers would know it was not an easy one.”
You know it’s not an easy choice. You know it’s killing Changbin just as much as it’s killing Jeongin.
Changbin continues to yank Jeongin away while screaming. The squire is fighting against him with all of his strength. The only thing that’s leaving his lips is your name. Every scream rips through your body.
All of the veins in his neck are popping with how guttural his screams are. Changbin screams over him to other soldiers to retreat.
All you can do is stare.
Behind you, the hand in your hair tightens and yanks you up off the wall.
This is it.
This is how you die.
A grimy, evil face pulls you up to meet their demon-like eyes.
“So, Y/N , you must be pretty important if Bang’s Squire was screaming for you.”
What…?
“This one is the mage!” An Erban soldier calls out to everyone, pointing down at Hyunjin. “He’s one of Bang’s court members.”
You gulp. The Erban soldier doesn’t tear his eyes from you as a sinister smirk pulls at his greasy lips.
“Two court members– it must be our lucky day.” No. “You are coming with us, elf .”
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gods-favorite-autistic · 9 months ago
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Adaine: Fabian we’re in my room what are you talking-
Fabian: Sword slash to the chest. And you’re on fire
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incorrect-hs-quotes · 1 year ago
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ROXY: kids were roleplaying with minecraft figurines and one of them had their figure go up to the other and say
KARKAT: I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.
ROXY: and the other one replied
JOHN: sword slash to the chest. and you’re on fire.
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