#and they have to rescue him from Dark Sun

[thedemonsurfer]

Hey can we talk about how the very recent SAMS stuff has turned out to be a brilliant twist of audience complicity?

With the most recent eps, its become blindingly clear that Dark Sun has been manipulating or influencing Moon's actions to some degree. And looking back over it, it's really fun trying to pick out the point where Moon started going downhill and being like 'oh, that's how he was being pushed'. Folks remembered that Moon was the first person Dark Sun ever grabbed, forcibly scanning him before sending him back home. Dark Sun outright told Eclipse that he wanted to do something to Moon.

Now Moon's reactions make more sense. The yelling, the lashing out at his family in a way he's never done before. The extremes that seem so Out-of-Character.

But at the time it was happening?

No one was talking about manipulation. Everyone was willing to go 'I guess Moon sucks actually'.

Including the audience.

How great is that! We're omniscient, more or less! The audience is exposed to interactions and monologues that the characters never see. We have knowledge like the exact things Moon said to Old Moon, or Dark Sun said to him. We can go back and reference them!

And yet we were led into the exact same trap as the characters-- looking at Moon and going 'you're no better than Old Moon'.

The thing Moon hates the most! That comparison to Old Moon, the fear that he really isn't any better. Haunted by a spectre of a shitty person that was apparently loved anyway. And you'd think we, as the audience, would remember that, but as soon as he slips up the comparisons start flying. I was doing it too!

And that's why I think the recent twist has been brilliant, because they hid it inside what they knew the audience would assume, like a pill inside some shitty cheese. By tying Moon's instability to his grief, it made his actions seem more plausible, and therefore it was seen as a failure of his character. Oh, clearly Moon just sucks as a person I guess.

We the audience failed the guy just as hard as his family did for not stepping back and going 'waaaaaait a minute', and we were manipulated by the writing into that failure (as, y'know, that's how writing works).

And that's fucking brilliant, 10/10

[leatherbookmark]

our flag means death S2E3: the innkeeper

[jobean12-blog]

Rescue Ride

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1,043

Summary: When you get stranded with your broken down car someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

Author's Note: Just because! Honestly, I'd go anywhere with him haha Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 😘

Warnings: It's fluffy and cute and sweet (other than the annoying car trouble haha)

The air grows cooler as night starts to fall. There’s an eerie silence that envelopes the quiet road. Your car, having made strange noises for the past few miles, begins to smoke, and finally gives up and sputters to a stop.

You steer it to the side of the road, your heart racing as the sky continues to deepen into a dark canvas. You scan the area, seeing nothing but the far-off mile markers and the long shadows they cast against the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly, the roar of a motorcycle engine pierces the stillness, growing louder with each passing second. Your stomach flips and your palms start to sweat.

You’re all alone out here and the chances of another car passing by any time soon are slim. You search your vehicle for something to defend yourself with…just in case.

Just over the horizon you can see the bike speeding closer. The rider flies by and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Now what? That may have been the only help you were going to get. If it was help at all.

You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. Since moving here, you had only made a couple of friends and you really didn’t want to ask either of them to come out and rescue you in goodness knows where.

As you continue to contemplate your fate you miss the low rumble of the engine and when you look up to see the motorcycle slowing to a stop a few feet in front of your car you nearly jump out of the seat.

He’s tall, one long leg lifting easily over the seat until both booted feet are planted firmly on the ground.

Your eyes continue to travel upward.

His tight jeans accentuate the shape of his muscular calves and the thickness of his thighs. A worn leather jacket fits snugly across his broad shoulders and his large hands are free of gloves.

As he moves toward you it’s hard to make out more than this large frame, the setting sun highlighting only his silhouette. However, when he reaches your car window and leans down with a smile, you’re struck speechless.

Long and dark strands of hair frame his face and his sparkling blue eyes crinkle at the corners. His sharp jaw is covered with dark stubble with patches of gray peppered throughout and surrounding a pair of very kissable lips.

“You ok doll?” he asks.

When you don’t answer he leans back to give you more space. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

You shake your head and open your mouth, still staring.

He smiles again.

“It’s ok. I’m ok,” you breathe out.

“Is your car, ok?” he asks.

“My car?”

He gently taps your car above the window.

“OH! Um, well no. I think it’s dead.”

Finally pulling his gaze from you he looks at the small puffs of smoke coming from the hood.

“Want me to take a look?”

“Really?” you ask. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says as he walks around to the front.

You open your door and get out, standing to the side to watch.

He opens the hood and peers inside, blowing smoke away from his face.

After only a few moments of assessment he says, “looks like you’ve got an antifreeze leak coming from one of your hose clamps.”

“Is that what it is?” you muse, trying to sound like you know what’s going on.

“I can fix it enough for you to get to the nearest station.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I can’t have you do that! I’ll just call someone.”

He starts walking to his bike.

“And then you’ll have to pay towing fees. Not necessary doll. Lemme help you out.”

He opens the saddle bag and removes the toolbox. As he does so you notice a small lump in his jacket and when it starts to move you let out a squeak of surprise.

“Oh right,” he chuckles.

He slowly and carefully unzips the leather and reveals a small white ball of fluff.

“This is Alpine,” he explains as the cat uncurls itself against his chest.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my gosh! He’s SO CUTE!”

“Here,” he says. “You can hold him while I check out your car.”

He picks the cat up with one hand and holds him out for you to take. You gently grab him and cuddle him to your chest, cooing softly and scratching his head.

“He’s such a sweetie!”

“I found him about a month ago. Abandoned at a truck stop.”

The shock and disgust are evident in your expression and Bucky agrees with, “I know. Unbelievable right? Thankfully, he loves rides on the bike!”

He gives Alpine a soft pat and then gestures toward your car with his chin.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s take a look.”

You follow, standing closer to get a better look at him and you can see he’s even more gorgeous than you thought.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

After you introduce yourself, you watch him bend over the hood and grab a bandana from his back pocket.

He uses a wrench to loosen a steaming clamp and then grabs the hose with the bandana.

“It can get pretty hot,” he explains.

When he pulls the hose free you can see the leak and watch with relief as he easily contains it with a quick fix.

“This will hold long enough for you to get it somewhere and get it fixed.”

“I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”

He drops the wrench back in his toolbox and stuffs the bandana back into his pocket, all the while studying your face with soft eyes.

“Tell ya what doll face,” he starts. “I’ll follow you to the nearest repair shop to make sure you get there safely and then while you wait for your car to get fixed I'll take you out for a bite to eat.”

“On your bike?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a smirk. “Ever ridden before?”

You shake your head no.

His lopsided grin grows, and he leans in a little closer.

“Lookin’ forward to being your first, doll.”

@randomfandompenguin @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @goldylions @kmc1989 @hiddles-rose

[merakiui]

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

[hotyanderedaddies]

Spending the Night with Your Yandere Vampire Boyfriend

[Yandere! Vampire x Human! GN Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You've been with your new boyfriend for a few weeks by now, and things were developing really quickly. Much faster than any of your previous relationships.

Your new boyfriend, whom you playfully call Daddy, recently revealed to you that he's a vampire which was a total shock to you.

Well, maybe you should've caught on when he'd only come around at night when the sun was down, you never saw him eat any food, he seemed to avoid garlic at all costs, and he was super pale... and he had vampire fangs.

A total surprise.

Either way, you weren't too scared when Daddy revealed his "secret" to you.

Daddy is perfect boyfriend, honestly.

Daddy knows all of your likes and dislikes, and even loves all of your hobbies. The two of you share the same interests in books, movies, video games-- everything!

And you better since he spent such a long time following you around, studying your every move. Watching. Waiting.

Daddy is a pure gentleman, always treating you with the upmost respect. He virtually worships the ground you walk on, treating you like you're his precious treasure.

Because you are his. All his. And only his.

Daddy really seemed to walk straight out of a daydream, rescuing you from such a dreary life of working retail and attending boring college classes. He really helped to lift you up, especially after so many of your personal relationships seemed to have tapered off once you'd started college.

He only got rid of those who would try to take you away from him. Honest. He did it all for your relationship.

So when the two of you were on one of your dates at Daddy's house, he suggested that you stay the night (well, the morning). He had some sleep aid that he could give you to help you fall asleep during the day; although, dating a vampire was kind of throwing your sleep schedule out of whack.

At first, you were a little nervous since the two of you hadn't done anything past making out, but with one look at the eager face Daddy had, you melted.

"Sure, Daddy," you smiled.

Daddy's smile stretched out his handsome face, and his vampire fangs even poked out.

He grabbed you by the hand, his cool fingers interlocking with yours, as he led you up the stairs to the bedroom. You've never been up to his bedroom since the two of you almost never made it past the couch, so you were a little excited--

The bedroom door swung open and in the middle of the room was the "bed".

"A c-coffin?" you stuttered, your stomach falling to the floor.

"Of course, Darling," Daddy chuckled, dragging you closer to the coffin. "I'm a vampire after all. What did you think I slept in?"

"A bed...?"

"But then how would I keep the sunlight off me?"

...oh.

The coffin seemed to be standard-sized (you've been to one or two funerals, so they weren't completely unfamiliar to you), and it was lined with a clean, white satin that looked incredibly soft to the touch.

But it was a coffin!

And your frantic human brain couldn't help but associate it with death! Hell no, you weren't getting in that thing!

"Um, Daddy?" you mumbled, uncertainty drenching your small voice. "M-maybe we could rush to my apartment to use my bed and I'll put up some curtains?"

