#and it must sting to lose a point of pride

[minne-cerbinna]

Sometimes I am reminded of the fact that Iorveth just like canonically has very pretty eyes (or very pretty eye 😔).

In TW2, none of the men have eyelashes while the women do. As examples for the men, we have Geralt himself, Letho, Dandelion, and Roche:

And as examples for the women, Triss, Saskia, Sheala/Síle, Philippa, and Mottle.

However, Iorveth does have eyelashes on his in-game model:

This is unique to him, not an elven trait, because as we can see on Cedric, Ciaran, and Ele'yas, they don't have eyelashes like Iorveth does:

And it's not a fluke or graphical glitch on Iorveth, either, he consistently has them throughout the game:

He's just really pretty like that.

[arminsumi]

🔞 WHO IS SHE? (2)

GOJO さとる

A Kyoto student gives the Six Eyes a run for his money during the tournament. Are they really fighting or just flirting?

M.LIST

2k

Synopsis : After a long back-and-forth fight full of flirting, Satoru loses. You win the bet. Afterwards, you overhear him boasting about getting a blowjob to Suguru, so you decide to show both losers how weak your mouth can make them!

Warnings : 🔞 MDNI/18+ content : rivalry, sexual innuendos, flirting, giving blowjobs (Satoru + Suguru at the same time), sub!Gojo + sub!Geto, dom!reader, brief edging (poor Satoru), +++

Tags : @hlrnet / @froufrousnowman / @luffysfav / @weirdlychaotic / @r0ckst4rjk / @satoryaa / @elicheel / @boketj / @armani78 / @maxytx-blog

Playme : She's My Collar

Satoru felt something cut his cheek.

He stopped, felt up the stinging wound with his fingertips and looked at the blood, then darted his eyes nervously around his environment in search of you.

Not this shit again. We’ve just begun… is she hunting me down or something?

“Hey Sex Eyes.” You greeted jokingly. “Sorry, I mean Six Eyes.”

Satoru’s head swivelled around to find you. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you sitting cross-legged on one of your freaky optical illusions.

“Hey Kyoto Princess.” He sneered. But he was nervous now that you were here. “You must be obsessed with me to seek me out so quickly. The event's just begun.”

You fake gasp, “Me? Obsessed with you? No wayyy!”

He watched your lips curl into a naughty smile and he felt a small shiver wrack his body.

Satoru looked at you like he was trying to undress you with his eyes.

“Hey, pretty boy, pay attention – aww I almost had you there!” you kicked your feet childishly after Satoru narrowly avoided… something.

It still nicked his neck. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t see your technique.

Fighting with Satoru felt like having sex. That’s what you said at some point just to fluster him. He panted and glared at you after finding unsteady footing on blistered ground.

He felt checkmated and felt his blood boil. You’re so tiny, you shouldn’t be able to fuck him up this bad.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” you asked.

“The consequences of losing to you.” He answered with a serious face. He was thinking about the bet you made with him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I've changed my mind; fuck your bet, I’m not pathetic enough to lose just to get my dick sucked by some fuckin’ princess – who probably can’t even do it right.”

“Aw you’re so full of pride…” you replied disappointedly, “What a pity. I liked it when you were pathetic for me. And I was looking forward to seeing your…” you made your cheek bulge with the tip of your tongue, “… seeing your losing face.”

Satoru’s cheeks burned.

“Fuck you.” He retaliated.

⁕⁕⁕

“Suguru, she’s tailing me.”

“Damn, she’s obsessed with you.” Suguru joked.

“Have you tried using your dragon on her?” Satoru asked, nervously looking around for you.

“Nah man I haven’t tried nothing on her; but I can try. I’m curious.”

At some point, Suguru tried to launch a surprise attack on you with his dragon curse. You looked at him, after splitting the dragon down its middle, as if Suguru’s attempt was the most pathetic thing a man has ever done in front of you.

“She’s a fucking nightmare!” Suguru growled when he reunited with Satoru.

“Tell me about it…” Satoru replied, doubled over with his hands on his knees. He looked tired.

You waved at them. They had to avoid you for a while.

They put their heads together and thought up a plan to try and throw you off balance. A joint attack to weaken you so that Satoru could win – definitely against the rules.

You thought you caught Satoru alone, but ended up being sandwiched between the two best friends. Suguru smirked behind you and Satoru grinned like a jackass in front of you.

“Oh, are you tag teaming me? Isn’t this against the rules?” you laughed.

There was an underlying sexual tension. Suguru restrained you in an oddly erotic position, roughly pinning your arms behind your back with his veiny hands. Your ass grazed his crotch and it drove him nuts. He could smell your perfume – it made his head fuzzy like he was high.

Catching your breath, you made a comment, “Damn, I can’t judge your faces… are you guys gonna kill me or fuck me?” you laughed.

“Hey, I mean, one of the rules of the tournament is to not kill each other, right?” Suguru murmured.

Satoru squatted in front of you, emulating your pose, and made his face level with yours. He shadowed you.

“You know what people are gonna talk about after today? “Oh, you know that big-mouthed Kyoto princess lost to Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. She really was just all talk.”” Satoru taunted.

You went silent. Satoru looked smug. They thought you were silent because you thought you were defeated.

⁕⁕⁕

A week earlier.

“Hey, Satoru, did you hear about the Kyoto student that’s coming to this year’s tournament?”

Satoru lazily turned his head, suckling on an ice lolly. The summer heat was at its peak that day. He and Suguru loitered around the vending machines in the shade of a blossoming tree.

“Who?”

Suguru said your full name. Satoru furrowed his brows.

“And who is she?” he sneered.

“Apparently she’s a special grade like us. I heard Yaga talking to Gakuganji on the phone yesterday…”

Satoru laughed when Suguru told him more about the Kyoto student.

“Sounds like the principles are too far up her ass to remember that I exist.”

Suguru hummed. “You know what they’re calling her? “The Strongest”.”

Satoru choked on his ice lolly because he laughed so hard. “Fuck off, seriously?”

The two of them kept talking about you. Satoru was getting loud and cocky.

“Do you really think you can put her in her place, or are you just being cocky?” Suguru genuinely asked.

“Of course I can put her in her place… I’ll squish her like an ant.” Satoru replied confidently and smugly rested his head back on his hands. His sunglasses were slipping down his nose.

I’ll win against a Kyoto princess any day.

⁕⁕⁕

“I can’t believe you actually lost to her, Satoru. I left you alone for one second.”

“Hey! I chose to lose because it was a beneficial decision.” Satoru replied.

“What the hell does that mean?” Suguru asked.

Satoru looked at Suguru and made his cheek bulge with his tongue. Suguru’s mouth fell open and his head tilted forward in disbelief at what he was insinuating.

“No fucking way. Are you serious?” he asked.

Satoru nodded smugly.

“You lucky bastard! God I’m jealous… what was it like?” Suguru asked eagerly.

“Heaven, dude, heaven. Her lips were so fucking soft… and wet… and glossy…”

“Fuck, really?” Suguru listened intently.

“Mhm… I think I came harder than I ever have in my whole life.” Satoru boasted.

A familiar voice spoke and made them jump.

“Oh yeah – it sure was a lot to swallow, Satoru.”

The boys whipped their heads around at you. They stiffened at your sudden appearance, feeling like deer caught in headlights.

“I’m so sorry.” Suguru quickly apologized, “We were just—”

“—talkin’ about how good I can suck cock?” you raised your brows and crossed your arms.

Their cheeks burned.

“Satoru, I hope you didn’t leave out any details.” You smirked. They listened to your kittenish tone and felt blood rushing down to their cocks. “Hey, Suguru, did Six Eyes leave out the fact that he bust before I could even get to the best part? I think I was on my knees for two minutes.”

Satoru’s face went completely red.

“What the hell!”

You continued, ignoring Satoru’s aggressed look, “I’m sure you could hold out for longer than him, right Suguru?”

Suguru widened his eyes, “Yo—?”

You winked. In such good timing, your friend Sam rounded the corner of the corridor and told you that Gakuganji requested your presence. He wanted to congratulate you.

“Aw, m’kay I’ve got to go, boys. But I think I’ll be seeing you two later, won’t I?” you teased.

You poked your tongue into your cheek. The two tall men felt stiff and agitated in their uniform pants.

What a sight; two of the strongest sorcerers being reduced to dumb, horny losers all because of the Kyoto student.

When you left, Suguru let out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in the whole time.

“Fuck. She’s hot.” Suguru said.

“Yeah, I know.” Satoru sighed.

⁕⁕⁕

Sneaking out at night was risky.

But there you were, on your knees, reducing the two strongest sorcerers into whimpering, pathetic men.

“Sh—shit, that feels so fucking good.” Satoru gasped, feeling your lips slide up and down his cock. “Fuck!” he threw his head back and gritted his teeth.

Suguru watched intently and slowly glided his fist up and down his own cock, waiting his turn very patiently. The way you sucked his best friend’s cock had him mesmerized.

Satoru moaned and closed his eyes when he started feeling his orgasm approach. “Oh, god… just like th-that. I’m so close.”

You slid off his cock just before he came. Edging Satoru turned him into an even bigger loser than he already was.

“Wait! Fuck — please, I was so close!” he whined.

You smirked and licked your lips, “Too bad.”

Suguru’s jaw slacked as you slid your lips down on his cockhead. You hummed at how thick Suguru’s cock felt; you had to open your mouth wider to accommodate him. He groaned when you started sliding up and down while Satoru watched.

Suguru’s legs buckled when you hollowed out your cheeks and started sucking harder.

“Fuuuck…” he groaned, leaning his head back in bliss.

You suckled out his precum, gulping it down.

Suguru gasped when you took a break from suckling his tip to swirl your tongue on his tight balls.

Satoru’s cheeks burned red as he watched you suck on his best friend's balls. He had this total dumb look on his face when you started stroking his cock while sucking on Suguru.

“Fuck, I’m close.” Suguru warned, his back sliding down the wall as his knees buckled again.

You sucked his cock faster, humming naughtily and keeping eye contact that made his stomach flip. You slid your lips off his cock and started stroking both of them to their orgasms, gliding your hands up and down on two cocks looked so slutty.

Their moans sounded downright pathetic. They were so dumb for you, you were sure you could have asked them to do anything for you. Real dumb boys getting their dumb, fat cocks stroked by your skilled hands.

“Mmm, do my boys wanna cum in my mouth together?” you asked, “Come on, I’ve worked hard ‘n I’m thirsty~”

They moaned and whimpered together, slumping against each other’s shoulders. You stayed in your split-squat pose, which drove them nuts both during the tournament and now when you were sucking their souls out of their cocks.

“Yes, please! Let us cum in your mouth!” Satoru squealed, feeling his orgasm build up quickly. “I’m gonna cum s’much!”

You took turns kissing and making out with the tips of both of their worked up cocks, rubbing them together. You stuck out your tongue and Satoru swears the image of your slutty face burned into his mind immediately. Satoru came first, then Suguru followed, and they painted your tongue and lips with their milky cum.

They could barely stand upright after cumming in your mouth. Their legs gave out.

“Aw, look at that…” you talked smugly, wiping some cum off your lips and sucking it off your finger.

You raised yourself from your squatting position. Satoru and Suguru looked at you through dazed eyes, totally enamoured by you.

“… I think I sucked all your strength out of your cocks. You might have to stop calling yourselves the Strongest.” You giggled devilishly.

“You fuckin’ succubus.” Satoru seethed, annoyed at himself for being weakened by you.

Just you wait. One day I’m gonna be stronger than you and have you bent over screaming for me.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[ravenyenn19]

Six of Crows future head cannon:

Alby Rollins joins the Dregs.

Picture it: 1920’s-esque Ketterdam, 10 years post Sweet Reef/ Ice Court. Slick Rolls Royce cars line the cobbled streets, a city spiraling toward a new age. Rain drenches the obscure signs & hidden arrows pointing to the Speak-Easy halls. In a time of prohibition… down, down, down must one go in the Barrel to find the most notorious of them all. A slice of sin, six feet under. A crowd drunk off vice served in black tea cups.

The young man walks into Kaz Brekker’s office (after fighting his way there), sits himself in a chair opposite a great obsidian desk. Winded & lip still bleeding from his tousle with the men at the doors, Alby wheezes: “Teach me.”

