#WARNING: BARELY-EDITED STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

[stupidstupidratcreatures]

jadis (+misc) thoughts

so there's a bunch of stuff i liked about. all that and a little bit that i didn't that's just been sticking with the comic since i started it

i did really really like how like... nuanced jadis was presented as. like all of the demiurges have a thing of "this person was made into what they are by their circumstances, they wanted on the winning team and not the losing one" (except for mammon LOL but he kinda had the same thing just in the reverse order) which i have continued to really like. but especially for jadis where like she's a victim ("" etc ymmv) of circumstance but also did have the agency to make one single choice, which was to immediately bite off more than she could chew and then be shocked into submission for all of it. i know abaddon had a whole thing about people trying to read into it as much as they could to make jadis a liar and how much she isn't that and like i don't think she is but i also don't think she's supposed to be this objective thing. like the specific word he used there was "reasonable". also re:that a little tom for the love of god can you turn off comments on your website they annoy me personally and also you it seems like

anyway so jadis got overwhelmed by knowing everything at once, we saw that happen to allison. like once that happens to you it's really hard to think about anything else. i think she just feels trapped by the whole thing, like she could (shulk voice) change the future by doing something else instead of what she's been predicted to do but the difference would be so small in The Scheme Of Things as to be meaningless. and yk like she does kinda do that, she spends weeks trying to get allison to just eat some food, which my next point: the three and a half years allison spent with jadis are presented as necessary recuperation instead of a waste of time. i really like that. like obviously she would've just died on the moon of rayuba if jadis hadn't offered her help but even beyond that the first panel after the six (billion. lol) month timeskip is her sitting outside, in clothes, not emaciated, eating and reading books. like that's really cool! she can do that again! and then the like zaid thing. which. man. first of all im just glad zaid and allison like actually were able to talk second of all he seems like a cool and nice dude. anyway like. zaid is obviously the reason allison leaves but like it's also just. jadis never had that. jadis can't have that. the only people that jadis is connected to are people who worship her for living in a hospital/being frozen in ice so like no help there like jadis is actually just fucking stuck there. forever. unless The Gang decides and is able to break her out. which i can dream both because i think it'd be cute and because it would be an actual cool writing move but like this will not be a thing that happens

anyway because of that i thought the thing where jadis introduced herself as the prescient one with the story about allison sitting next to that kid at lunch because she was the only one who wasn't weird about her and making her laugh before she died and then the. jadis saying goodbye to allison and thanking her for her presence as she says she's stupid for trying and she isn't coming with her. man can we get jadis a hug. for the love of god. like she's trying to help where she can and she's had way too much shit and she gave allison something physical to remember cio by even though shes being weird about it and. cries 10 million forever

also the way prosthetics were treated on the like 3 most recent pages felt really tasteless for reasons i don't feel like explaining but for reasons i think are probably pretty understandable. i really don't like the sff thing of prosthetics being treated as manifestations of like spiritual sickness (when they arent like symbolically evil etc etc) and like. for the arc that made me want to actually pick this back up because abaddon was talking about how trope-break-y it was etc etc like that's just really lame. letdown of the century, please be ableist in new and interesting ways next time. that said the "even if i'm in hell, nobody gets to tell me i can't enjoy myself" page is so fucking good. simply love to see it. cant wait for the page after that to be allison giving jadis a huge hug and bringing her with her and zaid

also, white chain alive! but we knew that already like she JUST got her human body. yes abaddon jokes a lot about doing character designs that he renders unusable by killing them on the next page but like cmon. we knew this. they didn't show a body

i'm going to bed now so the last thing i'll say rn is i'm still really fucking annoyed about allison only ever. i don't wanna say "feeling the bare minimum of emotion as required by the plot" because she feels very strongly about a lot of things but like you get what i mean. like a lot of the k6bd characters i get the sense of like, this is an interesting character. i want to know more about them and would be invested and entertained by a story different from the main one that focuses on them. like i don't get that with allison like she's being really depressed because the author wanted to write about depression now. like which is true of every character of course but. you know what like i played about 200 hours of a jrpg that i thought i would like way more than i did and that i tried to like way more that i did and like i'm so so so so so fucking sick of Main Characters who have zero like definable personality other than "i'm here to move the plot forward! i'm here for the audience to have a perspective imposed on them!" and like the evil mode thing doesn't even work there either because the jrpg guy had one of those too and his evil mode was still really dull but also actually a little bit interesting! like please for the love of god i need a character that justifies themself as a main character with something more than "audience perspective" like FUCK

[endieinwonderland]

Let The Light In: Part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Words: 1,598

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so in the wrong, angst no comfort.

“Is that Paige Bueckers?” The guy sitting next to you nudges your elbow, his eyes glued to your computer screen. 

He didn’t need to ask you to confirm that it was her, given the massive ‘5’ on her jersey and those unmistakable blonde braids. But you indulge him anyways, turning back to the screen of your laptop as if you need to double check who’s picture you’re editing, before giving him an affirmative hum and re-focusing your attention on the exposure curve that’s been giving you trouble all morning. 

Seemingly unbothered by your lackluster reply, he leans closer, letting out a sharp whistle as he gets a better view. “Damn, that’s good. You take it?” 

“All mine.” You reply hastily, reaching over to pat the camera bag next to you.

“Are you on the media team or something then?”

You just nod, casting a quick glance in his direction while his eyes stays fixated on the image of the girl on your screen until you swear you can see drool forming in the corners of his mouth. 

“You know this should go up on the posters they have around campus” he says, finally leaning back into his chair. 

It’s almost like he knows that stroking your ego is surefire way to get you to soften up. 

You turn to him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “If you think that you should go check them out next week. There might be a few changes you'll like.”

An impressed look passes briefly over his face before returning to a cocky smirk. “You know, you’re doing her a favor. She looks way hotter in this than the ones that are up right now.”  

Guard all the way back up, you turn to him, doing very little to hide your disgust. Without a word, you scoop up your belongings and move to another spot, eager to distance yourself far, far away from him.

Your new spot is near a window, which you’d normally avoid since you need to see your computer screen clearly while editing, and sunlight wouldn’t help with that. However, when a blonde woman walked by, hand in hand with her toddler who was clearly fighting off sleep with a blankie draped over her shoulders, you couldn't resist the urge to get as closer to the all-too-familiar scene.

----

"Hey, you awake?” Paige's voice is barely audible over the soothing hum of the air conditioner. You’re half asleep, nestled comfortably beneath the blankets, and all you can manage is a low, affirmative hum in response.

"I can't sleep," she whispers again, this time poking your cheek to ensure you’re paying attention. 

"Count sheep.” 

A loud groan echoes through the bedroom as Paige turns over to face you. 

“We should do something." 

You pretend not to hear her, keeping your eyes shut. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up” she intones, pulling the covers off your chest as she sits up in the bed. 

"Let's go for a drive."

You peek one eye open, glaring at her. "Paige I love you but, please, for the love of God, just let me sleep." She keeps her mouth shut, but you can feel her gaze on you as you pull the covers back over yourself. 

After two blissful minutes of silence, a soft "please" brings you back to consciousness. Opening your eyes fully now, you stare at her.

"Paige, I'm really tired." 

"I'll let you have the aux, and you can bring your blanket," she offers, nudging your shoulder gently, trying to coax you out of bed.

With narrowed eyes, you meet her gaze, her face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through your open blinds. With just that one glance, any remaining sibilance of a resolve is shattered.

"An hour tops, and if I fall asleep again, you can't wake me up until we're home." 

A soft smile crosses her face. "Deal." 

Before you really know what’s happening Paige has an arm wrapped around you, practically skipping as she drags you, half asleep and wrapped in a quilt, through the parking lot to her car. She turns your seat heater on, connects your phone to the speakers, and lets you choose a playlist before pulling out onto the main road, interlocking your fingers, and letting your hands rest on the center console.

"Dude, come on, really?" she groans as your sleep playlist begins and the sounds of an artificial rainstorm flood the car. 

"I'm going back to sleep," Is all you can manage to say in your fatigued state, leaning your head against the window and shutting your eyes once again. 

You don’t wake up again until sunlight has begun to shine through the trees lining highway, urging you to peek your eyes open. The gentle shake of the car almost lulling you back to sleep before you realize where you are. 

"Paige, you've got to be kidding me," you groan out after catching a glance at the 6:45 A.M. flashing on the car’s dashboard. She looks at you briefly, a sheepish expression passing over her face. "You're awake." 

“I am.” You respond, not hiding your irritation.  “Where the hell are we, Bueckers?" You ask turning to look at her, but as your eyes briefly meet hers, a soft “Oh” escapes your lips, and suddenly, where you are doesn't matter anymore. 

With your camera, you could have captured every detail—the way the morning light seemed to dance across her blonde hair, the delicate shadows her eyelashes threw across her under-eyes, mingling with the dark circles from a restless night. She looks beautiful.

It could be the best picture you'd ever taken of her. - And if you hadn’t been so clueless and absorbed in your art, you’d probably be paying a lot more attention to the miserable expression across your best friends face instead of the light that was hitting her perfectly.

"Wait, hold still," you whisper, your tone softening as you reach for your phone and point the camera at her. “Just let me get this shot.”

____

It takes a few seconds for you to dig your phone out of the bottom of your backpack where it had been left it in a now futile effort to prevent distractions. Once you find it you waste no time, opening the favorites album in your camera roll, holding up the image from that morning next to the one on your laptop. 

‘Oh’

Side by side, the pictures are nearly identical. 

Without realizing it, the two of you had recreated on of the last pictures you had taken of her before the two of you stopped talking, before she stopped talking to you. 

In this new version, a stark black backdrop replaced blurry trees seen through a car window, and artificial orange and pink lights substituted the natural sunlight. In each image, her expression remained unchanged—those firm glares and pursed lips staring back at you from both screens. A heaviness settled in your chest as you set the phone aside and shut down Lightroom.

‘I’m not doing this right now.’

It was undeniable that you still missed her, even though the two of you had barely spoken in the past year. And despite all of your friends telling you that you should be furious at her for essentially ghosting you, your feelings hadn't changed. 

Pure, unbridled misery. That’s the only way to really describe it.

The day you realized your best friend wasn’t ever going to respond to the 20+ ‘read’ texts and missed calls from your attempts to reach her was one of the worst days of your life. 

----

Paige had just gotten the OK to return to campus after her ACL surgery, you had been on your way to try and visit her when Azzi had knocked on your dorm room door. 

“Oh, were you on your way out?” She had questioned, seeing your outfit and the purse in your hands. 

“I was gonna go check up on Paige I heard she was back.” Pausing before you add, “actually I’ve been meaning to ask if you had heard from her? She hasn’t gotten back to me yet and I’ve called like a million times.” You ask, forcing a chuckle to mask the stress bubbling beneath your words.

Azzi's expression hardens, her eyes avoiding yours. "Listen," she begins, her voice heavy, "that's actually what I came to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Your voice rises slightly, a mix of confusion and apprehension.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Paige doesn’t want you reaching out to her right now. She just needs to focus on getting healthy again."

"Oh." The word escapes your lips softly, tinged with hurt and disbelief, as the weight of her words settles in your chest.

----

The memory fades but the unmistakable hurt is still coursing through you as you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself breathe.

It had been a mistake to let your guard down.

“You good?”

The voice you’ve been longing to hear for the past year interrupts your thoughts, sending a familiar pang through your chest as you look up, locking eyes with the blonde, her brows raised as she looks down on you with an unreadable expression. 

[shelbgrey]

Hi! Don't know if you're taking requests but I read your Greys fic 'that's why i don't go to the gym' and was thinking of a sibling!Reader or spouse!Reader getting admitted for some sort of brain injury/ car crash and Derek finding out as he is their doctor.

If you're not taking request, feel free to ignore this! Have a great day!

Hope you like it. Thanks for the request buddie😊

The Ballad of jayne(Derek Shepherd)

Paring: Derek Shepherd x Wife!Reader

Summary: after an argument Derek's wife gets in a car crash due to a storm and drunk driver. Derek doesn't know he's her doctor till last minute.

Warnings: blood, language, car crashes. Not edited.

Greys MasterList

“She was always something special

Diamond shining bright in the rain

Everybody dreams of angels

No one would ever know

How much I love you so”

Looking back now you can't even remember what started the argument. All you could remember it involved the treatment of a patient. That didn't really matter now, during your break you clocked out and decided to drive home.

It was poring down rain, but that wasn't unusual in Seattle I'm used to driving in the rain but as drove down the street I felt uneasy. I didn't know if was the feeling of something bad was gonna happen or the pure anger and remorse of the things me and derek said to each other. We're not the type of couple to fight very often, but tonight was one of those nights.

My thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the brightness of a Stranger's headlights swerving left and right behind me. The lights danced behind me like crazy and shined in my review mirror. The car picked up speed making my stomach turn. I looked both ways and sped up into another laine.

“come, on” I whimpered as the car slid back my direction. I sped up a bit as horns honked at the car I was fighting to avoid. Suddenly the tiers screeched and slid it the side. I gasped as stomped on the brakes. The car flew forward and slid left right into my car.

My heart stopped as I felt my car fly and did a flip into a ditch on the side of the road. I gasped in pain then it all went black as my car landed upside down.

--------(3rd pov)--------

Ambulance sirens filled the area and cops flew to the seen. Y/n was in between concessions and could barely hold onto the seat of the car that was upside down. Tears and blood streamed down her face as her right leg and head throbbed.

“help me” she whimpered.

A young paramedic quickly ran to the car and knelt down to look in the window. “h-hay... Everything is gonna be okay”

“I want Derek” y/n cried out losing consciousness. Her mind went to Derek afraid of there last encounter would be a fight.

“where's Derek?” the paramedic reminded calm and gave her a reassuring smile. “well, we will take you to him, is he your husband?” he asked. She cried and nodded as the pain rised. The paramedic nodded “okay, but first we have to get you out" he carefully opened the driver side door.

“do you trust me?” y/n nodded as the tears got heavier. He smiled. "good.. I'm Tom" he quickly stood up and shouted for the other paramedics and a strecher.

“I'm gonna die” y/n cried. Tom shook his head. “no one is dying”

Y/n nodded still not fully convinced. As the sounds of equipment and metal being cut around her she thought realized how scared she was of dying. Her and her friends family had too many close calls. What if this was the end. She's was afraid of dying, afraid if anyone would care, afraid of leaving Derek and their twins behind.

I'm sorry Derek

It went black again as the firefighters successfully cut the car door off and the paramedics pulled her out to quickly stop the bleeding.

--------(Derek's pov)--------

“Hey, this is y/n I'm probably in surgery or sleeping.. Leave a message and I'll get back to you”

I sighed as I got her voice mail once again. She wasn't answering her phone or pages, which was unusual. My chest tightened as I walked around her usual spots in the hospital and found nothing. On top of that no one has seen her since the hour before our argument.

Damn, I had no right to blow up on her. It was stupid. I deserve her silent treatment of whatever this was but now it was scaring the shit of me. I tried her cell once more but I got her voice mail again.

I shuttered as millions of sanaros(mostly negative) play in my head as I roamed the halls. I retraced mysteps until I came a crossed Meredith. Those two being sisters in all have been glued to the hip since intern year. If anyone knew anything it'll be her.

“Hey, Mer have you seeing your Sister?” Meredith looked up from her chart and gave me a concerned look at.

“I figured she'd be with you?” I shook my head with regret. If I didn't yell at her she'd be here I thought.

“maybe she's getting the twins” Mer suggests. I shook my head no. I had already checked there. Before she could suggest anything else Meredith's pager went off. She looked down and saw it was a 911

“crap, I got to go” she padded my shoulder and ran off. I sighed and went to the ER with a sliver of hope she was down there with April or Owen.

As I stepped out of the elevator I saw Amelia and a few others race with a strecher that was caring what looked like a car crash victim. I walked over and saw my sister Calling For a head CT for the male victim. She looked up and saw me.

“there's another one” she said pointing to the left. I looked over and saw the group was shouting and frantically moving around the blood soaked victim. I quickly put on some gloves and raced over were Richard and Meredith was.

“What do we got” I asked. Merdith stopped and looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. My eyes then looked to Owen who was stopping the bleeding with the same look on his face.

When I got closer my life crumbled to the ground. It was y/n. The woman who always had my back and the person I considered my partner in crime was laying on the stretcher.

Everything thing felt numb and the sounds were muffled as I pushed koracick out of the way. My body ran on audio pilot as I checked her eyes and head.

“Derek” Richard exlamims but I ignored him.

“Derek!” he snapped. I looked back at him with hate. “Derek we got it... Step away” he continued.

Koracick tried to get back in but I snapped. “you toach her, it'll be the last thing you'll ever do” he put his hands up in defense and backed up. Him and y/n were friends but I couldn't stand the guy. And if anyone was gonna even get near her brain it's gonna be me...No matter how much it hurt.