Daddy's smile disappeared, quickly being replaced with a deep frown. He narrowed his red eyes in your direction, tightening the grip he had on your hand.

"We won't make it before the sun rises," he growled, his voice deep and curt. "Now, get in our coffin."

When you hesitated, Daddy lost his patience, wrapping both of his steel arms around you. The vampire was much stronger than you are, so he had absolutely no problem forcing you into the tight confines of the small coffin.

Daddy crawled inside right after you, grabbing the lid and slamming it down with a bang. An audible click sounded out, and you were trapped in the dark coffin.

You couldn't see a thing thanks to how dark it was.

The coffin was so compact that you could feel multiple sides-- the back pressed against you and was rather soft, but you could also feel the one of the sides and the top touching you. It was enclosed all around you, trapping you, leaving almost no room for you to even move or wiggle around.

You could barely move.

You could barely breathe.

But there was a cold, hard feature inside the coffin with you, and it snaked both of its large arms around you and roughly yanked you into it.

Daddy buried his nose in your air and moaned loudly as he inhaled your scent.

"Calm down, Darling," he cooed. "Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Your heart raced in your chest and you felt dizzy from your panicked hyperventilating.

"It's okay, my sweet darling," Daddy continued to whisper into your ear, keeping you trapped against him. "I know it's a bit of an adjustment, but it'll be worth it, I promise."

He pressed his cool lips against your forehead.

You tried to squirm away, but he was tight against your front and the side of the coffin was tight against your back.

There was no room to move away.

At all.

You're trapped.

"Get some sleep, Darling," Daddy yawned. "I love you."

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[loulovingho]

i know you didn't ask for prompts but if you get a chance could you write something where tommy is in trouble (maybe during the bees chaos) and kinda has to rescue himself? like his helicopter crashes or something idk! sorry if this is a bother!

well this became a whole thing, so thanks for that! Also, you can send prompts anytime. I can't promise when I'll get to them, but I always try.

ao3 link

He was used to waking up to the sound of birds. He had a tree right by his window and, while none of them ever made a nest, there were plenty of birds that liked to stop by for a visit.

He'd worried about it when Evan first started staying over. Some people hated the sound of the chirps first thing in the morning, often starting before the sun was up.

But the first time Tommy woke up with Evan in his house, expecting him to be beside him in bed, he was surprised to find him squatted down and staring out the window.

“Morning.” Tommy's voice was husky of the morning. He blinked a few times to adjust to the sunlight shining in from the open window.

Evan turned to him with a smile. “You have blue birds. I think I saw a cardinal too, earlier. It was quick though. A finch got a worm in the dirt by the roots.” He looked back, nearly pressing his forehead to the glass, “This is so cool.”

Tommy was pretty sure he felt his heart swell twice it's size that day. He's also pretty sure that was the moment he fell in love. He didn't say it then, waited a couple more months for that. They'd only really been going out for a few weeks at that point, but he still felt it.

And it was a damn good feeling.

Everyday with Evan was a good feeling. He loved going out with him, or staying home. Loved to hear him go on rants about whatever research he'd been doing lately. He loved coming home to Evan cooking in his kitchen, or napping on his couch. He loved the texts they'd send each other during shifts. Tommy would often get ragged on about how often his phone would ding. “Are y'all sexting again?” his co-worker would ask with a snort. Tommy never told them that, most of the time, Evan was actually sending him the most G-rated photos of all time, and it was absolutely adorable. Like the one where he was holding a baby duck that they'd saved. Or the one where he was frying pork chops and had to take a selfie with them because they turned out so good. Or the one where Christopher dropped by the station for a visit and Evan snapped a picture with him while Chris was mid eye-roll. Those were his favorites.

He loved the phone calls with Evan too. It didn't matter if they'd been with each other all night, and left for work at the same time, and would be seeing one another right after their shift was over. When it was a quiet day at work, they were always reaching into their pockets to call one another. Sometimes at the same time.

Tommy loved the parts of Evan that Evan didn't love about himself. He loved that Evan was clingy, love that he talked a lot, loved that when he got something on his mind he had to do it and it had to be done right.

Tommy loved how aggressively he loved his family and friends.

He loved the grumpy side of Evan, and loved that Evan seemed to love Tommy's grumpy side too.

He also loved the look on Evan's face when he was about to come. Loved how their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other.

Loved how easily he blushed. Loved falling asleep next to him, their bodies tangled together in one way or another. He loved waking up beside Evan. Getting to see his hair all tousled and the little drips of drool that would escape down the side of his mouth.

“That's a lot of things to love about a person,” Evan whispered into the darkness of the room. “Although I will forever deny the fact that I drool, thank you very much.”

Which, maybe the room wasn't actually dark, because Tommy still had his eyes closed.

He scrunched his face up, confused. “Was I talking out loud?” he asked.

“Mhm.” He could feel Evan's breath on his face. “Do you really love all that about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you should open your eyes.”

That was an odd request. It all felt odd, actually. Because when he and Evan woke up together, Evan always had a hand on him somewhere. His chest, his arm, his back, running up and down his side. Somewhere. But this time Tommy felt nothing.

Well, not nothing, exactly. He felt damp, actually. He felt damp and sticky and hot. Hotter than usual, but cold at the same time?

“What?” He mumbled out, confused.

“I said you should open your eyes.”

“Wh- Why?”

“Tommy!” Evan's voice was louder now, like he had a megaphone to Tommy's ear. “Open your eyes!”

Tommy's head jerked up in surprise, wincing from the sound. “Mmm,” he groaned. His body hurt all over. He didn't remember feeling sick before he went to bed.

But the more he thought about it, he didn't really remember going to bed.

He blinked his eyes open slowly. They felt so dry and scratchy, almost like they had sand in them. When they finally focused he expected to see his clock to his left, the time shining back at him. Expected to have Evan beside him, or cooking some elaborate breakfast in the kitchen.

Expected to see sunlight shining from between his curtains.

Instead all he saw was rocks, mud, and leaves.

Did they go camping? He definitely didn't remember that. And why the hell wouldn't they at least have a tent?

“Ev- Evan?” God, talking hurt. Felt like his throat was on fire.

He was lying on his stomach, but there was no pillow under his head. There was something there though. Something shielding his head from the mud and rocks and twigs below it.

He reached up with the hand closest to his head, the one that didn't feel like it had its own pulse, and felt his head.

A helmet.

That's when it came rushing back to him.

Emergency.

All hands on deck.

Transport aircraft to nearby facility.

Bees?

Bees.

He'd been flying a helicopter to a nearby rendezvous point. Every fire department in the district would be there.

All to fight the bees.

Sounded downright insane to him at the time. I mean, they were bees. Weren't we supposed to be saving those?

It wasn't until his bird made direct contact with the swarm that he realized the severity of the problem.

Tommy carefully unbuckled his helmet, letting it drop off his head.

He tried to focus on all the things that hurt, although it probably would have been easier to take count of the places on his body that didn't hurt.

There was a cold, sticky substance on the back of his neck. Blood, he was sure. His right arm had to be broken. He couldn't seem to move it, but the thump thump thump feeling that came from it was impossible not to notice.

His back was jammed, but nothing felt broken there. He could wiggle his toes a little, but his left ankle was definitely sprained.

Something... something was poking his side.

It was hard to get in a good breath, hard to keep his eyes open, but he forced himself to roll over so he could check his side.

“God!” He exclaimed through panted breaths as he turned, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. He looked down at his side to see a branch, about as round as a nickel, maybe five or six inches long, sticking out. “Damn it,” he gasped out. His good hand shakily reached out to touch around the wound, where blood was seeping out in a slow but steady stream.

He didn't try to pull it out. He knew better than that. He had no idea how deep the branch was pierced inside him, and no clue what it might have punctured.

All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

And the whole situation was almost too much for his brain to take.

He had so many questions.

Most importantly, where the hell was the helicopter?

He must've fallen out of it before it crashed to the ground, wherever it crashed.

His energy was draining quickly. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and wait for sleep to take over. Wait for rescue, whenever it may come.

So, he let his eyes close. Let the pain begin to wash away. Let himself float until-

“I said open your damn eyes, Tommy!”

There was Evan's voice again, shouting at him so loudly.

Tommy's eyes jerked back open and the pain returned full force.

He couldn't stay here.

Couldn't let those damn, stupid ass bees win.

Couldn't imagine the embarrassment of people asking, “What happened? How'd he die?” and someone having to explain that it was bees! Sure, he survived war, but it was the bees that got him.

Hell no.

Plus, dying in general might not have meant much a few months ago.

But it meant a lot now.

Because now he had a boyfriend with abandonment issues, and he needed to get back to him.

So he pushed himself up to his knees, let a groan escape between his gritted teeth, and stood on his feet.

If he let out a yell or two, who needed to know?

And maybe this would be the point in therapy where his therapist would tell him you're worth surviving because you're a human being who deserves to live, not just because you're with someone. But screw that, because if Evan was the only thing that made him get out of this with his life, than that would have to be enough.

He was dizzy, it hurt to put pressure on his leg, there was more blood on his clothes than he cared to see, and he was pretty sure he'd also lost some hearing in his right ear.

He pressed his hand against the wound on his side the best he could without disturbing the branch. A whine escaped him and tears welled in his eyes. He'd been hurt before, been in pain before, but never like this. This was another level.