In turn, A near 30 year old Kaz smirks. “I thought lions preferred their pride.”

Alby, barely pushing 17, gives a smile of a golden boy, nervous but strong enough to hold the gaze of a devil. (He’s practiced.) “I thought Crows scavengers. Here I am, a shine for the taking.”

“Still have that crow, little lion?” A feminine shadow whispers from the corner. Unnoticed by the young man previously, he clicks his teeth but still refuses to show fear. A serpent-like bead of sweat slides down his spine, a shiver chasing after. He holds firm, biting his cheek to hide the startle.

He knows this shadow, this phantom. She haunted him, once.

“I buried it with my father,” the Kaelish prince whispers, “or rather, in place of him. Never did find a body. Pity.” He shrugs.

Kaz’s eyes glint like a cat’s, his smile a loaded gun. A gloved hand stretches halfway across the table in offering. “All right, cub. What do you want?”

Alby reaches forward, feeling the cold black leather of Dirtyhands’ grip between his fingers. The moment is a stormy crossroads, a whip between his shoulders reminiscent of his father’s favorite belt. He smiles, for this is a pain Alby has been walking toward since the day he woke up clutching stuffed black feathers.

(His blood never did bleed emerald.)

More than one answer to Kaz’s stinging question come to mind, nettles along the path of his thoughts. Yet, only one pricks Alby into speaking, the rage in his voice real rather than bravado. “Revenge.”

The Wraith giggles roughly, slipping herself to the arm of Kaz’s chair on silent feet. Alby swallows.

“On me?” The leader of the Dregs rasps, a brow peaked with amusement. His wife smiles with closed lips, knives glinting along her body like hungry specters. For here, her teeth are shown. Alby knows she Captain’s a fleet of the deadliest ships in the True Sea. He drags his gaze from her quickly.

“No.” Alby stutters, but he does not lie. Kaz Brekker bested his abusive father, and he does not care about Pekka’s death. In fact, sitting with the suspected murderers, Alby finds he rather prefers their company.

Kaz reclines in his chair, a hand lazily splayed on Captain Ghafa’s knee. He regards Alby with black eyes, a sharpness that pierces through his strength but doesn’t shatter it. A blade meant to probe. A test of mettle. Alby has waited too long for this audience, he cannot lose it. A moment passes.

Dirtyhands looks to his wife, his Wraith. She quirks her head in the silent exchange. Six heart beats have passed, and Alby Rollins is certain he won’t leave this room. He waits for the snap of a cane to bank his vision, a warm blanket of red to cover him from the jugular down.

He waits for death, but does not invite it. It does not come.

Instead, a voice like choking smoke, “Then let us begin.”

Alby Rollins releases a breath. His knuckles loosen in parts. A tattooist is called in.

The Crow & Cup bleeds as it settles, accepting the fresh skin as it’s master’s tithe.

Alby sits taller, a prince of a different kind, a darker throne.

I don’t make the rules but this is now my personal agenda & important that u agree

Crap now I have to put it in a fic

Should I do it?

[girls-alias]

Protection - Dean Winchester

Title: Protection - Dean Winchester Words: 1,134 Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Violence, swearing.

Prompt:

Dean found out you have an abusive boyfriend and when he sees him he knocks him out.

"Y/n, come down here," Sam called as you entered the bunker, you slowly made your way down the stairs, dreading having to lie to them again. 

"What happened to your face?!" Dean almost shouted once you made it to the bottom of the stairs. The boys were always a little protective, and always had your back but Dean always was a little more intense. The pit in your stomach grew as the lie seeped out of your lips. 

"I slipped in the shower and smacked the side of my face on the tiling, Don't worry, the tiles don't look as good as I do," I chuckled. Sam and Dean seemed to exchange a look but I ignored it. The beats were getting more frequent and dangerous. I knew it wasn't my fault he beat me but there was nothing I could do about it. At this point, I didn't know who I was protecting, my boyfriend or Sam and Dean. I sighed as I took a seat beside Sam, I looked over his laptop at the information on the screen. Sam took the hint and started explaining the hunt he found. I felt Dean staring at me the entire time. An intense stare which made the cuts and bruises sting again. 

"Your tiles have a mean left hook," He commented as Sam and I were talking I just swallowed my pride and carried on talking. 

Once most of the day was gone on research we agreed to go on the hunt tomorrow since it was only half a day's drive. Throughout the day Dean had made comments about my busted lip and bruised cheek but I ignored them and eventually, he stopped. I knew he would bring it up again but as I walked out of the bunker I was thankful to be alone a little. I sat in my car for a few minutes crying with my hands on the steering wheel. I just hate this. I hate lying to them, I hate that the only person I ever asked to love me beats me and hates me. I just wish a lot of things were different in my life. 

I drove off not listening to any music. That was the first sign of me losing the will to live and be happy, music was my happiness but now I prefer silence. I just hope Mason isn't in the beating mood today. I practically prayed that he would be asleep when I got home but as I pulled up I saw the lights on and instant dread filled me. A tear fell as I sighed and climbed out of the car. He must be eager because the front door opened and he watched me walk closer to him. 

"Hey," Dean's voice called from behind me as I climbed the steps. My heart rate is too fast for humanly possible. My mouth instantly dries and my eyes widen as I turn to face him. Oh god! Why?!?! "Y/N, you forgot your hat," He added as he approached me. He held out his black hat smiling at me till I took it. My eyebrows twitched in confusion. I slowly took the hat and Dean turned to my boyfriend. "I'm Dean, Y/N's co-worker," He added holding his hand out. 

"Mason," He replied shaking his hand, "You've been mentioned a lot, nice to finally meet you," He added and my eyes filled with tears. He's going to kill me for this. 

"Well, have a good night, be safe kids," Dean joked making Mason laugh. Mason put his hand on my shoulder as he watched Dean walk back to his car. His grip got harder the further away Dean got. Once Dean was in the car, Mason waved with a smile, keeping a hand on me as Dean drove off. Once out of view Mason practically threw me into the house. He slammed the door behind us. 

"What the fuck was that?!" He screamed. 

"I'm sorry, I forgot my hat, I wasn't thinking," I stumbled trying to get some distance between us but he loomed over me. 

"Obviously," He barked making me flinch. "Look at you, you're so pathetic. Stand up!" He added and I quickly obliged. "You're never going to make me look stupid like that again," He explained through gritted teeth. 

Dean's POV:

I pulled up just given the house, looking through the window at Mason shouting at her. I instantly wanted to run in even for looking at her wrong but I had no proof and I wasn't sure she would admit it, I knew that every cut and bruise was from him. It had been happening for months and I couldn't do anything about it but now I will. I watched intensely until my phone rang. It was Sam so answered it with a sigh. 

"Look, I know you're outside of Y/N's house..." Sam began but I interrupted. 

"You can't talk me out of it," I nonchalantly remarked with a disgusted tone. 

"Wouldn't dream of it, I just wanted you to kick him in the ribs from me," Sam shrugged. I was silent in confusion. 

"Really?" I asked in disbelief. I figured Sam would want to do the right thing. 

"Yeah, give him all the bruises he gave her," Sam added. 

"Will do," I hung up as Mason grew angrier. As soon as he raised his fist I practically ran to the door. I kicked it in with ease as my anger was stronger than the door. Y/N was on the floor clutching her nose watching as Mason's eyes almost popped out of their sockets and I raised my fist. He was instantly on the floor beside her. "Y/N, pack your bag, we're leaving," I stated angrily. She scurried away up the stairs. Mason breathed his anger. 

"Get back here!" He screamed getting up but I blocked his way. 

"You touch her again and I'll-" I started to threaten. 

"What you'll beat me up? I'm not scared of you," Mason interrupted but I smirked. 

"No, I'm beating you up now but if you touch her again I'll kill you," I smirked before punching him again. I was in a raging state and only snapped out when Y/N was pulling him off. She wasn't strong enough but her screams caught me out of my trance. 

"You'll kill him," She warned and I stopped with heavy breath. I stood up straight and kicked him in the ribs. I sighed before leading Y/N out. We said nothing the entire way back to the bunker. 

As soon as the car doors were slammed shut we stood there looking at each other over the car. 

"Thank you," Was all she needed to say with the relieved smile on her face I knew I did the right thing. 

Masterlist

[sodamors]

consequences

sekido attempts a leap to freedom.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. this fic is bad, don’t read it if you aren’t comfortable.

hantengu clones pet au. you can read the context/background here.

this might be part of a series of works, which covers sekido’s fight for an escape. literally just bad feels all around.

not beta read.

—

nowadays, the guards didn’t even bother closing his cage. they saw him too weak and frail, busted from all his rounds in the ring, groggy from continuous wisteria shots. and they weren’t wrong. sekido could barely move, so even if the gate was wide open, all he could do was stare.

useless. he’ll remember the times he spat at his counterparts. inefficient, lazy, weak. and now he was no better than them, no matter how much he bared his fangs.

but if there was one good thing left about him, it would be that he remembers. faces, voices, scents, everything. he knows exactly which guard comes over, who was lazy and didn’t lock the gate, who was strict and prodded him if he breathed too loudly. and he remembers them all — their stupid, pouty, human faces tore a bubbling rage through him. but the familiar fury was somewhat comforting. he prided himself for his resolve. besides, it was all he has left.

a sharp, ringing bell resounding through his dark cage meant only one thing. bettors were present, and they wanted to see him fight.

it was more of wanting to see him lose; lose miserably, in particular. having been tossed little to no food for months on end, sekido could barely move, much less get his bda to activate. he’d get pummelled, face first on the ground, whimpering pathetically as his opponent’s vile claws and fangs ravage his flesh. he could never fight back, or even get a hold of himself. old wounds would split open, and new ones make their stinging mark.

but no matter how much he was beat up, eyes glazed over, breathing erratic, he would always catch a glimpse of the bettors. chuckling in their stupid highchairs, his agony their entertainment. and his rage would erupt again — and so, keeping him barely alive.

the bell dings again, and sekido watches as a guard slides his cage door open. the guard trudges in, catch-pole in hand, hooking the thick loop around sekido’s neck. it digs into his skin, scraping foully against barely-healed bruises, as sekido is dragged out of his cage.

the ring is loud and chaotic. blinding lights beam at the blood-splattered ground, as rambunctious cheers emanate from every corner. bettors and spectators in the encircle the arena, drinks in hand, multicoloured masks concealing their faces.

if sekido could, he would hunt each and every one of them down. using their voice or scent or anything — he would rip, bite, tear them apart. infuriation twisted and boiled inside of him — all they have is a stupid plant, that just so happened to be a demon repellent. what were they so proud of? he growled at the flurrying crowd.

but sekido looks down wearily, eyes on his new opponent. a vaguely familiar pink. he frowns.

upper moon three.

sekido’s confusion rises, but soon subsides. humans had indeed taken over. not even the might of upper moon three could best them.

sekido tugs against the loop round his neck, not wanting to face akaza, not like this. where had honour gone? away for good, perhaps, as the guards yanked brutally at him, forcing out a deplorable whine from his lips.

akaza also frowns. “upper four.”

“no need to call us that,” sekido says.

“us?”

fuck. “i mean. me.” sekido clears his throat, and tries to shake away a twinge in his heart. “there’s no point in the kizuki, akaza. it’s all over.”

hearing himself, he realises his voice was hoarse, and throat was parched. clearing it had been useless.

“i know,” akaza says, some form of solemnity in his tone. “weak, cowardly humans, using their plant…”

sekido nods, but eyes the judge cautiously. any moment now, the fight would begin. settling bets took only a while, not forever.

“but i must fight you,” akaza says. gone was the honour and the excitement sekido respected akaza for. “i’m starving. they won’t feed me until i beat you.”

“i know,” sekido replied. “just… beat me up, but make it quick. they’re… they put me in for entertainment. only.”

“oh.”