I looked around and snapped again. “What are you all standing around for!? She's needs a CT scan, now!” I got ahold of the strecher and raced down the hallway with Meredith and Bailey on my tail.

The tension highlighted as I scrubbed my hands in the sink. I felt the tears prick my eyes as the realization seemed to fall on me like a tone of bricks. I gripped the sink as the the thoughts of fixing the brain bleed ran through my head.

“Derek... If you don't want-” Owen said coming in but I slammed the faucet handle shutting the water off. “don't do anything stupid to her leg” I snapped and walked into the OR.

I sighed and stood next to her holding her hand as she went under anastasia. I gave it one last squeeze as moved up to her head. “it's a beautiful day to save lives” I mumbled.

"oh shit.. Mer's up there" Mark whispered he once noticed she was up in the gallery. He just looked up for a second and he wished he didn't. The realization That he was operating on his best friends wife, practically sister-in-law finally hit. "this is fucked up... This wasn't supposed to happen" he whispered as he watched Bailey dug into her chest.

“shut up Mark” Derek mumbled as he stared into the one Brian he never imagined he would touch or even see.

--------(3rd pov)--------

As the heart monitor beeped Derek silently watched her. “come on baby” he mumbled as he gently held her hand.

“I'm so sorry, come back to me” he mumbled as he held her cold hand his lips and kissed it gently.

She slightly shifted at his touch and her eyes fluttered open. He quickly shot up from his seat next to her and clicked on his flashlight checking her eyes. To his releaf everything was good.

“hay y/n.. Can you say something?” he asked softly. She let out a shaky breath and turned her head towards him. “ouch” she reached up to rub her forehead and to her surprise she felt bandges.

“what happened?” she asked.

“you were in an accident” tears pricked her eyes as flashes of the insadent replayed in her head. “it hurts” she cried. Derek took her hand and sat on her bed.

“your okay now... Your safe” he whispered. Tears pricked his eyes as he moved closer and rested his forehead gently on hers as relief washed over him.

“I'm so sorry... I thought I lost you and-” he started to ramble but her stopped once y/n's hands moved to the sides of his face cradling his face.

“shh.. It's okay, we're okay” she whispered as she wiped away his tears. “I had to operate on you and it was awful” he mumbled.

“it's okay now” she said as she slowly moved to the side and padded the empty area. Derek carefully climbed in the bed avoiding touching any tender spots on her body.

“just hold me please” she asked softly. Derek wrapped his arms around her gently as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you” he mumbled and leaned down softly kissing her.

“I love you too” she mumbled as she drift off to sleep. Derek on the other hand just watched her like a hawk. He wasn't gonna risk any post-surgery problems or risk losing her again. The anxiety kept him awake but in the end he knew she was okay. They were both okay and that all that mattered.

[shubblelive]

— SOURCE MATERIAL

summary : tommy’s plan to get you and wilbur back together doesn’t work. fortunately, you don’t need it. a quiet christmas party, joni mitchell and a little bit of alcohol works just fine.

genre : fluff with some angst peppered here and there

warnings : mentions of a breakup, alcohol/drinking (one mention of being drunk in the past, no one’s drunk in the fic), swearing, very minor panic attack, tommy being a little shithead

pairing : cc!wilbur x ex girlfriend!reader

pronouns : she/her

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!tommyinnit (tommy and will are the only creators with dialogue),cc!phil + kristin (mentioned), cc!ranboo (mentioned), cc!tubbo (mentioned), cc!james marriott (mentioned), cc!aimsey (mentioned)

word count : 4.3k

note : christmas fic christmas fic christmas fic!!! december is one of my favourite times of the year and suddenly i am so inspired like i haven’t written anything in ages but december rolls around and boom here’s a 4k wilbur fic. thank you to carrie for letting me yell at her about this fic.

it wasn’t unusual for tommy to call you and ask for a ride home. he would catch an uber somewhere and sometimes he’d go to book one home and the nearest car would be over an hour away, so if his parents were busy he turned to the next best thing; his siblings. 

the internet was well aware of the younger boy’s habit of adopting older creators as family members. phil and kristin were his parents, and you and wilbur were his older siblings, and you were more than happy to give him lifts whenever you were free. 

“can you come pick me up?”

“hello to you too, tommy.” you had just ended your stream, and were processing the footage for editing to go on your youtube channel. “where are you?”

“i’m about twenty minutes from your place, i can text you the address.” tommy answered. “please?”

you were already putting on your coat. “alright, send me the address, i’ll be there soon.”

“you’re a life-saver, atom,” tommy said. you huffed at the nickname, given to you because “you barely matter” as tom had joked one afternoon a few months ago. before you could respond, he had hung up.

“shithead,” you pocketed your phone and bent down to tie your laces. your phone vibrated in your pocket, probably tommy with the address. you pulled it out one handed as you tightened your shoes. without looking, you copied the address into google maps and pressed enter, putting it on your dashboard mount. 

it should have clicked when you passed the dive bar you used to frequent. it should have clicked when you passed the corner shop.  it should have clicked when you passed the ginger stray you used to pet on your walk to the corner shop. perhaps you were in denial, but you didn’t register where you were until you were parked in front of the building.

you were nervous when you’d first moved in there. you had lived in the same shitty flat since uni, and when wilbur had tentatively asked you to to move in with him you had your doubts. not because you didn’t love will, no that was the least of your issues. you just didn’t want to step on his toes, it was his place after all. you were hesitant to bring your things in, feeling guilty when wilbur’s novels were moved to make room for your plants, when he had to install another rack to hold all your shoes, when you had come home from the bakery and found wilbur had swapped out his sheets for a set of yours. but over time, wilbur had eased you into it, and soon it was just as much your place as it was his. 

now it was just his again. it hadn’t been yours for nearly a year, and yet when you pulled into the strip of parking you had to consciously go to the ‘guests’ section. you took your phone off the dock, your knee jumping up and down as you called tommy. he didn’t answer. you texted him. and again. then you called a second time, leaving him a desperate voicemail. fifteen minutes went by and tommy hadn’t even read any of your texts, so you huffed, realising that you were going to have to physically go and retrieve tommy. 

you dug out your key card from the depths of your purse, praying that wilbur didn’t block your card. the light turned green and you breathed a sigh of relief, pushing the door open. in an attempt to make it take longer, hoping and praying that tommy would reply before you reached the third floor. you reached the top of the stairs and sighed, counting to three in your head before knocking. “tom? it’s me!” you knocked again, not wanting mr adams next door to hear your voice and come out to talk to you. he was a nice older man, but you didn’t want to be in this building for a second longer than you had to. “tommy?” you inhaled. “will?”

you heard a muffled voice, and the door swung open in front of you. “tom.” you breathed another sigh of relief. “great. let’s go, i have a video to edit.”

“wait, i have to grab my stuff.” tommy said, and then he was off, and you were alone. 

the first thing that struck you was how the place looked. it was exactly the same as when you had been there. you turned around to the end table behind the door. a few unopened letters, a small wooden bowl, and a small plant. the bowl had been your idea, weeks of wilbur coming to you with “darling, do you know where my keys are?” before you caved and bought it for him. lo and behold, his keyes were nestled inside, spotify code keychain that you had also bought him sitting face up. the plant was new, and you ran a finger over the leaf.

on the couch there was a grey woollen blanket thrown over the back, also yours. though, technically he had bought it. you were the only one who used it, complaining about the cold. as lovely as you thought will’s flat was the heating barely worked. will radiated warmth, both physically and emotionally. 

the entire flat still contained your presence. any random person wouldn’t be able to tell that you hadn’t lived there since you and wilbur broke up. 

“hey.”

you spun around, wilbur smiling sheepishly. “sorry, sorry. would it be awfully cliche if I said I didn’t mean to startle you?”

you laughed breathily. “yes. but it’s okay.”

he nodded, guilty smile still pinched across his face. “tommy’s just grabbing his shit. you know that kid, fucking menace.”

if tommy noticed how awkward it was, he didn’t say anything. you and wilbur both brightened visibly when he came through the door. watching wilbur hug tom goodbye, squeezing his shoulder gently, it hits you suddenly that you haven’t seen wilbur in nearly seven months.

you’re quiet as you drop tommy off, and he wants to apologise. wants to say sorry for making you pick him up and not telling you his phone was on the verge of dying. he wants to say he’s sorry for all those times you cancelled streams, claiming you “weren’t feeling well” when he knew you were upset about wilbur. 

but tommy also saw all those times wilbur was curled up in that grey blanket you left behind. buying plants to fill in the gaps of things you took and to give him a purpose, something that depended on him. he saw the way wilbur’s eyes brightened when he heard your voice, his shoulder’s slumping before the door shut when you left. 

how one time he’d had stood in front of a drunk wilbur, tear tracks running down his face and had to wrestle will’s phone off him to stop him from calling you. 

tommy didn’t know what had happened between you two; you were adults, he was only seventeen at the time. it felt naive of him to think you two belonged together, but he couldn’t help it. 

“thanks for driving me.” he said earnestly as he stepped out of the car. you nodded and gave him a pained smile. “i love you.”

it wasn’t a normal occurrence, saying things like that, but you softened. “i love you.” tommy brightened seeing your more genuine expression, but he could still see that your interaction with wilbur had left you upset. 

you collapsed back onto your sofa once you were home, not in the mood to edit your video anymore. 

wilbur always worked too much. it was something his viewers loved; how dedicated he was to them. but they didn’t see the sleepless nights, when you would wake up to wilbur typing frantically in his notes app, a muffled “go back to sleep, darling” when he noticed you were awake.

but then it turned to missing entire nights of sleep, coming back from streaming to find wilbur passed out on the couch, shoes still on from last night. sometimes he would talk to you about it, laying on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair and whispering about how he didn’t want to let anyone down.

you soothed him as best as you could, but you knew that the dark circles and the endless cups of coffee would only get worse. he didn’t have the time or energy to take care of himself, let alone you. not that you needed him to take care of you, but the two of you lived together and you probably talked to the fedex person more than you did your boyfriend.

you’d only been split for eight months, but you’d been missing him for far longer.

you were putting up christmas decorations when tommy called next. stringing lights across the shelves in your office, only bothered to decorate the one room. it wasn’t like you’d be doing anything anyway. “yeah, tom?” your phone was wedged between your shoulder and ear as you tried to detangle the lights. 

“hey, me and will were streaming together and i have to get home like, now but my dad isn’t available until three,” tommy explained, and you winced at the sound of wilbur’s name. “i totally get it if you can’t, but-“

“i’ll be there, but i’m going to mcdonald’s on the way back and you are paying.” tommy laughed and you had to move the phone away from your ear, giving up on the lights for the time being. “will still has the same office right?”

“yeah you can get there alright?” he asked. “you don’t need the address?” you assured him you’d be fine, and he paused guiltily. “we may also be locked in. the door broke again.”

“jesus,” you shook your head. “yeah, alright i’ll come let you out. dickhead,” you smiled at his noise of indignation before hanging up.

this time it was worse. the last time you’d been planning on avoiding wilbur until about five minutes before you saw him. this time you had the whole drive over to think about what it would be like. his hair was longer, you’d noticed when you first saw him. you always loved it when his hair was longer but it got in his face too much and he hated the feeling. 

you’d cut his hair for him once. wilbur sitting on a chair in the kitchen of your flat (this was before you’d moved in together) while you sat on the bench behind him, swinging your legs ever so slightly as he gazed adoringly up at you.

“let me take a picture,” you’d giggled, turning to grab your phone. “you look so cute.”

“no,” he’d whined. “darling,” he’d still smiled when you prompted, and you looked softly at your screen, completely enamoured. “do not post that anywhere, can’t have anyone knowing that i simp for you.”

“dork,” you had put your phone down and ruffled his hair, some loose hairs falling out from where you’d cut. 

you pulled your car up to the pavement and went up to wilbur’s office. it was a fairly small building, and you managed to get there without anyone asking any questions. 

you reached the office and peered inside. it was dark. you opened the door and stuck your head in, but there was no one inside. “hey!” tommy said much too loudly, him and wilbur coming around the corner. your eyes flicked between the two of them, narrowing slightly.

“i thought you said the door was locked?” you asked uncertainly.

“it’s not,” tommy said simply, and he reached a hand out and shoved you through the open door, shutting it behind you. “but it will be.”

“what the fuck?” you banged on the window.

tom pushed wilbur over, but the older man just looked at him incredulously. “have you lost your mind?”

“please?” tommy asked, gesturing to where you were glaring at him.

“no!” wilbur said, hitting tommy’s arm off his shoulder. “you’re a dickhead. now let her out.”

“fine.” tommy’s shoulders slumped and he moved out of the way. wilbur rolled his eyes at tommy, saying he’d do it and then making will. his hand wrapped around the doorknob and he was halfway through an apology to you when tommy’s hand collided with his back.

wilbur stumbled toward and you both watched in horror as tommy shut the door, triumphantly locking it with a click.

“tommy you fucker!” wilbur yelled.

“now, i may have been lying about needing a lift and being locked in the office, but i wasn’t lying about needing to go home.”

“thomas if you leave i’m gonna delete your channel!” tommy actually looked nervous at wilbur’s threat. “open the door.”

tommy sighed again, finally giving up. he jiggled the doorknob and his eyes widened. “okay i would let you out but i may have broken the door.”

he backed away, both you and will yelling at him. 

you turned so your back was against the door, sitting down with your knees up to your chest. will came to sit next to you. “are you okay?”

“i just don’t like knowing there’s no way out of a room.” you said quietly. “i don’t like being trapped.”

“i know,” he said softly. “is there anything i can do besides breaking a window?”

you exhaled, smiling weakly. “can you just talk to me?” you fiddled nervously, suddenly worried about what he would think.

“of course i can.” without realising, wilbur had reached out and was dragging his thumb gently over the back of your hand. “you know that step down the street from ou-my flat? the one that you always used to trip on? they fixed it.” you didn’t seem to notice his mistake, so he kept going. “and there’s a new bar a few miles away and we’ve been trying to get them to let us play there, so we might have a new gig bar soon.”

your breathing was more even now, and he squeezed your hand gently. you squeezed back and he smiled.

you could vaguely hear tommy saying he was going to get maintenance, and wilbur shuffled. “i’m gonna see if i can jimmy it with a card. could you grab one for me please?” 

you reached over to will’s desk and grabbed a random card out of his wallet. you went to hand it to him but before he could grab it you took a closer look. “you kept this?”

over a year ago as a joke you’d bought him one of those simp cards from the arthur meme, and it had your name written underneath it. “you’re only allowed to simp for me,” you’d say as you gave it to him, making him crack up.

“yeah,” wilbur admitted, his cheeks turning warm. “guess i forgot it was there.”

he shoved it into the lock and wiggled it around until he heard a click and the door swung open. “here.” he tried to give it back to you, but you shook your head.

“you can keep it, or throw it out. whatever you want. it’s yours,” you babbled, not meeting his eyes.

wilbur wasn’t sure what came over him in the next ten seconds, but before he could stop himself he blurted out “does this mean i’m still allowed to love you?”

your gaze shot up and your eyes met wilbur’s, warm and brown, filled with uncertainty. eventually, you nodded. “always.”

wilbur wasn’t sure if that was if that was an invitation, but before he could stop himself he was wrapping his arms around you. you burrowed into his chest, breathing deeply. “did tommy really parent-trap us?”

“well,” you replied shyly. “don’t they get back together in the parent trap? not exactly accurate to the source material.”

“well we all know how important it is,” wilbur said quietly, eyes flicking down for just an instant. 

“very important,” he could feel your breath on his face.

“it’s a christmas miracle!”

“it’s gonna be if i don’t kill him,” wilbur muttered, teeth gritted as you pulled apart to find tommy. he was holding a stick, and seemed to register your confusion.

“couldn’t find maintenance, so i went outside and found this.” he said proudly. “i was helping.”

“yeah actually,” will said genuinely, holding his hand out. “give us a look.” tommy handed the stick to wilbur and was promptly hit in the face with it. “that’s for locking us in there, bastard.”

“ow.” tommy picked the stick off the ground and chucked it at wilbur, but it just bounced off the door behind him. “okay fine. i’m sorry.”

“you better be,” you stepped towards him and he flinched, clearly sure you were going to attack him like wilbur had. “come on, let’s go.”

as tommy said goodbye to wilbur, the two of you made eye contact over tom’s shoulder. he smiled at you, and you smiled back. he raised his eyebrows slightly, grin overtaking his face. you nodded almost imperceptibly. he’d call you.

he didn’t. 

it had been two weeks since you’d last spoken, and he never called you. you didn’t want to admit that it hurt you. you had spent eight months trying to get over wilbur, all that progress destroyed in an instant.

you’d never deleted his contact, not even when you first broke up. you hovered over it debating on whether to call him, before exiting out and closing your phone.

your phone stayed dark for approximately one second before it was lighting up again. you answered, “yeah, tommy?”