“Move,” he told himself, voice barely above a whisper. “Just move.”

So that's what he did. He began to walk, or limp, through the trees of wherever the hell he was in the hopes he was going in the right direction.

His body was cold, shivering even as sweat dripped down his face.

His teeth chattered and it felt like his insides were vibrating.

At one point he practically fell against a tree, barely kept upright by his legs that were getting weaker by the second.

He took a minute to breathe, nearly closed his eyes. But Evan's voice stopped him again.

So, he walked. He walked and he walked and then... and then he could smell something.

Not just something.

Fire.

And the world around him was fuzzier.

But it wasn't his eyes playing tricks. It was smoke.

The helicopter.

It had to be.

He picked up the pace. They might not have been able to find him, but maybe they had found-

“He's not here, Buckley.” God, Tommy hated that voice. “We'll put out a search for him but it's unlikely he survived this. Gotta face the facts, we lose people sometimes.”

“Whoa!” Another voice cut in. Sounded like Chimney. He liked that voice. “He's not worth it, Buck. We'll keep looking, okay? We'll keep looking.”

A few more steps and he could see them. Blurry, but there. He cleared his throat. “Look f- for who?”

At least thirty heads whipped in his direction.

“Oh my God, Tommy!” Now, that was a voice he loved.

He was surrounded in seconds, but Evan was first one there. The one to bring a hand to his back and cradle him as his body gave out. He was the one to help him to the ground while Chimney and Hen worked on his body, shouting things back and forth at one another.

A part of him wanted to close his eyes then, let them do their thing, but he didn't. He kept them open, and right on Evan, because that's what he'd want him to do.

*****

When Tommy woke up hours, or maybe days, later, it was in a hospital room. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd fallen asleep, or passed out, but it was clear that surgery had happened at some point. He'd blame the anesthesia, not all the trauma, for his loss of time.

Evan was in a chair beside him, holding onto his good hand, head resting by Tommy's thigh on the bed. Even in his sleep, he must've noticed something change with Tommy because he popped up quickly.

“Tommy,” he breathed out, and it looked like a year's worth of anxiety released in that breath. “H- Hi.”

Tommy managed a smile. “Hi.” His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Let me get you some ice.”

Tommy nearly pouted at the loss of Evan's touch, but he was back by Tommy's side in an instant, slipping a couple of ice chips into his mouth.

And oh my God did that ever feel good.

Evan's hand returned to Tommy's, and all felt right in the world again. He'd hear what all happened to him later. Didn't seem to care right now. He was alive, and he was with Evan, and he needed to tell him some things before he forgot them.

“You saved my life.”

Evan's eyebrows furrowed. “No, that was all you. We wouldn't have found you if you didn't find us first.”

Tommy pursed his lips together, shaking his head. “No,” he replied simply. “You.”

Evan smiled, held onto his hand a little tighter. Tommy knew what Evan was thinking. You're high as a kite right now and don't really know what you're talking about.

But that was the thing. His voice might be a little gravely, and his speech a bit slower than normal, but he never felt more clear-headed.

He needed Evan to know.

“Have I ever told you all the reasons I love you?”

Evan tilted his head, his smile growing even more. “No, I- I... I don't think you have.” There was that blush Tommy loved so much.

He took a deep breath. “Number one...”

[merbear25]

Hello! Glad to see requests are open! Seeing that may I get a small thing for Zoro, Law and Mihawk. I've been having the idea of a devil fruit user reader falling into the water and needing rescuing (I'm very aware Law is also a devil fruit user but that just gives extra angst does it not). Hurt/comfort of course

Hello! Thanks for sending this in. I decided to change it a little for Law's, but I hope you like it anyway 💜💜

Even with precautions set in place, the sea was where the unexpected could happen. Whether a storm, sea monster, or battle taking place, the threat of the water was something you could never escape. Luckily, those closest to you were always prepared to protect.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, headcanons/scenarios, reader is a devil fruit user

If you went overboard… (Zoro, Law, Mihawk)

Zoro: He’d always been protective over those closest to him, so you were no exception. Though never overbearing, he still kept an eye on you. During times of peril, he kept you in arm's length as often as he could. You were capable—strong in your own right. However, there were dangers that automatically made you far more vulnerable. 

That day’s waters were vicious. The waves cascading over the railings gave no sign of the storm letting up. One wrong step was all it took to send you hurtling overboard. A shriek that pierced even during the hurricane-like winds sent the other hearts onboard plummeting.

Their cries for you weren’t accompanied by Zoro’s, but his action traveled faster than their worried calls. Before your limp body had the chance to sink much lower than the surface, he was there, diving in after you.

He was never short of prepared. Even when taking one of many naps, being aware of his surroundings never faltered. 

A watchful eye on everything and everyone, his friends being the ones calling for actions guided by the heart.

He wasn’t one to hound others on things they were already aware of. The unexpected should be expected, and that meant there’d be times when you were made vulnerable and in need of help, just like all the others.

Law: The sea gave no pardons to anyone. Your devil fruit abilities came with a burden that at times felt more like a curse. The calm waters the Polar Tang was cutting through turned dark as the daytime sky transformed into night. With night came more blind spots because of the abyss inevitably closing in.

A sudden wack against the side sent some of the crew members to the floor. Books flew off the shelves and the alarm sounded through the metal rooms. Red lights that blinked in urgency left split seconds of total darkness in your room. Another slam caused you to trip and miss the door handle.

Water started spouting through the cracks, and with each attack against the submarine the cracks grew in size. Your cries for help were quickly silenced by the rising water. The cold ocean held you in a tight embrace against your bedroom floor, yet offering no comfort. An immediate drop outside your room jolted you awake.

It would come as second nature. No thought, just action. You were one of the few who he considered close to him.

Rescuing you, no matter how often, came with some lectures, though. Even if it wasn’t entirely your fault, he mostly did it as a way of expressing his fear of losing someone he cared about again.

Thorough check-ups after such shocks to the system were given, even if you protested saying you were just fine.

Mihawk: Holding the title of the greatest swordsman marked him and anyone close to him as a target. The bullseye seen by the world was drifting casually through the seas, catching the rays of that day’s sun. The rippling water from an approaching ship didn’t even cause him to open his eyes. He was still enjoying the warmth of the sun, but with the supposed enemy drawing nearer, he was left with no choice but to give them even a fraction of his attention.

The captain baited Mihawk, wanting to see the swordsman’s raw power for himself, even if that meant putting his crew’s lives in jeopardy. However, Mihawk wasn’t known for being temperamental, which many of these hecklers seemed to forget. A smooth swing of his sword and their ships sank to pits of the ocean floor.

When a shot was fired at you, the bullet was sliced in mid air. Though you hung around someone whose composure didn’t break, you flinched enough for the both of you. A motion back one step too far was all it took for you to lose your footing and slip into the shackles bound to you by the devil fruit. His challengers were swatted like the pests they were before he dove in after you.

Even his lectures were articulated like advice, which you accepted without protest.

He’d insist on giving you training to help you control these impulses, albeit natural, were life threatening in the wrong situations.

That being said, he obviously knew that once you were overboard, you required his full attention. He simply wanted to offer you assistance to prevent this from happening more frequently.

[riaki]

guys pls consider… lifeguard!gojo bit inspired by a post i saw a long time ago from @/shotorus, thank u sel + inez !

lifeguard!gojo, who signs you in for a pool session and gives you the wrong time-slot wristband because he’s too busy gawking at you with hearts in his blue eyes to notice he registered you to swim for 12pm-2pm. when, in reality, it’s 4pm in the afternoon and the hot sun is slowly sinking in the sky.

lifeguard!gojo, who mistakes your polite attempts to correct him as signs of disinterest; he sees things through romance-tinted glasses. of course he can't keep a wounded pride, and so he makes it his saturday afternoon goal to win your heart. after all, who in their right mind would reject him in all his dashing chlorine scented glory?

lifeguard!gojo, who reintroduces himself all suave and cool and he thinks it's working mid-hair slick-back— until he gets smacked in the face by a stray rubber ball, and his sunglasses go flying. it leaves a red spot of hashmarks on his nose, like the ball was a cookie cutter and he was the dough. but he doesn't mind, because he got to hear your pretty laugh as you pick up his shades and hand them back to him, albeit at his own expense. you even say a cute thing or two about the chipped popsicle sticker on the frame.

lifeguard!gojo, who's unreasonably (and immaturely) upset over the fact he can't seductively rub sunscreen into your back because you already have beforehand. but he's not complaining; it smells good when he's forced a little closer to you to avoid a rampaging train of kids running across the pool deck. he should yell at them, but the smell of summery citrus and sea salt wafting on the humid breeze distracts him.

lifeguard!gojo, who pours every ounce of his remaining energy into gettin your attention the entire time you're there— with loud whistle blows from the scribble-adorned plastic whistle hanging from his neck, grabbing your attention, only to just offer a charming wink in your direction. or, squeezing idle small talk between every lap you swim, teasing you with a lazy grin on his lips from under his shaded lifeguard stand when you complain about the heat of the blazing sun.

lifeguard!gojo, who ropes his poor, exhausted snack stand friend with the blonde hair and dark shadows beneath his eyes into helping him— when you give up on swimming laps and begrudgingly let him convince you into going down the waterslides as if you’re a nine year old with neon pink inflatable buoy rings around your arms.