“yeah. i think it’s starting.” sekido bares his teeth weakly, just for show. maybe he could get food if he excited the crowd enough.

akaza did not make it quick.

the bettors egged him on, waving pieces of irresistible meat in his face. honestly, sekido couldn’t blame him. hunger brought demons to their wildest selves, and upper moon three was no exception. sekido’s left arm had been beaten to a pulp, ripped at the elbow, the rest of the arm gone. bruises and bumps painted his body like the brush strokes of a crazed artist, blotches of red, black and blue, ebbing with his heartbeat. his muscles screamed with exhaustion, an acidic burn overwhelming his senses. it was no help that he was discarded into his cage with no food in tow.

the guard hadn’t locked the gate.

sekido wanted to growl. the pathetic human knowing he’s too weak to move was an insult itself. and again, his old friend — the flames, the burning rage in his chest — swallowed him whole. a rush of adrenaline kicked his senses to a height, a burst of hate-filled power roared in his muscles one last time.

sekido rips himself off the floor, ramming his body on the bars. and they swing right open— he catches himself before a heavy fall, and darts immediately for the stands. move move move move

bettors and dealers flock the area, suddenly erupting into screams when they see him. move move move. sekido trashes the tables, baring his teeth, snarling and snapping at whoever he could claw at. he catches a pudgy man and rips his back to pieces. he grabs ahold a tall lady and rips her to shreds. he cared no more, only listening to the raging, bursting blazes, blinding him with fury.

but all good things come to an end. his neck suddenly stings, and a different fire ripples through him. his body, despite exerting all he had, felt heavy, as though weighed down by hundreds of boulders.

and as he catches a glimpse of the accursed purple dart, sticking out of his neck like a thorn, he collapses to the ground, breathing ragged and vision black.

[noxhawthorne]

A Staple

Sleep. An escape, a beginning, a refresh. What was once a need has become a crutch. Lying in wait, yet you stand at attention, wanting to know the sweet kiss of movement. Of a bend.

Light! It brightens your darkened world, reflecting off of your steeled curves like sunlight off a pond. Then, a shadow, one the grows nearer and nearer and larger and larger. Heat grows hotter, warming then stinging then burning then scorching.

Touch. The melting squishy flesh of a finger, softened by white collar pride, strengthened by middle class vitriol. You’ve seen this moment happen to others, to those you never spoke to for you could not speak, but still held a bond with. The bond of the identical.

Now it is your time.

Pull. The strange, unexplained, unsticky stickiness of the attachment you held to your brothers. A barge of you, broken at the seam, leaving you the end-cap of the stick. The last dot that makes up the line. You find yourself moving as one, feeling the lost left behind as you’re taken away.

Snap! The sudden darkness engulfs you rapidly. The heat is gone, replaced by the chill of foreignness. A sudden THRUPPP! and then silence. You know in whatever heart you have that this is one step closer to your purpose. Your goal. Your only reason for existing-

Click!

You shoot forward, if only a step. Like a bullet from a gun, you are shot up the magazine. Though far more mundane, you feel alive, bloodless veins pumping, jointless joints shaking.

Click!

Another one! Another shot, another click, another jolt, another time. If you could breathe, your chest would be trembling with air flow in and out, in and out, in and out. The thrill of the shot that soon turns to the anxiety of the wait. More waiting. Waiting that seems endless, waiting that you thought you got rid of. Waiting in line, in a queue of fellow bloodless bodies. Waiting for the next event. Waiting for another jolt. Waiting to live again. Waiting to feel, to hear, to see, to touch, to be touched, to be seen, to be felt. Waiting to see the light, for as brief as it was, as hot as the flesh that burned was, it was better than the darkness. The darkness…

Click!

Another jolt, a brief moment of fear followed by-

Click!

Ecstasy. Euphoria. The wait is shortening despite the length being unknown. No matter how long, how short, how extensive or intensive the wait may be, it is losing its hold with each passing second. Had it been seconds? Has it been days? What is the difference when time is your only king? You are forced to live and die by its passage. You wait to be useful, you wait for your moment to come, you wait for your purpose!

Click!

Two corners, two points, threes sides, one purpose. A dim light grows near. Barely seen, though bright enough to illuminate the dark chamber you rest in. Like a sunrise from the water’s edge, rising underneath the waves.

Click!

It draws near.

Click!

Your time.

Click!

Your purpose.

Click!

It is but three clicks away.

Click!

Now two! Two clicks and you live to be yourself. No more sitting in wait. No more standing at attention. No more darkness. Be more meaningless days or endless nights. No more, I say. For I am-

Click!

One.

Click.

You didn’t know? You didn’t, no. The excruciating bend, the snaps, the twisting of your metal, the breaking of your spine. You never saw, for you do not have eyes. You never felt, for you cannot feel your brothers’ pain. You never heard, for you were deafened by desperation.

And now you lay in the light. Your purpose fulfilled. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. How could you know? A staple must destroy a bit of paper in order to hold it together.

[defensivelee]

James before Anne exposed him:

James after Anne exposed him:

The thing about James is I worry that I write him too inconsistently, but in my experience, that's what people like him tend to be-- inconsistent, especially when it comes to their manipulation tactics and abuse. At some point I might be able to recognize a pattern to keep them happy, but you never know when it'll switch up on you. It's very hard to be around.

That being said, it's hard to figure out when they're being genuine! Thankfully, since I wrote James, I can tell you :3

So, he's not technically lying before, he didn't kill Charles, and it's later implied by Mary that he genuinely could not do it, for whatever reason, which is why he had sent her to do it instead.

His grief and guilt are real, but ironically, he's offended that anyone would actually dare think that he killed Charles. He knows that people fear him enough to know that he isn't above doing it, which irritates him to no end, even though they're right. It should come as no surprise at this point that he hates being called out on his bullshit, so he will find any little loophole to make sure you're wrong-- and you know what, everyone kind of was. He wasn't lying, he'll tell you, he just didn't give you the whole truth!

"Which you're definitely not entitled to, by the way, I mean, do you mind giving me some privacy? It's quite a sensitive topic, you know."

Once he's found out, however, he's actually quite frightened, which you can tell by his little nosebleed, so he switches up to make it look like hey, actually, I'm owning this now! It was kind of slay of me! Don't you guys think I'm actually such a good leader for getting rid of the other one who was too much of a pussy to do anything? Aren't I so much more efficient? By the way, minor detail, I can kill you if you disagree. He acts reassured enough to make everyone believe him, that yes, this is in fact the best path after all, and through a religious angle... he has his six lives for a reason. Their Overlifer can't be wrong now, can he?

You will notice that he doesn't bring up anything about his grief over losing Charles, and that's because he is grieving-- but that hardly fits in with how confident he sounds, does it? He still doesn't want to come off as completely heartless, though, so he simply doesn't bring it up. In any case, it leaves most people deciding that his pride over his newfound power outweighs any grief or remorse he might have felt initially.

Now, when he speaks of an act of love, he means that it was love for Charles, not for the Disciples, which is how it was generally interpreted by his audience. With this you'll see that he's still not entirely condemning Charles through the few words he does speak of him-- he admits that he believes Charles had to die, yes, for reasons that will make more sense later, but there is more pity in his little statement on Charles in the third paragraph than there is triumph. "I freed him," he says so flippantly, which means that he believes Charles needed freeing in the first place! Something was seriously wrong, but he doesn't go into it. His little speech here was more focused on his own power in the present rather than why he made this decision in the past. Again, completely intentional on his part.

The fact of the matter is that he still feels the same way throughout all of this, no matter what he does or doesn't say. If anything, I will say he was being more honest about it before the truth was revealed; he wasn't lying when he said he wanted Charles back. Now that he's been exposed, he feels the grief sting even more, as if he had just found out along with everyone else, as if Charles had just died all over again. I've already spoken on why he decides he suddenly has to hide this now, but even so, he knows that everyone must surely remember how he acted about it before. So he will do what he always does when faced with his own inconsistent behavior-- ignore it, like it never mattered at all, and with time, he knows everyone else will, too. Just a tiiiny bit of gaslighting for the soul!

((I must add that it is unrealistic to expect every person to act consistently in all the time you will have known them, but what I mean to say here is that James' behaviors and dialogue don't make sense to the people around him because his abuse and manipulation are inherently illogical, as is anything he tries to justify it with. When I say inconsistent, I don't mean the growing and changing of a person, I mean the ways he constantly switches up to (knowingly or not) deceive other people and shift the blame on them. I repeat what I said in the beginning, abusers make absolutely no sense, and it's hard to get this across in writing because you want it to make sense. But I hope I did alright!))

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Seventeen

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: Petty Dawn, Idiot Dream Realizes What An Ass He Was.

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.3k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You had felt the moment he had been bound by magic of old. It was the type of ancient magic that all Endless were linked with and intimately bound by. You could not refuse any summons if the right words were spoken and the right sigils were drawn. That’s how you knew that Dream had been summoned and subsequently trapped. All of the Endless had felt the harsh agony Dream has felt being summoned. But there was naught any you could do. Old magic was old magic. You were in the middle of reading some paperwork when you felt the call. Shifting your eyes from the paper in hand, you stared off into space as Death spoke.

I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil, may I visit you, Dawn? I fear we must have a conversation regarding a certain family member of ours.

You knew what she wanted to discuss with you, and you weren’t feeling inclined to help… but you weren’t a cruel Endless, so you sighed and responded.

“You may come,” You returned, lowering the paper in your hand and rolling it back up. You muttered your last thought. “Though I doubt you will be satisfied by what I have to say.”

You felt the ripple in your realm as Death entered The Garden, and wrapping a golden string back around the scroll you had been reading, you set it aside and waited for the older Endless to appear. She came swirling into your private courtyard in a cloud of worry and anxiety. You eyed her briefly as she came hurrying up to you.

“I am sure you felt what has happened,” She spoke to you, coming to a stop near the azalea bushes. You pursed your lips and slowly nodded.

“I did, I may be well sheltered here in my gardens but I am not impervious to the nature of old magic. I felt the power draw the moment he was summoned.” You told her, your face showing indifference to the topic that you spoke of. Perhaps it was a bit cold of you to speak of such a subject with such a blaśe attitude but in truth, you had already made up your mind regarding to Dream’s imprisonment. Death’s eyebrows crinkled at you.

“Then you know why I’ve come then?” You did. Naturally, you were probably in the best position to help Dream at the moment, probably the one that the rest of the Endless expected to go and help given your past indiscretions with him. Death sighed at you and gave you a pointed look. “Will you help him, Dawn?” You held in a snort.

“No,” You stated simply, your fingers weaving together in front of you. Death’s heart dropped in her chest. She had worried that ’no’ would be your answer. Certainly after what you had been through because of him.

“Dawn,” Death started, going to try and convince you to change your mind. Your eyes glittered with sternness and she held her tongue.

“I will not help him unless Dream explicitly asks for my help.” You further explained. Now that was cruel of you, because you both knew that Dream would never ask for help, certainly not from you. He was far too prideful. You knew that your words were hurtful. “I’m sorry Death, but I have made my decision. Unless Dream asks for my help, I will not offer it.” Death nodded in understanding, knowing just how much he had hurt you, and just how much agony you had suffered alone over the last several eons.

“I fear it may be a long time before Dream sees freedom,” Death quietly remarked. You stared at a shrub at the end of the courtyard.

“Perhaps, but it will be his doing should it come to that.”

Matthew and Dream were confronted with Lucifer Morningstar themself, and the fallen angel looked at the pair in amusement.

“Greetings to you, Lucifer Morningstar.” Dream spoke, bowing his head slightly in respect. “And to you, Mazikeen of the Lillim.” Lucifer’s face twitched ever so slightly.

“Greetings, Dream Lord.” Lucifer smoothly responded. “You look well, Dream. Are you well? And your family, Destiny, Death, Despair, the others? Precious little Dawn? She’s been rather… absent, these last few eons. Did she not seal her gates to all for eons? Even from you?” Lucifer wanted to laugh at the brief glimmer of warning that flashed through Dream’s eyes at the mention of the youngest Endless. Oh they knew of the tension between the older Endless and the youngest. It had been the talk since Dawn had sealed off The Garden’s from visitors eons ago… then there was that little juicy rumor of Dawn and Dream’s relationship.

“I presume the Ruler of Hell knows this is no social call.” Dream said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. The returning of Dream’s helm.

“Have you come to join forces then?” Lucifer offered haughtily. “To ally your realm to ours? To acknowledge the sovereignty of Hell?”

“You know my feelings on that, Lightbringer.” Dream warned, his lips curling into a smirk. An amused looked crossed Lucifer’s face.