“so, atom, me and a few others were thinking of having a little christmas get together on the 23rd? would you want to come?” he rushed out, wanting to get the words out before you said anything.

you considered it for a second. your parents would be going on holiday. they invited you, but you always wanted to spend your christmas with wilbur. this year, you’d declined again, without really knowing the reason. it’s not like you had other plans.

“yeah, alright,” you said, and you heard tom let out a triumphant breath on the other side. “who’s coming?”

“you, phil and kristin, tubbo, james, ranboo, maybe aimsey, a few other people maybe…” he trailed off, and you frowned.

“wilbur?” you asked.

“yeah.” tommy admitted. “but there will be enough people that you can be a coward and not talk to him.”

“tommy,” you said, voice low. “don’t.”

“okay, i’m sorry. please come?”

it’s not like you had anything better to do. “i’ll be there, tommy. don’t worry.” 

the things you would do for that fucker. he could never know. god knows his head was big enough without you telling him that.

while you were quietly dreading it, tommy seemed almost giddy with excitement. so you forced a smile and acted happy about it, even after tommy abandoned you within thirty seconds of you arriving. 

you managed to strike up a conversation with ranboo, though, grateful that you knew everyone. you’d isolated yourself quite a bit after the breakup, worried that your friends would rather be friends with will.

your worries were shattered when you were  engulfed in a hug from him. they seemed really interested in your upcoming projects and you asked about his with equal fervour. 

the night was going much better than you’d expected, and it was winding down when wilbur finally approached you. joni mitchell singing through the speakers about her lover making her weak in the knees, sipping on a drink with your head resting on top of aimsey’s.

“hey,” he was quiet, words slurred more from being tired than drunk. “can we talk?”

you looked down at aimsey, who was immersed in conversation with james and tommy, so you slid off the counter and followed him down the hall. tommy’s flat was small, so the two of you found a quiet corner. your shoulder was pressed into the wall, looking at him over the rim of your glass as he fiddled with his glasses. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

“it’s fine.” you said stiffly.

“no, it’s not.” he pressed. “i fucked up. not just when i didn’t call. i fucked up when we were still together.”

“will,” you tried. “it’s okay. it’s the past.”

“but you’re not.” he said. “you’re not the past, not my past. at least, i don’t want you to be.” he took a shuddering breath. “i was so worried about letting people down that i fucked up, and i ruined us.”

“you didn’t ruin anything.” it came out breathy, just above a whisper and you gave him a watery smile. “definitely not us.”

you didn’t know why you were getting so emotional, maybe it was how cold and dreary it had been, maybe it was exhaustion or the alcohol. or maybe it was because wilbur had taken your hands in his and pressed them to his lips. 

“i’m so sorry, darling,” he murmured against your fingers, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “so so sorry.”

“it’s not your fault, will.” you said. “i could have done something.”

he opened his eyes and met yours, shining as you tried to fight back tears. “i’m so hard to handle, and i’m selfish and i’m sad,” he sang along to joni mitchell softly, pulling you forward to wrap your arms around him. he smelled like cinnamon, and he let you cry for as long as you needed.

you pulled away softly, looking at him as your hand ghosted over his jaw. “you didn’t lose me, will.” 

“you’re saying you think you’re the best baby i ever had?” he asked, eyes shining, and you pushed him away. 

you giggled. “how presumptuous of me.”

“you would be correct though,” he admitted, coming to pull you close again, swaying on the spot. he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours, you threading your hands into his hair.

“you have got to let me cut this,” you mumbled, and wilbur laughed against your mouth. he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, and took a shaky breath.

“i miss you.” he said. “i stopped working so much, i’ve been taking care of myself more. let me love you again?”

his voice wobbled, clearly so sure that you would reject him. he had hurt you, he knew that. will let his thumbs stroke up and down your arms and you got goosebumps even through your jumper. “you do have a permit, don’t you?”

he laughed, relief thick in his voice. “of course, darling. have my card in my wallet.”

“then i guess that’s okay.” you said, as if it didn’t matter to you all that much. “as long as you let me love you.”

“you can do whatever you want,” wilbur kissed you again. “as long as it’s with me.”

[tangerinesgirl]

Black Heaven

Chapter 1

Adam 'Frank' Barrett x FemAFAB!Reader

Rating: 18+, dubious content, NSFW

Word count: 700, bite size chapter as a lil tease

Summary: Set in an AU after the events of Abigail, but Frank survives. He starts making his way up the ladder and wants to start a war between him and an existing crime boss, so he kidnaps his daughter; the reader.

Warnings: rape/non con (for now! maybe reader gets more into it later, who knows), mobster elements, smut, exhibitionism, sadism, masochism, sunlight kink, spit kink/spit as lube, lewd acts in a church/religion kink (more on this later)

Notes: This is pure filth I'm sorry (plot what plot). And I have a lot more in mind, so buckle in. I'm still using the name Frank instead of Adam as I'm kinda imagining him keeping the name.

Edit: This fic has now been discontinued, thanks everyone for your continued support.

🦇

You start to regain consciousness as your feet drag painfully across the stone floor. Two men dragging you by your arms. You squint, realising you're in a church, being roughly escorted down the aisle of pews. You yelp in pain as the men slam you down onto your knees as you reach the altar.

Your hair falls over your eyes, as you flick your head back to move it out of the way, you see Frank. He's sat on the steps. Well, sat is putting it politely. His legs are wide open, the deep red robe he is wearing barely covering his modesty. His bare feet separated by three different steps, one pointing to the ground and the other one parallel to his arm, resting on his knee. His other hand caressing his chest underneath his robe. He praises the men for their work as they walk away, laying low in the shadows against the church walls, in case of trouble.

The light streams in from the stained glass window above the altar, lighting you angelically. Frank takes a moment, drinking you in, thinking. You decide to break the silence, "Where am I?".

"Do you like it? I thought it was pretty ironic". Frank gets up with a groan, his feet pattering on the stone steps, walking towards you. He lifts a finger towards the light from the window. It starts to steam up instantly as Frank pulls it away quickly. He swears under his breath, but not in a painful way. "Do you know why you're here?", he asks.

You roll your eyes, "Money". This isn't your first abduction being born into a crime family, it's always about the ransom money, it never ends well. Frank laughs, he opens his arms and spins around looking at his place, "What makes you think I need the money?"

Sunset starts creeping in, the light from the window starts to sink, the same time your heart does. You're confused what you've ever done to Frank, "then what?".

Frank bends down to whisper in your ear, "I just want to have some fun with you, send you back to your daddy, maybe in a box, if you decide to behave or not".

You turn your head to face his, "You really don't want to do that. You'll start a war".

Frank tilts his head, "Maybe that's what I want sweetheart. Besides, I haven't broken the place in yet". The last of the sunlight skims across your body as Frank drags his hand across your chest, exposing your breast. His hand smokes a little at first, but completely stops as the sun sets. He rolls your nipple between his fingers as you look up at him, defiantly. He smiles, he can't wait to play with his new toy, break it, and hopefully fix it. Moulding you into something else, something useful, infiltrating and feeding information back to him. You could rule over the empire together, and maybe give you a little upgrade.

Frank snaps out of his thoughts when you suddenly grab his arm and twist it backwards. The two men draw their guns, but Frank holds up his hand for them to stop. He releases his arm from your grip and squats down in front of you. He takes a moment, observing you.

You decide to break the silence, "Are you going to say some cliché shit about joining you?"

Frank shakes his head, "I wasn't planning on asking".

An anger brews deep inside you, drowning out the pit of fear in your stomach. Before you can even think about what you're doing, you spit in Frank's face.

You can hear the two men release the safety locks on their guns, holding steady.

Frank wipes the saliva from his face and starts palming his cock with the same hand. He never breaks his gaze from you while doing this. You try to remain somewhat calm watching his little show, not giving him any satisfaction. You plaster a scowl on your face as he uses your spit as lube.

Suddenly, Frank stops to grab your hair, bending your neck backwards. He invades your space, you can feel his cock through his robes brushing against your exposed breast. "I ought to teach you a lesson for that". He forces your mouth open and spits into it in retaliation. You writhe under him as he forces your mouth close, whispering for you to swallow. You have to eventually. When you do, he pats your cheek with a little "good girl".

[foibles-fables]

For the soft cozy fic prompt: Control, Jesse/Emily, 15-Bed warm. They need some cozy times with all the chaos they’ve been through

I wrote this weird stream-of-consciousness thing on the plane today--hope you enjoy!!

EDIT: Posted to AO3 today!

--

Jesse’s nightmares are hazed in red. They come rushing in with a hollow fear that punches a swift and heavy-dense hole straight through her sternum.

Stars blown away, none left to guide her. Just emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, and a looking glass. It’s all a matter of perception. Glancing sidelong (never head-on, too much, recoil) presents an image—a face that matches hers by a measure of half, bare scalp and calm-frenzy scarlet eyes and a sharp smile that twists and twists as he stares her down.

The mirror is a poster. Peel it back and see the same. Their names are etched in concatenation with a designation that follows: P[6/7/6/7/6/7]. The numeral is not text but it compels, it vacillates. Like a seizure. Like a film projection, distorted.

This was by chance. This was by design. Two lives and two outcomes. Snap your fingers to transmute.

That's all it'll take.

And when Jesse opens her mouth to whisper, to scream, to bid it to stop, she’s drowned by a discordant babel of affirmation in voices that are all her own.

I want to listen. I want to dream. I want to smile. I want to hurt.

I don’t want to be.

There’s a soul-deep glimmer of warning behind her closed eyes—they snap open stinging as Jesse wakes with a start, wakes without a sound. Laid out flat on her back and soaked in cold shiver-sweat, she spins into substance from the periphery and inward, halting around the through-and-through void gaping at her chest. When she breathes it's shallow and ragged, uncontrolled, and all the air she takes won’t fill it in. Her hand aches. First finger feels bone-sore from the Service Weapon’s trigger. She chose this.

She chose this but it's not here. It's not here. Find something else to reach for.

Find it before they find you.

"Jesse?"

Her name, spoken on its own, sounds broken-off. Vestigial. One of two parts, half of the not-hers dream-name, left to exist on its own.

But her name is also a gentle and groggy question spoken by a husking voice that soothes. In comes a surge of context. Naked. Bare skin against scratchy linens, water stains on the ceiling, motes of dust floating with enviable aimlessness through curtain-cracked sunlight. The ring of an untouched bell chimes over crackling radio music.

One hand and a light-switch cord, three pulls—one hand holding another’s with purpose, fingers laced.

"Jesse."

Less of a question.

She scrapes up the capacity to turn her head and finds Emily lying beside her in the motel bed, watching, gaze drowsy but intent. Her blue eyes pale to silver in the slats of perpetual daylight strewn across bedding, across exposed skin. Emily's is as bare as her own. The sheets pool at her waist. No HRA—the Hiss haven’t touched this place and Polaris’s protection isn't needed.

Or maybe her protection has just—extended.

Jesse looks at Emily and considers this and her throat goes dry.

But she also breathes. Deep and satisfying.

"Hey," she croaks on the labored exhale, still finding her voice. "Sorry, did I—was I, uh, making noise?"

"A little." Emily touches her, hidden from view: a stroke of her thumb on the inside of Jesse's wrist. "Are you alright?"

What follows is a lie, but only just. "Yeah. Yeah, I—woke up and didn't know where I was, for a second."

The corners of Emily’s mouth quirk into a tiny smile, and Jesse knows what’s coming.

“To be fair,” she says, all eagerness, Head of Research minus the clipboard (she holds Jesse’s hand in a loose grip instead), “we don’t really know where we are. In dimensional euclidean terms, at least.”

The Oceanview Motel and Casino is a Place of Power in ways beyond the obvious and the obscure. A dreamscape that offers a moment of reprieve in transit. A liminal sanctuary for this new ritual they’re establishing when the shifting gets to them: visit together, share each other, be.

Jesse gets another breath. Her skin thrums with remembering and she wants to be closer—wants to reach and cling and bury her fingers to the knuckle in the roots of Emily’s short-cropped hair.

“Just kind of feels like Nevada to me,” she says instead, squinting against the sunlight while keeping her gaze fixed on Emily’s long lashes. Doesn’t want to know what she might see if she looks away.

“Could be.” Emily’s fingertips trace up to the curve of Jesse’s bicep. Dream-logic as physical contact. It’s calming in a way Jesse hasn’t let herself grow used to, but she’s trying. “We’ll learn. For now, though, it’s kind of exciting. That for all that we’ve seen, there’s still so much left to fathom.” Her grin broadens, brightens, cracking the corners of her eyes. Jesse’s pulse kick-starts, erratic. Polaris, knowing, resonates smugly, if smug is a thing extradimensional sentient frequencies can be. “Don’t you think?”

Emily has a way of seeing what’s there. All the rest falls away—all of the complications, all of the tangles, all of the clouded context.

And Emily has always seen Jesse. Chalk that up to synchronicity too.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, wanting to be a part of that so badly she aches. “Yeah.”

Emily’s smile softens. “You look so tired.” A palm, then, smoothing across Jesse’s neck, her cheek. A bodily tether in all of this liminality. “Turn over? We can stay here a little longer, if you’d like.”

There are no words and there is no lack of understanding. Jesse capitulates—turns on her side, facing away. Bed-warm and soft and so quiet, Emily moves closer to curl against her back. Her hand flattens against the valley between Jesse’s bare breasts. The space between Jesse’s shoulder blades feels like it was made for the press of Emily’s mouth.

Somehow Emily transcends her own limits. Fills empty spaces. Maybe that’s just another reason why Jesse was led here.

They both breathe with the rhythm of sleep. Jesse's empty hand splays out over Emily's.

Jesse chose and Jesse chooses. Over and over, she chooses.

Jesse wants to be.

Jesse is glad to be here.

[nostalgicatsea]

5-fic self-rec!

Thanks for tagging me for this, @oluka (and the last line thing too except I had to pass on that one because I haven't written anything in a while other than the last excerpt I posted on here 😅).

Except for "Apricity," which is near and dear to my heart despite how much I itch to edit it (a constant issue I have with things I write), I went with some of my favorites that have flown under the radar.

Hm...this ended up more of a "hey, good job, me" post than a "I'm trying to find what's compelling about these fics to rec them" post. Oh well.

In order of publication:

Apricity (616 Steve/Tony, T, 1.5k)

My first fic on AO3! My first Steve/Tony fic! And somehow it was 616 instead of MCU. I love dark Steve, but I'm particular with how exactly he's unhinged and this is how I like him. Even-keeled despite being off his rocker. Rational in his own head. Soured on the world, but in a way that pushes who he is to the extremes so his core is still visible even if it's mottled with rot. And, of course, obsessed with Tony. I also like the tempo of this; I used to have a good grasp on tempo, but I feel like I've lost that a bit over the years.

Unraveled (Warrior (2011) gen fic, G, 1k)

Since it's a movie that doesn't have a lot of fanworks for it and it's a gen fic to boot, barely anyone has read this, but I don't care because it was written for a friend, @luxover. I love writing little stories to gift friends. If you haven't watched Warrior, watch it! Brutal tearjerker about a broken family and broken men and one of the few good sports movies out there. No, you don't need to know anything about MMA to enjoy it. I don't.

Okay, I should talk about this ficlet. I'm fond of this one because it's so different from my usual writing. It's stream-of-consciousness and entirely voice-driven like someone sat you down in Brendan's head and he's talking and talking even if he naturally isn't saying of this out loud. Because he and his brother Tommy are emotionally constipated; even if they love each other a lot, they don't know how to reach out to each other. They don't know if they're wanted. This also has one of my favorite last lines I've ever written. GUT PUNCH, if I do say so myself. ONE-TWO HIT, K.O. Sums up every layer of their relationship.

Hidden Declaration (Brad/Ray (Generation Kill), T, 728 words)

Another gift for a friend (the same friend)! Brad/Ray and MCU Steve/Tony share some similarities despite being drastically different, so is it any surprise I liked these two unhinged idiots? I never open for fic prompts, but this was when I was on a roll and then I got scared because lux asked for this. I never wrote for Gen Kill, I read maybe 3 GK fics in my life, and Ray is one of those characters who are impossible to write well imo (to be honest, I also feel the same way about Brad though the difficulty is subtler). He's an unusual guy with a very particular way of speaking.