lifeguard!gojo, who forces nanami (snack stand man) to ‘accidentally’ send you down the slide early— you’re caught up in the surprise, the sound of rushing water and kids shouting and a cicada’s buzz filling your ears— and before you know it you’re tossed into the bottom of the pool by the stream of water, disoriented and panicking until two steady arms fish you out of the pool.

lifeguard!gojo, who ‘rescues you from drowning’ holding you bridal style to his chest with his sunglasses balanced on the edge of his nose, letting you catch a glimpse of his uncanny blue eyes hidden beneath his dripping white hair. his whistle lanyard hangs loosely around his neck, drawing a line down the center of his toned chest.

lifeguard!gojo, who can’t help but double over as he laughs obnoxiously— boyishly when he gets to watch your face flush cherry as you scramble to get out of his arms and fall straight back into the refreshing water with a splash.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s forced to reconcile with what he thinks is defeat when he gets you kicked out of the pool early because of his earnest registering mistake— and in doing so, you forget your ring on the pool deck. it's just your luck— you don't even realize it until the sun's almost set and you’re halfway home.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s cleaning up and getting ready to close for the night when he spots a gleam of silver reflecting the hazy purple sunset, and he recognizes it as your jewelry (even though that was the first time he ever met you). of course he'd remember it— he'd been absentmindedly staring at your fingers, burning them into his mind; imagining how they'd feel in his damp hair.

lifeguard!gojo, who slips your ring into his pocket after trying it on and marveling at how small your hands must be in comparison to his.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s cleaning out the gutters, waist deep in the pool, when he hears your voice again— pretty like birdsong in the spring, dew gathering on the fragile petals of blooming petals.

lifeguard!gojo, who waits for you to come in— the gate was unlocked— and watches as you kneel on the concrete deck, elbows on your knees as you smile down at him. you look really cute, with your hair falling over your face like that, framed by the dying sunlight.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s a little disheartened when you tell him all you came back for was your ring, and not him. or his phone number.

lifeguard!gojo, who disappears beneath the water for a moment— then resurfaces from the pool dripping wet, hair clinging to his face while he acts as though he'd found your ring at the bottom of the pool. "it's stainless steel, yeah? don't worry about rust." he reassures you with a chuckle when you panic; he thinks it's cute.

lifeguard!gojo, who holds the ring just out of your grasp when you make a grab for it, laughing as you almost fall right into the pool.

lifeguard!gojo, who tells you he'll only give it back if you give him your phone number in exchange as he climbs out of the pool and sits next to you, on the gutters, the sound of rushing water filling his ear.

lifeguard!gojo, who, sitting by your side, focuses on the way the pool looks with the lights turned on, an ethereal underwater dreamscape distorted by the incessant moving water. a way of distracting himself from how beautiful you look in the painted sunset.

lifeguard!gojo, who gets his first taste of you when you ask him to face you; you muffle his yelp of surprise, but it doesn’t matter because you taste even better than you smell, a sweetness like crystal rock candy and blueberries on his tongue when his lips meet yours.

lifeguard!gojo, who takes the opportunity to catch your wrist and slide your ring back onto your finger with a quick lingering kiss to your cheek; his lips are a little wet from his earlier pool dip, but the dreamy look in your eyes tells him you don’t mind.

lifeguard!gojo, who sees you out, still riding on the thrill of your lips; the pride in his chest now that he's got your contact saved on his phone with an excessive amount of heart emojis and a (˘ڡ˘ς) next to your name.

lifeguard!gojo, who can't wait for the next time you come back to the pool, and who ignores the angry slew of texts from his boss scolding him for leaving the gate unlocked in favor of the selfie you send him.

you: [ one image attached ]

lifeguard boy 🛟🤍 : GAYATTTTT LET ME HIT PLSPLSPLSS 🙈🙈😝😝😝😋😋🤞🔥🔥🔥⁉️‼️🔞💯💯😼😻💺💺🗽

bonus: nanami gets u two popsicles to share tagging @sugumimi NAOMI I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WERE TALKING AB my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[naffeclipse]

Dance, Detective, Dance

Detective!Reader x Police Chief!Eclipse

Commission Info

Who's ready for some dancing with Police Chief!Eclipse? I had a delightful time writing this darling little fic which was requested by Anonymous. The detective reader must navigate a situation they truly do not want to be in and are ultimately rescued by a very dashing Eclipse. Now, time to hit the dance floor.

———

This is not where you’re meant to be.

The candlelight twinkle of the capitol building’s chandeliers cast the ballroom floor in gentle, romantic lightning. The marble columns of the great architecture build a grandness to the politics and party tonight. Men, women, human and animatronic alike, flutter around the space in bird-like trillings of socialization. The suits are finely pressed and the gowns are exuberant and shimmering. The large, photo-ready smiles mean nothing to you. Though fellow officers mingle among public workers and rich city members, you stand deliberately away from the conversations in a shady nook against the wall.

You must remind yourself to unfurrow your brow lest you stand with a perpetual scowl on your face for the rest of the night. This should not be mandated as part of your job—a charity ball, put on by your police precinct no less. Your time is better spent pooling over castfiles and running down streets to locate criminals. 

You tug at the collar of your formal attire, dark and fitted for a black-tie event. The weight of your gun rests heavily on your hip, hidden beneath your clothes. You wish you could stroke it, hold it in your hands, and count the rounds. The number of bullets inside the clip is branded in your mind, but the routine is grounding. But, your hands lie empty and repeatedly clench.

The night has worn on. This has been your service for the evening. You can excuse yourself on the basis that you’re needed back at your desk to study the recent string of crimes the Celestial Gang conducted. Surely that’s better spent time than standing here, stuck in fancy clothes that do little to make you more approachable.

The door. Your eyes have been returning to it constantly in the last hour. You could piece together what’s been eating away at you about the last rival gang slaying. What are the Celestial Gang building up to? Why suddenly strike so hard and fast at enemies? Do they simply have more confidence or is there something moving in the underground, dark and silent as a reaper?

This is enough. You’re going back to work. You step out of the shadow alcove you’ve lurked in all evening. Shoulders hunched as you begin to slip between oblivious attendees of the charity ball, you keep your eyes on the door. Single-mindedly, you weave towards the exit without seeing one face or hearing a voice in the crowd’s babble.

Someone emerges at the top of the grand staircase to the left of the doors. A familiar figure, tall and lithe and adorned in sun rays, descends the steps.

You stop in a crowd. Eyes drawn up, you stare at the police chief.

Eclipse. You’ve never seen him so sleek and sharp in a tuxedo of deep crimson. He fixes his bow tie with deft fingers, his eyes lifting to the crowd as if he’s lost something. His expression is intent, unsatisfied as he searches for the brief moment it takes for his gaze to swiftly land upon you.

Your lips part for an inexplicable reason. To call out to him. To explain why you’re making a beeline for the door. Say hello before you tell him goodbye. You have no answer. No words slip from your lips as he holds your stare as if you were the only person standing in the room.

His canary yellow optics brighten. His hands fall, softly opening in a gesture that seems to invite you closer. The police chief tilts his head. He finishes descending the steps as you push through the crowd—not to escape the ball but to meet him at the foot of the staircase.

He says your name softly in a manner you consider dangerous.

“Eclipse,” you greet, though it’s unnatural to say his name while the two of you are very much not alone. Yet, the crowd leaves you two in a pocket of privacy, unaware and unconcerned with a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Music pulls on strings, echoing in the air. Dancers begin to meet and pair behind you on the polished dance floor. Eclipse’s eyes briefly stray to the live music conducting the beginning of a couple’s dance, but his black pupils return to you. 

“Where are you going?” He reaches out and touches the sleeve of your clothes, smoothing down a non-existent wrinkle. 

“Out,” you answer, almost shoving it between your teeth. “I have work to do.”

His grin tightens like glass crunching in on itself. His fingertips slip further down your arm, trailing carefully over the sleeve that’s far too stiff for your liking to loosely encircle your wrist. He keeps you in place.

“You are expected to remain for the entirety of the charity ball; the same as every officer in attendance.” He speaks with the firmness of authority.

You narrow your eyes. He meets you unyieldingly. Your fist clenches just underneath his large, dark hand.

“I need to go over the case files from last week. I can’t stand here all night.” You look out over the band playing, accompanying dancers as they step and twirl. The bodies are organized yet chaotic in their colors and energies. A few people are laughing and others are stone-cold serious, focused on the rhythm while others kiss their partner.

“Detective, you can last one night at a social event.” His voice gravels low, almost touching a note of mirth.

His thumb slides down the bones of your hand, caressing your skin softly. A shiver subtly works its way up your spine. You turn back to face him. A stubborn argument crawls upon your lips but you stop short.

The police chief is strangely quiet. No, distracted. His eyes roam up and down your person. You stand frozen under his inspection. You dressed appropriately. He can’t fault you for improper attire but you can’t unravel the motive for his silence. His expression deepens into something soft. His optic lights dust you gently with his attention.

The strange exchange prompts your study of the police chief. He’s never been one to slack in his appearance nor fail to dress for the occasion. There is an undeniable charm to how the tuxedo looks on him. His fingertips are soft against the pulse on the inside of your wrist. The deep crimson color compliments his maroon and indigo sun rays.

A beat passes. Eclipse finds your eyes again.

“You look exquisite, sweetheart.” The note of affection in his tone sends a weakness into your knees.

“I’m not staying,” you say. Eclipse knows better than to charm you—though you must breathe to regain the feeling in your legs. “Even if I will miss seeing you look so sharp and spiffy.”