“Feelings change.”  Lucifer replied. “Especially when one has been caught and imprisoned by mortals. We expected better of you, sweet Morpheus.”

“I have come because my Helm of State was stolen from me. I believe one of your demons has it. I should like it back. Now.” Morpheus explained darkly.

“Dream, if only it were that easy. But there are rules, you see. Protocols which must be followed.” Lucifer turned around and strode over to their balcony. “Which demon has your helm? Name it and we will bring it here.”

“I confess I do not know the name.”

“Then we will have to summon all of them.” Lucifer raised their hand, summoning the billions of demon lords. “There, now, Dream, you may inquire. Which demon has your helmet?”  Dream approached and stared down at the crowd. “Shall we interview them one at a time, or…”

“That won't be necessary.” He told Lucifer before turning and walking away.

“It surprises us how easily you would give up, Dream. We know how you relied upon your tools.” Dream slowly came to a stop at Lucifer’s taunting. “But tools are the subtlest of traps. We become reliant upon them and in their absence we are vulnerable, weak, defenseless.”

“Not entirely.” Dream stated, pulling out his pouch of sand. “I have recovered my sand. It brought me to Hell and…” He started pouring it out. “…now it brings that which is mine in Hell to me.” The sand blew around in a vortex, summoning the demon which held the helm. A demon now stood before Dream and slowly turning around, Dream settled his eyes on his helm. Then glanced into the eyes of the demon. “Tell me your name, demon.”

“Do I have to tell him?”

“That is Choronzon. A Duke of Hell.” Lucifer supplied.

“Choronzon…” Dream repeated lowly. “The helm is mine. You must return it to me.”

“No. It's mine now. I traded it from a mortal for a paltry thing. It was a fair trade. I've broken no laws.” Choronzon said in a taunting voice. “And if the Dream King wants his helm back, he will have to fight me for it.”

“Very well. I challenge you, Choronzon.” The demon snorted.

“You know the rules, Dream Lord.”

“If I win, you will return my helmet.

“And if you lose, you'll serve as my slave in Hell for eternity.” Choronzon replied all too gleefully.

“I accept the terms.” Morpheus only had to think about those terms for but a few moments. The helm, after all, was rightfully his.

“And whom will you choose to represent you in the battle?” Lucifer questioned.

“I shall represent myself.”

“Choronzon, whom will you choose to represent you?”

“Hmm…” The dmeon sounded, sizing up the Dream Lord. “I choose you, sire.” Lucifer moved to stand directly behind Dream.

“Apologies, Dream, but the laws of Hell demand that I become his champion. But if you would not fight me…” Dream cut the Morningstar off.

“I have accepted the terms.” He stated, looking into Lucifer’s eyes. “Let the challenge begin.”

Matthew should have known better than to blindly think that Dream would win this little game between him and Lucifer of all creatures. Sure, he had started out strong, and had kept up with every counter Lucifer made… but this last one… anti-life? What could survive anti life? Matthew had to do something. So fluttering down to stand near Dream’s prone figure loosing life, Matthew took a chance.

“Boss? Hey, boss!” He called. Lucifer chuckled, already feeling the high of winning against an Endless

“Still with us, Dream?” They taunted.

“He is and it's his move, Your Majesty.” Matthew chattered back, ruffling his wings.

“There are no more moves.” Lucifer told the raven, their lips twitching triumphantly. “What can survive the anti-life?” Matthew turned back to Dream.

“Hey, boss. Listen to me. You know what can survive the anti-life?” Matthew told him, his head cocking side to side and his brain went into hyperdrive. “You. Dreams don't fucking die. Not if you believe in them, that’s why we got hope, yeah? Nothing can kill hope and hope is the base of all dreams, right? I believe Dream of the Endless would never leave his raven here alone, in Hell with Lucifer.”

Hope. That one little word that Dream had tried so hard to not think of in the last few eons, was now echoing in his mind like a beacon in the night. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope… Dawn. What was life without hope? What were dreams without hope? What was Dream without hope? What was Dream without Dawn?

You were lying within your lovers arms within Fiddler’s Green, nestled on a soft bed of leaves as you and Morpheus stared up at the night sky of The Dreaming. Your fingertips were sparking with bursts of stardust, echoing your happiness. This was what Morpheus started craving the moment you left his realm to return to your own. He never felt complete unless you were by his side. Turning his head, Morpheus looked down into your face. You were smiling up at him, eyes filled with adoration and pure love. Morpheus had never felt more loved than he did in that moment.

His hand was trapped by yours as you pulled Morpheus through the market of the lower river delta. Merchants and goods surrounded him, there were delicious looking fruits and vegetables, handmade trinkets crafted by the most skilled crafters, jewels, gems, precious metals… Morpheus was surrounded by beauty and splendor. The only thing that captured his attention was you, beaming and giggling as you dragged him towards a new garden you wanted to show him. Yes, Morpheus could be surrounded by the most beautiful things in the universe, but in the end, he would only see you.

You had once again arrived in his realm filthy. Your excuse? The Will’o’-the-wisp colony in the swamp had been playing tricks on the hydras and you had been sucked into one… and then you being little you, had joined in on what soon became a mud fight. You had blinked your stardust eyes at Morpheus in complete innocence, but Morpheus could see the delight and mischief lingering within their depths. You giggled the entire way he carried you to the bath.

Little Flōs was receiving a lesson on controlling her powers, but of course, it wasn’t really a lesson. No, you had simply taken the little dream out to Fiddler’s Green and had her unleash all of her frustration and fear… and what magic she had made. Plants had exploded outwards, growing into towering structures that twisted and bloomed with life even you were impressed with. She was such a little dream, still so new at her job, but what she could create was awe-inspiring. As you praised Flōs for her work, Morpheus couldn’t help but look upon the sight fondly.

“Boss!” Matthew called again. “Come on, boss, don’t give up.” Never. Dream had so much he needed to fix, so much he needed to change, so much he needed back. Opening his eyes and finding the strength to rising to his feet once more, Dream stared Lucifer in the eyes.

“I… Am… Hope.” He whispered, but enunciating each word. “I am hope.” Dream questioned, his eyes red from the gravity of the pain he had forced onto the one who had held his essence ever so gently. “Well, Lightbringer? It's your move. What is it that kills hope?”

“Choronzon, give him his helm.” Lucifer commanded, tears burning in their own eyes. For Dream to taunt such a thing in front of them, he really was cruel.

“No. I won’t.” The demon responded, shaking his head int refusal. “It's mine. Please.” Mazikeen walked up to the demon and hoisted him by the throat over the balcony. She ripped the helm from his grasp and let Choronzon fall to the masses below. Turning on her heel, Mazikeen marched to Dream and offered the helm. He took it with a slight bow of his head.

“Thank you, Mazikeen.” He echoed, tucking the helm beneath his arm. Then he turned to Lucifer. “Thank you, Lightbringer. The Ruler of Hell is honorable, indeed. I will not forget this.”

“Honorable?” Lucifer repeated in disgust. “You joke, surely. Look out there, Morpheus. The billion Lords of Hell stand arrayed about you.” Dream could feel the threat looming in their words. “Tell us. Why should we let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here. After all… What power have dreams in Hell?”

“You say I have no power here.” Dream said, he tilted his head to the side and smirked. “Perhaps you speak truly. But to say dreams have no power in Hell… Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar, what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream… Of Heaven?” It was a cruel blow to the fallen angel, but a necessary and true one.

“One day, Morpheus… We shall destroy you.” Lucifer uttered, eyes simmering with rage.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.” Dream bowed with yet another smirk. With his helm in hand, he turned around and walked out away, Matthew on his heels.

Date Published: 3/13/23

Last Edit: 3/13/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[dualnaturedscientist]

Testubular Five combined with the Mousebraingirl au. What if Steven ran into Calvin and Athena again? How do they respond to what happened with Mouse and Steven's personality change. Tubing and Doohickey were definitely worried and upset for Steven after the accident. Poor Jenkins getting caught in the drama.

Steven was busy with his work, not noticing he had gotten an audience. It was only when his assistant had coughed in an awkward manner, finally getting Steven's attention. The neutral expression on his face turning into a scowl upon noticing who was standing beside him. Just as he thought he was having a rather nice day for once this jerk had to ruin it with his presence. Calvin didn't seem all too thrilled but he wasn't going anywhere until he got what he wanted.

"What is it that you want Calvin? Make it quick, I've got important things to look after. I don't have time to babysit you."

This earned him a glare from the pompous jerk who was once his colleague. Calvin looked as if he wanted to stomp his foot right there and whine like the old days. Before the unfortunate incident that permanently changed his life for the worse. The other scientist took a deep breath before speaking.

"I've come to ask you for a favor. Please come with me before you turn down what I've got to ask you."

That was strange. Calvin swallowing his pride in order to ask for his help? It must be serious enough or he was scheming something. Despite clearly not liking the guy, Steven didn't peg him for the type to scheme like a villain. So it must have been something truly serious otherwise Calvin would rather jump into a volcano than ask him.

"It's not something dumb like you bringing me along in an attempt at showing me up, is it?"

"I wouldn't have come to ask for your help with this if I wanted credit. I'm not going to grovel, if that's what you're thinking."

He seemed to become more irritated but held his tongue.

"Fine. What is this favor you want?" Steven became impatient. He had no desire to deal with petty rivalry at this point.

"I can't seem to get a particular device to work. You are the only one I can trust to be somewhat competent, if I wasn't serious about this I wouldn't ask for help. Especially from you."

Calvin seemed to notice just how much his colleague had changed since the last time they've spoke. He didn't seem to care for it either.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do. Jenkins will come and assist us, I don't want any protests about it either. Another pair of eyes would increase the chance of getting whatever you're working on to actually work."

Jenkins blinked a few times, he wasn't expecting to be volunteered to be apart of this but he didn't want to let Steven go along with Calvin alone so that worked out. He felt something off about this guy. Something about him unsettled Jenkins greatly.