And somehow this flowed out of me quickly. It's not without its flaws, but it was so different from what I usually write and how I do that it was really fun to write this! Very dialogue-heavy too which isn't what I'm known for. And the crassest (also...some language that's not okay as a warning, but if you know GK, it comes with the territory) and most sexual (it's still not very sexual lol) out of my fics. I think I captured how much they're best friends and they're so comfortable in each other's presence well. Plus I put a little wink for my friend at the end and it's one of the few times I like being indulgent with my writing. Also, tattoo fics are a trope and I guess this counts as my one tattoo fic though it's not an AU and there's no actual tattooing involved.

A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars (MCU Tony-centric/Nebula & Tony gen fic, G, 2.7k)

My tribute to best boy Tony, my first and ultimate love (along with Steve, of course) along with an expansion of the lovely bits of Nebula and Tony's tender friendship that we got to see in IW which I adored. They share a lot in common.

Writing this made me so sad because I felt like I was preparing to say goodbye to Tony. It made me reminisce about how it all started, and everything came full circle. His past is his present. Tony's trapped on a dark spaceship injured and far, far away from home. Tony's trapped in a dark cave injured and far, far away from home. There's a kind spirit with him, and even if they try to keep him alive, he's a dead man walking. But he's also come a long way from the man he used to be. I'M REALLY PROUD OF HIM, OKAY? I LOVE HIM.

The Burning of Flowers (616 Steve/Tony, G, 1.2k)

I secretly really, really wish more people read this fic. I wanted to write a Hanahaki AU for a while, but I couldn't figure out what I'd do that would feel fresh and then I came up with this subversion of sorts. Hanahaki AUs usually involve someone pining for their love and refusing to let go of it because it means so much to them. I thought I'd write about someone who doesn't have it—and simultaneously wants and doesn't want it—and wishes ill on the person he loves by hoping their love has it. And what better era to situate it than Hickmanvengers? You don't need to know Hickmanvengers to enjoy it, though.

I'm extremely proud of this one because it's one of the best fics I've written if I'm allowed to toot my own horn for a sec! Please let me because it's so rare for me to feel like I don't want to rip apart chunks of my fics and sew them back whole again, new and improved. I think this is one of my most complete fics in that way; I can probably tweak it, but I'm satisfied with nearly all of it if not all of it.

Anyway, I was in a slump and then suddenly the old magic returned and I slipped back into the writing style I used to have back in the mid-2010s except better. I could actually see that I've developed as a writer even if I'm still learning. But the atmosphere, the sensory lines, and the rhythm returned. I like the pace of this a lot and feel like it follows Steve's relentless rage, much like the unmoored, slower pace of "Apricity" reminds me of a colder Steve who never fully woke up from the ice.

Tagging @kiyaar, @meidui, @sineala, @whenas-in-silks, @sabrecmc, @magicasen, and two artists (rec your art!<3): @kappamairi & @massivespacewren

[corvidcrybaby]

You reblogged smut prompts and tell me if I'm wrong but this one might fit zemicard:

"quit talking shit and put your mouth to good use instead."

it does and i'm choosing to take this as an actual smutty prompt, thanks, hee hee hee this was a fun little exercise - stream of consciousness, minimal editing, etc

(Alucard/OC, CW: hypnosis, breathplay, humiliation, the works)

"Quit talking shit before I think of a better use for your mouth."

The words whalloped Zemira over the back of the skull like a rusty crowbar. With a fierce curl of her lip, she cocked her head over her shoulders, angling her gaze towards her mission partner and current... Fling? Friend with benefits? Boyfriend? Alucard.

Zemira felt something clawing at her shin, and without even looking, leveled her SPAS-15 at the temple of the desiccated zombie grasping for her with a feeble grip missing several fingers, and blew its dome out in bloody chunks without even looking.

"Hell of a place for dirty talk, Vlad," Zemira snickered, choosing to zap him back as usual.

Alucard, for his part, was lounging in a leather armchair. Paying no mind to the bombed-out husk of what might once have been a sickeningly sappy forest cottage. Now, it was the site of a necrotic bloodbath of comical proportions. A few dozen Ghouls reduced to flesh paste later, and the resident vampire king had gotten so bored so quickly he decided to sit his smug ass down and watch Zemira finish the job.

To the surprise of no one, they got into a snark-fueled argument over who boasted the higher kill count for the evening. The petty debate grew heated with haste, and so did its participants. One thing led to another, and next thing they knew, insults were flying. They began in earnest - teasing and playful, or what passed for such things from a pair of gun-obsessed dervishes such as these two.

Zemira's jab that doomed her was telling Alucard that his Casull must have been compensating for something, despite knowing better - intimately.

Now, although Alucard was still smiling at her, legs crossed and drumming the fingers of his free hand on the arm of his chair, smoke still burbled from Casull's mouth, which he held pointing skyward beside his head. This, and the hellish gleam behind those bioluminescent eyes of his.

Zemi ought to know better than to test him fresh off the midnight kill, really, but.

Don't tell a damn soul she said this, but she thought he was wicked hot when he was mad. And when he swore? Unf. He did that so rarely, it was such a treat.

"As if you'd complain," Alucard said, a dangerous faux-naif lilt to his voice which warned Zemira in no uncertain terms that if she acted the brat any further, there would be dire consequences.

Zemira turned to face him head on, feeding a fresh magazine into her shotgun, a crazed glint to her eyes. "Shove it, Vlad. Ain't like we're done, anyway, come on now. After all," she said, grinning wider than advisable for her safety, spitting onto the ground between words, "I still see one big killcount still staring me dead in the face."

Alucard's good humor vanished without a trace. He raised a hand and curled his fingers towards himself, bared his fangs at her, and boomed out a command. "Enough. You. Here. Now."

Zemira's eyes blew out as his bored a violent hole into her skull, and her vision flickered crimson. All her limbs went slack, suddenly far too heavy, her jaw hung agape. With hooded lids, her eyes remained laser-focused on his, as though that point in space were anchoring her to reality. SPAS-15 slid from her shoulder and clattered to the floor, forgotten as his mother left him behind.

Her boots carried her of their own volition. Closer and closer to Alucard. A distant alarm in the deep recesses of her brain went unheeded. Warm fuzz blanketed her mind and swaddled her in pleasant tingles.

Before she knew it, a huge, masculine hand was fisted in her thick mane of hair, and she was kneeling before him. Delicious vertigo wracked her body from head to toe. The fog cleared enough to hear Alucard's arrogant laughter shaking through him. At her.

Defiant retorts tried to form on her tongue, but putting sentences together felt like forcing the wrong ends of magnets together. Not when she was settled between his legs like this, her hands resting atop his thighs. Not when his other hand snaked around her pretty neck and squeezed, a touch too hard, and a gasp caught in her throat. Her dog-tags jingled in the air from the jolt.

"Oh? Is something the matter, Specialist Corporal?" Alucard sneered, his lips pulling back to brandish his maw of conical fangs. "Come on, I could have sworn you were saying something. You're normally such a little spitfire."

Zemira squeezed her thighs together. Shame and anger wracked her in tandem with relief and desire. The fucking nerve. The unmitigated, accursed nerve of this man - and the fact that she came back for more, every G-ddamn time. There was something wrong with her, she swore, but fuck, the sex was too damn good. Her eyes squeezed shut to weather the onslaught.

The hand in her hair yanked her head back. "Look at me," Alucard commanded, claws scraping her scalp. The absence of open aggression in his tone was only further warning.

Zemira nodded, bleary, meeting her commander's eyes, mouth spread in an 'O.' Alucard's choking hand slid up to squish her cheeks together as his nose brushed hers. "Good girl," he cooed. Zemira bit back a truly embarrassing sound, but only just. The noises he wrenched from her never failed to mortify her.

But then a drunken trance overtook her as his lips closed around hers and his tongue, rife with that aphrodisiac in his saliva, was atop hers. There were gratuitous wet sounds as she sucked on his tongue, and he rattled with a hungry growl, sending heat to pool in her belly. With a desperate scramble from Zemira, his slacks came undone, and his cock was free in the air - twitching and huge. As if she needed any reminder what this beautiful sonofabitch knocking her down off her high horse did to him as much as her.

Her lips closed around the head without any further hesitation, and Alucard leaned back with an appreciative rumble. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear carnage got her in a frisky mood almost as much as it did for him. Albeit, a far more submissive mood. As her head began to obediently bob, the hand grasping her hair tightened. Though she could not see it, his sneer hadn't abated.

"There, you see?" Alucard jeered, not without warmth. "You always see us jump through no end of pointless hoops before we reach this point of the night."

Zemira didn't respond, just hollowed her cheeks and sucked him extra-hard. If that was her idea of payback, it was counterproductive, because it just made him rumble in appreciation. Pleasure shot straight to Zemira's clit, because fuck, the sounds this guy made, the reverberating boom of his baritone, it turned her brain to mush every G-dforsaken time.

Her tongue swirled in circles around the head of his cock, and Alucard bucked his hips, the muscles of his legs flexing as he did. That only seemed to encourage her. Alucard was not particularly broad, but the sheer height deficit between Zemira's five-foot-seven and his own six-foot-six made him large enough by comparison.

Zemira's breathing picked up, as did his own movements. Alucard bit down on his tongue and suppressed the monstrous urge to throw her against the nearest wall and either flay her into ribbons, or rut into her until she wished he'd done the latter instead. That didn't stop him from digging his nails into her skin, holding her head there, and slamming his cock down to the base. Zemira gagged and released an indignant groan that sounded akin to an attempt to scold him for his overzealous behavior.

"Quiet, you little harlot," Alucard sighed. He tapped the top of her skull with a claw, harder than usual, and she stiffened. "One more insipid quail, and I'll have to edge you for the next hour. Two, if necessary. You would be wise not to test me tonight."

Zemira felt her skin crawl at the salacious threat, a cold sweat breaking out from head to toe, and yet still she couldn't decide if she should take him up on that.

Bit of a fucking problem trying to do that with her mouth full, though.

[rustedhearts]

trouble (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: the morning after a fight brings comfort and longing to you and steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1989) ✶ main masterlist

tags: angry!steve again :); violence; verbal argument; angst; hurt/comfort; I did not edit this so ignore any mistakes.

hawkins, indiana. september 1990.

The dawn was quiet. Soft: a blended stroke of amber through pale blue across the sky. The interruption of tree limbs came with bright yellow leaves, changed by the cool breeze and autumnal warning. Somewhere beyond the glass you peered through, a crow cawed. In the parking lot below, a car engine shuddered alive.

The dawn was quiet, but the dusk was deafening.

The hiss and click of Steve’s lighter caused you to turn your head. And there he was: rolling into a seated position on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress with shifted weight. In the swirl of blended lights, his bare back still held the tint of a late summer bronze. Speckled with beauty spots and the indigo, spiderwebbed haloes of burst blood vessels. Bruises from fights he never lost, but fights you wished he wouldn’t pick. The familiar haze of cigarette smoke settled into the room, paired with the potent tobacco sent you’d come to know all too well.

“What do you expect of me, huh? I’m not some fuckin’ punk, Libby, I won’t put up with that shit.”

“I’m not asking you to! But you didn’t need to do that—you don’t need to fight everyone!”

Steve’s shoulders hunched with exhaustion, hands slow to pull the cigarette away. A steady plume of smoke exhumed from his lips toward the bedroom door. His sheets were soft around your body, recently washed this past weekend. You’d spent those two days tangled together in the confines of this tiny apartment, enraptured with each other. The past few months felt like a lifetime. You latched onto each other like magnets, and now you couldn’t let go.

Not even when he broke your heart.

“Jesus, you need to stop pretending you’re such a fuckin' saint.

“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy for calling you out.”

Steve’s legs swished over the sheets, cotton rustling with the strained shift of his body in an attempt to straighten his posture. The flex of muscles came with a visible wince, a quiet hiss he hoped you were too unconscious to hear. Even with your alertness unbeknownst to him, he did his best to hide his sounds. Always the tough guy, always the man. He could never be soft, never gentle or real. Pain was weakness.

His hand came to cradle the welt festering on his ribs, but it twitched away to rub his eyes. You knew a migraine must’ve been collecting behind them and pounding in his head. He took another drag of his Marlboro and sighed it out.

“Because it’s me, right? I’m the bad guy? If you’re so embarrassed to be with me, why are you?”

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you, Steve. God, don’t you know how much I care about you?”

“Don’t you see that’s what this is all about? I mean—fuck’s sake, never-mind.”

Gently stirring, you turned onto your side away from the window, toward Steve. His profile appeared when he moved his head an inch; the bridge of his nose swollen and pink. His lashes fluttered in acknowledgement for your consciousness. His cheeks hollowed around the cigarette again, and the smoke streamed out of his nose. You tucked your hand beneath your cheek and watched him quietly.

Neither speaking a word, but both waiting.

“No, talk to me. Say what you actually fucking mean for once, please! But don’t you dare say you did this for me.”

“Then who the fuck do you think I did it for? All I want is to protect you. It’s—��

“All you do is fight! You can protect me without being so violent.”

“That’s who I am, honey. If you don’t like it, then fucking leave.”

You knew somewhere in the parking lot lied the contents of your purse, burst open by the impact of it hitting Steve’s back in a moment of blind rage when he just wouldn’t listen. Steve only ever saw things his way. He couldn’t understand that maybe you just wanted him to be okay. Maybe you just didn’t want to see him lose himself to the rush of another beating, or more blood and bruises and broken bones.

The coolness blowing outside settled into the room, seeping through the windows and cracks. You slid a little closer to the warmth of his body. Reaching out, letting your finger skate down his spine. His skin was soft, sprinkled with dark hair. His breathing stopped for just a minute at the delicacy of your touch.

“So that’s it? You’d rather throw this away than actually hear what I’m saying; than actually talk to me? Sometimes I wonder if you really wanna be with me, Steve, or if I’m just a pastime until your career takes off.”

“Are you—Jesus, it’s like you’re fuckin' blind. Don’t you see? Don’t you see that—“

“What? What? All I see is you getting into fights!”

“For you! I’m fighting for you, for fuck’s sake! To know you’re okay, to know you’re safe, to know you’re mine.”

Before Steve, you’d never known violence like this. You’ve been audience to few fights in your life, most childish and broken apart by school faculty. Boys rumbled behind the football field, shoved each other into lockers on the way back from gym. Once, a girl slapped another girl for stealing her boyfriend, but by the next week they were over it. It wasn’t until Steve came into your life that you knew how badly someone could bleed; how heavy hits could feel from the sidelines. How loud an uppercut was. How bad a rib could bruise, how much a nose could gush. How easily skin ripped apart.

Bottles shattered on the sidewalk, bar stools splintered by the weight of a grown man’s body. The gurgle of liquor spilling over the floor. The sputter of a mouth against a windpipe being squeezed. What it sounded like for someone to lose their two front teeth in the time it took to blink.

“This is the only way I know how to tell you how much I—that I—that I want—“

“Why can’t you say it, Steve? Hmm? Just look at me and say it.”

You could still see his face, eye swollen by a tattooed fist from the corner of the bar twenty minutes prior. Eyes welling, cheeks flushed pink, hands still balled together at his sides, black cotton tee soaked in beer and sweat. The night was cool and dark and everything blurred around Steve.

Even with your heart still racing from the fight he started, it wept only for Steve. It ached for him entirely.

“Don’t you know, angel?”

Pressing up on your palm, you closed the gap between your bodies on the bed. The sheets went with you, twisting around your thighs and waist as you pressed against his back. The smooth firmness of it was a welcome feeling. The warmth eased the stiffness in your limbs, arms circling around his middle to rid of any distance. Cheek against his shoulder, lip buried in his flesh, inhaling the musk of his bareness.

Steve sighed another stuttered breath.

“Know what, Steve?”

“That you’re mine. It’s me and you, and that’s how I want it to always be. Do you…don’t you want that?”

With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lip, Steve slid his hand over your yours against his chest. Grateful for your touch, delighted by your smell. He let his head press back against your shoulder, and his eyes sink shut. He breathed in the sweetness of your recent slumber. He felt the warmth of your thighs, squeezing around his hips. Your lips left the softest wet ring on his skin, cooled by the breeze.

“I’m scared.”

You nuzzled your nose against his shoulder, exhaling a deep breath into his skin. You never wanted to be further from him than this, and you could’ve stayed there forever. Listening to each other’s heartbeats, containing each other’s bodies.

“Scared o’ what, baby? Don’t be scared.”

The crow cawed again. Another engine grumbled and faded into its morning route. A door slammed down the hall. The acidic stench of someone’s coffee seeped through the wall. Marlboro smoke tickled your nose, settled into your hair. His hand was rough around yours, skin callused and tough.

“M’ scared I’ll lose you. Trouble follows you wherever you go, and I…I’m worried it’ll get the best of you.”

His thumb rubbed gentle, mindless shapes into the back of your hand. You brought your chin to rest on his back, nose brushing the dark hair at the nape of his neck. It smelled like sweat, pillow-case-laundry-soap, and Steve.