“Thank you,” his voice is low and gravelly. It echoes him finding you late at night, working at your desk, and walking you halfway to your home. A voice greeting you first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee. A question of concern, wondering if you’ve had enough sleep lately.

He holds out his other hand. The hold he has on your wrist is loose, soft and so unlike the coldness of handcuffs you’ve experienced before. You’re reminded again of his relation to the Celestial Gang mob bosses. Though what happened to separate Eclipse from his brothers and lead them down such different paths eludes you. You don’t pry. You won’t ask him to give it all up. 

He is not his brothers.

“Since you must stay here, we can make use of your presence.” His fingers unfurl. His dark digits and silicon palm wait before you. Like an offer of hope. Like an invitation to sneak away, just the two of you. His optics are lower in light. “Won’t you dance with me, Detective?”

You stare at the offering. A weak stirring begins within you. You tilt your head back to hold his gaze.

“I can’t dance.” You have the bluntness of a hammer. He knows this. He has always known this.

Eclipse’s grin remains unwavering. 

“I’ll lead.”

The music swells to a final jazzed ending. Couples drift apart and shuffle, and others stay perfectly together, waiting for the next song.

This is dangerous. Your hand falls into his. Him leading you deeper onto the dance floor to lose yourselves in the crowd and yet, find all the privacy. 

“Stand on my feet,” he says.

“You’ll regret this,” you warn him gently for his own sake. You fix your shoes upon him, scuffing up the shiny black polish but Eclipse doesn’t even glance down. His optics are firmly fastened on your gaze.

He chuckles low within his metaphorical throat. The first twirl begins, and you are perfectly safe upon his footwork. If anyone notices that you’re not truly putting in effort, allowing Eclipse to lead and put in all the moves, no one says anything. No one truly looks at you. All the politicians officers and city workers are engrossed in their dramas. You almost feel as if you were alone with Eclipse.

The music slips over you. The string cords and the waltz rhythm of the instruments tug you both along. Eclipse effortlessly weaves and carries you through the people, his attention tilted down to hold you in his vision while the room spins at the edges. You stare into his optics. Yellow with pinpricks of black. His smile is softening at the edges, his sharp teeth less visible in his focus.

“How do you know how to dance?” you ask, your interrogation voice coming through full force.

Eclipse tilts his head. A glint in his gaze gives way to something you can’t help but find unusual for the police chief.

“Personal interest and a need to fulfill certain duties a police chief must uphold such as appearing at public events. Especially for an animatronic,” his voice is gravelly.

To be charming and capable in every manner, to have to give even more than a human would in his position. Your hands clench his as he cuts through the space, leading your clasped hands like a wedge through the masses. Your grip tightens upon him. A burn sets in your chest, hot and spitting.

“You don’t have to dance,” you say, “Not with me.”

“I know,” he says softly. His voice lowers. “It’s a shame I don’t see you like this more often.”

You grimace as you glance down at yourself.  “These clothes are too stuffy. Who could chase a criminal down in this?”

Eclipse’s smile is poignant as he remarks, “It’s a very good thing you’re not on active duty tonight then.”

A sound between a huff and a growl escapes your mouth. Eclipse twirls you in a motion that leaves your head spinning slowly until you remember to focus on his eyes. His light is constant through the movement of his practiced swaying. 

You fight the urge to close your eyes and rest your head on his chest. His height gives you the perfect advantage to rest against him. You might be tired. The entire social event has sucked you dry and now you’re stuck in a slow whirl with the police chief. It’s difficult to remember that you wanted to leave only a few moments ago.

“Eclipse, I have to go,” you say over the ringing of the music. You’re getting distracted. You feel weak, held up by him so tenderly. His hand presses into the small of your back as he shifts you in his arms. 

“Would it kill you to spend an evening with me, looking so fine, and dancing?” His eyes burn low. You can’t look away.

“Maybe.” He doesn’t let you loose, so you must grit your teeth and admit, “I dance and wear nice clothes only for you.”

Eclipse grins. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, and his movements grow stronger. 

You cling tighter to him. Held flush against his chassis and fine suit, you watch the room twist upon itself. Eclipse draws you in and out, and he carefully stops to gently set you back on your feet. You immediately freeze like a wild animal set in a civilized place. Before you can succumb to your failure of not knowing a single dance, Eclipse takes your hand and lifts your arm above your head. Pressing your shoulder softly, he guides you into a soft spin upon your toes. You almost stumble. He holds you steady.

Then he takes you by the waist, holding you tight as he dips you low. You’re parallel to the floor, parallel to the police chief's smile as he hovers above you. You both hide below the crowd. The music swells.

His mouth has never been closer. You don’t realize how much your chest heaves, your heart alive in your ribcage as if amid a shoot-out, but it’s him. It’s only him. A smokey-amber scent fills your senses. He’s so close, and you drown in him.

Eclipse gently lowers himself closer. His optics flash between your eyes and your lips. You breathe out. Your eyelids flutter close—

And gunshots ring out.

Your eyes fly open and Eclipse’s optics flare. People scream. The stringed instruments cut off with abrupt notes souring the air. In a blur of a second, Eclipse pulls you back onto your feet. You whirl around, your hand upon your gun and freeing it from its concealed holster. 

The doors are wide open, held by men in dark attire as more shots ring out, thrumming out of Thompson machine guns. Gleeful criminals stare down at the panicking charity ball. You step forward. Eclipse's hand falls on your shoulder, pulling you back just as a politician in a suit dashes right in front of you. Eclipse’s grip tightens on your collarbone.

The gangsters glance around, lowering their weapons. Screams of panic ring out again but the gunfire stops—they have everyone’s attention.

“Eclipse,” you utter. Your finger is careful on the trigger. There are too many civilians. The boldness of crashing a party in the heart of the capital building leaves you seething.

“The Celestial Gang,” his voice lowers. He knows. You both know.

Henchmen step aside and hold open the doors to the dark, cool night. Dressed in fine suits, sharp and oily as finger-rubbed gold, the mob bosses of the most feared gang in the city step into the ballroom. They hold guns in their hands, gleaming cold and dark. Their eyes, gray and pale, and red and black, cut through the panicking people. 

Eclipse is half-frozen beside you. He steps forward, placing himself between you and the mob bosses. His brothers.

Your eyes dart around the room. The people have crowded against the far wall. Other officers have drawn their weapons. You glare down the animatronics bearing the themes not unlike the police chief, one of a pale yellow sun, and the other of a dark and silvery moon.

“Oh, Moon, I hope we’re not too late to the party,” Sun announces. His fingers stroke the trigger of his gun. His mouth curls sinisterly. “It’s so nice to see all the elites of this rotten city celebrating their charity.”

“Look, brother,” Moon tips his dark hat at you. “We’re just in time.”

You grit your teeth where you stand, and glare back.

“I think you’re right.” Sun laughs, cold and chilling against the marbled columns. His attention rests on you, hungry with avarice.

Moon lifts his gun into the air and smiles with sharp teeth. He announces, “We will be stealing the detective for a dance.”

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You're Not Alone (pt 2)

And here is the requested part 2 of vampire spawn!Tav/reader! I'm pretty sure I injected more fluff into this one after the very dark part 1.

Taglist (I guess I could do one in the future): @silverfangmarks @astarioffsimpmain

Summary: You and Astarion deal with the aftermath that is you being turned into a vampire spawn.

After the events of Cazador’s palace, the group quietly head back to the inn, covered in blood and downcast. Astarion keeps his distance from your limp body gently cradled by Halsin, gaze fixed on the ground and disappears the moment the party reaches the inn.

“Where is the vampire spawn going?” Lae’zel hisses. “He is the reason why Y/N is like this, he should be here.”

“Leave him be, Lae’zel. He’s taken the events hard, give him some space for now.” Halsin chides, setting you down on a bed. Your physical injuries can be easily healed with some blood, fortunately Cazador hadn’t gotten far with his poem before the party had crashed the ritual so your scars wouldn’t be as bad as Astarion’s but the main issue is the emotional scarring. Halsin had hoped Astarion would remain by your side so that when you woke up, he could help you but the vampire had gone off by himself and Halsin wasn’t sure when he’d return.

The druid slices open a wound on his wrist and lets the blood drip into your slightly ajar mouth. Your throat bobs instinctively, swallowing the precious fluid but your eyes remain close. At least you’re drinking the blood, that was enough at this stage. He continues letting his blood drip into your mouth until your eyelids flutter and you stir slightly.

“Y/N.” He says. You groan in response, eyes opening blearily.

This place smelled different, looked different. You were in a different place, where were you? You shoot up, eyes wide and muscles tensed, ready to fight. A quick glance around the place told you you were in a room of sorts and the only other person around was Halsin.

“Where am I?” You croak. Your body felt cold, sore and you wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep slumber.

“You’re at Elfsong Tavern’s Inn. Don’t worry, you’re safe now. Cazador is gone, he can’t harm you anymore,” Halsin reassures you, but keeps a distance away to give you some space. You press a hand to your head as memories come rushing back to you. Astarion’s siblings coming for him, you defending him, Cazador appearing and kidnapping you, Astarion’s cry for you, Cazador using you as Astarion’s substitute in the ritual, the pain that followed, the others rescuing you, Astarion holding you tightly in his arms, comforting you…

'“Astarion,” you whisper, “where…”

“He’ll be back soon,” Halsin says, but you can tell he’s lying.