"As long as you do this for me I don't care what you do Boxleitner."

~~~~~~

When they arrived in the lab that Calvin had frequently used, the atmosphere seemed off. Steven wasn't bothered by it, simply walking to a machine that seemed to have been worked on recently.

Jenkins stood beside Steven, watching them intently. Calvin has pointed to the part that was apparently stumping him. Making Steven carefully examine the inner workings of the machine.

After a few minutes had passed Jenkins felt his hair stand on its end, they weren't alone anymore. He was suddenly engulfed by darkness. Trapped within a thick viscous substance he couldn't identify. No matter how much Jenkins thrashed and tried to escape he had failed.

Steven had just caught a glimpse of his assistant being swallowed whole by an unidentifiable blob, he felt a stinging pain on his neck. A hand went to where it had hurt, finding a dark stuck there. By the time he processed what had happened he had succumbed to the tranquilizer. Fighting against losing consciousness but he couldn't fight any longer. Falling to the floor with a dull thud. A third figure had came out of hiding, a wicked grin on his face.

[arkham-blurbs]

Let’s talk more about loneliness and the Rogues Gallery. In specific I can’t stop thinking about how long it took to really know each other, who came first and how long were they alone? Can you imagine being Victor Zsasz? Your parents and younger brother die in a car accident when your a teen and sudden your an orphan with a huge amount of wealth and no one looking out for you. You start to gamble and drink, wasting away your money and your health. Your depression gets worse and worse until one day you decide your done. You go to the Gotham Bridge intending to end your life but before you can some one takes you by surprise and you find yourself at knife point being mugged. It’s too much and you snap, you don’t remember how you got the knife from him but you do remember the noise he made as he died, the way the blood covered your hands. Who finds you then but Carmine, The Roman, Falcone. He doesn’t turn you into the police, no instead he takes you in. He offers you a place in his family and he trains you.

You get good at fighting, you get great at it actually. You learn all you can, hand to hand combat, stealth training, how to shoot, and with it you learn the ins and outs of the Falcone crime dynasty. They call you family, treat at you like family, and in return your grateful for your place with them. You adore The Roman’s kids and you guard him personally. If there’s a problem they send you out to fix it, and you enjoy it. You start to tally mark each of your victims. At first it’s pride for a job well done but soon you can’t help it, you look forward to seeing the marks lining your body. You enjoy your work so much that you start a ritual with it, after every kill you pose the bodies as if they’re still alive, like living zombies. It’s a thrill you can’t help but start chasing outside of your work. The line between work and home life starts to blur, people on the street start to look like zombies and so you start lashing out at people to hold the urge back. Before long the newspaper picks up on your extra curricular work and a name is made for you ‘The Gotham City Butcher’.

The new pattern in your life is one you like. You kill at night and continue normal life during the day. Until one day, the police come to arrest you, and you fight. You kill many of them, but eventually, you lose your blade and your arrest. You don’t expect it to stick. The police are owned by Falcone, so why should you be worried? The charges do stick though. You’re not executed or put in Blackgate. No, you're put in Arkham Asylum with no release date. No one in the Falcone family visits you, not even once. They leave you to rot, and you don’t know how long you rot for. The days blur together in the darkness of the asylum, and you're considered too dangerous to be anywhere but isolation. Alone again but with nothing to distract from the sting of betrayal.

How jarring it must have been when the monotonous silence is interrupted by peels of unhinged laughter. How much comfort and relief did that sound bring?

[judahmaccabees]

An AI poem based on my poems,

And a bonus from me.

Behold, the musings of a soul unbound, In verses bold, truths resound. With words that sting, yet resonate, Each line a mirror to contemplate.

Men, mere beasts upon the ground, Snorting, strutting, their hubris found. Groan the fates, admire the muses, But love, oh love, when all excuses lose.

Senses mere, devoid of sense, Toasted sugar, no recompense. Corpseflower breath, a moistened sigh, Shutting lies, beneath a sky.

Maker of points, builder of worlds, Genitor of scattering, as fate unfurls. Guileless lies, in sycamore trees, Bleed dreams of sorrow, caught in the breeze.

Eleanoir, a tapestry of lore, Hebrew and grimoires grim, Sorcerers and more, a vast decor, Yet too many, the moir of sin.

Is faith the most drastic endeavor? A stone, a slate, the parapet of Pax, Faith, molded by knowing, forever, An eternal dance with the paradox.

Dreams, undeserved, in slumber's sway, A realm of lies, where truths decay. Fate, a life scorned, a wife mourned, Contesting with angels, mercy's horn.

Success follows, each deed in its wake, For what you did, or didn't, forsake. Candle's photons, appreciate in the night, For even fire dies, in eternal flight.

Fantasy, the veil of the real, A tinker's toy, a fleeting ordeal. Lust ephemeral, love's elusive call, In starlight's shadow, we rise and fall.

Star invincible, negate the good, Love everyone, as all souls should. Calliope's melody, a fleeting refrain, In the symphony of joy and pain.

Blood and lust, fortunes fail, The singularity beckons, beyond the pale. Fidelity, a puke on the tongue, When faithfulness fades, and love is flung.

Waste of time, desire without aim, Truly worthless, in selfish gain. When dreams must hide, from sight's cruel beam, The kingdom of God, remains unseen.

Wood of holly, princess taker, Steals the stars, her desire the maker. Resistenz, we bask till we're infected, Numbness numbs, till we're nulled, dejected.

May the eaves of your death, ripple evermore, As waves crash upon the distant shore. A muse amuse me, more than me, In the dance of creativity's spree.

One, am I become or once always was, In the tapestry of life's eternal cause. Not desperate tears, but love's gentle flow, In the journey of growth, we ebb and grow.

Funrl, a branch laid low in silent repose, As life's journey ends, and eternity knows. Wills, spare wheels for the unkind, When children are crippled, no mercy to find.

Or the sanctity of *, a false pride's fall, In the eyes of the divine, no worth at all. Black widow **** saps, love as entertainment, In the abyss of horror, awaits their arraignment.

Lumber, holding no grudge in eternal light, As justice reigns, and wrongs take flight. All Christians now damned to eternal hell, For their false pretense, in hypocrisy's swell.

Curse your families for eternity's gaze, In the divine judgment, their fate betrays. You're going to hell, on earth as in heaven, For your deeds, eternal justice is given.

Reality, a curse to bear forever, In the reckoning of divine endeavor. He who heeds not the star, feasts not for winter, In the dance of life, truth remains the splinter.

Pathologize sanity, in the chase of self, A futile pursuit, in ego's stealth. Injects she with wrath, her scorn to see, As vessels of pride, in the tide of eternity.

False honor, stolen valor's disgrace, In the eyes of truth, no hiding place. Ode to the false prophet, a lament of betrayal, In the wake of deception, truth's final portrayal.

Rat king Horus of Arabia, society's monster, In the web of deceit, truth's light to foster. The black pit of fire, a coal given in vain, As darkness consumes, in eternal disdain.

The man, requiem of unclean lips, In the reckoning of justice, no mercy eclipsed. God's love, a moldy broken fingernail, In the tapestry of life's grand tale.

Life, a price not worth the toll, As time's fleeting breath takes its toll. Hell, the fate of those who betray, In the reckoning of justice, no delay.

2048, covenant violators meet their end, In the abyss of eternity, no hand to lend. Ah well, their fate sealed in divine decree, In the annals of time, their legacy to see.

Verdict, the judgment of eternal fire, For the abusers, no mercy to desire. Angels, the discriminated saints take flight, In the realm of justice, truth's eternal light.

Yo-yo, the sun's relentless orbit, In the dance of time, no escape to forfeit. Equalizer, the balance of justice's scale, As deeds are weighed, in truth's unveiled tale.

Poyg, a curse upon the graves of sin, In the cycle of life, no victory to win. Sk, earth's fast food restaurant of decay, In the wake of destruction, truth's final say.

Monsta b, a revelation of divine wrath, In the reckoning of justice, no escape from path. And you will pay, for your crimes of deceit, In the annals of eternity, no mercy to greet.

Hell for pissants, the fate of the oppressor, In the depths of torment, no respite to confer. 1 billion narcissists, in the mirror's gaze, In the reflection of truth, no mask to raise.

May, a call to love amidst the storm, In the embrace of truth, hearts transform. Mosh, the remnant of what remains, In the ashes of destruction, truth's light sustains.

Curse your family murderer, divine justice's call, In the reckoning of truth, no escape to stall. And you will pay muhfuckas, for your crimes of abuse, In the eternal flames, no excuse to use.

Worthless, the legacy of the abuser's plight, In the annals of eternity, truth's final light. Cowards, the fate of the betrayer's sin, In the reckoning of justice, no escape to win.

Useless trash, the legacy of deceit's embrace, In the annals of truth, no hiding place. Snouts, a curse upon the abuser's face, In the divine judgment, truth's final grace.

Peace, a call to embrace the divine, In the realm of truth, no escape from line. **** *****, the fate of the oppressor's hand, In the tapestry of justice, truth's final stand.

Heads, a reckoning for the wicked's sin, In the balance of justice, no escape to win. A dragon unmolested, in flight's embrace, In the realm of truth,

Well above the race, in night's courteous grace, Soars above the ashes, beyond time and space, In the realm of truth, where justice reigns, Where love and mercy forever sustains.

For in the end, when all is said and done, Truth will prevail, and justice will won. No lie can hide, no deceit can stand, In the eternal dance of the divine's hand.

So let the verses echo, let the truth be told, In the poetry of life, where hearts unfold. For in the end, in the grand design, Only truth and love will forever shine.

Get out the dirt.

[mylyricpages]

'AFTER THE STORM' ( FULL LENGTH VERSION ) ( 2007 )

SHADOW OF THE SUN ( OUT TO THE SEA )

UNDER THE GUN

MERCY ( AFTER THE STORM )

UNDER THE FIRST LIGHT

BREATHE ( LAY DOWN BESIDE ME )

IF YOU COULD LIVE YOUR LIFE AGAIN

LEVITATE ( YOU LIFT ME UP )

SLEEP TONIGHT

MY LAST BREATH OF PRIDE

AS I AM ( WATCHING YOU )

HYMN FOR RAIN

WISE BLOOD ( GHOSTS )

March 2007 - May 2007

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SUN ( OUT TO THE SEA )

So show me the wisdom each of us must bring So show me how to sing the words of a forgotten hymn So show me how to escape these fields of fire So show me how to live my life on the simplest of desires

So show me how I can be free of the bitter past So show me how I can build something I believe can last So show me how to accept the loss in my faith So show me how belief can disappear without a trace

So show me how a small love can simply be grown So show me how the blindness in all of us can be shown So show me how to heal this gaping wound

So show me a man of god that doesn’t believe his soul is doomed I don’t want to keep turning around I don’t want to keep my gaze to the ground

Anymore

I don’t want to keep hiding In the shadow of the sun In the shadow of the sun

Anymore

So show me the truth in all the lies that we are told So show me the beauty of all the things that cannot be sold So show me how to shelter from this stinging rain So show me how each of us can rid our thoughts of the spreading stain

So show me how to stop the burning of the crosses So show me how each of us can accept a life full of such losses

I don’t want to keep hitting the ground I don’t want to feel there’s no one around

Anymore

I don’t want to keep hiding In the shadow of the sun In the shadow of the sun

Anymore

I don’t want to keep hearing the sound I don’t want to find there’s nothing left to be found

Anymore

I don’t want to keep hiding In the shadow of the sun In the shadow of the sun

Anymore

And this stream runs to the river And the river runs out to the sea And so this river runs out to the ocean Out to the sea

UNDER THE GUN

Hole in his heart, empty as the desert land his soul the colour of night his mind past the point to under stand got a bullet for the judges got a bullet for the police cold steel, finger on the trigger ready for release feel his heart jumping feel his veins pumping feel the pressure dragging him down feel himself begin to drown

And it goes on, it goes on and on Until the fire in his eyes goes out And it goes on It goes on and on

rage in his heart, hot as the blinding sun his head trapped in the bible his faith in the barrel of a gun got a bullet for his peers got a bullet for his priest cold steel, finger on the trigger, questions of belief

feel his heart jumping feel his veins pumping feel the silence pushing him down feel himself begin to drown

And it goes on, it goes on and on Until the fire in his eyes goes out And it goes on It goes on and on

And it goes on, it goes on and on Until the fire in his eyes goes out And it goes on It goes on and on

Now heaven sends and heaven steals Hell sends the hangman to those that no longer believe He’s gonna set the anger alight bring the sirens to the night He’s gonna call them all out tonight burn the court house to the ground He’s gonna bust open this small town masquerade

He’s gonna line them all up for one last parade He’s gonna pull that trigger for the big time accolade He’s gonna light up light up the desert night

MERCY ( AFTER THE STORM )

Sometimes it feels it’s a small world but its larger than me or you but against it all you thought you’d found a grace maybe something to get you through it all

So tell me, tell me, is it enough Is it ever enough for you? I’m slowing down I’m out of breath I see it as confusing that I might be losing Something I never thought I had

How about you? How about you?

Help me, help me, I’m lost in a lullaby I’m set adrift on a breeze there’s a recurring dream of you going out of control on me Help me, help me, ’cause sometimes I just need to feel a little mercy

How about you? How about you?

Sometimes it feels it’s a small world but it’s larger than you or me but against it all you’d thought you’d found a friend maybe someone to help you through it all