And Steve always smelled like blood.

"You won't. You won't, baby—c'mon, don't cry."

Cigarette perched between his lips, held steady by that strong jaw, Steve raised a hand and searched behind him. His fingers grazed your hair, sweeping in a downward motion to stroke the back of your head and hold you close. He cupped your skull, pressed until your forehead met his own. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and inhaled.

He never wanted to forget this feeling.

You drove home in silence last night. The rumble of his Harley deafening, your grip around his torso tight and unrelenting. The argument found second life in the complex parking lot, where more than one neighbor threatened to call the cops if you didn't keep it down. Steve directed the screaming toward them. You just wanted him to talk to you, to listen to you; to stop letting his fists do all the explaining.

Steve was quick to knock someone out for wolf-whistling, swift to blacken eyes for glancing your way too long—but when it came to telling you how he truly felt, he shut down. When it came to reassuring your worries, he became a stoic statue.

You crawled into bed heavy with exhaustion, peeled free of clothes and begrudgingly covered in your favorite of Steve's t-shirts: big, crisp white cotton, patterned with his favorite football team. It smelled like his cologne and a cigarette smoked on the balcony.

Turned separate ways, staring at opposite spaces of darkness, feeling anger and regret fizzle in your chests.

"I hate fighting with you."

"Me, too."

But something curdled around that raging, guilty fizzle. Something tender and achey, weepy like an open wound pulsing life. Something sweet and sweeping. Something unlike either of you had ever felt before.

Something like...love.

"We don't have t' fight."

Love bruised. Love sliced. Love terrified the pair of you equally; chilled you right down to the bone.

One of you terrified to love something so gentle and beautiful, so bright and wonderful.

The other terrified to love something so cruel, so boorish and cold.

"Yes we do."

Lifting your chin, you tipped your head aside to get a peek at Steve's face. Blank, but peaceful, he fell still with steady breath. You ran the side of your finger down his cheek gently, stroking the skin where stubble collected. His eyes peeped open, lashes brushing his brows where they furrowed contemplatively.

He gave you a moment to continue your stroking ministrations before turning his head aside. You passed him a lazy smile, noses brushing. His hand traveled to your thigh, rubbing the pudgy flesh appreciatively. You squeezed around him a little tighter. He inched his head a little closer. His breath tickled your lips. His cigarette was the size of a half-bitten stick of gum in his other hand. The ashes collected on the shag carpet, a few decades old. At this proximity, you could see all the different flecks of colors in his eyes.

There was nothing scary about him, or that weepy feeling in your chest.

"Eggs or pancakes?" you asked.

Steve inhaled, bringing the butt of the cigarette to his mouth for one last drag. It burned against your mouth. "Pancakes."

He smoked his second cigarette at the table, tapping his ashes into a porcelain mug and watching you flip pancakes in his shirt with a silent brood. He took his stack of pancakes with a kiss, deep and tender and full of tongue. He tugged you into his lap and fed you bites off his fork.

He spent the afternoon alternating his hand and head between your legs.

And when the sun went down, he took you to the Harley with his arm around your waist. He collected your strewn items from the asphalt and shoved them back into your purse, leaving the broken zipper open with a promise to replace. You swung your leg over the Harley seat and wound your arms around his waist.

You waited for the next moment he'd turn his words into fists.

[earmo-imni]

<<while i am thinking about it, would you like to share any gamzee headcanons? :3c i admit i am curious, because seriously it's hard to find good gamzee content, and i like what you usually reblog.>>

Oh boy, do I

Okay, I don’t have nearly as many headcanons as you do, just by virtue of having only been in the fandom since like. 2019? I think? But I still have quite a few. They’re a bit tangled together but I’ll try to make this coherent. Also I should note that some of this I picked up from other people’s posts, but most of it has been so absorbed into my personal headcanons that I don’t have a clue where most of those bits came from. (Edit after having written stuff down throughout my ENTIRE Sunday: apparently I have a lot more headcanons than I realized. Still not as many as you have about Eridan, I think, but wow, I wrote a lot.)

Uh, also, trigger warnings for…lots of stuff, jesus. Child neglect, mention of nonconsensual/dubiously consensual sexual situations (I think that’s the best way to describe that…), generally shitty mental health situations, substance abuse, psychological abuse? I think? Mostly none of these get too detailed but occasionally I do imagine what Gamzee would be feeling in some of the shitty-mental-health-situations in stream-of-consciousness fashion, so fair warning.

…yeah, my headcanons for Gamzee are really dark.

Okay, to start of, appearance: I headcanon Gamzee as being very poorly fed, and therefore skinny as sin. Like, just skin and bones and wiry muscle. He’s got big pointy ears and a mess of fangs to match his huge mass of curly hair that he never remembers to brush. It makes his thin face look even thinner and hides the tiny, half-formed fins on his ears that match the nonfunctional, equally half-formed gills on his sides. (The gills and fins thing comes straight from Splickedylit, tbh.) He’s got high defined cheekbones that look even sharper than they actually are because of how underweight he is and a long, arched nose, and he’s tall but only because genetics managed to beat out the malnutrition. He’d be even taller if he’d eaten properly throughout his life.

As for his actual life! Headcanon number one, a very central one, is that Goatdad neglected the shit out of Gamzee, starting at a very early age. Like canonically he barely taught Gamzee anything and left him for extended periods of time. But I headcanon that within a sweep, maybe less, of getting Gamzee, he started leaving him for extended periods of time. Like he had always had to leave Gamz occasionally to hunt for food, but originally it was only like, an hour or so once a week, but eventually he started leaving for a day, before gradually increasing to a week, a month, multiple months, with the amount of time in between each absence decreasing proportionately. The last absence, just before SGRUB, lasted half a sweep.

Headcanon number two, also very important, is that this neglect was actually the reason Gamzee started eating sopor. And it happened early, too, because while food was absolutely available in physical stores or online, the aforementioned “ Goatdad not teaching Gamzee shit” as well as Gamzee’s hive being physically distant from most towns (most trolls avoided being anywhere near the sea) meant Gamzee didn’t really know how to navigate the necessary processes to get or cook that food and didn’t have anyone to help him. So originally he survived off what Goatdad hunted and brought back until he was gone too much for that to be viable, at which point he primarily survived off whatever he could scrounge from the beach. But this still left him hungry, so one day, like half a sweep after Goatdad started leaving, Gamzee decided to try the sopor slime because hey, it looked edible, and his stomach hurt, and then—well. Everything felt a lot less shitty (the loneliness, the hurt from Goatdad leaving and wondering if he’d done something wrong to make him leave, the pain of his empty stomach, the boredom) once the drug hit, all the bad feelings were sort of hazy and far away, and his stomach felt full. So he kept eating it, and it became an addiction.

(This eventually had the side effect of making Gamzee supremely underdeveloped in his ability to deal with emotions, because of how much the sopor suppressed everything. He literally didn’t have the opportunity to learn how to deal with them because he just made them go away with sopor for so long.)

Also eventually, he does figure out how to use computers and the internet (I forget what the troll word for that is) by two or three sweeps old and ends up getting found by Karkat and brought into the whole ring of friends that are our troll players. (Side headcanon: Karkat was the one to find and bring everyone together, completely by coincidence (or Homestuck-style fate) because he hated/was terrified of leaving his hive and therefore was terminally online. Also Sollux and Gamzee were two of the first people he found.) He also finds Church of the Mirthful Messiahs and gets into that (prior to Karkat finding him) and latches onto it as another coping mechanism (because yeah, there’s legitimate faith there, but also it’s one hell of a coping mechanism for his shitty life, to believe that miracles exist everywhere and that good things will come eventually if he just waits long enough.) And he manages to get better food, even if he still doesn’t eat much because the sopor fills him up most of the time.

Headcanon number 3, and last of the really important ones: Gamzee has major, major trauma because of Goatdad’s neglect and it plays a LOT into everything else he does. Up until Murderstuck and Doc Scratch fucking with him, he’s a lonely, isolated kid terrified of losing the handful of friends he’s made or the sole community that makes him feel okay (the Church). Goatdad leaving all the time and for so long instilled this subconscious fear/belief that Gamzee himself was somehow at fault for his abandonment, which resulted in him being a massive people-pleaser in an (again, subconscious) attempt to prevent being abandoned again. His constantly being chill with everything and willingness to do whatever other people (Equius, Doc Scratch, Caliborn) want is as much to do with this trauma as it is the effects of the sopor, his emotional disconnect, or his naturally laidback personality.

Speaking of Equius, my headcanon (headcanon number 4, I guess) about him and Gamzee is that the whole pitch…thing…between the two of them was…not really consensual on Gamzee’s end. Like, not to accuse Equius of sexual harassment or sexual assault or whatever, because really I see the whole situation as, frankly, a really bad combo of two kids with trauma and shit social conditioning where one has absolutely zero concept of things like consent or boundaries (because, you know, Alternia) while the other actively avoids setting boundaries even when he really fucking needs them (and also is on judgement-impairing drugs.) But I think Gamzee didn’t actually want to take part in what is pretty clearly implied to be sexual roleplaying (to me, at least) and only does it because he’s terrified of abandonment. All of this contributes heavily to Gamzee’s willingness to kill Equius in Murderstuck, because he feels deeply uncomfortable with the roleplaying and pitch flirting he did for Equius and he does feel taken advantage of, even if he can’t or won’t acknowledge that, and hates Equius as a result but not in a fun pitch way more of an ashen someone-please-get-these-two-an-auspitice-before-one-of-them-dies-oh-shit-too-late way.

Also while most of the time he likes her this whole thing with Equius bleeds over into Nepeta a little once Gamzee really lets loose with his emotions because she’s Equius’s moirail? Shouldn’t she have stopped him? It’s not logical but like you said in a previous post, emotions aren’t logical.

(I’m going to be honest, Equius and his horniness and boundary issues always made me uncomfortable, which…might have contributed to this particular headcanon.)

Headcanon number…actually forget numbers: let’s deal with Murderstuck. So. Everyone’s at the end of their rope, death in the form of Bec Noir seems imminent, and all the trolls are breaking down in various ways. Gamzee has been chilling quite calmly, despite having run out of sopor (thus losing a coping mechanism) recently, and has simply been giving people chances to nap in his horn pile. I mean, sure, death is imminent, but it’s fine. Totally fine. He’ll just go to the Dark Carnival, it’s fine! (He’s a Bard of Rage, he can and will destroy reality for others, even if that means destroying (or at least hiding) his own horrible feelings, his own reality. These are his friends, the only people he’s got left. He’ll do anything for them, even destroy parts of himself, so that he’s not alone again.)

And then Dave fucking Strider blows it all up with one music video.

Now, no hate to Dave here, because obviously he didn’t have any idea he would affect Gamzee the way he did. But that one music video manages to completely destroy Gamzee’s faith in the Messiahs, and now he has no coping mechanisms, and everyone’s busy having their own breakdowns and can’t help him, and all those horrible feelings, the fear and anger and hurt from every hurtful thing the other trolls have said about him, everything Goatdad did, everything Equius did, every bit of horrible negative emotion Gamzee has been trying to keep locked away like it doesn’t exist is bubbling up and he has no way to deal with it.

So he runs as far from his friends as he can get, and in the depths of the Meteor he finds the puppet. Lil’ Cal. Chock full of soul bits all melting into each other, and it talks so sweet to him, promises a different paradise, gives him a purpose that helps stabilize his shaken sense of self, tells him that if he just does what he’s told everything will turn out okay, gives him an acceptable target as an outlet for his ragepainfear. And Doc Scratch joins in at some point, saying the same things, saying yes, it’s okay, maybe the Mirthful Messiahs don’t exist but you still have the Angel of Double Death to guide you.

(Is there mind control? I don’t know. Maybe. As much as I enjoy the angst potential of Gamzee literally not having control over himself from this point onwards and essentially being completely innocent of the shit he pulls later on without anyone actually knowing he’s innocent, I find it far more interesting for Gamzee to be persuaded into making awful choices of his own free will because he’s a desperate, traumatized kid in an incredibly vulnerable time of his life being coerced into doing terrible things by an abusive shithead who styled himself as a god, and instead of finding the salvation he sought Gamzee just finds himself too deep in hell to get back out. So he keeps believing in this horrible, capricious god and the godchild who becomes him because he’s sacrificed too many of his friends and destroyed too much of himself to be able to accept that he was wrong. (It can’t all have been for nothing. Not again.))

Anyway, Gamzee finally stops trying to keep a lid on his emotions and absolutely lets loose with all the horrible feelings he’s got in him because now he’s got “permission,” and a purpose for it, and it doesn’t matter if he loses these friends who used to matter to him (they still do, he’s just too consumed by emotional overload to acknowledge it) because he’s got something better, he’s got paradise coming for him if he just does what he’s told, even if it doesn’t make sense (even if his flush crush is dead and won’t come back not even with the kiss that worked for Feferi and Sollux). And besides, it’s really just incredibly cathartic for him to finally get all those emotions out, it feels so good he barely even thinks about what he’s actually doing to all those bodies.

At least until he’s suddenly got an armful of pale miracle papping his face and shooshing him and soothing away all the pain and rage and he can relax for a little bit and maybe, just maybe imagine staying with this precious diamond of his forever, for just a moment. But of course it doesn’t last, because Gamzee’s still afraid, and Karkat, as wonderful and warm and miraculous as he is to Gamzee, is still a young teen who just doesn’t have the skills or knowledge necessary to really help Gamzee the way he needs.

So Gamzee turns his back on his diamond and goes through the rest of canon sacrificing everything he is and everything he’s ever had on the altar of this god who promised to save him, only to get brutally mistreated by the child who will eventually become the greater part of said god, mind controlled and puppeted around so he can’t even do anything for who knows how long, lost in a rage that results in him killing even more of his friends and his moirail, stuffed in a fridge with the dead bodies of his friends, and ripped in half and absorbed into the very thing that sent him down this horrible path. The two best things in Gamzee’s life are his moirallegiance with Karkat (he still does pity him so much, and would stay with him if he thought he could, but the Angel demands otherwise, and Gamzee is committed to obeying. He still doesn’t really ever let go though) and Calliope (because Dadzee is life and also there’s no way he didn’t at least act as lusus up until Calliope/Caliborn were old enough to take care of themselves, and doesn’t it just tear at his soul to leave his little wrigglers like Goatdad left him—and then he comes back to find Caliborn has killed his sweet little girl. It hurts worse than the bullets and the crowbar), and he truly loves them both…but they, too, are sacrificed to the one thing that gives him purpose. (Calliope, at least, he didn’t expect to get hurt. He didn’t quite comprehend she’d die. And he never gets to find out that she comes back because he’s left in a goddamn fridge.)

In the end, there’s really not much left of Gamzee by the time the surviving heroes confront Caliborn. He’s given so much of himself to his godchild that he might as well have already been subsumed into the morass of soul they will become, leaving his empty, broken shell of a body behind, following Caliborn’s orders like a puppet. Death would be a relief. And yet the nature of Homestuck means he doesn’t even get that.

…Okay, that was. A lot. I didn’t expect to get so into that, or to write so much, or for it to get quite so dark (I mean, I’ve always liked dark angsty stories and Gamzee’s a prime candidate for that, but. Wow.) Honestly, I’ve still got more, mostly random bits of what he’d be like if his life was a little better or he managed to kick the sopor or sgrub didn’t happen, plus there’s my fix-it alternate timeline for self-shipping purposes (which. I’m not really sure I’m comfortable sharing everything that goes on in that timeline outside of the two sideblogs I’ve made for it, but I will happily tell you about my Gamzee.)

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 6

summary: given some time alone to think, the pieces begin to fall into place. you go to confront the darkling be he avoids you at any given cost, until one night you go into the one room you were never granted permission to enter.

warnings: cursing, talks about violence/torture and death, alcoholism

A/N: the truth finally comes out. This is all over the place bc I was trying to rush getting it out. 5.9k+ words and 12 pages later, here we are. not proofread, will comeback later to edit.

ANA KUYA’S voice echoed in the back of your mind as you laid on your cot, calling out for Mal and Alina as they ran away from her. It was the day Grisha came to the orphanage to find out if one of their own had been whisked away into a place like this. You examined the walls, cracks running up and down them. The windows barely opened, and when they did, they let out horrible screeches. Water leaked from the bathrooms, the annoying drip a constant on your mind.

Maybe you should’ve gotten up from your bed and got tested by a Grisha. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to stay in such a run down orphanage. The Duke was rarely here, so no one really cared about his orphanage no matter how infamous he was. But being Grisha meant leaving Mal and Alina behind, something you couldn’t do because they had become your only family. Besides, Grisha don’t get sick, therefore you weren’t a Grisha.

You could never be a Grisha.