“You don’t know!” You snap accusingly, “stop lying! Where did he go?”

“Calm down, Y/N. After we brought you back, Astarion left for somewhere, although none of us know where or how long he will be gone. He still hasn’t returned.” Halsin raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to worry you after all you’ve just been through.”

“It’s just that simple! Just tell me! Like that!” You snarl, fangs bared. Halsin leans away so that your fangs are far enough from him and you realise what you’ve just done.

“I’m sorry. It’s not even your fault.” You sit back down on the bed, shoulders hunched. “Everything’s been so…much.”

Halsin shakes his head, “it’s quite alright. You have a lot to adjust to, with your new…condition.”

“At least the tadpole still lets me walk in the sun,” you give a hollow laugh, “if Astarion’s ability to do so is anything to go by.”

You smile sadly at the bed beneath you. “Things can never go back to the way it was, and I was so looking forward to doing so many things once we had our tadpoles removed too.”

Halsin remains quiet and you sit there in the silence with him, tears sliding down your cold cheeks. You curl up, hugging your knees to your chest, causing tears to stain your kneecaps. The warmth you once had is all gone now, replaced by a chill that reminds you of what you have lost, of what you once had.

“Are you still hungry?” Halsin quietly breaks the silence, extending his wrist towards you. You shake your head despite the sanguine hunger gnawing at you, afraid of what the act of feeding solidifies.

“Then I will take my leave first. Call me if you need anything.” The druid rises from the stool, sending you a look of concern but leaves you with your thoughts.

You stare at your hands, your cold undead hands and bite your lip. Your new fangs pierce through skin with ease, drawing a little blood and your nostrils flare instinctively at the scent. The sanguine hunger roars again, louder this time. It craves blood, it demands blood but you force it down as far as it can go. You hate it, you hate your new condition. You hate the thought that once your tadpole has been removed, you’ll never be able to enjoy the sun again, feel its warmth. You finally truly understand why Astarion had been so adamant about ascending, the temptation to do the same is strong.

Suddenly, a new scent floods your nose.

“Who’s there?” You call, glaring in the direction of the scent. Astarion steps into view, smiling a little too widely — a sign that he was nervous.

“You’re awake, darling. That’s good.” He moves to sit on your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just been turned into a vampire spawn?” He flinches at your words and you wish you could take them back.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

Astarion quietly looks down, fidgeting. The silence between the two of you isn’t the comfortable kind, the tension in the air waiting for one of you to cut it so you decide to take the initiative.

“What’s it like, being a vampire spawn. Is there anything I have to take note of?”

“It’s…something that takes time to get used to.” Astarion murmurs.

“Well, good thing I have you to guide me, don’t I?” You smile, reaching over to take his hand in yours. Both your hands are cold now, freezing to the touch, reminding Astarion of one more thing he has lost to Cazador.

“Even when permanently dead he still haunts me,” Astarion mutters, squeezing your hand tightly. “How badly did he scar you?”

The concern in his ruby red eyes is genuine, a softness you’ve missed filling the crimson orbs. You turn around despite everything in your body screaming at you not to, feeling yourself shake as you slip your top off, flashes of memories you’d rather keep buried burning through your mind. Astarion suppresses the angry growl that threatens to spill from his throat, hatred for Cazador burning once more and wishes he could drag the vampire lord from wherever dead vampires went just so he could make Cazador pay with pain a million times worse than yours.

You swallow as bile rises to your throat, the overwhelming scent of your blood filling your nose, screams of pain flooding your mind, then the scent you’ve saved as Astarion’s fills your nose as he wraps his arms around you, whispers of love falling from his lips.

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you. I promise you’re safe. Focus on my voice, breathe together with me.” He whispers into your ear. “In…out…in…out…”

Through the haze, you struggle to regain control of your body, tears blurring your vision once more but with Astarion’s help, you find a breathing rhythm and grasp tightly onto it.

In, out. In, out.

When the room shifts back into focus, you realise that the scent of your blood wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Long claw marks decorate your arms, your clawed fingertips stained crimson while the sheets beneath soak up whatever has dripped onto it.

“Shit, I’m a mess,” you whimper.

“Everyone is,” Astarion reassures you, pulling a bottle out. “Here, you’ll need to drink this. All of it. Don’t leave a single drop.”

The sweet scent of blood fills the air as he uncorks the bottle and your hunger growls, eager to lap it all up but you push his hand and the bottle away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion scowls. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death, trust me, you do not want to be starving as a vampire. It’s worse than death.”

“I don’t want to drink another person’s blood,” you croak weakly. The very thought of doing so makes you want to vomit, but your body says otherwise.

“It’s bear blood. I went out to hunt and came across a bear,” Astarion swirls the bottle. “I promise I’m not lying.”

You cautiously take the bottle from him, lifting it up to your lips. You have to trust him on this, it’s not like you know how bear blood smells like as a vampire. Locking gazes with him, you tilt the bottle, letting the sweet liquid wash down your throat. Strange new flavours burst in your mouth but it’s a pleasant taste and sends a tingle down your spine. Soon, you’re greedily sucking the bottle dry until there is not a drop left.

“There, not so bad, is it?” Astarion leans in to give you a peck on your cheek. “Now, your instincts should help but this is the best place to drink from on a wrist.”

He points to a spot on his wrist and lifts it up to your lips, “give it a try.”

You eye him warily and he sighs at your reluctance, “I can’t keep giving you bottles of blood to drink from, love. You’re going to need to learn how to feed yourself.”

“But I don’t want to,” you mumble. Astarion frowns but doesn’t push the matter further, instead he reaches for the medical kit Halsin has left behind and starts to clean up the dried blood on your arms. You let him, silently watching as the cloth starts to turn brown.

“There, all beautiful and blemish-free again,” he presses kisses along the length of both your arms, tossing the cloth aside. “Being…this doesn’t change anything about you, love. You’re still the same person, and that is more than enough for me.”

He cups your cheeks, letting his thumbs run over the skin of your cheeks. Leaning in, he presses his forehead against yours and feels you wrap your arms around him. With a small smile, he pulls you in, feeling your head rest on his shoulder as he embraces you tightly, breathing in your new scent. One of his hands gently rests on the back of your head, fingers running through your matted hair.

“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you, right by your side whenever you need me. That I promise. I won’t let you go through what I went through, I won’t let you be alone in this.” He swears, holding you tightly. “We’ll face this together, side by side.”

You clutch desperately at his tunic, crying for what feels like the millionth time today into his chest and he lets you, ignoring the way your tears dampen and stain his clothes. Instead, he curls around you, wishing he could shield you from the world and the suffering he knows is to come and cherishes the way you cling onto him, the way you so clearly trust him with everything you have. No one had ever bared their soul like this to him, even all his prey had always kept a thing or two from him, no matter how sweet the lies he used to ensnare them.

You were different. You had let your walls down around him, bared your sweet neck at him, let him drink the first night he had tried drinking your blood instead of staking him on the spot and in return he had fallen for you. He let you have his back, let you into the shattered pieces he called his heart and let you see his broken self, hoping it wouldn’t scare you off and it hadn’t. Now you were the broken one and you had let him see it all, returning the favour was only natural but it wasn’t the only reaosn he was doing all this. He wanted to help you without needing anything in return, he wanted to see you smile again, he wanted to…he wanted to show you how much he truly loved you.

He had changed, that much he knew. It wasn’t long ago when he’d have chosen to ascend no matter the cost, but that night when he had seen you bound by glyphs with Infernal being carved into your back, all he could think about was how if he ascended you would be sacrificed too. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, he couldn’t sacrifice you no matter what he would gain in return.

He wouldn’t have needed to consider that if you hadn’t been turned into a vampire spawn.

Years of self-hatred gnaw away at him, reminding him of his failure, hisweakness that had led to this whole mess. If only he had been stronger, faster, better, then maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer his fate, the fate of a vampire spawn. His thoughts tear into him again and again, berating him, a whirling wind of destruction that threaten to unravel him. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, fighting the darkness that threatens to drown him. He doesn’t have time for this, he has to help you adjust, to be there whenever you’re drowning and he can’t do that if he’s wallowing in self-deprecation. Those damned thoughts can wait another day.

A quick glance down lets him know you’ve fallen asleep in his arms, worn out from recent events and he lets out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I meant everything I said, my love,” he says, knowing you can’t hear his words but that’s fine by him. He doesn’t want you to hear his next words anyways. “I love you.”

[powdermelonkeg]

You know what? I'm gonna make a Minecraft movie

This is a plot I banged out over the course of like three hours at work so bear with me.

Movie starts. Main Guy just got fired from his job or something. He goes home to his house, greets his dog, agonizes over how he's going to pay for said dog with this development. Dog comes up wanting to play fetch, has a mcguffin in its mouth. Main Guy takes it and fiddles with it that night.

Mcguffin activates.

Guy winds up in Minecraft world. Spends a day freaking out about everything. Finds a dirt house someone else made and spends the night there to escape the monsters.

There's a map there. Takes that to a village

Meets Alex. She doesn't speak.

Alex is in the middle of saving a village from an Illager raid. Main Guy helps.

It takes a turn into a rescue mission for captured Villagers. The Illagers are hunting for a Trial Chamber with a legendary weapon (the mace).