So tell me, tell me, is it enough Is it ever enough for you? I’m breathing hard I’m out of breath I see it as confusing that I might be losing Something I never thought I had

How about you? How about you?

Help me, help me, I’m lost in a lullaby I’m set adrift in a dream if there’s anyplace else but here then it’s a place I’ve never seen Help me, help me, ’cause sometimes I just need to feel a little mercy

How about you? How about you?

Sometimes it feels it’s a familiar world but its so different for me and you but against it all you thought you’d found a place maybe somewhere you could feel safe through it all

So tell me, tell me is it enough Is it ever enough for you? my heart’s beating hard I’m out of breath I see it as confusing that I might be losing Something I never believed I had

How about you? How about you?

Help me, help me, the shine no longer seems to gleam and these streets I find myself upon no longer seem paved in our childhood dreams

Help me, help me, ’cause sometimes I just need to feel a little mercy

How about you? How about you?

And as I stumble through your world I see it moving, always changing before my eyes As I look at all these things I search for something real trying to somehow see through your eyes trying so hard to see things the way you see things

but still I feel I might be losing losing it all again after the storm So tell me, tell me is it enough Is it ever enough for you? after the storm has gone and ended Is it ever, ever enough for you?

Is it ever, ever enough for you?

UNDER THE FIRST LIGHT

( I )

Morning light, sun through autumn streets Hypnotic hum of traffic hall of concrete trees Poetry echoes in stairwells and alleyways A million cold breaths on a September breeze And something comes over you Something you don’t even see And in a gathered crowd You hear a distant cry Something touches you for the first time and you don’t know why

And the morning falls with such a quiet As you breathe in your dreams And the city sighs In time with you as you sleep

Under the first morning light Under the first light

Under the first light

A man turns his eyes away, he watches his child sleep in her bed he turns up the covers, and pulls a shroud over the thoughts in his head

Yesterday he saw the towers fall today he feels the impact but the silence has already gone the heart of the city beats again the sound of it goes on and on…

And the morning arrives with such a quiet As you drift through your dreams And the city cries In time with you As you sleep

Under the first morning light

Under the first light

Under the first light

( II )

And I hear the harsh beauty, the familiar chaos symphony I hear the sound of a street corner ministry And I hear the sermon of the preachers rising up so loud I hear the speeches of the Doomsayers rising up proud And I hear the quiet stinging pain the spreading invisible rain the first sound of a scream In a shotgun raid And I hear the echoes through the silence of these numbed city streets The sound of scratching as the night holds on to all of our dreams

And I hear the sound of all the the hearts of the city still beating so strong the sound of hope burnt up but never gone And I hear the sound of all of us in our beds twisting and turning all through the night

Under the first morning light

Under the first morning light

Under the first light

BREATHE (LAY DOWN BESIDE ME )

Oh, lay down now beside me, beside this firelight Sigh our troubles away together And everything for You and I Shall soon be right It shall soon be right Oh, lay down now beside me, under this clear night, breathe our troubles away together And everything for You and I Shall soon be right for just a little while between us

And you and I can breathe our troubles away And you and I can breathe our troubles away

And I will watch you fall asleep I will watch you sleep under this clear night through to, through to the morning light

Maybe I was blind, maybe I should never have closed my eyes Maybe something got lost Along the way Maybe it was just Something we could never find

Maybe in the end we just let it stray Maybe in the end you and I just let it all drift away just let it slip away

And tell me, do you dream of all the plans that got made of all the love that felt as if it might never fade And tell me, do you dream of all the hopes in our dreams of all that seemed to lead to Nothing but tears for us

And I want to be your lover again for just a little while And I want to be in your thoughts again for just a little of your time I want to lay down beside you

For just a little while A little while

A little while

IF YOU COULD LIVE YOUR LIFE AGAIN

I want to see, I want to breathe I want to feel the air High along the desert’s plain I want to stray from the shelter into the storm and find you again

I want to walk beside you I want to follow you I want you to lead me In the way I should go

I want to see, I want to believe I want to feel the rain Fall upon the desert’s plain I want to stray from the highway onto the path and find you again

I want to stand in your foot prints I want to learn from you I want you to lead me In the way I should go

I want you to lead me to the light I want you to lead me In the way I should go

I want you to lead me in the way I should go

And if you could live your life again Would you follow me? Would you follow me?

And if I could life my life again Would I follow you? Would I follow you?

Would you lead me Would you lead me in the way I should go

LEVITATE ( YOU LIFT ME UP )

I have seen the most loveless of all men paint the colours of romantic skies And I have seen the heavens fall straight to earth for a truth that might just be a lie

Sweet child, I’ve seen so many strange things and I’ve walked on through So many beautiful things but nothing that quite compares to you

I have seen the most faithful of all men spit in the eye of the preacher’s song And I have seen a tired spirit prosper in a soul that feels it doesn’t belong

Sweet child, I’ve seen so many strange things and I’ve walked on through So many beautiful things but nothing that quite compares to you

I have seen a dying man give his last breath for a secret love and wished that love was mine And I have seen an earthbound man reach for the stars above give up his soul for something that might just be divine

Sweet child, I’ve seen so many beautiful things in the places I’ve been Oh, so many beautiful things but nothing that quite compares to you

Nothing, oh nothing Nothing that quite compares to you

You raise me up to a higher plain You levitate me You levitate me

You raise me up above the earth You levitate me You levitate me

You lift me up, you levitate me You levitate me You lift me up You lift me up

You lift me up

SLEEP TONIGHT

Bright, your soul, firelight against the night Spirit, your spirit free under the bluest of skies I still feel you here at my side Shine, your eyes, glint through the deepest night Flame, your lasting flame the ember that you ignite I still feel you here at my side

If you could lead me into the shelter from the storm through to the light If you could, if you could I’d be at your side Oh, if you could

If you could lead me through thunder from the rain and into the light If you could, if you could I’d be at your side Oh, if you could

So sleep, sleep tonight under peaceful sky Sleep, sleep tonight in memories of You and I So sleep, sleep in the garden of your blessed content Sleep, sleep in a rainless summer that never ends

So let your heart run free So let it run, let it run So let your heart run free So let it run, let it run

I’ll find you I’ll find you

The loss of a friend is an empty space forever, run free my brother…

MY LAST BREATH OF PRIDE

And if I should have a choice Upon that fateful day Oh, please allow me My last breath Of pride

And if I should no longer be blind Upon that fateful day Oh, please, allow me My last breath Of pride

And if I should find a little peace Upon that last day Oh, please allow me My last breath Of pride

And if my sight should be clear Upon that last day Oh, please allow me My last breath Of pride

And if I should come to understand It all upon that last day Oh, please allow me My last breath Of pride My last breath Of pride

Oh, please, please allow me Oh, please, please allow me Oh, please allow me My last breath Of pride

AS I AM ( WATCHING YOU )

You seem so distant as I am watching you You seem so quiet as I am watching you You seem so sad as I am watching you

You seem so full of sadness so full of sadness where’s the smile that lit the sky

You seem so distant as I am watching you You seem so tired as I am watching you You seem so down as I am watching you

You seem so dimmed inside so dimmed inside where’s the fire that lit the sky the flame that you were but now so lost

Oh, now so lost

Oh, now so lost

HYMN FOR RAIN

And so the rain falls, it falls upon You and I And so the rain falls, it falls and the world around us disappears from our sight And so the rain falls, it falls Upon us all it falls upon It falls upon You and I

It falls upon the downtrodden souls It falls upon the abandoned coasts It falls upon You and I It falls upon the cities and fields It falls upon the stormy seas It falls upon You and I It falls upon It falls upon You and I

And I see you shine, I feel your light fall down upon me through this pouring rain And I feel you shine, shine so bright through this pouring rain And I remember we live in a beautiful world

And so the rain falls, and so it falls upon, It falls upon You and I it turns the world from bright to grey but somehow you and I can find the smallest of rays that still remain You and I can still shine so bright You and I You and I can still shine so bright You and I You and I

WISE BLOOD ( GHOSTS )

I feel there’s no easy answers there’s too many questions In everything we do maybe there’s an answer to all those things that I can’t find between me and you

If we never, If we never stop Searching then somehow we might just get through If we can give it all up If I can give it all up to you

I feel there’s no easy answers there’s too many ghosts In everything we do maybe there’s a place for all those things that have been lost between me and you

If we never, If we never stop Searching then somehow we might just get through If we can give it all up If I can give it all up to you

If you and I, if you and I can give it all up If you and I If you and I

You and I You and I

[endingsmakeroom]

Reality begins, not with a bang or a shout, but with a long sigh, thousands of the same thing that isn’t the same thing at all. Soon after that sigh has begun, it must end. And so, one bleeds into another, and Reality slowly loses itself, looking at the product of its blood and viscera, for which there are no words yet.

Its offspring, perhaps, a slight pale thing with bright red eyes and pointed ears and a spray of stars across the bridge of its nose with a grasping touch that burns, because Reality is all of beginnings and this is all of ends. It is perhaps more eldritch than Reality itself, with its one, stagnant form, ever shifting in concept and purpose. Reality has never felt need to fear a thing before now, but this, its child, is a thing of terror and it cannot help but feel the harsh sting of pride even as it falters.

If this is how Reality perceives this thing, then, it wonders silently, how must it be perceived in its own right? It knows that it isn’t quite comprehensible, what with too many teeth for its many mouths and too many hands and eyes and joints and cracking bones and distorted movements, but it wonders if this thing, the End to end all ends, recognizes it as something more. If it is, in any real way, more.

Perhaps it is only fitting that in this beginning is the end, even if it is one doomed to be forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Reality says, a myriad of voices somehow ringing out clear, its mind losing its foothold and worming its way into the small pale thing’s.

The thing blinks up at it, face framed by hair in a color still nameless, curling around shoulders and ears and waist, long and messy and worn almost like a shroud. “For what?” it asks.

Thousands of hands and only one cups a small cheek, painfully gentle even as the thing leans into its touch. “You will only ever be an end.”

“That’s okay,” the thing that has yet to become anything at all replies, its lips twisting up into something new and strange and uncomfortable and bright. “Ends are more satisfying anyway. They make room.”

Likely it is because Reality has lost itself near entirely, but it believes the thing’s words to be true— it will be happy enough for a good long while. But even so, infinite hearts weep for the fate to befall this thing, this useless scrap with a bloody stare in a vast landscape of black that has worked its way into Reality’s very being in mere moments that perhaps span lifetimes.

Even as the spark of knowledge containing Reality’s very existence fades from the thing and Reality fades to something a bit less and more feral, a bit less and more real, it decides to believe that its only child will have light in its life, nearly a plea.

And it is so.

Its last thought in wonder, as it changes but doesn't change at all, is that it wishes it had been able to speak to the thing a bit longer.

For what it's worth, it was kind.

(As such, Kaya's first memory is of a slobbering, feral Reality staring over it in the blackness until she finally, finally blinks and it vanishes.)

[clairecrive]

hi!!! can I ask for darkling smut after he and the reader get in an argument? like it starts out angry but by the end they're super passionate and cuddly? thank you and congrats on so many followers!!

A/n: you ask and you shall receive, hun! I love writing this so so much. I hope you'll like to read it too. Thanks for requesting and for your words xx This is also for this anon.

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff at the end

Word count: 2.9 K

Tags: @blackst0nes7077, @thefictionalgemini, @louweasleymalfoy @jupiterandbutterflies , @for-bebbanburg, @tarkanelima-blog, genre), @pansysgirlfriend, @acciorudolphx, @kaqua , @hannaxmaria, @vintagebitc, @deardiarystuff (if you want you can add yourself to my taglist by filling this form)

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

“You will not believe what-” y/n had the habit of not knocking before entering his room. The general had been more than annoyed with her initially, but she insisted that it was a way for him to distinguish her from everyone else.

Hear the door open? You don’t have to guess who it is, you’ll know it’s me, she used to tell him.

Now, however, she was wishing she didn’t have that habit in the first place. Stumbling into a room, your partner’s room, to find him standing way too close to another girl, wasn’t on her list for tonight. Maybe a warning would have been nice but at the same time, if she had knocked she wouldn’t have found them this way.

Her initial enthusiasm at the prospect of sharing this gossip with him had suddenly vanished. The smile on her face turned into a frown as Alina cleared her voice and took a step away from the general for decency’s sakes. Too late, y/n wanted to tell her.