-

AS you phased into consciousness, you could hear someone muttering something in the background. Your hands were so cold, you reached out for something- anything that could give you warmth. You tried to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, nothing seemed to work. The person rushed to your side, clutching both of your hands in one as the other stroked your cheek.

“Go back to sleep.” He said, brushing your hair back. Closing your eyes, he assumed you had fallen asleep already. He resumed his mumbling, the words slowly becoming coherent as fell back asleep.

“It’s...too...soon..”

-

THE painful pounding of your heart had subsided as the Grisha left. Mal walked into the room followed by Alina, who was sporting a new wound on her palm that Ana Kuya had scolded her for.

“Come on, get up!” Mal urged, knowing from the look on your face that the pain had already left you.

“Where are we going?” You said eagerly, scooting to the front edge of your bed to lace up your boots.

“To the meadow.” That was all you needed to hear before running out the bedroom door. Mal and Alina’s footsteps padding behind. The three of you started a mildly competitive game of tag, the other two making sure you didn’t exert yourself.

In that moment, you were who you were supposed to be. Three children lying on the field, making stupid promises to each other.

“We can’t hide forever, but we can run.”

-

THIS time when you find yourself in a field, there’s a man laying next to you. It was the same man from your dream, shoulder length hair and clean shaven face.

“Aleksander?” He lets out a hm, awaiting your question. “Where am I?”

“What do you mean, my darling?” Aleksander- General Kirigan- or whoever the hell he was turned to look at you, laying one of his arms upon your stomach. His hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. From your peripheral view you could see him studying you.

He started with your eyes, taking in their color and your long lashes. He moved from the curve of your nose until he got to your soft, plump lips. You stared at the sky, afraid of what you would see, who you would recognize if you turned to face him.

“We’re at our meadow.”

-

WHEN you finally regain consciousness, you find yourself alone in a nearly dark room. Only one lantern had been lit up. It was just before dawn, you could see the sun beginning to peek out. Someone had changed you into a nightgown, you didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was Alina or maybe the Darkling, maybe neither. Either way, you were thankful they decided to change you out of the robe you had fainted in.

With great struggle, you propped yourself up, your elbows taking the brunt of your weight. You crawled to the foot of your bed to put on your night slippers. The rug under your bed only went so far before it hit the cold floor. You slowly made your way to the desk, sitting yourself in front of the mirror.

The magic Genya had performed on you days ago had worn out by now. How long were you out for? The dark circles under your eyes had returned, seemingly worse. Your skin, although already dull, became more dull and pale. Whatever shine you originally had was gone. Your eyes look sunken in. While your hair was frail and also lost the shine that Genya gave it.

“Saints..” You whispered to yourself as you raked a hand through your hair. You were basically a dead person walking. You considered fetching a servant to bring you Genya, but decided against it. Throwing on a robe, you silently made your way to the war room, hoping to find the Darkling there. When you entered it remained empty, along with the bed he usually slept in. You walked the halls looking for one of his oprichniki, yet they weren’t around either.

There was no use in barging into his bedroom when it seemed like he was gone. Plus you didn’t want to invade his privacy knowing that he could have you killed for going into his room without permission if someone had seen you. You spotted one of the palace guards, walking up to him as you placed your hands into the pockets of your robe.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the General is?” You asked, staring into the guards eyes.

“He left a week ago, accompanied by his personal guards.” Was all he said, not disclosing why he had left. A week? Had you really been unconscious for a week? This usually never happened to you, not like this.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a couple of days.” He said, not giving you an exact day. You quickly thanked him before making your way back to your room to change for the day. The dull ache of your heart was finally leaving, allowing for you to feel more like yourself. You were able to spot the sun in the sky as you finished changing. You thought about basking in its light when your stomach growled loudly.

I suppose I should eat, you thought. It’d been nearly a week since you were able to feed yourself, your last meal being breakfast. You could remember someone feeding you periodically throughout the week, now knowing the Darkling had left, it was most likely Alina. You rang for a servant, asking to be brought breakfast when she arrived. Surveying the room, you decided that the Darkling wouldn’t mind if you did a little retouching.

You moved the table towards the window, wanting to eat in the sunlight without having the harsh winter winds freeze you. Opening the curtain allowed for more sunlight to stream through, a grunt of triumph leaving your lips as you looked at your new setup.

The squeaky wheel of the servant’s cart alerted you of her presence, rushing to open the door before she could knock. You took the tray from her hands, closing the door with your foot as you skipped towards the table, eager to get some food in your system.

The food they had given you was practically the same, sweet pea porridge, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of grapes. It wasn’t your favorite, but you ate it anyway. Savouring the familiar crunch and sweetness of the grapes. Sitting in the sun had left you feeling giddy and warm, excited for summer when you would be able to go out whenever you could and feel the sun on your skin.

It was the same warmth you felt whenever the Darkling touched you, even when you saw him in your dreams, there had always been a lingering sense of familiarness-- and affection. You saw the look in his eyes just seconds before you passed out, the shock as you said his name, the concern visible in his eyebrows. Him whispering, stay with me, please. It was all foreign to you. In fact, his behaviour was strange to you.

You’ve always heard of the Darkling being cold, menacing, someone you had to fear. There were stories of him ruthlessly slaughtering the Drüskelle, using the Cut to separate multiple heads from bodies in a matter of seconds. Yet he welcomed you into his home without a second thought. He fed you, gave you clothing and a place to sleep, even gave you a tour of the Little Palace himself. You were sure he had never given someone the treatment that he had given you, so what made you so different? What made you so special to him?

You didn’t miss the look he gave you when you first entered the war room, recognition and longing bright in his eyes. He tried to hide the emotion, but you were able to catch it before he returned to his dark and empty gaze. It would explain the memories, but only fueled your confusion and curiosity more. Had you shared a past life with him? If so, why were you back? How were you back? Getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the person knocking until they opened the door and announced themselves.

The familiar red hue of his kefta brought you comfort. You were too trusting lately, you’d only met Fedyor a week ago. Just the sight of his kefta had calmed something down in you. This palace was changing you, bringing out something from within you that never existed. Being this trusting on the fields would get you killed.

“Good morning, Fedyor. What brings you here?” You greeted him. This time you already had your boots laced up, the tray in your hands ready to be disposed of on the table by the door. “Going to escort me to combat training?”

“Actually, the General forbade you from stepping foot on training grounds again.” You let out a loud gasp as you whipped towards him. Thinking there was something wrong, Fedyor stepped forward, reaching his arms out to steady you just in case anything happened. In your anger, you slapped his hands away.

“Oh just you wait until he gets back,” You seethed, “Who does he think he is? Taking away my combat training privileges?”

“He’s the General, he can do that.” Fedyor responded, a small smile on his face.

“So what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, you could still go to the library.” No, you didn’t want to risk running into the Apparat again. “Watch the Grisha train.” He offered a meek smile. “Walk the grounds.” Perhaps you could go on a horse ride later, but right now there was one thing on your mind.

“Is Alina training right now?” The heartrender gave you a nod, “I guess we’ll be going to her room then. She has something I want to borrow.” With the flick of your hand, the two of you were on your way.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer then that’s okay.” Fedyor squints his eyes at you, before motioning to continue. “Has the Darkling ever taken up any lovers?” The question makes Fedyor stop in his tracks, a baffled look on his features.

“Well..I..” He struggled with his words, not knowing if he wanted to tell you. What would the General do to him if he told you? It was common knowledge that General Kirigan had been alive for a couple centuries now, he thought everyone knew of his endeavours. “The General has been around for many years, so naturally he has...had sex before.” The mention of it made Fedyor blush. “But he’s never settled down with someone. The closest I ever saw was with Alina.” This didn’t surprise you, Alina herself had told you about what had almost happened between the two.

“In the tent, when he tested her to see if she was Grisha, I saw something in his eyes. It was admiration, but there was also a defeated look in his eyes. As if he had given up on something because he found Alina. Reasonably, it could’ve been relief, since we had finally found the sun summoner.” Fedyor pauses, thinking wisely about the next words he spoke. “Alina and the General were growing close. Everyone saw the look they gave each other the night of the fete. But any public traces of their affection for each other had disappeared that night. The two are only seen interacting when he visits her for a gradual check-in.”

“And he’s never spoken of any other lovers?”

“Not consciously, no. On the very rare chance where we ride in the same carriage, sometimes when he falls asleep he’ll whisper about a woman. Moya dorogaya, he’d call her. That’s all I know.”

Moya dorogaya, my darling. It was the same name the Darkling had called you in your dream.

“May I ask you a question?” He inquired, you nodded your head, allowing him to proceed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

A smile so bright that could light up the room came to your face, “My friends down near the south Ravka border. A pair of siblings that taught me to fight before they defected from the First Army.” You confessed. “One of them also introduced me to my love of epic poetry.”

When Alina’s door came to view, you didn’t bother knocking as she had already left. After fetching what you needed, you quickly exited her room.

“I haven’t seen them since they left.” You rubbed the birthmark at your throat. Besides Mal and Alina, the siblings were also the closest thing you had to family. They considered you as their sister, even begging that you left with them. But you told them your place was here in Ravka, with Mal and Alina.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Once Alina and the General get rid of the fold, we will have access to our docks again.” He said, trying to comfort you.

“I hope so.” The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable silence as you fiddled with the edges of the red book. As you neared your door, Fedyor stopped, telling you he would be just outside if you needed anything. Without wasting another second, you ran to the chair in front of the window.

The Istorii Sankt’ya glistened in the sunlight. Something about it had been calling out to you, urging you to read it and find out more. You flipped through all of the pages of the saints until you found the one that had been calling out to you.

Sankt Ilya in chains. Ilya Morozova. Morozova’s herd.

“One day. When the war is over and the shadow fold is gone, you will bear my name. You will become Mrs. Morozova. I swear it.”

The voice of the Darkling rang clear in your head. The memory made your heart come to a stop as you struggled to find a possible explanation for his words. The only conclusion you could inevitably come to was that you were the sole lover that Fedyor had been talking about.

As the sun began to set, you looked at the drawing once more. The stag, sea whip, and firebird all depicted. You called out for Fedyor, asking him to come into your room.

“Can you bring me dinner for two?” You politely asked.

“Sure, were you planning on eating it yourself or shall I fetch someone while I’m at it?”

“No. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk while we eat dinner.” His face paled as the words left your mouth.

“Oh...okay.” Was all he said before he scurried off to get the food. You tucked the Istorii Sankt’ya under a pile of paper in your desk to hide it. While you waited for Fedyor to return, you lit up some candles and lanterns now that the sun was going down. It was no fun eating in the dark.

Well, sometimes it was. You thought back to the orphanage. Night where you, Alina and Mal would sneak out of bed to have a piece of bread. The bread was never enough, but the excitement had always spurred the three of you on enough to make it a nightly routine until Ana Kuya eventually caught on.

When Fedyor returned, he rolled the cart over to where you had been seated. He placed a golden tray in front of you and another for himself right across from you. He also brought a big pitcher of Kvas for you to share.

Lifting the cover from your plate, you found yourself staring at some sort of meat pie with a side of root vegetable soup. Fedyor had the same meal but had pickled herrings instead of soup.

“Ugh, I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” You said with disgust. “I’m glad you guys don’t force me to eat that.” Although it was common peasant food, it never appealed to you. It was something you’d always hated.

“The kitchen staff have a strict list of foods you like and dislike.” That made your head snap up to meet his, who made the list? You had a scheming suspicion that it wasn’t Alina, leaving you with one suspect.

“Tell me, Fedyor, do you know what the General plans on using Morozova’s Stag for?” You inquired, feigning curiosity. You saw his hesitation, clearly uncertain if he could trust you. “I was, after all, one of the last trackers to spot it.” You reminded

“The stag is rumored to be an amplifier created by Morozova himself. Whoever wears it would hold the greatest power known to mankind. One that could rival the General’s.” He said, taking a bite of his meal before continuing, “He plans on giving it to Alina in order to get rid of the shadow fold. She’s strong, but not strong enough to get rid of it on her own.”

“What about you, do you believe they will be able to banish the fold together?” There had been a swirl of doubt pooling in you. The shadow fold was the one thing that had kept Grisha safe from the rest of the world. With the permafrost in the North and the mountains in the South, Ravka had practically been perfectly disconnected. Yet the Drüskelle and Shu still managed to slaughter Ravkans and Grisha alike.

“Yes, I do. It’s something very important to the General. That the sun summoner reversed what his ancestor, the Black Heretic, had created.” He explained.

“Right, we’ll then what happens after? It’s been so long since West Ravka has been able to connect to East Ravka. Who’s to say that they don’t want to create a monarchy of their own?” Fedyor paused at your words, he hadn’t thought much about what the West Ravkans wanted. He only knew how much his people longed to be free of the shadow fold.

“One step at a time.” He ensured, not sure if he believed the words he just said. He didn’t know what would happen if West Ravka decided to break off and become their own sovereign state. Whatever trade and weapons they had obtained came through the trading ports of the docks in West Ravka. Without it they’d have nothing. They would be nothing.

You finished the rest of your meal, occasionally talking about your time being stationed in the South while he talked about his Grisha adventures. When it came to an end, you helped him clean up and wished him a good night as he rolled the cart away. The pitcher of Kvas laid untouched, your fingers twitched at the thought of having a drink. You stared at it as Fedyor rolled it away, your throat begging for something to drink. Instead of giving into your urges, you chug whatever leftover water you had laying around.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help the strong feeling of loneliness overcome you. You tried to push those feelings away when you jumped into bed, not wanting to have a miserable dream.

-

WHEN you wake, you find yourself in the deadly permafrost of the Fjerda-Ravka border in nothing more than your lace nightgown. The snow under your feet melted as you walked around, searching for another sign of human life. You didn’t feel the familiar nip of the cold at your fingertips or toes. It was that same warmth you felt with the Darkling.

You caught sight of your own breath as you whipped your head around, the snow catching in your hair. As you stumbled into a tree, you felt the recognizable carving, stating that you were now in Fjerdan territory. Your feet had walked on their own accord, not knowing where you were going until you stumbled into a clearing. The same clearing where Dubrov and Mikhael had died, slaughtered brutally by the Fjerdans. The clearing where you had killed two of their own without a second thought.

The clearing where you had finally found the stag.

The very same stag that had now stood in front of you.

You inched closer to it with careful and calculated steps. It didn’t back away as you approached. It showed no signs of aggression as you laid one of your hands upon its antlers, your other going to stoke its fur.

It was giving you that same look it gave you when you first encountered it with Mal.

Mercy. Respect. Most of all, understanding.

-

IT had been two days since you dreamt of the stag. You hadn’t dreamt of it since then, in fact, you hadn’t been dreaming of much since you saw the stag in your dreams. You thought about bringing it up to Alina during breakfast, but decided against it, the conversation somehow drifting towards the General.

“I was giving him a report of my progress last night-”

“Last night?” You interrupted, “As in a couple of hours ago?” She nods, confused by your behavior. “When did he get back?”

“The night you woke up.” She replied, as if you had been informed already. No one told you he had returned, you hadn’t even seen him once. Fedyor didn’t even tell you of his return during dinner. With a huff, you got out your chair, moving towards the door before asking Alina one last question.

“When did you mention me to the General?” She gives you another confused look, not knowing what you were talking about. That was the only answer you needed as you made your way to the war room.

He knew you. Even before he discovered Alina and took her to the Little Palace, he knew you first. Your thoughts ran around rampant and unprovoked, trying to come up with a viable explanation as you stomped towards his hall. Before you could even reach the doors of the war room, you were stopped by his oprichniki.

“The General wishes to be alone right now.” She said, hold up a hand to stop you.

“Tell him that I want to speak with him.” You replied, she looked you up and down. You wore no kefta or guards uniform. You were merely just a First Army soldier in her eyes.

“I doubt he would want to talk to someone like you.” Great, you were dealing with a Grisha Oprichniki with a horrible superiority complex. With a scoff, you turned away and walked to your room. Holding back every urge in your body to punch her.

-

WHEN night came, you found yourself struggling to get some sleep. After your encounter with that rude oprichniki, you tried your best to at least get a glimpse of the Darkling. You tried walking in the gardens in hopes to see him, no luck. You walked past the singular window of the war room, only to find the view obscured by the curtains. You paced the halls as subtly as you could, waiting for him to exit the war room. But he didn’t leave. Not once, so you just gave up and decided to try again the next day.

The black silk of your slip on did little to soothe the irritation you felt. In fact, it seemed to irritate you more as it slipped around even at your smallest movements. With a sigh, you got up from the bed and walked towards the dresser with the intention of changing into something that would provide better comfort.

You ran your hands through all the different laces and fabrics of the nightgowns until it landed on the gold kefta. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You took it off it’s hanger, before walking towards the mirror. You examined it closely. The fabric itself had shimmers of gold, the black thread similar to any other kefta. As you surveyed the back of it, you noticed the handiwork of a fabrikator. Someone had tried to mend the rips of the kefta, but they were still visible up close.

The kefta had fit like a glove when you put it on. It gave you a sense of belonging. That maybe as an orphan you had finally found a home. You ogled at yourself in the mirror, the golden fabric had practically made you glow. You placed your hands into the pockets, surprised to feel something in one of them.

Grasping the object, you pulled it out. It was a letter. Covered in blood, dirtied and ripped at the corners, but still a letter nonetheless. You contemplated reading it, making the motion to put it back into the pocket before a thought crossed your mind. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

You opened the letter and began to read it:

Dear Aleksander,

My darling, I don’t know why the universe has continued to bring us together. But I am thankful that they’ve given us a chance to be together once more. I have loved you for all of my lifetimes, and nothing could change that.

At least, that’s what I thought. But you’re no longer the Aleksander I once knew. Something dark has taken over you, your lust for power consuming you. I don’t know who you are anymore.

That’s why I’m doing what’s necessary, you’ve been in power for too long. It’s time for you to stop. It’s time for Ravka to be whole once more.

I’m sorry. I hope with whatever love you have left in your heart for me, that you could forgive me.

Eternally yours,

Y/N

You froze as you saw your name signed at the bottom of the letter. Lifetimes? As in more than one? This could wait no longer. Shoving the letter into your pocket, you threw open your door. The halls were empty, his oprichniki were either on a break or a shift change. Either way, you didn’t care.

You barged into the war room, expecting him to be hunched over a pile of maps, but he wasn’t. The next place you looked was his sleeping quarters that had connected to the war room. This bed was empty too, the sheets still cold. You knew of one last place he could be, and didn’t care about the risks.

You walked towards his door, each step filled with the burning curiosity you felt. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you didn’t expect it to turn. You would’ve assumed he kept the door to this bedroom always locked. But then again you were the only person who would dare enter his room without permission. After entering his room, you shut the door. Not wanting to raise suspicion to anyone who might’ve walked the halls perchance.

You paid no mind to the layout and decorations of his room as you fervently searched for him, only to come up empty handed again. Where could he possibly be? Perhaps he went for a midnight stroll. Or possibly he left the Little Palace again. But before deciding on going back to your room, you were adamant on searching the entire ground for him.

As you made your way back towards the door, your eyes briefly flashed to the portrait above it. You were frozen in your tracks as you did a double take. There in the painting was you, depicted in the gold kefta you had put on mere minutes ago. Behind you was the General, who had one hand clasped around your waist, the other resting on your shoulder. The two of you smiling brightly, it had practically been one of the only other times you’d seen him smile.

The letter in your pocket felt like it weighed a ton, your mouth going dry. In your panicked state of mind, you didn’t notice the shadows jumping up and down the walls.

“My darling.” You never heard him creeping up on you until he started talking into your ear, his whisper making you involuntarily shiver. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

Turning around, you didn’t expect to find his hair dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to look at anything but him.

“Don’t call me that.” You spat out, he reached one of his hands out to touch the kefta you had put on. His touch lingered from the black stitching to the collar of the Grisha jacket, his fingers ghosting over your neck. “I’m going to ask you one more time, have we met before?”

The General saw no use in keeping the secret from you any longer; you had worn the kefta he’d made for you centuries ago, most likely read the letter in its pocket, and now you had just seen the portrait he’d hung up of the two of you. It was evidently clear that you knew something was going on.

“What do you remember?” He deflected, not answering your question.

Flashes came to your mind, ones you had dreamt, others were new.

“I remember...my death. The night those soldiers shoved a knife in me.” You confessed. You also saw other things. Horseback riding in the woods. Long nights in bed spent talking about the future. Him training you, teaching you how to wield a sword. The birthmark at your ribcage, the one on your neck, and the long ones on your back. They had all been scars. Marking all the deaths from your previous lives.

Three scars, three separate lifetimes with him. You reached up to touch the scar on your neck, “They..I-”

“This one, the Fjerdans gave you this one. We were hunting for the stag when we had gotten ambushed. They killed you for the sole purpose to see me in pain. I begged them to take me too, but they found too much joy in my grief. The Drüskelle held me on the ground, my hands spread apart, as I watched you bleed out.” You can see the tears form in his eyes as he recalls the events of that night. He walks around you, tracing the rips of the kefta. The rips had consequently been placed exactly where the scars on your back were. You could tell by the familiar pattern he traced, a once soothing action that now caused you great anguish. “The Fjerdans also gave you these ones. They tortured you for days on end. When I finally found you, it was too late. There was no healer that had the power to help you. All I could do was hold you as a heartrender calmed you, minimizing your pain.”

“I can’t remember that, why can’t I remember that?” You panicked, to which the Darkling turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs rubbed your face in a reassuring manner.

“It’s not often that you fully remember what happens to you. It’s your brain's way of protecting you so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Well you certainly felt overwhelmed now. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The shadow fold..” You hesitated, removing yourself from his grasp. “Was that because of me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, “I created it after you first died. A way to protect all Grisha. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. But it was one less threat we had to worry about.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? Why is it always me? Why do I always come back to you?”

“There’s a reason why the universe has continued to bring us back together, my darling. My other half. My life.” He walks up to you, grasping your face in his hands. His touch was different this time, it was cold yet welcoming. It felt familiar. The shadows engulfed the room as you felt a power rush over you. His eyes darted towards your lips, hesitating before leaning in. You close your eyes as you feel that familiar warmth consume you. His kiss is soft, gentle, yet you could tell he was holding back from ravaging you.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You kept your eyes closed, lost in the memories.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered. When you had closed them, the whole room had been taken by his shadows, leaving the two of you in darkness. But as he stood in front of you, his hands on your cheeks, the whole room had been illuminated. “My sun summoner, I have loved you all of my life. For all of your lifetimes.”

“Maybe one too many.” What else was there to say? You always knew, somewhere deep down inside of you, that there was something special different about you. You didn’t know it until now, until you were reunited with your other half. “But I thought Grisha couldn’t get sick.”

The smile falls from his face, “I believe..that this could possibly be our last lifetime together.” He disclosed. “Neither heartrender nor healer could explain what was happening to you. I think it might be the consequence of avoiding eternal death for so long.” He joked, his eyes meeting yours.

“I thought your last life had been our final one together. I waited hundreds of years for your return. When I had caught wind of a sun summoner being found, I thought it was you. When it wasn’t I felt as if my heart had shattered all over again. That you would never return to me again.” The Darkling squinted as the light around you grew brighter. His touch was making you unstable.

“But Alina-”

“Can’t know. No one can. I can’t risk your life again. Not anymore.” He replied, “Especially when this could be our last time together.”

You struggled to find a name to call him, the General felt too formal, and to you it seemed too early to call him by his given name.

“Aleksander, my darling. Call me by my name.” He said, withdrawing his hand from you and letting the shadows shrink back to the ground.

All your life, you had subconsciously fought the Grisha within you. You had always been Grisha. Using the powers you had been born with had given you back your strength, albeit not all of it. You enjoyed- reveled the rush it gave you.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

-

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives​ @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96​ @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @kaqua​ @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx​ @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess​ @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020​ @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard@thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23​ @athenamikaelson​ @mellifluous-cosmos​ @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest​ @iiclarixa​ @lcandothisallday​ @agent-jbarnes​

Mizpah taglist is CLOSED for now!

S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer​

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Injured Part 2

@canigetanamenforbritney here you go!

Part 1

Warnings: hospital setting, refusal of medical attention, pet names, surgery, negative discussions of someone, stitches, descriptions of medical care, painful wound tending, exhaustion, begging, mean caretakers

*not edited*

~

"He needs surgery."

"Yeah, yeah I get that. That's not the problem. The problem is, you won't perform it."

"We aren't about to waste supplies on a villain, Hero."

Villain fumbled with consciousness- played with, frolicked with it- until it because a drifting manner. Awake here and there, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Then the blissful euphoria of sleep. Those moments of painfree unconsciousness were what he longed for, craved.

He didn't understand his situation. He knew that there were people around him, but they didn't seem to be doing much. Only periodically pinching his elbow, leaving him floating in serene waves.

Was this what care felt like? It didn't seem like much, maybe Villain just had an active imagination- dreaming about endless words of compassion, a light touch to his cheek... maybe those sensations were just fantasies.

The people... they seemed to speak above Villain in rumbling tunes. Never aimed at him and even in his foggy state he knew that they were strictly clinical.

It was, to say the least, disappointing.

Very disappointing.

Maybe he did just expect too much.

《~~》

Hero paced around the hospital bed as the nurses argued amongst themselves. Villain was stable, but not faraway from slipping. Why did she have to do this to him? A dagger in his side, concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder... the injuries went on above this.

And then the fact that he was doomed to actually take care of himself in this state? The very idea that Hero expected him to jump back on his feet- it was disgusting.

How could she be a hero when she allowed someone to suffer?

She saw the trails of blood, the discarded bandages, the opened cupboards. He struggled. Struggle to stay alive.

"We could get fired if we operate on him. Honestly, just hand him over to the center."

"What is wrong with you!" Hero exclaimed when she heard that utterance. "A life for a job."

"You beat him up," that same nurse pointed out, crossing her arms. "Stop your hypocrisy, you are not better than us."

"Yeah if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be here," another chimed in.

"Shut up! Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Hero growled. "I will pay for the surgery and take full responsibility. If he doesn't die, he will be permanently disabled."

"We know."

"Yeah I know you know," Hero said, huffing and giving an awkward smile. "You know and yet you still don't do anything about it. What kind of sick doctor are you?"

"One that follows the law."

Hero was silent and thrusted her hands through her blonde hair.

"It's nothing against Villain-"

"Yes it is!" Hero roared and flung herself next to Villain's side. His eyes were halfway open. Hero sighed, "Should I give him another dose?"

"No," the head nurse said. "Let him wake up."

Hero waited and waited, foot tapping and teeth clenching in anger, as Villain became more and more accustomed to his surroundings.

"H-hero?" He croaked, nervous fear evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Mm care... caring f-for for me?"

"Trying to."

Villain groaned and threw his head back suddenly, pain gripping every one of his features. Tears formed in his eyes and as sudden as the outburst happened, he stilled and collapsed back onto the bed.

《~~》

Everything hurt.

The drugs must've worn off, inviting the pain to eat him whole. Villain groaned and tossed his head about, punching the mattress with clenched fists even though that hurt and...

Villain cried out. Even Hero stepped away from that primitive noise.

Why was he is pain? Why did he have to go through this?

Because I am a villain, he answered himself. Stupid stupid stupid! He shouldn't have delved into the evil side of the world, should've applied for the College of Heroics or be a normal civilian or anything other than villainy.

He cried, his chest shuddering. Small squeaks escaped his mouth. Even the boisterous nurses ceased their banter, looking in pity at the sobbing human on the hospital bed.

"We'll operate, but we won't give him anesthesia," the head nurse conceded.

《~~》

That was good.

Not ideal, but good.

Hero helped slide on a blue hair net over Villain's head. Wild eyes darted around, creasing at the edges every once in a while, as the pain flared up in many places all at once. His breathing hitched as well.

"What are they doing to me?" Villain wheezed, fingers tapping. Anticipation etched at his body.

"You'll be fine," the hero soothed, rubbing her fingers together. After the surgery...

"Cuff him," one of the nurses ordered, wrapping Villain's wrists and ankles with soft, padded bracelets of leather. He stiffened before instinctual motions kicked in and he struggled.

"Don't. Don't do that," Villain pleaded as he watched the nurses inhibit his only chance to fight and to escape. He gulped, pressing his head back into the hospital bed like his pain was forgotten. But the irregular heartbeat on the monitor betrayed his real sensations and emotions- pain and fear.

Hero frowned at the distressed face before looking up at the nurses.

"Should've we give him something? Like a muscle relaxant? Make the procedure easier?" Hero asked, but immediately wished she hadn't for the villain's face contorted into an expression of pure terror at the mention of "procedure".

"Maybe," one of the young nurses whispered, but the head nurse brushed the idea off with a firm "no".

"Let's begin," that same nurse said and approached the writhing villain. "Begin incision on his right side where we assumed a piece of residual metal is from the dagger."

"Let's not do this," Villain begged, pulling madly against the restraints, but the nurses did not pay attention.

Just as the sliver of metal was about to protrude into Villain's skin, Hero spoke up,

"Where is the doctor? You know, the one who actually does surgeries."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you weren't trained for this."

"So?"

Hero was silent, but her gaping mouth spoke loads for her.

"Hero," the head nurse chuckled. "This is a villain. A half-eaten cheeseburger in the trashcan. Relax hon."

Hero bristled at the pet name, but didn't do anything rash. She just pulled up a chair and sat at Villain's side. He looked up at her with large, pleading eyes that broke Hero's heart.

"It'll be over soon," Hero promised. Villain's face relaxed slightly, but his muscles stayed tense in waiting for the inevitable pain.

"Begin incision."

Villain mewled as the thin knife slipped into his skin, right above the infected flesh. His toes and fingers curled in, then stretched out.

"Okay stop," Villain said in a hurried manner. His brow furrowed, nose twitching. "Stop."

Hero placed a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to quiet his protests.

"Located the residual. Tweezers."

A tool made of two grated prongs took the place of the knife. Villain sighed as the knife marked its leave with a clatter, but his muscles immediately seized when the bloodied particle was removed.

"Staples."

Villain's eyes widened as a nurse pulled his skin together, shoddily and lazily stapling it. Villain screamed, jerking around each time the plunger cinched his tender flesh together.

Hero wrinkled her nose. The nurses weren't even bothering to use actual medical tools. Literally, the stapler was from the school section at the local Walmart.

The nurses topped their kindergarten artwork with a thin line of some numbing ointment, but that was all. A tiny gift, a mug saying "The Best Teacher Award" on teacher appreciation day.

The next injury the nurses fixed was the dislocated shoulder. Two nurses positioned themselves on both sides of the shoulder. Without warning, they pushed the joint back in.

Villain arched his back up in a desperate feat to escape the miserable pain. He clenched his teeth, holding in a scream that Hero knew just wanted to go.

Then he fell back into the bed, breaths full of pained whimpers.

"Okay. I think we tortured him long enough," Hero said, angling herself to give a more authoritive stance.

"We are taking care of him?" The head nurse replied, purposely making her statement an authentic question.

"Just give him something. At least something to take the edge off," Hero pleaded. "Can't you see? His world is nothing but pain."

"No."

Hero sighed, shook her head, and went back to Villain who now had tears streaming out of half-lidded eyes.

"Make them stop," Villain whispered, not even looking at Hero. "I'd rather be hurt. Rather be hurt at home."

Hero felt a twinge of pity, listening to Villain's requests. It was saddening to say the least, someone so hurt just wanting to go home if it meant that they could escape the extra pain of care.

Pain of care, now that didn't sound right.

Hero grabbed Villain's head and stroked it, but the tears and whimpers did not cease.

After a good few hours, the villain was throughly exhausted. He could barely stay awake, just dozing off even as caffeinated nurses shakily sewed the millions of cuts together.

Hero slowly stroked Villain's head, watching as his eyes drifted shut. She smiled. Sleep was his only escape from the pain.

[plethora-of-imagines]

Multitasking

AN: I’m not fully happy with this one. The idea was good, but its not really edited and I’m not too fond of the ending. But continuing to try and rewrite it isn’t getting me anywhere so I am going to post it for now. Maybe in the future I will come back and fix it.

Word Count: 1412

Warnings: smut/lemon, telepathy, cockwarming

Description: DW Kinktober Day 3; Prompt: Telepathy

You just wanted to have some attention, and the Master needs to finish his sums.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

Shifting uncomfortably on the Master’s lap you tried to distract yourself from the situation you had put yourself into. Unfortunately, there was no one to blame but yourself for your predicament. As much as you wanted to blame the Master, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had told you when this started that he had work to do and there would be little attention paid to you. That really it would be a much better idea for you to just relax and entertain yourself somewhere else. Or to even go grab a book to read while you joined him if you really wanted to stay. You had been so certain that the appeal of you settled in his lap, warm and full of his cock would be enough to distract him from his work. It had yet to work. It had been ages already! It felt like he had been working on his sums for hours. How could he resist you ready to be fucked in his lap and continue to work with not even a little teasing? He hadn’t even bounced his leg or pressed a kiss to the side of your face.

Pouting you tried to enjoy the sensation of being so full and filled by the Master. Without him moving it was feeling more like agony. You were used to cockwarming but not for this long, not without him continuing to actively keep you aroused. You wanted nothing more that for him to move, even just to shift his weight. Anything would be a relief at this point. You wanted your thoughts and body to be filled with only him. Trying to be patient for so long was starting to take it’s toll on you. 

Yet you didn’t mutter a word of complaint. He had warned you that he was busy, it was your own fault for thinking you could change that. It had been your idea to beg him to let you cockwarm as he worked, hoping to derail his progress with a quick fuck. You had assumed he would give into temptation after half an hour at most. You had just wanted some attention, to be close to him. Clearly, your plan hadn’t quite worked out for you. So you tried to stay still, to behave. Because he was busy, and you didn’t want to disturb him when you had promised not to.

Almost as if he had been reading your mind, the Master shifted slightly so that his head could rest on your shoulder. Pressing a quick kiss to your throat before you feel an ache in your head. Like the very beginnings of a headache that you knew was coming on. Slowly the pain faded, leaving you with the strange sensation of your mind being cradled in warmth. Even after having experienced the sensations hundreds of times you were still not used to the Master being inside of your head.

"Hmmm someone's getting a bit impatient. You alright, love? Got somewhere to be?"

His teasing echoed in your mind, like your own thoughts but scattered. His mental laughter didn't help you to process his thoughts any easier. The laughter was quiet, almost as if he was trying to keep it from reaching your mind. The issue with that was that no matter how much he tried to shield his stream of consciousness away, your mind reached to pull him in with just as much force. 

“I can be patient,” you shot back at him mentally. Your own inner thoughts betrayed you with a soft admission, “or at least I’m trying.”

Fond amusement washed over you. How adorable it was that you were trying to play pretend when your body was now rocking side to side. Aiming to gain as much stimulation as you could from shifting your weight. 

Shaking your head you tried to get the Master’s thoughts out of your head. It was instinctual, your mind not wanting to accept that someone else’s thoughts were intruding upon where your own stream of consciousness should be reigning. It truth you wanted to know every thought the Master had, especially when they were about you. The moment you felt the semi-rough texture of the Master’s hands caressing your thighs you lost all semblance of thought. 

So close to where you needed to feel him, yet teasingly far away. You blissfully accepted every touch. Trembling when his fingers finally brushed over your clit. His cock twitching in pleasure simultaneously. Oh, sometimes you forgot that he could feel what you felt when he did this. Clearly, he knew that the build up had made for the most wonderful of pleasures when he finally relieved you of your anticipation. Again and again he repeated his teasing motions.

Stopping abruptly in his pattern right before he would brush over your clit he stole your full attention. 

“I have to get this work done. Be a good girl and be patient again?” He projected into your mind.

“Please,” you whispered into the silent room. 

You found your hand wrapped around the pen the Master had been using before his hands found their way to your waist. Slowly, you could feel the emptiness left as the Master lifted you off of his cock. Mind filled with your thoughts mourning the loss, until you rapidly found yourself filled again. Being yanked back down with a force that made you cry out in pleasure. This, this is what you had been patiently waiting for.

“I don’t know if you can really count what you were doing as patient. Love. Your thoughts had been screaming that you wanted attention. They made it even harder to concentrate than the feeling of your warm, tight cunt around my cock.”

You moaned wildly as his words entered your head, bringing with them echoes of memories of how he had struggled to keep him mind focused.

“Write down 62 for me would you, love.”

Startling you out of your mental haze you tried to focus on the mathematics the Master was now filling your thoughts with. Each lift and drop of your body as he made you ride his cock clearing your head again. You could barely understand the numbers, nervermind write them down. Yet somehow you managed.

“Next we need to solve for E equals,” interrupting his thought you reminded him that it was really him who was solving these impossible difficult mathematic computations. It was kind of him to mentally include you, but you both knew the truth was that you were his glorified secretary.

“And what a beautiful secretary you are, now where were we?”

“Solving for E=mc cubed, Master,” you mentally reminded him.

“Such a good girl, remembering your lesion on the extra temporal physics of the time vortex!”

Your mind seemed to heat up as if your brain itself was blushing. It wasn’t possible yet somehow that it what it felt like. Or maybe the sensation stemmed from the Master resting one of his hands against your very flushed cheeks. The heat he was feeling transferring into your own thoughts as a literal feeling of heat. 

You hands shook as overtime your arousal grew, building up until you felt ready to fall apart. It was a struggle to write down any of the numbers you could pick out of the Master’s head. How did he manage to do both solve mathematic equations and fuck you? You were getting distracted just trying to write down some numbers! You hated the fact that he could multitask so well.

A pleasure shot through you before the mental connection was broken. You could feel the Master’s release shooting into you. It felt heavenly, something you had grown to love more and more each time you felt it. It was then that you noticed. Your arousal hadn’t subsided at all, your little orgasm had been a reflection of the Master’s. Your body was still humming with need. You whined pathetically, it wasn’t fair. You could feel the Master’s cock softening inside of you.

“What happened to my patient good girl?”

“This is so rude, Master. I want to cum so bad and now I’ll have to wait, again.”

“Good things cum to those who wait.”

“Don’t pun at me,” you laughed, annoyed that you couldn’t manage to stay upset with him.

Besides you knew what you were getting into when you interrupted his sums. Honestly, as long as you got to spend time with him you were content.

[thatweirdoleigh]

Frozen Love

#February2021promptchallenge

Prompt: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Oneshot / kinda based on daydreams about an oc 

Procrastination is a bitch, but here you go!

Little editing. WE DIE WITH PRIDE. Sorry if this is scientifically impossible. or just impossible to read.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, implied Hypothermia, some swear words Feel free to @ me if I missed any.

Italics represent thoughts

Kol x Reader

Her tears felt like fire against the freezing air. It had happened. He did it. He finally fucking did it. Her boyfriend, now ex, had finally snapped and showed his true colors. Her bloodied lip and quickly bruising face a testament to his cruelty. He confessed that he was cheating and that he liked it. He called her a worthless excuse for a lover, then threw her back out in the snow without so much as a coat. The winter temperatures had continued dropping below freezing for the past several weeks and as shivers raked across her spine, she quickly realized she would surely freeze if she didn’t pull herself off the ground.

Ok Y/n where can you go?

Taylor is already stressed.

Dave will be angry.

Klaus will outright kill me if I go to Cami or Marcel.

With a groan, y/n pushed herself off the brick wall and up from the ground. Her stomach twisted in knots, as she resigned to her fate. Pulling out her phone only to find it dead, she cursed at the sky. Damn it. And so she walked, vigorously rubbing up and down her arms, hoping to whatever god would listen that she was going the right way.

 Kol groaned as he stripped off his coat. Tugging a hand through his hair, he informed his brothers that he was going to go shower off the blood and then crash, and that he wouldn’t be joining them for there celebrations. Klaus only waved his hand, mumbling that there wouldn’t be one, he himself being eager to join his very pregnant wife in bed.  

Although neither party were on particularly friendly terms, Marcel and the Mikaelsons were not actively trying to kill one another. This however, did not persuade a group of extremists from attacking the Mikaelsons in the name of “freeing Marcel from their compulsion”.  Marcel was not compelled.

They were exhausted. This was the 4th attack in a week and it was only Wednesday. So Kol trudged up the stairs, careful not to track mud across the carpet (Rebekah would have his head), stripped his clothes and got in the shower where he allowed the hot water to relax his aching muscles.

 Kol opened his eyes, consciousness slowly swimming back to him, as shivers ran down his spine. After having scrubbed off all the blood in the shower, Kol had gotten in the tub figuring he deserved the joy. Must’ve fallen asleep. He acknowledges. The water now cold, Kol gets out, and dries his hair but not after putting on gray sweatpants and his favorite sweatshirt, the one that y/n had gotten him for his birthday. His lips involuntarily curl into a smirk at the thought of his best friend and secret crush.

Regardless Kol yawns and flops onto his bed relishing in the warmth of his room, grateful for the modern invention of indoor heating.

I’m hungry. Should probably go eat s’mthin.

Just as sleep starts to wrap around Kol like a warm blanket, the door bell rings.

He frowns against his pillow and listens intently for the front door, trying to figure out who would be here at this ungodly hour. He is rewarded with a familiar voice pleading with something he can’t quite place, “Please Kol, just open the door”. Y/n?

And so Kol makes his way out and into the entryway, exasperated and sleepy, trying to figure out why his best friend would grace his doorstep at this time of night.

“This better be good” he said playfully as he swung the door open. However both his mood and face dropped quickly as he saw the state of the woman he loved. Her eyes were glossy as if she could she right through him, her eyelashes were clumped together where her tears had frozen, her lips and nails were a concerning blue, complementing the purple and black that marred across her cheek and she was shaking as if a gentle breeze could push her over.

“The hell? y/n?” he pulled the door wider, shock and panic starting to take hold.

“Sorry” she murmured, seeming genuine in her apology, “didn’t know where else to go”. And with that she collapsed into his arms.

“Fuck!”

  When y/n woke up, it was not with a sudden gasp from her usual, frequent nightmares, or with the same clarity that one had after a good night’s rest. No, when y/n woke up her senses swam back like molasses. The first thing she notices is, its warm. She is wrapped in something warm and soft. Blankets, she concludes. The second thing she notices is the taste of copper and how thick it feels in her throat. Kol. gave hes blood i guess….Kol. She hums his name gently as she gets the vague feeling that she is forgetting something.

“Y/n?” Following the voice, the next thing she notices is the body pressed against her back. She hums again as she rolls further into its warmth. Her eyes flutter open and she is greeted with the face of her best friend and the man she has secretly loved while her boyfriend messed with her mind, filling it with lies. Lies claiming the she could never be loved. She smiles, “Kol”.

           Pulling her closer to his bare chest, y/n now wearing his sweatshirt in an attempt to keep her warm, Kol gave a breath of blessed relief at the sound of her voice, “you had me worried, you were so cold, I didn’t think you were breathing.” He gave a half hearted chuckle. Y/n hummed happily as she snuggled backwards closer into the warmth of his body. Kol shuffled the blankets higher over her shoulders and took and careful breath.

“So do you wanna tell me why you appeared on my doorstep half frozen and bruised, without a jacket, in the dead of the night?” His words had an edge to them that he hadn’t intended, as he desperately tried to push away the image of her face marred by black and blue.

y/n stilled, suddenly wide awake, as her memory of tonight’s events came back in a flood. The pain, the heartbreak, the cold, all of it.

“y/n?” She choked back a sob, as the hatred of her boyfriend’s words starting echoing in her mind.

You’re useless and a waste of my time. Guess I was wrong, you can’t be loved. Not even by me!

“y/n”

The crash of the beer bottle was jarring but what was more jarring the punch thrown shortly after the bottle hit the wall.

“Y/n.”

His fist was in her hair now as tears streamed down her face. “Let me go!” she begged. “You’re hurting me. Let me go! Please!”. The door opened and she landed in the snow, as she was thrown out into the icy cold. “AND DON’T COME BACK YOU USELESS BITCH”. The door slammed shut.

“y/n!” Kol was now hovering over top of y/n, desperate to break through her distress. She took in a sudden breath and then a sob as she clung to him. Kol swore under his breath as he started rubbing up and down her sides and legs trying to get her to calm down.

“hey, hey. Its ok. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you. I’m going to take care of you okay?”

Another breath, “Okay”.

“okay?”

“Okay.”

Several minutes passed before either spoke again. Y/n because she was to overwhelmed to speak and Kol because he was terrified he would scare her again. As y/n’s breathing evened out Kol laid back by her side and wrapped her leg over his hip as he pulled her closer to him. The intimacy of the gesture caused y/n’s guilt to bubble through into the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Kol was taken back by this.

“For what? Crying? Princess, Its OK, I shouldn’t have asked, I should have just let you sleep and then waited to talk in the morning.”

Y/n’s throat swelled tighter at the sincerity in his voice. “F-For being weak. For being a coward. For showing up on your doorstep at ass o’clock at night!” She said thickly.

Kol pulled back to look her in the eyes and he saw the pain and anguished guilt in her eyes, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to make it all go away.

“Baby girl, I love you, but you’re scaring me. What’s going on? Why were you outside? Why didn’t you have a jacket? How and where did you get the bruises from?”

“J-JJ kicked me out for being home late. A co-worker volunteered me for overtime. H-He hit me and confessed he was c-cheating.” She explained her tears were flowing freely now.

Anger flashed behind Kol’s eyes, and he pulled her tighter against him, like he was using his body as a shield from the outside world.  “I’m gonna kill him,” He vowed lowly. “How dare he. How dare he fucking treat you like that”.

Y/n froze, not because of Kol’s vow, that was to be expect of any Mikaelson, but because of something else Kol just said.

“Wait, you love me?”

Now it was Kol’s time to freeze. His anger quickly over-taken by shock and the fear as he realized his slip up. He avoided her eyes in shame.

“y-yeah” his heart stuttering, “yeah I do. “ he whispered.

“Oh thank god. “

And then she kissed him.

[romeoandmesittinginatree]

Hello Jet, my love. For your angst prompts, I give you 12 :)

12: Innocence.

No trigger warnings. Based partly on Innocent by Taylor Swift and Innocence by Avril Lavigne.

Honestly I think this is kinda fluffy? OH MY GOD DID I FINALLY SUCCESSFULLY WRITE FLUFF???!!!!?!!??!?

—-

The alarm clock on the side table ticks softly, a steady stream of consciousness in the dream-like moment.

Above the bed, a window is open. The curtains billow like the sails of a pirate ship. Cool air blows through their room, somehow giving a sense of mortality to the otherwise perennial room.

The sheets are soft and thick under his bare skin. He sits up on his elbows, watching the man across from him sleep.

It’s unimaginable, in this moment, that he - either of them - could be who they are. In this moment, there is no war. No death. In this moment, there’s nothing but the rise and fall of his love’s chest and the cool breeze and the love permeating the midnight air.

A hand wraps around his wrist, and he looks down. Groggy eyes open and look blearily up at him. He smiles down at his love, his affection for the man so strong it scares him. There is nothing he wouldn’t do just so long as he got to keep this love safe.

—-

So no other editing was done to this except for sending it to Phoebe and her pointing out how I can’t spell the most simple word ever and then I asked her if I should post it and fucking hell I did it. So like. Have some fluff phoebe.

Completed & Posted: 8:03 pm, September 11, 2021.

[gizkalord]

Aight I rewatched the episode in a normal mental state lmao (aka not at 2am.....)! Long-ish post ahead, be warned!

Taken as a whole, it’s actually a nice episode, particularly if you view it from the perspective of how it adds to Din and Grogu’s journey. Din has been increasingly confronted with the idea that he does not want to part with Grogu—he’s already subconsciously assumed the father figure role, but hasn’t consciously accepted or acknowledged the gravity of that yet. I thought it was a nice touch for Ahsoka to realize that he and Grogu shouldn’t be parted before Din (and Grogu) come to that understanding about their relationship. Also, Din just sitting there with baby in his arms for ages actually brought some tears to my eyes upon my rewatch L M A O.

This episode also sets up what I suspect to be the endgame of season 2—I’ll go out on a limb and predict that a big confrontation with Gideon is probably going to take place on Tython as he chases them there. I also have a feeling this is the set up for Grogu choosing to stay with Din and not broadcasting himself for the Jedi to find him. At this point, Din still sees this as temporary, and I think the end of season 2 will see Din and Grogu actively choosing to stick with each other as a family officially, as Ahsoka hints at towards the end of this episode.

The set design was very nice as well—Corvus/Calodan is one of the more interesting locations we’ve had. Really liked the whole misty, bare tree environment (as well as what looked like lava streams from the space view??), as well as the courtyard aesthetic of the showdown between Morgan Elsbeth and Ahsoka.

The fight choreography for the duel was lacking (I’ve already roasted it enough lmao—still think a more Seven Samurai-esque homage would’ve been better and more fitting!), but I think the editing itself was actually quite well done, and the other fight scenes were decent. The cuts between the actual duel and the standoff between Din and that dude (not bothering to look up his name lol) with the sound of the clashes were pretty cool as a concept.

I don’t know much about actual directing but I’ve always wondered if Filoni has trouble bridging the gap between having a LOT more creative freedom with action stunts and cuts in animation vs live-action, and I feel some of the more ambitious (and thus jarring) stunts and camera tricks/work in this episode are maybe indicative of that? There were some beautiful still shots throughout the episode though.

As for the elephant in the room (live action Ahsoka), my opinion hasn’t changed from last night—I think it was just alright. I don’t think the look or performance were as awful as some people are saying, but it also wasn’t a home run for me. Really wish the headpiece had gone through some more workshopping, though. Setting aside any issues with Rosario as a person, it was a decent enough performance with some nice moments but nothing to rave about. It gets an “ok it exists” rating from me lol, and it's not good or inspiring enough for me to replace the image of Ahsoka in my head with rosario’s performance.

also....... wHERE IS THE ANIMATED REBELS SEQUEL ANNOUNCEMENT!!!! filoni knows he’s driving us insane!!!!!!!!!!!