After that arc is complete, Main Guy has an Allay as a pet and a new friend in a Villager he saved. Gang's all there, all adventures from here on out will be with MG, Alex, Villager, and Allay.

They go to Alex's home base. It's neat, but it's very clear she's not the only one that's lived there.

MG manages to convey to Alex that he needs a way home. And she's got the Ender Dragon egg, but doesn't have the rest of the equipment to get to the End and make the portal home.

Trip into the Deep Dark, ancient city, Warden fight while getting diamonds.

Villager takes the diamonds and makes a pickaxe for them.

They get obsidian and make a Nether Portal. Trip to the Nether to find a fortress and get blaze rods and ender pearls.

While they're in the Nether, they come across the Wither Briar. It's a new biome that's spreading, wither roses everywhere, with a Wither at the center.

They get the supplies they need, but the Wither catches them and attacks. They barely make it out alive; Villager gets zombified.

Rush to a witch to get Villager healed.

It gets revealed that Alex and her friends once took on the Wither, but it turned out too destructive and they lost the battle and several friends. They split up then. The Wither's been terrorizing the local Piglins and spreading the zombie infection ever since.

MG gets up, determined, gearing up and reentering the Nether. Epic battle against the Wither. The Wither Briar dies, the Piglins rejoice.

MG, Alex, and Villager start gearing up to find the Stronghold, with help from the village, Piglins, witch, etc. MG gets a unique armor trim that's not in the game.

Melancholy travel. Alex and Villager are gonna miss MG a LOT, and he's considering whether or not he wants to leave.

Stronghold leads to the End, End City fight for an Elytra.

Final fight with the Ender Dragon, hesitation, then final goodbyes. The group all jumps into the portal together.

MG winds up back home in his bed, in the real world, but he still has his gear and the sword he used to slay the Ender Dragon with.

He gets the mcguffin that sent him to Minecraft in the first place and is about to destroy it. He second-guesses it. Epic montage of him grabbing the things he needs to go.

He puts on a blue shirt and dark jeans. He packs his bag with apples, a slice of cake, and a map. He grabs his dog, a fluffy gray one with a red collar, then he activates the mcguffin again.

End poem plays, followed by the credits rolling.

Post-credits at the end with Minecraft music playing, Steve rolls up to Alex's house as she and Villager are building a beacon out of the Nether Star the Wither dropped. He helps them finish it, the beacon shoots into the sky, then they go into her house.

Alex looks at the map hopefully, waiting for her friends as the sun goes down, but all it shows is hers and Steve's icons on it…then someone else's shows up, just barely at the border. It's one of the other "default" players.

End of movie.

[leaawrites]

It's nice to have a friend

Percy Jackson x mortal fem!reader

Warnings: use of Y/n, mentions of almost dying, Percy's stupid at some points, friends to lovers

Summary: Percy can't let your hands freeze to death, only because he had to make you lose yours in the first place.

Masterlist

Looking out the window Y/n saw the frozen water falling down from above. Their heritage, the clouds, were a dark color of white, however the snow didn’t make the scene dark, it made it comfortable. It gave her a type of warm hug, a feeling she couldn’t forget. A feeling she wanted to save for the warm summer days, the same as she saves the sun for rainy days, and the rain for when the flowers bloom.

The bell rang, signaling that the lesson, and the school day therefor, was over. Y/n sighned, she did want to walk through the streets covered in snow, but her hands would freeze to death in the meantime, since she lost her gloves a year before.

With her hands in the pockets of her coat and her gaze on the floor, watching the snow squish under her boots, while new one fell onto them, she concentrated on the music in her ears. Only looking up when she heard child’s laughter. On the other side of the sidewalk, 4 kids were having a snowball fight, laughing together when one gets hit by the snow. Y/n stopped, admiring the fun in their eyes.

“You wanna join them?” A voice beside her asked.Turning around, she saw her best friend, Percy.

She would still concider him her best friend, even when he started to ditch her every summer for some summer camp he couldn't tell her too much about. She liked the boy, she really did. But something about his behavior when she asked him about it didn't sit right with her. It was like he didn’t want her to know. Before this, Percy would've told her everything. No matter what, she used to always be the first to know. Whether it be about a new school he was sent to or someone that bullied him on that day. It was always her. Now it were his new friends.

She tried to tell herself that it was because Percy wanted to leave some of his old life behind whenever he went to summer camp. Like it were two seperate worlds. But she knew that Grover, another friend of Percy's, was also there.

"I can’t," she answered. "I lost my gloves last year, after you had to take me to one of those." She pointed to the kids, smilling at the memory of back then.

“Oh, yeah.” He remembered, laughing at the memory as well.

Both of them were prepared to make the other go down and suffer in the snow that day a year ago. It was a simple and nice idea, until Percy decided he had to help a duck on the lake. At that time he hadn’t had snow gloves himself, so he borrowed Y/n’s.

Long story short, the duck ended up almost drowning, together with Percy, but could rescue itself, while the gloves were sliding from Percy’s hands and fell into the freezing water. He hadn’t bought her new one’s, he insisted on doing so, but she refused to accept them when he got them for her. She didn’t want him to spent his money on her, so she said she would buy new one’s herself. Since it was technically her own fault for giving them to him, when she knew they wouldn’t end up on her own pair of hands anyway. However, she forgot until it was too late.

"You almost died that day, how can you laugh about it?" She asked the pale boy. With the white snow surrounding him he fit right into it.

"t was a fun day, you can’t deny it, can you?" He asked her, searching for the comformation he always craved from her. He wanted her to agree with him in everything, so that he knew that they were still balancing on the same thin line like before all the sudden changes in his life.

Spending time with her always kind of made him feel more at ease. She was his home. She was who he was so used to, he could tell her everything. Besides about camp and his now second life. It was too dangerous. So, he keot it to himself. Rather have her angry than dead, right?

"It was a fun day," she agreed, stuffing her hands further into her pockets from the cold temperatures.

"Have mine," Percy said, holding his gloves into her direction, after seeing her shaking body.

"No, thanks,” she said, continuing walking home. "I’m not even that cold."

But the chattering of her teeth betrayed her and Percy looked at her with a dumbfounded expression.

"Then have one at least," he tried to compromise, looking into her eyes with that certain look. Raising his eyebrows, Percy moved the glove more to her body, until she couldn’t refuse to take it anymore. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she put the black glove over her freezing hand. Feeling the warm of his hand from before, made an slight blush creep up on her face. Which she played off from the cold.

"What is with the other, genuis?" she asked. She didn’t want a second glove but a conversation.

He only took her hand into his, beginning to walk again, not looking at her once. Her face grew even hotter and her body was filling with warmth as their bare freezing skin touched and exchanged body heat. Both were burning from the desire of this being more than a friendly encounter.

[tendermiasma]

Anonymous asked: Did Clover help Halsin with the shadow curse etc, or is their story divergent from the game?

He did, in time. In the Shadowlands he felt exposed and vulnerable with nowhere to run. When the party started ordering him down from taking extra watches he exhausted himself with concealment spells. Halsin in particular seemed concerned with his welfare, encouraging him to rest, which made Clover vow never to close both eyes again. Halsin's entanglement with the Fey made him, in his eyes, his greatest threat. Halsin's want to keep him close felt like

a hound guarding his master's kill, waiting for his return. He'd walked in darkness before and braved the Shadowfell when the little thing inside him that his whole life kept him alive, that screamed and screamed to run or die, reached a fever pitch. It ended poorly.

It pained Halsin more and more that Clover looked at him with such confused mistrust, that he shrank from him. He should let someone alone who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. A sting was natural, but knowing that it was what one wanted had always made it easier to part ways in the end. It made him restless. A pit opened in his stomach when he'd reach to relieve Clover of the heavy water pail to douse the fire and watch his gaze immediately struggle to find its sharpness under a bleary sleeplessness thick with nights spent holding up wards while the Weave frayed around him. Halsin's eyes roamed the treeline but he only thought of how Clover froze at his approaching footfalls at the change of watch. Halsin felt childish, selfish even. Why couldn't he just let this be? He knew why. Something was deeply wrong-- he was a healer and saw in Clover an injury of a different kind. He wished he could convince himself it was the only reason. He had never been a good liar, but this was the first time he cursed himself for it.

It was he who carried Clover back to the firelight and kept him in his own tent to recover. As kind as Halsin was, it was unwise for anyone to keep Clover from him then.

In its unfamiliar warmth was the first time Clover ever spoke of what happened to him. He spoke in the weight of forests holding lost years and spells and a man in the bones of an owl. It all lay about in a half-light, a moonlight throwing long shadows on what he could not say, what he could not remember, what choked him from fear to even whisper.

While he was unable to leave-- due to his physical state and later Halsin's strong insistence-- they had many hushed hours to spend together. It was the first time Clover noticed the heaviness in Halsin's eyes that would part like clouds for the sun when there was something to be done. Clover softened under Halsin's murmured conversation and learned not to pull from his hands. He was only able to stand so much though; Halsin's intentioned touch was overwhelming. It was gentle and mindful and consumed his entire senses and made him want to bolt for the Shadowfell once more. He wanted to cut out every part of him that Halsin's hands had touched because he wanted to think of anything else besides the memory of them lingering on his skin. He wanted Halsin to never stop touching him. He wanted to set the tent on fire.

The warm and deep scent of the blankets and furs that Halsin piled around him was intoxicating and dangerously comforting to Clover. He put nettles under his cheek to keep himself from falling asleep. It sometimes wasn't enough. When Halsin drew close, Clover was enveloped in the same scent.

It took a great amount of trust for Clover to finally help Halsin lift the Shadow Curse and rescue Thaniel. He began to see Halsin's true heart when he very nearly made the whole world stop for him, just by giving him a place to be and a little bit of care without Clover having to look over his shoulder. Even if he still watched, he watched him differently. He defended the gateway with a ferocity and sense of purpose he could never remember feeling before; that something had meaning now. He knew the thing that Halsin would carry back with him. He did not know what he would do. But the little animal that lived in him that always told him to run was waiting for him, too.

[the-fiction-witch]

Rescue

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Elf Wife) Rating - 18 + Word Count - 1241

WARNING! SA / MENTIONS OF SA/ ABUSE/

The road had been long and difficult. But Elrond knew he couldn't give up.

While travelling to visit other elves, their travelling party was ambushed by orcs several died in the fight but some were captured, One of those captured was Elronds own wife, Y/n. The orcs carried her away with them and ever since Elrond had been stalking them desperate to save her. Elrond knew the horrific things orcs do to captured female elves. They torment them. Torture them. degrade them. And rape them to use as breeding slaves. And once they are out of use for them, they'll eat their flesh and leave them half dead. And Elrond knew that was not a fate he could allow Y/n to have.

But the days grew long, and he began to fear that he would never see her again, He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat and he couldn't think of anything except saving her. No matter what he did hellish screams echoed in his ears, as if from miles away he could hear her fear and he prayed to all the gods of this world that she had only fear to cause her screams… And nothing worse.

he reached a hilltop and stopped to look across the moors, and even in the darkness, he saw them. The band of orcs walked towards the rocks, shuffling about the way orcs often did. And at the back of the pack, two of the four elves were captured from their party both of the women of course.

He saw Y/n and he felt a rage build inside him. She was stripped of her gown wearing only tattered rags to conceal her, forced to all barefoot on the rocks, her feet and body bleeding, rope around her wrists and her neck leading her forward with the orcs, her cheeks stained with tears. She tried to resist them but one orc slapped her across the face almost knocking her to the floor, before grabbing her chest to fondle while she screamed and he laughed at her fear,

Elrond watched as the orcs dragged Y/n along, his anger reaching a boiling point. Every fiber of his being ached with the desire to run down and grab her. The sight of them touching her and causing her pain was almost to much for him to bear. He had to force himself stand still and control his impulses. He wanted to jump down from the hills and run towards them, to grab her and take her away from this hellish nightmare. He wanted to kill every single orc that had touched her and make them suffer for what they had done to her,

His heart was beating faster than ever and his eyes were fixed on her. He couldn't stand to see her in harms way like this. Even her tears were too much for him. This was the woman he loved more than anything in the world and she was suffering at the hands of these monsters. He followed them at a safe distance until they made camp for the coming dawn hiding away in a low mountain cave. They set up their camp and let the prisoners linger outside,

Elrond kept himself hidden, taking note of every aspect of the camp. The cave, the orcs, the guards outside. He needed to find a way to save her. He had to. But the sight of her outside the cave was almost to much for him. He was just a few meters away and yet he felt like a world separated them. He wanted nothing more then to run towards her and hold her but he knew it was too dangerous, he had to bide his time till an oppourtunity came up,

the orcs began to hide away as the sun was set to rise but one large orc came out and looked over the captured prisoners He walked among them, sniffling them, touching them, to select whichever would be the victim of 'the pile'

The pile was a common torment orcs inflicted on female elves, they'd be stripped and tossed to a group no smaller than five, and they'd grab her limbs and take turns to violently rape her piling on her so she had no escape or resistance, they’d grope her, tickle her, humiliate and degrade her in whatever way they could

“That's not going to happen, I swear it. I won't let it” he thought to himself as he looked at the orc. His mind was racing trying to think of a way to save her before it was too late.

"This one." The orc demanded as he picked out the victim. It was Y/n

"No! No! Noo let me go!" She screamed

He watched as the orc picked Y/n. Rage and terror building up inside of him like never before. He couldn't let this happen he had to do something, There was no way he was going to let them hurt her. His heart was racing faster than ever as he frantically tried to think of a plan to stop them without alerting the orcs to his presence. This was the moment, if he didn't save her now he may never get another chance He knew that if he failed it could mean death for them both. But he was willing to risk it all. For her.

he picked up a rock and tossed it over to the other side of the pass, which caught the orcs attention, he grabbed a knife tossing Opheila to the floor before going to investigate leaving her and the other prisoners unattended,

He moved carefully as to not alert the other orcs to his presence and silently stepped towards where Y/n was lying on the ground His heart was in his mouth as he approached her.

She looked up at him and for a moment her eyes widened in disbelief, he could see the pain and fear she had endured in them, but as soon as she saw him a flicker of hope seemed to light them up. she began to silently cry tears of joy to see him, and she quickly moved to her feet, craning her head and holding up her arms so he could cut her binds

He gently began to cut through the ropes binding her with the swiftness of a practised hand. As soon as he removed the ropes he immediately pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight against him. He felt like he could finally breathe again now that she was in his arms. He never wanted to let her go

"Please…we have to get out of here…" she whispered her voice shaking from her broken and bruised lips

He nodded, knowing she was right. Time was running out, he couldn't afford to linger here and risk one of the Orcs coming back. Elrond helped to release the other prisoners letting them go free and he turned back to his beloved Y/n. He held her closer, his arm around her waist as he started backing away towards the mouth of the mountain pass. "Come on, we need to go. Can you run?"

she nodded "For you I can."

He smiled slightly at her response and placed a kiss on the top of her head. He was glad to see that her fighting spirit hadn't been broken even by the worst of torments. "Stay close to me, I'll keep you safe." He took her hand in his and they quickly made their escape into the night.

[we-stan-cale]

Since I've talked about almost all the other important parts during my reread, I didn't want to forget the sealed god's test.

It's just... So good I'm not even sure where to start. Like, this is a moment where Cale really shines.

Cale. Rok Soo, which we're told means 'to always grow green, even in winter'.

And we see that in this test.

The sealed god throws him into one of the worst moments of his life, expressly to make him despair.

Instead, Cale takes that moment and uses it to rewrite the past, and erase all his regrets.

This is where we really get to see what post-apocalyptic Korea was like. And over and over again we learn how badly things went then, even as Cale makes sure it doesn't happen like that again.

We also see some of his years of experience, and maturity. Especially with how he handles Park Jin Tae, who was a bully and a tyrant - and also died in Cale's first life, fighting to save everyone in the shelter.

You can see what we've seen all along. Cale doesn't judge leaders by the petty stuff. He judges them on how well they take care of their people.

This is also where Cale, Choi Han, and Alberu really become an amazing trio.

Choi Han, who bargains a large chunk of his life away (just the time he'd be alone, as he ties the length of his life to Raons) in order to join Cale in his test.

And Alberu, who the Sun God helps possess a monster called the Dark Tiger when his real body is sleeping.

Those three are so tight knit now, it's beautiful. Real ride or die friends.

Especially when you remember where they all started.

It's also, as always, a time where you have to pay attention to the subtleties. This is Cale's past, and he's focused on making sure everyone survives... But Choi Han and especially Alberu can see the desperation, the struggle, and the near starvation of all the survivors. Alberu has a couple of moments when he's out of the test and giving updates to their friends, and you see him struggling. Because Cale asked him not to overly stress them (the kids especially) and basically say it's fine... And Alberu's like 'how can I tell them that?!?'

And then, naturally, there's Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk.

Younger versions, and not the ones Cale knew. But still, we get to learn more about his earlier found family.

We also see things going on back at home. Since his physical body is still there, his friends have to rescue him.

And we see how they're able to perform, even without Cale to call the shots.

We especially see how well Raon has grown, as he makes important decisions on how to find the monster statues.

Even more importantly, we have this at the end.

– Do you really think that this moment is the end of despair? Cale looked down at the rose gold lights burning in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak. ‘Is this moment the end of despair? No. Absolutely not.’ “This is just the beginning of the despair in this world.” It was just the beginning. Despair would reveal itself in many different forms in this world from now on. “But people have hope now.” After about a year since the world had turned into a mess… The people who had always lost, struggled, and barely managed to survive will be victorious for the first time. They would destroy this despair known as an unranked monster. The sealed god who had been silent for a moment asked as if he was sneering at Cale. – Do you have hope as well? It seemed to be implying that Cale was someone who could not have hope. That was how it sounded to Cale. Cale slowly shook his head. “No.” He did not have hope. However… “I have certainty.” Cale needed something more certain than hope. Finally, he had gotten it. “This place will draw a different future than my past. I’m certain of it.” He was certain that more people would survive than in his past. He was certain that they would have better lives. That was not speculation. Although it was a future that was yet to come, Cale believed it to be the truth. In fact, Cale wanted to be the one to finish the first step toward that certainty. The burning rose gold thunderbolts moved away from Cale’s hands. He started to speak again. “This is the first time I’m saying this to a god.” Toward the silent sealed god… To the god who had tried to give him despair… Cale said the following. “Thanks.” He really meant it. “My memories didn’t end in despair thanks to you.”

It's not that he defeated despair. That despair will no longer exist.

But there's hope, and he is certain that the future will be better.

And even more so - he is grateful that he had this chance to change his memories.

He took this thing that was supposed to break him, and used it to fix himself instead.