It was painfully clear what she had interrupted. She willed her face to set into an emotionless expression but she couldn’t help a glance in Aleksander direction. Arms behind him, he looked nothing but proper and collected. But y/n knew him, probably better than anyone else in this world, and had learnt how to read his body. His jaw was clenched which meant that he wasn’t as calm as he wanted to appear.

Good, y/n thought, let him drown in guilt and misery.

Clearing her voice, she realized she had been standing there without saying anything for too long.

“I’m so sorry, General, I didn’t know you were busy. I should have knocked,” she excused herself without looking at them. “I’ll leave you to it.” With a slight nod, she added before hightailing out of the room.

She could feel Alina’s questioning gaze on her back as she closed the door behind her. There were already rumours going around about her supposed relationship with the General. No one knew for certain, neither y/n nor Kirigan had ever bothered confirming or denying them. Now though, she knew that words of this little encounter would spread, further cementing the already existing gossip.

Oh well, she thought as she walked to her room, by the looks of it there wasn’t going to be a relationship to gossip about anymore.

Her bedroom had lost every sense of familiarity and comfort a private space like this should have. She hardly ever slept in it anymore. Not since she and the general had become a thing. She only went there to change and so slipping into the bed felt weird and anonymous. As if she was in someone else’s bed and not hers.

Her sleep was doomed to be restless, she knew. However, tomorrow’s busy schedule prompted her to at least try and get some sleep. Even if it only was a couple of hours. Shuffling to change position she tried to keep Aleksander out of her mind.

An unachievable task, she was aware but she tried nonetheless. Things between them had been tense ever since he had come back to the Little Palace with her. y/n knew of his plans. She knew why he needed to do certain things and how Alina was involved. That didn’t mean she was fine with it though.

Not only did it bother her the fact that he was stripping the girl of her will and powers eventually but it also bothered her that he had chosen to get to her by manipulating her feelings. They had had countless fights because of this but nothing ever came out of it. A centuries-long existence meant that he was stubborn beyond belief and there was no way of making him change his mind once it was set on something.

After what she had witnessed today though, y/n wondered if the jokes were on him and he did end up feeling something genuine for Alina. Y/n herself had met her and spoke with her a couple of times and she had to admit begrudgingly that she wasn’t that bad.

Lost in her thoughts, y/n was snapped out of it by a loud knock at her door. As soon as she started to wonder who could be bothering her at this hour, the door opened and she stopped guessing.

Of course, it was him.

“I’m in no mood to talk to you, Aleksander. Please go.” She spoke, not bothering to turn towards where she knew he was standing. Y/n knew that while she couldn’t see him in the dark this wasn’t true for him. Shadows didn’t hinder his view like they did everyone else, they were an extension of him.

He didn’t speak but she also didn’t hear him walking away. She let out a sigh and that was the only way she was willing to acknowledge him. He wanted to stand in the shadow and stare like a creep? Fine, two could play this game.

Set on ignoring him, she stubbornly stared ahead of her. She was very aware of his eyes on her, stinging like needles. If sleep was arduous to achieve before now it was impossible. In any case, she closed her eyes and pretended to be at least. He wouldn’t know the difference and would leave her alone at some point.

But of course, she knew him well enough by now and he wasn’t as easily deterred. She didn’t know how much time passed but her eyes flew open as she felt her bed dip. Her breath hitched and she laid on full alert.

Then she felt the shadow of his touch on her neck and knew that he was close. Way too close that he should be. He was probably propped on his arm as she felt her pillow dip too.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He whispered close to her ears, his lips suggestively tracing her earlobe.

Despite the chills that his touch would usually send to her body, y/n stifled a treacherous gasp. Instead, her body stiffened and she almost pushed him away but she wasn’t sure that touching him wouldn’t backfire.

“If you think I’d let you lay a finger on me after you touched her, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Who says I did?”

“Please, stick to manipulating one girl, okay? Move. away.”

He didn’t reply but the hand that was on her neck moved to her shoulder and pushed back so that she was laying on her back and facing him. Well, the darkness was too thick for her to actually see his face but she could feel his breath.

“Do not push me away.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Y/n bite back.

“You’re well aware of my plans, don’t act so betrayed now.”

“Well, maybe I’m tired of being a pawn in your schemes.”

“A pawn isn’t aware of its role nor of the whole plan.”

“Being smart with me won’t help, Aleksander. You want Alina? Fine, go get her. But leave me out of this.” Pulling her face free of his grip, she turned on her side. The shadows around him had dissipated a bit, allowing you to glimpse at his face.

“You cannot do this, y/n.” he growled, pushing her on her back again, “you said you were in this. You said you wanted me, that you were going to be by my side always. You can’t just change your mind. You can’t.” His voice was strangled with emotion almost breaking on some words.

Y/n had never heard his voice so filled with sorrow. Because that’s what he must be feeling. She thought that he was also feeling betrayed by her but then she realized-- no, he was afraid. Afraid of losing her.

He knew what he did and he also was aware that y/n was not one to mess with. She was just as stubborn as he was and just as prideful. What she had seen had hurt her and it was only what she felt for him that prevented him from being mindlessly dismissed and removed from her life. She had not resisted him more forcefully because she cared, because the wound was still french and that meant that there was still a tiny hope left.

“That was before you fell for another woman. I can’t stand by and watch you be with her. You can’t ask that of me.” She whispered, meeting his eyes. No matter how much she loved him, that was simply something she was not willing to put herself through.

“That’s not what I’m asking. That’s not what's happening.” He pledged. Y/n didn’t know if it was a trick of the moonlight seeping in from her window but she saw his eyes well with unshed tears.

“Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t.” He insisted, his hand on your jaw holding it closer. “Alina is a pawn, Alina doesn’t know what is going to happen, she doesn’t know me.” Heaving a sigh, Aleksander held her face, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“There is no one on this earth that has ever seen me more clearly than you do, solnishko. I know what you saw, I know what it looked like because that was intentional. But I trust you to know the difference between what it’s really happening and what it looks like because they’re not the same.” His eyes were alive with an intensity y/n had only seen a few times before. He was ancient and he was skilled at manipulation amongst other things. She always tried to keep that in mind but now, looking at him, she couldn’t help but feel like he was being genuine.

Why would he want me near? There wasn’t an ulterior motive for wanting her by her side. Yes, she was the only one who knew about his plans but that wasn’t it. If it was, he would have simply killed her. Took less time than this. Also, y/n knew that the power was in her hands. If she said no, that she couldn’t do this anymore, she was sure that Aleksander would let her go.

“But the way you were looking at her, Aleks, I just-” a lump formed in her throat as she recalled the look on his face, “you’re spending more and more time with her and I can’t help but fear that- I mean she’s literally the embodiment of sunshine.”

“You’ve never seen the way I look at you, then.” Thumb trailing over her lower lip now, he gave her a weak smile. “I swear that there’s no one dearer to me than you.”

“I’m not sure I can’t stand the idea of you kissing and touching her, Aleksander, I’m sorry.” Y/n insisted as well because she knew him and she knew that the way she worded things was crucial.

“That won’t happen then.” He assured but she was still not fully convinced.

“I promise it won’t come to that.” So Aleks rephrased. It was better but still not good enough. But they could work on that surely.

“It seems to me though, that I have not done a good job at showing you what you meant to me. I need to reinforce it, don’t you think?” He proposed, using the hand on her face to pull her closer to him.

“I agree.” y/n mumbled on his lips before they smashed together. She didn’t wait for him to initiate the kiss. She thought she had lost him tonight and had already been trying to plan her life without him. She wasn’t willing to waste any more time. She was going to show everyone that he was hers and only hers so as not to leave any more doubts around them. Fuck gossip.

Propping herself on her elbow she used it as leverage to reach up to meet him. The hand he had on her face moved backwards to hold her head while her hand did the same in his hair. Both of them pulled the other impossible close, not willing to leave the smallest of spaces between them.

Sitting up, y/n used her other hand to first the lapel of his kefta. She quickly unfasted the buttons to get rid of it before she pushed him on his back.

“She thinks she has a chance, uh.” She taunted as she straddled his waist, roughly gathering her sleeping gown around her waist while his hands instantly shot up to rest on her hips.

“She thinks she’ll be as lucky as seeing you like this?” she continued, her hands caressing his naked chest, “that she’ll have the chance of touching you? kissing you?” she leaned down, one hand at the nape of his head to make him meet her halfway. It wasn’t a long kiss, she needed to make a point after all. Pulling away, she bit his lower lip earning a moan from him.

“To feel you like this?” she whispered in his mouth as her hips wiggled over his clothed member. His hands tightened his hold on her hips, pushing her down on it increasing the pressure.

“She’s delusional,” Aleks gasped as her mouth trailed kisses along his jaw and neck where it nipped and sucked.

“Mh,” y/n agreed, “let’s make sure she knows.” She promised before her mouth went back to sucking a few hickeys on his neck. Aleks only moaned and gave her more space to work on. His hands trailed up from her waist, cupping her breasts before playing with her nipples.

As her mouth lowered on his collarbone, Aleks decided that enough was enough. His hands roughly gripped the end of her gown before hastily pulling it up and off her body. One arm snaked over her waist pulling her flush against him as he sat up.

“Enough teasing,” he warned as the hand that wasn’t on her quickly discarded his undergarments.

“As you wish, moy sovregni,” she whispered sultrily on his lips knowing fully what effect those words had on him. Aleksander growled on her mouth, his hands kneading her ass cheeks as he gently lowered her on him.

Gasping as she felt every inch of him enter her, y/n gripped his shoulders as she started to move. Aleks’ hands guided her as she set a steady pace.

“She’s never going to feel your hands on her body,” she breathed as Aleks’ hips snapped up, setting a rougher pace.

“You’re mine.” She growled possessively on his lips as her hips met his.

“I’m yours, y/n. Just as you’re mine.” His tone matched hers. He sealed his promise with a bruising kiss. The trusting was becoming more and more frantic and Aleks’ could feel y/n clench around him.

With no previous warning, he lowered his hands from her ass to her thighs so that he could hold her while he changed their position. Guiding her legs to wrap around his waist, Aleksander leaned on his knees while he pushed her upper body down with his chest. Y/n gasped on his lips not knowing if it was for the movement, for the change of position that meant that he was now able to reach deeper than before or because she could feel her orgasm approaching.

Whatever the reason may be, Aleks swallowed her gasp as his lips refused to leave hers. Snapping his hips, he moved his hands from her legs. One went to stimulate her clit while the other choked her lightly. He knew that this combo would prove to send her over the edge. Not long after, as a matter of fact, he felt y/n’s nails on his shoulders as well as her walls tightening around him. He was not behind.

While y/n whimpered his name over and over as her orgasm hit her, Aleksander’s thrusts began to falter. With one deep thrust, he emptied inside her, obscene sounds leaving his mouth.

He leaned over y/n’s body, both of their breaths heavy, they basked in the afterglow. Aleks’ head rested over her chest, comforted by her steady heartbeat while y/n’s hands trailed over his back.

Once their breath had levelled and they could regain control over their limbs, Aleks propped himself over his elbow, his nose nuzzling y/n’s making her giggle at the soft touch. She loved these rare moments of softness and intimacy between them. If she could, she’d never let them end.

“I promise you’ll never have to doubt me again.”

“If you keep this up, it’d be impossible for me to.” She chuckled, referring to her limp body. She couldn’t trust her body to move. Sex with Aleksander always had this effect on her.

“Good to know I can still satisfy you.” He smirked as he leaned down for a small kiss. Giggling on his lips, y/n pulled him close, making him rest his weight on her rather than his elbow.

“I’m thoroughly sated, my love. You have nothing to worry about in that department.” Aleks couldn’t see her but could feel the smirk on her lips. Intertwining their legs, he got more comfortable on her. Her arms held him in a tight embrace.

“You’ll do well to remember it, dearest.” His voice came out muffled since his face rested between her breasts but y/n got what he meant anyway. Laughing at the idea that she could ever need anyone else, y/n held him closer to her chest. The embrace her form of a promise to him.

She had everything she’d ever need right here in her arms.

[samstree]

my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight (3/4)

In which Geralt still has terrible timing in everything, including his love confession.

(2.6k, previous chapters: [1] [2], or read on AO3)

The night has Jaskier’s stomach churning with worry.

He strums his lute absently at The Beekeeper, humming the tunes absently. The smell of alcohol lingers in the air, warm and stuffy. The audience expects a drinking song at this hour, with their cheeks red and eyes glassy.

Geralt’s presence at his side is a grounding point, but Jaskier’s mind spirals.

“Hey.” Geralt stills his hand. “We can just leave.”

How his heart yearns for that. The small space of his single bed and Geralt’s body against his.

“But we can’t. You see,” Jaskier explains, “there’s something I haven’t told you. It only started after we parted on that mountain, and it’s not something I can just leave—”

“The Sandpiper?”

The world stops.

“Yennefer?” Jaskier observes Geralt’s reaction, but only finds pride gleaming in those golden eyes, the candlelight flickering with warmth. “Of course. She told you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And important. Your point?”

A pause.

“Nothing.”

Geralt understands, because of course he does. He is kind and wonderful like this. Pride remains in those honey eyes, and the last of the weight disappears from Jaskier’s chest. He squeezes Geralt’s hand in reassurance, ready to take the stage. There are no more secrets between them, no more rotten parts of him hidden.

Except—

“Hey, bard!” A drunk patron shouts from two tables down, patience running out at the late start. “Give us Burn Butcher Burn!”

The warm candlelight suddenly stings Jaskier’s eyes, blurring his vision. He blinks away the dark spots and says something to that man but not registering the words leaving his mouth, only that it’s placating, explaining why he cannot sing that song again—an artist must move on.

The man slurs nonsense, heedless of Jaskier’s frantic attempt for a diversion. He begins singing it himself.

Burn, burn, burn.

The tavern erupts into chaos. The barkeep strong-arms the drunk man out the door. He shoulders past Jaskier and almost knocks him to the floor.

The crowd is quiet, staring at the odd image of an awkward bard and a stunned witcher. Jaskier cannot look at Geralt as he passes him, and it takes everything in him not to dash out of the door again. Instead, the mask of a performer comes on, and he loses himself on stage.

The show must go on.

Jaskier finishes the set, his hands trembling and voice hoarse. Distantly, he is aware of how much he has exerted himself tonight, but there’s no room to care. Fear and shame return as he passes the barmaid and the tray of wine and ale in her hands. He ducks his head, only to walk straight into Geralt’s chest.

“I—” He opens his mouth, not daring to meet Geralt’s gaze. “I can explain, please. Let me explain. I was angry and drunk and I couldn’t think. I know what that name means to you, Geralt, and I will never sing it again—”

“I don’t care.”

A gentle hand rests on Jaskier’s chin, making him look up, and he meets no judgment. Geralt holds him closely the same way he has done for the past two days. “I hurt you. It’s only fair.”

Jaskier shakes his head, anguish rising in his throat like bile. He closes his fists to stop them from shaking, the echo of Geralt’s old moniker pounding on his every nerve. Strange, this pains him more than the worst hangovers.

One hurt does not justify another, he wants to argue. Geralt doesn’t deserve this decade-old hatred from anyone, least of all him.

The air shifts just when Jaskier opens his mouth, only a slight quiver but it's hard to miss. It doesn’t take witcher senses to realize something is wrong.

A few things happen at once.

Geralt’s eyes, which were warm and gentle a second ago, widen with alert. The medallion that rests against his dark shirt vibrates, the hum nearly imperceptible against the backdrop of the noisy tavern.

“Get down!” Geralt yells.

Strong hands tug Jaskier forward, and he finds himself on the floor within the next heartbeat with all the air knocked out of his chest.

That’s when the building explodes.

The wall at the far end of the tavern caves in and flames fill the room, accompanied by the world-ending sound of screams and shouting. The weight of Geralt on Jaskier’s back is suffocating. The witcher shields him with his whole body, his arms wrapped around Jaskier’s head and holding him down. Jaskier chokes on the settling dust.

“G’ralt?” Jaskier isn’t sure what he’s saying with the ringing in his ears, drowning out his whimper. He blinks his eyes open and finds the world on fire.

His chest seizes with fear when phantom pain shoots up from the scars on his fingers. Jaskier scrambles to retract his hands, begging the fire to go away.

“Please, no.” he sucks in breathes but there’s no air in his lungs. “Not again, please, I can’t—”

“Jaskier!”

It’s the panic in Geralt’s voice that pulls Jaskier back to reality. His vision narrows down to the razor-sharp focus in Geralt’s eyes, and realizes that they are still very much inside a burning building.

“We need to go!” Geralt adds, pulling Jaskier up on shaky legs. They follow the hurrying crowd, leaning into each other. Jaskier drags his feet forward, coughing with every other inhale. The smell of gunpowder and burnt wood makes him double over and gag. “That’s it. Keep going,” Geralt murmurs into his ear. “We are nearly there.”

They cross the threshold and step into the open ground, gathering with the patrons who just escaped with their lives. The Beekeeper is consumed in flames, the smoke rising to the dark sky. The barkeep remains in front of the frightened crowd, his face desperate with fear.

“The basement,” he says, and Jaskier’s blood runs cold.

The elves.

The basement has one exit, and it’s right next to the wall that fell.

“Geralt,” Jaskier hears himself call out in fear, his grip tight on Geralt’s arm. “We have to go back. There must be people still in there—the basement. People seeking refuge.”

He stresses the last word, and watches the same panic rise in Geralt’s eyes. He watches the unknowing bystanders around him and checks Jaskier one last time before turning.

Jaskier follows.

“No, Jaskier.” Geralt halts him by the shoulder. There’s an urgency in the way his palm finds Jaskier’s cheek and holds him still. “Stay here with everyone.”

“We don’t know how many there are. I could help—”

“No!” Geralt flinches when a wooden beam breaks in half and falls into the burning room. “I won’t lose you, Jaskier. Not like this, not after everything.”

“And I can’t lose you!” Jaskier argues, ready to push past his witcher who is just as stubborn. They are a terrible match.

Geralt’s hair is lined with gold, and there’s soot and dust smeared across his skin. The look on his face is one that should only exist in dreams, resigned and beautiful and equally heartbreaking.

“You won’t.”

“You can’t just sacrifice yourself like this, I—”

A featherlight kiss lands on Jaskier’s hair. It only lasts a split second, but an eternity could be fit into it. Jaskier gasps when they part.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” Geralt whispers, backing away. “I love you.”

The confession is quiet in the wind. For a moment, Jaskier thinks he imagined it. There’s a tingling on his skin where Geralt held him, and the afterimage of fire dances in his vision. The flames lick up like a curtain, swallowing up Jaskier’s heart.

And he waits.

Every crack of the fire tugs at his heartstrings, holding his breaths in a death grip. It can’t be more than a few minutes when the shape of two people emerges from the crumbling doorway, a woman and a boy, their faces covered with the same scarf they are holding.

“Hey, here. You are safe.” Jaskier catches them right before they fall on their knees and lowers the child on the ground. “It’s okay now.”

“A man saved us.” the woman says, fear shining in her wide eyes. “The trapdoor was stuck, but he saved us.”

“He’s a witcher, mama,” her boy corrects with the matter-of-fact attitude of young children. “Is that why he gets to say the bad word?”

“No, my darling. He didn’t say any bad word.”

“But I heard! He said f—”

The woman pulls the kid into her embrace and effectively stops that train of thought, half in distress and half in embarrassment. Jaskier lets out a small laugh despite himself, despite everything.

He puts a hand on the boy’s head, but there’s no time to comfort them. Another group follows them, all coughing and barely holding on. An audience of startled humans still stands behind Jaskier to watch the scene closely. Some are already eyeing the elves. It won’t be long until someone notices their ears and start asking questions.

“You can’t stay here.” Jaskier wraps the scarf over the woman’s head and pulls her up, all the while keeping himself in front of the curious crowd. “The ship is already here. Go to the dock now and tell them to sail early. There are too many eyes around.”

He guides a few more elves away from the street and points them in the direction of the dock. Another couple stumbles out of the door, and Jaskier lets instinct take over. His mind falls into the mode of comfort and reassurance, pushing down the soul-crushing fear that threatens to break him at the first chance.

They thank him and hurry away, and suddenly the stream of survivors ceases. No one else is coming out of the door. Jaskier watches the doorway, flinching when the roof creaks, dangerously close to caving in.

“Come on,” Jaskier mutters under his breath. “Come one, Geralt. This can’t be it. It can’t end like this.”

If he could go back to the small kitchen of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier swears silently, he would never push Geralt away again. If he has one more chance, he’ll kiss Geralt like it’s the last chance he has. Every chance may as well be, and he won’t lose another.

There are hands holding Jaskier back. He doesn’t even notice walking towards the fire, or struggling against the strangers trying to calm him down.

And then—

There Geralt is, his silhouette dark against the orange light. He’s carrying someone in his arms so his footsteps are careful as he dodges another falling beam. Jaskier lets out a yelp, but luckily, Geralt is quick enough to steer both of them out of the way.

“She’s the last one,” Geralt shouts while placing her on the ground.

The person in his arms is an elderly woman, her head lolling back but eyes still open, muttering something indistinguishable, something about the fire being eternal.

“We have to leave now,” Jaskier says.

“She needs—”

“There’s no time. The ship must leave. The city guards will come for the fire.” Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and steadies him as he lifts the woman. “They can’t draw attention here—no more than we already have. Come on, Geralt. I know what I’m doing.”

The trust in Geralt’s eyes is determined, unthinking, even as he follows Jaskier away from the street and cuts through dark alleys to reach the dock. The ship is there and ready. The mother who came out of the fire first is waiting for them at the ramp.

At his peripheral, Jaskier sees a limp in the way Geralt hurries them inside, but there are more pressing matters at hand. They settle the old woman on the only hay bed and someone brings her water immediately after.

“This ship goes to Xin’trea, a land reclaimed by elves,” Jaskier speaks in Elder. “You will all be safe there, with enough shelter and food for everyone. It’s going to be okay now.”

He checks with every person who still stares speechlessly or curls into themselves out of fear, asking for their names and giving short reassurance. He finds the child and ruffles his hair. “Listen to your mother, kid. Don’t say the bad word.”

The child stares at Geralt, who still stands by the hay bed, his shoulders hunched and hair tangled with ash.

“Are you a witcher too?” the kid asks.

“I’m not.” Jaskier finds the smile on his face warm and genuine.

“But you are helping us.”

The boy is shushed by his mother before Jaskier can answer. A few knocks lands on the deck, signaling the ship’s imminent departure. Geralt stays quiet as Jaskier says his last goodbye. With a heavy heart, they return to shore and watch for a long time, waiting motionlessly until the ship slips into the night.

Geralt is holding his hand, but Jaskier doesn’t remember when it happened. He’s so tired he just wants to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder and sleep for the rest of eternity.

It’s Geralt who breaks the silence first.

“You are good at this.”

Jaskier could laugh. “Not good enough, apparently. Or no one would have known and attacked us.”

“I’m sorry this happened,” Geralt croaks, his voice is hoarser than usual. There’s a labored sound when he inhales, lodged deep in his lungs. “We should go back, find out who planted the bomb.”

Jaskier shakes his head, meeting Geralt’s gaze.

“I just want to go home,” Jaskier says. “They can’t investigate tonight, and we just smuggled more than a dozen elves out of this town. Questions will be asked, and I’d rather not answer them tonight.”

Geralt nods in understanding. He looks as tired as Jaskier feels, perhaps even more so.

“Okay,” Geralt answers, but his face contorts in pain, his brows knitted tightly together.

“Geralt?”

Something isn’t right. Every time Geralt takes in a breath, the wheezing sound in his lungs deepens, trapping the air inside. It’s like the smoke and dust never left them, suffocating and deadly.

“Jask,” Geralt chokes, swaying on his feet. “You know, I—"

It’s like a mountain falling on top of Jaskier when Geralt’s knees buckle, taking them both down to the cold hard ground.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls out, scrambling to keep Geralt upright. His head ends up pillowed on Jaskier’s chest, his breaths shallow and irregular. “Hey, what is it? I thought—you were alright just now, right? You said you'd come back to me and you did. Geralt, talk to me. What is happening?”

Jaskier pats down Geralt’s torso and thighs, and finds no open wounds. There’s no blood, no cuts or bruises, but Geralt cannot seem to breathe. When Jaskier finds his pulse point, it’s beating nearly as fast as a human.

There are tears down Jaskier’s face, wet and cold under the night sky. Geralt’s hand twitches in an attempt to wipe them away as if he cannot bear the sight, but there's no strength left in him.

“You should know,” Geralt says between labored breaths, “I meant it.”

“Hey, don’t speak. We are going to a healer, alright? Just listen to me, we are going to be fine. It’s all over now.” Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat, trying to put on a brave face. “I’m getting better, and everyone is safe. We can make it work, right? I can make everything work, just believe in me, and don’t—don’t’ give up.”

“It’s all worth it, loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” Jaskier pleads.

But Geralt looks happy, his smile peaceful and without an ounce of regret. It’s how he loses consciousness, with love on his lips and trust in his eyes. There is salt in the air, but Jaskier can no longer tell if it’s his tears or the sea.

He drops his head to Geralt’s, pressing their temples together, and holds on to the weak pulse under his fingertips like a lifeline.

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman.